#and a surprisingly large amount of them were about someone (always a woman actually) experiencing something like this

[running-in-the-dark]

the most infuriating thing in a book is when there's someone who's constantly lying about things they said to the main character, things that happened and stuff like that, and it causes problems. and yet the main character doesn't at any point think to use their fucking smartphone (that they definitely own because it has been mentioned several times) to record any conversations they have.

like I'm sorry but that's just ridiculous. at least write in a reason why they can't do that (phone is broken and they can't get a new one for some reason, the other person keeps surprising them in some way that makes it impossible to start recording, they can't find their phone because the other person hid it, etc.) or that the recordings are gone when they want to use them as proof (phone gets destroyed later, other person deletes recordings, etc.) or literally any reason why they don't think to do it.

security cameras are also a thing that I'm pretty sure everyone knows you can just buy for your own home at this point. they're not expensive. they're not hard to get.

honestly if this happens for let's say the fifth time and it's causing you massive problems, maybe... just maybe... you're a bit of an idiot for not at least trying to get some sort of proof.

[just-the-mage]

A Return from Dark Waters, Part III

Part I / Part II

Written with the lovely and talented @iris-ymir​! <3 

Iris picked up the fork, holding it between her thumb and middle finger. While poking the pie lazily, she kept rubbing her temple. Her head was pounding, like something was trying to force its way out through her skull. Purple eyes followed Eva, as the woman was working around the kitchen. Iris had never seen this side of her. Maybe it had always been there, but she had never paid attention to it, while toying around with the poor girl. She saw Evangeline in a completely new light. Was this because Blacksoul had taken her in, and given her a job? Or was this because of Irene? Iris did not know what to think of this Irene-person yet. Evangeline seemed to enjoy the company of the foxy creature, but there was something about Irene that Iris could not get a hold of. Compared to Lareine, she was completely different... There was something sinister in Irene. 

“Where do you keep your cigarettes? I can fetch one for you…” Evangeline had walked up to Iris, while she had been lost in thought. The pale viera raised her gaze up to the woman, giving her another uneven blink. Eva still had her towel around her, and another wrapped around her long, red hair. The towel was the same Evangeline had when she first took a bath in the manor. It was way too small for her tall, muscular form. It took a moment for Iris to notice she was staring, and she quickly turned sideways on the chair, gazing towards the hallway. 

“...Heck... Dere should be a pack in da drawer, ‘aight next to tha damn coat hangar... At least dere was... Another should be in tha pocket of mi leather jacket...

...Danke, Evangelin’.”, Iris sighed out, as the woman headed towards the doorway, leading into the hallway. The scent of fresh coffee started to fill the kitchen. Iris picked up the glass of water Eva had given to her, and held it to her lips. It was weird being here, after such a long time. In this kitchen, where everything seemed to be as it had been...long ago. It was like the whole world around had frozen in place for two years. Iris tipped the glass, taking a long sip, and then it happened. As the water ran down her throat... as she tasted it on her tongue, it suddenly returned her to the bottomless sea. She gasped for air, ending up only breathing in the rest of the water that was in her mouth. Cold fingers of terror ran up Iris’ back, and the glass dropped from her fingers and onto the floor, shattering into pieces with a loud crash, echoing through the manor. She curled up, coughing, and finally threw up onto the floor, where the remains of the glass were resting.

The viera’s hands were shaking as she grasped her upper arms, digging sharp fingernails into pale skin. The image of the white beach faded, and she was in the kitchen again. 

“I... Im not comin’ back...”, Iris muttered to herself, as tears ran down her cheeks. “... Ye ‘ear mi, motherfocker?! Im n-not comin’ back!”, she broke into a shrilling giggle, rocking back and forth on the chair. The coffee pot was boiling alone on the stove.

The shattering of glass broke the night-time silence that sat heavy in the air of the manor, piercing Evangeline’s reverie as she approached the jacket hanger near the large oaken double doors that led out into the courtyard. Eva turned on her heel, the cigarettes forgotten, her instincts kicking in immediately. She dashed back down the hallway, all manner of decorum immediately thrown from the window, unwanted and unneeded. Was Iris okay? Had someone broken a window? She knew she shouldn’t have left her alone...even for a second. Iris was severely traumatized...Eva should have brought the girl with her. Cold raced through her body as she turned the corner, skidding on the hardwood floors of the passage leading to the kitchen. She felt something drive into her foot, but paid it no mind. Bursting through the doorway to the kitchen, she scanned the room in one swoop, noticing the windows were intact, but Iris’ glass most certainly wasn’t. The pale, slight woman sat, rocking back and forth in her chair, weeping uncontrollably. The floor underneath her was littered with shards of glass, topped off with a puddle of vomit-this time neither black nor bloody. Evangeline swept towards her, taking Iris in her arms without a second thought.

“Iris? Are you still with me?” She said softly, cradling the woman gently against her.

A shiver traveled through Iris’ corpse-like body as Eva held her in her arms. How did she always end up being carried by this woman? The feeling was not completely unpleasant, but she still felt tied down...On the other hand, the warmth of Evangeline’s body tore her free of the remnants of bone-white beach’s grip. 

“...Damn, Cinnabun... Y-Yer gonna c-carry mi over tha frickin’ doorstep or whut..?”, Iris tried to laugh, but it came out as yet another cough. From the corner of her eyes, she thought she saw a figure, sitting on a top of a cupboard, but as she turned her gaze, it was gone. 

“...Seriously though.. C-Could ya put mi down? Tha... heckin’ coffee pot sounds like its about to blow up... D-Did ya find mi cigs..?” 

Evangeline finally noticed the coffee pot.

“Oh! Shite! Shite, shite, shite…” Still holding Iris, Eva stepped quickly across the floor, caution to the wind again. Transferring Iris to one arm, she moved the coffee pot off of the burner, spun surprisingly gracefully, and deposited Iris in another chair, well away from the glass and the sick that was slowly starting to seep in all directions, running along the cracks between the tiles. That would have to be cleaned up soon.

“I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have picked you up like that. Instinct, I guess...I don’t have too much control over it. I didn’t get to your cigarettes before I heard the glass break...I’ll run back out and get them in just a moment. Would you like to come with me? I don’t want you to have to be alone…” Evangeline said, suddenly realizing her towel had slipped quite a bit running back to the kitchen. She adjusted it as surreptitiously as she could manage, and turned away. She took the coffee pot and poured a mugfull of it for Iris.

“What would you like? Cream? Sugar?” Evangeline intoned over her shoulder. As she placed the coffee pot back on the stove and turned off the burner, she glanced at the floor, upon which she had left a few bloody footprints. She sighed internally. Arsene wasn’t going to be happy about this...not one bit.

“Uhh... Just sum cream... A-And a heckin’ whisky shot... Gramps used to give mi one wid mi coffee...” Iris leaned over the table, and could just reach the plate of pie, still resting on her former seat. She pulled the plate to her, and her eyes catched something on the marble flooring. Bloody footprints, leading towards Eva. The woman did not seem to even notice, while working with the coffee, going through the fridge, most likely searching for the cream, and struggling with her too-small towel. “’Ey!...Yer bleedin’ Evangelin’... Did ya step onto the frickin’ broken glass or sumthin’? Dat should be looked at... Yer gonna mess up tha carpet, if ya run around like dat... Come ‘ere, sit yer fine arse on tha chair, and let mi look at it... ‘aight?”, while talking, Iris waved her fork towards the chair next to her. ‘Even healed the burn on your arm’ Evangeline’s words about the fox haunted in Iris’ mind. She noticed she hated the creature already. The hate was different from the hate she felt towards Lareine though. Different like night and day... Lareine was basically a child. Annoying, yes, but in the end, rather easy to deal with. Irene though?

‘...Why are you afraid?’, the inaudible whisper in her ear.. an invisible, clawed hand on her shoulder. Iris winced, almost dropping the fork. She felt the hair on her neck standing up.  The medication... Had anyone given her the medication during these...what...? Four days,  Evangeline had said? In the middle of her train of thought, a cup of fresh coffee was placed in front of Iris. The scent was otherwordly... She raised her gaze up to the woman next to her. To those purple eyes, much like her own. With the color of her eyes, Evangeline could have been her sister. 

“Forget dat cig for a moment, Cinnabun, and take a heckin’ seat... I’ll see whut I can do with yer foot, but just payin’ mind to tha amount of frickin’ blood on tha floor, I dink we might need sum bandages or sum shite ‘ere... Whut are the fockin’ chances dat once when I could actually use Blacksoul, tha man has left da buildin’..?” Iris tapped the chair with the tip of her fork, waiting for Evangeline to take a seat, before the woman could mess the floor any further. She picked up the cup of coffee, brought it to her lips, and took a sip, focusing on the taste... on the scent... trying to ignore the whispers in her ear... chase away the creeping feeling of someone, or something, standing right behind her... a looming presence...

Evangeline sat down with a sigh, propping her feet up so that Iris could look at them. 

“Ugh...I didn’t even notice. Thank you, Iris. I’ll clean the floor in a moment...I appreciate you looking at them. I don’t have much feeling on the bottom of my feet anymore...you’re probably right. It must be some of the glass. Honestly though? I could have a nail in there and I’d have a hard time noticing.”

Evangeline glanced at Iris, who was carefully inspecting Eva’s foot. This was certainly not how Eva had expected, or wanted to spend her evening...she had been hoping for some relaxation, but she had been given a situation that was anything but relaxing. She was still surprised, though, at just how much better Iris returning had turned out. Eva had been dreading it in more ways than one...the shouting match that she had expected. The damaged feelings, the cold shoulders, the incredible awkwardness that would ensue, fallout from an earth-shattering argument between the two of them. And yet...despite the truly terrible breakdown she had just experienced, or...maybe...because of it? Everything had turned out well.

It was hardly a pleasant evening, but Eva found herself breathing a sigh of relief. And with that sigh of relief...she realized just how tired she was. The nightmare had taken its toll on her body...one that wasn’t obvious to the naked eye. Her limbs felt leaden, her eyes heavy...she felt like there was a stone tied around her neck, dragging her down. It wouldn’t be long before she fell asleep...she hoped Iris would stay with her. Sleep next to her as she had said she would.

Melancholy weighed upon her mind as she wound down, pent-up tension releasing as she felt the light pressure of Iris’ fingers on her foot. It would probably be improper for her to sleep next to Irene in the future. Especially once Silke got back. The two of them seemed truly meant to be together...despite whatever it was that was holding them back. The last thing she wanted, though, was to let go of that friendship...whatever her own needs were, she felt a pressing need to maintain her friendship with Irene...and perhaps even create one with Iris. She winced as Iris touched something. There it was...whatever was plaguing her foot.

“That’s something...ah...what did I step on? I can actually feel that.”

Iris leaned forward, while turning Eva’s foot as much as it was possible with the woman sitting down, to get a better look. There was definitely something in there. By running her fingertip gently over the wound, she could feel something sharp in there. It was a big one, and had sunken too deep for her to get a grip of it. Even less with her long claw-like nails, which in this case, were more in the way than helpful. 

“Dere’s definetely sumthin’ okai... But dis arse’ole is a big one... Let mi just try to...”, she placed her thumb onto the side of the wound, and while pressing onto it, rubbed her other thumb down from where she thought the little piece of shite was hiding in. As she did this, Evangeline’s leg twitched, making Iris lose her grip.

 “...For fock’s sake... Do mi a favor, Cinnabun... ‘Aight? Try to stay still... I almost got it... May need sum tools though, but... Lemme try it one more time!” The blood was slowly dripping out of the wound, running down on Eva’s foot, and falling onto Iris’ pale thigh, like an injured wolf’s lifeblood dripping onto fresh snow. With a long sigh, Iris returned her attention to the wound. After some time, and a couple of failed attempts, she got a grip of the end of what appeared to be a splinter of wood, instead of glass. She bit her lower lip, and pulling down carefully, got the splinter out, holding it up for Evangeline to see. 

“Now look at dat frickin’ bad boy! Dis is a damn ‘alf o’ a log right ‘ere! Damn... Dis fockin’ ‘ouse is fallin’ apart...”, she gave a quick glance towards the wound, while placing the rather sizeable splinter onto the edge of the table. The wound was not bleeding badly. The splinter had gushed out some blood on the way out, but without it, it was hardly dripping. This was good. 

“Now stay dere... I’ll see if... I can find anythin’ to tie tha wound wid.. Its not bleedin’ much animore, but ya cant walk on tha hallway carpets wid it aniway.. Blacksoul would frickin’ kill ya..”

Supporting herself with the back of her chair, Iris got up, only to almost fall face first onto the marble flooring. Her head was spinning. The room changed in front of her eyes. Hard, cold marble under her feet turned into soft, bone-white sand. The walls around vanished into thick fog, rising from the pitch-black sea. She fell onto her knees, breathing quickly... breathing in the thick air which reminded her of cold winter graves... and rot. 

“No... Nonononono!”, a wail escaped her lips, as she held her head, trying to make the vision disappear, but it was no use. Evangeline? Iris turned around quickly, but the woman had disappeared, with everything else. There was something in the mist though... Further away on the beach, near the waterline... A figure, dressed up into a grey gown, which almost made her part of the fog. What stood out though, was her face... Lips had been painted black, against almost white chin. And the eyes... The area around the eyes had been smeared with black, like soot, and from that darkness, two empty, dead eyes stared towards Iris. Dead, soulless eyes. Iris opened her mouth to scream, but no voice came out.

Suddenly the world turned again, turning her stomach upside-down, and throwing her back into the kitchen. She was sitting back on the floor, the towel had dropped, and was now laying next to her feet. Evangeline was back... and for the second time, during a single evening, Iris was happy to see that face... those eyes like purple pools. Eyes that were alive. Visibly shaking, Iris got back onto her feet, picking up the towel, and wrapping it around her form. 

“...W-When’s B-Blacksoul comin’ back, Evangelin’..?”

Iris rose from her chair, remarking that bandages would be a necessity if Eva ever wanted to leave the kitchen again. The muscular woman nodded in agreement, her crimson locks bouncing as she did. The sooner they could bandage her foot, the sooner they could fall into bed, something Eva was quickly finding that she needed desperately. Iris hadn’t been standing for more than a second before she tipped over like an expensive, fragile glass vase. She didn’t hit the floor immediately, but hung in the air for a moment, wobbling, her eyes searching the room wildly for something that wasn’t there. Before Eva could untangle herself enough to catch Iris, though, the other woman had collapsed to her knees, quietly wailing and clutching at herself. Evangeline sprung to her side, decorating the floor with another splatter of blood. Again? Crossed her mind. The mental toll this...dark sea must have taken on Iris’ mind seemed immense. She wondered if there was a trigger...something to be avoided that might help Iris stay grounded. Or maybe...something to be said?

“Iris? Iris! Listen to me, okay? You’re right here, not anywhere else. I’m right here next to you.” Evangeline knelt down next to the kneeling woman and took Iris’ chin under her hand, tilting it up so that she could look into the other woman’s eyes. 

“Look at me...focus on me. Hear my voice, and stay with me.” Iris’ eyes...they weren’t Irene’s, that much was certain. But she almost looked through Evangeline...her eyes locked to something that wasn’t there. In a moment, though, she seemed to snap back to reality, her eyes no longer drifting, focusing in on the woman who was directly in front of her.

”W-When’s B-Blacksoul comin’ back, Evangelin’..?” Varg hadn’t said specifically when he would be returning. A month, or two perhaps. He may have been vague because he himself didn’t know how much time he’d need to be away for. This wasn’t particularly good...especially given the way Iris’ condition seemed to be straining her. Hadn’t she...hadn’t she had some medication? Something she had taken days before? Evangeline remembered Varg making some sort of comment about Iris working at the hospital… 

“He said...a month. Two at most.” Concern was clear on Evangeline’s face.

“Wasn’t there some sort of medication you had? Were you supposed to take it daily? Irene never took anything, to my memory.” Eva placed her hands on the shoulders of the now shaking viera.

“You’re going to be okay. I promise.” Evangeline stood up. She’d have to get a bit creative for now...fetch some proper bandages later once things had settled down. She stepped over to the sink, leaving a still-noticeable but less severe pattern of blood along the kitchen floor. From a drawer underneath it, she pulled a dishrag, and, crouching over, wiped her foot and tied the cloth around it. Hopefully this would be enough to staunch the bleeding, at least enough for her to move around the house. She returned to Iris, coming back down to her level. She took Iris’ hand in hers, and looked into those deep purple eyes. The eyes she had loved, lost, and that had come back...not at all in the way she had expected.

“Do you think the medication will help you? If it will, I’ll come with you...and we can find it together. You’re not alone.”

Iris took hold of Evangeline’s hand, letting the woman help her back onto her feet. Her head was still spinning, and she felt like her legs would give in, but she managed to stay standing. She gave a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. Bloody footprints traveled back and forth across the floor, like an echo of where Eva had been. The puddle of almost colorless puke was still resting at the foot of the table, but had stopped from spreading further. Leaning onto Eva, Iris took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of someone constantly watching her from the shadows of her heart. Two months until Blacksoul would be back? For once, Iris would have actually needed the man, and on the moment like that, he was gone. This was like a bad, universal joke…

 “Tha medicine, yeah. I... should take it daily. It should be in mi room... At tha heckin’ nightstand.. a small wooden casing. ‘Onestly though? Im frickin’ tired.. Could just head off to bed and take it den...”, while still talking, she glanced towards the pie and fresh cup of coffee, that were left on the table. 

“...Shite... I-I can make it into mi room on mi own.. Im not a fockin’ grandma to be carried around. But... could ya bring tha coffee and pie wid ya? Damn I hate to even ask, but Im afraid I might drop dem on tha way...” 

“Absolutely!” Evangeline’s lips curled up into a warm smile, as she made sure pale woman would stay standing without support. She took couple of steps to the table, and picked up the plate and cup of coffee.

She would need to clean the kitchen floor, but first she would see Iris into her room, and get her the medication. Meanwhile, Iris was waddling her way towards the door, and into the hallway. She glanced up towards the stairs, bit her lip, and started to climb. At this point she realized just how tired her whole body was. The dream... hallucination.. whatever it had been, had taken its toll onto her body, and she felt like she had not slept in days, while truly, it was almost all she had done for the past week or so. After a climb that felt like a dozen floors, Iris arrived at the second floor of the manor, where her room was. She could hear Evangeline’s steps in the stairway behind her. Every second step sounded damp, because of the rag she had wrapped onto the wound. Iris placed her bony fingers onto the handle, and opened the door, stepping into her room, which was filled with dolls of all shapes and sizes. Everything seemed to be as she had left it. She fought her way to the wide bed, and fell back onto the black, velvery sheets, partly sinking into soft cushions.

Iris’ usually confident stride had been fully replaced by a half-awake stagger. Evangeline wanted to support her...help her along...but Iris’ pride, even in this state, probably wouldn’t allow for it. She had already picked the woman up once tonight...might as well let her maintain her independence in getting to bed. Eva padded along behind her, uneven in her gait as she stepped on the rag again. Hopefully it wasn’t soaked through yet...she just needed a bit longer until she was able to slip away to the bathroom. Loathe as she was to leave Iris alone, she felt a pressing responsibility to clean up as much as she could...and she needed to bandage her foot if she wanted to get into bed. Bloody sheets were the last thing that anyone wanted to wake up to.

Iris rounded the corner into her room, which had remained mostly, if not entirely, untouched throughout the other woman’s absence. Now all that remained was injecting her medicine, a task that Eva wasn’t fully familiar with. She hoped Iris would be able to manage it. Administering medication was far from Eva’s strong suit, and though she could apply a bandage as well as the next person, she would be hard pressed to find a vein with how tired she was.

Evangeline slipped into the room just in time to see Iris throw herself onto her bed, as if she were a fox plunging into a snowbank in search of prey. The bed looked incredibly comfortable.  Iris being in it...an added bonus. Evangeline thanked all twelve gods that she wouldn’t have to sleep alone tonight. Even if it wasn’t Irene...having someone else there would be a lifesaver. She approached the bed, and set the coffee and the pie down on the nightstand next to the side Iris lay on, wreathed in dark sheets. Looking to a wooden box on the same nightstand, Evangeline picked it up and opened it, revealing a syringe and a bottle of light green liquid. It looked like what one would expect poison to look like…

“Can you inject this yourself? I’m not...not really a professional with a needle, unfortunately.” 

"Yeah, I can do dat miself... Not dat I even like anyone else doin' it. Just... fill tha syringe to one third and 'and it to mi, will ya?" Iris replied, her eyes full to the brim with exhaustion.

“Of course.” Evangeline smiled softly at the small, slight puddle of viera lying in bed in front of her. She filled the syringe, at first halfway, and then letting enough out to be right around one third full. Handing it to Iris, she asked: 

“Will you be okay if I run and get bandages? I’d like to keep your bed as clean as I can...and I feel a bit obligated to clean up as much of the floor of the kitchen as I can manage. I’ve left the pie and the coffee here on your nightstand.”

Iris nodded and gave Eva a slight wave, shaking hands trying to find a vein with the needle. Evangeline struggled mentally for a second, before uttering: 

“Can I...would you like me to...can I help at all?” Iris shook her head, still concentrating on placing the needle. Eva let out a light sight and withdrew. She wanted to help, but at this point it would be better to get everything sorted with the kitchen then to try and help Iris with something that Evangeline herself had no idea how to do. She’d most likely just make the situation worse.

Stepping away from the pale viera, Eva unevenly retreated out of the room, her every other footstep muffled by the rag that was luckily still tied around her foot properly. Over the next few minutes she first made her way to the bathroom and found a roll of blissfully white bandages, thoroughly wrapped her foot, and carefully taped it together with a few lengths of medical tape. That would hold her until morning...at least. She’d need to air it out tomorrow, and try to take a better look at it, but hopefully it would start healing on its own. Holding up the rag she had removed, she sighed disappointedly. It was fully dyed crimson at this point. Very little of the original grey of the cloth remained. She hoped Arsene hadn’t been particularly fond of this rag...it was basically useless now. Eva balled it up and stood, now properly bandaged. One task down...now on to the next one.

To Be Continued...

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 03

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader |  Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary:  Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Might seem a little too unrealistic, whoops...

Word Count: 2.5k

< masterpost >

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      My pen glided across the paper with ease, and I couldn’t help but smile when my signature looked back at me from the page on the table.

Reading through the three folders of fresh information had taken nearly an hour and a half to finish, but I only had myself to blame for that. I always took way too long to analyse everything I was getting myself into, never one to take massive risks when it came down to business.

I knew I would never refuse this deal though. 

It had been a week since the ‘fateful’ encounter. The spontaneous incident in which my entire world had forever changed, and the evidence sat right in front of me on the very table my knees knocked lightly against in anticipation. The same table situated in the main Bighit Entertainment building itself.

“Well shit, I knew I recognised the car!”

A familiar voice broke me from my trance, and I flicked my eyes upwards to see a very excitable Jungkook jogging towards me. His face was split into a somewhat shy grin, and I could immediately see how the corners of his eyes crinkled in joy as he finally reached my side.

To my shock, the surprises didn’t stop there, and I watched as six other very familiar people followed in their youngest member’s stead. The sliding doors to the company’s building finally slid shut, and so did my mind as the sudden nerves took hold.

“Hello noona, what a surprise! What brings you here?” Jungkook queried as he stood beside the couch where I was seated. I stopped my eyes from flickering over to where the other members of Bangtan were standing a few meters behind and smiled warmly at the younger boy.

“You probably thought you’d seen the last of me, right? It’s a bit of a long story, and all of you are probably busy so I won’t keep you.” I swallowed apprehensively as my eyes tore from his widened ones to gaze further behind. All of them were here, in the same proximity as me.

Controlling my breathing was a priority, sorry Kook.

I looked up again when someone made a loud noise of recognition, and Jimin jolted forward with his eyes blowing wide cutely. All of them were in light, breathable active wear of sorts due to the heat, but the sight of Jimin’s exposed biceps in particular made me sweat profusely.

“(Y/n)-ssi? Wah, I knew Jungkook wouldn’t just go up to a random girl like that. How are you doing?”

I laughed as the maknae huffed at his elder’s words, and crossed one leg over the other to face them properly. Seeing as I’d met these two before, the going was a little less rough as it would have been if all seven of them had just jumped straight over.

“Nice to see you again Jimin-ssi. I’m doing amazing surprisingly, how about all of you?” The smile was natural, but I was surprised I could even keep a level tone when my emotions were positively storming beneath the surface.

I could see Hoseok and Seokjin exchanging curious murmurs with each other as they observed the interaction from afar, while Taehyung was animatedly questioning Namjoon much to the latter’s gradual irritation. Yoongi remained still, but he had tugged one of his earphones out to gather snippets of whatever was happening. He wasn’t glaring, but his thoughtful gaze speculated as it switched between me, the maknaes and eventually Namjoon instinctively.

“We’re great, just about to start daily practices, actually,” Jimin responded and returned my smile instantly. I nodded my head in understanding, my ruffled hair swinging into my eyes yet again. The amount of times I had run my hands through it in the past hour or so caused it to become messy, and it had been infuriating me more and more as time dragged on.

I caught Namjoon’s inquisitive gaze behind Jungkook’s shoulder when I flipped the straying hair away. The rapper tightly smiled before gracing me with a tiny courteous wave. It was easy to see he was just as curious as Jungkook had been about my presence in the Bighit building.

I waved back, and saw Taehyung joining into the silent exchange with his own doubly excited hand gestures. I couldn’t believe how instantly warm and friendly the boy already seemed in person.

“Are those the things you had to sign after…the other day?” Jungkook wondered aloud after looking back at his hyungs, then down to the sheets of paper sprawled on the table. My pen loudly tapped on the documents twice before I smirked.

“Nope, those were signed on the day. This’ll sound pretty straightforward, but I somehow got a job here.”

“You what?” Jungkook’s bulging eyes and slacked jaw made themselves known, and he exchanged surprised gazes with Jimin and Namjoon behind him before smiling widely. “That’s great noona, what will you even be doing?”

Namjoon, upon hearing the sudden shift in conversation, couldn’t douse his flames of curiosity any longer it seemed. He tentatively made his way over with his large hands stuffed deeply in the pockets of his shorts.

“What’s happening, kids?”

“(Y/n)-ssi just said she got a job here, that’s amazing,” Jimin gushed and I bowed in gratitude towards both him and Jungkook as they congratulated me. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with a few emotions before settling down. His eyebrows raising high before furrowing, then lifting high again as he nodded with a gentle smile appearing on his tanned face. I could understand if he was suspicious, as my entrance into the company had not been the most professional one out there.

“That’s great (Y/n). I guess you can let us know the details later, but for now, welcome to the Bighit family.” His dimpled grin and outstretched hand of welcoming and acceptance caused many feelings to swirl around within me. I was so truly blessed this fortnight, seeing as though I’d landed a brilliant job and met some of my favourite people in the process. Experiencing Namjoon’s kindness was just a sweet cherry on top.

“Ah, thank you so much. I know I’ll love being here,” I grasped his significantly larger palm and shook it confidently, relishing in the feeling of his slightly calloused hand engulfing my own. I knew I probably held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, but it didn’t remain. The moment was interrupted by some staff calling them from down the hallway.

Probably their choreographers.

“Oh, when will we see you again? You still didn’t mention what you’re doing,” Jungkook spluttered when the older members began traipsing away to follow the sound of the impatient voice. Taehyung looked back with a pout, and I pouted back light-heartedly to let him know I was just as eager as he was to finally meet. The others, including Namjoon, left with polite smiles and waves, obviously having their priorities straight unlike the two vocalists standing before me.

“I’m an interpreter now. And you two should seriously think about getting to practice.” I raised an eyebrow, craning my head to see where the others had disappeared to down the hall. Jimin at least had the sense to start making his way backwards, futilely tugging on Jungkook’s shirt. My suggestion had a delayed effect, but Jungkook finally bowed again before turning around to follow the blonde boy.

“Have fun, I’ll talk to you guys another time!” I called out and returned to my paperwork after hearing their hasty farewells.

My hands and face were tingling from all the interaction I had barely been able to comprehend. How was I not a stuttering mess whenever they acknowledged me? I’d always thought for sure something like that would be the case if I ever met them. Hell, whenever I thought about meeting them, it would always be at some kind of fan meeting where I would only get a few choice words to say…or rather rehearse.

With a sigh, I recalled how this situation had morphed into an integral part of my life, that part being my career. Even though I was only a mere Uber driver, it seemed pure luck had rained down upon me within the span of just two days. I must have cured diseases in my past life for these things to be granted to me so suddenly.

~

“If I said I was fluent in Spanish, would that help?”

The woman whipped her head around to gaze at me thoroughly, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Why had I just gone and boldly inserted myself into their predicament? Bighit was a large and successful company, they could figure something out for sure. Rescheduling to add another day wouldn’t even be a problem if the donor could stay in a hotel somewhere in the city, just for example.

Still, it’s not like I know the circumstances.

“Uh, Miss-” The woman stopped her awkward approach when Bang PD raised a hand suddenly. His smile turned in my direction, and I felt my shoulders relax when I was reminded yet again of his direct, but kind attitude.

“You’ve done us a great service already Miss (L/n) (F/n), we couldn’t trouble you further.”

I opened my mouth to respond when the loud ringtone of the woman echoed along the walls of the dormitory reception. She picked it up and I kept an eye on Bang PD’s face while he scanned over her. When her facial expression winced, Bang PD frowned deeply with a sharp exhale, and he turned back to me once she’d shaken her head at him. This obviously indicated something I’d missed, but it most likely meant whatever help they had tried to line up for themselves had failed.

“Well, it turns out we may need your help once more. Miss (F/n). I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay you as much as I already have.”

“Please, I seriously don’t need to be paid for this one. It’s on me.” I smiled and my keen, pointed gaze left no room for argument. The short man sighed and shook his head with a chuckle, looking at his assistant beside him before gesturing for me to follow them outside. “We’ll be heading to the actual Bighit building for this meeting, are you an experienced interpreter?”

The woman begrudgingly agreed with her boss’ plan and fell into step beside me. I wouldn’t be driving my own car out of here, but would be dropped back later apparently. I answered him as we all clambered into a transport van. “I’ve done some work with interpreting, and I have a bachelor’s degree of International Studies to support it. I earned that back in (Y/c).”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with her equally impressed boss before returning it to me. “So how many languages are you fluent in?”

“Five actually, that’s Korean, English, Spanish, (language choice 1) and (language choice 2). They’re at different levels of fluency, but I can definitely hold conversations in each.” I smiled, feeling proud of my achievements so far.

Yes, even though I was only a mere Uber driver, I still had big plans for my future. Hence why I was even travelling to Korea in the first place. It was to continue my studies and gain experience for various languages. I was planning to enrol into a famous university at some point during the next couple of years, and I was filled with overwhelming glee that I was going to receive some first-hand work experience with interpreting��today. Only a couple of months into my travels!

“That is truly amazing, every company needs someone like you,” Bang PD spoke in awe, and I dipped my head to him in appreciation. The woman wrote something on her planning clipboard and then reached down to punch out a text to whomever had called her before.

“Say, how would you feel if I asked you to work for Bighit, Miss (Y/n)?”

His words shocked me to my very core, and I almost choked on my own saliva in response. The woman also balked at his words before an understanding and calculating expression appeared. She nodded slowly and then met my eyes with her strikingly serious ones.

“You would be such an asset, as our current interpreters are only numbered few. They don’t have the extent that you do either, and a wider range of languages means a wider range of opportunities. Boss, this is…” She trailed off and her hair whipped around with her head as she caught Bang’s chuckling grin.

“I know, why do you think I asked?”

My mind was reeling from the new turn of events. Working for Bighit? I was surely dreaming. This was something majority of fans wished for with their whole, open hearts. To be close to their favourite idols for most days of the week, and to see what goes on behind the scenes of the various shows and schedules.

How do I even wrap my brain around this?  

“I-I would actually love to, but it’s not really that easy, right?” I stammered, my eyes blown wide and my heart erratically hitting my ribcage with every spoken syllable.

“No, there’ll be heaps of paperwork and necessary background checks, etcetera etcetera,” Bang PD began. “But I basically had an interview with you before. I would love to have you on our team, and I’m sure you’d love to be on ours.”

His smirk and chuckle was enough to have me burying my face into my hands in embarrassment. Heat was flaring up my neck, and I knew the tops of my ears weren’t dissimilar. “I know I’m a fan, but I promise it wouldn’t get in the way of anything.”

I laughed along with him, my emotions almost spilling out onto my cheeks as I fully revelled in what had happened.

I’m going to work for them? And in turn help the process of Bangtan’s success? Bloody hell what has even happened to my life?

The music industry had actually interested me as well during my teenage years, but getting to try both career pathways in one bundle was legitimately too good to even be true. My heart was fluttering.

“Yes, well, we’re going to see how you go in the meeting here, but from what I’ve already gathered you have very strong willpower and morals. I easily judge people when I meet them, and I can tell you put everything into what you do. You’re compassionate and make decisions quick and easy, as shown by how you rescued our little ones today. Without your help, they would have struggled, and with your help now, I know we can strive for larger goals in Bighit’s future. Additionally, that’s helping our artists strive for larger goals within their careers too.”

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the spread of inevitable happiness throughout my very being. Breathing deeply, I joined his gaze from across the car seat with a sparked confidence, and I saw the assistant even smile at me approvingly.

“I won’t let you down, Bang PD-nim.” 

          Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

tagged: @l4life​

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 9

Newest chapter is up!  We finally encounter other people on the ship, and I have a chance to show that Sophia is not perfect. Also, this is a fluffy chapter, no warnings.

Please feel free to send me any constructive feedback or questions you have regarding any chapters of this story.  I love to answer questions.  All I ask is, if you identify a problem with something, please also suggest a solution to said problem. I am always willing to correct myself provided I know how.

I spent the next several weeks getting used to the routines on the ship. For the first few days, I was still getting a substantial amount of my mobility back; just because I had been given new body parts in perfect condition did not mean they held the same flexibility and endurance as the muscles I had lost.  The Miys had insisted that the muscles should be in correct working order, and struggled to understand that some traits of human motion are not held in genetics, but rather in how we use the muscles to strengthen them and stretch the connective tissues.  In the end, I had to demonstrate my lack of range of motion by trying to do yoga with Tyche.  The fact that I could barely even do half of the poses hurt my ego more than it hurt my body.

“Enhancer,” the Miys buzzed in a questioning tone. “You and Tyche genetically possess both ligamentous laxity and hypermobile joints, causing a greater base range of motion than the Terran average.  Please explain why you wish to be more flexible beyond what you are already capable of?”

I rubbed my stiff spine before answering. “Humans are like that. If there is something unique about us, sometimes it feels good physically to cultivate that.  For example, I had a friend growing up who was able to both perceive and vocally produce sounds with perfect accuracy.  In English, we call this perfect pitch. Rather than just be happy with that, he learned to play every Terran instrument he possibly could, so that he could make music not just by singing, but by playing instruments. He found it challenging: he could already make perfect music through singing, and had a substantial range. But that did not extend to instruments, so he had to actually teach himself to play these instruments with very high precision.”

“I would have very much liked to find someone with perfect pitch,” it hummed wistfully. “However, of those who survived the condition of your planet, none with perfect pitch were found.  I certainly tried. The concept was very exciting, both for me and for my home world. What would they look like?”

Now, I was kind of bummed about it, too. What would Ronnie have looked like to a species who saw through sound? Despite the fact that his face had blurred in my memories after so many years, I do remember how kind he was, and that alone always compelled me to remember him as beautiful and vibrant.  Maybe he would have been beautiful and vibrant to the Miys, too, in their equivalent of crystal clarity and surround sound.  The idea lifted my heart a bit.

In addition to working on returning to my previous peak physical condition (pre-End, before malnutrition was as common as breathing), I focused on familiarizing myself with the ship. After a rowing argument with my food console when I tried to order Shepherd’s Pie, I stomped to one of the communal eating areas and decided to socialize.  I had struggled with the console from the first time I tried it on my own. Most international food worked okay, but comfort food was just not cooperating.  The Miys already confirmed that there was no restriction on my console, as I had no dietary restrictions from a medical standpoint.  It was unable to explain why the console had difficulty with certain dishes, however, as the consoles were specially installed for the Terran cargo. The Miys just ate its standard rations to sustain its several bodies, and apparently that was all they ate, even on their home planet. I was curious enough to tag that for further interrogation later. Right now, I wanted one thing and one thing only.

As I navigated into more populated areas, I paused to compose myself: Stand tall, head up, shoulders back, smile on my face. After all, the Miys expected me to help lead in some capacity; I knew from previous experience on Earth that humans generally prefer to be led by someone who seem confident, but approachable and somewhat likable.  Essentially, this was my public debut to the rest of the ship, so I needed it to be a good impression, whether the rest of the ship knew that or not. Being frustrated and hangry was no excuse.

Once I entered the common area, I immediately saw that it was roughly the size of an Ikea food court: large enough to be left alone, but small enough to be social if you chose to be. Very considerate.  A quick scan of the room showed several freshly prepared options to one side, and a bank of food consoles on the other.  My brows furrowed at the consoles before I made my way over to scan the freshly prepared food. To my chagrin, the fresh food was rather boring but hearty fare.  It looked good, but it wasn’t what I had a craving for.  Miys did not understand the concept of cravings, so this was another struggle I would have to explain at a later date.

In defeat, I shuffled over to the food synthesizers, praying to whatever deity would listen that one of the damned things would produce what I wanted. Three synthesized (and subsequently recycled) meals later, I still could not get my meal.  While considering defeat, I held my arms at my side, fingers splayed, tipped my head back, and took a deep breath to calm myself so that I would not start screaming like a madwoman in the middle of a crowd.  After a slow count of twenty – ten had stopped working at the previous synthesizer – I was about to just order something else when someone walked up behind me.  With survival instincts required by someone who survived nearly a decade in an apocalypse, I whirled to confront what my lizard-brain had dubbed ‘attacker’.

A dark-skinned woman backed up at my aggressive stance, hands in the air, showing they were empty. “I just want to assist you. I know the look of someone who is trying to find food from home and cannot obtain it from the console.”

I shriveled on the inside as I relaxed on the outside. “Is it that obvious?”

She chuckled before extending her hand. “Only because we have all experienced it. I am Arantxa. For me, it was bacalao al pil pil. The console continued to give me battered and fried cod! So angering!  Finally, the console was reprogrammed when I was able to find someone who knew how to make it.”

I took her hand as I melted in relief. “I will gladly try that tomorrow if you can find me someone who can get this thing to give me Shepherd’s Pie. I love trying new food, but right now….” I trailed off.

She gave me a curious look, “Yes, nothing else will do. I see the problem, however. When you name that dish, I only hear ‘language conflict’ in my translator. Do you know what nation the dish comes from?”

“Wait,” I held up a hand in front of me. “What do you mean ‘language conflict’?”

Arantxa tilted her head before responding, “The implants translate any language you are hearing into your native language. Did they not explain that?”

“Not like that, no,” I confessed. “I thought it just translated their language into English.”

She immediately seemed to understand, because she gave a short nod before continuing. “We have people from many nations here, and we would never be able to establish a colony if we did not understand each other. So, the implant does not just translate their language, it translates any language spoken by a person with such an implant into your native tongue.” Arantxa gestured to herself, “I am Basque. My language is a dying one, so I am particularly glad of this. But I do not speak even a little English, as I was so young when Terra died.  So, my implant and your implant are trying to find a common name for the food you are asking for, but there is no exact reference in my language and several references in other languages. This causes a conflict until the database is updated to include your term and its reference.”

I nodded before responding to her previous question. “It’s Irish as far as I know, but anyone from the former UK or Ireland can probably recognize it.”

She looked satisfied as she nodded. She turned and walked over to a particular person before bringing him to me. “Conor,” she said decisively, “this is…?”

“Sophia,” I supplied.

“Sophia,” Arantxa continued. “She is struggling to get the dish she would like, and I think you can help her.” With that, Arantxa waved at us both before returning to her meal.

As I turned to Conor, I held out my hand. “Sophia, from America.”

“Conor, from Ireland,” he shook my hand with a slight smile. “What is it you’re craving?”

I blew out a breath of relief. “Shepherd’s Pie. Please. I’ve tried several different synthesizers, and I....nothing comes out right.”

Conor simply nodded before addressing the console. “Two servings of Shepherd’s Pie, please. And to drink…” he glanced at me.

“Sauvignon Blanc?” I asked hopefully.

He dutifully ordered my drink.  Surprisingly, the synthesizer produced two beautiful, mouth-watering portions of my heart’s desire, along with a glass of wine.  To my surprise, Conor picked up my tray and gestured with his head for me to follow him back to his table.  He had previously been sitting alone, so I was confused as to why he wanted me to join him.

After setting my tray down and chuckling at the groan of satisfaction I made when I took the first bite, the reason became apparent. “The replicators are finicky,” he chuckled. “And they particularly don’t like English. Between the Queen’s English and that hodge-podge you speak, it gets confused a lot.”

“So,” I asked around a forkful before swallowing. “How do I get it to make this for me?”

He grinned and shrugged, “the Miys update the database fairly frequently, so they can simply add ‘Shepherd’s Pie’ to the terms for the dish.”

“And how did you convince the synthesizer to give up the goods?”

“I asked nicely?”

I arched a brow at that, gazing silently.

“I asked in Irish,” he relented with a laugh. Either I was very funny, or Conor was very cheerful.

“So what is the Irish term for this?” I gestured at the serving left after I shoveled the first serving down.

Rather than replying verbally, Conor pulled a tablet out of his pocket and started typing. When he turned the tablet to me, I realized the dilemma.

Pióg an aoire

I nearly choked on my wine. “I don’t think I can pronounce that, honestly,” I admitted. “And I’m willing to bet that you can’t teach me either, can you?”

Conor confirmed my suspicions with a shake of his head. “Nope. It will just translate into American if I try.”

“And how long does it take the database to update.”

“Oh, just a week.”

I could live with a week. However, I thought of another dish that I enjoyed that may need to be added. “Conor, do they already have coney pie in the database?” Despite living on the stuff for several years, I really did enjoy it.

“Rabbit pie is, yes,” he confirmed before leaning forward with furrowed brows. “How likely are you to know the term for something in a different language?”

Slightly confused, I answered, “Well, I really loved to cook and eat before the world went to shit, so there is a lot of food I know the correct term for, or the term in another language. Why?”

He flashed another grin before sitting back and stretching. “You and I,” he ticked an index finger between us, “are going to get along great. I’ve been dying for what Americans call French toast, and all I can get is toasted baguette. None of the French speakers seem to hear the right term for it, all they hear is ‘toast’ apparently. I’ve managed eggie in a basket, but if you can get me that, we are square, and you may be my favorite person.”

I suppressed a chuckle before I asked, “You haven’t happened to have met a much smaller person who looks like me, named Tyche, have you?” I knew for a fact my sister spoke nearly flawless French and could have accomplished this for him before I ever woke up.

Conor simply shook his head. “Only been on board a few weeks. Why?”

“No reason,” I smirked. “When do you want your French toast?”

His eyebrows flew up at that. “Now, preferably. I’ve had a craving ever since I woke up. It’s my favorite breakfast.”

I finished my wine and dropped the glass in a recycler before walking to the console.

“Pain perdu and a glass of sauvignon blanc, please,” I announced triumphantly.

Leading had to start somewhere.  Breakfast is a good place, I thought in amusement.

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[missrosienorris]

Life at the moment

So, in my last post I set up some goals for myself. Now, the truth is that I quite rarely accomplish my goals, partially because I apparently tend to set them a bit high at times and partially because I have the patience of a gnat and am not good with long projects that require a lot of planning and time. (As attested to by my atrocious, still-not-finished thesis. It’s not the amount of work as it is really not much harder than my day job, it’s having the patience to keep at it, especially when it’s boring af.) This time I did surprisingly well, even though it didn’t go exactly as I had planned it out.

Firstly, I said I would find myself a therapist. The situation on that front took an unexpected but somewhat interesting turn that I find myself increasingly cool with. But let me start by saying that HOLY SHIT trying to find a therapist in Finland is a garbage process and someone really needs to get on that. First of all, you get no help, zip, nada, zero. You have to scour the internet yourself and try to weed out some candidates in a sea of lacking descriptions, lacking contact information, lacking everything. But I am adept at the internet, so I did.

I wrote ten therapists who seemed to somewhat fit my criteria (which were pretty much woman, CBT-leaning, experienced and available to take on new patients). Half of them never replied, three weren’t able to take on new patients even though their sites said they were, one was in the middle of some iffy moving arrangement that I didn’t feel like dealing with and the only one I actually met started the session by telling me how lackluster my prognosis was and then when I talked about my family she explained how she knows that although we’re so big on equality nowadays she always sees these mental health problems in families where the mother is more in control than the father, and I was like yeah. No.

So at this point I was like fuck me, this is hopeless. But then I had a chat with the psychologist that’s covered by my healthcare benefits at work, and she was like “you know, we just made a deal about what kind of healthcare will be covered by your employer this year, and they’re going to cover group therapy. I think that could work pretty well for your situation, would you be interested in it?” Now in the past I was socially awkward to a painful degree so I had always ruled out group therapy from the get-go, so my first instinct was to decline, but then I though about it some and changed my mind. Over the last few years I have found that I’m actually rather sociable, my social skills have improved considerably and opening up about my mental health issues to perfect strangers has never been an issue for me as I don’t keep that stuff secret anyway so I though hey, why not give it a shot.

So that’s what I’m doing. It’s still in it’s infancy, as I have only done the two initial interviews so far and not met the group yet, but I am feeling really good about it. The psychologist who will be running the group is very experienced and also quite nice as a person, I feel like she gets me and perhaps best of all, she has no problem with using hard science and medical terminology, which is immensely helpful to me. I don’t believe it’s healthy to be excessively focused on diagnosis since mental health is so complex and variable, but I find that having a label for some of the soup that is my mind helps me de-clutter and honestly makes me feel less like a crazy person. For example, I had realized that my constantly low mood probably isn’t normal and my intense health worries are rather obsessive, but hearing a professional actually say “PDD” and “OCD” sort of validates that the problem isn’t just that I’m a weird-ass dingbat and overreacting, I have some legit disorders and that isn’t my fault. (Which obviously doesn’t mean that I don’t need to do anything about them or that I can use them as an excuse for behaving like a shit, don’t worry, I’m not going down that route.) Her using the proper terms and not being vague and roundabout also makes me feel like I’m being treated like an adult and not babied, which is important to me since I really really hate being treated like I lack the ability to comprehend shit. So that’s where that’s at, and I’m feeling optimistic.

Secondly, I said I would resolve my existing vet bills, set aside some money for unexpected vet expenses, get older cat’s stomach under control and make sure the new cats have insurance. This I have mostly done. The bills are paid, and although I have not technically set aside a specific sum of money I now have a credit card that is reserved for unexpected vet bills only. I have not used it at all yet. Older cat’s stomach is still acting up some, it appears he has a bit of IBD, but the diet and medication has been re-vamped again and the situation has improved. And pet insurance has been added to my insurance package, although obviously it does not cover older cat due to the large amount of pre-existing conditions. But it covers the babies.

Third, the babies. That has been an interesting ride. I did adopt from a shelter as I said I would, but the cats ended up being a girl and a boy instead of two girls like I had planned, not that that matters much. The thing that went funny is the age. They were estimated to be around 6 months of age, and they were about the typical size for that age so I thought nothing of it. But when they had been with me for about a week I took the boy to the vet because he was peeing like 7 or 8 times a day which is quite often and I wanted to make sure he didn’t have a UTI. (Which he didn’t. Apparently he just has a small bladder.) Anyway, during the examination the vet checked his teeth and was like “yeah, this one is definitely like 1-2 years old rather than 6 months, his teeth are quite developed and really need a cleaning”. So he’s technically not a baby, and I need to have his teeth cleaned, but honestly that’s no biggie, shit happens. I was slightly peeved that the shelter hadn’t checked the teeth, that’s pretty routine, but they were very cooperative when I reported it to them and are even paying a part of the cost of the cleaning, so it’s all good. I don’t blame them for being mistaken about the age, because he is very small for an adult cat and the vet told me it’s actually rather difficult to determine a cat’s age. So we’re heading in for a teeth cleaning in about a week, and I’m taking the girl with me too so the vet can check whether her age estimate was more accurate (they are not from the same litter, they just lived together at one of the shelter volunteers’ place while looking for a home). She is growing a bunch though, which he doesn’t seem to be, so her estimate might be closer to the truth. And if it isn’t, whatever. They’re sweet, sterile, chipped, vaccinated and checked for FIV and FeLV, and that’s way more important than the age being bang on the mark.

The first weeks with the newbies have gone nicely. I will refer to them as girl kitty and boy kitty for now, since I guess at least for the boy, kitten wouldn’t be accurate and the girl is honestly already too big in size to be called a kitten because she really grows like a weed. Both have adjusted really well to their new environment despite being very shy at first. Older cat has taken well to them too and there has been almost zero conflict between them and him, I think he hissed at girl kitty like once when she was being too forward and that was it. Now they all sleep in the same bed and particularly girl kitty and older cat are becoming very close.

Girl kitty is still a little reserved towards people and you can’t really pick her up yet, but if you let her come to you on her own accord she is quite friendly and cuddly. She seems like she might become quite a big cat and has quite strong legs, so she jumps and climbs a lot. She’s quite playful, but a bit shy about playing with people. She’s constantly getting braver though, so I think she might be more people-loving in the future. (And if she isn’t, that’s fine too. Not every cat has to love sitting on your lap or being picked up, as long as it’s possible to handle them if they need to be given medicine or boxed up for travel it’s all dandy.)

Boy kitty on the other hand is quite a people-lover. He often rolls around on his back on the floor looking for cuddles and is fine with being picked up as well. He is not yet quite sure about sitting on your lap for more than a little while, but I have a feeling he might be the type to do that in the future. One thing he hasn’t quite comprehended yet is that people aren’t toys and don’t really like being nibbled on, even if the nibbles are obviously playful and definitely not bites. So I’m trying to teach him that, hopefully he’ll pick up on it. Boy kitty is extremely active and playful and will play with people, other cats, by himself, whatever works. He’s not as good a jumper as girl kitty but quite adept at climbing. He’s also a bit of a rascal and has already chewed a pair of my headphones and sometimes annoys girl kitty with his roughhousing. But in general they like each other quite well, they often sleep on top of each other and lick each other’s coats.

So that’s life at the moment. I still miss younger cat heaps, dream about her and cry about her regularly, but I think I’ll live. And older cat isn’t lonely anymore, which has done him good, so that’s a big relief.

[bevioletskies]

i heard it through the grapevine

characters: gamora & valkyrie, peter/gamora (mentioned)

summary: gamora has had a long day. valkyrie is having a surprisingly good day. a new friendship might be in the works.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: this is (barely) part of my 20 questions 'verse, so all you need to know is that the characters attend a superhero school on earth, though this is 99% based off of their mcu counterparts. there's a tiny bit of thor: ragnarok spoilers in here as well. i just really want gamora & valkyrie friendship in IW/A4, but i figured here in my own mash-up universe would also be a pretty good start!

fic title is from the song i heard it through the grapevine by marvin gaye, since they discuss each other's backstories from what they've heard from other characters, but otherwise don't look too closely into the lyrics or anything, haha

ao3 | tag | masterpost

Gamora practically stomped her way into the bar, the squelch of her boots ringing through her ears rather unpleasantly, though she couldn’t be bothered to wipe off the blood. Yes, blood. The last mission might have been a little messier than originally planned. Whatever, her plan right now was alcohol first, shower second.

The crowd parted almost instantly upon her arrival, partially because it was Gamora, but mostly because of the stench. She threw herself into one of the barstools with an exhale of satisfaction, alleviating the ache in the arches of her feet, before turning towards the bot bartender. “My usual, please.”

A slow chuckle to her right jolted her out of the thoughts racing about in her brain. “I can’t tell if you just had the best or worst job of your life.”

Gamora couldn’t help but laugh herself, dipping her head abashedly before turning towards the other person. “When it comes to the Guardians? It’s always a ‘both’ situation, never an ‘either or’.” She smiled at her companion, quirking an eyebrow at the large beer stein in her hands. “Bad day, Val?”

“On the contrary,” Valkyrie grinned impishly, pursing her lips as she raised her glass in victory. “I had a damn good day. So I’m celebrating.”

Now Gamora was curious, turning in the squeaky barstool to face her. “Celebrating what?”

“Loki tried to pull a fast one on me. I knocked him on his arse for his troubles, not that it was going to turn out any other way,” Valkyrie replied with an impressive roll of her eyes. The bot returned with Gamora’s drink, letting out a disconcerting series of beeps before gingerly offering her a towel. Relenting, she accepted it and began wiping down her shoes. “So, what happened on this mission of yours that took you straight here? Without your team, no less.”

“Just...needed the night off, I guess. From their ridiculousness,” Gamora added. “Sometimes I think I’m the only sane Guardian around.”

Valkyrie nearly snorted into her beer mug. “Sane, right. I doubt you’re without your...quirks.”

Gamora slammed down her bottle a little harder than necessary on the bar. The bot nearby gave out a squawk of surprise. “You don’t know me,” she reminded her, her eyes darkening.

“Relax, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Valkyrie simply waved a hand in her general direction as if it explained everything she was trying to convey. “And I mean, I’d like to. Come on, Gamora, we’re both non-Terran girls with swords that like nothing more than a good fight. You never considered the idea of us being friends?”

“You suggesting being friends?” Gamora laughed with a little more derision than she intended, though Valkyrie didn’t seem all that offended. “When you first got here, you seemed more antisocial than my sister, and that’s truly saying something.”

“Well, can you blame me? This school is mental, even compared to Sakaar.” Valkyrie stared down her mug for a moment, swishing it around with a flick of her wrist. She seemed almost mesmerized by the movement. Gamora briefly wondered if she was already getting a little inebriated. “Fine, you don’t want to be friends. Whatever. I was just hoping to find someone to talk to that wasn’t a goddamn Asgardian.”

“Aren’t you Asgardian?” Gamora asked. “When that Hela woman came here, searching for Thor...she recognized you.”

“They’re conceited, the lot of them. ‘Asgardian pride’, they call it.” Valkyrie took another generous swig. “Well, I call it complete and utter shite. Their whole damn history is something to be ashamed of. Them and their family feuds.”

When Valkyrie seemed like she wasn’t going to elaborate, Gamora instead turned in her stool to face the rest of the bar, observing the other students. Some of them were watching a sports game on television - what kind of game, Gamora couldn’t tell - while others were chatting away at the pool tables, likely complaining about their professors as they often did. Sometimes, it was hard to understand them, or alternately, for them to understand her. “We can be friends,” Gamora said quietly. “I think we’ve both spent enough of our lives being lonely. We could use the company.”

“Oh, I had plenty of company back on Sakaar,” Valkyrie said, grinning salaciously. Gamora had a feeling she wasn’t talking about just friendship, or even really thinking of friendship at all. “That was never a problem. It’s the freedom here that’s weird. The Grandmaster might pretend that my being a scrapper meant I wasn’t one of his so-called ‘prisoners with a job’, but it wasn’t like I could exactly disappear off the face of the planet and not expect consequences.”

“And what about before Sakaar?” Gamora prompted. “I’ve heard tales of it from my time with Thanos, but I’ve never been there. It doesn’t sound like the kind of place where you would raise children. You did grow up on Asgard, didn't you? Did you know Thor then?”

“Please,” Valkyrie chuckled. “I’m much older than you think. I’m older than Thor.” Very suddenly, a sobering look passed her face, her eyes somewhat glassy as she fixated on some random spot behind the bar. Gamora turned to see if she could tell what Valkyrie was looking at, but she was simply just staring off into space. “Valkyrie isn’t actually my name, though it looks like it’s gonna stick. It’s the title I had back on Asgard. I led a battalion of women called the Valkyrie who would guide the fallen to Valhalla. And, one day, we had to take on Hela. It didn’t end well.”

“Meaning…” Gamora’s mind was racing with the possibilities, though there was really only one conclusion she could arrive at.

“Meaning I’m the only one left.” She slammed her mug viciously against the counter, sloshing beer everywhere. The bot tittered at her, flinging another dishrag, this time in Valkyrie’s face. She spat at the bot in retaliation, smirking to herself as it cowered and slinked off like a scolded cat. She wiped her forearm across her mouth at the bit of beer foam that had been left behind. “You know, I’ve heard stories about you. The ‘deadliest woman in the galaxy’, they say? And how you lost your family? I know a little bit of what that’s like.”

Gamora could feel her fingernails digging into her palms, though she knew Valkyrie didn’t mean it out of malice. Maybe they did have more in common than she initially realized. When Valkyrie had arrived at the academy, courtesy of Thor, who had dragged her back with him from one of his adventures, she had been snappish, a little violent, steely-eyed like no other. She hid herself among Thor and Hulk especially, and somewhat reluctantly, Loki as well. The others didn’t know what to make of her, had written her off as just another angry girl. But from what Gamora had observed, even in those initial weeks since Valkyrie’s arrival, she could tell the other girl was recovering from years of just trying to survive, spending her days drinking and fighting and drinking again. The amount of free will she had here was probably disorienting, scary, even. Gamora had experienced that herself, at least, at first. Having the Guardians had made her considerably more comfortable over time, learning how to be with people that cared about her in a place that didn’t drain her very existence. Valkyrie would need time to get to that point herself, would need people who would offer her that time.

“It’s not something I like to relive,” Gamora murmured. “And I imagine the same goes for you.”

“I had to watch her sacrifice herself...right in front of me.” Valkyrie glanced at Gamora, giving her a tight smile. “My...my girlfriend.” She then let out an unsettlingly hollow laugh. “Why am I telling you all of this? I must be drunker than I thought. Not a good sign, I’m only getting started. Barkeep!” The bot grumbled to itself in more nonsensical beeps before reluctantly refilling her glass.

“We don’t have to talk about all this now,” Gamora offered as she drained the rest of her bottle. She was admittedly more curious than before, now knowing what she knew, but it wasn’t the right time, the right place, or even the right mindset. Her own brain was beginning to fuzz a little around the edges from her drink.

“Good, because I don’t want to,” Valkyrie said shortly, though not unkindly. “Tell me, is there anything fun to do around here? I’ve already been to all the places that serve alcohol on this campus, but what if I want to just fight? Not for my life, but just for the fun of it. I miss a good tussle, especially the kind that don’t involve Loki’s tricks.”

“It’s always a good adrenaline rush, isn’t it?” Gamora smiled a little at this. She was beginning to grow uncomfortable with how uneasy Valkyrie had seemed just moments ago. This right here, this seemed less like uncharted territory, and more like common ground. “Well, I’m assuming you’ve already signed up for combat classes with Ares, but I’m also running a fight training extracurricular with my sister in the new semester. You’re welcome to join in, maybe help us with some demonstrations? It’d be nice to have some other perspective on how to fight with a sword.”

“Maybe I will,” Valkyrie nodded. She leaned in a little, poking Gamora in the shoulder with a single finger. Now she seemed well on her way to being tipsy, if the frequency of her pokes were any indication. “Y’know what, Gamora? You’re not so bad. I heard talk around campus about how you’ve got a real hard edge, but you seem alright.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Gamora wrinkled her nose in distaste. Valkyrie’s breath was stronger than she had anticipated. “I also know all the hiding spots on campus, if you like to people-watch.”

“That’s more like it,” Valkyrie beamed. “I need my fill of entertainment, now that I don’t have the Contest of Champions to look forward to. I imagine there’s all sorts of drama with this amount of so-called ‘heroes’ around.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Gamora said with a good-natured eye roll. “I ask myself every day if this is how Terrans usually live, or if it’s just a disproportionate amount of flashy personalities among our campus population, my boyfriend included.”

Valkyrie let out another hearty laugh, notably cheered up from just moments ago. She held up her glass, paying no mind as it slopped a little bit onto her arm. The bartender bot let out a resigned sigh from behind her. “I’ll drink to that. And to friendship, apparently.”

“Sure.” Gamora held up her empty bottle, ignoring Valkyrie’s side-eye at its vacancy. “To friendship.”

a/n: just a quick little drabble that was rattling around in my brain, since i want to incorporate valkyrie into future fics as one of gamora's friends. i hope i got her characterization down right, i've only watched ragnarok once so far (and i'm already in love with valkyrie, honestly who isn't?). constructive criticism of how i've written her would be especially helpful for the future!

for those of you regularly reading the 20 questions 'verse, thanks so much for doing so! the next fic will be posted on christmas day, though you can also check my WIP page to see what's coming after that, too. likes and reblogs as always would be lovely, and i'll see y'all next time!

[faeriexqueen]

An Oath to Stay

DGM Rare Pair Week Day 1; Monday, October 30th – Purple, Royalty, Creativity, Determination, Opulence, Wisdom, Maturity. 

Title: An Oath to Stay Pairing: Anita x Mahoja (Royal Pair)

Words: 1977

Summary: Ten years ago, Mahoja made a promise to Anita.

Read on AO3.

Anita had hardly spoken a word since the news came. Mahoja was worried.  She knew that Anita’s isolation came from grief; at only seventeen, Anita had just learned that her mother had passed.   No – Anita had just learned that her mother had been killed. It was disturbing news.  Death was a difficult enough subject for most people to swallow.  Even with it being a natural part of life, the concept of never seeing someone again with such a sense of finality was a heavy one.  Mahoja herself couldn’t even say for certain how she would deal with someone close to her dying – she had never known her family, and had never experienced ties so close that the thought of death truly rattled her. People got sick.  People were violent.  People died.  Mahoja had seen it often enough after years of being on her own, living in the streets, and working one shitty job after the next. Death was inevitable. Even with such things in mind, this particular instance was already more difficult to handle than Mahoja was prepared for.  It had been a shock to everyone to hear that mistress and owner of the brothel was no longer alive.  Anita’s mother had been a woman of incredible influence, with a will of iron and impeccable beauty to match.  To think of such a woman succumbing to such a gruesome end was…startling.  Even more so considering how she died. ‘An akuma attack…’ Mahoja mused somberly.   Mahoja honestly did not know the details – she had not been present at the time of the attack.  It had happened in town though, and a large amount of people had been injured while several were killed in the crossfire.  Anita’s mother had unfortunately been one of them, having simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A thin line appeared on Mahoja’s lips as she thought about this.  She knew it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t been present, and her primary response was to protect Anita.  That was Mahoja’s job: to act as a guard for Anita.  The mistress had her own protection. Still, this didn’t eliminate the knot that had formed within Mahoja’s core.  This didn’t eliminate the fact that the mistress had so graciously taken Mahoja in, and offered her work while actually being kind to her.  And this certainly didn’t eliminate the fact that Anita was now suffering over this. Exhaling, Mahoja looked at the closed door in front of her.  It was Anita’s room, and although it was well past midnight Mahoja could see that the light was on.   Mahoja hesitated. She didn’t wish to disturb Anita, but she also was not able to ignore the steadily increasing anxiousness she felt regarding Anita’s well-being.  Was Anita alright?  Probably not. Anita just had not been the same since the tragedy occurred just a week ago.  Mahoja could still vividly recall the moment Anita was given the news, and how the color had instantly drained from the seventeen-year-old’s face.  Anita did not speak the rest of the day. The barely audible sound of shuffling inside caught Mahoja’s attention, and before she could delay any longer Mahoja knocked on the door.  The inside of the room quieted again. A few seconds passed before a response could be heard faintly through the door.  “Who is it?” Mahoja felt a small wave of relief.  At least Anita had responded.  “Mahoja,” She answered. Another few seconds passed, but Mahoja waited. It was not long before she could hear the door unlock before a soft “come in.” Mahoja opened the door, closing it softly behind her.  She spotted Anita sitting on the floor as she put something away – a flash of gold caught Mahoja’s eyes, but she didn’t focus her attention on whatever items Anita had been preoccupying herself with.  Instead, she focused on Anita.   Small, delicate Anita who looked so vulnerable in that moment.   Like her mother had been, Anita was in the habit of always making sure she was presentable and put together.  But tonight she was bare-faced, with not a speck of make up and her hair tied back simply.  She had not yet looked directly at Mahoja, but Mahoja could see that Anita’s eyes were not red or puffy.  It was a good sign, as it meant Anita hadn’t been crying.  Mahoja hated the idea of Anita crying. Anita didn’t speak, and remained quietly on the floor.  Her attention still appeared to be on the box she had just had opened. After a moment, Mahoja broke the silence. “I wanted to check on you, mistress,” She offered.  “You spend most of the day in your room-“ “I’m fine.” The answer came a little sharply, and Mahoja immediately closed her mouth.  While she was concerned for Anita, her goal was not to cross any lines or boundaries. She realized that perhaps seeking Anita out might have not been the most appropriate decision. There was a slight awkwardness Mahoja felt, but it melted away as Anita turned to face her more directly.  An apologetic look was in Anita’s eyes.   “I’m sorry – I did not mean to sound so harsh,” Anita amended gently, the sincerity in her voice evident.  “Thank you for checking on me.” Mahoja simply nodded in acknowledgement. “Would you like me to leave you for the night?” Anita paused, then shook her head. “No…no, you can stay,” She answered quietly before glancing away.  “I don’t want to be alone right now.” For the second time Mahoja nodded, and again was silent.  She could see that Anita’s gaze had again turned to the box as a forlorn look appeared on her face.  Her dark eyes which usually sparkled so vibrantly were now dull and dry, and the young girl just looked tired.   Had Anita been sleeping at all? Mahoja was at a loss of what to do as she remained leaning back against the door.  Her brow was creased in concern.  Anita needed to take care of herself – now that her mother was gone, the responsibilities of the brothel would inevitably fall on Anita.  Not to mention any responsibilities involving the support Anita’s mother had been giving to the Black Order – although, whether Anita would continue to support such an organization was not set in stone.   Mahoja was not for certain, but she speculated that Anita might have harbored some bitterness toward the Black Order: an organization of those committed to fighting the Holy War and destroying akuma. Anita’s mother had learned of it through the arrival of General Cross Marian, who had easily enough won the late mistress’s support and heart.  Cross had been present during the akuma attack that had taken the mistress’s life though, and Anita’s refusal to acknowledge Cross as little as possible after that day caused Mahoja to question how much Anita blamed on Cross. “These were the hairpieces my mother was going to give me,” Anita spoke, her voice breaking Mahoja’s train of thought. Eyes shifting, Mahoja’s gaze landed on Anita.   She could see a small smile painted on Anita’s lips, though the expression did not meet her eyes.   “My mother was going to give them to me when I turned eighteen, because that was what her mother did,” Anita was going on, before she looked at Mahoja and smiled sadly.  “I guess that won’t be happening now.” Mahoja’s heart unexpectedly twisted as Anita turned, standing to put the box away on her vanity.  The brawny young woman took a quiet breath, and pulled her gaze from Anita.  “You’re carrying a lot right now,” Mahoja commented, her words somewhat stiff.  She wasn’t sure exactly how to comfort Anita, and returned to her previous debate over inquiring about Anita’s sleep. Warily, Mahoja looked back at Anita. “Have you been able to rest alright?” A small, dry laugh escaped Anita.  It was hollow and nothing like her usual laugh, which was often such a refreshing melody to Mahoja.  “No,” Anita answered.  “How could I?” Mahoja wasn’t sure how to answer, or even if such was truly warranted.  But Anita then kept speaking.  “I haven’t slept once since the news of my mother’s passing.  If I close my eyes for too long I start to envision how she might have died,” Anita spoke, voice becoming distant.  “Then I wonder if one day the same will happen to me…” The words were startling to Mahoja, and she immediately felt her composure crack.  “That won’t happen,” She reassured swiftly.   Anita appeared surprised by the change in Mahoja’s tone, and Mahoja realized she needed to gather herself.   She spoke again, but was careful to keep her words more controlled.  “I’m sorry – it’s just I wasn’t there to help protect your mother, but I will be there to protect you,” Mahoja clarified.  She hesitated slightly before lowering her gaze.  “You don’t need to fear anything now.” At first, Anita said nothing.  She merely stared at Mahoja a moment longer, their eyes meeting.   Mahoja was faintly aware of her own breath catching in her throat, but was unable to look away.  She was torn between gratitude and yearning when Anita finally averted her eyes. “General Cross should be more like you. If he had maybe my mother would be alive,” Anita murmured.  While her words were quiet, there was a notable bitterness to her statement.  “I even told the general I hated him when he asked me.” Surprisingly, another small smile appeared on Anita’s lips – though this time her eyes glistened, and the smile was tearful. “Do you know what he said, Mahoja? He said I would grow to be a good woman,” Anita spoke, before laughing softly as her dark eyes shone tearfully. “I don’t know why my mother would fall for such a man.  I don’t know why she would-“ Anita’s words cracked, causing her speech to break abruptly as tears began to stream down her face.   Mahoja froze, not knowing what to do. Anita was now just standing there beside the vanity, crying brokenly.  With each passing second Mahoja could feel her own heart break a little more, and the sight before her was quickly becoming unbearable to watch. What could Mahoja do though? An instinctual pull suddenly came over Mahoja, and before she realized what she was doing she approached Anita, quickly pulling the other girl into her arms.  Anita felt tiny in Mahoja’s embrace; Mahoja was careful as she held her, almost as though Anita were composed from the most fragile of porcelain. Anita seemed to reciprocate the embrace, clutching at Mahoja’s shirt while she buried her face, crying still. “M-Mahoja,” Anita sniffled in between sobs, “Y-You won’t leave me, like she did, right?” Mahoja shook her head despite that Anita’s face was still buried in her chest.  “No, mistress,” Mahoja soothed, as she ran a hand down the back of Anita’s head.  “I promise I’ll stay here to serve you always.” Still crying, Anita nodded as she continued to cling to Mahoja tightly.  She felt limp in Mahoja’s grasp, so gently Mahoja guided Anita down so that they were sitting on the floor.  Gingerly, she cradled Anita as the young mistress continued to weep openly.  “It’s okay,” Mahoja continued to comfort softly. “I won’t leave you.  I’ll stay by your side – I promise.” Anita nodded once more, but cried still. Soon her sobs slowed to a soft crying though. Mahoja still held Anita.  She didn’t want to leave her mistress alone in such a state, and unless Anita asked her to leave Mahoja didn’t anticipate moving. She would stay all night if necessary. It wasn’t long before Anita’s breath steadied, and Mahoja eventually realized that Anita had fallen asleep.  Mahoja didn’t mind though, and if anything was grateful that Anita would hopefully get some rest that night. And Mahoja didn’t mind staying there all night. She had promised to stay by Anita’s side, after all.

[friendlyunclej]

Baician Memoirs: Pride of a Family Man

Prologue

     I left my home about a month ago and I use the term “left” loosely. More accurately, I was forced to leave after the Long Ears that rule over Draturi found me exhuming a corpse from the cemetery I looked over. The woman was killed by someone, her body mutilated by something inhuman. At least, that’s what the High Elves who ruled the city told me. I asked them if she had any family in the city, and they responded with an abrupt “No” before leaving in a hurry. After they had left her remains with me, I carried the body to my living quarters to prepare her for her burial.      I carefully removed her clothing, so as not to disrespect the woman more than she had already been. Without her clothes, it was a more horrific sight than what I was originally faced with. Her head was already a gruesome sight. It was torn to shreds, nothing to reveal her identity above the lips. The right side of her head was nowhere to be seen aside from a few strips of dead flesh and viscera. There was barely a piece of her left eye still in the socket, or what one could consider a socket. The left side of her face still had barely enough attached for me to see that what looked to be whipping marks cut deep into her flesh. Her body was covered in deep bruises and dents where her ribs and bones should have prevented. A few ribs were even protruding from the skin after being broken so severely. Knowing the High Elves’ penchant for mistreatment of what they perceive as “lower races”, it didn’t take a High Arcanist to figure out that there was something more behind this story. I placed covers on her body and head, but left her mouth, which was surprisingly untouched, open as I surround the body with burning incense. I utter a few words to commune with the Raven Queen as the body slowly reanimates so I can ask her a few questions.      She was a mistress of one of the Elven leaders. The leader’s husband found out about her, beating her nearly to death in a fit of rage. This was nothing new. Many of the High Council have affairs. Very few kill those they have an affair with, though. After a few more questions, it was revealed that she wasn’t killed by the husband, but by the leader herself and a beast she kept as a pet. She revealed to me that her name was Daraline Yl’Liv. All of the Houses give their slaves their names, so I knew which family to question now. After burying her, I walked to the Yl’Liv House to pay for an audience with the heads of the house. They asked for why I desired their attention. I told them that it was about the woman I buried. They didn’t respond. That night, I tried to exhume the body to hopefully ask more questions. Guards paid off by the Yl’Liv House caught me with tools of their own for exhuming the body. After they shackled me, they burned the body and brought me to the council. They all agreed that I be exiled from the city for desecrating a corpse. None would listen to me as I told them the truth about the Yl’Liv family.      That happened about four weeks ago, closer to five now. I’ve been travelling from village to village since then. I tried to gain work as an undertaker, hoping to continue my career. A few villages almost took me up on the offer until they found out about my situation with the city of Draturi. While searching for an occupation within my career, I always had a small job working as a cook. People would be amazed by the flavors I could come up with, no matter the ingredients. As much as I enjoyed the undertaker business for letting me help the dead find peace, my true passion was always cooking. I probably should have listened to my brother’s advice and just made it my career from the beginning. As the weeks went on, the influence of the High Council began to follow me and, soon enough, no one would even allow me to enter their kitchen. Expecting my experiences to only worsen, I saved enough of the money I had and purchased proper tents and cooking wares before beginning to live in the forests outside the villages despite the worry of nearby Orc attacks. At this point, with how most of my life had gone, I figured that Orcs might actually be friendlier to me than the Elves ever were.      Thanks to my training within Draturi City, it was hard for someone to sneak up on me, much less an Orc. If there was one thing I could count on them for, it was to announce their arrival. An Orc tribe had made camp not too far out from a nearby village. The village was full of other Humans like me, but they shunned me before I could even knock on a door. When I tried to sleep protected from the rain inside of a barn, the farmer kicked me out without a moment to try to explain myself. I tried to procure some supplies and noone would accept my gold while some tossed me in jail, believing the High Council’s word about me defiling corpses after making a dark pact with an evil Elven deity. Due to the frequent unjust jailings and mistreatment I experienced, I decided not to warn the village about the impending Orc raid. I simply made camp a little bit out of the way, allowing the Orcs to pillage while listening to their screams. I’ll admit that being betrayed by my city and its neighboring villages might have made me rather spiteful.      The raid goes on during the late hours of the night and I’m cooking a stew while listening to the townsfolk’s screams. As the stew cooks slowly in a large pot hanging over the fire, the screams from town begin to quiet down a bit as many of townsfolk have been silenced by now. I’m not particularly proud about leaving them to the wolves, but I’m not too concerned with them as a female Orc approached my small campfire.

     As I stir my stew, I look over my left shoulder to her as I say, “A lot of screaming coming from town, yeah?”

     Coming to a halt as she holds her greataxe with a single fist, she asks with a pleasant voice that has a soft amount of gravel, “It doesn’t bother you?”

     I continue stirring so as to keep my nerves in control as I reply, “No, I never liked them much, anyway.” Unable to think of anything else to say, I offer, “Care for a bowl of soup?”

     I listen to her footsteps approach my left side as I wait for her response. I recall that my sword is behind the log I use as a bench, about 10 feet behind me so it’s too far for me to dash to. I’m betting that I’m not stronger than any Orc, especially as I’ve always been more interested in learning strategies instead of hand-to-hand combat. If it was combat based solely on technique, I could probably win but this isn’t a sparring match. I look to her as her feet stop moving and every thought in my mind flies out of my ears as she stuns me.      She grips her axe with both hands as she bends over the pot with her eyes closed and begins to sniff the pot. She has a beautiful wreathe of messy black hair on her head, half of which is draped down the left side of her face and the other half follows the arch of her back. She is the antithesis of every woman that surrounded me as I grew up in Draturi. Her jaw is defined and strong, like the rest of her body. Her skin was a sharp green, almost like underwater moss. She wore the hides of many animals, mainly wolves and bears from what was on her body. The lines on her back form a map from the top of her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. The crackling fire highlighted her body, defining musculature which I had only ever seen on some of the fiercest warriors. Across her body, she had scars all throughout her form, deeper and more numerous than my own. As I soaked in her body, I couldn’t help but smile as my thoughts of attacking while she was distracted left my mind. Her eyes opened and I saw a beautiful purple tint to her dark pupils.

     I watched her eye me up and down for a few moments before saying, “So, are you going to take the bowl or should I wait for you to stop leering at me?”

     She stood up straight and tightened her grip on her axe after that remark. Her arms rippled with muscle and I looked up to meet her fiery gaze with a look of restrained wonder. The scars across her nose and near her chin only added to her beauty as she said, “You know that I’m going to kill you?”

     Walking to the overturned tree with my sword behind it, I take a seat and place the bowl next to me as I reply, “Well, in that case, let me eat a dinner with a beautiful woman before I die.”

     She steps up to the edge of the log and slams the axe into the ground with a resounding thud. She drops her body into the log next to me as she picks up the bowl of soup and replies, “You’ll have to settle for me.”

My Heart

     It was almost a certainty that the tribe leader would allow me stay alive as an enslaved chef. Knowing that it would require me to prove my worth through a trial dinner, I ventured out and requested for some of the best ingredients that I knew was in the village they just pillaged. Cooking for them was made even more enjoyable as the tribe leader made the one who wished to keep me alive assist in gathering and cooking. As much as I tried to strike up conversation, the same female Orc who had tried my stew the night before wasn’t in a very talkative mood. We went about it in silence until dinner time. As I ate with the other slaves, the Orcs almost swallowed their plates as they devoured what was supposed to be a long night’s worth of food in a matter of minutes. They forced me to continue cooking, which I was first happy to do. However, I saw my captor be lead to a tent by the tribe leader. I had only a moment to be disheartened as the other Orcs shouted for more food. After dinner was done, I was made to wait in an animal pen for hours. It was almost the break of dawn until my captor left the Tribe Leader’s tent and found me. I was half asleep as she jerked me onto my feet by my collar and dragged me to her tent.

     I joked, “If you liked me that much, you could have just asked me to fol-” before being cut off by a punch across the jaw.

     As I fell to the ground, I couldn’t respond as she shouted, “You’re my prisoner, now. Where I go, you follow. Do you understand?”

     Rubbing my chin, I try to get another joke out by saying, “Can’t we at least get a drink together before you wrap a leash around my-”

     My words get cut off as she grabs me by the throat and lifts me off my feet with one hand, saying, “Do all humans talk this much?”

     Straining for air, I struggle to reply, “It’s a sign of comfort and caring to have someone try to share a conversation. I take it you’re not the conversation type, m’lady?”

     I feel her grip tighten as she snarls, “Don’t call me ‘lady’, Prisoner.”

     “Understood,” I reply as black begins to creep in from the edge of my vision.

     Her grip disappears from my neck and I drop back down to my feet. I barely manage to stay upright as she snorts, “Hmph, you’re still standing? So there is some strength in you.”

     Coughing a bit, I reply as she moves to a pile of pelts near her makeshift bed, “What do I call you then? Mistress?”

     Some small wolf pelts fly into my face as she replies, “Not that. That sounds strange,” as she lies in her bed.

     Looking around the room, I say, “I’m on the floor, I see.”

     She doesn’t respond, so I take that as a “yes” while I try to find a comfortable piece of the ground to rest on. I’ve had a fair number of captors before her, a Lord Dalton in Draturi and a Captain Brown in the City of Tyriok to name two of them. However, none gave me an odd desire to stay like this one had. Despite what she had showed me so far, something within told me that there was a kind side that could come out if I was persistent enough. Whether it was Dwuyddin guiding my mind or Aratuna guiding my lust, I wanted to get closer to her. If I’m being honest with myself, the real reason I stayed was to try to figure out why she made my chest pound like a drum even when she was threatening my life.      As the months began to pass, I managed to melt away at her defenses. I would try my best to prove myself worth keeping around, first by stitching her wounds. She would pull away like an injured fox when I first tried, but she gave in after a group of bounty hunters attacked the tribe. During the first month, I began to train my body to be as strong as my mind.      As she was the only one with a human prisoner she’d let get within five feet of her, I witnessed the other Orcs begin to turn a different cheek towards her. So as to counter their icy receptions, I would always greet her with a warm smile. Despite her seeing it as an insult in the beginning, she eventually returned my smile with one of her own instead of a fist. As the months passed, I also studied Orcish tactics to better understand how they fought and hunted.      The moment that I knew I had broken through to her came during the winter. It seemed that Orcs would usually pair with each other to stay warmer during the season. Because she had grown closer to me, none offered her a bed to share. I didn’t have a bed to offer, but I convinced her to share pelts under a tree. Luckily, I was even able to learn her name: Filoosh White-Mane. For these final weeks, I listened to specific names of deities, hoping to strengthen my pitch to my captor once the time was right to do so. Also, confident that it would result in me either running for my life alone or with company, I managed to send a messenger pigeon to my brother.      As we shared pelts under the same tree we had always taken shelter beneath, I chose to make an offer to her, certain that she would want it more than I. I began with trying to ask her if she ever considered leaving the tribe. Not responding positively to the thought of leaving, I continued to try to convince her to leave by describing the great differences between her and the rest of the tribe. She was always separated from the tribe, even before I arrived. She had been looking for a reason to leave and I offered her that. She didn’t believe that we were capable of surviving the hunters the tribe would send after us, much less the winter to come. Naturally, it became a fight as we grappled and rolled around on the ground. I was able to overpower her for a moment, helping persuade her a bit more before she finally agreed. We spent that night showing each other the more intimate differences between Humans and Orcs. Unfortunately, we awoke with little time to enjoy ourselves as hunters were on one side while a blizzard was on the other.      In Baicia, the two suns which travel the skies make the summers long and the winters more frigid than expected. This winter would be recorded in history as one of the worst in the past two decades. For the Orc tribe chasing Fi and I, it would be forever remembered as the worst winter of their history.       Before we could finish our night together, a couple of Orcs heard our grunts and gasps then found us together during their investigations. As they tried to dash back to camp to inform the tribe leader of what they had witnessed, Fi rolled off of me to grab her axe as I rushed one down before he could react. She chopped one almost in half from the clavicle to his hip while I managed to disarm the other, stabbing him with his own spear. I wrenched the full length of the weapon through his gut and jerked it through his back just as Fi turned to help. Grabbing our pelts and scavenging what we could from the two bodies, we ran deeper into the forests as a third Orc we hadn’t noticed returned to the tribe. We wouldn’t get a break from dashing through the forests until a number of hours later when the sharp snap of a blizzard hit us.      During the first week of our escape, Fi and I killed four of the five Orcs sent to hunt us. This winter began with a sharp and stinging blizzard, helping us ambush those that followed. As Fi and I slept huddled together for warmth, we argued about how to dispatch them.

     Fi began with, “I’m going to use my axe.”

     “That’s great, Fi, but we’re going to need a bit more strategy to take down five of your tribe,” I insisted, wrapping each other tighter in pelts.

     “Simple...I attack from the front, you attack from somewhere else,” Fi continued, still as straightforward as ever.

     “Well...” I paused, realizing that she was right, “That should actually work great, then.”

     “Good...” she said, laying down in a bundle of pelts, “Now, we can sleep.”

     Chuckling to myself, I joined her and found myself asleep in moments. As per usual, I never stayed asleep for longer than an hour or so. Seeing as how there was nowhere to go, I simply shuffled around slowly, so as not to wake her. Just before dawn broke, I slipped away and left a note written in Orkish for Fi to read when she woke up. I clamored up a tall tree, nearly being thrown off by the blizzard’s harsh winds numerous times, and waited for the hunting party to catch up to us.      As dawn broke, the hunting party began passing underneath me. Hoping that Fi read my message, I calmly waited for the correct moment. Just as the last Orc was passing directly beneath me, the tree adjacent to me fell down on two of them, pinning them to the ground. I immediately fell from my perch, slamming my spear through the shoulder of the Orc I used to soften my landing. With that one dead and pinned to the ground, I took the axe he was wielding and turned around to face one twice my size wielding an axe that was larger than him. Despite my handaxe practically being a splinter in comparison, I clenched my teeth, broke off the handle of the spear for an additional weapon, then dug my feet into the ground as I waited for him to charge.      After chopping away at the large foe’s lower joints and ligaments, I went for one final strike but he caught my axe as it was coming down to him. Without the strength to wrestle the weapon away from him, he tossed me aside like a ragdoll and I slammed into a nearby tree.

     As I picked myself up from the ground, I noticed Fi simply leaning against the tree with a raised eyebrow pointed my away as she asked, “Having trouble?”

     Cracking my back into place, I told her, “Nope...100% under control.”

     Without a sign of sarcasm, she replied, “100% looks painful. Is something being ‘100%’ supposed to be a good thing?”

     Releasing a heavy sigh as I found my handaxe, I saw that the fourth Orc of the party was beheaded behind her and that one of the two pinned under a tree was struggling to reach theirs.

     “Just...give me a moment, Fi. Could you make sure those two under the tree aren’t going anywhere?” I asked, walking towards the large Orc who was still unable to stand.

     Before I made it halfway, a spear flew passed my head and impaled the Orc through his right ear, making him crumple to the ground in death. When I turned back around, I saw Fi simply shrug at me before making her way towards the only two left alive. I joined her just as she kicked a sword away from the one scout that still had fight in her. I checked the other, who was actually impaled to the ground by one of the tree limbs.

     As I gently slapped the barely conscious Orc’s face, I asked Fi, “So, what did you think about the falling tree trick?”

     Slamming her axe into the ground directly next to the still pinned Orc, she responded as she leaned against it, “It was a bit funny to watch. I would have voted for something else, though. Are we executing these two?”

     I gripped my handaxe firm as I responded, “No...not both of them.”

     I raised the axe with both hands over my head and slammed it down on the impaled Orc’s neck just as his eyes opened. I kicked the loose head in front of the last living Orc’s eyeline, surprising Fi with the sudden brutality.

     “Now, here’s what you’re going to do,” I start to say in Orkish, speaking to the still alive and pinned hunter, “You are going to go back to your tribe and tell them that they will continue to lose more of their herd if they don’t leave us be. Do you understand?”

     Spitting at me, the Orc shouted back, “I’m no dog of yours! You don’t give me orders human!”

     “Then what if that order came from one of your own?” Fi interjected, “Leigh, take a knife to this one’s ears. She’ll listen then.”

     I took the knife from Fi’s belt and quickly grabbed the length of the pinned Orc’s ear and swiftly carved it off. She thrashed and screamed, nearly freeing her self from the tree that pinned her. Fi stomped the tree back down on the lower back of the woman before continuing to convince her to follow orders.      As they had a discussion in Orkish, I went about carving the ears off of the rest of the Orcs. I knew that the tribe would keep ears of those they killed. I was collecting them for a different purpose.

     As the tree was lifted off of the last surviving hunter, Fi said, “Now run back to the Tribe. Tell them that Filoosh White-Mane and her prisoner will paint the entire forest with the blood of any who attempt this again.”

     Before she could run off terrified, I tossed a small mane wrapped around the nine Orc ears to the runner as I said, “Bring them that. Hopefully, they won’t kill you on sight if you show them proof of everyone’s failure, not only yours.”

     As she ran off, Fi and I began to hurriedly loot each of the bodies, collecting what other pelts, kindling, sharpening stones, food, and other valuables we could carry. We both knew that they were going to send more, if they didn’t already have others around looking. Knowing that the tribe responds to spectacle more than speeches, I began to hack away at the various limbs of the dead Orcs.

     “Leigh, what are you doing?” Fi asked, “We need to collect and leave. Not kill the already dead.”

     “That’s not what I’m doing, Fi,” I tell her, just as I take another decapitated head and jam it into the stick I broke off of my old spear, “I’m leaving whoever follows a much stronger message than words.”

     Understanding what I intended to do, Fi began to chop thick limbs off of the overturned tree, sharpening them at both ends and sticking them into the ground. I piked each head onto a stand and used some loose ropes from the body’s torn armor to make the stands into mannequins of dismemberment. Unfortunately, or fortunately in this case, this wasn’t my first time leaving bodies in such a manner. It only took less than an hour to set up every mannequin before leaving with Fi. 

     For the rest of the week, we managed to travel relatively undisturbed, constantly moving whenever we heard the slightest voice. We found our way to a creek by the end of the first week, the weather still slowing us down. We used the kindling we scavenged to make a fire. Although it was weak in the frigid blizzard, it still helped keep us warm as we continued to plan our next move.

     “That was impressive, Leigh,” Fi said, eating another stew I was able to cobble together with the little food we managed to collect, “Creating statues out of dead parts. I should remember that one.”

     Not acknowledging it, I simply said, “It’ll take us nearly the whole winter to get to Draturi if this blizzard keeps up while the tribe is still on our tail. If we don’t get some type of luck or blessing soon, we may fall behind schedule.”

     Angry that I didn’t accept her compliment, Fi asked, “Is it normal for humans to ignore those saying nice things about them?”

     Sighing deeply, I simply continued, “If we fall behind schedule, my brother won’t be able to help us cross Draturi safely. Do you know any secrets about these hills that could help us?”

     “Maybe I do,” she said, still finding it rude that I won’t thank her, “Do you not like it when I speak kindly to you?”

     “Fi, we need to focus on the task at ha-” I began to say before looking up to see Fi standing over me with a frustrated look on her face.

     Believing that she was about to punch me for being rude, I stood up as well, taking a deep breath before nodding and motioning for her to give it to me. I closed my eyes as she grabbed my collar and, much to my surprise, wrapped her arms around me. In an awkward feat of strength, she lifted me up off of the ground and swung me around like a small child.

     Confused, I asked, “Fi...what are you doing?”

     She stopped swinging me around but kept me lifted as she said, “Isn’t this what humans do when someone they care about is feeling bad?”

     Touched by the attempted sentiment, I simply said, “Uh...yeah, but this is usually for children. Not lovers.”

     With an understanding “oh”, Fi dropped me back down before saying, “What do lovers do to console each other?”

     Never really having had one before, I reluctantly told her, “If I’m being honest, I don’t know either.”

     After an awkward pause as the two of us sat back down to continue eating our stew, I cleared my throat and said, “So...uh...do you actually know any secrets that could help us get to Draturi faster?”

     Finishing her stew and tossing it aside, Fi answered, “Yes. There are certain paths our gatherers would use to obtain food, drinking water, and even sneak into the tunnels running beneath the Elven city.”

     Hearing this news at the end of a week spent buried by a painful blizzard, I dropped my bowl as I asked, “Fi, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

     Looking at me confused, she responded, “I was enjoying the slower journey. It’s been many years since a winter was this fierce.”

     Rubbing my face with both hands, I continued to ask, “Would these trails still have food even in weather like this?”

     Laying back with her arms crossed behind her head, she replied, “Of course. The Tribe was always sure to plant and upkeep crops which could thrive in any weather. This blizzard may have torn some from their bushes, but they’re still good to eat. Do you want to use that trail?”

     Burying my face deeper into my hands, I simply nodded as a bit of frustration began to burn up from inside.

     “Alright, we can get there tomorrow. It’s only a few hours from this riverbed,” she responded quickly.

     Dropping my hands from my face, I looked back at her in disbelief as I saw a slight smirk come across her face. Too annoyed or too tired to question her any further, I simply took a deep breath and threw my head back to lie next to her as we drifted off to sleep.      As with every other night, my sleep was constantly interrupted. Unlike every other night, this was due to nightmares. Not of the mannequins I crafted, that doesn’t bother me, it never has before. It’s the dark being that surrounds them that frightens me. My nightmares consist of the same thing: reliving a memory with a ghastly figure pulling me along on strings. It doesn’t bother me that I’ve done all the things I have. It bothers me that I’m not sure if it’s me or this figure. As with every night, I jolt awake just as the specter dashes at me with burning embers for hands. Shaking, I tried to move out of Fi’s arms so as not to disturb her, but I just felt her grip tighter. Turning to look at her, I realized that she was still awake and watching me, even placing some of her own pelts on me to help. Understanding that she won’t be letting me go, I simply resigned back into my spot to try to sleep once again. This time, I didn’t wake until dawn.      Once up, I followed Fi to the secret passage. It was near the bottom of the Grand Crevasse, almost at the very center of the valley. It was an odd long cut into the mountainside. There was a low hanging roof, almost as if an alcove was extended along the entire base of the hill. The passage extended seemingly to the base of Draturi, the bottom of a massive mountain that served as a bridge to the two mountain ranges that make either side of the valley. The most curious thing about this passage is that all of the bushels were full of bounty. Beautiful fruits and delicious vegetables lined both sides of the path, many of which weren’t native to the land and had no reason thriving so well in a winter so harsh.

      After realizing that she had continued travelling as I paused to take in the impossible sight in front of me, I had to rush back to Fi’s side to ask, “How is all of this food surviving so well?”

     Fi replied, “We imprisoned Nature Talkers a few winters back. Forced them to bless this passage to produce food which wouldn’t wither.”

     “Well,” I told her, “That’s amazing.”

     “Once they finished, we made them fertilize the ground,” she responded coldly.

     “Oh,” I said, believing that she meant that they had helped with magic again, “At least they were helpful, I suppose.”

     “They were,” she continued, stopping to take an apple off of a tree, “Both before and after death.”

     As I bit into the apple, I simply exclaimed, “Ye- Ohhhh...they became the- That makes sense,” realizing what she had meant by making them fertilize the ground. I simply took a deeper bite into the apple as it was one of the most delicious pieces of food I’ve had in a while.

     Continuing down the path as we passed fruits back and forth between one another, Fi informed me, “This passage takes us from the sea to the Elf city. With proper rest each night, it would take a group of five to get from one end to the other in less than a full winter. With just the two of us, we should be able to get there a few moons sooner, as long as neither of us get too injured.”

     “Great to hear,” I said, sitting down to rest my feet, “Then you wouldn’t be opposed to spending the rest of the day here.”

     Stopping to glance back at me, she glared as she said, “That’s not smart. The rest of the tribe could already be further along the trail or on our tails. We should keep moving.”

     “Fi, be frank,” I continued, beginning to look about all of the nearby foliage.

     “Who’s ‘frank’ and why do you want me to be him?” she questioned, with a confused tilt to her head.

     Sighing with a smile, I repeated, “Fi, be honest with me. Do you truthfully believe that your tribe is smart enough to leave sentries on this path?”

     Stepping out of the alcove trail to glance around in the blizzard, she returned to say, “Maybe not.”

     “Then let’s take a moment to rest and eat a proper meal. I’m certain I can cook up a ratatouille that can have you smiling from ear to ear.”

     “Smiling that wide sounds painful.”

     “Comfortably smiling from ear to ear.”

     “Fine, we can stay for the day, but we’ll have to leave at night then.”

     “Great, start up a fire while I collect some food.”

     After collecting the proper vegetables for the meal, Fi continued to ask me about the man named “frank” I mentioned earlier as I cook the meal. Once it’s ready, I manage to fully explain the meaning behind the saying just before being able to have a proper meal for the first time in close to two weeks. With our stomachs full, we continued to rest for a bit too long by the fire.      Fi would ask me about life in Draturi for a human. She paid great attention to my interactions with others, trying to learn how to properly carry herself in the city should it be needed. She would make a joke about how the men seemed more “soft handed” than the women. I would laugh as well, saying that it was more than true throughout the majority of the city. We would continue to talk about my brother deep into the night, turning us drowsy. I told her that he was a courageous man with a high station in the city. She didn’t believe me. I didn’t either as we nodded off.      The next morning, we woke up to the sounds of tracking parties finally catching up to us. Without a moments’ notice, Fi and I dashed away down the alcove trail. We were mice again in this chase, and it seemed like we weren’t going to be able to get away without a drastic change. Remembering what we had spoke of the day before, I asked Fi if more bodies were buried throughout the trail, which she confirmed. As we ran throughout the entire day and night, I spent my time looking back to reanimate the dead bodies to slow our pursuers. Unfortunately, the magic casting was too much for me, and I fell unconscious again at nightfall. I woke up buried in snow with my face uncovered to see Fi making a fire.

     “How long was I-” I tried to say.

     Interrupting me, Fi yelled, “Two moons.”

     “Did we escape?” I asked again, weakened by my coma.

     “Yes, thanks to your magic which you didn’t tell me about!”

     “Fi, please, don’t be angry-”

     “Too late! How can you bring the dead back?”

     “I’ve studied books. A lot of things are written away in books.”

     “Oh, so books bring the dead back! That’s great! Does it also kill you for doing so?”

     “Only if you push yourself...or do magic that doesn’t agree with you.”

     “And that’s why you’re nearly dead then? Because of magic you’re not supposed to do!”

     “Well...that and I pushed myself a bit too far,” I answered, weakly laughing.

     “You laugh again and I’ll tear your nose off,” she shouted, her voice faltering.

     “You’re worried. I see that. I’m sorry,” I apologize, feebly.

     “You will not do magic again. Do you understand?” she says, sitting next to me.

     “Fi, if we-” I begin, before hearing her sniffle and sob softly, “Okay, I won’t do magic again. Now, can you help get me out of this ice block?”

     For the rest of the journey, Fi practically carried me, despite my strength coming back to me in a few days. We continued to kill any hunting party that got too close before pushing closer and closer to the Elven city. Once at its base, we were met by the war chief, Krazok. He stood there like a colossus, staring down at both of us as he was 4 feet taller than I and 3 feet taller than Fi. His withered and scarred skin was more gray than green and his massive greataxe was adorned with bones from every Orc who tried to take his place as leader of the tribe.

     “Krazok, move or be moved!” Fi said as we approached with weapons drawn.

     “Moved by whom?” he answered back, “A huntress turned human whore and her little pet?”

     “A pet with enough bite to tear out your throat,” I shouted back, angered by his insult towards Fi.

     Laughing menacingly in disbelief, Krazok responded, “So the squirrel can squeal, but it’s still not enough to move a mountain.”

     “There’s been enough tribe blood spilled,” Fi interjected, “If you walk away, there won’t be any more.”

     “The only blood I’ll be spilling is your pet’s when I split him in two,” he shouts at us, pointing his greataxe at me then turning it to Fi before continuing, “You, I’ll keep alive as my new wife. Just as you were always meant to be.”

     Infuriated by his annoying laughter, I threw my dagger directly into his neck, closing his mouth and throat. He stood stunned for a moment, trying to figure out why he couldn’t speak. I slowly approached him, placing my handaxe back on my belt as I allowed his strength to leave him. His eyes had barely any life left as I grabbed my dagger and tore out the rest of his throat with a single enraged yank. Wiping the blood off of the dagger, I spat on his corpse as I looked up to see Fi staring at me in disbelief.

     “I didn’t like how he was talking about you. That’s all,” I tell her as she slowly walked towards me.

     Once she was practically on top of me, I tried to say that we should be going but she interrupted me with a kiss. I felt her heart flutter as she pulled me in close. As she pulled away, I enjoyed the sight of a truly happy smile from her, the one thing I thought I’d never see. Unfortunately, I couldn’t enjoy it for long as I felt an arrow slam into my chest. Before we could react, I felt a second slam into my left knee. As Fi grabbed me with one hand, a third slammed into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. As blood trickled out my mouth, the last thing I saw was Fi toss me over her shoulder as she used Krazok’s body as a shield to protect us from a reign of spears, javelins, and arrows.      The next thing I woke up to was a massive library about three stories high, a ladder on each one to help reach the third shelf on each level. It was dimly lit with candelabras all around, flickering softly. My brother and her shouting about why she let this happen.

     “What the hell did you do to my brother?” Cal shouted.

     “Saved his life, just like you’re going to do now,” Fi replied back with a surprisingly soft voice.

     Still with a raised voice, Cal screamed, “How the hell do I save his life? A bolt seems to be in his heart while another is practically sticking out of his lower spine!”

     “Look, Leigh used magic a number of moons again. I’m hoping that you could do something similar,” Fi said, still with an oddly calm voice.

     “Leigh? Really? He actually told you his name? What the hell are you to him?” Cal continued to scream.

     “I think he once talked about needing a wife to become a husband,” she responded, glancing back to me.

     “WIFE!” he shouted, nearly bursting my eardrums, “Like hell an Orc is going to be his wife!”

     Before Fi could take his head off, I shouted between difficult breaths, “Calsom! You insulting Fi is making it hard for me not to allow her to beat you into a pulp after you heal me.”

     Fi rushed over after hearing my voice while Cal stood there stunned for a few moments before saying, “So everything she’s told me is the truth? About you being her prisoner and then you convincing her to leave her tribe alongside you under the promise of living the rest of your lives together? That’s all true, Leigh.”

     With a painful smirk, I replied, “Yes, that’s all true. Now, I need you to do for me what we used to do as children together. Just like with the squirrels in the nearby forests.”

     “Squirrels? What squirrels?” Fi asked, holding my hand and glancing to Cal.

     “Brother, doing that on someone your size would take more out of me than I think you realize,” he protested, making excuses not to exert himself, “On top of that, I haven’t done that in almost a decade. I don’t even know if I still can.”

     “First, I know for a fact that you used it recently because I can see that your knuckles still have no scars,” I point out, knowing that he still goes to the occasional ring fight to battle drunk, “Second, doing it on someone my size won’t take the whole power from you. You can take that as consolation, Cal.”

     “Alright, now, hold on a moment,” Cal tried to explain, but was interrupted by me coughing up a large glob of blood and nearly choking on it.

     “If you won’t, then where’s the nearest healer in the city?” Fi asked, steadfast on finding me clinical help. 

     “Woah, you are not leaving this home,” Cal told her, holding his hands out to calm her down, “If you’re found in this city, you and anyone else who helped you, including me and Leigh, will find themselves with their heads on pikes! Just give me a moment.”

     After a few more violent coughs from me while Cal drank nearly half a bottle of Dragon Breath, Cal tore each arrow out of my body violently, each one leaving with a spurt of blood and increasing the weakness in my body. Just as I felt my mind begin to fade, a large orange light flashed over me and brought my eyes open as I breathed a sigh of relief. I sat up and spat out one last handful of blood before glancing up to see Fi strangling Cal.

     “You just killed him! You tore those out without mercy,” Fi shouted, grinding her teeth together.

     “If you would simply look to your right,” he said with bloodshot eyes and a blue face, his hand trembling as points to me standing next to her.

     Immediately dropping him into a crumpled mess on the floor, Fi grabs me and picks me up, nearly breaking a rib as she hugs me so tight. We share a kiss as my brother returns to his feet. He holds his throat and stares at me with a dumbfounded expression as I tell Fi that I need to talk to my little brother alone. She puts up a fit for a little while before agreeing to wait for me in the kitchen. I close the door behind her as she leaves.

     Trying small talk, I start by saying, “So...I see that your library has grown.”

     Pouring two drinks, he calls out, “Shove it up your ass, Leigh.”

     Holding my hand out to take one of the drinks, Cal simply swallows both cups of bourbon before pouring two more as I tell him, “Look, I didn’t intend to make you use that again. Fi and I were supposed to have gotten here scot-free but some issues caught up to us.”

     “Oh yeah, ‘some issues’, sure,” Cal hands me one cup of bourbon and takes a seat on the chesterfield couch I had bled into before continuing with, “Explain to me, dear brother, how does ‘some issues’ equate to a FUCKING ORC WAR CHIEF and his personal hunting party nearly killing you?”

     “Well, you haven’t been through what I’ve been through since the Long Ears a few doors down chose to make everyone I know turn on me,” I said, raising my glass to him before sipping a bit of bourbon, “At least, I still have you on my side.”

     “Of course, you still have me, brother,” he says, staring into his glass, “I knew they wanted to burn you the moment I knew that they found out about your nighttime hobbies. Did you really think that you could strengthen your magic by practicing on dug up bodies?”

     “It was worth a shot,” I said, dropping onto the couch next to him.

     “How far did that shot get you?” he asked, wondering if it helped.

     “Fourteen bodies...” I say, pausing to drink some more bourbon.

     “Really? Fourteen in one day?” he asks, surprised.

     “Fourteen bodies in the same hour before passing out and losing my connection,” I finish just as he begins to drink some of his own cup.

     Coughing after nearly choking on his drink, Cal managed to say between gasps, “What the hell do you mean by lost your connection? You don’t feel it anymore?”

     “That’s correct, brother dearest,” I answer as I clink my glass against his, “Congratulations, it’s all yours now.”

     “Brother, I can’t have that much power. We should find a way to return it. I’m sure that father’s papers must have something about-” Cal attempted to say before I interrupted him.

     “Not necessary, Cal. I don’t want it, anymore,” I tell him, finishing my drink and walking to his bar to pour myself another.

     With his jaw open in awe, he stuttered as he said, “Brother, I- I- I- I can’t just have all this. I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve never had all of the- the- you know, the-”

     Cupping the back of his head and placing his forehead against mine, I tell him, “You’re the safer one between us two, brother. You have the better thoughts. You actually want to help people. Now, you have the power to help anyone that your better judgement deems fit. I trust you, little brother. Now, trust in yourself.”

     With those words of encouragement, his resolve hardened as he stood up and saluted me. I saluted back before we raised our glasses together and finished them before continuing our conversation.

     “So,” I said, as he handed me his cup and laid across the couch, “Cal, I have another favor to ask of you.”

     “I’m getting you and your Orc out of the city as soon as I can, but after having such a large tribe being so close to the summit, the Long Ears are going to be paranoid for a while,” Cal said, with a tinge of disbelief and anger as he said Orc.

     “That wasn’t the favor, as you had already agreed to that thanks to the pigeon message,” I replied.

     “Oh, right, then what is the fav- No...”

     “Brother, Fi and I-”

     “No, you cannot be serious.”

     “We wish to spend the rest of our lives together.”

     “I know you’ve always been an odd one, Leigh, but an Orc?”

     “And it would be fantastic if you could do a little ceremony for us.”

     “You wish to marry an Orc woman? Is that what I’m hearing?”

     “I will marry an Orc woman. That is what you’re hearing.”

     Rubbing his eyes painfully, he stood up to me handing him another cup of bourbon before saying, “If you marry an Orc, you may never return here. You understand that, don’t you?”

     “I do,” I say as I continue to stand over him, “And I accept that, but only if I have Fi with me.”

     Sighing deeply and taking a long drink, Cal asked, “You do remember how every beautiful woman in this city would give you a longing glance as you passed by, correct? You could have any one of them, even most of the married ones, I bet.”

     “And they all may as well be on another plane of existence as long as Fi is around,” I tell him, spinning my glass slowly, “So, will you grant me that last wish, brother?”

     “If you spew such disgusting romantic drivel as that,” he says, holding out his hand, “How can I refuse?”

     I take his hand for a hardy shake and pull him in for a hug as I say, “I hope to repay you one day, brother mine.”

     “Just let me see one of my nieces or nephews, if you have any, huh?” he tells me with a wide smile on my face.

     “Tough luck, with that,” I tell him chuckling a bit.

     “I think you’d be surprised, old man,” he says, sipping from his cup, “Since you’ve been exiled, a Half-Orc moved in. One of the nicest people in the whole city.”

     Laughing a bit, I slap his shoulder before saying, “Perhaps there’s hope for the Long Ears yet.”

     We finish our drinks, then leave to find Fi had made her way to the kitchen, trying to find a snack. I convince her to take a seat next to Cal as I cook up something to eat. Cal tries to strike up conversation after conversation, but Fi’s stone wall personality with new people makes her a bit more difficult to talk to. In all honesty, I’m pretty certain that Fi just doesn’t like him or his house. Chances are good that she thinks it’s too soft. Maybe she’s right.      Fi and I spent the next month of the winter in the city. The massive blizzard only lasted for a few days after we managed to enter. Luckily, we were able to use it to sneak Fi, Cal, and I into Cal’s chapel. There, under Dwuyddin’s guidance, Fi and I were married. She wore her beautiful white wolf pelt along with the rest of her armor after cleaning it all. I wore a suit that Cal allowed me to borrow. It was one of the happiest moments of my life which also lead to one of the happiest nights of my life. We still haven’t apologized to Cal for keeping him up, though. I also still haven’t paid him back for all the things Fi and I broke that night.      For the final days of the blizzard, Fi and I took the opportunity to explore Draturi City while the rest of the Elves were all too scared of the cold to venture outside. It was a fun day and a half of running from place to place, but the choice proved to be rather poor. Apparently, someone in the city had managed to see us through the blizzard and told the city’s guards about a possible Orc. For the last few weeks leading up to our departure, the city’s guards, referred to as the Mithral Ward, went door to door throughout the entire city looking for any signs of a hidden Orc. Luckily, my brother kept the family hideout well maintained. After the Mithral Ward left, Cal tried to rush us out of the sewers. Unfortunately, some guards were posted down there to search through the sewers on the possibility of any Orcs hiding out. We managed to sneak back home without being found. We carefully remained home for a few more weeks until it was safe to travel through the sewers.      As we managed to leave, I informed Cal that I would be taking the old family lake house as the new home. He told me that it’s no longer part of our books so it hasn’t been maintained in a long while. I told him that it would be perfect for Fi and I, anyway. He made up some bills of sale and handed the land over, in case of the off chance that the Long Ears ever wanted to try to claim it again. With a hug and fond farewell, Fi and I left in the final month of winter.      Fi and I took our time making our way across the Grand Crevasse, excited to get to our new home. I regaled her with stories of the land we now had to ourselves. She was excited for the new beasts to hunt on this side of the mountains. She also couldn’t wait to see the sturdy house on the cliff side, only a few minutes away from a beautifully glistening lake. She also appreciated the reactions to an Orc woman alongside a Human man on this side of the Crevasse. She actually felt somewhat accepted, despite many people still staring at her stature as she walked by.      We arrived at our new home just as the beautiful colors of Spring began to sprout. The house needed more work than I had anticipated, but we were both more than ready for the challenge. For the first few days, we spent most of them around the lake, either hunting or relaxing. I taught her how to skip rocks. She taught me how to hunt bare-handed. Every night we spent there for the first month or so, we would spend it outside the back of the house, sitting on the ledge of the cliff about twenty feet away from our home.       It didn’t take us long to start a family. We had a beautiful daughter as our firstborn. We named her Lezre and she took more after me than her mother. She grew up to be more intelligent than I, but had a mind more akin to her uncle. We gave her a brother next, named Fang. He wasn’t able to experience much of his life, unfortunately, as a Winter Wolf killed him after he had managed to stumble away from home. Another son followed, named Scrag. So far, he’s our only child to choose a last name for himself, being Baal in honor of my family’s last named, Baldor. He’s got a strong will, an intelligent mind, and a sharp wit when he needs it. Twelve years later, twins were born, named Gideon and Caddoc. Good boys who were naturally competitive. They honestly reminded me a lot of how Cal and I used to roughhouse.      As with all families, we weren’t perfect, but we stayed together throughout the years. Two years, in particular, were harsh for us, specifically on Lezre and Fi. Lezre was moving to Draturi permanently, hoping to prove to the city the worth of Half-Orcs by accepting a high status job. I made sure to thank my brother for putting in a good word for her. Fi despised the choice, feigning that it was because of her hatred for Draturi. She was truly just worried that Lezre would be mistreated there as a Half-Orc woman. She never admitted such a thing, though. They wouldn’t talk for two years, even when Lezre still came to visit during the winters. I was besides myself on how to get them back together, but Scrag had one last plan to get them talking again before he left to find his own path.

Epilogue

     “What do you mean ‘kill the Winter Wolf’, son? That’s damn near suicide,” my father exclaimed, worried about my plan.

     “From all the stories you, mother, and Zre have told me, the issues all came when the Winter Wolf killed my older brother,” I explained, hoping to convince him to my side.

     “That may be true,” he admitted, handing me a cup of water, “But risking your life to kill it isn’t going to help quell your mother’s wrath.”

     “It will if I bring it back as a feast,” I specified, excited at the brilliance of my plan.

     “Son, that’s still too risky,” my father retorted, “You are leaving on your trip in a few days. We should just have a nice family vacation before you go.”

     “It would be a nicer family vacation if we could find some way to get Zre and Mother talking again,” I replied, desperate to go forth with my plan.

     “Son, it’s not that easy,” my father sighed, resigned to the way things have been for two years.

     “Father, please,” I pleaded, “I need to give this family one last gift before I go. All I need is your blessing.”

     Taking a deep sigh as he stopped flipping meat on a grill, he replied, “You know that your two younger brothers tried a week ago and I had to patch them up. They were lucky to only receive flesh wounds.”

     Without hesitation, I replied, “Both of them together are nowhere near my strength. I can do this, Father. I just want your blessing.”

     Walking over to me, he hugged me tight before whispering, “If you die, I’m going to have to resurrect you just for you mother to kill you again. Keep that in mind on your hunt.”

     Sharing a smile, I picked up my hammer, my handaxe, and a few large tufts of hide as I spent the next night hunting and killing the Winter Wolf that had caused my family so much dismay. I returned after my new wounds had healed a bit better thanks to some of the herbs in our family’s forest. On the last day, I spent it with my two brothers, skipping rocks across the lake while Mother and Zre was shouting on the opposite side. For the feast that night, I presented the Winter Wolf to them. It took some convincing, but it helped mend bridges as I knew it would. I visited and gave a last farewell to all of my siblings the next morning. I went to my mother and father last, having some heartfelt final words with my father after he gave me a letter to read on the boat ride over. Within the month, I made my way swiftly to the city of Tyriok. There, I reminded the dockmaster of our agreement and found my way on to the next ship bound for Zealor, a city of zealous vanity and sultry seduction where the less clothes one wears equates to a higher status. It’s not my kind of place, but I feel as though my comfort zone might be a place away from my comforts.      I step on to the ship and wait an hour, looking around and finding my room. This is one of the larger ships, allowing for private rooms. It was a bit harsher to pay for, but well worth the cost of the journey. It had locks on the outside and inside of the door. The nearest person was twenty feet across the barge. I had a desk with a seat and a small oil lantern for writing. It even had a window, so I could gaze out towards the sea. My only real issue was that the bed was too soft for me. Regardless, I place down my rucksack and empty its contents on to my bed. I take proper count of what I’ve brought with me and luckily have found nothing to be missing. I repack my rucksack, hide it under my bed, and leave with only the letter my father gave me and the small journal I took with me.      Waiting at the very front of the ship, I look out towards the horizon and imagine a city of sand and gold as I open the letter my father gave me. It reads:

It is with heavy yet happy hearts that we write this letter. Your mother and I are overjoyed by all that our eldest children will be achieving and eagerly await to hear what stories you bring back. If you ever find yourself homesick, just know that your brothers are still asking us when you’ll be back, your sister is still proving the worth of Half-Orcs to Elves, your Mother is still trying not to smile, and your Father is still talking too much. And, if you are interested in knowing, your Uncle is still just as eccentric as ever. Be safe, son, but know that some of the best things in life comes from risks. If a risk presents itself worth your mind, chase after it and make it part of your path. You may one day find a risk worth becoming your whole path.

     As I read that part, I shifted a little as the captain called for full sails ahead as we left the port. I felt a small poke hit my thigh, and I glanced down to see the curled horns of a small pink Tiefling jabbed into my leg. She looked up apologizing before steadying herself again and tried to walk along the deck. I gave a slight grunt as I returned to the letter to read:

Keep your heart open to chance. You may find it rewarded one day.                     Go Get Them, Pebble,                                        Your Family

     Finishing the letter, I folded it and rebound it in twine. I looked back to see that the Tiefling had barely moved a few feet away from me, her legs shaking furiously.

     Approaching her, I asked, “Do you need help?”

     In a voice almost as adorable as her size, she replied, “Uhhh...yes. I’m sorry if it’s a bother.”

     “It’s no bother at all,” I say, as I pick her up and walk across the deck, “Where do you want to go?”

     Her face blushing as she smiled, she asked, “Well, my room is below deck but I’m sharing a room with friends so it might be weird if they see you carrying me.”

     “I’ll put you down before we get there, then, if you want me to,” I replied with a stone face as I began to walk below decks.

     Letting out an audible gulp, she says, “We’ll see when we get there. My friends tend to tease a bit.”

     “I can talk to them if you want,” I offered, still making my way to the rooms.

     Awkwardly smiling and adverting her eyes from mine, we have a few moments of silence before she timidly asks, “I don’t think that you gave me your name. What is it?”

     “Scrag Baal,” I reply, before stopping and looking her in the eyes, “What’s yours?”

     She took a deep breath and gazed back into my eyes with a smile as she said, “Malva.”

     “Pleased to meet you, Malva.”

     “Likewise, Scrag Baal.”

     I dropped her off at her room, and I walked in to find a number of other Tieflings talking and swinging in hammocks. Despite her saying that it was her room, there was only two hammocks to sleep in. After hearing that she would be sleeping on the floor, I offered my new friend my bed, as it was uncomfortable for me. After answering twenty questions from her to assure that “I wasn’t some kind of creep” according to her, Malva agreed. She was ecstatic to have a room with a bed covered in red silk and comfortable cotton. The window was great for the breeze, but she couldn’t look out of it for too long without getting dizzy. Naturally, I slept in the chair or on the floor, feeling more like home than silk sheets ever could. Our days were spent talking and laughing. Well, if I’m being accurate, she talked more while I listened. It was pleasant, though, having a companion of sorts even if it was only for a few months on this new journey.      At the end of the passage to Zealor, she was less of the timid woman I first met and now a strong conversationalist. We said our goodbyes upon reaching the shores of city. I told her that I had a job at a restaurant if she ever wanted to find me again. She told me that she had a job at a brothel if I ever wanted a good time. I didn’t believe her and told her, truthfully, that I’m not really one for brothels. After a playful pout, she gave me a hug goodbye before skipping away with her small bag of luggage. I picked up my rucksack and made my way through the city to the restaurant.

     Along the way, I began to write in my book:

Day 1 - Zealor Shores      I made a friend on the voyage over to Zealor City. Her name is Malva and she likes cupcakes...

[surrealitykrp-blog]

hello listeners —

today we’ve received a notice about ha joonho, the 28 year old barista at the juice bar. you might have seen him around east iri when he’s not being the crackpot theorist for the investigation squad. if you haven’t, fear not and stay tuned for the briefing.

                                      and as always, welcome to iri

—  and now, the profile

faceclaim: jung joonyoung oc name: ha joonho age: 28 positive traits: effervescent, easy-going, observant neutral traits: candid, determined, imaginative negative traits: freewheeling, impetuous, overly curious occupation: barista at the juice bar housing: east iri affiliation: investigation squad

— and now, the development

THE MYSTERY OF IRI:

No matter how much the majority of the denizens of Iri were indifferent to the strange occurrences around—Ha Joon Oh would always, always, point out the oddities and proceed to go into millions of theories for said unusual happenings ( no matter how absolutely crazy it sounded even for Iri standards ). He always wanted to be involved with every darn mystery and happenings in Iri and inspect it all with the eyes of a hawk and try to form a possible reason as to why it all occurred.

Lately, he had been trying to be able to be capable of having lucid dreams so he can be fully capable and aware of what he was going to do in dreams. Why dreams? Well, it’s due to the recent situations of the linked dreams between people in Iri. His prayers had been answered in the end, though. For he found himself in the meadow that a few who he was close to and had experienced this occurrence had describe their dreams to be like. He couldn’t help but to let the bright smile on his face show as he starts to run around in hopes of finding someone he knew around there. So he took large steps and it almost seemed as if he belonged there—wild and free like the free spirit he was. As soon as he spotted a familiar face, he had waved brightly and immediately shouted to capture their attention. But as soon as he did so, he had tripped and fell face-first. And as he tried to open his eyes, he realized that no meadows greeted him at all—it was merely his room. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

THE DUALITY OF MANKIND:

Candid to a fault, Joon Ho was well known for his honesty and the people around him knew that he barely ( or even never ) lied. It tend to bring a sense of reassurance in others as they knew that he would always provide them a sincere response and opinion about anything they said or more—but unfortunately, he had no restraints. Honesty was something most considered a must but Joon Ho simply had no filter and was bound to come off as insensitive with how blunt he was. There was no filter and he tend to cause some people to go into shock from how straightforward he had been and his lack of care to sugarcoat anything.

— and now, the biography

i.

The only child of a rather quirky and optimistic family, Joon Ho had always been someone that everyone—including his parents—knew could not be chained down in any way. From a young age, he had always been questioning too much and had never been given a proper answer as his inquiries got much more obscure and confusing.

Learning new things everyday caused his questions to pile up, always asking adults about the why of everything to the point it frustrated some. Like the time he kept on asking his teacher why one plus one equaled to two—why exactly must it be one plus one to be equal to two anyways? What led to people creating these equations and usage of words? He did not like to merely look on the surface, to take a glance and accept anything the way it is. He would always go in deeper, farther, question all that everyone normally didn’t and attempt to search for those answers.

It’s his constant need to solve the unanswered questions that made him create a bunch of theories. His parents would watch him take books to read or write on instead of playing around with the other kids in class. But he didn’t necessarily shy away from socializing, he was actually very talkative and would always be willing to socialize with the rest and have fun. His parents would often find the boy to be so contradictory that even they, the people who spend most time with him, would get befuddled or confused by him.

ii.

He a rather eccentric aunt who would always be aware of all the happenings in Iri and was a self-appointed researcher of the strange workings of anything and everything Iri. Due to how busy his parents and most of the people they knew were, they had to ask the woman to take care of him. His curiosity along with the woman’s led to an endless amount of adventures to inspect and figure out more about the mysteries of Iri.

The two matched well and strive to answer all that they could about the place. She would grin brightly and tell him of all her ideas and explain all the possible answers to the questions he had. Those were his bedtime stories and he would always try to make up his own ( albeit, it was most likely that the older woman had already thought of it—but she always acted as if she hadn’t and took joy in his enthusiasm.

They were closer together than he and his parents. It was because they both could very much relate in anything and everything and never stopped in what they were doing even though some would slander them or the like. He would always look forward to the times he and his aunt would have fun together, and his parents had long given up trying to stop him the moment they were aware of how he was like a junior version of his aunt ( his father would always assure his wife that it was going to be fine and that hey, his sister was still alive right? ).

And it was merry and fine like that, with days filled with excitement and curiosity.

Eventually, though, curiosity did kill the cat. Or at least, silenced it.

iii.

She told him that she was going to the Whispering Forest.

If there was something he knew, it was that there had been a few mysteries that his aunt would never bring him to. Such examples would be finding ‘bear’ or listening to 66.6 FM or going to the Whispering Forest.

She always told him about her wish of going there or listening to that radio or coming across ‘bear’, but she managed to hold back, be chained down—all so she could stay longer with him. But they both know how wild they both were, and despite enjoying each other’s company, they knew that she was bound to go and attempt to find out the answers.

But she promised him that she’ll come back one day, one way or another. Heck, she told him that the afterlife laws can just go mess some other souls up for she’d attempt to return to him no matter what happened. At least to be able to tell him a proper goodbye.

So he and his parents would watch her as she brought a bag of necessities, waving at them as she moved onward to the forest. No matter what anyone would say, they knew she was bound to do something like that. And if they were to attempt to lock her in a cage, they’d only be further agitate her and would make her be prone to do a reckless action in order for her to see the world outside the bars.

As years passed, he still found himself waiting for her return.

iv.

He found himself still drowning himself in theories and when old enough, moving to East Iri in the apartment his aunt used to live in. He frequently would research about all sorts of trivial facts and use it to prove and build his theories right.

Surprisingly, doing all those helped him actually excel in studies more so than hinder him. The materials he had to study would always be utilized with his research and at times, he was much ahead than his peers. Although, he tend to come off as a troublemaker or class clown in school and college and would gain a plethora of shocked reactions from the people around him when he proved his intelligence by correctly answering the teacher or getting high scores on his test.

Once he passed college, though, he started to dedicate his life to figuring out the mysteries of Iri. Although, he did make sure that for certain mysteries he shouldn’t really tackle it head on ( a rare moment where in he wasn’t so temerarious ). Later on, though, his parents would look at him worriedly as he devoted himself to doing such things only. They talked him into at least being a barista in Juice Bar as that was what his aunt did too prior to her decision of just becoming his babysitter since she claimed that at least he wasn’t rude like certain customers.

He also found himself mixing together with a bunch of people who were just as fascinated by the abnormal situations which Iri was famous for. The Investigation Squad—hopeless idealists, big dreamers, miscreant kids or conspiracy theorists, but overall a strange group. It almost felt a bit like some part of his aunt returned and he would find himself taking joy in mingling with them and almost—almost—decided to drop his job and claim that being a part of the squad was his new occupation.

He’s twenty-eight years old now and never once did his curiosity for the place, which was his hometown, ever died down.

[tenroseforeverandever]

Home for the Holidays: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

A @dwsecretsanta​  gift for @chocolatequeennk.

Characters:  Ten x Rose; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Mickey Smith; Jake Simmonds; Donna Noble; Empress of the Racnoss; Lance Bennett

Rated: General (rating may change)

Tags: Doomsday Fixit; Runaway Bride rewrite; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Separation; Eventual Christmas fluff; adventure

Summary: A Doomsday Fixit that also follows the events of the Runaway Bride.

Despite having the victory of the Battle of Canary Wharf behind them, Rose remains resentful that the Doctor tried to send her away after she promised she’d never leave him.

Chapter Summary: Rose begins to make a life for herself on Earth, working for Pete at Torchwood, but on Christmas Eve, when she investigates some low grade alien activity at the securities company, H.C. Clements, she stumbles into much more than she was prepared for.

Notes: Once again, massive hugs and thank-yous to @hellostarlight20​ and MrsBertucci for their brilliant beta services. That being said, all the mistakes are my own, and always will be (I keep finding weird redundant commas and the like! I mean, honestly! The number of times I’ve reread…)

Any recognizable dialogue comes from the Doctor Who episode, The Runaway Bride.

WARNING: No Doctor in this chapter. This is not the chapter reunions are made of… not in the least! We have a little while to go yet before the Doctor and Rose are reunited. And even then, our babies have a lot to work through.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

Home for the Holidays: Chapter 2

Christmas Eve, 2006 (Afternoon /Evening)

Rose had been recruited to Torchwood by Pete almost immediately upon her abrupt arrival back on Earth, and she had been quick to take him up on his offer, wanting to keep her mind thoroughly occupied so thoughts of the Doctor couldn’t torment her. Pete had had his work cut out for him in the aftermath of the Battle of Canary Wharf, and he’d had no reservations about turning to her for help. “I need someone I can trust by my side,” he’d told her. “You have a way with people, and you think fast on your feet. And all that knowledge from your travels with the… well… You’re clever, Rose.”

One of Pete’s primary concerns had been the restructuring of Torchwood personnel, and dealing with the extensive repairs to the Torchwood building. He had also spent a great deal of effort re-establishing relations with the team at Torchwood 3, in Cardiff,  who steadfastly held their little corner of the company to the kind of ideals he envisioned for Torchwood 1, and he was apparently making headway in gaining the trust of the bloke in charge there.  

Rose, however, worked primarily in the field, and welcomed the extensive workload. The large amount of alien activity, in the form of Daleks and Cybermen, had of course, attracted other aliens, and had encouraged those already living on Earth covertly to come out of hiding. Responding to the outpouring of alien sightings, both authentic and fabricated, by a nervous public, and training new field operatives had given Rose more than enough to keep her busy and helped distract her from her thoughts of the Doctor.  

If she was being honest with herself, she missed him… acutely. Despite how outraged she had been at his attempt to pack her off to the parallel universe, now he was no longer at her side, she missed the infectious exuberance that had emanated from him, the loving glances across the table, the delightful kisses and warm hugs he had once bestowed upon her. In hindsight, she was able to admit that she had been wrong to push him away the way she had.  She should have opened up to him more, encouraged him to explain why he had done what he’d done and tell her what he’d been feeling when he’d tried to send her away. And she should have told the daft alien how much his actions had hurt her. Instead, she had closed herself off and allowed her resentment to go unresolved. Now she was living with the consequences.

While she missed the Doctor and the exciting life she had led, racing through time and space with his hand in hers, Pete was right: her experiences had provided her with a great deal of valuable knowledge, and Torchwood needed all the help they could get. Working for Torchwood also provided her with a renewed sense of purpose back on Earth, and she would never again need to scrape by, working in a dead-end job. Which was just as well: after everything she had experienced, she couldn’t imagine ever having to return to that smaller-on-the- inside life she had once led.

Her new job had kept her hopping, but things had been surprisingly quiet in the week leading up to Christmas, and Rose had convinced Pete to take a few days off so he could celebrate properly with Jackie. And her parents were taking full advantage, attacking their short opportunity at a bit of domesticity with gusto. That morning, they had gone out early and brought home a Christmas tree. Now, full of Christmas cheer and listening to Christmas music, they were decorating it.

Rose was not celebrating. She felt like a bit of a scrooge as she sat brooding over the Doctor, her legs draped over the arms of an armchair, hugging a cushion tightly to her chest.

“’Ere are the rest of ‘em, Jacks,” Pete announced, setting a box of Christmas baubles down at Jackie’s feet.

“Aw, ta, love. Mmmmwwwwah!” Jackie blew a big, noisy kiss at Pete, who immediately drew her into his arms, to get a proper kiss.

Rose rolled her eyes with a loud sigh. “Would you two get a room?”

“Oi, missy!” Jackie snapped, but softened again almost immediately at the sight of her daughter. “Look, ’ow ‘bout you ‘elp me decorate, sweetheart? You used to love puttin’ up the tree w’en you was little. Couldn’t keep you out of it!” She laughed fondly. “Do you remember, Rose?”

“Yeah, I remember. You go ahead, Mum.”

“C’mon. You sure? It would cheer ya up. Get your mind off… things, yeah.”

“Mum…” Rose sat up, an undercurrent of irritation in her voice. “Look, you and Dad ‘ave fun decoratin’. I should go… I need to follow up on some leads at work, anyway. I should be ‘ome by supper. All right?” She stood and walked into the front hall, grabbing her coat.

Jackie shook her head. “Sweetheart, don’t you think you should try to–”

“Mum!”

“Oh, all right, off you go. Not that I could stop you even if I tried.”

Rose forced a smile to her lips. “See ya later,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the front door shut behind her.

Standing on the front steps, Rose drew in a deep breath of the cold, damp December air, letting it fill her. It felt good to get out of the house. It had been five months since the Battle of Canary Wharf, and while she was thrilled her mum had got a chance at a happily-ever-after with Pete, she couldn’t help but wish her own story had also come with a fairy-tale ending.

But, Rose told herself, there was no point in wishing her life away. She had work to attend to. She had been planning to follow up on some low grade alien activity she had been sweeping under the proverbial rug for the last couple of months. Although it likely wasn’t anything hostile, it had been nagging at the back of her mind for some time now. And today would be a perfect day to look into it.

She made her way to Torchwood and settled into her little office. Tossing her phone and wallet on the desk, she turned on her computer. A number of alerts immediately flashed up on her screen: strange occurrences at a wedding in Chiswick; exploding Christmas baubles at the reception; the TARDIS sighted, bouncing off the roofs of cars along the motorway; and reports of a woman in a wedding dress jumping into the TARDIS from a car. Well, the appearance of a bride couldn’t be a coincidence, not considering the strange occurrences at the wedding earlier in the day. But, it seemed the Doctor was on the case, and Rose would just as soon let him attend to it and not get involved. Besides, seeing him again would just open up old wounds.

Wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal, if the pounding of her heart was anything to go by.

It occurred to her, it might not even be her Doctor: it could be an earlier regeneration or even a future one, one who had spent hundreds of years without her. Tears prickled behind her eyes at the thought of him moving on without her. With crushing clarity, she realized how devastating it must be for him to allow himself to become attached to his companions; how much he must suffer when they grew old or died, and he was left to travel on his own, with two very broken hearts.

She had, of course, come to these conclusions well over  two years ago in her linear time (she would never admit to her mum just how much time had actually passed between her visits back to Earth), when they had met Sarah Jane Smith. But in the heat of her blossoming romance with the Doctor after the events of Krop Tor, she had shoved these thoughts to the back of her mind and had selfishly embraced the unstinting affection and love the Doctor had offered her.

She shook her head, fighting down the emotions roiling just below the surface. She returned her attention to the alien activity she had actually come to investigate: the activity that seemed to be emanating from around the company H.C. Clements.

With a little digging around, she discovered H.C. Clements had been owned by Torchwood since 1983. That really didn’t come as a surprise. Pete was finding Torchwood had extended its subversive reach to many different companies around the city and beyond. And Torchwood’s involvement at H.C. Clements would explain, in part, the presence of alien activity. It was probably just some piece of alien technology that had been integrated into their infrastructure. The real question was why?  H.C. Clements was a securities firm. Why the hell was Torchwood involved with securities? They had to be concealing something if they had chosen “whatever-it-was” to not be housed at the Canary Wharf building… and that meant it wasn’t likely to be anything good.

She checked the time. It wasn’t too late yet. She could pop over there (it wasn’t far away), do a little investigating, and still be home in time for a late Christmas Eve supper. Her mum would keep something warm for her. Besides, investigating would keep her mind off the Doctor, specifically, keep her mind off the fact that her heart had broken anew when she had discovered he had been so close by today.

Rose spent the next little while doing a more thorough investigation of H.C. Clements. Being owned by Torchwood, their computers were easy to hack. Torchwood had always liked being able to keep tabs on their various projects and the companies that concealed them. Even with Rose’s limited experience, she was able to access their system with a short series of override passcodes. An hour later, after discovering little of interest, she arrived at the business’ front door. Using the sonic wrist-watch she had discovered three months earlier, buried and uncatalogued in the archives at Torchwood, she opened the locked doors of H.C. Clements, neutralized the security alert, and slipped in undetected. An initial survey of the ground floor didn’t reveal anything amiss. Not that she had expected anything to be obvious, but sometimes it was the little things in plain sight that triggered suspicion… Like that button on the elevator that led to a sub-basement she certainly didn’t remember seeing on the floor plan; the one that needed a key to be accessed; the one that her sonic watch could activate in an instant.

--oOo--

Rose stepped out into the dismal, green lighting of the damp sub-basement, looking around in consternation. There was nothing obvious to attract suspicion, and didn’t that just sum up Torchwood to a T? Determined to track down the source of the alien activity, she broke into a jog along the corridor, noting with alarm, the Torchwood logo emblazoned on every one of the heavy, metal doors that appeared at regular intervals. Torchwood had definitely been up to something, and based on the length of the sub-basement corridor, both in front of and behind her, it was something big.

After jogging for about five minutes, she was startled by the sound of raised voices and panicked shouts coming from somewhere up ahead. Breaking into a run, she reached the end of the corridor, and was met with a set of glass doors: the entrance to Lab 003, judging by the placard. The voices seemed to be coming from somewhere in there. Glancing in through the doors, she saw huge, convoluted systems of pipes and machines, and what looked like water bubbling through a series of enormous glass tubes. Oh, the Doctor would have had a field day with this lot, she mused, the fond thought briefly distracting her from her mission.

“Noooooo!” The yelp of fear from beyond the doors jerked her back to the task at hand. She pushed the doors ajar, allowing her to hear the voices much more clearly.

One voice had a strange hissing quality. “Drink the particles! Become the key!”

The panicked voice was male. “You can’t do this! We had a deal! Look, she can’t have gone far! I’ll find her! I’ll bring her back!”

Rose carefully pushed into the laboratory and ducked behind some of the bubbling pipes, gasping at the sight before her. Where the back wall of the lab should have been was a vast, gaping cavern of a room.  And on a metallic platform toward the back of the room was a gigantic, red… spider, for lack of a better word. Looking more closely, the creature did indeed look very much like a spider, but where a spider’s head would have been, was a humanoid torso, topped with a crested head and a face with many large, black eyes. There were even webs cast across the ceiling of the chamber.

The spider hissed, its voice harsh and gravelly. “Oh, my little Lance, so disrespectful to your beautiful bride. You shall now be the one to awaken my children, though I don’t believe you truly appreciate or deserve the honour!”

Rose crept closer to the scene, crouching down and darting between large pieces of gurgling equipment. Beside the spider was a man dressed in formal attire, struggling to escape from the grip of two cloaked figures, his head forcibly tipped back, while one of the cloaked figures poured water down his throat from a huge jug.

As the water emptied, the man, weakened, pleaded with the spider, again. “No! Stop! Don’t do this!”

“Silly, little, human fool!” the spider admonished. It then turned its attention to one of the cloaked figures, its tone commanding: “Hurry! Hurry! Bring more Huon particles. We need more. The rate of catalysis has not yet reached the critical level; there is still not enough Huon energy to waken my children. I long to greet them. I have suffered alone for too many years.”

Rose hunkered down, concealing herself, as one of the cloaked figures entered the lab with the empty water jug.  Its face was gold and metallic and it walked with a stiff gait. A robot of some kind? Rose pondered. It began to fill the jug from a spigot on the side of one of the pieces of equipment.

A flurry of thoughts raced through Rose’s mind as she tried to process what was happening before her. She fought her instinct to run into the spider’s lair and demand the release of its hostage. A closer look around showed her many more of the robots lined up on gangways, high up on the walls of the room, holding long rifles of some kind. A huge, circular pit, just beyond the point where the laboratory ended also drew her attention: there was no way she would get around that without being spotted.  The space was wide open, with no hiding spots. No, she needed to make a proper plan and not go running in on instinct, all hot-headed and full of righteous indignation. That sort of behaviour had landed her in hot water too many times, and this time, she was alone: no Doctor; no Torchwood team; no one to know where she was.

As the robot moved to return to the spider with the water, Rose searched her pockets for her mobile to call Pete. It wasn’t there. With a groan of frustration, she pictured where she had left it on her desk at Torchwood.  She really was on her own.

Helplessly, she watched as the man had more water poured down his throat. No, not water… erm, what had the spider called it? Hoo-on particles or something? When the jug had been emptied, the man began to emanate a yellow glow.

“My wonderful key,” the spider crooned. “Now… bind him!”

The man whimpered as he was shoved forward, into the clutches of the spider. It grasped him with long appendages that jutted out from its torso like arms, while it curled its swollen abdomen forward underneath itself. Silk spurted from the end of the abdomen as the spider spun the hapless man around, wrapping him in silk so he could no longer move his limbs. Once he was immobile, it positioned him face-down, and strung several ropes of silk, extending from his body to the webs on the ceiling above the circular pit, and began to winch him gradually upward.

Rose felt powerless, listening to the man gasping out pleas of mercy as he was raised higher and higher. Every inch he was lifted made it even more impossible for her to assist him. She was frantically running through possible rescue options when the spider spoke again.

“Oh! Oh, but now I have a surprise for you, something to look forward to, my funny little Lance,” it jeered. “I have devised a way to reunite you with your bride, and her foolish physician friend. Activate the recall sequence. At arms!” it hissed to the robots, who responded instantly, raising their guns. “I want no mistakes this time! The Doctor must be neutralized!”

Oh my God! Rose’s brain went into overdrive. The Doctor was here… with the bride. The bride! From the wedding, from the motorway! So this Lance was… the groom!

“You never needed me at all!” Lance whinged, casting his gaze around desperately as he continued to be winched upward.

“Oh, foolish little man! This has always been your destiny.” The spider spat with laughter. “My children will be just so hungry. And if something should go wrong and the bride is lost to me again, you need not worry. You will still make a tolerable key.”

Lance wriggled furiously in a vain attempt to free himself as he was finally raised all the way to the ceiling and secured to the webbing, directly over the pit. The spider only laughed harder. “Return them to me! The bride shall join her groom!” the spider crowed. “What a wedding there shall be!”

Rose’s eyes widened as the TARDIS began to silently materialize in a strange, smoky vortex, only a few yards away from where she hid, just within the laboratory space, in front of the circular pit. Then just as suddenly, it began to dematerialize with its familiar (beloved) wheezing, grinding noise.

“Noooooo!” the spider cried.

Hearing the TARDIS’ rematerializing sequence from the hallway, Rose bolted from the laboratory, the sound of the spider ordering her robots to action ringing in her ears as the doors swung shut behind her.

“She is close, the holy bride in white! Find her! Find her!”

Rose didn’t hesitate. Hope filling her heart that the Doctor was close, she sprinted in the direction of the sound of the TARDIS, silently vowing to Lance she would try her best to rescue him. Before she had run more than a few minutes, she was brought up short by the sound of heavy footfalls and struggling coming from directly ahead of her around the curve of the corridor. She rushed ahead to one of the heavy, metal doorways. The words “NO ENTRY” on a bright yellow field glared at her from above a hatch wheel.  “Sounds like an open invitation,” Rose quipped to herself, directing her sonic watch at the latch mechanism. As soon as she heard the clunk of the latch releasing, she spun the wheel, tugged the door open, and stepped into the space behind it. She pulled the door closed just enough so it remained slightly ajar, still affording her a decent view of the passageway. The sounds of struggling continued, approaching rapidly.

Rose took a quick look around her cramped hiding spot. Using her sonic watch as a torch, she held her hand up into the dark heights of the narrow space where she stood. It was built of industrial brick. A ladder extended up a long way, leading to a portal in the ceiling. A few feet from the top, there seemed to be a maintenance corridor that extended to one side. Rose recognized it as being similar in height to the walkways surrounding the spider’s lair where the cloaked robots stood guard. Was this perhaps another way into the spider’s lair? Weak glimmers of a plan flittered through her mind and gave her a little burst of optimism.

Just then, the frantic noises from the hallway grew louder, and Rose peeked out to see the bride being hauled along by one of the cloaked robots, thrashing and kicking with every step, her indignant, muffled curses coming from beneath the robot’s hand that was clamped over her mouth. Rose smiled in admiration. This fiery red-head wouldn’t go down without a fight. With that knowledge, Rose’s plan became firmer in her mind, and she tugged the door fully closed, poised to leap from hiding into action, as she listened for the sounds of the bride and her captor passing by.

Suddenly, the door swung open in front of her, revealing the robot and the bride. The latter stared at her with wide, startled eyes.

“Hello!” Rose chirped, affecting nonchalance, though her heart was in her throat. Without a second thought, she raised her wristwatch to the robot’s chest, activating a sonic burst. The robot slumped to the floor, releasing its hostage, and Rose expelled a heavy breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well, glad that worked,” she remarked with a shaky grin, waggling her watch at the stunned bride. “Little trick I learned from a friend of mine.”

“Oh, thank God!” The bride automatically straightened her dress and hair as she stepped back from the body of the robot. “Wait! Who the hell are you?”

“Hi.” She gave the bride a little wave. “I’m Rose. Rose Tyler.”

“Donna. And I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you!”

“The Doctor? Is ‘e with you?”

“Was until this one showed up.” She jabbed with her thumb in the direction of the robot’s crumpled form. “Bloody idiot was so busy running his gob so much he didn’t even notice.”

“Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Wait! You know the Doctor?”

“Used to travel with ‘im.”

“Pinstriped beanpole with the weird, blue spaceship?”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. It was him, her Doctor! “Yeah… and some really, really great hair…”

“Well, yeah, I suppose…” Donna screwed up her face in distaste.

A shaky giggle tumbled past Rose’s lips. “Yeah, that’s definitely ‘im.”

“Well, he’s not here now. Typical man! Now, what are we supposed to do?”

Rose quickly gathered her thoughts. “I hope you’re ready for a bit more adventure,” she told Donna, laying a sympathetic hand on her arm. “We don’t ‘ave much time. Your fiancé? ‘Usband? Is about to be… well, I’m not sure exactly what’s goin’ to ‘appen to ‘im, but there’s a huge spider thing–”

“The Racnoss.”

“W’at?”

“The Racnoss. That’s what she’s called, the spider. Big, ugly, red thing with lots of legs?”

Rose nodded, bemused. “That sounds about right.”

“Yeah, that’s the Empress…”

“The Empress?”

“…of the Racnoss.”

“Well, the Empress’s got Lance up in her web. She filled ‘im with some sort of liquid: hoo… hoo…”

“Huon particles?” the bride supplied.

“Yeah, those. She’s completely bonkers, she is! Goin’ on ‘bout her children. And those particles, in Lance, they’re important somehow: she said she needed the Huon energy to awaken her children.”

Donna’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Oh, that must be it!” Her face lit up with pride as she supplied the information. “That’s what’s at the centre of the Earth. The Racnoss ship. Her children. More Racnoss!”

“Wait! The centre of the Earth? There’s a Racnoss ship at the centre of the Earth?”

“The Doctor took us back to the beginning of the Earth. Still can’t believe it! But I saw it happening.”

Rose fought down a pang of jealousy and a desperate longing to be traveling with him again. Now was not the time. “But how’s she goin’ to get Huon particles down there. That makes no sense.”

“I don’t know…” Donna’s face scrunched in concentration, but her eyes quickly widened in realization. “Oh! The hole! That huge flippin’ hole! Right in the middle of the floor? Did you see it?”

Rose nodded, trying to pull all the bits of information together in her head.

“The Doctor said it goes all the way to the centre of the Earth… where the Racnoss ship is!”

“And somehow,” Rose spoke slowly and deliberately, making sense of it all, “she has to get the Huon particles down there. Lance! She’s gonna…”

“But, but… I’m filled with them too. That’s why she needed me. She was going to…” Donna’s eyes suddenly filled with fearful tears.

“Well, she hasn’t got you. Not anymore,” Rose asserted.

Donna’s lip trembled. “That’s not all, though. The Doctor… he said they’re dangerous, the Huon particles… deadly,” she murmured. “Promised he’d save me, but now… I don’t even know where he is.”

“Hey.” Rose squeezed the bride’s hand. “Don’t worry. If ‘e said ‘e’d save you, ‘e will.”

“How do you…? Tell me something. Do you trust him?” Donna peered into Rose’s eyes intently, searching for something there.

“Yeah, I do. And ‘e won’t let you down. I promise.” Rose swallowed thickly, all of her adventures with the Doctor rushing through her mind: those many times she had feared for her life and he had done everything in his power to protect her. “’E’ll do w’atever it takes to keep you safe,” she spoke with conviction. “’E may not be right ‘ere, but I know ‘im. ‘E’s close by, workin’ ‘ard to save us all. That’s what ‘e does, an’ we ‘ave to do whatever we can to ‘elp. And rescue your ‘usband.”

“My fiancé,” Donna corrected, her expression turning hard. “My bloody ex-fiancé, at that! Let the Empress have him, I say!”

Rose recalled the Racnoss’ reprimand to Lance, about how he had been disrespectful to his bride, and offered Donna a sad, sympathetic smile.

Regret passed over Donna’s face. “I didn’t really mean that. Well I sorta did. After what he did to me! He’s the one was poisoning me. For six months! With these bloody Huon particles. Brought me coffee every morning, and me being so stupid… I mean, who brings the secretaries a coffee?”

Rose’s heart sank for the red-head. “I’m sorry about what ‘appened, I really am. But, Donna, listen to me. You are not stupid. An’ I’d love to ‘ear the whole story, yeah, but right now, we need to ‘urry. I’ve got a general sort of plan… but I’ll need your ‘elp.” She squeezed Donna’s hand again. “It’s going to be dangerous…”

Donna huffed, rolling her eyes, a trace of a sardonic smile on her lips. “Doesn’t that just sum up my life today! Got nothing to lose at this point. Go on, then.  Let’s do it.”

“Right!” The heady exhilaration of adventure filled Rose and she gave Donna a manic grin. Bending down, she tugged the cloak off the robot, swinging it over her own shoulders. Removing the face plate, she slipped the strap around the back of her head and settled the mask over her face. Finally, she pulled the hood up over her head. “Won’t fool anyone for long, but it might just get us close. And, look, a gun! A machine gun, I think!”

Donna’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “A machine gun? Isn’t that a bit dangerous.”

“Yeah, I ‘ope so.” She took the rifle from the robot’s body, and slung it over her own shoulder. She struck a pose. “W’at d’ya think?”

“You’re loony, is what I think! Have you ever shot one of those before?”

“Well, no. I don’t really like guns,” Rose answered awkwardly, thinking of how the Doctor would disapprove of her carrying the weapon. “But I think it would be silly to leave it be’ind. Never know w’en it might come in handy.”

“You’re jus’ like that bloody Doctor! You’re jus’ makin’ this up as you go along, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am.” Rose beamed at Donna. “So are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“So, think you can climb in that dress?” Rose gestured up the ladder.

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

“Right then! Allons-y!”  

[theessaflett]

48 Hours In...OXFORD

Your friendly neighbourhood Essa has a look round the town known from…so many things, from the hit TV programme Lewis to being the home of Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and many more generally famous people

Day 1

My trip to Oxford started a little differently to how I’d initially planned. Cramming toast into my mouth as I stuffed clothes into a rucksack and tried to get my shoes on at the same time, a feat at which I attempt to succeed probably too many mornings in an average week for someone now old enough to be very comfortably in the “mid-twenties” age bracket, I hastily checked Google Maps for the best way to get to Oxford in time for my 2.30pm booked museum ticket and discovered that due to planned engineering works the “Oxford Tube” was going to have to be my transport of choice. Great, thought I. It must be a fast track train.

Dear reader, I was wrong. When Google Maps cheerfully led me to a bus stop outside Marble Arch station I realised just how wrong I was. Somehow, for whatever unidentifiable reason, the “Oxford Tube” is a bus. (Or a “luxury coach”, if you believe their website.) As someone who gets travel sick at the best of times, never mind on what was going to be a  nearly-two hour bus journey, I wasn’t thrilled by this development but did cheer up when I discovered that a Youth Return would now cost me only £13 - and it was valid for an entire month so if I decided that Oxford was actually much nicer than London and I would just stay there, thank you very much, I would admittedly have several things to sort out but another bus ticket wouldn’t be one of them.

The luxury coach experience turned out to be, if not fully luxury, decidedly acceptable: there were fancy lights that went on in the roof when the sky became so dark with heavy rain the bus thought that it was night time; the seats were definitely clean; there were USB plug sockets everywhere you looked and an on-board loo. The only real issue was the fact that whoever had decided on the on-board thermostat temperature that morning clearly thought we were on the brink of the next Ice Age and there were no windows to yank open to ease the oppressive heat. Red-faced and sweaty, I eventually cracked and tried pushing all of the frightening- looking buttons above me. Five minutes later, I had switched two brutally harsh little lights on  - and thankfully had managed not to set off any alarms - but had failed to work the air-con. It was a very warm journey…

After seeing many, many highways and byways of London suburbs and rolling English countryside  we finally arrived in Oxford Bus Station. It was wet. It was cold. It was, in fact, exactly the same weather as the last time I visited Oxford. I trudged through a square full of wet leaves and sad looking trees and along a few side streets, unusually ending up exactly where I wanted to be: outside the Ashmolean Museum. I was, however, very early for my timed ticket so nipped over to the Odeon across the road and sat in Costas watching cold-looking people hurry past the window as I slurped my tea. Now, what happened next could have been forewarned had I only joined enough dots in my head as I sat there enjoying being warm. …After all, the hanging banners proclaiming Bible verses, “Welcome to Hill Song!” pop-up signs and the two display tables of Hill Song paraphernalia might, just possibly, have given me a small clue that there might be something to do with Hill Song currently happening in the building - and yet, it was still somewhat a surprise to suddenly find myself re-enacting Mufasa’s death scene from the Lion King (if Mufasa had been a bemusedly alarmed young woman sitting with a cup of tea and the antelopes hipster Christians proclaiming the Lord’s salvation to each other as they poured out of Cinema 1 to the sound of loud rock music). I downed my tea and dodged outside away from the manic grins of the “Official Church Greeters” and towards the impressive grandeur of the Ashmolean.

It is hard to describe how awe-inspiringly large the The Ashmolean is. As you walk past the modern, spiky dog-like sculptures and through the towering front doors it’s easy to imagine previous visitors through the centuries also craning their heads up to look at the ceiling high above them and making the universal “Ooooooohhhhhh” noise that humans make when they’re in somewhere really big. However, the Victorians probably weren’t stopped by an over-zealous security guard who was very suspicious about my admittedly massive rucksack and wanted me to wear it on my front like some sort of kangaroo. That was not going to work so I ended up finding the lockers - deep in the bowels of the building - to dump my stuff. (Word of warning: your £1 gets donated to the Ashmolean on your behalf! Don’t spend an embarrassing amount of time scrabbling around trying to find where your £1 went like I did.)

After spending a quick fifteen minutes looking round the “Founding of the Ashmolean Museum” exhibit on the bottom floor (fifteen minutes barely scratched the surface) I then trekked up the three floors to the SpellBound exhibition. If my first impression had been that the museum was large, I now mentally expanded that to bloody massive. I would recommend always having an idea of what it is that you want to see if you go to the Ashmolean, otherwise you might start your day on the Islamic Art floor and discover that you had somehow only made it to Medieval Glassworks by hour four. As my timed ticket turned out to be a very strictly timed ticket I killed some time in the exhibition shop (yes, every floor has its own shop. It’s very lavish.) looking at the toy skulls and DIY Spell Books. My vague thought that the Ashmolean didn’t seem to be treating the subject of spells and witchcraft particularly seriously was confirmed by reading a note written by a practising pagan and pinned on the feedback board with some annoyance. “I felt like this exhibition laughed at my religion,” Jeremy the Pagan complained. “Next time maybe ask for advice from real Pagans first!! Very insulting.” Poor Jeremy. I could see what he meant as I perused the gimmicky sage bundles, black cat design socks and  and “Which Witch Are You?” colouring books… Now even more curious to see what the exhibition was going to be like, my sketch book and I (phones weren’t allowed inside) headed in with a woman that was either into Gothic Paganism or just really liked long velvet coats, dark lipstick and black heeled boots. I spent two hours looking round the exhibition and gamely trying to draw everything I found interesting  - and gathering a small crowd of people staring at me and pointing out their favourite sketches as I did…slightly unnerving - and these are my thoughts on what SpellBound had to offer…

First of all, the first thing that really stood out about this exhibition was how dark it was, and I mean that literally. The lighting was virtually non-existent, two out of three of the rooms virtually completely dark apart from the weak glow of the exhibit cabinets. I didn’t notice it until I heard an elderly man grumbling about it and threatening to file an official complaint form and then it was all I could think about. Was it too dark? Very possibly. Did it add atmosphere? Probably. Did I nearly bump into someone several times? Yes, and I wasn’t the only one.

There were some pretty gruesome exhibits and quite a lot of children being traumatised by them. Now, as someone who had a “sitting in graveyards reading Poe phase” in my early teens and was obsessed with Marcus Sedgewick books from the age of eleven I’m all for children experiencing Gothic things. However, having a DRIED-UP HUMAN HEART cheerfully sitting in the same cabinet as old books and mystic mirrors without any warning whatsoever seemed slightly bold for an exhibition with no age rating! “Dad,” I heard a horrified seven year old whisper. “Dad. It’s a heart. It’s a heart, Dad. IT’S A HEART, LIKE, FROM A PERSON.” Beautiful family memories in the making, right there.

There were some token gestures here and there - a poppet from Scotland, a witch scarer charm from Africa - but the overall country of origin of the exhibits was English, and the history told was the history primarily of English witchcraft. Was this a bad thing? Not necessarily since we were in an English museum, but it might have been worth advertising it as a exhibition of English Witchcraft rather than Witchcraft in general.

There were two very confusing modern art installations. Several people, including myself, sat in both of them waiting for the installation to start for quite a long time before realising that what we thought was the “loading screen” was, in fact, the actual installation.

My favourite part of the exhibition was a very large (and did I mention, dark) room full of the stashes of objects found in walls and under floorboards across the UK, largely in England, mysterious piles of objects that seem to have been intended as a sort of good luck charm for the house. I was surprised by how uneasy I felt about the idea of these “good fortune bundles” being taken out of their carefully chosen places and found myself wondering if the house minded after having them for so many years. (Yes, I’m sure this sounds very silly, but do bear in mind I’d been listening to the “eerily atmospheric soundscape” track and creeping around shadowy rooms for over an hour by this point.) The caches showed fascinating insights into everyday objects of different eras - the last cache being from around 1915, which I found surprisingly recent - and just about made up for the fact that there was also a mummified cat and mouse with their dried-up guts in clear view also in pride of place with a cabinet all to themselves. “DAD, THERE’S A DEAD CAT IN THIS ROOM!!!” That poor kid will be bringing this up in therapy for years to come.

The most striking absence in the exhibition was the lack of a “modern witch-craft” section. There was the medieval room, the 17th century room, the 18th and 19th century room and then that, pretty much, was it apart from a poppet doll someone made in 1915 to try and kill their neighbour and a small display cabinet about fraudulent physics of the 1920s. No wonder Jeremy was annoyed. …Now, I personally am not someone who practices the Pagan faith. But I know people who do, and to them their religion is something real, relevant, and very much valid. Paganism deserves to be treated with the same respect as Christianity, Islam and other major religions, and I did sort of feel like an entire exhibition that focussed on all the different ways “witches” (often just unfortunate non-magic-practising women) were horribly persecuted for practising witchcraft and then ignored the fact that here in the twenty-first century witches now peacefully worship across England and beyond missed a trick in an opportunity for a more positive ending section. Maybe they just felt it wasn’t in keeping with the “horror vibe”.

The Ashmolean cafe shut at the very-not-London time of 4.30pm so after rescuing my stuff from the locker and buying the obligatory souvenir postcard I headed off to my accommodation, Oxford Backpackers Hostel. Oxford Backpackers Hostel is exactly what one might expect for £17. It is mostly clean, offers a communal kitchen with free tea and coffee and there’s a reassuring lack of mice, but the sad lack of plugs and heaters makes for a slightly old-fashioned experience of everyone waiting to use the common room sockets whilst huddled against the radiator. My four-person dorm was mixed so I was with two guys - which was particularly memorable when I rolled over early the next morning and accidentally caught an eyeful of the member of my lower bunk getting dressed right in the middle of the room - and the hostel communal bathroom floor looked disgusting enough for me to decide that I could go 48 hours without a shower. (I was particularly glad of this decision when I heard a sound from one of the shower cubicles that was almost definitely someone taking a dump. Definitely one of those “once experienced, never forgotten” moments.)

After shivering next to the plug socket for a while to charge my phone I headed out to find the Eagle & Child pub, famous for being the favoured writing spot of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien. After getting thoroughly and needlessly confused by the ordering system  - turns out it operates on the Wetherspoon system of knowing your table number and then going to the till, not my system of going to the till first and getting confused about why the nice lady is asking you for “your number”…misunderstanding directions to the water jugs and trying to find a clean glass in the pile of plates waiting to be put in the dishwasher and then being shouted at by a confused member of staff also optional  - I sat down in what is definitely a gloriously old-timey pub. Full of low-hanging timbers of stained dark wood, the seats lined with creaking old leather, the building is not your average open space but a a snaking pathway full of tables tucked away in odd corners, many next to log fires and lopsided book cases. It wasn’t hard to imagine Tolkien dreaming up a Hobbit’s cosy house somewhere in here, or C.S. Lewis writing about Mr Tumnus and Lucy having tea. My veggie burger came with quite limp sweet potato chips so I don’t know if I’d recommend the food, but I would recommend going for a pint. (Ideally with a LOTR or Narnia book to really get the full experience!)

I finished off my first day in Oxford with a trip to the cinema. Not the tiny Odeon I’d accidentally discovered that morning, but a bigger one on George Street which only had large popcorn containers left so I ended up being given a medium popcorn for the price of a small. I already liked this cinema. Myself and three other people watched the admittedly quite bad Johnny English film…slightly annoying as I’d paid extra to splash out on a “Premium Seat” (which turned out to just be a normal seat coloured red rather than black) when I could’ve paid for a normal ticket and then lain across four premium seats underneath a duvet. In my PJs. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’ve ended up having my mini-break in a very compact area of Oxford of if Oxford is actually this small, but after the cinema I discovered that I had a total of five minutes to walk back to the Backpackers Hostel so that was a cheerful end to a highly enjoyable first day. (Well, it wasn’t quite the end of the day. My actual end to the day was trying to watch Doctor Who on my laptop next to the free common room plug socket at midnight, surrounded by high 20-year-olds listening to a Reggae version of “Don’t Stop Me Now”. Yes, I also had several questions about what decisions led to a Reggae version of a Queen masterpiece but I have to admit by the end of the track I didn’t hate it…It was definitely, I decided, time to go to bed.)

Day 2

After lying in bed for half an hour listening to one of my dorm-mate’s chirpy bird alarm (unfortunately the alarm woke me up rather than him. The only other person still in the dorm, I considered trying to wake him up myself but then decided the fact that he seemed to have gone to bed in his suit without even taking his shoes off suggested that he might not be very happy and possibly angrily hungover at whoever woke him up…) I called it quits on trying to sleep and headed out for the day, downing the only thing this gluten and dairy intolerant vegetarian could have from their free breakfast table: a glass of watery orange squash. I headed onto Oxford high street and soon had more success in my breakfast options at possibly the fanciest Pret I have ever seen in my life. 

Eating my granola pot in a building that looked like a set piece from a Shakespearean costume drama from the outside and like a particularly posh London cafe inside was definitely fun, and after charging everything electronic I could possibly think of with their definitely less dodgy-looking plugs I headed off to my first museum of the day, the Pitts Rivers Museum. (With a very quick detour into the church next door, which was quicker than anticipated due to the fact that I popped my head in five minutes before a 50-minute organ recital was due to start and, although beautiful, the church was not quite interesting enough to keep me entertained through that much Bach.)

I got a more normal amount of lost on my way to the Pitts Williams museum and therefore enjoyed lots of windy side streets and passageways, the bright blue sky, leafy trees full of autumnal colours, cobbled pavements and brightly painted old buildings making me feel like I was in the televised Lewis version of Oxford rather than the real thing. Where was the bad weather and average buildings I was used to experiencing in this city?! In the end I realised where my destination confusion was coming from; the Museum of Natural History, the building in which the Pitts Williams museum resides, only had one small sign next to a whole load of much bigger warning signs about parking and loitering, and the massive building I had wrongly assumed was part of a university block was in fact what I was looking for. 

One squelchy walk across the muddy quad later I was inside the Natural History museum and my- it was pretty spectacular. A vaulted ceiling stretched upwards with seemingly no end, the glass panels making the museum space bright and full of light, and under this majestic dome there were skeletons of practically any and all impressively large animal that has ever been known to humankind. Dinosaurs of all shapes and sizes, whales, bears, bison, not one but two elephants (I personally had no idea elephants were that big) - if it was large, they had the skeleton. If that wasn’t enough they also had enough unnerving taxidermy to fulfil the dreams of even the wildest enthusiast of icky dead animals and an absolutely gigantic 3D model of E. Coli hanging from the ceiling. Truly something for all the family.

After wandering around for a bit I found the entrance to the Pitts Williams museum at the back, looking a little unexciting after my journey through Stegosaurus and Triceratops bones, and stepped through into what can only be described as an alternate world. The bright, cheerful sunlight of the main museum space was replaced with dim gloom, my eyes straining to pick out what exactly was in front of me. And then, as my sight adjusted, I realised what I was looking at: a sprawling floor space full to the brim of dozens upon dozens of glass cabinets, some tall, some small, some lining the walls, the rest crammed together side by side across the massive hall. Looking up, I realised that the two levels above me were also equally full of items. This was going to be a pretty intense museum. The problem about there being that much stuff is that it is literally impossible to absorb even 50% of what you’re looking at. It took me twenty minutes to notice a totem pole that stretched to the top floor!

 The Pitts Williams is a museum dedicated to learning about the human experience, and it certainly takes that description to heart. If humans do something, there will be an exhibit about it - I found two glass cabinets for dulcimers alone in the music section, which did seem to be edging on overkill. One thing about the Pitts Williams was obvious right from the word go however, and it needs to be said. It is, without question, a deeply, deeply creepy museum. 

Possibly one of the top three creepy museums I have ever been to, and I have been to a museum dedicated to dead animals in jars. 

As I wandered alone through row upon row of ancient war masks, dolls, mummies and, god forbid, puppets, it was hard to find the most unsettling part of the museum  - until I found it, the unequivocally most disturbing exhibit of them all. The cabinet called, “Treatment of Dead Enemies”. The title itself is nightmare fuel, but when I suddenly realised that what I was looking at was the skulls of two murdered children a warrior had tied to some sacred feathers and bits of wood so that they swung outside his hut as a warning to others, and that those skulls were surrounded by other mummified heads, I suddenly decided that it might be a good idea for this to be lunchtime. Outside. Suddenly SpellBound’s dried human heart didn’t seem all that bad.

I slightly queasily made my way back out to the soggy quad and ate my unexciting lunch of gluten-free oatcakes, nervously looking out for rain. I had just one last stop on my sightseeing checklist; the Bodleian Library.

The Bodleian was also puzzlingly difficult to find, until it suddenly wasn’t difficult to find at all; I was looking for the building I’d once visited as part of a Broadside Ballad conference (I know, I live an exciting life), but that was actually just the modern library. Once I’d turned round, looked properly at all those big old buildings across the road and realised that they were all part of the Bodleian library it became very easy to find indeed…  The Bodleian is an awe-inspiring complex of really quite ridiculously beautiful buildings. 

As impressive now as it was when first built, I started off wandering around the main square taking photos but ended up just standing in the middle staring around, ruefully accepting that no phone camera was going to capture the majesty of the 17th century architecture. Most of the library isn’t open to the public but a a £6 ticket gets you a 30 minute sneak peek at what’s inside, so I joined a various assortment of tourists, waved my E- ticket and walked through the grand wooden doors to find out just how much like a Harry Potter set it actually looked on the inside. (It would look very much indeed like a Harry Potter set, I discovered; many HP scenes were actually filmed at the Bodleian.)

After a bit of a rocky start where the guide tried to get a French woman who was very clearly fluent in English to take a translation booklet despite the woman telling her multiple times that she didn’t need a booklet because she could speak English (she then moved onto apologising slowly and clearly to the Finnish tourist that they didn’t have a Finnish leaflet, which the Finn thought was very funny. Clearly the guide has never been to Finland!) we dumped our stuff in the obligatory stuff dump box - the woman with the massive trundly suitcase posed a bit of a problem - and fought with our fiddly personal microphones so we could hear the guide’s whispered talking in the quieter sections of the library. We all trooped up the stairs to the original heart of the library, dating from the 15th century, and the 17th century extension built on by Bodleian, still used as a working library by students at Oxford. I’m conscious I’ve already used a lot of words to try and describe big, impressive things during this short trip so I’ll just save time and say that the library was all of the words I’ve used so far, combined. Endless bookcases of gorgeous dark wood and intricately painted panels were everywhere, as were the books; big, fat tomes that stood there proudly row upon row, as they had for four hundred years and will hopefully for centuries to come. We all behaved ourselves and the trip passed without incident apart from one poor German tourist being shouted at by the security guard for sitting on a chair that looked very inviting but was seemingly not for sitting, and before long we were all plodding back down the staircase away from book nirvana. If you’re ever in Oxford I would really recommend paying £6 to have a look, even if you just want to see what heaven looks like for 25 minutes.

My trip was nearly at an end, and I wandered along Oxford high street with a real sense of sadness at leaving what I now realised is a very attractive city. Turns out nice weather, not too much stuff to carry and appropriate clothing can do the world of wonders for one’s view of a place! I ducked into the Indoor Market and discovered a baffling, intricate maze of shops, ranging from local butchers and bakers to an upmarket garden ornaments store, and ended up at a tiny Korean cafe called Jeong’s Dosirak, ordering what my £5 could buy: a Kimbab. 

Unsure as to what kimbab was exactly, I was very much surprised to discover that I had bought quite a lot of what I would have called sushi, though I didn’t at all regret the choice as I munched my way through the generous helping on a bench outside. Clearly £5 gets you a lot more for your money here compared to London! 

The only thing left to do before getting the bus back to London was head into a Starbucks to charge my phone and check my emails as I started to re-enter working life. As I settled back in my seat on the Oxford Tube-which-is-actually-a-bus and watched the city disappear behind me, I sent it a mental apology for being initially unfair. Oxford is full of interesting things, and it’s really quite beautiful. Particularly when it’s not raining.

What Essa saw:

Ashmolean Museum (Entrance Free, SpellBound Under 25s ticket £6) 

https://www.ashmolean.org/spellbound

Eagle & Child Pub 

https://www.nicholsonspubs.co.uk/restaurants/southeast/theeagleandchildoxford

Oxford Natural History Museum (Entrance Free)

https://www.oumnh.ox.ac.uk/ 

Bodleian Libraries (Some areas Entrance Free, Tours from £6)

https://www.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/

Where Essa Stayed: 

Oxford Backpackers Hostel (rooms from £15 per night)

http://www.hostels.co.uk/ 

[drtanstravels]

“So, statistically, in the Land of the Free you have the least amount of free people. This is a super-simple argument; in Holland you can smoke weed whilst f___ing a hooker in front of a cop. How dare Holland not be called the Land of the Free!” – Jim Jefferies on America and Freedom

I started writing this at about 7am on Thursday morning as we had just returned from quite a long trip, this time to Amsterdam and The Hague for Anna to attend a conference and then a trip to Budapest for her birthday and I’m surprisingly well rested after the flight (more on that later). We have been to the Netherlands several times before, but only to Amsterdam and Utrecht while we were living in Germany two years ago, but this time would be a little different — Yes, we would be spending some time in Amsterdam, but who wouldn’t? It is such a fun city, but the bulk of the Dutch leg of our most recent trip would be in The Hague, the location of Vision 2017, the International Society for Low Vision Research and Rehabilitation (ISLRR) conference where Anna was giving a presentation, and also a place neither of us had been or knew a whole lot about. The second part of our adventure would be a five-day holiday spent in Budapest, Hungary, as a part of Anna’s birthday celebration. Again, a place that neither of us had been and our combined knowledge of the place consisted solely of goulash and salami, however, everyone we knew that had been there absolutely loved it and pretty much just told us to go.

I’ve also written about the ‘T’ Factor on several occasions, my anti-Midas touch, the incredible ability I have to steal defeat from the jaws of victory. Situations such as:

The ‘T’ Factor part 1: Not really trying in my German classes in high school because I thought I’d never visit Germany… then later moving to Germany.

The ‘T’ Factor part 2: Just a day where everything that could go wrong did.

The ‘T’ Factor Part 3: Paying a New York scalper a ton of cash for what I thought would be the only opportunity to see one of my favourite musicians play just as the support act, only to get fake tickets and have to watch from over a fence.

The ‘T’ Factor Part 4: I hate the cold and, fortunately, had never seen snow before we moved to the US. That all changed when we sat through New York’s second-worst blizzard on record.

This latest trip was the complete opposite, though. Maybe I should by a lottery ticket or something!

Saturday, June 24 We had dropped Kermit off at dog-sitter on Friday afternoon and caught a midnight flight to Amsterdam, this time flying Premium Economy, which is similar to regular economy, but you get to board the plane first, have slightly more legroom and can carry a bit more baggage. That extra legroom allowed me to get a decent night sleep on the 13-hour flight, however, Amsterdam is six hours behind Singapore so by the time we got our luggage, went through immigration, took the train from the airport to the city and found our hotel, the Room Mate, it was still only about nine o’clock in the morning. We really wanted to dump our bags and have a shower, but it was too early to check into our room, although they had a massive suite available for a little extra cash. We were only going to stay in Amsterdam for one night so we decided to get decadent. Premium Economy and a hotel suite? I felt like Jay-Z!

A very dark picture of a small portion of our suite

We had slept well on the flight so it was now time to hit the streets. I won’t bore you with the details about Amsterdam because I did that the first time we went there so you can just read that piece instead if you want to get the lowdown. Also, I’m not a huge Jim Jefferies fan, but I used that quote of his because he nailed it when talking about freedom. Americans love to go on about freedom, especially around this time of year as we experienced first-hand when we spent the fourth of July in New York a couple of years ago, but it’s hard to be more free than a country that has had to close prisons due to the fact that they don’t have enough inmates. In fact, they’re even getting kind of creative in handling the situation:

Recorded crime has shrunk by about a quarter over the past nine years, according to the country’s national statistics office, and that is expected to translate into a surplus of 3,000 prison cells by 2021. The government has shuttered 19 of nearly 60 prisons over the past three years, and a government report leaked last year suggested that more cuts were coming.

The relative lack of prisoners has spurred the Dutch to be creative. At jails transformed into housing for asylum seekers, former cells for prisoners have been converted into apartments for families, albeit some with the original cell doors.

At De Koepel, a former prison in Haarlem, refugees played soccer on a large interior courtyard that doubled as a soccer field. Some of the converted jails also have gymnasiums, kitchen facilities and outdoor gardens.

That’s pretty free. Anyway, our hotel was a little bit out of the way, but essentially all of Saturday was spent walking around Amsterdam, checking out the shops and hanging out, but one of the best sites we encountered was the market in the town square, one which had a mix of secondhand goods and food, including great cheese and some spectacular oysters. A few scenes from the day:

Pubs open for breakfast beers

Anna and her houseboat

I love me some cheese

This cat just fell asleep on me while Anna was trying on dresses

Boris Johnson’s mobile bar

These guys were actually really good

Not sure how you get a mermaid pregnant

I once tried for hours to open an oyster, this dude just did it like it was nothing!

So good!

Someone’s excited

A Citroen in my favourite colour

Outside Anne Frank’s house

Horses for courses

‘Shroom shop

Afternoon libations

Just strolling around

My back was a bit sore from the flight so we pulled up a seat outside a bar on one of the canals later in the afternoon and had a couple of beers while we watched trashy hen’s nights and stag dos get started, as well as a woman that had had a ton of cosmetic surgery who was so baked she couldn’t even stand properly. We also stopped off to get some crêpes at one stage and only in a country with legal weed would the really stoned dude in front of us order one with Nutella and bacon. Eventually the jet-lag kicked in, plus we had walked about 20km (12.5 miles) and the weather wasn’t that great so we went back to the Room Mate and had a really good dinner in the hotel restaurant before going up and making the most of our suite, despite the fact that it doesn’t get dark until about 10:30pm. Who cares, we could hit the town properly tomorrow.

Sunday, June 25 Sunday followed a similar pattern to Saturday, just strolling around the city, but first, we’d need something to eat. I don’t usually eat breakfast, that’s just more valuable time that I can spend sleeping, but we woke up early due to jet-lag so why not? Anna found a great breakfast place that did a heap of different bloody marys, as well traditional Dutch waffles, so we checked out of our hotel and then that would be the plan.

I got the bloody kimchi and Anna had the bloody bacon to go with our waffles and then it was time to look around town again.

Inside Gollem Biercafe

We spent most of our time walking around different areas of the city, doing a lot more shopping and stopping off at bars such as Gollem Biercafe for the occasional beer or four. One major problem with old Dutch buildings is that they tend to have extremely steep staircases with narrow steps, essentially just ladders, rendering them almost impossible for someone my size to use, and the Gollem was no different, requiring me to bend and twist like an accordion to go down the steps and through the tiny doorway to use the bathroom. I always thought the Dutch were supposed to be one of the world’s tallest nationalities. Anyway, we enjoyed checking out all of the quirky stores and secondhand shops, but we couldn’t do it all day, my back was aching again and we had to go back to the hotel to collect our luggage and then take the 30-minute train ride to The Hague.

The Hague is another place that we knew very little about, besides the fact that it was centre for the Dutch government and one of the host cities for the United Nations. Fortunately, wikipedia is here to shed a little extra light on the topic, as per usual:

The Hague is a city on the western coast of the Netherlands, and the capital of the province of South Holland.

With a population of 520,704 inhabitants (as of 1 April 2016) and more than one million inhabitants including the suburbs, it is the third-largest city of the Netherlands, after Amsterdam and Rotterdam.

The Hague is the seat of the Dutch government, parliament, the Supreme Court, and the Council of State, but the city is not the capital of the Netherlands, which constitutionally is Amsterdam. Most foreign embassies in the Netherlands and 150 international organisations are located in the city, including the International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court, which makes The Hague one of the major cities hosting the United Nations along with New York, Geneva, Vienna, Rome, and Nairobi. King Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands plans to live at Huis ten Bosch and works at Noordeinde Palace in The Hague, together with Queen Máxima.

We also never realised that The Hague would be home to some of the greatest seafood we would ever encounter in our lives, as we would soon find out. We arrived at the B-Aparthotel, checked into our room, and then looked for somewhere to go for dinner, stumbling upon a place called Het Gouden Kalf in Scheveningen Harbour. We just didn’t realise that it would be one of the best decisions we would make. We made the 30-minute walk down to the harbour, passing a giant van that strongly resembled the one driven by Rocksteady and Bebop in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles en route. Anna initially felt like a lamb rack for dinner, but I told her that clams were “the sheep of the sea,” due in part to the little furry bit at the opening. It all made perfect sense in my mind at the time. When we arrived at Het Gouden Kalf we were each treated to a seven-course set menu meal that could have the main dish upgraded to Dutch lobster for an extra €7.50 (approx. AU$11.20), a decision we obviously made. Here are a few sites along the way, plus what we ate. Unfortunately I can’t remember exactly what each dish was, but I’ll try my best:

The Ninja Turtle van

Outside Het Gouden Kalf

Seared tuna

Tandoori chicken with yoghurt

Clams, the sheep of the sea, served with a foam soup

Cod and sea-sheep with an asparagus sauce

Lobster with shaved truffle

Pickled pear with cranberry cheese

Summer berries

Fairy floss

When the waitress asks you if you want freshly shaved truffle on your lobster, you get that shit shaved! The food was spectacular, but we were certain we had been undercharged, however, it turned out that great food is really affordable in The Hague. We’d need to walk off this meal, so we hoofed it back to our hotel and collapsed in front of the TV for the night.

Monday, June 26 It was our first full day exploring The Hague and this is a cool city, unfortunately we just started in a bit of a dodgy neighbourhood. We love markets so we made our way down to the main one in The Hague and it wasn’t pretty, however, yet again the food there was great. There wasn’t a whole lot to see so we got some smoked fish and some herring sandwiches among other things and then found our way to the nicer part of this very artsy city, our hands reeking of fish.

One of many strange cars we saw on this trip

There are ducks everywhere!

This dog walked up and just started licking me

Smoked fish in the market

No, this isn’t minced meat, just a minced meat-patteren pillow in the market

A cool statue in the city centre

I love art, but I hate going to galleries and exhibitions in Singapore because they are full of screaming children running around, touching and climbing priceless works while adults push in front of you, also feeling the need to make physical contact with everything in front of them. This isn’t the case in Europe and one of the most famous sites in The Hague is the Mauritshuis:

The Mauritshuis is an art museum in The Hague in the Netherlands. The museum houses the Royal Cabinet of Paintings which consists of 841 objects, mostly Dutch Golden Age paintings. The collections contains works by Johannes Vermeer, Rembrandt van Rijn, Jan Steen, Paulus Potter, Frans Hals, Jacob van Ruisdael, Hans Holbein the Younger, and others. Originally, the 17th century building was the residence of count John Maurice of Nassau. It is now the property of the government of the Netherlands and is listed in the top 100 Dutch heritage sites.

The gallery is best known for housing Johannes Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, a piece which I could never see what the big deal was about, but there are also plenty of other works by Dutch masters that I like there, particularly those by Peter Paul Rubens. Rubens was a Flemish artist whose works were strongly influenced by Caravaggio, another one of my favourites. The Mauritshuis was definitely worth the visit so I took pictures of several of the pieces I particularly liked, as well as the obligatory Girl with a Pearl Earring shot, however, I was unable to find the details for all of them. As usual, these photos don’t do the paintings true justice, but I’m sure you could find clearer images of them online if you wish to see them better:

‘Portrait of a Man’ (possibly Peter van Hecke) and ‘Portrait of a Woman’ (possibly Clara Fourment), Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1630

‘An Old Woman and a Boy with Candles,’ Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1616-1617

‘Vanitas Still Life,’ Pieter Claesz, c. 1630

‘Flower Still Life with a Timepiece,’ Willem von Aelst, c. 1663

‘The Anatomy Lesson of Dr Nicolaes Tulp,’ Rembrandt, c. 1632

‘Girl with a Pearl Earring,’ Johannes Vermeer, c. 1665

After the Mauritshuis we grabbed dinner and then went to a bar for a shisha and a few quiet drinks, but we couldn’t have a big night — Not only was Anna giving her talk at the conference the following day, it was also going to be her birthday.

Tuesday, June 27 Anna had been preparing for her talk at the Vision 2017 conference for quite some time and today was the day, it was just a shame it had to land on her birthday. Fortunately for her it went exceptionally well, so well in fact that she was nominated for the New Generation Investigator award. This nomination, however, proved a little troublesome — If Anna was a finalist, she would be presented with the award on Thursday morning at roughly the same time we were supposed to be making our way to the airport for our flight to Budapest. Only time would tell.

But we had no time to worry about Thursday, it was Anna’s birthday and we had some celebrating to do. Anna came back to our hotel room straight after her talk and we headed into town to party.

Peace Palace

Getting an iced-latte

Anna’s surprise bowl of explosive ice-cream

Posing out as usual

Another cool sculpture, this one displaying the old and the new

We walked into town, past the Peace Palace, and took a seat at ‘t Goude Hooft to grab a coffee to get our day started. We got our waiter to take a photo of us and I posted it on Facebook with a birthday message, tagging the cafe in the post. An employee must have seen it and brought out a small bowl of ice-cream with a sparkler in it for Anna’s birthday, which we both thought was pretty cool.

The next thing Anna wanted to do was check out the M.C. Escher museum. Escher is another artist that I have always loved and Anna became a bit of a fan of his work after we went to an exhibition of his in Singapore. As I mentioned earlier, galleries and exhibitions in Singapore are painful so it would be great to see his work in his hometown. A little bit of background information on Escher for those who don’t now him:

Maurits Cornelis Escher (17 June 1898 – 27 March 1972), or commonly M. C. Escher, was a Dutchgraphic artist who made mathematically inspiredwoodcuts, lithographs, and mezzotints.

His work features mathematical objects and operations including impossible objects, explorations of infinity, reflection, symmetry, perspective, truncated and stellated polyhedra, hyperbolic geometry, and tessellations. Although Escher believed he had no mathematical ability, he interacted with the mathematicians George Pólya, Roger Penrose, Harold Coxeter and crystallographer Friedrich Haag, and conducted his own research into tessellation.

Escher’s art became well known among scientists and mathematicians, and in popular culture, especially after it was featured by Martin Gardner in his April 1966 Mathematical Games column in Scientific American. Apart from being used in a variety of technical papers, his work has appeared on the covers of many books and albums.

I’ve got several books of M.C. Escher’s work so I didn’t particularly feel the need to take a whole lot of photos, but here are some of the ones I did get of other parts of the museum:

The key to getting Escher’s perspective

Looking up an infinite tunnel…

…and down

Anna’s head in the tunnel

A cool chandelier in the museum that Anna liked

We continued to walk around after the Escher museum, just a whole lot more shopping, but the shops in The Hague don’t stay open particularly late, usually closing between 5-6:00pm, so we went home and relaxed for a bit, then it was time for dinner.

While Anna was at her conference in the morning I had been checking out restaurants and found Catch by Simonis, another fantastic looking seafood restaurant in Scheveningen Harbour. Catch is huge restaurant, seating approximately 500 people and is famous for its seafood platters so I suggested that to her. When we arrived we were told we could wait for an outside seat or immediately take one indoors. We took the indoor seat and asked to be moved outside when a place became available, but the waiter essentially ignored us for about half an hour until we told him not to worry about, then we waited quite a while longer for our drinks. When the time came to order food, we asked for a seafood platter for two and a risotto, only to be warned by the waiter that the platter would be more than enough. He wasn’t kidding!

Beginning with a birthday drink

The bottom level of our platter…

…and the top

Anna looking somewhat intimidated by dinner

I think we can do it

Mission accomplished

The food was unbelievable, extremely fresh and there was so much of it. In the end it was up to me to finish it up due to the sheer quantity of it all. It would’ve been a perfect night, but the poor service stuck in Anna’s craw a bit. Yet again, we had to walk this one off so we sauntered home, past Planet Jump, an old disused church that has now been filled with trampolines, and back to our hotel to settle in with a few more drinks.

Wednesday, June 28 It was our last full day in The Hague and Anna was spending all of it at the conference while I just wandered around the city, checking out all of the places that I hadn’t had a chance to yet.

After Anna had finished we went down to the seaside for dinner. One thing we noticed as soon as we arrived in The Hague on Sunday night is that there are seagulls everywhere and they are absolutely enormous! These had to be the biggest seagulls we had ever seen anywhere in the world, so much so that Anna soon dubbed me the ‘Hague Seagull’. We tried to take photos of them, but seriously, pictures just don’t capture the sheer size of these birds. We found a place to eat where you get to grill an unlimited amount of fresh prawns quite cheaply so we settled in for the night and stuffed ourselves with crustaceans while taking in the scenery on a cold summer’s night.

The view of the pier

A panoramic shot of the beach and its food stalls

It’s seriously a lot bigger than it looks

Anna cooking up a storm

Mmmmm…

One of many weird sculptures near the beach

And another

The Dutch leg of our journey was fantastic and was constantly flecked with little luxuries and extravagances. So far we had:

Flown Premium Economy class. Sure, it ain’t First Class or Business Class, but it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than regular Economy class.

Stayed in an enormous hotel suite.

Eaten lobster with freshly shaved truffle.

On a separate occasion eaten a seafood platter that may have subsequently rendered some forms of shellfish as endangered species.

But what does the rest of the trip hold? Will Anna win her award? Will Budapest live up to all the hype? And will the high living continue?

Stay tuned for part two of Traveling in Opulence – The Reverse ‘T’ Factor to find out!

  Traveling in Opulence – The Reverse ‘T’ Factor pt. 1: Amsterdam and The Hague "So, statistically, in the Land of the Free you have the least amount of free people. This is a super-simple argument; in Holland you can smoke weed whilst f___ing a hooker in front of a cop.