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starlightlacrimosazpsff · 1 year ago

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♧ 𝓑𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓴 ♧

CO-WRITTEN WITH: @heiayen EVENT HOSTED BY: @soleillunne

SYNOPSIS:

Being a spy has its own set of challenges. Being a spy for a vigilante group, in a nation ruled by corrupt officials that dare to usurp the rightful authority of governance, is at an entirely different level of difficulty. You decided to accept the job of spying on a pretty boy from Inazuma, suspected to be a threat for being an accomplice with a dangerous diplomat from Snezhnaya whom was also an exile from your own nation. Due to your own hubris, you may have just earned a new archnemesis.

ENTRY TYPE: Event Submission, GN!Reader

WARNING(S): fight scene with a bit of blood, descriptive violence, degrading language, etc...

CHARACTER: Scaramouche

•

Curse the gods and curse the heavens, this was the last time you signed yourself up for a bigger job! A political affair, maybe something bigger—Inazuma’s most important politician’s son is possibly colluding with one of Snezhnaya’s worst politicians. No one knew why and to make it worse, there was quite the chance whatever they were planning was in one way or another related to the very nation you lived in for years now: Sumeru. Frankly, it was a mess...

…and somehow, you managed to put yourself in the middle of it.

Everyone got concerned when Alhaitham first brought the news to light because no one knew what it would mean for Sumeru. The rulers here were not to be trusted, willing to do gods know what for their own gain. That was also why this group got created, to stand against them and fight for what was right. You offered to spy on him and, yes, you were greeted with objections from Nilou and Cyno— both claiming it would be too dangerous for you. However, in the end, you got the green light.

—and, oh, how bad of an idea it was.

Scaramouche had perfected the act of a corrupt politician's innocent son who did no wrong, and could not be judged by his mother’s crimes when he has proven to be different. He was polite to others, always with a gentle expression on his face. When you first started the job, you could not even believe that this man could possibly be planning something terrible.

Most importantly, he was really pretty.

You knew it should not matter to you, no; but you seriously could not believe someone with a face like his could be a bad person. Then again, they do say not to trust a pretty face.

Ignoring your inner crisis, the job was not that bad at first. Yes, it was pricey because Scaramouche was often a guest of expensive places; and you therefore got the chance to eat expensive food, drinks and just enjoy the life of luxury. It was not with your money either, because all of that was covered under mission expenses by Alhaitham. He did scold you to not order dishes that are too expensive, or you will be the one paying for them. You listened because you knew he absolutely meant it. Still, it was great to enjoy the life of the rich for once. Obviously, it was not all that pretty every time; and sometimes, you would just spend hours walking around with your camera while trying to spot Scaramouche and see what he was doing or if he was talking with anyone.

It was fun, until it was not.

The serenity that surrounded him, combined with the gentleness of everything he did was driving you mad. You were having a hard time genuinely believing that he was behind any kind of political affairs. He literally was so polite to an older waiter in a restaurant! You sat in your chair, staring in shock until another waiter placed food on your table.

There was just no way.

🦋

There was a way, actually.

It was sunny that day when you were simply sitting and observing him again. Nice weather, nothing was happening. You could have just spent this day at home, chilling; but alas, you still had a man to spy on. You could not rest until you were 100% sure that nothing threatened Sumeru, especially when two influential individuals from different nations are suspected to be behind said threat. Fortunately, it seemed that the heavens finally listened to you and you got a lead.

As you sat in a spot high enough to avoid being noticed, you suddenly noticed Scaramouche grab his phone. You wasted no time turning on your camera and zooming in to clearly capture his face.

It…was new.

That usually calm expression of his dropped and got replaced by a scowl. It was a new expression of his, one that you have not seen at all, so you watched him closely with blatant curiosity. Whoever he was talking to, they have clearly angered him—judging by the furrow of his brows and his lips curved into a frown. He yelled too, you noticed; and despite being no lip-reader, you could swear the words he yelled out were insults and curses. Somehow, a part of you felt satisfaction watching the person you were observing for weeks lose their cool completely.

You fought a smirk creeping on your lips. You could not explain why.

You shook your head and brought your attention back to him. The call went on for a few minutes before he ended it with a spat of insults, or so you guessed.

While you had no idea what he was talking about on the phone or if it was in any way related to your current mission, it was still a move.

Guess you should update Alhaitham about it…

🦋

The heavens were on your side for once. When you returned, you handed the recording to Alhaitham. Some time afterwards, you received the transcript of Scaramouche’s conversation. Some of the words were missing since he just was not able to lip-read them, but you were grateful for his work either way. You were even more grateful for the news that came with the transcript.

Scaramouche was, indeed, talking with the very person you and your team suspected: Il Dottore. In Snezhnaya, he was known for his questionable morals, to say the least...and work ethics. There was a saying that if anything was going wrong, it was probably his fault. He studied at Sumeru’s academy but was ultimately expelled and banned from the nation.

For the sake of your sanity, you did not ask why.

However, all this gave you a clear image of upcoming troubles if you did not act in time. You did not know the details yet, but knowing that someone as unpredictable as Il Dottore was related to the case—

You blinked. This was no good.

You looked back at the transcript.

According to it, Scaramouche and Dottore were meant to meet soon at some party for rich people which was actually great for you. You could spy on both suspects at the same time, after all. You knew it would be hard, but even the tiniest chance of getting any more information was worth the risk that came with it. Who knows? Maybe Scaramouche would yell some important details in some fit of anger, and you would overhear it…

That would be the ideal scenario, but not likely to happen.

You liked to dream sometimes.

Also, yes, you were right about the fact he was yelling curses...and insults. Plenty of them even, to the point where Alhaitham—according to the small note he left—just refused to write them down. You laughed to yourself upon reading said note.

Somehow, you could not help but feel… excited at the thought of meeting him.

It was weird. You could not give it a name, but you somehow became too intrigued and personally fascinated with him for your own good. You wanted to meet him, talk to him, and see the carefully crafted mask of politeness with your own eyes. You wanted to see it slip, see a part of the real him come out.

The ugly side that he tried so hard to hide from everyone.

Be the reason the mask slipped.

…gods. Maybe it was your sign to rest for the day. With even more questions and even fewer answers, you got up from the desk and started packing up your things.

The party was this week, after all. You should start preparing.

🦋

Dining in expensive restaurants was one thing.

Attending expensive parties full of important people was another.

Getting an invite for yourself would be hard, given how—well, you were not that important in society. Alhaitham was, on the other hand, so you simply went as his plus one. It was honestly not a bad thing since, thanks to it, you had someone to call for help in case anything went down.

You hoped nothing would.

The first part of your plan was—

“Oh! Are you alright?” A voice asked. You blinked and looked at just who exactly you bumped.

You blinked again. Oh.

You only ever saw him in pictures and from a distance, so only now you realized how…genuinely pretty he looks. He is so beautiful that he could pass as a vintage doll, very pretty.

Too pretty for a human, you would dare to say.

“Yes, yes...! I’m sorry for bumping into you.” You said, smiling.

Scaramouche smiled back, although something was off about it.

“Are you here alone?”

“Oh no, no…!” You shook your head, “I’m with my friend.”

You wondered how many questions he could ask and how many answers you could give him before it would get suspicious. You try to subdue your body language to absolute neutrality to cover your tells.

“Where is your friend?”

“He’s…” You looked around. Truth be told, you actually had no idea where Alhaitham was, “...somewhere?”

“What a friend he is, to leave you alone at a party.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Mind if I keep you company?”

Oh, no.

“There’s no need.” You waved your hand, “You must be busy yourself, I don’t want to waste your time.”

You did not want to risk anything by spending even more time around him. Your plan was simple: it was to bump into him, stick the little microphone to his clothes, and happily listen to his conversation with the Snezhnayan politician. Once that was done, you deactivate the bug so it does not get traced back and you can go back to headquarters in Sumeru with Alhaitham discreetly.

You did the first part and managed to stick the microphone to the inner edge of his suit. Now, you planned on leaving as fast as possible; but alas, that did not happen.

“I insist.” He smiled wider.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You did not understand why he would insist on staying with you. From all the time you spent watching him, he did not seem like someone so willing to accompany a stranger for no reason. Even when he was wearing his gentleman mask, he would always avoid prolonged idle chats and act reserved in the background.

There was no way he somehow found you out, right?

“Well...?” He tilted his head, the curve of his lips dropping just a tad.

“If you insist.” You forced a smile.

His own grew back into a beaming grin.

You had a terrible feeling about it, but still let him lead you deeper inside his web.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and you gave him the first fake name you could think. You were not worried about him somehow calling your bluff. After all, how in the world would he find out?

You just hoped he would not ask about Alhaitham.

He hummed with a nod. “Your friend is…?”

“He’s a businessman!” You blurted out. Good gods, it was as if he read your thoughts and decided to make things harder! “He didn’t have anyone as his plus one, so asked me to come.”

“A businessman, you say?” He raised his eyebrows and you nodded.

“He’s a very busy man, so that’s probably why he left me alone here.” You figured that maybe rambling for long enough would buy you time to find a way of leaving, “He took over his parents’ company at a very young age and did very well, so obviously a lot of people admired him—huh?”

You turned your head at him when you heard him laugh under his nose. What was his problem?

“Do you always talk a stranger’s ears off?” Scaramouche questioned, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well, I guess you’re special?” You shrugged; and before he could reply, you spoke again, “If you mind it, then maybe you should talk now? About yourself, maybe...?”

He looked at you and, somehow, you felt cornered by him in a room full of people.

“About myself...?” He chuckled lowly and leaned toward you, “Don’t you know it all already? Or maybe you’re not as good of a spy as you claim to be?”

You froze, stiffening from head to toe at his statement.

You were busted.

Scaramouche gracefully swiped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. He keeps his eyes on you, the majestic midnight blue darkening into a burgundy shade. This is a glimpse into the true self you have been wanting to see, yet it sent chilling thrills throughout your body. To witness the seamless change between his hollow kindness to ominous threat, it almost made you flush with shame as a spy when you compared how his facade is legitimately smoother than yours.

“You sure hold a lot of confidence to spy on me,” he chuckled derisively, “yet you can’t even lie properly to save your life. Just from your rambling, I can tell you must have good backing. The downside is your supposed friend must be fairly recognizable. If you out him as your accomplice, your entire operation could fall.”

He took a sip from his glass, elegance blending perfectly with shrewd composure.

"The only smart thing here," he hums as he swirls the liquid, "is that plus-ones are not officially enlisted on the invitations. That means you get to hide your name from me, just a little while longer. That also means your friend gets to keep his dirty secret of being involved in these clandestine operations."

It was very impressive how he managed to deduce all that from one conversation with you. The sheer audacity that he was even laying it all out in the open for you showed how it barely made a difference to him. You have a lot to learn as a spy, it seems. This experience and encounter have just humbled you.

Scaramouche is quite a monster.

You shudder to imagine what it would be like to deal with Dottore.

“So, tell me.” He almost purred, “What’s your objective here, little mouse?”

You gaped incredulously, “Little mouse…?!”

Scaramouche blinked a few times, mocking a surprised expression.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” He teases haughtily, “I was trying to be nice but perhaps you prefer a more accurate nickname. How about a little fly? You sure love acting like one with how you kept hovering for the past few weeks just to get some dirt on me.”

You gritted your teeth as you glare at him, utterly humiliated and infuriated. He casually observes you from head to toe as he drinks the rest of his champagne. As he does, his other hand busied itself in dismantling the bug you implanted on him. With a smirk, he presents it to your face. He leans forward as if to intimately impart a secret.

“Not good at hiding your emotions either…” he notes tauntingly, “Am I your first job, little fly? Quite audacious of you, I must say.”

Your target sneers as he casually crushes the gadget in his fist, displaying an uncanny strength despite his delicate appearance. He drops it and stomps on the object for good measure, whispering to you. For the first time, you realize how dangerous Scaramouche could really be and how arrogant you have been by taking this job.

“You ain’t slick.” He laughs sharply, “How about I show you how it’s done?”

At that moment, he releases just a tad bit of killing intent that makes you instinctively shove him away from you without any coherent control over yourself. The rest of his champagne spills on your clothes, and he gasps—now playing the perfect gentleman again. He sets aside the glass on a nearby table, producing his handkerchief to wipe the stain on your arm and patting your torso lightly.

“A thousand apologies…!” Scaramouche said gently, “I didn't mean to startle you. It’s most fortunate the champagne did not spill too much on you.”

He then smiled so chivalrously that it made you blush. This man has a rotten personality yet his mask is flawless, especially with that pretty face! You know it is fake, a point being proven regarding how much he looks down on your own skills. In fact, because of this play, he has everyone’s attention now. He started the scene, and so he gets to control it—cornering you mercilessly.

“Go ahead.” His eyes seem to goad you, “Call for help from your friend. Let me see who else is behind your operations as I make you fall apart.”

To your credit, you managed to do the exact opposite. You were sure Alhaitham is also holding himself back from approaching for the same reasons. If you were going down, he cannot possibly reveal himself to Scaramouche and Dottore. It was all too clear you made too many mistakes when it came to spying on Scaramouche. The realization hurts your pride, but you have nobody else to blame but yourself. Thus, you did not resist as he touched your arm—deceptively tender as you feel his nails dig as a warning.

“Allow me to escort you to get cleaned.” Scaramouche offers gallantly.

It was not a request. Either you go with him, or he finds a way to hunt you down later.

You complied peacefully.

However, as soon as you are both out of sight and earshot, you will fight back. It was a shame you would have to bruise that pretty face, but the bastard deserves the hit.

He will pay for underestimating you.

🦋

Scaramouche saw your resistance coming.

In the dark of night away from the party, you turned your arm in such a way he was forced to bend his hold. With his balance off, you aimed your free fist towards his face but he dodged effortlessly—that pretty smile still on his face. Burgundy eyes gleam under the moonlight, as if pleased to see your spirit.

It was ironic how you had wished to be the reason Scaramouche’s mask falls off.

However, he was the one doing it to you.

That knowledge serves to piss you off even more as you lunge forward. Hit after hit, he dodges skillfully with the reflexes and agility of a graceful feline. At one point, he boredly taps your wrist away to misdirect your fist and proceeds to use your momentum against you by aiming his knee against your stomach. In a last minute maneuver, your body twirls in a way that would have made Nilou proud. As you fall, one of your hands plants on the ground to help you spin a kick towards his face. He raises his arms to block to which you swiftly flip away to gain some distance.

“Not bad,” Scaramouche smirks appraisingly, “it seems you’re not so hopeless after all.”

He flicks his wrists, showing that the power of your kick did not leave him unfazed. However, you paled a bit when he ended up producing a butterfly knife. Frankly, the tricks he displayed with it impresses you; but you quickly covered it up with a dark glower.

“Don’t pout, little fly~!” He coos in a sickeningly sweet tone, “If you’re dirty enough to intrude on my privacy, I’m dirty enough to use weapons on an unarmed person.”

You huffed, “You seem to put a lot of effort on someone you deem as an insignificant insect.”

He scoffs back at you, “Don’t flatter yourself. I just want to see you bleed for causing this much trouble for me.”

“If you kill me here,” you bluff, “you won’t have a way to cover it up.”

Scaramouche pauses before manic glee flashes in his eyes. He snorts before erupting into full chortles. His cheeks flush pink in genuine hilarity, lips spread wide open with laughter. It made him appear innocent, a young man who was having the time of his life. Alas, the context is darker than that for you. It shows from the glint reflected in those malicious amethysts that glare back at you.

“Why,” he chirps boyishly, “are you scared, little fly?”

He scowls bitterly, “You really think you’d be the first murder victim I’ve cleaned up in these sorts of gatherings. I have plenty of experience, and I know how to handle your type while making it look like an accident...or just have you go missing entirely.”

The blade in his hand glints menacingly as he points it at you.

Then, he attacks.

You sucked a breath through your teeth, flinching to instinctively dodge the stab he aimed at your eye. He is very fast! He is lightning fast, and fluid too. He was not just stabbing or mindlessly swinging. Every movement is precise and nimble, like an assassin who has eliminated all sorts of targets. For every swipe and thrust, he makes use of his entire body and especially his flexible wrist which flicks to aim at the slightest weakspot he sees within a blink. At one point, you manage to kick him back and his moment of shocked astonishment made your chest swell with pride. However, your smug grin immediately falters when he dashes at you while changing hands for his blade and vanishes in a split second—

—only to reappear behind you to hold your entire body in a chokehold, pointing the blade straight to your jugular. It applied enough pressure to cut, making you wince as your skin bled. His lips almost seductively graze your ear, chuckling softly.

“Give up, mousey.” Scaramouche murmurs.

You grunted, “Never.”

“Fine. Then perish.”

On cue, a smoke bomb drops by yours and Scaramouche’s feet. You did not hesitate to elbow him in the gut when his hold loosened in alarm and distraction. You then made a swift escape and barely dodged the blade that blindly flew past your cheek. It embeds onto the cobblestone pathway with a metallic clang. At the same time, your keen hearing detects the sound of a familiar bird call that can only come from the ever quick-witted Alhaitham. With a relieved sigh, you follow the sound into the darkness.

You need a drink as soon as you get back to headquarters.

🦋

Scaramouche silently stood alone in the garden.

He was leaning against a pillar, one hand in his pocket. He then holds up a vial of your blood to the moon, having collected it from the blade that nicked your cheek and neck. It was a meager sample but more than enough for Dottore to know everything about you once Scaramouche hands it over to him. The thought left a bitter taste of disdain in his mouth, but this is not his expertise and he wants results.

He wants to see you again.

Clacking footsteps made his ears twitch but he did not move from observing the crimson elixir as it glowed beneath the moonlit gaze.

“They got away.” Scaramouche informs the stranger coldly.

“Really now?” Dottore laughs humorlessly, “You’ve gotten soft.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The younger male hissed, “Let them and whatever company they keep have this false sense of security. It would be more advantageous for us anyway.”

He shoves the vial towards the unethical doctor, crossing his arms in haughty irritation. His dark burgundy eyes stared blankly at where he last saw you—held you in his arms, and felt shivers down his spine as you fought him with the ferocity of a wild beast.

“I know their type.” Scaramouche gruffly explains, “They would bite their own tongue rather than start talking. They make for a lousy spy based on their skills, but their attitude is stellar for the job.”

Dottore grins widely, “Ha! Careful there, Balladeer. You almost sound doting as you praise the vermin.”

Scaramouche gives him a murderous expression.

“Just get out of my sight!” He spat, “We’re done here.”

Unwilling to spend more time with his co-conspirator, Scaramouche makes himself scarce from the premises. One of his hands combs through his hair agitatedly before loosening his collar with a deep scowl. He can feel his arms bruising after the scuffle, making him laugh under his breath. You surely gave quite the fight even if he had no plans to really kill you tonight.

“Let the games begin, mousey.” He mumbled, “I do love a good chase.”

The Balladeer hopes you were better at running than spying.

It would be boring if he catches you too soon.

•☆••☆••☆•

84 notes · View notes

jaskiersvalley · 3 years ago

Note

Your safari au. Please. I need it. Water my crops with tigers and hyenas and witchers. Grabby hands and pleading faces in abundance here.

You are after my heart, Nonnie. And considering I've only talked about the Safari AU on Novigrad, I will happily assume you're lurking on there and I love you for it. Tweaked a little to add in a hyena just for you.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Taking over a park was no easy feat, especially not when it came with a reputation like Nilfgaard had. Eskel scratched his head as he poured over the various financial reports, wondering just how much of it could be trusted. The problem was Nilfgaard had been a shining beacon in the animal conservation world, exceptional facilities, high enrichment for the animals and a successful rehabilitation rate. If there was ever an animal in need of a place, Nilfgaard had been first choice for years. All that came tumbling down in light of the revelation that Nilfgaard had been trading illegally, their animals sold to private owners as exotic pets or, even worse, hunters who wanted a guaranteed, easy kill. The place had been shut down immediately, a skeleton crew kept on to tend to the animals but nothing more. Management was on trial and Kaer Morhen had won the bid to take over. Though small and mostly unknown, nobody else had wanted to touch the remnants of Nilfgaard so they were quite uncontested in their bid. What had seemed like a good idea at the time, an noble because it was in the interest of the animals, now was an absolute headache.

Between the three of them, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert could split most of the urgent work. They had Jaskier working on rebranding, Yennefer managing the board and Vesemir as the head. It left them free to run the day to day of the park, learning the animals as well as the people who they had kept on. But they were going to need more people to actually help the place flourish and regain its standing in the community. Which meant asking the heads of departments for who should be kept on and what roles to recruit for from scratch. The easy ones were things like hospitality, Zoltan had a firm grip on the needs of the park and its visitors, knew all the catering firms and how to run a tight ship. So it was one less headache for them. Eredin had stepped up as Head of Security readily once it was proven he had no knowledge of the animal smuggling. Again, his familiarity with the park was a boon, as were his connections, putting together a security team that could be trusted. Much more messy was the animal welfare section. Fringilla, much like Eredin, had stepped up to become interim Head Zookeeper and was doing her best. While they were understaffed, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert helped out where they could but much of their time was spent getting to know the routine of the park and its many animals.

"We need to know who we can trust," Lambert grumbled, leaning over the table where they had personnel files open. "It's impossible to know who was in on things and who wasn't."

Though, in all likelihood, none of the lower level workers knew that when they helped usher one of their beloved animals into a crate, they weren't sending them off to another facility or a happily ever after. But it was something they just couldn't risk.

"May I?" Fringilla asked, eyes roving over all the files. At Geralt's gesture, she began pulling some of them out. "You'll want Triss, she was a vet here, promote her to senior or chief or whatever you call it. She's solid. And Sabrina, she's great, works well with Triss. Retain Istredd, Mousesack, Calanthe and Eist too. oh, and Letho for the reptile house." As she spoke, she kept looking with a small frown.

"Missing someone?" Eskel asked. Nodding, Fringilla frowned. Without much care for manners, she walked to the cupboards and began pulling out files until she hit the folder of resignations and terminations. From there, she pulled out one last file.

"You'll want him."

The folder was taken from her and the three peered at it with varying levels of frowns.

"You want us to hire someone who was terminated for gross misconduct? Whose notes suggest he abused animals and has blacklisted from working with animals?"

"No. I want you to meet the whistle-blower. Cahir's the one who found out about the trafficking and reported it. Nilfgaard didn't take kindly to it and retaliated."

Not sold on the idea, Lambert crossed his arms over his chest. "His file doesn't look exceptional. Personally, if he applied for a job, I'm not sure he shines enough to even be called in for an interview."

It was a sentiment echoed by the other two and Fringilla had to fight to hold back a sneer. "Invite him in and judge for yourselves. Just because his record doesn't have a quantifiable or gradable measure of commitment doesn't mean he won't be fantastic. If we ever have a new animal in that doesn't need to stay hospitalised, I wouldn't want anyone but Cahir to help settle it in. Especially the younger ones and babies."

Against their better judgement, the three decided to follow Fringilla's advice and e-mailed Cahir an interview offer. The reply was terse but assured them that he would be there at the agreed time.

First impressions were, to put gently, not great. Cahir looked rumpled, bags under his eyes and his attitude was rather sullen. It didn't bode well as they sat in the office, Cahir an odd mix of defiant and subservient. At least Fringilla had the grace to push the interview forward as much as she could until even she sighed and leaned back.

"Why don't we walk through some of the enclosures? Make sure you still remember what's where."

As they walked, Eskel ended up next to Cahir, who seemed content to not talk. That didn't stop Eskel from trying to initiate conversation.

"So, what have you been doing in the three months since you left here?"

"Tried to survive."

The blunt answer had Eskel blinking, there were many things he expected but not that. "Oh?"

For the first time Cahir actually looked at him, sadness bleeding through his half glare. "I used to live on site, worked for Nilfgaard from the age of 15, took a full time post at 18 and moved into the small cottage in the southern corner of the land. They fired me, I lost everything."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Eskel tried to figure out just how much of Cahir's so story was an exaggeration. "Have you been living with friends then?"

"For a few weeks, yeah." Cahir actually scoffed. "I've been trying to get a job and living in a hostel off savings. Turns out, only having in-house qualifications does not bode well for prospects in the world at large."

Fringilla led them into an enclosure where the grass was high. From the looks and smells, Eskel would have guessed it was a tiger's habitat but he wasn't familiar enough with the park yet to know. He would have hesitated going in, especially in a group like they were but Eskel had to trust Fringilla as she came to a stop and they stood in a loose circle.

The house Cahir had mentioned was one Eskel was familiar with. They had often wondered why it was empty yet well kept. It had felt like a life interrupted when they had a look round, nothing personal there yet it didn't have the empty, unlived-in feel of a show home. In a way, Eskel was regretting just how poorly Cahir's interview was going because he could easily see them offering his house back as part of a contract.

"So why are we here?" Lambert's words broke Eskel's reverie. "I thought we wanted to go on a walk."

It was by pure chance that Eskel caught Fringilla's smirk at Cahir and the slightest softening of that stern expression in return. Clicking his tongue, Cahir shot Lambert a look. "Tell me, have you ever been stalked by a tiger before?"

"No."

"You sure about that?" Cahir clicked his tongue twice and the world burst into motion. From the long grass a tiger pounced and Eskel was not ashamed to admit he let out a surprised yell. He wasn't the only one though, Lambert gasping, hand at his mouth and shoulders up as the tiger took Cahir out. They went tumbling and only Geralt looked like he might lurch into action, taking half a step towards the animal and Cahir. It would have been hopeless though, the two were wrestling on the ground until Cahir was on his back, tiger hunched above him.

The first thing Eskel noticed was how Cahir's face was creased into a happy grin. He looked younger, relaxed and happy ever as the tiger licked a large stripe from jaw, up his chin to his hairline. All Cahir did was laugh.

"Yes, yes, I missed you too, Princess," he said. fingers loosened from the fur in the tiger's neck and petted along her nose with the ease of familiarity.

"What the actual fuck?!" Lambert all but screeched. "What the fuckity fucking fuck?"

Eskel had the sense to look to Fringilla for answers, even if he wanted to watch Cahir with the tiger. The change in the man wasn't something he could have predicted. Gone was the sullen, defensive and standoffish air, replaced by an easy smile and a look of serene happiness as Cahir looked at the tiger, checking her over out of habit, muttering about dirty ears and mucky paws as he went.

"That is what you won't ever learn from a CV and qualifications," Fringilla said. She was absolutely looking smug. "Princess came to us at 9 months old, from a circus. Had terrible separation anxiety and a host of other issues too. She wasn't doing well despite our best efforts. At least, not until Cahir took her home and cared for her during the nights rather than leave her in a hospital cage. He introduced her to independence, slept out in the open with her for a few weeks when she was ready to transition to outdoors." Much more quietly, she added, "She's not the only animal he'd done that for. To find out some of his beloved children have been sold hit him hard. I don't think I'd ever seen him cry before then."

Turning back, Eskel watched as Cahir was sat on the ground, tiger with her back to him. The slightly strained "oh no you don't" from Cahir was lost as the tiger pushed up onto her hind legs and flopped backwards. Had she been smaller, Cahir would have probably caught her like a baby. As it was, he grunted as the weight crashed across his legs and he had a happily chuffing tiger's belly to tickle.

"I assume you'd vouch for him?" Geralt asked.

"In a heartbeat." Fringilla grinned at Cahir but it was lost on him, so focused on Princess as he was. The others might as well have stopped existing. That was the moment Eskel knew his heart was in danger. It didn't get easier as time went on. Hiring Cahir was proving to be a good decision. He just got on with the work, never finding anything distasteful or below him to do. If it needed doing, he got it done.

Over time he opened up too, Eskel found himself wandering down to the southern corner of the park to the little house that was now full of life. He got used to Cahir usually having a baby or two in his care. Sometimes he babysat for Letho's hatchlings, content to have baby snakes trying to look around his arms as they learned how to cope with being handled. The friendship between the two was one Eskel couldn't claim to understand but they seemed to make it work.

"Knock knock," he announced himself by the open back door.

"Come on in," Cahir called as he wandered out of the kitchen. "I'm just finishing making dinner, care to join me?"

That was new too, Cahir was inviting Eskel into his life more and more. It made Eskel feel even better about what he was planning to ask at Fringilla's instructions.

"I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow. There's a new arrival that we think will need your assistance."

Cahir cocked an eyebrow and held up an empty plate in question again. At Eskel's nod he began loading. "Anything you can tell me about it?"

"Not much. Private collector got raided, had a few animals in his less than tender care."

"So they'll be part socialised, part traumatised. I can work with that."

Somehow, Eskel had no doubts about that. But he was holding back some information because Fringilla had told him to keep it a surprise. The next morning the transport van rolled in, a small group of them ready to handle the newest arrivals. There were a couple of pythons for Letho to bring into his fold, a parrot for Guxart to train into swearing. Last was a large crate. As interesting as it was, Eskel's eyes were on Cahir, the way his nostrils flared as he caught scent of the hyena. The box opened and the animal cautiously peered out.

"Dave!" Cahir exclaimed, all semblance of quiet professionalism gone as he hopped off the top of the crate he'd helped open.

If his reaction had been exuberant, it was nothing compared to the hyena's. They collided next to the box, all over each other.

"I missed you buddy." There were tears running down Cahir's cheeks as Dave alternated between butting into him and running tight, excited circles around him before settling down and trying to bodily press into him. Glancing up, Cahir gave Fringilla a wobbly smile. "How did you find her?"

Her? Last Eskel checked, Dave was a male name. Still, he wasn't going to interrupt the tender reunion with such a dumb question.

"She was part of a collector's hoard. Didn't have the right permits so he was made to give her up to those who could offer her proper care."

A broken "thank you" was whispered in her direction before Cahir buried his face in the hyena's neck. Eskel watched with so many questions. Thankfully Fringilla didn't miss that fact.

"She was born in captivity, originally assumed to be a boy, needed to be hand reared after mum rejected her. She never understood that she wasn't human and as a result has spent most of her life living with Cahir. We've tried so often to introduce her to a pack but she never took to them, content to stay with them for a day, two at a push before she starts pining. When Nilfgaard sold her, that's when Cahir got suspicious, did some digging and realised she hadn't gone to another park. So Dave is a catalyst for this whole fiasco if you will."

Watching them, Eskel nodded. He had a hyena to befriend if he wanted to keep Cahir in his life it would seem.

#pre-Cahir/Eskel #fringilla vigo #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eskel #lambert #geralt #safari au #tldr: nilfgaard is a disgraced safari the kaer morhen idiots take over

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newt-and-salamander · 3 years ago

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Okay, so here are my thoughts on Secrets of Dumbledore based on what we recently learned from the synopsis:

Professor Albus Dumbledore knows the powerful Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald is moving to seize control of the wizarding world. Unable to stop him alone, he entrusts Magizoologist Newt Scamander to lead an intrepid team of wizards, witches and one brave Muggle baker on a dangerous mission, where they encounter old and new beasts and clash with Grindelwald's growing legion of followers. But with the stakes so high, how long can Dumbledore remain on the sidelines?

First of all: “Secrets of Dumbledore” is a quite boring name (I mean a few people even (almost) guessed it before) but I think it’s practical. It can refer (obviously) to Albus, but also to Credence/Aurelius, Aberforth, Ariana, … and whoever might be a secret Dumbledore. (Jacob? Picket?!? Everyone, probably.) Taking into account the author’s ominous “answers are given” she once said about FB3, I believe in the end we will know how exactly Credence, Dumbledore and Grindelwald are connected.

Also, I wonder how much the film really will be about Dumbledore? “Crimes of Grindelwald” wasn’t really about Grindelwald after all. I imagine it to be about Dumbledore and his family in the beginning, probably some flashbacks, then he gives Newt some kind of a mission. The main part of the film could be about Newt and his team trying to accomplish that mission, and in the end (maybe when Newt fights his duel with Grindelwald), Dumbledore realises that not everything turned out as he planned (or did it?) and decides that “the stakes are too high to remain on the sidelines”. The question is if he will be able to openly move against Grindelwald, that depends on the blood pact and maybe on whether Newt is able to accomplish his mission. Or maybe, Grindelwald fighting Newt already counts as moving against Dumbledore so he will break the blood pact first? But I rather think, both Dumbledore and Grindelwald are too smart to break the pact on accident – we don’t know of the consequences they would have to face if they violated the pact, but I don’t doubt they would be terrible.

What made me frown at first, but happy after I gave it some more thought, was the idea of Newt as a team leader. Because – I don’t really see him as a leader. He’s a private and quiet person. But (and this is the good part) he is also an absolute expert for magical beasts. So, if he is to lead a team, it is certainly because of something beast-related! And I love this possibility. It’s “fantastic beasts” after all, and in my opinion, the creatures are the most magical part of the films!

What are Newt and his team doing on their journey? I can see two main possibilities here: a) looking for a way to destroy the blood pact, b) looking for a way to properly separate an Obscurus from its host. A blood pact seems to be a very powerful kind of magical bond/object, but let’s not forget that Harry managed to destroy a Horkrux with a Basilisk’s fang – so maybe there are other beasts with strong curse-breaking abilities? As for the Obscurus, we know that Newt has tried before with a girl, but she died. We just don’t know if this was because he hadn’t perfectionated the spell yet, or if he just came too late to save her.

So, who is on the team? Jacob for sure, I don’t know another brave Muggle baker. I’m also sure Bunty will come along as it was said that she will be much more important in this film, and she also is a beast expert. Tina? Hopefully! Nagini and Yusuf Kama? Probably, because otherwise, what would be their purpose (sorry)? Theseus? Nah, he’s a ministry man, I suppose he will concentrate on politics. (And I can’t really see him being bossed around by his little brother. :D But it would be lots of fun. Maybe he will be on the Berlin part of the mission because I don’t imagine lots of creatures living there.) Then we have the ominous Eulalie Hicks who has to fit in somehow, but we don’t know enough about her at this point to know whether she will rather accompany Newt or maybe will be more of a kind of advisor for Dumbledore. And, of course, I wonder if we will see Flamel again? He’s an alchemist, so maybe he has some ideas about how to destroy a blood pact.

Regarding “old and new beasts”, we will certainly see Pickett and the Niffler (they are just too popular now and can’t be left out. Also, I’m rather sure Newt won’t go anywhere without Pickett. The Niffler has proven to be rather useful, especially now that he can track Tina’s footsteps, hehe. Okay, stealing the blood pact also was rather useful I admit). I wonder if we might also see Frank again, maybe connected to Eulalie. I really hope to see the Zouwu, I just loved her and maybe that’s (part of) the reason for a trip to China? As for new beasts… I have no idea and I doubt that my current copy of Mr Newt Scamander’s book will be a great help because some of the creatures weren’t featured in it before they appeared on screen. But I’m sure we will see a lot of the Phoenix (Fawkes?) because it/he is clearly connected to the Dumbledores. And what about the Kelpie? It still appears a little strange to me that Newt’s scene with it in CoG wasn’t cut for time as it has no connection to the plot - unless it has and we just have to find out.

It is also mentioned that Newt and his team will clash with Grindelwald’s followers. It’s obvious that this will involve Credence who is going to have a scene with Dumbledore (I think Jude Law said something like that, about having a scene with Ezra set in Berlin?). I also really hope we will see a lot of Queenie and learn more about her motivation because although we were shown her reasons to join Grindelwald in CoG, it didn’t really convince me. I especially hope for a scene with her and Tina, but… well, let’s just hope, okay? Another one of Grindelwald’s followers who I think has a very interesting role is Grimmson. He’s an undercover spy (so there’s a lot of potential for dramatic scenes where he turns out to be a traitor and turns against the ministry) and also it’s implied that he and Newt have some kind of a backstory (although that also wasn’t too clear in the film, but you could learn from the script that he hunts down magical creatures – and that’s most likely the reason why Newt and he hate each other, although it’s possible they had some more personal connection in the past… maybe fought together in the war or worked at the Ministry and were both disgusted by the other’s methods). I personally think he would be a great antagonist for Newt because their hatred for each other is so personal and natural, maybe Newts has a stronger dislike for him than for Grindelwald (much like Harry hated Snape more than Voldemort). But well, we know that in the end it will be Newt against Grindelwald…

…and that’s a point that worries me. Newt is astonishingly capable of getting himself out of dangerous situations with the help of his beasts, and he has already once defeated Grindelwald together with Tina, the Swooping Evil, and all of MACUSA’s Aurors. If this epic battle scene in the end is a 1:1 Newt against Grindelwald I see… well I don’t really see a way Newt could possibly win this fight. He’s clearly a really capable wizard but duelling is not his main interest. It might be enough to trick traffickers and escape, but we have already seen him in the NY underground fighting Grindelwald and I don’t know how it would have ended for him if Credence and Tina hadn’t interrupted the scene. Let’s see how he get’s out of the situation this time (and nope, please don’t let anybody sacrifice him- or herself for Newt, I want them all to be happy and alive… but if somebody is going to die for Newt I assume it’s either Bunty or Theseus. But, as I just said, this is definitely not going to happen because I love them all very much, so there’s no need to discuss that). I just hope the film doesn’t end with a cliff-hanger like Newt being defeated and taken hostage… because I cannot possibly wait at least another two years to learn how they solve this. Also, I have no idea if – from a marketing point of view – that would be a very good or a very bad idea. I think everyone just wants to see Newt happily together with Tina at the end of the 3rdfilm, but… who knows.

Anyway, these are my thoughts on Secrets of Dumbledore up to this point. I am super excited just thinking about the fact that we will get photos and a trailer soon!

#fantastic beasts the secrets of dumbledore #fantastic beasts 3 #fantastic beasts theory #fbtsod #fantastic beasts #newt scamander #tina goldstein #albus dumbledore #gellert grindelwald #jacob kowalski #queenie goldstein #theseus scamander #bunty

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polyghostfacehours · 3 years ago

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Headcanons eh?! Can do!!!

I like to think that Stu is the kind of guy who will try things even with the full knowledge they are bad. Sees one of his fave drink brands put out a new flavor and it sounds truly awful? Will buy it in a heart beat. "It sounds terrible-" "I know right?!" He sounds so fucking happy about it.

Will drink it and then put it down with a confident nod, "Yup, just like I thought! Garbage." Still drinks the whole thing. Waste not want not and all that. Will see awful movies and indulge in awful shit just to confirm it to himself that it's bad. Why does he do it? Who knows! Glutton for punishment maybe? Or just likes to be proven right on the smallest things even if they don't matter.

Billy does not fucking get it at all. Finds it almost maddening. "Just buy the drink you KNOW that you like man!" Stu refuses. Billy has given up fighting it after years of it being a losing battle.

On the flip side Billy being a stubborn fuck, if he tries something once and doesn't like it? Never again. Even if you and Stu try to convince him he will not relent. Would hate to try something and then realize he does like it now, would hate to be proven wrong and realize he was hating on it unfairly for potentally YEARS when he could have been enjoying it. He can't take that risk. Think of his poor pride! It annoys Stu but he turn about is fair play. "You have't had pesto since you were fucking SEVEN Billy just give it another try for FUCKS SAKE-" "Absolutely not."

Your only shot is if you both make a big show of how good it is cuz he doesn't want to be left out. But even that isn't a sure thing.

No matter how close you are to someone even after years you won't always agree on every single thing and get on each others nerves on occasion. They both agree to disagree and put up with eachother's odd habits.

Too specific? Don't care. Enjoy my weird ass headcanon!

OH MY GOD YES. YES TO ALL THESE. FUCK THESE ARE SO GOOD BEX.

This reminds me if the time I went to this novelty snack store called Rocket Fizz. They sell vintage candy brands, snacks, and drinks from anywhere from 10 years ago to, like, 100 years ago and Im not sure how they get their hands on them. One time I went to their drinks aisle and found Ranch flavored soda pop and Buffalo Wings flavored soda pop. I KNEW THEY'D BE BAD. I still bought 'em. Brought them to a party my friends and I were headed to that day. The host almost threw up from trying it lol!

Stu doing exactly that is so on brand for him, and I would absolutely enourage it.

AND YOU NAILED BILLY HERE. SPOT ON. His pride getting in the way of him trying something he didnt like before? Having to admit to hinself he was wrong and couldve enjoyed something but missed out? Fuck that. I'd absolutely make a show of how good it is with Stu, maybe feed it to each other all sappily to make him feel so left out he has to try it again now lmao.

Bring in some more guys! I love hearing your HCs!

#billy loomis #stu macher #poly ghostface

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

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Group Whumpees 10: Asking and Answers

So this chapter is interesting in that I wrote a lot of words, but not a ton of it is any sort of particular forward motion. Largely this is just me establishing setting, which I have sorely needed to do for my own self, and sort of giving my characters a breath before the next bad thing I have planned for them (which is just as fun as it is contrived and overdramatic). So if you wanna skip to Sasha’s first “eep” I would not fault you for it, since it is a rather long chapter and the first stretch of it is just a lot of detail work with hardly any action.

CW: slavery, aftermath of torture, referenced noncon, multiple whumpees, referenced alcoholic tendencies, referenced religious... stuff.

Tag List:@bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince

Masterlist

First order of business: what in the fresh hell was actually happening in this house?

Well, okay, the first first order of business was tipping the locksmith and offering a can of soda before sending them back on their way, but then the first order of business was finding out what the fresh hell was actually happening in this house!

Galo had, admittedly, left it more or less unexplored. He’d gotten down all the weird art of his aunt’s with the help of Nyla and Evan, which meant he hadn’t scoured the place thoroughly, and he had settled into rather regular haunts. He passed through most of the main floor, some of the second (and he begrudgingly accepted that his mission would send him into his dead aunt’s bedroom), but that still left an expansive attic, the majority of the second floor, the rest of the main floor, the entire basement, and most of the grounds. Because Galo was agitated as all hell and his monkey hindbrain said that threats came from outside, he started with the grounds.

He’d run around them, of course, wandered through the gardens and hedges and whatnot, but the fact of the matter was that his aunt’s estate was massive. And since he was on “The Great Easter Egg Hunt: Saw Edition” for horrible things hidden in amongst the grass, it took a while.

The smell of new mulch was thick in the air, pleasant and fresh. Galo also took the time to admire Lilah’s extraordinary work, wishing he was being this meticulous and thoughtful for more pleasant reasons.

He never encountered Lilah, Evan, or Greyson, though he would occasionally glimpse them off a ways. He was fairly certain they were avoiding him, or at the least were cognizant of his presence and deliberately giving him space, and he honestly didn’t mind. He really wasn’t in a place, mentally, to deal with hysterics or panicking slaves. Which sounded awful, but there it was.

He managed to finish the grounds right as the sun was setting, and checked out the secondary garage more thoroughly than just passing through warranted. So far, nothing suspect was to be found. Given Auntie Bethany’s obsession with keeping up appearances, that wasn’t terribly surprising. She liked to host garden parties and had no reason to enter the secondary garage, herself, so it tracked that the estate gardens were pristine and not-evil and the garage was left to Lilah’s devices.

The next day, after working out in a vain attempt to make himself stable enough to explore the house properly, he showered off and set to work. He started with the den.

It was blue, with a greyish-blue, dark, thin carpet, light slate walls and dark blue furniture. Galo opened the cabinets near the tv (and his aunt had so many tvs), but found only a vcr, dvd player, some unlabeled cords that he had no idea what they were for, some remotes, some old recordings labeled with name tags (shows Galo vaguely recognized, but couldn’t tell you anything about). Normal things. Not-evil things. Things that gave Galo no reason to believe this was a horrible, awful room that the slaves hated.

So he turned face and headed towards the other cabinets, the ones in the back of the room, behind a well-worn but clearly expensive armchair. Galo needed to know, but he also didn’t want to, and therefore was, quite literally, dragging his feet. Which was why he tripped, stumbling a bit. He turned back, brow furrowed, and his brain helpfully supplied that this was pretty much the exact spot where Evan had knelt, waiting for his punishment.

There was a D ring in the carpet. Dull; painted? But it blended with the carpet well, really only visible if you knew it was there. Galo sat on his haunches and hooked a finger through it, gave an experimental tug. No give at all whatsoever.

He took a deep breath. He had a bad feeling about this. He straightened, turned back to the cabinets, and flung them open simultaneously.

First he took note of the chains. Hard not to, they glinted--metallic and grey, and there was so goddamn many of them. Handcuffs, padded leather cuffs chained together, collars and muzzles, all of them with lengths of chain that could, presumably, be used to attach them to each other, or to, say, D rings on the floor. Ahahaha god.

Distantly, as Galo pulled a muzzle from the cabinet and examined it, Galo wondered why he even bothered to still be horrified by his aunt’s actions. Sure, she was family, and Galo wanted to believe that his family wasn’t like… this. But Auntie Bethany had proven herself horrible in life and he shouldn’t keep being surprised by how horrible she was, now after her death.

The lower cabinets had a couple of canes, the kind that clearly weren’t for walking assistance, an honest to god whip, a fucking knife, and a metal rod that Galo couldn’t really discern the purpose of. Probably something awful and horrifying. He shut the cabinets firmly, rested his forehead against the cool plywood, and tried to take a deep breath.

He pulled out his notebook and drew a very large circle, in red marker, around “The Den is a bad place.” He then flipped a couple of pages and started up a running list of observations

There isn’t really anything of note in the gardens or garden garage.

The Den has muzzles, collars, cuffs, and chains, plus a D ring in the floor

He wasn’t sure what he was ultimately going to do with this list, but simply making it made him feel a little better. Even if it was a list of horrible things he found in the mansion, it was still nice to have.

But okay. How to be sensible about this? He shouldn’t start removing things from cabinets, especially horrifying tools of torture, until he had somewhere to put them all, and something to do with them. He would need a plan, which meant he would need to complete his list of horrible things. And also probably rent a dumpster. So he removed his person from the cabinets in the den, glanced again at the half-hidden D ring in the floor, and then moved the furniture around a little. He found seven more D rings throughout the room, now that he was looking for them, subtle and easily blending in. One more on the floor, a little beyond the first ring, four in the walls, two in the ceiling, all clustered around the same relative spot, more or less. It further convinced Galo that yes, indeed, this was exactly where Evan had been kneeling.

Okay. Top down? Top down. Galo’s specific curiosity about the den now satisfied, he could just do a thorough, room-by-room sweep of the mansion, and so he made his way to the attic. The door to the attic stairs was in a guest bedroom, one that was meant for “children” in the way that it was cutesy and kitch, but had clearly been designed by someone who hadn’t really ever interacted with an actual human child. Galo had slept in one of those twin beds when he was very little, and remembered a distinct discomfort for the firmness of the mattresses and the scratchy quality of the overly-colorful block-pattern blankets. Should he go ahead and search this room now, since he was in it? No, stick to the plan, start with the attic.

He climbed the steps, flicked on the lights, and then promptly blanked.

How did one human being even own this much stuff?? The attic was massive, a snaking maze of shelves and clothes racks with plastic covers and boxes stacked and arranged. There was a clear path through, dusty but meticulous, and, in a display of wealth so obscene it turned Galo’s head, the ceiling was finished. Who finished the ceiling of their attic?! Attic ceilings were supposed to have dangerously exposed nails and shitty insulation fully visible. Galo was far from a religious man, but even he knew that an attic ceiling was meant to be left unfinished like the good lord intended.

He might have been balking at the ceiling to cover for the fact that he had… no idea where to start, with all this junk. The attic spanned nearly the entire width and breadth of the mansion, and it was full. Absolutely full. Galo turned off the light, went back down the stairs, and shut the attic door. He would devote an entire day to going through all of that shit. Hell, he’d make a weekend out of it. But today was not that day. Kitchy kid room it was.

He explored many different guest rooms, opening drawers and closets and chests and vanities and whatever the hell else, poking his head out onto their balconies, but found them empty of anything troubling. Again, this tracked. Auntie Bethany likely wouldn’t let her non-Guest guests or family members know what she did behind the scenes.

He found another sunroom on the second floor, the south-facing wall made entirely out of glass and a number of gridded skylights making up the southern half of the ceiling. There was a marble statue standing in the center of a tile fountain, here, and Galo held his pressed palms up in front of his mouth, squinting. He would’ve remembered this. He would’ve remembered the warm yellow walls and the aquatic mosaic flooring, he would’ve remembered the sprawling cluster of plants, he would’ve remembered the wall of glass, and definitely would’ve remembered the statue, with its detailed pubic hair and unrealistically buxom bosom. Had he just never been allowed in here? Had he simply failed to explore this far? Or was this an addition that had happened in Galo’s adulthood, when his primary method of surviving family gatherings had switched from “explore the castle away from the people” to “get drunker than them, faster”?

Who knew. What he needed to do was poke around in here and make sure it wasn’t another horrifying abomination. And check and see if the plantlife here was real, or plastic. He touched their leaves, the soil, and found, with surprise, that they were all alive. Huh.

Something… there was some gear in his head that started turning at that, some impression of a thought that was still too close to his brain’s horizon for him to make out just yet. He took out his pen and notebook and simply notated the second sunroom, which he crossed out and relabeled “plant room.” He flipped the page over and drew the general outline of the house, and then made some squares. He labeled each guest room and the plant room, and while he was no cartographer, it’d serve as a rudimentary map until he had a better idea of where everything was here.

There was only one cupboard, and it had fertilizer, a small watering can, a water spritzer, disposable gloves, and PH strips, which were more confusing than alarming if Galo was being entirely honest with himself. He hadn’t seen those things since freshman year of highschool in his mandated biology course. Actually, wait, there was also a folded up piece of paper, which Galo took out. He recognized Nyla’s careful script immediately, and read over her detailed list of the plants in the room, how much sunlight each needed and whether it was indirect or direct, and the watering schedule drawn out in a little grid calendar.

He couldn’t help but admire how meticulous she was. How put together. He had no doubt in his mind that she really was the one who’d run the whole household, when his aunt was alive. Hell, she still was--it wasn’t like Galo knew a ton of shit.

The second floor seemed primarily devoted to guest rooms, with an occasional cabinet or boudoir attached to said bedrooms. There was a large drawing room more or less in the “middle” of the mansion, a number of skylights directly over a sunken sitting area and a couple of tvs, plus places that art had clearly been stationed at before being removed for the crimes of being a bunch of fucking eyesores. A few pieces still remained, though, two different tapestries and a couple of abstracts. Plus a bunch of little tables, which were honestly charming and mercifully empty of tools of torture. Lots of little forks and platters though.

The master bedroom was not something Galo wanted to scour. His dead aunt had slept in there. (His dead aunt had hurt people, every night, in there). He made himself turn the door handle.

“Master Galo,” Nyla greeted, setting down a tiny, antique-looking watering can on the windowsill between a succulent and a corkscrew-curling plant Galo didn’t know the name of.

“Hey, Nyla,” Galo returned, extending his hand for her to cup lightly and kiss as she fluidly sank to one knee, then just as gracefully rose. “Don’t mind me, I’m just poking around a bit.”

“Yes Master,” she said with a charming little bow, her clasped hands dipping into the folds of her apron, “If I may assist at all, sir, please call upon me.”

“Will do, thanks.” He felt a surge of fondness for her. He knew she was just doing what she’d been trained to do, but he liked her smile when it wasn’t obviously-forced, and he liked her put-togetherness, and he liked, well, her.

He was very conscious of her presence, though, as he “snooped” around his own home. So he let her finish with the plants while he was in the en suite bathroom, opening the cupboards under the sink and checking the interior of the shower. Everything was meticulously clean, which he was grateful for (he could not handle it if he caught sight of his dead aunt’s body hair or some such thing). It was also perfectly normal, even if he found the little rugs along the side of the bath and looping around the base of the toilet to be ostentatious.

Nyla was still in the room, so Galo moved onto the closet door. He expected a walk-in with fifty billion changes of clothes (and really, had Galo ever seen the woman wear the same outfit twice?). He did not expect something that looked like it was intended to be a linens closet, stuffed full of canes. Canes, and, Galo noticed belatedly, knives, long strips of cloth and rope, plain eye masks far too crude to be used for her own sleep needs, and--god, was that lube?

The cane Evan had brought, that night he’d begged for punishment, stood front and center, clearly the most recently moved.

“Master?” Nyla’s voice cut through Galo’s shocked immobility, making him jump a little and tear his eyes away, “Is there anything from the tool closet you require, specifically?”

Galo shut the door harder than he should have, his own strength getting away from him and a tight smile on his face. The fact that he’d even opened that door was freaking her out, and the sudden loud noise did not help at all. For once, blessedly, Galo thought fast. “Actually, I was looking for her clothes closet? Which door is that behind?”

There were five doors in the master bedroom, one to the hallway, one to the bathroom, one to a fucking “tool” closet, so that left two guesses. Nyla visibly relaxed at Galo’s words, her smile losing it’s pinched edge (Galo was getting better, better at telling when her smile was tight or neutral or something approximating genuine happiness). Galo unwound a little, too, at seeing her return to the Nyla-equivalent of blank.

“Of course, sir, this one,” Nyla said, leading Galo to a different door, and the exhorbitant display he’d anticipated. There was a fucking… boot bench in the center of it, with tall mirrors in the center of the three walls that didn’t hold a door, separating closets. No, wait, this whole thing was the closet, the little… shelf… hanging rack things were--

Okay Galo didn’t have all the fancy names for ridiculous rich people things, but the point was, there were so many clothes, so many shoes, a goddamn chandelier, and it was all fucking color coordinated.

“You, uh, you set up the…” Galo gestured vaguely in front of him, “rainbow effect?”

“I did, Master Galo,” Nyla said promptly, and Galo nodded. Figured. “Greyson does the laundry, and has kept it meticulously organized since, Master Galo.”

Galo made a mental note to add Greyson being the laundry dude to his list of things he knew about the slaves. “Thanks, Nyla, I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

He saw her give a cute little bow in the mirror, and she ghosted off while he stepped further into the space. The boyish instinct in him wanted to reach up and smack the chandelier, just because he was tall enough, and he could. So, like, hey, he did. It tinkled and swayed, light dancing around the space, and he snickered incredulously. He sat down on the boot bench, chandelier swinging above him, and pressed his face into his palm, elbow to his thigh, and just laughed, absurdly.

It was too early in the day for hysterics, though, so Galo forced a deep, slow breath, then another, then a third for good measure. He took out his notebook, added Greyson’s laundry duties, and then wrote a bulletpoint on his aunt’s linen closet from hell. The worst part, the part that made him feel incredibly scummy, was that he was kind of tempted to keep the lube, whenever he managed to clear out all of the rest of that shit. It was useful, and Galo wasn’t in the habit of throwing away things that could be used. At the same time, though, why in the fuck and shit and hell was Galo entertaining the idea of using his evil aunt’s lube? Disgusting. But he’d feel bad if he threw it away. But also that was his aunt and she was evil.

Fuck, Galo thought as he ran his hands over his face, taking yet another deep breath. Fuuuuuuuck. Was there an off switch for his brain? He’d like it if there was an off switch for his brain.

Alcohol, aforementioned brain suggested helpfully. Later, he told it. For now: distractions. He stood and began pulling open drawers, lifting clothing in search for hidden horrors like a hyper-controlling parent looking for naughty magazines or diary entries. He found nothing but cloth, more cloth, more cloth, and silk.

Hey, remember how you didn’t give me alcohol? Galo’s brain told him spitefully, I’m going to make you think about your wrinkly aunt in lingerie, now.

Galo shoved the silk back in the drawer and shut it hard, mentally batting at his mind with a cartoon broom. Disgusting. Negative one hundred out of ten. Something he literally never, ever wanted to think about. He bopped the chandelier once more, in a spurt of whimsy, on his way out.

The fifth door led to his aunt’s personal boudoir, which made Galo sigh. He was definitely gonna find atrocities here. And he did! More rope, candles that Galo knew the exact purpose for (he might not have all the kinks, but he possessed some, and was aware of others), more restraints, and more canes. Good lord and he’d thought she had an extensive cane collection back when he didn’t know shit. Even the balcony had a cane on it! He gathered them up with intention to take them to the “tool closet,” where they could all collectively wait for the arrival of the dumpster, and spun too fast and tripped over the fireplace tool set, sending it over and its contents clattering. He sighed, setting down the torture shit on a nearby chair. Why did Auntie Bethany even have a fireplace tool set? All her fireplaces were gas fires, it wasn’t like she had anything to stoke.

Probably decorative. It was shaped to look like an antler, each spoke housing a different tool, which also had intricate carvings/detailing on the handles and along the metal rods.

Galo shoved the canes and shit into the “tool closet” and sighed, pressing his forehead against it. Fuckin… He wasn’t even done with the second floor. But, he hoped, the master bedroom would be the worst of it, he hoped, he hoped. Since that was where the slaves “attended” her, and where she spent the majority of her time in this massive fucking house.

He found a supply closet full of actual supplies, cleaning chemicals and rubber gloves and dust masks and scrub brushes. It was so completely, entirely normal (if heavily stocked) that Galo felt a ridiculous amount of relief. He nudged some stuff around, but ultimately left it alone.

The old craft room, which was slowly turning into Galo’s computer room, was already scoured, so he passed it by. He moved into the music room--sound proofed, which made Galo’s stomach churn anxiously--with its piano and sound system and lounge chairs and folded up electric keyboard tucked behind a fancily carved record player. There were a couple of wind instruments in the cabinets, a violin or viola or whatever it was (Galo didn’t know instruments super well, hardly enough to distinguish on sight), and--yay--more restraints! A close examination revealed D rings in the floor, walls, and ceiling, like in the den, and Galo sighed as he took out his notebook.

There was some sort of… dressing room? Galo couldn’t discern the intent of it, until he found nursing blankets (which he knew were nursing blankets because they had lovely little cherub-like depictions of babies on them) in an otherwise empty cabinet. No devices of torture, so yay, big fucking mirrors for a room that people would allegedly feed babies in, less of a “yay” and more of a Giant Singular Question Mark.

He wasn’t gonna think too hard on it. He’d made that promise to himself the first night--or was it the second?--and he intended to keep it. Just accept things, and let them move on. If he didn’t let water under the bridge, he was going to drown.

There was a well-stocked office not far from Galo’s room, and he added that to a list of miscellaneous notes. He didn’t know if he’d need an office, all things considered, but if he needed a designated space to work on things and focus, this would be a good place to do that. A thorough examination revealed only office supplies, though some of the paperclips had been bent out of shape and there were a lot of those little clips, like what you put on manilla envelopes or stacks of looseleaf.

The library was a two-story thing, the upper floor boasting a large square hole in the middle that allowed a clear view to the main floor, one wall broken up by floor to ceiling windows between the bookshelves (or maybe the bookshelves were the ones between the windows? Eh). An ornate spiral staircase connected the two, and he smiled at it fondly, remembering being utterly enamored with it when he was a kid. Honestly, he was still pretty enamored with it as an adult. He stroked his fingers over the railing, wondering if he could spruce the place up a bit. Add fairy lights to the railing or something. Add more than just his aunt’s pristine, chic, expensive art that took up minimal space, like her home was a museum or some shit. Clutter it up, fill the space, make the damn mansion feel lived in.

Later. He wrote that onto his list of things to do, but lines and lines below keeping his demeanor calm, cheerful, and approachable, and finding therapists with experience with traumatized slaves.

Ugh speaking of he should really get on that. But first, the library. He half expected that if he grabbed the right book, or moved the correct artistically expensive bookend, a secret passage would open up. He’d housed the same belief since he’d been flopping around this place as a kid. He just had different ideas on what he might find behind the entrance. But the library was just a library, well-lit with lots of books on his aunt’s particular interests. He found a couple volumes on methods of torture used throughout history, and a couple of psychology books that he did not trust At All, and he moved those to a lower-level bookshelf where he could find them all later. The psychology books he debated on--he liked psychology, and was also the kind of person to read what was effectively a textbook for fun. And these were officially published, sourced, and researched. So it wasn’t like they were… bad… and Galo didn’t want to throw out useful things.

But he also wouldn’t be able to get a mental image of his aunt, reading over them, thinking up dastardly fucking bullshit as she read them. So if Galo wanted to read a textbook, he’d just buy one for himself.

He took lunch in the library, Greyson bringing it in and leaving it on one of the small tables. Galo picked at it as he picked through the books, and Greyson was quiet enough that Galo didn’t even notice him come in, grab the plate, and leave when he was done.

The library was not far from the foyer, so Galo beelined to the front door, spun on his heel, and took a deep breath. One floor down. Two to go. And the attic, but again, that shit was for another time. The foyer was a large, open space, sparsely decorated, mostly just an ostentatious display of wealth and wasted space and the giant fucking chandelier.

Immediately adjacent was the solar, which was full of tacky and ugly as sin furniture, but no terrible horrible secrets. Next to the solar was the parlor, which had nicer furniture and looked incredibly bare, which made Galo think that there had been a LOT of god awful art in here before the purge. Still no instruments of torture though. The living room was observed closely, but again there was nothing more than superfluous fire pokers for a gas lit fire, uncomfortable tiny furniture, and a wall hanging Galo kept waffling back and forth on about keeping.

After the dining room, Galo entered the sunroom and felt his mood lift. He really enjoyed the sunroom. He peered into nooks and crannies, but he spent enough time here that he wasn’t anticipating anything. A distant shriek made him look out the window.

Evan had lifted Lilah up in his arms, holding her about the waist as she visibly struggled. Galo frowned, alert, and was drawing himself up to his full height, about to bolt out there, when Evan set Lilah down, and draped himself over her. Galo could not hear them from here, nor could he make out the shape of Evan’s words, but Galo would bet his right arm that Evan was proclaiming a sudden increase in gravity. The posture was unmistakable. Galo smiled as Lilah wriggled out from under him, and Evan dramatically threw his arm up over his forehead and fell to the ground. Galo snorted when Lilah stared at him a moment before kicking him.

Galo watched, heart full of something nameless, as Evan wrestled Lilah back into his hold after chasing her halfway to the hedges, and he sank, body unexpectedly heavy, into a lounge chair. He watched Sasha enter the scene, carrying something Galo couldn’t see from that angle and prompting Evan to swing Lilah around like some long-suffering cat, dramatically talking with his hands, which were full of his friend.

Galo felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding for a long, long time. Since that first night when Greyson had knelt on his bedroom floor.

He got himself a drink of water and got back to his search, feeling… better. There was a room just next to the pool, with a little rinsing area and changing areas, plus pool supplies. He remembered this from when he was younger, and made a note to go swimming again soon. He had been up to his elbows hooking up his game systems in the entertainment center, so he did a quick perusal just to mentally mark it off. There was a room with gorgeous stain glass windows and old candles and religious iconography that Galo was pretty sure was some sort of personal chapel, which was gorgeous and had stale fucking comunion wafers and, haha, a bottle of wine. He still had to force himself not to drink it, but it wasn’t as alluring as it might have been.

There was a room filled, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with butterfly pinboards. It was smaller than a room-room, like a walk-in closet but without a clothes rack, and entirely, completely bare of anything except the pinboards. No furniture, no windows, nothing. Galo shut the door, mind blank, and felt the terror-giddy urge to write “set on fire” in his notebook. He did not.

Another drawing room, a study, the salon, the billiards room, and Galo’s search of the main floor ended in the kitchen. Auntie Bethany seemed to have her haunts, and kept most of her instruments of torture there. Galo just sorta poked his head into the kitchen to see if Sasha was back yet (she wasn’t) and left it at that, knowing his aunt wouldn’t set foot in the kitchen unless she felt it absolutely necessary. The pantry, which was large as hell, was also somewhere Galo had been, and wasn’t worried about.

The door to the basement had a series of locks on it, all on the side of the main floor. Galo remembered distinctly how Auntie Bethany had “put her staff away” during gatherings, and imagined each one of these locks being fastened. How had she gotten away with it? With treating them so terribly for so long? Why hadn’t anyone noticed? Why hadn’t Galo?

Descending the stairs was an experience. The basement was fucking vaulted. There was, there was, some sort of fucking ballroom or some shit, Galo couldn’t even describe the space, at the bottom of the stairs. It’d be cool as hell if it wasn’t fucking overwhelming. Actually, even still, it was cool as hell. Whatever architect had designed this place, they’d had the time of their life.

The wine cellar was massive.

Galo made himself walk away.

There were two series of apartments, with bedrooms, a sitting area, a mini kitchen, and a bathroom to each, which took up most of the basement. Concerningly, none of them seemed used. The kitchenettes were certainly something for long-term guests to use, make coffee or some shit before heading upstairs for the day, but the drawers and closets were empty, showing no signs of the slaves living there.

There was a massive bathtub/pool that Galo found, multiple showerheads rigged throughout the ceiling and a basin the size of two people laid out. Well, not Galo-sized people, but like, Lilah or Nyla sized people. Nothing outwardly horrifying to be found, but Galo was a little boggled to find a tub this size when there was already a pool outside. There was another bedroom, just hanging out on its own, also empty. There was the utility room, where Galo encountered Greyson.

“Master Galo,” Greyson greeted, and Galo tried to make his brain switch tracks while he was bending low to kiss his hand.

“Hey, Greyson. You doin’ laundry?”

“Yes Master; do you have need of me, sir?”

“No, no you’re good. I’m just poking around.”

Greyson nodded, and went back to switching the wet load into the dryer when Galo turned. Galo made note of a couple more D rings here, plus two dog cages and a pet carrier. Auntie Bethany had never had a dog. Certainly never one of this size. He added it to his list of awful shit to get rid of, his mind jumping. Who? Who had been locked in these? Nyla? Sasha? Greyson? Lilah? Evan? All of them? It was too easy, too easy to picture any one of them behind those metal squares, far too easy to imagine them forced into a cramped, cold, humiliating space.

Oh hey, the rat poison, just like Nyla had said.

Greyson made no particular note of Galo, after his back had turned, and left somewhere after Galo finding the first D ring. It was just him, alone in the utility room, the sound of the washer and dryer keeping him company. Leaving, he took a deep breath. There were two doors left unopened. It was fucking barbaric, having all this space and all these rooms, and making the slaves pack in like this. They were probably separated by gender, too, one of these belonging to the men, the other to the women, because Galo had a hard time imagining his “good god-fearing” aunt running a risk of canoodling.

He opened the one to the right, aware that he was most definitely entering a space that wasn’t his. But at the same time, he told himself, he needed to know what was happening, make sure they weren’t adhering to some atrocious routine simply because Auntie Bethany had ordered it and Galo hadn’t ordered it to stop.

This space, at least, looked lived in. Which was good, but also made Galo frown, because there was only one, large bed. He hadn’t thought his aunt, terrified of any implication of homosexuality as she was, would’ve encouraged her slaves to share sleeping space. Galo glanced at the dressertop, finding combs and hair ties and floral antiperspirant, so he guessed this was the women’s room. He poked his head into the en suite bathroom, finding only a standing shower and a relatively cramped space, not half as meticulously, tv-ready clean as every other bathroom in the house. Something made Galo relax at that, too, at seeing soap residue in the little indent next to the sink, at seeing the dust bunny behind the toilet. It was still a clean space, just, lived in. The marks of people’s presence were upon it.

Now Galo sounded fancy and old timey. He pulled open the top dresser drawer, and his brow furrowed. These clothes were Greyson’s, crisply folded and put away so that each section of the drawer was dedicated to a different type of clothing. Galo shut the drawer slowly, the idea that maybe he’d gotten it wrong, that this was the men’s room, flitting by once, but only once. He had a bad feeling about what was more likely. He opened the second drawer, and saw Nyla’s clothes, a drawer down was Sasha’s, Evan’s, Lilah’s, and the sixth drawer, the one at the very bottom, held more collars than Galo had ever seen gathered in one place. And men’s lingerie, which was equally horrifying for a different set of reasons. He shut the drawer quietly, sitting on his haunches, and took a deep breath.

He stood slowly, breathing slower, and pressed his palms together before running them over his face, up into his hair, down the back of his skull and lacing his fingers together behind his neck. He stared up at the ceiling, just allowing himself to process this information. He wasn’t particularly struck; he’d established that his aunt was terrible and he really shouldn’t expect otherwise, but he was surprised to know that they were all kept in the same fucking room as each other. And with only one bed, that was the really strange part.

“Eep!”

Galo turned, attempting not to look guilty for sticking his nose where it had no business being, and tried to smile at Sasha. Her dark hair was loose, flowing down to nearly her waist now that it was freed from her high ponytail. Her hands were wringing anxiously up in front of her chest, wide blue eyes on Galo, and he didn’t move fast enough to prevent her from dropping to her knees, forehead to the floor. He winced a little, approaching her.

“Hey, Sasha,” he said, squatting down again and extending a hand to her. She glanced up, took the hand, and kissed it. Gently, Galo curled his fingers around her hand, holding it loosely and stroking her thumb softly with his own. “‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sasha glanced up at him, nodded as she glanced away, and Galo reached out his other hand, giving her shoulder a squeeze before bracing underneath her bicep and helping her to her feet. He left his hands where they were, once they were standing, contemplating her. It was hard to befriend, or, well, gain the trust of someone he couldn’t have conversations with. Not that any of them really talked, but with Sasha it felt like there was an added barrier. An extra obstacle.

“Is everything alright, Sasha?” Galo asked, remembering the most recent instance of Sasha being terrified and close to him. She nodded, and he smiled. “Good.”

He glanced back at the large bed, at the dresser that housed clothes for all of them. “Sasha, do you all sleep here?”

An anxious glance at his face and another, more hesitant nod. Galo’s lips pressed thin.

“Okay, well, we can fix that. There are those dorms on the other side of the basement, those would work, or we could choose individual rooms from--”

Galo was cut off by Sasha squeezing his hand urgently between both of her own, looking up at him with her wide eyes.

“No--!” she gasped, quiet but no less desperate for it, and Galo felt a spike of panic on his own end; what had he done wrong? “Pl--” she seemed to choke on the words, and Galo shushed at her, making as soothing of noises as he could as he pet at her shoulder.

“Easy, Sasha, shhh shsh, easy honey, what’s wrong--” No that was a stupid question, she couldn't answer. She whimpered while Galo was trying to find a yes or no question that could discern what set her off, then the strength in her grip shot up.

“Please,” she gasped, and Galo just wanted to hug her, pet her hair and face and tell her it was gonna be okay. “M-” she choked off again, taking a series of deep and panicky breaths, “Master, don’t m-make--” Sasha cut off with a whine, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she curled in on herself.

Galo’s brain finally kicked back on and he blurted out, “Typing! Here, just type it out.” He pulled up the notes app on his phone and handed it to her, praying she wouldn't drop it with her trembling hands. Not that he was worried about it getting damaged--it was a good model and he had a solid phone case--just that he knew that if she dropped it she'd spiral entirely out of control, since she was already teetering on the brink.

She didn’t, thankfully, though she did fumble it a little when she handed it back to him, letting go too soon. He caught it, easy peasy, no troubles here, see? Please Master don’t make us separate was written with no ending punctuation, though Galo was pretty sure she was thinking in exclamation points. Aw, shit, okay, Galo read over it twice, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder again, trying to think.

The bed was large, very large, but to fit five people they’d need to pack in. It hardly seemed fair. But the idea of separating distressed Sasha, and given how tight-knit they seemed, would likely distress the others, too. If Galo suggested bunkbeds at this point, there would be no guarantee that if they agreed it would be because they liked the idea, or because the “alternative” was Galo forcing them apart. Still, it was just too much, to force them all to share a single room, with its single bed and single dresser, when they were all living in a literal mansion. But Galo couldn’t let his own feelings of injustice and his own wants preside over their wants and needs, and Sasha was telling him that she wanted to perma-sleepover with her friends.

Actually. This could be a really useful opportunity. Galo would feel bad for… “manipulating” Sasha, was really the only way to say it, but it’d get the idea across, hopefully? It was a gamble. But Galo really, really wanted to make headway with these poor people, so…

“Okay, Sasha, thank you. I like it when you ask me for things,” he said, gesturing a little with his phone, “that’s very good, and since you asked, you get what you asked for, see? No separating.”

Sasha’s eyes were jerking about, looking at Galo’s hand, his phone, the hand on her shoulder, his face, the room, back to Galo. He tried to patiently let her process his words, nervous on how she’d take them, if this would help encourage her to ask for things in the future or if this would be another thing that Galo would need to help her unlearn, this time with him as the culprit. Swallowing hard, Sasha raised a hand and pointed a finger at her own chest. Me?

“Yeah, you honey. And the others. I like it when all of you ask me for things that you want. Like when I took Greyson to the cemetery, yeah?”

Sasha nodded, visibly calming down, and kept nodding, lips moving silently over unspoken words. She seemed to catch herself, glanced up at Galo, and offered a shaky, unconvincing smile. Galo smiled back, surprised. He really hoped that meant it worked, that Sasha, and the others when news spread to them, would feel less anxious about asking for things they wanted or needed, moving forward.

It had the side effect of making Galo feel like a really, really weird sugar daddy, but he wasn’t going to examine that particular thought anytime soon, no sir, right into the repression hole with that concept. Galo gave Sasha’s shoulder a final squeeze and released her entirely, stepping back.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, here. Getting a hair tie?” Galo guessed, and Sasha nodded, smile gone and nerves rising once again. Galo gave her a wide berth as he passed her and left the room, giving her a little wave goodbye and a “Alright, have a good one.”

Ugh, shit, and, he knew Sasha was the kind of person who did better and felt less anxious when she had something to do. He meant to give her extra tasks, just as soon as he could think of some, but now would it feel like he was trying to keep her on her toes, or demanding “payment” for letting them all stay together? Fuck, everything was walking on eggshells, and he knew he couldn’t rush them, couldn’t push them without serious consequences, but damn if he couldn’t fucking wait for when they weren’t so… well, petrified and broken.

He turned the handle of the final door in the basement and came to a halt in the doorframe of the dungeon.

Sasha woke up before her family, just like every day before that one, and slipped out of the family bed, shivering in the early morning air. Her bra, when she put it on, was uncomfortably loose, and she wondered if Nyla could maybe… just put another one on the grocery list and buy one for her. Master Galo didn’t seem to check over anything that Nyla bought (he didn’t seem to check over anything), and also wouldn’t have any idea how recently Sasha had gotten this one even if he did, so she might not get scolded for wearing out the elastic so quickly. She tugged on her dress, settled her apron on, and combed her hair and pulled it up into a ponytail, then picked up her shoes and sat on the steps to the main floor to lace them up. The rest of the family sat on the bed, but Sasha didn’t like to risk waking any of them up.

After thoroughly washing her hands, she prepared Master Galo’s breakfast juice. Was it juice? Sasha was never sure what to call it. She didn’t really know what else it would be, but it also didn’t really seem like a juice. It wasn’t a slushy, though, and was it a ‘drink’ if it was technically food?

Sasha reliably saw their Master once a day, almost like clockwork, except there was a whole half-hour range when he might show up, and she was invariably nervous that whole half hour until he finally arrived, smiling at her and thanking her for his… thing. He showed up early, that morning, right on the upper limit of that half hour, and the way he clasped her shoulder was now familiar and not particularly alarming. It helped that he did it every morning, and it was always on her right shoulder, and it never hurt. He was still big and his hand was still very warm and very strong, but especially on the heels of what had happened to Nyla yesterday, Sasha wasn’t frightened by his touch.

Bread was next, and Sasha contemplated what she should make for breakfast for her family and herself that morning. Now that it was her job to make sure they all ate every day (and what an incredible responsibility to have!), she was experimenting a little more with what she made, branching out. That morning, she decided on blueberry muffins, making two trays of six so that when Evan and Lilah finished theirs, they wouldn’t need to split a muffin between them. Sasha also soft-boiled an egg for each of them, peeling the tricky shells off with practiced efficiency.

“Morning Sasha,” Lilah greeted as she entered the kitchen, Evan right on her heels and yawning loudly. Sasha smiled and bent down so Lilah could press a kiss to her cheek, then gave her an egg to keep her busy until the muffins were done. Same for Evan, who ate the whole thing in a single bite. While it was the best way to keep the yolk from spilling out, Sasha had to wonder if it was tricky to eat like that, what with his mouth being so full and all.

Sasha asked Nyla about the bra when she was up, and Nyla jotted it down on her neat little notebook with a small nod, voicing Sasha’s thoughts on how Master Galo didn’t really check the grocery purchases, and probably wouldn’t care if Sasha got a new bra. Nyla was so smart.

When the muffins were gone and the bread was sitting on the cooling rack, the family departed to do their tasks, moving slower and easier with their workloads reduced and their Master out of the house. Greyson stayed noticeably close to Nyla, and Sasha didn’t doubt why. News that Lady--no, not Lady, Master Galo had told them to stop calling the Guests Lords and Ladies--Barbra had nearly stolen Nyla had shaken them all badly, left them clinging to each other, Nyla in the middle, in bed that whole night. Master Galo had kept anything terrible from happening, though, and if he was right back to his routine, then they could go back to theirs.

It was nice, too, that Master Galo’s routine didn’t involve checking over their work as frequently as Mistress Bethany had, or maybe his standards were perhaps just possibly a tiny bit less exacting than hers had been. Conceivably.

He seemed to like what Sasha made for food, at least. She’d only been wrong once, so far, trying out breaded pepperjack cheeseballs that Nyla couldn’t eat because they were too spicy, and Master Galo had sent back with one single bite taken out of one single ball. She’d spent that evening terrified, pacing listlessly about the kitchen and pantry, wondering when the punishment would come, but it hadn’t. She’d made other food that he had liked, which had probably been her saving grace. But also, he just, didn’t punish her for the mistake. Which she was grateful for! And she would never take for granted! She wouldn’t get complacent just because he’d shown her mercy, no sir!

Stuffed bell peppers sounded fun, and she’d asked for all the ingredients last time Nyla got groceries.

She got all the prep work done, doing everything except actually cooking the peppers, and stuck them in the fridge. She decided a roast might be nice for dinner, so she rubbed the salt and herbs into it and settled it into the crockpot with onions layered overtop. She set the crockpot on low, knowing it would ever so slowly cook over the course of the day and be fall-apart tender by the time dinner made its way around.

Sasha went to the cupboard just above the kitchen phone (and she never understood why there was a phone in the kitchen; even when cooking had been Greyson’s job no one but Nyla or Mistress ever answered it) and pulled out the small tablet. Sasha was given internet access and allowed to peruse for the sake of finding recipes, which worked out, because she genuinely loved watching food videos. She could, and did, spend hours watching people mix together ingredients in aesthetically pleasing ways (she had the materials, she could do it like they did, if she felt like washing a lot of dishes). She enjoyed watching the time lapses of the food actually cooking, and she liked watching the specific action of people cutting into their creations with such intense precision, perfect triangles skewered on perfect forks.

She set a timer, checking that the tablet was still on its lowest volume, and let herself lose a little time until she needed to put the bell peppers in to cook.

It was kind of lonely, in the kitchen, but Sasha didn’t usually mind. She liked being secluded, most of the time, and she got to make all kinds of fancy, interesting things. Her family would pass through from time to time (more often now, with Master Galo), and she was out from underfoot. She’d been at this for long enough, she wouldn’t know what to do, if she were reassigned to another area of the estate.

She saw a video for fluffy cheesecake with strawberries and decided she wanted to make that for dinner that night.

After Greyson brought lunch to Master Galo, Sasha got food out to her family, first Evan and Lilah, who were both outside, then Greyson, then Nyla, who was… perturbed.

“He seems to be looking for something,” she said, the two of them in an unused boudoir that had, as Nyla reported, already been checked. “I don’t know what it is he’s looking for, but he certainly seems to be looking for something.”

“M-maybe he just wants a nicer b-bedroom?” The one he had wasn’t really the best in all the mansion.

Nyla seemed to shake it off, and smiled at Sasha. “Maybe. We’ll know when we know.”

It was a mantra that they’d clung to, with Mistress Bethany and her games, but it had hardly been a reassurance, then. More like a final thread to grasp. Hearing Nyla say it now, it was almost like… almost like a “we’ll worry about that later,” even though they’d absolutely worry about it now, too.

Things were different, with Master Galo, Sasha mused as she started planning potential meals for the upcoming week and composing a grocery list for Nyla. She pulled out an apple, after, and sliced it, carving the peels off in such a way that they looked like little red rabbits. It was cute, if a little time consuming, even for her practiced hands, and when she was done she rinsed her hands and then stared at the plate, towel in her palms. What to do with them now? Evan and Lilah were pretty guaranteed to always be interested in food, and Master Galo had said to feed people a minimum of three times a day.

She had waffled for days, now, on whether or not to bring people food outside of mealtimes, or if she was supposed to wait for them to approach her. Today, she mustered up the courage to pick the plate and… leave the kitchen with it.

She felt like a rabbit, herself, out in the open air just waiting for a hawk to catch sight of her. Just waiting for something sharp to carve into her, reshape her how it wanted her to look. She tried to remind herself that it was fine, it was fine, it was fine. Master Galo told her to leave the kitchen to bring people food, and even though it wasn’t a meal this still counted. Besides, he never really saw her anyway, and it was a big house, what were the chances of them bumping into each other?

Sasha would try to be quick, even so. She felt marginally better once she was out of the door, out into the sunlight which warmed her. The weather was gorgeous, that day, and Sasha hardly ever got outside...

Evan and Lilah were roughhousing, Sasha could see them at a distance, and part of her was happy to see them having fun, but another part of her was anxious to see them slacking off. What if Master Galo saw them? And what if Master Galo saw her, with them, and got mad at all three of them? But Master Galo was looking for something inside the house, and he’d already been out in the garden the evening before, so it was fine, it was fine.

Evan caught sight of her before she tried to call out, and grinned wide, hoisting Lilah up into the air with both arms around her waist, setting off another peal of laughter. “Avast! Intruder! A second stowaway beholden to mine eyes!”

Sasha giggled, shoulders hunching up.

“Nay nay f-fair sea ca-captain. It is only your h-h-humble scullery maid.”

“Aarrrrg,” Evan called, swooping Lilah down so she dangled close to the ground, wiggling only a little because she didn’t actually want to be dropped. “If ye were truly of my crew you would know me for a pirate! No fair captains here, lassie!”

“Oh,” Sasha said, taking a moment to switch gears while Evan pretended to chomp at Lilah’s face. “Then m-mayhaps this rowdy p-pirate can be bribed?”

“Death! Death to the pirate king!” Lilah pretended to shout, because none of them were actually stupid enough to be loud. “I shall have him mounted to the bow as my new figurehead!”

“Arrg, big talk for such a wee lass!” Evan kissed her temple and set her down. “But maychance I shall let the shrimpy go uneaten, at the lovely dame’s behest.”

Sasha giggled again, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Evan while Lilah “awww”ed at the apple rabbits. A hand on her elbow brought her attention to Lilah, red rabbit pinched between her fingers. “Are you good to be out of the kitchen?”

“I… don’t know,” Sasha said honestly, nerves kicking back up. “N-nervous.”

Evan nodded, chewing on the apple slice in his hand, and hooked his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. He tongued the mouthful into one cheek and said, “You could say you’re giving us a late lunch, if Master gets bothered. We’ll back you up.”

Lilah nodded, and Sasha felt her nerves uncurl. It was hours after they’d actually eaten, but not so late to warrant scrutiny for the excuse.

“Though, if I’m c-caught out here, you t-two definitely would b-be.”

“Point,” Evan and Lilah chorused. They moved further into the hedges, sitting down on a little stone bench together and Sasha told them about how she planned to start doing more food carvings, since she had all this time on her hands, and she liked the extravagance and challenge they presented. The sun was really hot, actually, and Sasha wondered if maybe she’d already started to burn. She didn’t want to leave, though.

But she did, when Lilah playfully gave her hair a tug and her worn elastic finally bit it. She sighed, taking that as her cue to head inside, and set the plate down in the kitchen before moving down the stairs.

Master Galo was there.

Sasha couldn’t help the “Eep!” that escaped her, only a decade of practice keeping her from recoiling, from shrinking back, her now-trembling legs barely saved from backing away. Master Galo turned, face indiscernible before he gave a smile to Sasha. He filled their bedroom, loomed inside it with the light casting his face in a shadow, massive, like he was waiting--

Her knees gave out, body instinctively curling so her forehead was to the floor, hands wringing and clutched close to her chest. She couldn’t even breathe as he approached her.

“Hey, Sasha,” he said, his voice taking that easy, careless tone he always seemed to take when he played his games with them. Not like his morning greetings or thanks for his green juice, something sinisterly akin to comforting, to soothing. She glanced up, and found his hand outstretched. Graceless, she took the hand, and pressed a shaking kiss to it while she prayed he would forgive her the oversight of not doing that when she saw him. She knew he preferred that to kneeling--she was so stupid! And she must have fucked up, because this time Master Galo didn’t retract his hand like he normally did, instead he curled his fingers around her hand, holding it loosely and stroking her thumb with his hand that could crush the fragile bones of her own at any moment.

“‘M sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sasha glanced up at him, terrorized; how was she supposed to respond to that!? What did he want? Did he want anything in particular, or was this just some script for manners that he included in the game? She nod nod nodded as she glanced away, and in her peripheral she saw him reach out his other hand, but it only landed on her shoulder. That at least was familiar. Comforting. But then, with a squeeze, he shifted his hand underneath her arm and brought her to her feet. She’d been graceless the first time he lifted her, and she was graceless again this time, too, weeks to adjust and prepare herself and still she couldn’t keep her weight off him, made him take some of her disgusting weight in his own hands in order to position her how he wanted and she knew that wasn’t forgivable. She braced for it, shivering minutely as his hands lingered where they were. She could barely breathe, standing there under his scrutiny, feeling his eyes on her as another one of his slow, thoughtful silences dragged on.

“Is everything alright, Sasha?” Images of Barbara came unbidden, of terrible things that had happened just the day before. But nothing had happened that day, so she nodded. “Good.”

It occurred to her, belatedly, as he took another (far briefer) pause to think, that perhaps he had been asking if she was behaving herself, or if she had any reason to be out of the kitchen at this time of day. Really, where did she get off even thinking that he might be voicing concern for anyone’s well-being? Stupid! (Unprecedented; her own thoughts alarmed her).

“Sasha, do you all sleep here?”

She dared a glance at his face, not understanding. Why… why..? But hers was not to understand, hers was to obey, and her Master had asked her a question. She nodded, but it was the wrong answer. Master Galo’s lips pressed thin.

“Okay, well, we can fix that. There are those dorms on the other side of the basement, those would work, or we could choose individual rooms from--”

Sasha felt panic flood her, her anxiety lancing her with sudden, violent intensity, enough for her to cry out a choked “No--!” He looked to her, surprised, (and in truth, she was surprised by her own actions, or at least would be later, at her defiance, at her arrogance) “Pl--” don’t stutter, don’t stutter, she couldn’t stutter, it’d make it worse, Master Galo was being forgiving still, she hadn’t fucked up the game he was playing he was shushing her and touching her but she needed to not stutter. Maybe, maybe if she could ask without stuttering, maybe then he’d, maybe they wouldn’t have to--

“Easy, Sasha, shhh shsh, easy honey, what’s wrong?” She choked down a high whine, a small whimper escaping her anyway (sloppy, the rest of her family would’ve stayed quiet, she was supposed to be quiet).

She needed to get herself together. She was the one he was playing his game with, now, she needed to… to win. She squeezed his hand with panicked desperation, maybe if she could prove she wanted it enough, he’d find it entertaining. “Please,” she gasped, “M-” She cut herself off, feeling the stutter before it could bubble out of her, breathing hard like that had ever once made the stutter go away before. “Master, don’t m-make--” No! No, no, she covered her mouth with tears stinging her eyes, curling in on herself (ugly, poor posture, no-good rotten girl). She wanted to beg on the floor, curl down on her knees and huddle in on herself without it being bad but he was still touching her so she couldn’t!

“Typing! Here, just type it out.” He pulled out his phone and tapped on it before handing it to her, and she took it with shaky hands. Now she couldn’t curl down on her knees because she was holding his property, his possession, and she didn’t let herself even think about the possibility of dropping it because if she thought about it she would make herself sick. Right now, she needed to focus on begging, on keeping her family together in the one space that had been some small degree of safe, that had been in some miniscule way theirs.

Please Master don’t make us separate, she wrote, and when she handed it back she fumbled it. She gasped, one tear slipping out, but she wiped at it while Master Galo read what she’d written and she thought maybe he didn’t even notice. When his hand approached her she flinched, but he just touched her shoulder again, and maybe it was just because nothing bad had happened to her while he was touching her there, so far, but it almost soothed her.

Master Galo had another one of his long thoughtful pauses, staring at the phone screen and moving his thumb slowly, lightly over her shoulder, skimming the edge of her apron strap. She stood, shoving down the tears, shoving down the trembling, shoving down her need to curl into a ball at his feet and beg him to just kick her and get it over with, as she waited on his response. Please, Master Galo, please don’t make us separate she willed, like if she just thought hard enough maybe he’d feel it.

“Okay, Sasha, thank you,” he said at long last, “I like it when you ask me for things, that’s very good, and since you asked, you get what you asked for, see? No separating.”

Sasha’s eyes blew wide, looking at Master Galo’s hand, at the phone in it, then the hand on her shoulder, his face, the room, back to her Master. He, he liked? He liked it, when, when they--or, when she? When, asking would, he liked it when they asked for things? She didn’t understand. She’d ask her family later, what they thought, what the game was, if he was lying, if they should ask--or if she should ask? Swallowing hard, Sasha raised a hand and pointed a finger at her own chest. Did Master Galo want her, Sasha, to be the one to ask, like a responsibility, like it was her responsibility to feed everyone?

“Yeah, you honey.” God oh no oh no Nyla was the one who was good at talking why did Sasha have to be the one--she couldn’t even talk right and-- “And the others. I like it when all of you ask me for things that you want. Like when I took Greyson to the cemetery, yeah?”

Oh. Oh! Oh!!! Sasha nodded, feeling herself calm down. Like Greyson and the indulgence. Like how Master Galo had made Evan beg to be punished before he would--oh, oh it made sense! It made sense now! Master Galo, it must be some sort of power display or something, it was the act of being asked that he liked! Like, maybe like just the reminder that he had the ability to tell them yes or no because he owned them and--and she should be paying attention to him, right now, in front of her. She risked another glance up at her owner’s face, and maybe it was just because she felt like she finally understood one of the rules to a game but she gave him a shaky, if genuine smile. Master Galo smiled back, and it almost felt like Sasha was in on something. First to know. The one who would share with the rest of the family, what she had learned.

Master Galo released her with a step back, and Sasha drew in a tremulous breath. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, here. Getting a hair tie?” Sasha nodded, remembering that just now, herself. Master Galo passed her by with a “Alright, have a good one,” and Sasha took two hesitant steps toward the dresser, out of the line of sight of the doorway, before collapsing onto the carpet. She… didn’t even feel particularly scared. Just, just, so much, so intensely, and it had drained her of all her strength. She just needed a moment, please, just a moment, to collect herself, to refind her strength and composure.

She didn’t let herself stay down long, just enough for the worst of the shakes to pass through her in ebbing waves, cycling out of her, before she rose, grabbed a hair tie, got herself presentable again, and left.

Master Galo was in the Punishment Room.

Sasha knew better than to recoil, but even so, on her quietest feet, she ran. Through the basement, up the stairs, to the kitchen, and she was cornered, she couldn’t leave, but, she was hiding, “hiding,” he could find her he could come find her any moment but this was where she was supposed to be she was good she was good she wasn’t being bad she didn’t want to be bad there wasn’t any reason to put her in the Punishment Room god please god not the Punishment Room even Evan hadn’t been in the Punishment Room in so long and Mistress hadn’t put her in it in so so long and Master Galo didn’t need to use it please please not the Punishment Room why was he there what was he doing why please no please not--

“--sha? Sasha?”

“Nyla!” Sasha gasped, clinging to her the moment her eyes registered that she was there.

“What’s wrong? Sasha, what happened?”

“I--he--” Sasha choked, curling into Nyla, face pressed into her shoulder, clutching at her apron skirt, desperate, needing, and Nyla’s arms came up around her back, holding onto her (safe, safe, Nyla was safe Nyla would protect her Nyla would make everything better). She tried to speak, her mouth not working, and it took her three, four attempts before she finally managed to get it across that their Master was in the Punishment Room. Nyla soothed her, soft shushes with her hand in Sasha’s hair.

“He’s been searching the house,” Nyla said in hushed tones, “He’s looking for something, that’s all, he isn’t,” Nyla seemed to falter, but pressed on, “Master Galo isn’t going to hurt us. Not, not there, at least. He’s just searching for something, that’s all, it’s alright Sasha, pull yourself together it’s alright, sh sh.”

Sasha nodded, trying to tamp it down. Master Galo had searched the garden the day before, he’d been through the house that day, Nyla had discussed it with her earlier! Master Galo was looking for something, and, and that had to be it, right? He was just checking all the rooms. Slowly, far too slowly, Sasha wound down.

Nyla pulled back enough to cup Sasha’s cheek in her palm, and searched her eyes. “Maybe… do you suppose he’s surveying the household; he didn’t go through room-by-room when he arrived, perhaps he’s just doing it a little late?” Nyla suggested. “Or possibly inspecting our work?”

And Sasha had just been thinking, earlier, on how lucky they all were that he didn’t seem to do that. She couldn’t help but feel that she’d jinxed it.

“M-maybe?”

Nyla took a deep breath and Sasha caressed her cheek in return, their foreheads pressing together.

“Just focus on your job, for now. I’ll speak up if something happens.”

Sasha felt herself soothe down a little more. Nyla would handle it. She nodded, trying to seem more confident than she was (her nerves were shot), and Nyla drank a glass of water before leaving.

Sasha remembered belatedly that she needed to tell Nyla that Master Galo wanted them to ask him for things, but this way she just ended up telling everyone at once, once their Master had eaten and they were gathered together in the kitchen for dinner.

“So he likes grovelling,” Evan mused, not sounding as bitter as he might have. Maybe despondent? But not angry, and Sasha’s brows knit to see him so… reduced. But maybe this news would cycle through and he’d feel better.

“It explains why I didn’t have to pay for the indulgence,” Greyson mentioned quietly. “Why he rewarded me for it.” Oh right, Greyson had gotten an easy day, hadn’t he?

“And why Evan was given prolonged threats with a comparatively mild punishment,” Nyla mused, “And it also might actually explain why we weren’t allowed to eat that first week. He was waiting for us to ask, and Lilah’s stumbling indicated that we would pass out first.”

Lilah huffed and stabbed her potato. “Mistress only liked begging when we were hurting,” she groused, voicing frustration that Sasha, personally, wasn’t even brave enough to feel. “And we sure weren’t supposed to ask for anything.”

Nyla could, because Nyla knew when to ask, and how to ask, and how to ask for only so much at one time, so it didn’t come off greedy, but balanced it with not asking too frequently, to avoid pestering Mistress. But now Master wanted to be pestered.

“Arrogant,” Evan whispered, barely a breath, not bold like he was normally (like he was supposed to be (no, that was a bad thing to think)).

“We c-can grovel,” Sasha said, kinda hopefully, “I don’t m-mind grovelling.”

“It’ll take a bit to get used to,” Nyla said, setting her fork down on her empty plate and patting down her apron, “but I think ultimately this is going to be a better situation for us. And, by some stroke of fortune, it doesn’t seem that we’ve left the adjustment period yet.”

“He might not like that he had to spell it out for us though,” Lilah said, and oh, Sasha hadn’t even thought of that. He kept waiting for them to figure it out and they hadn’t. That was… probably not good.

“We’ll…” Nyla huffed through her nose. “Everyone just keep minding their manners, and let me know if his temper seems shorter or if you notice anything peculiar, or any changes, really.”

“He seemed different during tonight’s meal,” Greyson mentioned, and the family turned to him. “Not in any discernible way, but,” Greyson shrugged, a small barely-there movement that Sasha knew as well as her own skin, “different. Stiff, maybe.”

Nyla took a deep breath, the family looking to her, waiting for her verdict. “That probably means he’s a little irritated, but still not inclined to hurt us. It might also be from not finding--or finding, possibly--whatever it was he was looking for during the day. Don’t step on his toes.”

The sensation of mild alarm left the room, and Sasha… honestly felt good. Wrung out from her encounter with their Master, but they knew he liked begging, he liked being asked for things, that was--hopeful. That was a good thing, important to know, and, well, he seemed inclined to grant the things they asked for. Probably just to encourage them to keep doing it. But his motivations still meant he would do it!

It had been many years since Sasha had received any formal training, but, she vaguely remembered a unit on how to ask for things attractively. She shut down that line of thinking, because her stutter meant she would never be able to, but… as she cleaned up the kitchen, it made for a nice idle fantasy.

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everwitch-magiks · 5 years ago

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of neighbourly attachments (part 2)

“Oh my – goodness gracious, I’m so sorry! Are you quite all right? Clearly, I should have watched where I’m going instead of being all caught up in… Well. Are you sure you’re all right?”

The blue-eyed stranger is brushing off his coat. He isn’t smiling, which makes Bitty consider launching into another attempt at a proper apology.

“It’s fine.”

Two words, and not a syllable more. Oh, dear. This is not how Bitty has imagined his first conversation with his next door neighbour.

Because, of course, Bitty has imagined it.

Quite extensively.

The plan was simple – Bitty was going to bake a pie. This might have proven unusually tricky, since Bitty has yet to properly acquaint himself with his two new ovens, but he’s sure he could have managed it somehow. Bitty was going to step out of his own apartment, pie in hand, cross the hallway to the opposite door, ring then bell, and then… Instantly become best friends with whoever appeared on the other side? Or, at the very least, find himself making a perfectly polite acquaintance? Or, at worst, make an absolutely terrible impression and be forced to carefully time all of his errands outside his apartment in order to avoid running into his nemesis neighbour at all costs?

Perhaps, Bitty thinks miserably, moving to Providence all on his own is about to turn out to be a most dreadful mistake.

“I really am so very sorry.” Bitty wrings his hands, feeling quite awful about his entire existence. “You fell down on the floor, didn’t you? Tumbled like a leaf! All because of my clumsiness! Oh, dear me.”

For some reason, that makes his neighbour smile slightly. And suddenly, unexpectedly, Bitty thinks he looks somewhat familiar.

Perhaps it’s just one of those faces?

“Fortunately, I’m not very delicate,” the man says, and Bitty is relieved to find his tone a little kinder than before. “The next time I turn this corner, I’ll be more careful.”

“Careful, but you – you’re the one who fell helplessly to the ground!”

“I was trying to avoid colliding with you.” The man shuffles his feet a little bit. “You, er. You startled me.”

“I’ll certainly endeavor to be less startling the next time we meet,” Bitty promises readily. “And you must allow me to bake you a pie. Please. It’s the least I can do.”

That makes the stranger frown.

“You don’t need to do anything for me.”

“No, I absolutely insist! I can’t possibly make an unfavourable impression on the second person I meet in Providence. I only just moved here, you see.”

“Oh. Er, well. I hope you’ll settle in okay.”

“Oh, thank you!” Bitty beams. “Oh, lord, I feel so relieved knowing you and I will get along just fine. It’s so nice to be well acquainted with your neighbours, don’t you think? And now I can actually say that I know two people in Providence! There’s you, naturally, and also the lovely Eliana Brooks, have you met her? She helped me pick out this apartment, which I absolutely adore, and then she invited me to this charming garden party that her parents are hosting this Friday. Isn’t that awfully nice of her? Oh, and I suppose I also know the Celebrity Jack Fanclub, but I’m not sure if they actually count. Have you seen them around? They’re not very well mannered, I’d say. Awfully nosy.”

As Bitty chatters, his neighbour’s expression doesn’t change much. At one point he looks slightly perplexed, and somewhere in the middle he’s almost smiling again. Yet as soon as Bitty mentions Celebrity Jack, something shifts in his expression.

“Have they been bothering you?” he asks, his tone almost sharp. “Those fans, I mean.”

“Not directly, no.” Bitty shrugs. “They’re hanging around this street an awful lot, though. And they tried to ask me some questions the other night but of course I told them I knew nothing about anything and asked them to leave, which they did not. But they haven’t tried to talk to me since, which is nice.”

“Let me know if they bother you again.” The stranger looks quite serious, compared to before. “I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry yourself over little old me.” Bitty smiles reassuringly. “I can take care of myself just fine. I’m a lot tougher than I look, or so I’m told.”

“Well. Good.” The stranger holds Bitty’s gaze for a moment, almost as if there’s something else he wants to say. Yet whatever it is, Bitty doesn’t find out. “I should get going.”

“Oh, of course.” Bitty quickly steps aside to let him pass – perhaps he should have considered doing that several minutes ago. “I’ll know where to find you, to deliver that pie.”

“Right. The pie.” The stranger pauses, meeting Bitty’s eyes over his shoulder. He smiles, briefly. “I suppose it can’t be helped, eh?”

It’s several hours later, when Bitty has made it to the local market and back, still feeling strangely warm inside from that brief but surprisingly successful encounter with his decidedly decent neighbour, that Bitty realizes he never actually found out the man’s name.

(part 1) > (part 3)

#zimbits #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #check please #omgcp #of neighbourly attachments #au #evie writes #fanfiction #I'm so happy to be writing again you have no idea

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disasterhumans · 5 years ago

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Caleb(/Bren) Visits Astrid’s Home [C2E89 Transcript]

Matt: Situated in the north-eastern reaches of the Shimmer Ward, you come upon the address state in the letter: 31 Wodestone Manor. A respectable manor house, rests on an expansive property that seems to bear numerous other abodes across its snaking grasses and fencing. All which wrap around and sit in the shadow of one of the ominous towers of The Candles. A familiar one. Her manor house is one of many that sit on a property that encircles Trent Ikithon’s tower. You can see the manor house is largely built form bleached, pale wood, with dark window frames making for a curious contrast. It looks very nice. [...] This home is two stories [...] the second story [...] is more like an additional room. It’s nice, but not as big as some of the other estates you’ve seen here.

It’s past evening, so some of the lanterns in the district are lit. Some folk are walking through, but most of the Shimmer Ward has died down. [...] The interior [of the house] is lit.

(Caleb stands in the street for about ten minutes, staring at Astrid’s manor house, and the tower, before working up the courage to walk up to the front door, and use its iron knocker. A few moments pass, and a halfling, male servant dressed in a pale suit opens the door.)

Servant: Uh– might I help you?

Caleb: Eh... yeah. I’m here to see the lady of the house.

Servant: And, ah, who might you be?

Caleb (Bren?): My name is Bren Aldric Ermendrud.

Servant: I’ll pass this on to the lady. Please be patient.

(The servant re-enters the house, leaving Caleb on the stoop. A few moments pass before the servant reappears.)

Servant: Uh, the lady will see you shortly. Um, if you would please step in, there is a guest holding chamber, if you wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment?

Caleb (Bren?): Of course.

Servant: Of course.

Matt: As you step inside, the hosting chamber is a very sparsely decorated room. While the exterior looks very nice, the interior is very minimalistic. You’ve seen a lot of garish homes on the inside of a lot of affluent folk who just fill it with decor and paintings; very much a display. This house...a lot of the rooms just feel more empty, but not in a way that feels like it’s unintentional. Everything is particularly placed and spacious. And this hosting chamber is no different: small table under the window, those two couches, not much else—the walls are pretty barren here.

(The servant exits the room. Caleb take a seat, sitting “absolutely stock still,” He can feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body. His chest and stomach grow hot, swelling with nerves.)

Matt: You begin to hear footsteps approach. [In] the archway that leads into the hosting chamber, a figure steps in, and [...] raises a hand. The low candlelight in the room raises to get brighter. You see a human woman in her mid-thirties. Dirty-blonde hair, extremely short in the back, but long and [...] side-combed in the front, framing the right side of her face, to just past the chin. She looks toward you—a familiar face, if older—with a hard look in her eyes, but a smile, with a heavy scar—that is new—that rides from the top of the brow, to the bottom of the chin. She is dressed simply.

(Caleb rises.)

Astrid: (in Common) Well, it has been some time. I was not expecting...you, Bren.

Caleb (Bren?): (in Zemnian) Let’s speak in our regular tongue.

Astrid: (nods) (in Zemnian) Of course.

Caleb (Bren?): Hi.

Astrid: (simply, gently) Hello.

Caleb (Bren?): Um. I think I’ve been, uh, imagining and dreading this moment for… longer than I care to admit.

Astrid: Hm. I’m sorry “dread” was a word, but I’m sure you have your reasons.

(Several beats pass in silence)

Caleb (Bren?): … there’s so many things that I—

Astrid: (raising hand in a placating manner) Sit. Sit. (crosses room to sit on opposite couch from Bren. She rolls up her sleeves to show a series of dark, maze-like tattoos along her arms. She folds her hands on her knee.)

Caleb (Bren?): Um… so much. What happened?

Astrid: (wryly) A lot of things have happened, Bren. Where would you like me to begin?

Caleb (Bren?): Um… (beat) The last thing I remember is my home.

Astrid: (sighs)

(Several moments of silence pass)

Astrid: We were… chosen, for a reason. From obscurity, picked from the rest of the riff-raff for something that we… can do. (long beat) And to…seize such a destiny, can cause a lot of heartache. (beat) And we can do some terrible things.

(long beat of silence)

Caleb (Bren?): (rubs hand over his mouth) Um. Eh— It’s strange. I find myself wanting to, um… Apologize. Still. So much of me feels like… I f– I failed. But… A lot has changed, and I-I know some things now, that I didn’t, as a boy, and… I’m so glad to see you.

Astrid: (rueful) I’m glad to see you too, Bren. (beat) I mean, it’s been well over a decade… but we still often talked about and wondered where you were. If you were okay.

Caleb (Bren?): How did I— (clears throat [Liam: he’s in a cold sweat]) Um. How did I get to the sanatorium?

Astrid: (careful) W-we took you there. (pitying) You had a breaking point. And—understandably—began to lash out. Part of that same spark that was seen in you, could create a lot of sparks everywhere else. (reaches up to scratch at her neck, and reveal the burn scars there). (in the tones of parent placating a child) But for your own good, we took care of you, and we brought you there. But we had to subdue you first. You were too dangerous to us—and to yourself.

Caleb (Bren?): (beat) I… was there a long time.

Astrid: And we always hoped that you’d… (small smile) That you’d improve. And at times you did, and… I mean, to be honest, even looking at you now, and hearing some of the things that you’re doing… I mean you’ve defied all of our expectations. And if you feel like you failed then, know that everyone’s path goes at… different paces. You’ve certainly proven now that you are in no way shape a failure.

Caleb (Bren?): What are you doing these days?

Astrid: I’m… doing a bit of tutelage. I’m doing what we were meant to do. Which is keep our people safe.

Caleb (Bren?): (roughly) Is it difficult for you?

Astrid: At times. But I take pride in my work. And I’ve stopped some terrible things from happening. And I’ve seen some of the possibilities of what can be done when the right application with the right minds [sic].

Caleb (Bren?): Had you heard that my, uh, friends and I were here?

Astrid: It was… (wry smile) rather rapid chatter once Trent had notified us of the return of the lost pup.

Caleb (Bren?): You know what the Mighty Nein and I are leaning to do?

Astrid: I’ve heard. (smiles) And I’m very curious. It seems… I mean it seems so...not what I would have expected from you. So much more. I’m impressed. I’m proud.

(beat)

Caleb: When I, um (swallows), came back to myself. In Vergessen. There was a-a woman. A patient, I think. Sh– um… she healed me? And… This might be hard for me to convince you, but, she helped me see things. What we did that night… I-I did fail. But I didn’t fail the Empire. I failed myself, and my mother and father. (beat) He. Lied. To me. I know he lied. (beat) And if he would lie to me about that. It is hard for me to understand what he wouldn’t like about.

Astrid: (long exhale) (pityingly) Bren… I’m so sorry. (sighs) I’m so sorry. (reaches out to touch Bren’s cheek)

[Liam: Insight check.

[...]

Matt: She seems very genuinely mournful for your pain and your suffering. But there’s also a hardness to it, in like a less ‘this is a terrible thing that happened,’ this is more of a ‘I’m sorry you’ve suffered. As we’ve suffered. As many people have suffered forever, and ever. Life is suffering. And some things are necessary.’ That’s kind of what you glean, off of a very high insight check.] [...]

Astrid: To be gifted, in a world filled with hardship like this, is to do things we’re not proud of. And to question the choices we make, and to regret the things we wish we could change. Do I agree with everything that I’ve been asked to do? No. Do I think about it? Do I lament? Do I see the faces of the people I’ve watched expire at my own hand? All the time. But I also know the reason that we get to sleep every night in a comfortable inn bed, or in a manor—as do the many families and children, just like we were. Just like the families we once had. That don’t have to make the choices we did. They still get to live. Happily, and comfortably. Because the few—the chosen few—made the hard choice, and do what few have the will to do.

(Several moments of silence pass)

Caleb: (sighs) I, um… Hm. I’m sorry. I-I will… never forget what we were. And even now, all these years later, I can’t shake it. I still… care, a great deal, about you. At least, the girl I knew. But. He has blinded you. You and Wulf. And all of his little helpers. And I mourn our childhood. And our souls.

Astrid: (reaches out to rest her hand on Bren’s knee) I understand your anger. And as much as he’s been our teacher, he’s not infallible. He’s just an old man, with the right connections, who will one day pass, like they all do.

Caleb (Bren?): You always were ambitious.

Astrid: So are you, apparently, Bren. Like I said, I’m proud of you.

Caleb (Bren?): I think I better go. (slowly reaches out to touch the scar running down Astrid’s face and/or neck) (beat) Too many scars.

Astrid: I regret none of them. (beat) Except one.

Caleb: Thank you for allowing me into your home. Maybe we will see each other again.

Astrid: You’re welcome any time, Bren. I’d like to… see more of you.

Caleb: Yeah, maybe. (in Common) We’ll see, um… my friends are depending on me.

Astrid: (in Common) Of course, well then you should probably get to them.

[Liam(/Bren/Caleb?): I just sort of hang on her face for a minute. Think about staying. And walk towards the door.]

(Astrid stands and follows Caleb to the door, careful not to crowd him)

Caleb (Bren?): Gute nacht

Astrid: Gute nacht (reaches down to briefly squeeze Bren’s hand)

(Caleb leaves, wending his way back to the inn, and his friends, as Astrid stands in the doorway, arms crossed, and watches him go.)

#critical role #transcript #at this point transcripts are part of how i make sense of what's going on in scenes like this #c2e89

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ingek73 · 4 years ago

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So Now Trump Has Earned Your Trust? A Note of Covid Caution from Michael Moore....

There is one absolute truth about Trump: He is a consistent, absolute, unrelenting, fearless, and professional liar. A serial liar. A factually proven liar. How many lies now has the Washington Post proven in these four years? 25,000? A lie at least twice during every waking hour? Think of all the bad people you’ve known in your life. Even the worst ones you couldn’t say that about.

So why on earth would we believe him today? Has he earned your trust now? No. Yet, we’re decent enough to not want him to be sick, to wish him well, and maybe just this once give him the benefit of the doubt because why would he lie about this?

That’s not the question. The question we — and yes, I mean you, too, the media — the only question we really need to be asking is this: Why would Trump all of a sudden just start telling the truth?

All of you, my friends, have been saying for four years, “Trump’s a liar! Trump is a liar!” Why would you believe him now? He very well may have COVID-19. In fact, let’s assume he does. Of course he has it! Does that make him not Trump? I’m certain Mussolini came down with the flu one time. Pinochet and Franco would catch a cold every now and then. Margaret Thatcher must have had a migraine or two. None of them suddenly became nice or did good things - or started telling the truth - because they got sick. Jesse Helms with a runny nose was still Jesse Helms.

But Trump has a history of lying about his health. His longtime New York doctor, Dr. Bornstein, admitted a few years ago that Trump dictated his perfect “doctor’s letter” during the 2016 campaign. Then there was the White House doctor who said Trump could live “200 years!” What about his lying about that emergency trip to Walter Reed “to complete his physical?” Trump also has a history of lying about his opponents’ health (like when Hillary fell ill at the 9/11 remembrance ceremony, or what he’s now been saying about Biden’s health).

So we must be skeptical. We must always remain skeptical when it comes to Trump. He may have it. But it’s also possible he’s lying. That’s just a fact.

But why would he lie about this? What would he have to gain? I mean, it looks bad that he’s called it a hoax for seven months, and he totally mismanaged the government response — and now he has it? Doesn’t it look terrible that he’s spent months downplaying wearing masks, dismissing social distancing, holding large rallies filled with elderly, at-risk supporters and even killing his own supporters like Herman Cain? And doesn’t this go against his brand of always projecting (and exaggerating) his own strength, his health, his genetics, his virility? Yes. This is all true. He would not want to admit he‘s come down with a hoax.

But — he’s losing the election. And he knows it. It’s not 2016. He was hated in 2016, but he’s hated even more now. Millions of Americans are ON FIRE and on the verge of serving him up a major league ass-whooping and a record landslide defeat.

So he needs - badly - to totally change the conversation about this campaign.

And he just has.

Democrats, liberals, the media and others have always been wrong to simply treat him as a buffoon and a dummy and a jackass. Yes, he is all those things. But he’s also canny. He’s clever. He outfoxed Comey. He outfoxed Mueller. He outfoxed 20 Republicans in the GOP primary and then did the same to the Democrats, winning the White House despite receiving fewer votes than his opponent. He’s an evil genius and I raise the possibility of him lying about having COVID-19 to prepare us and counteract his game. He knows being sick tends to gain one sympathy. He’s not above weaponizing this.

He’s been lying about how soon a vaccine will be ready. What better way to hammer home that lie then by directing a saga in the final weeks before the election that culminates in the release of this “vaccine.”

The NY Times tax story was horrible for him. As was The Atlantic story about him calling American troops losers and suckers. There are a dozen more of these stories coming in October. Just last night, The New Yorker detailed how his campaign finance director (and Don Jr’s girlfriend) was fired from Fox News for....well...behaving like a typical Fox News host by sexually harassing her assistant and forcing Fox to pay a $4 million settlement to that assistant due to her behavior. And also, last night, there was CNN playing an audio recording of Melania talking shit about children separated from their parents at the border — AND talking shit about Christmas. Christmas!

These stories are about to be a daily occurrence. However, they may get less airtime and be less damaging since Trump and FLOTUS are now “sick” and supposed to be in our thoughts and prayers.

But most dangerously, HE MAY USE THIS TO PUSH FOR DELAYING/POSTPONING THE ELECTION. The constitution does not allow for this, but he doesn’t give a f*ck about the constitution. He and his thug Attorney General Barr have no shame and will stop at nothing to stay in power. He may even use this as an excuse for losing.

Then there’s this:

He may use his Covid as a pretext to drop out of the race and move Pence to the top of the ticket. Pence would temporarily become President, and then Pence could pre-emptively pardon Trump for all of his crimes.

Again, though, he may have COVID. He probably does. But never, ever, ever take him at his word and never, ever, ever underestimate his survival skills or the depths of his deception or his evil.

What can YOU do today? Make your plan to vote and stick to it. Question everything. And if you and I are finally convinced he has it, do NOT sit silent as he schemes how to use this illness for his benefit.

Finally, on a personal note: Stay alive Mr. President. Your exit from public life must happen in the right and decent way. You have many years to live. You have a child to raise. Grandchildren who need you. A base that loves you. And the families of nearly the quarter-million dead who might be alive today had you done your job, had you cared, had you not played politics with people's lives. Over 200,000 lost souls — and YOU KNEW! You told Woodward in February it was a plague. 200,000 dead because of decisions you made, because you denigrated science and ignored the doctors.

I’m certain you’re listening to them now.

Covid must not remove you. That’s our job. With a pen and a ballot.

#michael moore #us elections 2020

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fortheheavenssake · 5 years ago

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PG MM Anon Interpretation Collection - 19

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

122: Nov 23

MM ANON …… “ it’s not Andrew it’s Meeeee!!”…… “suits is a positive act”🤣🤣……… “ life is like a box of chocolates”…… “Doritos here”……… “I’ll cook a turkey dinner”…… Charles Champion……… “ we’ll have to, in the speech??”…… media vita in Monte sumus…… “something borrowed ,someone’s blue”…… “Christmas’Blue Water,Lottie,”…… “Unicorrrrrns”🦄🦄……… “strictly Party Nanny 🥳”……… “ bit of week old thing, hugs!!”…… “ and a large sherry”……… “ a large malt

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 23/2019

💜💜🍰💐🎂HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🐼🎂💐🍰🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

Riddle #122 1305 hrs CST

“ it’s not Andrew it’s Meeeee!!”

Madam wants attention OF ANY KIND!!! Not one ounce of compassion for what everyone is experiencing, she is most probably seething that her pulling out an old relative PR move didn’t work. She doesn’t care one whit what else is happening, even in a whose best teeth 🦷contest made up by her PR or paper. In fact, she went as far as calling out PA for behaviours he has not even been charged with!!!! Oh Rachel, you’re playing a very very dangerous game here, you’re dancing with the big boys now!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS THE REAL DEAL, NOT DEAL OR NO DEAL, THE. REAL. DEAL!!!Selfish is as selfish does! ALWAYS A NARCISSIST! Just wait Rachel, your turn at all the headlines is coming sooner than you think!

“suits is a positive act”🤣🤣

This is funny/sad. In the interview Prince Andrew, he told the BBC Emily Maitlis, that for a man, to have sex, is a positive act. Well here MM ANON has given us suits is a positive act, obviously in relation to madam’ ‘acting’ on the tv show Suits. Actually hilarious twisting of his words, because her ‘acting’ ability is horrific at worst and intolerable at best!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂 You’re so cheeky MM ANON!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂 l must confess l had never heard of that show, but l did try and watch a hallmark movie l think it was, she was terrible, l didn’t last ten minutes! There was a Reitmans tv advert, clothing store here in Canada, and they kept showing this tv commercial and it was so odd. It was an outdoor restaurant and this woman walks in, all the other women stop and stare mumbling softly as she glides through the room, one says to the other, is that… before she can finish the woman turns around and said yes, it’s reitmans and yes it’s me, never giving a name. Every time l saw that it was so weird, l finally figured they were just acting like she was someone. Fast forward a few years, only to find out it was madam😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂. I venture to say, most Canadians seeing that tv advert had NO CLUE who she was😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣!!

“ life is like a box of chocolates”

Believe it or not, l have never seen Forrest Gump? But, l definitely know that line, it means simply thus when you open a box of chocolates, variety box not all the same flavour😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣, and you don’t cheat and look at the paper🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂, you never know what flavour you will get. So it’s like life, you start each day , not know exactly what will happen. It’s a great metaphor for taking life as it comes.

“Doritos here”

The way this is phrased, reminds me of the guy at baseball games selling popcorn, he yells popcorn here! Get your popcorn here!😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂Doritos are triangular or actually various shaped spicy crisps, often dipped with salsa.Madam’s mother seems to have acquired that nickname online. So mama is coming to the U.K. or is already there for Thanksgiving. Yes, l will believe it when l see it!! Likely not even then because every stinking photograph is PHOTOSHOPPED FUZZY BLACK AND WHITE NONSENSE!!😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤬

“I’ll cook a turkey dinner”

Sounds like madam, the writer and mastermind, and likely receiver of a portion or fee for her service in a certain cookbook. Yes, the master of wine and all things foodie will cook a turkey🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂. Good luck with that, yes sir, l need a 20 kg bird, how many people you ask, oh just me and archificial, yes he has all his teeth and this year he will slice the 🦃!😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣 By the way , do l have great teeth?? 😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣 l don’t know madam, l just sell the turkeys 🦃😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣!

Charles Champion

Charles has many causes to Champion, however he and a Camilla are due back from their tour, he was in a India, she joined him for Australia and New Zealand. The tour was successful however almost complete overshadowed by events on the home front, politically debates and family issues. He was extremely pleased to share the Princes Trust going global. He really has done extremely well and he is never bragging about it. He’s so quietly gentle, love him.

However, l do believe this refers to the ongoing jostling for power THAT pushed out Lord Geidt several year ago, until HMTQ asked for his return in March of this year. From overseas phone conversations , it was between HMTQ and Prince Charles the decision was made to give Prince Andrew his P45 and all that entails, including stripping him of funds from the privy purse and losing his staff. He has since had his Bahrain trip cancelled, dropped from almost every charity and his patronage’s will be reassigned. So, Charles has championed, when all along he has been and is the heir to the throne. I cannot fathom the brother relationship in such aristocracy. It’s all been done for over a thousand years and much much more than this in history.

“ we’ll have to, in the speech??”

Is the speech being referred to, the speech HMTQ will give at the NATO Banquet she is hosting on December 4/2019? What is the discussion here, certainly there is no need to mention Prince Andrew or his family. I think this is madam, explain why she is not there nor Harry, at this point with stories changing every day, sometimes in the same day l don’t have a clue what’s going on. However l am certain that Harry will be with HMTQ at 🎄Christmas!

Or, is this reference to HMTQ annual Christmas address, in my memory that has never been called a speech but that is semantics, so for all intents and purposes it is a speech where she in seated. She talks about all the things that have happened in the past year. It’s usually about 10 - 15 minutes or so. So if that is what is meant by this clue it sounds like mentioning such if the Royal family issues will require mentioning.

media vita in Monte sumus

Sumus hotel Monteplaya , in Malaga del Mar Spain, is an adults allowed no children please and thank you, meaning lots of sex and playing, drinking 🍹 , 💃 dancing. I know from being in Mexico playa means beach, so it’s probably got some amazing sea views and waters. Madam , did a stint in Argentina at the Embassy, arranged by her uncle, Heaven only knows what she did. However, he allegedly left abruptly with some man to go to Spain. There are many lost years after that. Is she there again? Does she have people there she needs to pay off to keep,them quiet? Any and all things are within the realm of possibilities!

HOWEVER!!

Templar Knights of yore as well as a line from Gregorian chant , “media vita in morte sumus“, meaning “in the midst of life we are in death” its morte NOT Monte. Monte in Latin translates to current English as mountain. So in the midst of life there are mountains to overcome. Sumus translates to we are. So in life we are facing mountains to cross, metaphor for great challenges. Gosh MM ANON,l hope you meant Monte and not Morte, but knowing you as I do, and the fact it’s capitalized, you meant Monte! My goodness, truer words were never spoken because HMTQ has a massive mountain to climb or face now, at this point in her life. Oh my heart aches for her. I was reading that they took down the York flag from Royal Lodge today. This is extremely serious and crushing for all. I hope that they find no evidence. However damage has been swift in coming. Who would have ever thought , at her marvellous Jubilee things would twist and turn as they have, it’s heartbreaking.

“something borrowed ,someone’s blue”

You know the phrase, for a wedding, the bride to have something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. My heart breaks for the York girls as well. Here we have Princess Beatrice, engaged to be married. They were planning a smaller wedding, but how can they cope. Oh my heart breaks for all of them. I just cannot imagine what any of them are going through, it must seem absolutely surreal. For PA, he is assumed innocent until proven guilty but HE GAS NOT BEEN CHARGED with a thing!! The disaster of the tv interview was the fallout due to public backlash. Just a few days ago and now this, l truly do not know how they will manage to carry on with the wedding. Dearie me,my hearts just breaks for them all. Fergie as well, one daughter happily married, the next found love and now, thinking the tv interview was a good idea never imagining the backlash. She must be reeling, am certain she is there with PA.

“Christmas’Blue Water,Lottie,”“Unicorrrrrns”🦄🦄”strictly Party Nanny 🥳”

Are the Cambridges taking a winter holiday somewhere warm and tropical, with wild 🦄unicorns 🦄 roaming the island?🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 Clear blue Caribbean water, perhaps Mustique again? Oh THAT sounds great! I have a feeling here that little Prince Charlotte wants every unicorn 🦄 on the planet for Christmas from Santa Claus! The use of the word Strictly, makes me thing of Strictly Come Ballroom, the 💃 dancing show. Since Nanny is Spanish, l am certain she knows the latin dances well and in addition to teaching the children Spanish, she very likely is teaching them dancing too, even if she’s just playing.

If a winter destination holiday on the calendar, this means Nanny comes too, excitement all around.

“ bit of week old thing, hugs!!”“ and a large sherry”“ a large malt

HMTQ and PP are spending time together. I am thinking she is visiting him at his ‘farm’ not him at Windsor because he has been unwell, likely with the flu or chest cold that seems to be making the rounds there. I see them in his room, nice big bed, cozy blankets, he is sitting up, nice warm sweater/jumper on, for some reason l posture it in the finest grey wool. HMTQ seated next to him on the most beautiful chair you have ever seen. Ancient but comfortable in the finest of wood, and beautiful red velvet fabric, a fire crackling in the fireplace. Curtains open, with windows open just a crack fir the tiniest bit of fresh air. Quietness fills the room as they both, after 72 years of marriage, celebrated or rather was this week but nary a celebration to be had. Looking at one another as the past 72 years roll by to taking them to the present dats. Tears in both their eyes. He looks at her and say, but if a week old thing, then says hugs because he isn’t comfortable and doesn’t dare want to give her his cold. A foot man arrives after the cord has been pulled. They ask fir a large sherry for HMTQ and a large Malt for himself. They will toast one another and quietly sharing time together drinking and remembering, also full of the pain of the occurring of the present day. Tears now rolling down both faces………..my heart is truly broken for them…….

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

1510 hrs CST

Thank you so much dear PG! A fascinating read once again. Love your stories….much appreciated! 😊💜💜💜💜💜💜

—————-

123: Nov 25

MM ANON …… a homecoming hiatus …… Top of the Pops👑👑…… “ And when they were only half way up”……… “ it’s going to be a PA tabloid tsunami”…… 🎼”potato,patarto, lets call the whole thing off”🎼……… “just take the bloody photo”……… “a horrified positive Pratt”…… 🎼” iiiiim’putin on my top hat”🎼……… Kate’ “I do everything he dose, only backwards and in six inch heels, and with three children”…… “ I trust in William old thing”…… “Sir!! focus,a century is demanded!”…………… 🎼”pictures of Lily”🎼

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 24/2019 2300 hrs CST Riddle #122

a homecoming hiatus

Prince Charles has been on a long tour whilst the home fire are quite literally burning!! He has three days in the Solomon Islands and give or take a time zone he will be back in London mid week or so. However, he has been involved in the very critical decisions that have been made as has HMTQ and William. When he returns , there will be a readjustment to the new situation but l can’t see any hiatus, or time off, for him at all.

Top of the Pops👑👑

Top of the pops, was and maybe still is, the top pop songs of the week. I read an article that after the Duchy documentary people have grown in their valuation, respect and love for Charles, so much that he is top Royal, that would include Camilla who has been at his side fulfilling her duty to no fault! His decision making now and the documentary, he shall be well ready and the public ready for him to continue to increase his royal duties lessening the load on HMTQ and further preparing him for his future as a King, when the time comes.

“ And when they were only half way up”

The old song The Grand old a Duke of York he had 10,00 men when they were halfway up the hill they came back down again!

MM ANON you are truly in my wheelhouse of knowledge today! THANK YOU!! The Duke of York is PA, he has had everything but his HRH pulled, even his flag no longer flies at Royal Lodge😞. With nary a legal charge, all based on a photo, an accusation and that interview which l am sure he is regretting terribly! I pray for them all!

“ it’s going to be a PA tabloid tsunami”

GM is set to speak openly with law authorities or so it is said in the papers. She has ALL the information on everything AND everybody!! She is close friends with PA, and it has also been said she is very protective of him. In early June, she and four others, unidentified, met at BP with PA for several hours. Contents of meeting unknown but that has not stopped speculation! It has already been a tabloid tsunami for PA AND his family dragged into it! What will happen when Charles is back?, GM spills all she knows and PA speaks with French and American agencies investigating JE? Sounds like lots more to come! Hopefully there will be complete exoneration!

🎼”potato,patarto, lets call the whole thing off”🎼

Another great song this time the AMAZING Gershwin brothers, George music, Ira lyrics, OH MM ANON YOU ARE RIGHT IN MY SWEET SPOT OF FILM AND MUSIC! ENDLESS THANKS!! Anyhow enough of me, rumours are swirling that Beatrice and Edo’s wedding is off. I have not seen or heard ANY confirmation of this, thus far it’s more gossip to hurt our dear Beatrice l oh how my heart aches for all of them!!

“just take the bloody photo”

I wonder if this is the official photo of HMTQ and PP for their 72Nd wedding anniversary which was last week. It certainly deserves a photo!! You can hear PP saying this, just do it already, not wanting hours of poses!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂 Love him!💜 This may also be a family photo or the official Christmas photo. Regardless his patience has grown thin!! Take the bloody photo!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂

“a horrified positive Pratt”

To a nurse a positive Pratt’s is not good, without going into details it a sign of blood clot to assess for DVT deep vein thrombosis/blood clot , this is not relevant.

Pratt’s is a very old Gentlemen’s club in London. The kind where historically aristocratic wealthy men could go to smoke cigars, drink and generally connect and spend time. This club goes back to the mid 19th century, l am certain all the Royal men are members at least of a certain age. I imagine amongst this set of gentlemen who have likely seen and done it all, from a time where before social media and when the wealthy were free to do anything, times have seriously changed. I am sure they are all horrified at what is happening within the Royal family just now!!

🎼” iiiiim’putin on my top hat” 🎼 Kate’ “I do everything he dose, only backwards and in six inch heels, and with three children”

This was the saying about MY ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, their films are legendary, dance sequences unparalleled! Bar none! Fool the Fleet, Top Hat, just the epitome! She always said or was it said about her , Fred was amazing dancer/hoofer slang word but it was/is always said Ginger did everything Fred did except backwards and in heels! So who was the better dancer eh? One of Irving Berlin’s most classic songs, LOVE THESE FILMS WHEN MOVIES WERE MOVIES, THE GOLDEN AGE OF HOLLYWOOD 💜💜💜💜. Top Hat, Stepping out……tying up my tie, brushing off my tail, l am COMPELLED TO PUT A LINK IN BECAUSE IF YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN YOU MUST!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZOJoV6H2UM

Anyhow this is par excellence reference to the yin and yang that is the beautiful dance that is the relationship of William and Catherine. They have become seamless, classics, seeing float through any and all appearances and appointments despite what’s happening in the background AND having three children!!! With strong personalities!! Louis has such a strong presence as a baby to earn the title boss baby , will be a joy watching him grow up! I can hardly wait for the NATO banquet to see them in them at their finest! They are the future of the Monarchy, absolutely no doubt at all!

“ I trust in William old thing”

William, if the papers are to be believed has been involved and in strongly so in the decisions regarding P45 with PA! He has been slowly becoming more and more into the role which he was born to be. It sounds like there is official support for him to continue and increase his presence in any and all major decision making. They are blessed to have him, as are we all!!! I think back to his meeting with HRC a week or so ago, l would LOVE to have been a fly on the wall!!

HMTQ and PP , having their usual time together, things much more urgent and distressing now, but PP soundly saying that William is a sound, modern and the future of where the ever changing monarchy shall be heading.With William as King , the next century is secured! He is above reproach, solid marriage partner who is beloved and children who are more popular especially given their strong personalities!

“ Sir!! focus,a century is demanded!”

As we all know, a century is 100 years. I wonder if this is ia s discussion , PP is 98, and has been at HMTQ side for longer than she has reigned, 72 years as of last week. In this conversation, LG speaking with PP , PC and PW, discussing the issues of the next century when William will be King, the long term ramifications of decisions made now. There is so much political talk from a certain political party to abolish the Monarchy. Critically important decisions made now, bode well public favour, which greatly helps in keeping the monarchy valued and solidly protected. Again with William to reign as King in the 21st century, with Catherine at his side, the modern monarchy is in excellent hands, above reproach and beloved by the public!

🎼”pictures of Lily”🎼

Oh dearie me thus is a very naughty song, l shall say no more, look it up if you want. HMTQ pet name is Lilibet, but this is NOT ABOUT HER!!! I wonder and strongly suggest this is reference to madam and photos/videos of a very distasteful raunchy nature. Oh please, release the hounds, so to speak, let it all out!!!! The world needs to know the truth!!!

0010 hrs CST November 25/2019

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you….I love your added details. What fun! Thank you dear PG😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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124: Nov 25

MM ANON ………lay a place for Vlad?…… lovers knot hiding …… Kate ,Melania & Ivanka shine …… nutmeg crashes posh-nosh?…… “ it’s just impeachy’Donald” ……… “ no chance Ma’am”……… “Hows the Dook?”…… “a special Yuletide for a million reasons ,ma’am”…… legalities,Banalities,Calamities …… “2020, I’m an optimist Christopher”…… “less is more, ma’am”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

November 25/2019 Riddle #123 1000hrs CST

lay a place for Vlad?

The term, lay a place, is when one sets a table for dinner, you lay a place. Vlad, l am certain is Vladamir Putin, the Russian leader. The NATO leadership will be meeting in London, this is from the official press release, all along l thought the NATO banquet was a December 4/2019 read this “The United Kingdom will host NATO Heads of State and Government in London, on 3-4 December 2019.The NATO Leaders Meeting, chaired by the NATO Secretary General, will take place at the Grove Hotel, Hertfordshire on 4 December 2019. An evening event at Buckingham Palace will take place on 3 December 2019, for which there will be a separate process for media access.

I am not certain if the press had got it wrong or l have had it wrong for quite some time now. Russia is not a NATO member. However back in 2002 they were part of a Russia-NATO council, however that was dissolved when Ukraine was invaded. Is Vladimir Putin going to be in London, meeting with HMTQ, surely not attending any NATO gatherings.

This clue certainly is giving the strong idea that he may be invited to the banquet. My understanding is Russia has wanted the dissolution of NATO however, maybe there are negotiations behind the scenes?? Extremely interesting times we are living in!

lovers knot hiding

Catherine has worn the Lovers Knot Tiara on a number of formal occasions l what does this mean hiding? Where is the tiara?? Is it being refurbished? What tiara shall Catherine wear to the banquet in that case?

I read about that massive billion euro jewel robbery in Germany l think. Oh dearie me, where is the Lovers Knot?

HA HA HA HA I LOVE YOU MM ANON SO SO CHEEKY!!

This is a pair of lovers not/no longer hiding. Madam and MA are well known for years and l have no doubt whatsoever he is the father of archficial, the real one! Oh God please, LET THIS INFORMATION BECOME PUBLIC!!!!

Kate ,Melania & Ivanka shine

Obviously the three women are stunningly beautiful, dressed to the nines, this l and many others are looking forward to at the banquet!

nutmeg crashes posh-nosh?

Oh goodness what is madam getting up to now. Posh meets upper class, nosh means eat/drink. Will she crash the NATO banquet???? Great balls of fire, the world is going completely mad and tilting off of its axis!

“ it’s just impeachy’Donald”

There are impeachment hearings going on in America. The House of Representatives has been interviewing a wide number of people, there will have to be a vote . If there is a vote to impeach it then passes to the Senate. Anyhow, this is a twist on the phrase things are just peachy, meaning everything is sweet in life, going very well, no major problems. President Trump has a lot of heavy stuff going on at home, as he comes to London for the NATO meetings and banquet. It seems that many many people in important positions are under attack, it’s extremely concerning. As a Christian, l read Revelations and it feels like we are at Biblical proportions of world crises. However, l am certain, he will rise above, attend the meetings and of course the NATO Banquet hosted by HMTQ. He does quite respect her, very very much.

“ no chance Ma’am”

I think this is a reassurance that madam will not be allowed to crash the NATO Banquet or any such royal events, I HOPE!!

“Hows the Dook?”

The urban dictionary has a definition for dook , “an individual who is not in his senses and is responding back with non sense and doesn’t make any sense” Is this referring to PP or PA, not the urban dictionary meaning, l mean the clue. Madam took to signing Instagram posts or others things regarding her husband as ‘ The Duke’. Herself is ALWAYS HRH! So is someone enquiring how Harry is?

Or God forbid, is PP that ill?? A number of possibilities here.

“a special Yuletide for a million reasons ,ma’am”legalities,Banalities,Calamities, “2020, I’m an optimist Christopher” “less is more, ma’am”

This is very long drawn out conversation between a very weary Monarch and her most trusted and loyal Chief Lord, Lord Christopher Geidt. They are talking about the years events and her annual address to the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth .LG is reassuring HMTQ that this will be a very special Christmas for a million reasons hmmmmm. Million eh? Who is getting a million? Sounds like madam will be dealt with before Christmas! I know l have said that a number of times, l can only interpret the riddle before me, as it stands.

As HMTQ prepares her annual Christmas message, she touches on the events of the past year. 2019 has thus far presented a multitude of legal issues, pending ones and possibly unknown to the public ones. Madams lawsuit against the DM, Harry’s lawsuit against SPLASH for using drones to photograph the house in the Cotswolds, Harry current lawsuit against the media. PA issues.

Banalities😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣, so lacking in originality as to be obvious and boring. Who does this sound like? Endless drone of PR LIES. On and on and on and on, just copies everything. Madam has never had an original thought, idea or facial expression. Banal is the absolute perfect word MM ANON, bang on perfect word to describe madam!

Calamities, well definitely in the Commonwealth there have been mass shooting, violence, weather and political calamities. However on the home front, madam has caused complete disaster since before the day of unhappy people and continues to. PP has been ill, and is aging, out of public life.

But the calamity raging now is PA and all that has happened in the days since the interview. Heaven knows what is yet to come. I hope to God madam gets death with, and begins to face justice and out of their world!!

HMTQ, clearly has her eye on 2020 , and is certain it will be much better than 2019, love the way she says it, it just shows the closeness of their long standing trusting relationship. His final advice is, less is more, how true is that eh? Often we go into great elaborative detail(OH DEAR I AM 100% DESCRIBING MYSELF!!), when less information is better then dumping it all onto someone. When someone says hello how are you, they don’t expect an hour of response, although, yet again, with me, yep, you get the full hour, just ask 🐼🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂. So her message to us will be filtered as she deems appropriate.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Wonderful! Thank you so much dear PG! Entertaining as always!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

1055 hrs CST

Ask Skippy submission

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125: Nov 26

MM ANON … “ it’s a Mozzi bite …… wed-ding-a-ling …… “my advice ‘ have it in Italy”’…… “ She’s crippled with shame”……… “I saw her with archificial yesterday in Waitrose,“ …… “from Windsor to Winnipeg”. ……… Andy, Charles and Clarence ,……”thanksgiving ‘ darling she went back to LA”…… “ but ,but, but the SOOOOOOPKITCHEN!!! “…… spin ,grin and a bottle of gin…… 🎼”I’m dreaming of a ( WOC) Christmas “🎼……… “Sandringham old thing, fuck the election”. …… “ ones duty first Philip”……… “ don’t mention him”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 26/2019

Riddle #124

1940 hrs CST

“it’s a Mozzi bite …wed-ding-a-ling “

Princess Beatrice is engaged to marry Edo Mozzi Mapelli, son of the Count from Italy. They have known one another for years, the families have as well. They connected at Princess Eugenie’s wedding and have been together since, a whirlwind romance leading to engagement. Gorgeous engagement photos and ring, photos taken by Eugenie in Italy. A mozza bite, is a cheese canapé often served at parties/ weddings.A ding-a-ling makes me think of a very silly song that has very sexual,double entendre. I don’t think that’s fitting here, l think hits referencing wedding bells. So to bite the bullet, take the plunge etc is to make a tough decision, are you in or out? So are the rumours true? Is Edo biting the bullet and no wedding 🔔 bells? Despite the fact is he loves her so much, his son to consider, as well as his families aristocratic status. OR the opposite, he loves her so deeply, his son is apparently, despite his young and tender age is already receiving Royal,training, will bite the bullet, take the plunge and damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead with the wedding. We all know Beatrice was not and did not want a massive royal wedding, according to the papers and friends who have spoken. I really do hope and pray love reigns and wedding 👰🏽 bells 🔔will ding-a-ling🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻.

“my advice ‘ have it in Italy”’“ She’s crippled with shame”

Sounding like discussion between the York’s and those involved with the wedding planning along with Edo and his family. There is so much massive, double positive l recognize my grammar, but l meant it that way!, negative publicity and just publicity of everything the York girls walking makes the papers. The papers l read all had to say Beatrice wore no makeup Edo’s birthday party because she would cry. WHO CARES. Why do that to her?

It really sounds like both girls are devastated but especially since Beatrice is engaged and was written to strongly encourage PA to do the interview, that was in the paper a few days, and Fergie also. Then oh sorry we shall switch it up now, forget the sorry, the papers then say they were both against the interview. I cannot imagine what Beatrice especially is going through. This is meant to be the happiest time in her life. It just crushing and my heart aches for all of them. It sounds like the wedding is very much on, love shall prevail with now exploring the idea of having the wedding in Italy. I know her mum really wanted the wedding in England, however circumstances have changed. Concerns may be about PA leaving England, l would seek legal counsel, because for some reason they are after him more than anyone else.

“I saw her with archficial yesterday in Waitrose,“

Yes, and l saw a Elvis in my backyard with a sasquatch😂😂😂😂🤣🤣. Yet another PR BS story. Trust me, if madam was seen grocery shopping, which she likely never done, with a rubber doll seated in the trolley, there would be a zillion cameras phone photos on every social media platform that exists!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂🤣🤣

“from Windsor to Winnipeg”.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, ALL WELCOME HERE FOR CHRISTMAS 🎄 PLENTY OF ROOM IN MY INN. THERE IS NO WAY, NO WAY SHE IS COMIG HERE! OMG! NO. WAY NO HOW NO NO. NO NO NO. NO NO NO NO NO 🤣😂😂🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🥴🥴🥴🥴🤕🤕🤕🤕🤒🤒🤒🤒😮😮😮😮😮😮😧😧😧😧🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬NO NO NO . Am l expressing myself clearly??🤣🤣🤣😂😂🤣🤣

Andy, Charles and Clarence

Charles and Andrew will have a one to one very heated meeting at Clarence House, where the Duke and a Duchess reside and also have their official offices. PC has been on an extended tour, India, New Zealand, Australia, Tuvalu, Solomon Islands, due to return home today. There were volcanic eruptions of things happening on the home front whilst they were away and he had to discuss and make decisions very likely through FaceTime or something similar. He will have a meeting with PA and l am very certain it will be a heated exchange. Will be interesting, if as rumoured, the decision to strip his HRH status, all with no charges. We shall we observers if PC first major incident other than madam in his heir to the monarch status even higher now as HMTQ has handed so much over to him and PW.

“thanksgiving ‘ darling she went back to LA”…… “ but ,but, but the SOOOOOOPKITCHEN!!! “

Will they, won’t they, will she, won’t she on and on and on. Gossip says she has all sorts of meetings set up in L.A. , l 110% believe her exit is very VERY imminent! She is planning for her life after divorce/annulment. So rumours of them going for Thanksgiving, now is it only madam going for six weeks or so? So what about staying in the England and her PR off working in the soup kitchen near Windsor on Thanksgiving day??? Her PR lies, intertwined with all the lies madam has allegedly told all like the old fashioned Christmas lights, you put them away neatly and somehow when you next want to do the tree it takes hours to untangle the lights with a few bad words uttered🤣🤣🤣😂. The young ones her have no idea, trees all prelit now. She has no clue what is awaiting her. The case built by LG and his team,,intel from PT, more intel,from iiiii, at or during the NATO summit, perhaps we shall see worldwide ramifications. By the way, l,took this from MM ANON, that Lady Kinrannoch so brilliantly decoded, iiiii is The Five Eyes of security/intel!

spin ,grin and a bottle of gin

Fergie has red hair, or is a Ginger. She is a full gorgeous ginger freckles and all. So bottle of gin, play on her ginger status and likely having a few G and T’s to chill. There has been soooooooo much PR and newspapers spin on did she no she didn’t, for DAYS about her pushing “my boy” PA to do the interview, then the press or PR changed it to no she didn’t. She has stayed smiling and waving, keeping a positive public face so as to not give the media more fodder, as in the articles repeating over and over that Princess Beatrice wire no makeup to Edo’s party! WHO CARES ABOUT MAKEUP! Steady on Fergie!!

🎼”I’m dreaming of a ( WOC) Christmas “🎼

One of my favourite Christmas films, Bing Crosby singing, l’m dreaming of a white Christmas. MM ANON has a WOC Christmas, women/woman of colour. So is the new PR spin that madam will have Christmas with OW,GK, MO,etc etc etc oh my.my, my, my or will she return to her sisters in SA?

“Sandringham old thing, fuck the election”. …… “ ones duty first Philip” “ don’t mention him”

Thank you MM ANON FOR THIS💜

HMTQ and PP, who by the way is feeling much better and stronger, are sitting together, needing there very much earned alone time. She is her tweed skirt and a lowliest soft grey velvety vest, and silver turtle neck of softest cashmere. PP dressed, smartly but very cozily, he has on the lovelies softest dark grey slippers. Grey is such a beautiful colours in many tones. Television is on low, news of the day, which switches to Strictly, they enjoy the dancing 💃, speaking of the dancing they have done in different places and times. The Ghillies Ball at Balmoral a favourite. Tonight he is having his favourite Boddingtins 🍺 and HMTQ, of course gin and DuBonnet, 🍸.

The election that is nearing May result in parliament sitting over Christmas 🎄. Depending what happens, if new Pm elected HMTQ will have to deliver the speech written by that individual. If that it the care the ceremonial nature will be drastically pared down, as in, no carriage procession, the ceremony inside parliament etc. However, the problem here is this means HMTQ will not have her usual Christmas break at Sandringham as usual. It’s all very disruptive when things are already so skewed.

Well, 🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂, you do not have to ask who said the first line🤣🤣😂. HMTQ harkens back to her duty, which she has lived up to every second of her a Reign and is not about to drop the ball now!

2050hrs CST

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Wonderful dear PG……she isn’t going to Winnipeg…..I think another royal is….as they do from time to time….love your stories, such fun! Thank you, so appreciate this!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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126: Nov 27

MM ANON … Archificial carves the Turkey …… Megan BURNS the gravy……Frogmore or LESS… ” Harry PULLS a CRACKER”… Dorito’ where is Dorito??…… An-drew the short straw… Con-sort it out Charles … swimmingly!!🦄🦎 …… “ the general public would lap it up your Highness” …… “ little stars”……… 🎼four and twenty Black-Birds🎼…… “Frozen film party at KP”…… “Darling I’ll cook, how many?”…… “14, no problem!!”…… “a ten pounder”…… “Kate’s cooking old thing”…… “another drink Philip?”… “wait till Christmas Eve !!”

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 27/2019 1120 hrs CST Riddle # 125

Archficial carves the Turkey …… Megan BURNS the gravy

Hey MM ANON, l made this exact comment a few days ago🤣🤣😂😂. Yes according to scooby, baby Archie is being weaned at the ripe old age of 25 , doesn’t quite have all his teeth became share denture with madam🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂but his knife skills are unrivalled! Yes, running a blog, where absolutely every single word, idea, photo etc etc etc is lifted, ‘borrowed’ some might say copied, theft,or plagiarism. Aah potato, potahto, same thing all really.

Megan, NOT Meghan, who is Megan burns? I know Megan Burns is an actress, 28 days film anyone seen that? Not my wheelhouse but some like zombies or stuff like that. Give me Fred and Ginger! However, l doubt this is a typo but who really know so, l am going with that. I am certain wherever she is, she is up to something! And likely the idea is lifted🤣🤣😂😂. However, oooooooooohhhhhh, if Catherine wears the emerald tiara at the NATO BANQUET, THE ENTIRE WORLD WILL HEAR A BANSHEE SCREEECHING SO SHRILLY WINDOWS WILL SHATTER! Madam demanded this for the day of the gathering of unhappy people and HMTQ drew the line there and refused! She will be on fire she will be so mad! In fact, l think just being on holiday/rest time/contained time/ oops did l say that?😮😮😮😮😮🤐🤐🤐🤐. Wherever she is, she has pulled out the last relative card out of the back bottom shelf of her very dark closet. I am sure she is on fire with rage not knowing where Harry is or what he is doing and imagining who he is doing it with😁😁😁😁.

PC has returned, he is now at a new level of strength and confidence in decision making, look at the decisions regarding PA! Imagine, just imagine when her time comes, which l do hope and pray the NATO meeting is the last piece of the puzzle!

Money is sometimes referred to as gravy, especially if it’s an extra amount or a lottery like unexpected . I used to work with a guy who LOVED working holidays, he called them “piece of work gravy shifts” l KID YOU NOT!! Because you got time and a half for working that day and then a whole paid day off in addition. To burn the money literally means spending so much so fast it’s literally smoking. So Megan assuming MM ANON means madam is burning the the gravy, she’s spending money like mad or has done.We know SS and all her PR must have cost her a king’s ransom.

Frogmore or LESS…

Frogmore Cottage was officially designated as the Sussexes official residence and allegedly millions of pounds were spent putting in a yoga room with floating floor, baby room, a Doritos room, soundproofing, the garden etc etc etc. Who knows what really was done. We do know they have never lived there and the long litany of celebrities that says they have visited them there and seen/fed/played with archficial are either clients of SS, backers, or both, or untruthfullish. Madam likely thought she was getting Frogmore House😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣 . So here is LESS upper case, confirms for me, that FAR LESS MONEY AND FAR FAR FAR LESS WORK was done in terms of remodelling and refurbishing has been done that what PR has said. There has been no visible major changes to the garden, according to locals, who also say the lights are never on, no cars coming and going. The only signs of life were when the builders were there. Were they even working? Or was that for show as well??

” Harry PULLS a CRACKER”…

We always have crackers at Christmas, somehow, whenever l try to pull mine, mine never snap or making that cracking sound🤣🤣😫😫, hence why they are called crackers. We all wear the silly hats, read the jokes and lucky numbers and fight over who got the best silly toy. In fact l ordered the box yesterday! I ordered really pretty ones with old fashioned almost Victorian looking Santa Claus and other pictures on the outside quite lovely. In America, the word cracker has a whole entirely different meaning, it’s a racist White person, l don’t think this is MM ANON’s meaning. To pull can literally mean pull or tug however, it can mean being lucky romantically or more😚wink wink. Sooooo what has Harry been doing to rest and recover from his two year tour l’d duty! Maybe he got the best toy and hat in his cracker😁😁😁😁😁😁 I shall not speculate any further! LOVE YOU HARRY💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

Dorito’ where is Dorito??

Where in the world is Carmen SAN Diego🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂🤣 , kids tv show, along with where is Waldo? Doria has been christened online informally as Dorito. She has been completely off the radar, where is she? Custody?, OW. Witless, oops l meant🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂Witness Protection? Who knows! She sure is not the ever loving supportive “AMAZING”, the word Harry was compelled to say in the official engagement interview. Where is she??? She has an ‘assistant’ to walk her dog apparently unless she too gave her dog(s) away?

An-drew the short straw

When you draw straws, the one with the shortest straw gets to do or rather has to do the task no one wanted to do. So what will Anne have to do? Does this involve seating at the NATO Banquet? What what what does our Anne have the unlucky fortune of having to do?

Con-sort it out Charles

Now that Prince Charles has returned from his extended overseas trip, he has decided to spend first a few days with PP. l think this is very wise to seek the counsel of his father who kept the family in line, as it were, or handled delicate situations that needed handling, PP is not King, he is Consort. Oddly though when Charles or William become Kings, their wives become Queen. So Charles is earnestly and wisely seeking his father countenance, wisdom,advice and support in this terribly difficult time. Excellent decision Sir!

swimmingly!!🦄 🦎

When things are going swimmingly, it means they are going really well. Now the other day, Saturday riddle, l thought the riddle was meaning a winter holiday but blue water was apparently a shopping mall, thanks to a kind anon who commented! Are the children doing well in school? Are they taking swimming lessons and doing well? Are they preparing for a warm holiday after Christmas? Or all of the above? I am excitedly awaiting the Christmas photos of them all, especially little Louis to see how he has grown. Did l ever tell that was my dad’s name too??

“ the general public would lap it up your Highness”“ little stars”

Are the Cambridge children going to do a little video for us for Christmas? Yes yes, and yes please! Little stars as in fame but maybe dressed as little stars in panto. Maybe the school Christmas pageant!!!

🎼four and twenty Black-Birds🎼

Six a song if sixpence, very old children’s rhyme, second rhyme MM ANON has referenced. I am singing 🎤 now🤣🤣🤣😂😂 This is a recitation eh? Baking live birds, when l look back on the lyrics of so called children stories or nursery rhymes from ages ago they often are truly dark and dreary. I hate black birds, like magpies, l am sure you all remember my magpie story l told in a riddle awhile back. Blackbirds are EXTREMELY LOUD! aggressive, eat others birds eggs, babies and even kill ear other birds. So 24 of them,yikes, they swoop at your head to. I think 24 is significant, another clue in this riddle says Just wait till CHRISTMAS EVE!! Upper case two !! Now yes Christ’s birth and church on Christmas Eve is the reason for the season, however something MUCH MUCH SIGNIFICANT TO CURRENT ISSUES, OF COURSE CHRIST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT is either going to happen on the 24 th OR be celebrated!!!! I truly am salivating!!!

“Frozen film party at KP”

Sleepover 2.0 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂. Oh may l come too? I wonder if it’s Frozen 2? The new sequel l mean. This sounds awesome and loud and fun and giggly and everything that is wonderful about a four year old girl!and her friends!!!

“Darling I’ll cook, how many?”…… “14, no problem!!”…… “a ten pounder”…… “

William and Catherine discussing Christmas. The plan had been for them to alternate families each Christmas, doesn’t mean it cannot be Boxing Day. So Catherine knows not just for photo, having lovely children, being a loving wife and mother, looking gorgeous in any and all situations and garb, loyalty, being above reproach etc etc but she is an awesome cook. We even had a pasta recipe of hers here a few weeks ago. So sounds like she is cooking and it will be turkey. The entire Middleton clan adds up to 12, unless you add HMTQ and PP, HARRY. That makes 15. Possibilities, l shall not speculate on.This will prove a very lovely group indeed and absolutely rock solid confidential!!!! THIS HERE. THIS EXCITES ME TO NO END!!!

“Kate’s cooking old thing”…… “another drink Philip?”… “wait till Christmas Eve !!”

PP and HMTQ discussing the Christmas arrangements. No talks of politics intervening in this conversation. It’s rainy, chilly, the fire needs topping up as do they both. The footman arrives almost as the cord is pulled. Refills? He already had them, another Boddingtin 🍺 for himself and gin and DuBonnet 🍸 for HMTQ. Today, she chose a lovely purple sweater, skirt with a lovely purple woven through, he in evening relax dressed and those lovely grey slippers. 72 Christmases married🎄, that’s amazing! They sound pleased as they discuss Catherine cooking the main meal, they will be so glad to see the grandchildren. I wonder shall Catherine cook at Windsor as it would be ever so convenient, church in the forenoon and back home walk or drive after. HMTQ takes the drive, someone usually goes along. Did PP attend last year? I cannot recall, l do recall the last time he attended he walked the walk, so l think it must have been the year before. As they sip on their cocktails, discussing positive plans and things today. Things to look forward too. Things will very soon be done with and madam will be dealt with and out of their life and onto to L.A. or someplace else, who knows. In yesterday’s riddle, the word SOOOOOOP KITCHEN WAS used. I couldn’t get it out of my head. Six zeroes. Is she being paid a million or more, because we do not have a number before the zeroes, unless the upper case S means 5, five, let’s go with that for a minute. Is she being paid five million dollars/pounds/euros for something by someone or is she being led to believe that she is? Something big is going on thoughFOR SURE!!!

Wait till CHRISTMAS EVE!!. All caps, two !! Something big and exciting, besides Santa coming that night of course, is going to be happening! I surely do wonder what that will be!!

That was a beast of a riddle MM ANON

1255 hrs CST

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you dear PG! I so love your additional storytelling…makes it so much fun! You are greatly appreciated, you lovely ladies…PG and MM Anon!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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127: Nov 28

MM ANON ……… pencil thin 👀…… 👧👦🏼👶🎡🎢🎠……… maple, leaf it alone ……… 🛩who knows?……… “one has responsibilities Charles”……… “ six weeks’ and they can’t show the bloody baby.”…… “flown out , bloody good job!!”……… send up the menu!! …… very secure ma’am!! ……… all those SS chappies…… “ I hear she’s quiet the English Rose” ……… “ if only!!”……… “good stock, don’t cha’ know”…… DEEP and CRISP and IVAN…… He’ll stop their extravagant travel. ……… “ charades ,old thing”. …” pass the parcel,Philip!!

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 28/2019 Riddle #126

🦃🦃HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO OUR AMERICAN FRIENDS 🦃🦃

1400hrs CST

pencil thin 👀

We do know our Catherine has always been athletic and lithe, but comments are more and more , how thin she has become, this phrase, pencil thin,goes way back to my childhood when people still used pencils🤣🤣🤣😂😂. Who is voicing this comment and should we be concerned. I hate Diana comparisons. Everyone copes with stresses differently however l wouldn’t howl from the rooftops just yet. She’s fine, ore than, stunning, gorgeous, excellent mother, partner and working Royal. She just spent a couple of days working in the maternity. I know she gets terribly ill in her first trimester with each child. Sometimes women get ‘baby fever’. My niece is a maternity nurse,they thought they were done their family with the boys they had. Well baby fever rolled in and thank God it did because they have the sweetest girl God ever made, l love that child more than my own life!

👧👦🏼👶🎡🎢🎠

This looks fun, the Cambridge children at an exposition as we call them in Canada or expo for short. Others call them fairs or amusement parks. Will this be the Christmas video gift we will get to see? Or are they planning a winter holiday? I cannot fathom them at Disney WORKD or Universal, the security would be impossible unless they shut it down for them, but where’s the fun in that? Quite frankly, l enjoyed the video of the riding their bikes. I love seeing them do the ordinary things every child should be able to do.its marvellous, they are a wonderful family. We are so blessed!!

maple, leaf it alone

Oh I most certainly hope this means that no trash blows into our fair country from points east. This surely is a word play, maple, leaf it alone maple leave it alone. The Maple leaf is right centre on our Canadian flag 🇨🇦. Leave the idea of moving to Canada alone, despite MA being Canadian. With madams history and the iiiii, even with our CSIS recent crises, l doubt once that, once she is done with being Royal, she will be anywhere near Canada. Will the issue with the CSIS head of intelligence being charged be discussed officially at the NATO meeting? I am absolutely certain it has been greatly discussed at length by all the Five Eyes member as well as NATO intelligence overall.

🛩who knows?

As much as we know, rather make that we know very little about where she or Harry are, yet madam was reportedly seen a week or more ago at a small airport taking a private jet out of Oxfordshire, destinations unknown, current point unknown, to us, but MI6 will be all over her like a bad rash, she just doesn’t know it. I highly doubt, wherever they are, that they are together.

“one has responsibilities Charles”“ six weeks’ and they can’t show the bloody baby.”

PC , upon his return has been spending a few days at Wood Farm with PP. l am quite certain seeking his counsel as well as spending time together. Voicing continued frustration that in six weeks baby archficial has made nary an appearance during what was meant to be relaxing unscheduled free time, therefore no obstacle at all from baby archficial visiting. Except for a few pesky things, he’s a doll, she was never pregnant, it’s not Harry’s child and the surrogate wants the baby whoever the donors were, all allegedly of course!

Speaking of HMTQ and PC duty, the Firm comes first. Decisions regarding PA had to be made to protect the Firm. Wise counsel as ever from father to som , from Consort and partner of a Queen to the King in waiting who is having evermore responsibilities sent his way.

“flown out , bloody good job!!”send up the menu!! Very secure ma’am!!

I believe madam has been in custody of a sort this entire time, rehab, psychiatric, or both. LG arrives with information that she has been escorted out of the country, or intelligence have facts that reflect she has flown out of the country and that the intel is solid, he says very secure ma’am, meaning the information is secure, madam is secured or both and it’s reason for celebration. Order up a great dinner and some 🍸.LG had arrived with information, while HMTQ and PP have been talking, reassuring HMTQ, that she, is well secured, the information is well secured and the family is well secured. LG will join for dinner, or cocktail at the very least.

all those SS chappies

Each and every SS has been ordered to leave the country and lost their best client from whom they would never get fully paid anyhow! I wonder if, and how many, American, international and U.K. law get broken with PR, if any, l don’t know. However, l do know treason law, and it seems nobody bothered to check laws in a country with a Monarchy. It could well be that a plethora of actions undertaken may just bring about a world of legal trouble for the SS chappies as they are called here. I don’t know, l am voicing questions, perhaps there is a British legal mind reading this that might know.

“ I hear she’s quiet the English Rose”

“ if only!!”……… “good stock, don’t cha’ know”

Can l really say what l think? I believe strongly that Harry has found someone. Now is she a quiet rose, like speaks softly, or quite a rose, as in very English, pretty, English manners and understanding of aristocracy and Royalty. Are we to think that is where he has been spending his time? If this is the case, it sounds like they cannot yet , obviously, be officially a couple, but she is English and comes from a very good family! Oh this is exciting!

DEEP and CRISP and IVAN…… He’ll stop their extravagant travel.

When you deep fry or bake something you want it deep, crisp and even. Here we have deep, crisp and Ivan. IVAN is an obvious Russian name and reference Deep, May be deep cover, as is spies or law enforcement going deep under cover infiltration of an organization or country for intelligence gathering. Is there talk of the Madam and MA seeking refuge with Vlad? We have had several mention of Putin in the last few riddles. Yes, if you are a citizen of Russia you do or not do only what he wants done or done to. Burns can be deep and crisp. Cold can be deep. Russia has some of the coldest places on the planet. There are many who ponder who she really is, her missing years, her connections and who she is allegedly really working for. This NATO summit may result in intel shared and information released that may just be earth shattering and life changing for some!

Has madam found instead of pale, male and stale, a nice oligarch to fund her lifestyle? She is far too old, used up, and Russia is full of beautiful women to choose from. However she does possess an alleged skill set that some enjoy and most have never heard of , allegedly.

“ charades ,old thing”. …” pass the parcel,Philip!!

Sandringham Christmas, for the Royal family, has four certain things, family goes to church, family dinner, gag gifts and wickedly competitive games of charades. HMTQ and PP talking abut and very much looking forward to it. Appears they are wrapping Christmas gifts as the talk.

1535 hrs GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sorry for lack of stories today kids, headache, but l wanted to at least give the riddle a go

💜💜💜💜🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜

Nothing gets in your way dear PG! No matter what, you always tell great stories and add so much to the riddles! Thank you for doing this, so appreciated! Sounding wonderful!🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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128: Nov 29

MM ANON …… 🎼 build it up with wood and clay🎼 ……… a crown script …… Harry’s rapid response …… the wrong side of the tunnel ……… “give time,time old boy”……… “ if it was Good enough for HM”……… tagged ,bad, and dangerous to know ……… look ,listen and learn ……… black fry-day……”nowhere as secluded as Sandringham”……… “she’s a beauty mate, breath of fresh air”

First of all my prayers and sympathy for the terrible losses today, the act of a madman. Extreme gratitude to the brave members of the public who went well into harms way to keep others safe. Gratitude to the armed police response and all the police officers, emergency personnel, the trauma team that was choppers onto the scene and every first responder. My prayers for all the secondary victims, the witnesses, the people whose memories are triggered by this’d senseless violence. 💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

November 29/2019 1845 hrs CST RIDDLE #127

🎼 build it up with wood and clay🎼

This is a line from the classic children’s song, London Bridge is falling down. As I said in my opening, ‘twas a horrific act by a madman. I do trust the Terrorism Unit will investigate and see if this was a lone wolf, or part of a cell. Many ISIS and other prisoners have been released as their sentences served. This may just be a message of what to come in the Holy part of the year December, for a variety of faiths. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

a crown script

The television show The Crown airs on Netflix. I have never seen it. Reports and comments say there are quite the liberties taken with the truth. The current actor portraying HMTQ is Olivia Colman, academy award winner last year, is not doing as good a job as a Claire Foy, the previous actor.l read about things but don’t have the patience to watch. Apparently she plays HMTQ angrily’ , is what l have read. However, l do believe what isn’t known about HMTQ is and would far more complex and interesting than any television show.

Script is the writing for the speaking part of a play, film, tv show etc. Script can be a manner of writing, the font, is there some new engraving being added to the crown? I read the crackers for Christmas, HMTQ has bespoke ones for each family, some have gold crowns and some silver, l do believe there are inscriptions on each, hence crown script!

Harry’s rapid response

Was Harry involved in today’s event? Did he rush in to help? Or help a by-stander. Prince Harry was an Apache pilot and worked in Intelligence whilst serving in Afghanistan. I just wonder if he was helpful in any manner today. With Invictus, he and all the members this will possibly trigger, potentially bad episodes of their PTSD. I truly wonder if Harry has taken action in that regard to help out those triggered by this horrible event.

the wrong side of the tunnel

Because everything above was shut down, so was the tube, making the tunnel unusable. I wonder if some of the victims came out of the same side of the tunnel, before it was shut down and just happened to be bystanders in the situation. Kind of like , no exactly like being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“give time,time old boy”

PP has been ill, and very likely frustrated, he is being encouraged to give it time, to recover and feel better.Or is this PP saying this to PC who l think is still with him, l am bot certain of THST, just an idea.

“ if it was Good enough for HM”

Boy this reminds me of madam wanting air freshener in the Chapel at Windsor for her wedding. She was probably smelling her own sulfur! Is this, l cannot believe l am going to say this, but is this about the NATO banquet and the jewel the women will wear, l am thinking madam, wanting some specific and being given plain or something she didn’t want to wear and then the line was said, if it was Good enough for HM. Stop screaming at me! I know, breathe, l know there is NO WAY on this earth madam will be at this banquet, however with her one just does not know what a wild cat will do!

tagged ,bad, and dangerous to know

The killer on the bridge today that the public wrestled down after he stabbed many, two died, was an Islamic terrorist wearing an electronic monitoring tag. A bad bad man, now no longer among us! Yet there are many many many more! We all need to be vigilant! Bravo to those brave individuals today!!!

look ,listen and learn

This applies to each of us, a basic life lesson. Law enforcement in London was repeatedly saying today, if you see anything suspicious call them. Look, Listen, and Learn is also a trained learning of audio-visual correspondence, basically videos with sound,ie voicemail, FaceTime, Skype, text, imessage, etc etc as opposed to other embeddings, like plans for bombs hidden inside of a painting, a lot of ultra secret manners to embed data. requiring labeled intelligence. Is this the manner of monitoring of madam and other persons of interest? Is this how incriminating information was obtained allegedly by individuals at the SewHoe Farm? And other SewHoe places?

black fry-day

Today is Black Friday, started in America the day following their Thanksgiving, the first day officially to Christmas shop with sales galore. It has gone global! It’s madness, queuing up at 0300 to buy a tv!! Here we have black fry- day, what’s being fried? Or who?

Fry can means destroy and one wears black when in mourning. Both are directly a result of the horror that happened in London today. Lives lost, families destroyed, people traumatized and retraumatized. This was definitely one black Friday!

“nowhere as secluded as Sandringham”“she’s a beauty mate, breath of fresh air”

We have had several clues in succession on what l believe this to be. I do believe Harry has found someone during this horror time with madam. It would explain her rages when she cannot find him, putting out the PR that he was missing and his family was worried sick. We have not Harry for awhile. Next l believe will be NATO greeting and then the NATO banquet on December 3/2019. Sounds like Sandringham may be a nice secluded place for them to spend time together. And just as yesterday’s riddle said, this speaker is also giving a ringing endorse,ent if her!

Kids this was an extremely challenging riddle. I seem to be losing my abilities to interpret them. This is my best go. I hope at least some of it is helpful. It truly is me giving 110% effort.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you dear PG….your hard work is always appreciated….🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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swimmingseafish · 4 years ago

Text

Sanderstale Prequel: Jen

So, this is a Sanderstale prequel fic that I wrote in literally one day. It’s somewhat OC-focused, but I’m pretty proud of it, so I’m posting it here too.

tagged: @hideyseek @ironwoman359 @shrimpangie

summary: The journal of the second heir to the human throne, before the human-monster war. Could also be described as the personal accounts of Princen Cal of Medeis, featuring their family and monster friends and one particularly violent Entity.

CW: violence (mentioned at least), several implied deaths, possession, and an almost-drowning (but very vague).

(Please let me know if I need to tag anything else for this fic. I don’t think I’m leaving anything out, but I’m not positive.)

Read it on ao3!

Entry 1

(I have a strange urge to write this like a letter, and no one’s going to read this anyways, so they won’t care if I’m a dork.)

Hi, book of blank lined pages.

Father says I should keep a journal and write an entry once a week. He thinks it’ll help me prepare to help rule the kingdom one day. Or at least, I suppose, to deal with paperwork.

I mean, I guess it isn’t a bad idea. We’ll see how this goes.

It was nice to meet you.

- Cal

Entry 2

Greetings, still-mostly-blank journal.

People write important events down in journals, right? I think that’s how it works.

Well, I had my naming day this week! I’d been SO looking forward to turning eighteen. I finally got to stand in front of the kingdom and introduce myself to the world as Calyx, they/them, second heir to the throne of Medeis. Immy was very proud of her little sibling (me).

Prince Emile of Bellua was there, too, out of royal formality and respect. His naming day was a few months ago. I still don’t know him very well, but he seems nice, and so do his parents, which is good. Eventually, Immy and I will have to negotiate with him on things like borders and taxes, so we better at least kind of get along.

Hey, you know what? Since it’s my naming day and I insist on writing these like letters, I might as well name you, too. How about Jen?

(So, I like alliteration. Sue me.)

See you next week,

Cal

Entry 3

Dear Jen,

Mother and Father have been particularly stressed this week.

We’ve been working with Bellua to build and maintain a reservoir on the Regio, which is the largest river in the area and also happens to be the border between our two kingdoms. But the negotiation of exactly where to put the dam has been an absolute nightmare.

Why can’t we just put it by Lake Aureus? That makes the most sense. It’s basically a reservoir on its own already—just dam the river and add supporting structures to make the lake deeper. And that lake’s relatively empty of life for some reason, even though the water’s clean, so we wouldn’t be encroaching on protected species or monster homes.

But no one asked me, so.

Actually, hold on a second. I’m going to try something.

***

Back two hours later to say that Immy absolutely loved my idea and will be pitching it to our parents tomorrow morning. Huh. Maybe I should speak up more.

Good night, Jen.

- Cal

Entry 4

Dear Jen,

I’m no longer sure if speaking up was a good idea or not.

It’s managed to convince Immy and my parents that it’s time for me to handle a project on my own. Which should be a good thing! And I’m happy that they consider me responsible enough for that! It’s just that the project in question happens to be this infernal DAM. It’s fascinating, but the paperwork and scheduling and negotiations for workers and who does what when are absolutely EXCRUCIATING.

Also, I’ve spent nearly every day this week with Diana, the royal architect, which, again, SHOULD have been fine, if we hadn’t gotten into an argument five years ago with her daughter that led to us completely cutting off communication. Diana would not stop talking about Daisy.

“Yes, your highness, I agree that we should add more supports on that side. By the way, have you considered asking my daughter to help? She’s becoming quite a skilled architect herself.”

“It’s such a shame that you and Daisy don’t talk anymore, your highness.”

“Daisy actually came up with this particular design. Isn’t she doing such a good job?”

“Did you hear

I was going to keep writing out things that she said, but I got frustrated, so nope.

I like Diana, but I had good reason to stop talking to Daisy. So, also a big nope on talking to her.

I wish just one thing in my life was straightforward. Wait, no, definitely not. Nothing about me is straight.

***

I just laughed for a good five minutes over a pun I’ve made a billion times. I’m definitely exhausted. I need to at least try to get some sleep.

Night, Jen.

- Cal

Entry 5

Dear Jen,

Sorry, I know it’s been a month since I’ve last written, but I’ve gotten so much done!

Diana and I completed the plans for the Vis Dam three weeks ago, and it’s been under construction ever since. I’m due to go and supervise the end of construction in a few days.

I’m, quite frankly, a little nervous. I’ve put so much time and effort into this project, and it actually seems like it’s paying off.

As long as it’s not like the Cat Herding Incident of 1845, I think we’ll be good.

I’ll update this more once I can finally say the project’s complete.

- Cal

Entry 6

Dear Jen,

So! Things have happened. The Vis Dam is finished, thank goodness, but that didn’t quite go as planned.

Let me break this down for you:

I, in my ridiculous ceremonial robes, arrive at the dam. Prince Emile’s there, along with several other monster nobles that I don’t know and a host of human and monster workers.

I make small talk with Emile for the next hour or so until the dam’s officially complete. I learn that he really likes tea and that we both enjoyed this one children’s book series about space gem people. He is incredibly pleased to learn that I’d read it and that I am actually willing to listen to him talk about it. (People need to give this guy a place to nerd out more often, clearly.)

Both Diana and Daisy are there. I say hi to Diana and then proceed to ignore them as politely as possible.

It’s time for me to dedicate the dam, and I make my speech from the second-floor platform, just underneath the area that would vent water. It should be noted, and it cannot be emphasized enough, that this was not my idea. I would have been fine giving my speech from the top of the dam. But Diana decided, along with my parents, that it would be better to give a speech about the two kingdoms getting along if everyone was on the same level, literally. So, she added in a large, retractable platform lower on the structure. Why it was beneath the water vents, I have no idea. It might just be because that was in the center. Regardless, that’s beside the point.

Everyone else stands around me, while I stand with my back to the dam. It should be noted that the water vents were supposed to be OFF.

I finish my dedication of the dam to peace and harmony between humans and monsters, and everyone starts applauding. The vent directly above my head, determined to ruin my day, opens, blasting me and a dozen other assorted monsters and humans off of the dam and into the reservoir below.

This was not a short fall, by the way. It was a good 200 feet down at least. The only reason we didn’t all die was that someone caught us with blue magic just before we hit the water, holding us still for a brief second and then letting us drop 2 feet instead.

I, also, am terrible at swimming. We—Immy and I—had to take classes as children, but we only ever had to get good enough to be able to survive. Immy’s a swimming champion. I can tread water for five minutes. I was not (and am not) equipped to survive in a raging river.

Fortunately, just as I was about to go under for good, I felt my SOUL turn blue again. I was forcibly yanked from the water so hard that I flew over the water and smacked into my very furry rescuer. He felt so guilty that he couldn’t stop apologizing, despite the fact that he’d saved my life and he had no reason to feel sorry (as I promptly told him).

Turns out, his name was Patton, and he’d been practicing his blue magic by working on the dam—moving parts into place alongside the other workers. His specialty is healing magic, but his parents both served in high positions in the Belluan military, so they had insisted he learn more combative magic as well. He’d done great with fire magic, he told me, but the specific SOUL magic types had proven more difficult, hence the practice.

Right then, Emile, who’d apparently escaped being thrown off the platform by the waterfall of death, ran over, asking if I was okay. I quickly assured him that I was and that he didn’t need to worry, though it was appreciated.

And then:

“Oh! Prince Emile Dreemurr, meet Patton Hart. He saved my life.”

“Ah, n-nice to meet you, Patton.” Emile’s cheeks turned bright red as he dipped his head to Patton.

“It’s nice to meet you too, your highness!” Patton said, bowing and then bouncing back up. He glanced at me, still soaking wet, and then at Emile, standing there in pristine royal robes. “I see you’re not a go with the flow kind of prince.”

All three of us immediately burst out laughing, but Emile couldn’t stop staring at Patton the whole time. Prince Emile, who I’d officially decided was my friend now, clearly had a GIANT crush on the boy who saved my life.

I went home after talking to both of them for a little while longer—and after getting a towel. My robes were soaked. I think I’m going to need new ones; I don’t trust that velvet to last after that much exposure to dubious-quality water.

Patton, Emile, and I are planning on meeting up next week. I’m determined to play matchmaker. Also, they both seem like amazing people, and I haven’t had a close friend outside of Immy in years. (Don’t be offended, Jen—I’m counting humans and monsters, not journals).

Wow, this entry got long. I’ll be back sometime soon. It’s after midnight and I have to debrief Mother and Father tomorrow on this whole fiasco.

But overall, a successful day, don’t you think?

Night!

- Cal

Entry 7

Dear Jen,

I love these two.

First of all, there was an absolutely GOLD moment that I have to share.

We all met up at my home, the castle in Medeis, since neither Emile nor Patton regularly made trips to the human kingdom, so I figured it’d be fun for them. Patton got there first, and we were sitting in what is best described as the living room and chatting.

Emile, arriving next, didn’t know that Patton was there already, and for reasons unknown decided to open the door while making what were arguably the strangest noises I have ever heard in my life. It was like he was trying to be an entire orchestra introducing the beginning of a children’s play but could only generate notes via his own voice and using the vowel “da” at various pitches and intensities.

I actually didn’t even know it was him at first, to be honest, until he stopped, popped his head around the door frame, and instantly turned bright red upon seeing both me and Patton.

Does he just enter every room that way? Is that something he reserves for friends? Not the blushing thing, but the singing thing. I didn’t ask because he was already embarrassed, but now I REALLY want to know.

Second, on a more general level, things I learned from this experience:

1. Patton probably has a crush on Emile too, based on the evidence of my own eyes. (No, Jen, I refuse to elaborate. That would take up at LEAST all the rest of your pages.)

2. Patton will make puns endlessly unless he is stopped. (And Emile will definitely not stop him ever.)

3. Emile will reference various fantasy books endlessly and cannot be stopped. (This is not a bad thing. He clearly loves them.)

4. Patton, despite being the only one out of the three of us that isn’t an heir to a throne (and the youngest by a couple weeks), has the best head for leadership and politics.

5. All three of us care too much, apparently, and have been told so several times by our family and friends, especially Emile. He says not to hold it against his parents, though.

6. Patton’s a pacifist and refuses to fight anyone in a real battle, though he is trained for it. Luckily, there aren’t really any real battles he’d need to fight in. We’re lucky enough to live in a remarkably peaceful time.

7. Emile is simultaneously stronger and weaker than you’d think. He’s built, with broad shoulders and muscles clearly built up from years of training. But we practiced fighting together, and he’s the most skilled at magical attacks. His trident is really something else. I’m a skilled martial artist, but I’m not a mage, so I can only beat him about half the time.

8. Emile is trying to grow a beard with only VERY limited success. I asked him why he bothers when he already has more than enough hair, and he bopped me (very lightly!) on the head with his trident.

9. I laugh a whole lot more around Emile and Patton than I normally do.

The only other person I’ve been this close to was Daisy, but she broke my heart at age thirteen and I have no desire to revisit that experience. (Maybe the fact that I’m still stuck on it five years later is an issue. There really should be like…mind doctors or something to help with things like that.)

But anyways, I’m not in love with either of them, for sure. Though Immy would get a kick out of it if I fell in love with Emile—she’d say I managed to arrange my own marriage.

I do love them as friends, though, even though we haven’t spent too much time together. I think I get attached quick.

Hopefully we’ll get to do this again a lot in the future.

I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to write in the next few months. Harvest season’s coming up, and I still have to do maintenance on the dam. But I’m dedicated to this now, even though I think my dad’s forgotten he suggested it. Don’t worry, Jen. I won’t abandon you.

Have a good few months,

Cal

Entry 8

Hey, Jen. It’s been a while, huh?

I had a feeling it was going to be hard to keep this up consistently.

Anyways, I’m nineteen now, so there’s that! And yes, past me, you did get to hang out with Patton and Emile much more, don’t worry—I’m now confident in calling them my best friends. And they’re still dancing around each other like the goofballs they are. (To be fair, they’ve had more pressing concerns recently.) Even Emile’s little sister, Princess Linda, needles him about Patton constantly. That’s a good sister right there, and I say this with the full knowledge that I would hate it if Immy did this to me.

I also got to meet Patton’s friend Camden, a tortoise monster, and Camden’s little brother Gerson, who is the most optimistic child (and potentially person) on the face of the planet. Camden wants to be a professional photographer someday, and his work is excellent. He’s hilarious and laughs at pretty much any badly planned joke, which I’m starting to think is a prerequisite for being Patton’s friend.

And Gerson—I still cannot get over him. He’s seven years old and knows so much about the world and current events, but he never lets it affect him negatively. He always looks at the bright side. A monster kid like that, even if he’s not a boss monster, is going to live for centuries.

Oh yeah, current events. I guess I should put that in here too. God knows I need to talk to someone about it.

Tensions between humans and monsters are on the rise and have been pretty consistently for the past year. I didn’t know until three months ago when a skirmish broke out on the border—right by the Vis Dam, in fact. Three humans were grievously injured, and one was killed, but five monsters in total were turned to dust.

Immy and my parents had been trying to handle it quietly with Emile and his parents, but there have been an increasing number of humans terrified of monsters in recent years.

Someone—a palace worker named Silenda—went through the records from the long-ago battles between humans and monsters. She found out that monsters could absorb human SOULs while humans couldn’t absorb monster ones, and she told her brother, who unfortunately was both unable to keep his mouth shut and worked for a very popular newspaper. The information spread quickly, and there are some in our kingdom who have used it to stir up fear.

I actually was a little hurt that my parents didn’t trust me or Immy with this information. And that once they did let us know, they only told Immy. She had to tell me. But I do understand. She’s the Crown Princess. She’ll be queen one day.

But I’ll be her advisor and strongest supporter. Shouldn’t I know, too?

Ugh. I’m still bitter about this and it’s not remotely the point.

The point is that we’re starting to see skirmishes on the border, and neither ruling party wants that. But both countries have so far been unable to stop the fighting. The small factions are operating independently of the leadership.

We might have to call in the military to calm down the situation if it gets any worse, and I can’t see that going remotely well.

I said at the beginning of this entry that I’ve still been seeing Patton and Emile. And I have. But it’s gotten a lot less frequent over the last three months.

Patton’s been working with the medical corps of the Belluan military and volunteering on the “front lines” of the skirmishes, healing whoever he can. Camden’s out there with him, documenting everything for posterity. Gerson mostly stays home, but Camden’s had to bring him once or twice.

Emile’s doing his best as Crown Prince, but it’s been hard on him. He doesn’t hold much power on his own yet, and he feels like if his parents can’t do anything, what could he possibly do?

I’ve been reaching out diplomatically to the leaders of the small factions as best I can to try to get them to stop. Silenda’s been helping me; she’s a surprisingly fast writer, and incredibly brave and strong and a true believer in justice. She also blames herself for everything that’s been going on.

I’ve told her repeatedly that I, at least, don’t blame her, which is true, I don’t. I blame her brother, a little, and the newspaper some, but mostly I blame the people who decided that the only answer to being scared is to kill.

Why did I have to jinx everything by writing that we live in peaceful times?

I wish I could have a conversation about this with someone besides you, Jen, but everyone’s just so busy and overwhelmed and stressed. All I can do with them is endlessly throw solutions around and have none of them work out. At least I can get my thoughts out this way.

Until next time.

- Cal

[On the next three pages, several entries were started and then scratched out.]

Entry 9

Jen—

I turned twenty, and I think I might be losing my mind.

We tried military intervention. It didn’t work. Our soldiers, instead of holding the monsters back and protecting our own citizens, decided to go rogue and wipe out the entire monster battalion.

Bellua and its rulers were rightfully devastated and furious, and they were about to declare war on us.

My parents, Immy, me, and several other councilors held a meeting in the throne room to determine our best course of action. Eventually, they got around to asking my opinion.

I opened my mouth to suggest literally anything other than war. Reparations, peace talks, giving up territory. My best friends were monsters and I had—and still have—absolutely no desire to fight or kill them or their families.

But then I felt like my body was taken over by a stranger. I couldn’t control my movements or my voice. I watched, a horrified passenger in my body, as my voice made a persuasive argument for declaring war before Bellua could.

And they listened.

My parents. My sister. All the councilors.

They listened.

And they declared war.

What’s wrong with me?

I couldn’t—didn’t—say those things.

I love my friends so much that it feels like I have a star living in my chest.

Sil almost slapped me when she found out what I’d done. Instead, she quietly gathered her things and left, tears running down her face. I love her too, and I’ve never told her.

And I might have just lost all of them.

Who do I go to for help? Who would believe me? Even if they did, what could they do?

What the hell is going on, Jen?

Entry 10

It happens nearly every day now.

The Entity—that’s what I’ve chosen to call it—comes for me in the morning. I go through my routine mechanically, or, at least, my body does. Then the Entity and I join the royal council to make plans and move troops.

I’m a general now. Me. All I thought I would ever do was help Immy and run paperwork. And maybe build more dams.

I fight on the field, too. The Entity favors lightweight javelins and shatters SOUL after SOUL with them.

I think dust is permanently stuck to my boots.

I can’t make it stop.

Entry 11

Immy’s worried about me. But she’s all for the war now. And the Entity exerts control even when it’s not speaking for me. I can’t take its words back, so I can’t tell her what’s wrong.

Patton’s worried about me. He’s tried to send me messages using the little spiders that serve the matriarch of the Spider Clans. The Entity won’t let me write back or even read them, and it hurts every single time. The most I’ve managed to do is protect the spiders. The Entity wanted to squish them.

I don’t know if Emile’s worried about me or if he even cares. I’ve seen him leading charges on the battlefield, too. I don’t know if he’s seen me, but I hope not.

I haven’t heard from Sil. The Entity won’t let me reach out to her, either. But I thought I saw her next to Emile, once. I hope she’s safe, or as safe as anyone can be in this broken world.

Entry 12

I caught my reflection in the mirror today when the Entity was in control. They turn my eyes this weird pale red color. It’s not even pink. They just dull my eyes.

Appropriate, I guess.

I’m twenty-one today, for whatever it’s worth.

Entry 13

The Entity can control time.

Today, I managed to break free of their control for a split second and shatter a bottle of squid ink on a table filled with valuable intelligence. I could sense how angry they were. And, of course, how angry everyone else was. Immy just about took my head off.

But then I felt a warm sensation in my chest, blinked, and somehow it was 7 AM that morning again. I saw a flicker of bright golden light for just a second before the Entity, still irritated, quickly ran through my morning tasks again and headed back to the throne room. They kept me on a tighter leash this time, and I didn’t have another chance to break free.

How did they do that?

More importantly, if they’re controlling MY body, is that something THEY can do or something I can do? Because if I’m the one who can do that…

I need to conduct some research.

Entry 14

I’m exhausted. I’ve been doing most of my research at night. The Entity has far less control at night.

I still try to stay awake all day, though. I need to keep tabs on what they’re doing with my body.

Hence why my brain is dead right now. But I need to catalog what I’ve found.

My SOUL is red. I’ve known this since I was a small child. SOUL colors are logged at age five, as soon as it’s definitely safe enough to enter into the sort of magical connection necessary for a SOUL to appear on someone’s chest.

No one else in my family has a red SOUL. Immy’s is purple, Mother’s is dark blue, and Father’s is green. (Sil, though not my family, has a yellow SOUL.)

I’ve never met anyone else, as far as I know, with a red SOUL. That’s what started me on the track of thinking that SOUL colors might be important.

According to the old texts I found in the library, all the other SOUL colors are thought to be linked to personality traits or convictions. Light blue is patience, orange is bravery, dark blue is integrity, purple is perseverance, green is kindness, and yellow is justice. But red is never labeled, not in any of the texts I looked at.

Finally, at the very back of the library, just as the sun was coming up, I found a book so old and covered in dust that I was worried I wouldn’t be able to read it before it fell apart.

That book said that red SOULs store immense power, but they’re not linked to any specific trait. Red SOULs are said to be blank slates. People used to be afraid of them, apparently, because they feared they could be possessed by demons.

Well, if the Entity isn’t a demon, I don’t know what the fuck it is.

The part I still don’t get is the “immense power” line. The only humans who can use magic are mages. I’m not a mage. I know I’m not a mage. We’re tested for that as kids.

But I’ve never tried to see if I could control time because as far as I knew, that was impossible, and it’s a little late to learn.

And there’s always the chance that this could in fact be the Entity’s power, not mine, and I’m going on a wild goose chase in the middle of a war.

I don’t have much else to do, though, do I, Jen?

[The next pages are filled with tally marks and scribbled notes in various different pencils and markers. There are drawings of SOULs on several of the pages, and spilled candle wax and dried tears adorn a few as well.]

Entry 15

Well, I still can’t make those glowing time-points. But I do actually have a surprising amount of stored magic. It was just sitting in the center of my SOUL. I would never have figured out how to access it if it weren’t for the Entity.

I’ve seen and felt them reset a couple more times since that first day, usually when they say something that they consider less than optimal. They’ll just reset and repeat that moment over and over again until it meets whatever the fuck their standards are.

We’re four years into the war, now. I skipped noting a couple of birthdays in there, somewhere, but I’m twenty-four now. Twenty-four, and there’s still a demon living in my head, forcing me to kill.

Emile’s parents were assassinated last year. Not by me, but the Entity supported it. My parents are still alive, but I’m not sure how long that will last, giving the blood-and-dust nature of the world right now.

I know Sil’s one of Emile’s top tacticians now, thanks to the intelligence the Entity has gathered. I’ve seen Camden’s war photography, including a photo of Gerson, much taller than he used to be but still just a kid, standing out in front of their home with a giant hammer in his arms. Patton’s still working on the front lines, healing as many people as he can. He still refuses to fight. I admire him so much for being able to make that choice and stick to it. I wish my hands were still clean.

Linda’s serving under Emile now, too, but as a soldier. She’s far too young for this.

Maybe we’re all too young for this.

Immy scares me the most. She still supports the war, but more out of fear than anything else. She sounds like those fearmongering men from so long ago.

She makes me wonder if the war is even the Entity’s fault.

Maybe it would have happened anyway.

Entry 16

I found my power.

But I don’t control time—or at least, I don’t know how.

I erase memories.

The Entity stayed down in the dungeons—that’s another thing we never used to have, or at least use, here, really. But anyways, the Entity stayed down in the dungeons for too long, and night fell. So, I had a little bit more control than usual.

I reached out with just a little bit of my magic and tried to make one of those glowing stars that allow the Entity to reset. Instead, one of the prisoners cried out.

“Where am I? What happened?” They looked around wildly. “Wait…WHO am I?!”

That absolutely wasn’t what I meant to do. And I couldn’t figure out how to bring the memories back. It looks like, when I erase memories, they’re gone for good.

But I needed to figure this out. I tested my power on one more prisoner and figured out that I can erase only specific memories if I try hard enough.

Writing this out, I’m shocked at myself. I’m experimenting on people. And I don’t even feel that bad about it.

What’s wrong with me? I’m so numb to suffering at this point. I’m numb to the world.

I miss Patton, Emile, Camden, and Gerson…and Sil. But they’re better off without me.

I don’t know what I can do with this power. I’ll keep fighting the Entity. Maybe I can break free. Maybe that’ll be enough.

What else can I erase?

[There’s an interval of at least twenty blank, crisp pages.]

Entry 17

It’s almost over. After five years, it’s almost over.

I managed to free myself from the Entity for now. I won’t say how because I don’t have time, but they’re not happy.

Medeis won, if you can call it that. Sil, as the monster ambassador, and I managed to get Immy to agree to seal the monsters underground rather than exterminate them. The war’s done a number on us all.

Sil still hates me. She doesn’t understand. She can’t. She never will. Neither will any of them. They’ll all hate me forever.

Sil has teamed up with a group of other mages to create the Barrier. With me, that makes seven.

The Entity doesn’t like this. They want to kill all the monsters.

I won’t let that happen.

Camden’s dead. Linda’s dead. My parents are dead. Immy, Gerson, Patton, and Emile are still alive, and so are thousands of others. You don’t get to take them too, do you hear me, you absolute sack of shit?

You think this is a game.

You think that what you do doesn’t matter.

It matters to me. It matters to Immy, and Sil, and everyone else in my world.

After we seal the monsters underground, I’m going to erase you from this world. I’ll erase you, and I’ll erase the memory of monsters and magic ever existing from the minds of every human on this planet.

I’ll almost certainly die in the process, but I don’t care. They’ll have a future, and the monsters will be safe from you and the humans like you.

There’s no future for me anymore.

You’ll have no host and no memory of your purpose or identity. You’ll be gone for good.

They’ll be safe. They’ll be safe. They’ll be safe.

I love you. All of you. More than words could ever say.

Goodbye.

- Princen Calyx of Medeis

#sanderstale #my writing #sanderstale prequel

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iheartgod175 · 6 years ago

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A Guide to LOST SONG - Part 1

AKA The anime that made me love Konomi Suzuki

When I stumbled across Lost Song on Netflix, I didn’t know what to expect. The style looked vaguely interesting, and I could tell immediately from the title that it had something to do with music. So I gave it a shot.

And boy howdy, am I glad that I did. This anime is not flawless, but there are so many things I loved about it that it almost outweighs the bad. It exposed me to Konomi Suzuki, who I absolutely love now. And it made me love Yukari Tamura even more, if that was possible. The fandom is small, but it’s passionate in sharing its excitement and knowledge of this anime. And for a while I thought of doing a review, but it hit me to do a guide for the anime to introduce others to it.

So, let’s get into the bare bones of this anime, shall we?

(I’ll be writing my own synopsis since the one on Wikipedia is terrible)

(NOTE: LIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD!)

The Plot

We have two protagonists, Rin (voiced by Konomi Suzuki in her first acting role) and Silver-Haired Nanoha-I mean Finis (voiced by Yukari Tamura). Rin is a simple country girl who’s adorably ditzy, loves to eat food and most of all loves to sing. Finis is a beautiful but clumsy and airheaded songstress hired by the Capital to use her songs to aid the kingdom’s war effort. Both of our female leads have the ability to sing Spirit Songs, songs that can manipulate the four elements of the world and bring about miracles. Both of them have problems related to their singing: Rin’s grandfather, Talgia, forbids her from singing for mysterious reasons, and she finds support from her older sister Mel and younger brother Al, the latter of whom wishes to go to the Capital to become a scientist (despite his numerous failed inventions). Finis’ songs, while vital to ending the war, severely shorten her lifespan, and she is seen as nothing more than a tool of war by the Capital’s war effort, namely by the prince, Rudo Bernstein (more on him in a bit). The only people who see her as a person are her servant Corte and Henry Leobolt, a knight assigned to protect her by Prince Rudo.

Certain events--the burning of Rin and Al’s village and the deaths of their sister and grandfather, and Finis and Henry’s forbidden romance amidst the war--set the stage for Rin and Finis to finally meet. Will the last song be one to save the world...or destroy it?

The Characters

Lost Song has a host of characters, both male and female, that have an important role in the story and all get their own time to shine (although some characters do get the short end of the stick, as I’ll explain in part 2).

I’ll be breaking them down as best as I can, hopefully with as few spoilers as possible!

**NOTE: I’ll be using the Netflix translations for their names until further info is revealed (like how to actually spell them correctly)

Rin

A village girl with a passion for singing

Greatest wish is to travel to the capital to sing at the Star Song Festival

Blessed with an amazing voice, but is banned from singing by her grandfather

Possesses a mysterious power to both control the elements and create “miracles” with her songs

Loves her family and friends dearly

Blames herself for her sister’s and grandfather’s deaths as her song led Bazra to her village

Occasionally ditzy, gluttonous and sometimes hard on herself (due to the aforementioned deaths of her family), but is otherwise a sweet, selfless girl who tries to understand others

Will recklessly throw herself in danger to help those in trouble

Finis

The Capital’s Songstress who is also referred to as a goddess by the capital’s army due to her Power of Songs

Also blessed with an amazing voice (YUKARI TAMURA, DUH)

Her songs are used for war, so she is seen as a weapon by many of the Capital’s elite, namely Prince Rudo

Continued use of her songs shortens her lifespan, a fact known to her servant, Corte

Falls in love with Henry Leobolt, a knight assigned to protect her during the war, due to him treating her like an actual person.

Is eventually forced to kill people with her songs so Rudo won’t kill Henry

Very airheaded and has NO sense of direction, but is otherwise a sweet woman.

Al Hawkray

Rin’s adopted younger brother and Mel’s biological younger brother

An aspiring inventor and scientist whose inventions sometimes fail at the worst possible time

Constantly points out how things involving songs are scientifically impossible

Travels with Rin to the capital after their village is destroyed and his grandfather and Mel are killed

Despite his bad luck, several of his inventions have proven to be useful as weapons (ie. his Star Bombs)

Greatly admires Dr. Weissen

Often the butt of everyone’s jokes, much to his annoyance

A little salty with his companions, but cares for them nonetheless

Has an unrequited crush on Rin

Pony Goodlight

A former Court Minstrel who travels around the country

Rin and Al’s first companion

Left the Capital and her job for unknown reasons

Is also a pretty good singer (her VA, Chiaki Takahashi, is Azusa from iM@S after all), with a knowledge of many Legendary Songs that she teaches to Rin

Likes to think of herself as mature, but can be somewhat temperamental

DOES NOT like to be called old. Or ugly.

Also hates bugs

Likes to drink and gamble

Has the hots for Henry Leobolt (calling him “Hottie” on several occassions)

The Lux Sisters (Monica and Allu)

Allu is the oldest, with short red hair and red eyes

Monica is younger with brown hair that covers one eye, and wears a strange rabbit suit

They are Rhythmists who were working for the capital to manufacture Echo Devices for the war

They originally went to the capital to become Minstrels in the Court Orchestra, but gave it up to earn money to heal their mother’s blindness

When Rin heals their mother with the Song of Healing, they join Rin, Al and Pony on their journey to the capital

Allu is the braver of the two, but can come off as rude and harsh to those who meet her. Very protective of Monica, and has a habit of randomly drumming on objects at times

Monica is quieter, cowardly (having a habit fo falling asleep when in danger) and speaks very little. Is also a very good singer and can imitate any song perfectly after hearing it just once

Both are good friends with Rin (who healed their mom) and often tease Al (much to his chagrin)

Mel Hawkray

Rin and Al’s older sister

The only one who supports Rin’s singing talents, and is said to spoil Rin a little

Dies in the first episode, but appears a few times (in Rin’s dreams), and is mentioned by both Rin and Al

A sweet, nurturing woman who loves her siblings

THE MOST underused character in this whole show

Corte (pictured on the right)

Finis’ servant, who serves as a mother figure

Is practically glued to Finis’ side, though Finis loves her just as much and can’t function without her

Is always worried for Finis’ safety, but will put her life on the line to protect her

Supports Henry and Finis’ relationship

Dislikes Prince Rudo (then again, who doesn’t like him?) and knows of the danger he poses to Finis and Henry

Talgia Hawkray

Rin’s adoptive grandfather and Mel and Al’s biolgical grandfather

Kind old man, honestly, but is strict, especially with Rin

Bans Rin from singing for unexplained reasons, which causes a strain in their relationship

Also dies in the first episode, but appears later on in some very important scenes detailing Rin’s past

Along with Finis and Rin, he’s a fairly important character (if minor)

Henry Leobolt

A knight from the famous Leobolt family who is Finis’ bodyguard

A strong, brave and caring man who sticks with his ethics

He owns a family sword that is said to never break or rust, and is a master swordsman who can take down a whole army

Is wholly against war, but will not hesitate to defend himself, his men, or those he’s sworn to protect

Falls in love with Finis, and as a result is moved to the frontlines by Rudo as punishment, but manages to survive and command his own team of men

Knows of Finis’ curse and hates to see her suffer for his sake

Dr. Weissen

An eccentric old man who happens to be a renowned physicist, inventor and scientist

Has a croissant on his cane for random snacking (no, really he does)

Crotchety at first, but is actually a kindhearted old man

He originally did research to help people, but was then forced to build weapons of war under Rudo’s rule

Lost his entire lab, his assistants and his inventions to the Capital, which made him lose hope

Takes on Al as his assistant after Rin restores his lab and becomes his mentor

Prince Rudo Bernstein IV

The prince of the Capital

A cold, heartless, ruthless person who will kill those who oppose him in a heartbeat

Is disliked by many of the populace (and for good reason)

Is engaged to Finis (who dislikes him)

Hates Henry Leobolt, especially after he falls in love with Finis, and tried to kill him by putting him in the frontline of the war

Uses Finis as a tool of war, and eventually convinces her to use her songs to kill people by threatening to kill Henry

Bazra Bearmors

The General of the Capital’s army

A ruthless man who uses others for his personal gain

Is rivals with Henry Leobolt and tried to kill him several times throughout the show

Destroyed Weissen’s lab and also killed Rin’s grandfather

A powerful swordsman who can go toe to toe with Henry

The only other characters I can think of are the men that eventually join up with Henry after Rudo puts him on the frontline, but they’re minor, and not even the official site lists them as characters ^^;

Part 2 will kind of go into a bit more details about what to look for in the plot following episode 7, where things REALLY get kind of crazy, as well as my general opinions on the characters, the music and the general tone of the show.

If this mini guide had you interested in the ainime, then that’s great! I’m hoping that more people catch on to watching Lost Song. It really needs more love!

~iheartgod175, out!

#lost song #lost song anime #netflix anime #I'm doing my absolute BEST to not spoil this show for those curious enough to watch it #But yes #This is a long post about me gushing over this little known but lovably flawed anime

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years ago

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Nurse Café - Chapter 4/6: “Questions Aren‘t the Aspirin of the Soul”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER / NEXT CHAPTER

Fic Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There’s, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)

AO3 version available here.

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Chapter Summary: Hokuto has too many questions and Anzu only has one answer to all of them.

Chapter Wordcount: 1.6K words

Chapter Notes: Well that was a quick update. My inspiration is a trickster, I swear. I forgot to make it clear in this chapter, but it's set the same day as the previous one, albeit in the evening. But also, *more pining*, because I've been in a pining mood lmao, I hope y'all appreciate it

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As soon as he stepped in his flat, Hokuto wondered why he had been so rejoiced to go back to it.

Truth be told, he only vaguely remembered what had been happening around him before his eventual collapse in a coffeeshop. He absolutely didn’t think his place would be in such a miserable state: papers were scattered around the floor, his bed was unmade (but why would he have remade it in the first place? It wasn’t like he had been using it much, these past few days), there were empty cups of coffee piling on his desk and he was certain he had forgotten to do the dishes at some point. Better be starting to clean up now if he wanted to take a nap…

“Wait, what are you doing?” Anzu asked as she grabbed his wrist, reeling him back.

“I can’t let you see my place like this,” he replied, hands twitching to clean. “Not after what you’ve done for me.”

“Have you forgotten you were sick in the first place? I’ll take care of it, you just go lie down…” Her eyes drifted to the bed, then across the room, and her face started to contort in confusion, “wherever you can…”

He sighed, knowing this was a battle he couldn’t win, not now at least. His head was spinning enough as it was.

“I’ll just… quickly fix that mess. I’ll clean up later.”

“That’s already better.”

He clearly didn’t remember making a bed being this draining. Even then, he was in luck: only the sheet of the mattress and pillow were unmade, making it less work that he had expected. It still didn’t prevent him from pathetically dropping dead on it when he was finished, dizziness overcoming him, as he realized he really couldn’t have cleaned the entire flat from the state he had left it in. Too bad Anzu was the one who had to see it like this, he’d have much preferred it to be Akehoshi or Yuuki… even if they’d have been right to call him out on it.

Despite what he had been busy doing the day before, he still felt awkward at the idea of sleeping here and there when he, technically, had a guest. He was being a terrible host for sure and, in a way, he was trying to be less terrible at it, albeit in vain and with very little improvements. Moving felt like a chore and yet, and yet, he couldn’t bear seeing her on the floor picking up papers he didn’t remember printing, let alone reading.

“Do you always work this much on your presentations, Hokuto?” She mused as she read some of them, glancing at him with what may have been a mix of concern and… awe? It wasn’t clear.

“Not all… That one was the main grade for that course, so I wanted to put more work into it…”

“On what was it? For what course?”

“Hah…” Damn. “I… don’t remember.”

“You… don’t remember…?”

“I’m… I’m blanking out. I think it was for the history course, but that’s all I can remember…”

Anzu was staring at him, dumbfounded, disgusted.

“It’s worse than I thought.”

She then fell into silence, quickly gathering the last few papers left on the floor and making them into a neat pile on his desk, right before throwing away the empty cups. He couldn’t quite see her face from where he was, head trying to bury itself in his pillow, yet the tension remained. He had disappointed her, hadn’t he? In their group of friends, he had always liked thinking of himself as the level-headed one, who could be relied on with no problem, and yet he was the one who had fainted right in front of her because he had let his life tangle into a nightmare of knots. Talk about being a hypocrite.

He felt another kind of sick as he continued watching her, helpless. Of course he’d have fallen for someone like her, who shone much brighter than he did, eyes sparkling even while she did his dirty work, washing dishes that weren’t hers without a complaint. She’d probably be gone by the afternoon, and he’d be left alone again, and it was better this way, he knew it; yet the capricious part of him wanted her to remain, as if she didn’t have a life of her own, realizing how near yet faraway she was from him.

He honestly didn’t deserve her.

Deep in thoughts and getting taken over by lethargy, he almost didn’t hear her leave the main room and come back, empty boxes in her hands to dispose of them. She seemed not angry, like he had expected, but still bothered by something. Him, he then supposed, before realizing that was quite the egocentric thought. He couldn’t read her mind and he needed to get over that as soon as possible.

“Your bathroom was kind of… disorganized,” she suddenly said as she walked up to him, soon sitting on the chair she had picked from the table and put by the bed. “You had medicine boxes scattered around, all of them empty. How many of these headache pills did you take a day?”

“…I lost track…”

“I suppose you’ve not overdosed on them, considering you’re still here, but it’s still worrisome to hear you say that. Please, never do that again.”

“Wasn’t planning on to, frankly.”

It got a smile out of her.

“Good.”

He could barely look at her, chest tightening every time he tried to, either out of shame or of something else he still wouldn’t admit to feeling. His face was burning, half from the fever that didn’t want to disappear and half from his own heart being set on fire. Her smile soothed and worsened the pain at the same time, alternating from beat to beat. He wanted to take her hand in his and feel its relaxing coldness against his entire being who felt too warm.

He still couldn’t get his head wrapped around the idea that Anzu had wanted to do this all on her own. He was annoyed and disappointed with himself already, tired of being this sluggish and this much of a mess, how could she do something like this for someone else? Well, stupid question if he tried to revert it, because he’d give up on almost everything to take care of her if she ever needed an aide by her side, but it didn’t help the interrogation from festering in his mind.

The question annoyed him so much that he ended acting upon it.

“Anzu?”

She rose her head from the book she was reading, most likely a handbook for class.

“Yes?”

“Why are you doing all this…?”

Her hands immediately shut the book without making sure the bookmark was still in place.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Her answer shut him down immediately. His brain was still too tired to process even getting responded like this, beyond uncertain of what he was supposed to expect or say back, or if he was expected to give feedback to begin with.

Why wouldn’t she? That made so little sense, even if he reversed the question. He’d undoubtedly help her because, well, every fibre of his being wouldn’t have borne leaving her to an illness (or any ill, in fact). Why would she do that? Even as his friend, perhaps his closest, she’d have looked at least a bit annoyed by it. Maybe she felt obligated because he had fainted in the coffeeshop she worked in specifically? Maybe she felt bad because he did look pathetic. Maybe not helping him out was considered a crime for not coming to the aid of someone needing it.

Thinking without getting any answer out of it about it was giving him a migraine, yet her eyes didn’t stop looking directly into his, and he felt like he could have melted right here and there.

“It’s nothing complicated, Hokuto, really,” she sighed. “I didn’t even think about it twice.”

“Aren’t you even… bothered?”

“I’m honestly more bothered about how little you cared about yourself during that time than by doing all of this.”

He didn’t have anything to say nor add, instead sinking into his covers. Did she care this much to do all of this without even minding any drawback?

“It’ll be fine, I promise. Just rest, okay? We can talk about all these things once you’re back to your usual self,” she told him, smiling softly, hand brushing against the one he hadn’t buried under the blanket. That was, until her fingers stopped moving and her smile dropped. “Wait, are you crying?”

“It’s… nothing. I just get… emotional when I’m… sick.” His voice was too hesitant to his own tastes. He had always been a terrible actor, but this wasn’t the moment for the Masked Pervert’s words to be proven right. It really wasn’t.

She handed him not any tissue, but her handkerchief. He took it without hesitating for long, even if it stayed in his hand for a little moment before she nodded in agreement to what he was about to do with it.

“I feel like there’s something more to it, but for now, it’s fine. I wish you a steady recovery from now on.”

“You’re leaving…?”

“Not yet, but soon. I have work tomorrow morning, but I’ll make sure to come by when I’m done there. Is it fine with you?”

He nodded before handing her back her handkerchief. With a simple move, she declined.

“Keep it for now. I need it less than you do.”

A wordless acceptance, then a whispered “thank you”. Her smile was brighter than ever.

“You’re welcome.”

This love thing would be the end of him, that much was sure, but he’d comply for now, if it meant bathing in this comfortable warmth, beamed on by the sun, even if it worsened the fire already ignited inside his chest.

It may have happened not to look this one-sided either, even if he wouldn’t get his hopes very high.

#enstars #hokuan #hidaka hokuto #anzu (enstars)#sickfic #hurt comfort #overwork #caretaking #AU: coffeeshop #au: college #otp: konpeito chou cream #Fic: Nurse Cafe

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

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Opinion: A letter to Kurdish soldiers from a US military wife

https://www.cnn.com/2019/10/17/opinions/letter-to-kurdish-soldiers-from-military-wife-opinion/index.html

PLEASE READ 📖 these 3 pieces as you consider voting for Donald Trump. 👇🤔😢😭😭😭

A letter to Kurdish soldiers from a US military wife

Published Oct 17, 2019 | CNN | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Editor's Note: This article was written by the wife of a Special Operations soldier, who has served throughout the Middle East. CNN is not revealing her identity at her request. The views expressed in this commentary are her own. View more opinion at CNN.

(CNN) - Dear Kurdish soldiers,

You don't know me, but I have known of you for most of my adult life. When my military husband and I quickly married, knowing he was deploying to the Middle East to be part of the 2003 invasion of Iraq, I feared what he and his Special Operations unit would face when they arrived.

How bad would the fighting be? How long would they be gone? Would he survive?

Months later, he returned and recounted to me what he could about his experience. I asked how he had made it through. He replied, "We had help. We had the Kurds."

He told me stories of how the Kurdish people in Northern Iraq supported the troops, advised them, stood by them, fought shoulder to shoulder with them in combat, and became allies and friends. And I became grateful -- immensely, unwaveringly, and forever grateful for you.

Since then, the word "Kurds" in my home has meant something. It has meant "ally" and "friendship."

There are pictures of Iraqi Kurds alongside my husband and fellow soldiers in our home. I have a coffee mug with depictions of female Syrian Kurdish soldiers on it that I proudly use to remind me of you. My children play soccer in their Kurdistan jerseys.

The Kurdish people are not nameless, faceless people across the world. You hold a place of honor and respect in our home. It's important to me that all of you know that. I owe you so much. My husband is home safe today after years of fighting and I know you helped make that happen.

But now, I watch the news in horror. I see promises broken, progress destroyed, years of hard work and unimaginable sacrifice gone in a tweet. I see allies betrayed, their faces in my picture frame. While watching the news, my children turn to me and ask if those are our friends and I say yes. They have looks of confusion on their faces.

I can't imagine what your families are going through. I can't imagine their fear. I can't imagine these things because for the last 17 years you have fought to help us keep an attack off our soil, and I know that has now compromised your safety. It breaks my heart.

Where I come from, a person's word means something. Our honor and integrity are everything, as I know yours are to you. To read in international newspapers that the United States, my country, has abandoned the Kurds is absolutely heartbreaking.

Hasty decisions like this have not only put your people in terrible danger, they make the situation for our soldiers there on the Syrian-Turkish border much more difficult. My husband was with you on that border not long ago and I can't imagine what our soldiers' families are feeling right now.

And it's not just safety. It's hard to imagine how difficult it is for American soldiers to hear a partner and ally's calls for help and not be allowed to answer them. It's also hard to imagine you having to turn to Putin or the Assad regime for support because you could no longer count on Americans to keep their promise.

I worry for the safety of you and your families. I worry about the instability of the region and what that could mean for the future. I worry about the thousands of ISIS fighters we worked so hard to put in prisons, and who you must walk away from as you defend yourselves. I can't imagine the threat that now poses for us all. I see the look on my husband's face when he watches the news at the end of the day. The only phrase that comes to mind is "I'm sorry."

I write you today, on behalf of my family, to say thank you for everything you have done for us. Thank you for your friendship, for keeping your word and fighting alongside us, for staying the course year after year. Thank you for keeping my husband safe so he could come back home to me and my children. You have my sincerest prayers today that you too may safely return to yours. Thank you to your families that sacrificed without you, so you could make this partnership happen.

I pray we return to your side, that we stand by you, and that this has not all been in vain.

Forever yours,

A Grateful Wife

********

On Syria, Trump is pushing Republicans too far

Opinion by SE Cupp |Updated 10:00 AM ET, October 18, 2019 | CNN | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Editor's Note: SE Cupp is a CNN political commentator and the host of "SE Cupp Unfiltered." This piece has been adapted from her Saturday evening show monologue. The views expressed in this commentary are solely hers. View more opinion articles on CNN.

(CNN) - Defending the indefensible has become a cottage industry for Republican lawmakers in the era of Trump.

In the days and weeks surrounding President Donald Trump's decision last year to enforce the separation and caging of asylum-seeking children at the southern border, Republican lawmakers were largely supportive of him.

In the days after a baffling news conference last year in which President Trump, standing alongside Vladimir Putin, parroted the duplicitous Russian position that it did not meddle in our elections -- even though his own intelligence community had said the opposite -- Republican lawmakers shrugged.

In the days and weeks after the release of the Mueller report earlier this year, which revealed multiple examples of the President's attempts to engage in obstructive conduct, Republican lawmakers were defiantly behind him.

And in the days after the news about President Trump's alleged attempt to coerce the Ukrainian president to investigate his political rival (Trump denied that was his purpose) -- news that unleashed a stunning flood of evidence, transcripts, testimony, texts, and whistleblowers and ultimately resulted in an impeachment inquiry -- the GOP circled the wagons around their President.

Those are just a few of the many embarrassing episodes from the past few years where Republican lawmakers had opportunities to condemn the indefensible, and many have chosen not to. Many, in fact, have decided to abandon their conservative principles, their ethical and constitutional obligations -- not to mention their sense of common decency -- to justify Trump's odious behavior and deleterious decisions.

One issue, however, has proven surprisingly perilous for the President, a rare pressure point that has caused Republican lawmakers to summon courage and roundly condemn him: Syria.

While President Trump hopes the announcement Thursday of a 120-hour ceasefire in Turkey, which Turkey says is "not a ceasefire," might appease his many detractors, much of the damage is already done.

In the days after President Trump's disastrous, immoral, inexplicable decision to pull US troops out of Kurdish-controlled Northern Syria, unleashing the Turkish army on an overwhelmed US ally, sending untold numbers of ISIS prisoners back into the Sahel to reorganize, and handing some of the world's worst actors the keys to a broke-down and dangerous palace, Republicans were quick to voice their disapproval.

Even his staunchest allies, including South Carolina Sen. Lindsey Graham, have freely rebuked him. Graham told an NBC News reporter that he would "become President Trump's worst nightmare" on Syria if he didn't reverse course: "This is a defining moment for President Trump. He needs to up his game."

It wasn't the first time he's drawn this reaction: When Trump first threatened to pull troops out of Syria in late 2018, defying his generals and security advisers, Republicans were stunned. Graham told reporters, "If Obama had done this, we'd be going nuts right now: how weak, how dangerous."

He and other Republican lawmakers, including Sens. Tom Cotton, Marco Rubio and Joni Ernst, signed a letter telling Trump to reconsider.

That episode, in fact, led two of Trump's most important figures in the Syria conflict, Gen. James Mattis and Brett H. McGurk, the American envoy to the coalition fighting the Islamic State, to resign their posts.

And now, as a quickly spiraling disaster in Northern Syria grows worse, Republicans have come together again in a rare reproval of the President. The House of Representatives voted Wednesday to condemn Trump for pulling troops out of Syria to allow for a Turkish invasion by a vote of 354-60, with 129 members of his own party voting in favor of the measure.

It's hard not to notice the glaring singularity of Syria as an issue that, sui generis, unlocks the Republican caucus from Trump's otherwise vise-like grip.

One cynical explanation for this is that foreign policy issues are usually a safer space for dissent, at least in the short term. Lawmakers assume constituents back home are more concerned about immediate and pressing domestic issues, especially during an election cycle, and many are likely gambling that Trump isn't going to unleash his primary attack apparatus against them over a Syria disagreement.

But the other explanation is that the consequences of Trump's impulsive, ill-informed, politically craven and incomprehensible decision to abandon our Kurdish allies, empower Turkey's Erdogan and Syria's Assad, dissolve our containment of ISIS and put hundreds of thousands of lives in the balance are just too much to stomach for Republican lawmakers.

They have little to gain at home for condemning Trump's actions overseas. Voters are generally apathetic to foreign policy issues. In a Gallup poll from earlier this year that asked what voters think is the most important problem facing the country today, issues like immigration, health care, gun crime and the environment led the lists. Foreign policy got just 1% of the vote, and both ISIS and Russia received 0%.

So the rebuke of Trump wins Republican lawmakers no points in their own districts, at least in the immediate future.

But the long gaze of history is far less forgiving.

When the fog of war clears, voters do tend to hold major foreign policy blunders against elected officials, even in their own party. See: the Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Republicans know that the actions Trump is taking today in the Middle East could haunt him and the GOP for years to come.

And it's not just the folly of war they're worried about. It's the significant humanitarian crisis this will manifest, adding to the one that already exists in that region. There's the long-term threat to our own national security when ISIS and other terror actors regain a footing in Europe and even here at home. There's the destabilizing effect this has on important US allies like Israel. And there's the breakdown of trust among our allies all over the world.

All of that is -- right now -- staring GOP lawmakers in the face.

It should tell us something that Republicans, who are usually so protective of this President, despite an ever-crescendoing wave of bad behavior and bad decisions, have spoken out so vocally and unilaterally against him when it came to Syria. That's how fraught, how devastating and potentially disastrous this issue is both politically and practically.

And that's a problem for Trump. Because if he decides not to listen, it's an excuse for Republican lawmakers, who may have secretly been looking for an opportunity, to break ranks, and at the worst possible time for the President -- when impeachment is actually on the table.

For all those reasons, Trump should be extremely concerned. He doesn't like to be told no, and he doesn't like defectors. But on this issue, perhaps more than any other, he would be wise to listen to the majority of his own party telling him to stop. Otherwise, it may just spell the end for his presidency.

Correction: An earlier version of this commentary incorrectly stated the duration of the ceasefire in Turkey announced Thursday. It is a 120-hour ceasefire.

*********

What Mick Mulvaney's stunning admission tells us about Trump

Opinion by Paul Begala | Published Oct 17, 2019 | CNN | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Editor's Note: Paul Begala, a Democratic strategist and CNN political commentator, was a political consultant for Bill Clinton's presidential campaign in 1992 and served as a counselor to Clinton in the White House.

(CNN) - There is a bit of a brother-and-sisterhood former senior White House aides. Despite deep political and policy differences, I respect those who choose to serve. The White House can be a dream job -- it was the best professional experience and highest honor of my life. But it can also be, as President Clinton told me the first time I set foot in the Oval Office, "the crown jewel of the federal penal system."

My heart usually goes out to White House staffers. The hours are long, the challenges great. So it is with no joy that I offer this assessment of Mick Mulvaney's performance running Donald Trump's White House: it stinks.

Acting White House chief of staff Mulvaney needs to start acting like a chief of staff.

In his press briefing today, Mulvaney revealed himself to be a yes-man when this President needs someone who can tell him no.

The most important, most difficult, most loyal two words a White House staffer can use are: "No, sir."

President Trump is on his third chief of staff and diminishes and insults Mr. Mulvaney by making him merely "Acting" chief of staff. He's on his fourth national security adviser, his third press secretary, and his third defense secretary. Trump burns through people, it seems, until he gets what he wants. What's more important is what he needs -- what we all need. And that is a White House staff that will tell him to knock it off.

When the President wants to politicize national security, corrupting it for his partisan needs, the only acceptable response is "No, sir." When he seeks to take Ukraine policy away from Ukraine policymakers and give it to his unappointed, unconfirmed, unaccountable private lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, the only acceptable response is "No, sir." When the President acts as if he is above the law and beyond the Constitution, directing a global summit and millions of dollars to one of his golf resorts, the only acceptable response is "No, sir."

Instead, Mr. Mulvaney debases himself. When ABC's Jonathan Karl asked him about the clear quid pro quo in Mr. Trump's dealings with Ukraine, Mulvaney sniffed, "We do that all the time with foreign policy." That's the problem, Mick. The Corleone family used extortion all the time, too. Didn't make it right. Mulvaney was even more dismissive of those who decry political desires overruling security interests: "Get over it."

He was just getting started. Mr. Mulvaney, defending the indefensible grift of President Trump ordering that the G-7 summit be at his Trump National resort in Doral, Florida, laughably claimed of Mr. Trump, "He's not making money off of this."

Baloney. Trump's decision will flood his resort with federal funds for security, communications, and a host of other needs. Advance teams from around the world will fill the resorts' rooms for weeks, maybe months. Foreign governments will spend huge sums -- generating profits that will line Trump's pockets.

This is precisely what the Constitution forbids in Article I, Section 9, when it states that no one occupying federal office can accept an emolument -- which is profit -- from a "King, Prince or foreign State." (Incidentally, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist David Fahrenthold, of the Washington Post, has reported that revenue at Trump's Doral resort fell 13.8% from 2016 to 2017, and net operating income fell 62%.)

No sir. That's what you say. No sir, you can't shake down Ukraine for dirt on Joe Biden. No, sir, you can't withhold military aid if the Ukrainians don't embrace a nitty right-wing conspiracy theory. No, sir, you can't call on China to interfere in our elections the way you called on Russia to. No sir, you can't spend millions of taxpayer dollars at your own resort. No sir, you can't reap profits from foreign governments spending millions at your resort either. No sir, you're not above the law.

Those words never seem to emerge from Mr. Mulvaney's mouth. Far from being a public servant, the acting chief of staff revealed himself to be a throne-sniffer of the worst order. If he were any more of a toady, he'd be catching flies with his tongue.

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sailor-cresselia · 5 years ago

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Zi-O 37: Gotta go fast!

I’m gonna sprinkle in some chat segments from the live watch that @miyukomatsuda and I did of the episode as it aired, but this is mostly my watch of the RiderTime sub.

(I’m also hoping to do a watch of some of the recent episodes again, but with the O-T subs, so that I can get a more… well phrased translation.)

As always, spoilers for Zi-O episode 37 below the cut.

~~~~~

So, a giant meteorite just hit. It doesn’t have a Rider inside this time, though! No, it has Worms! Shapeshifters! Who are basically the Zygons!

(I don’t go to Doctor Who anymore, but that’s what I’ve been told, and the impression I got from Marcosatsu’s History of Kabuto vid.)

Team 9-to-5 are watching a news broadcast at breakfast about the meteorite – aaaand nope, newscaster’s a Worm, much to the poor cameraman’s surprise.

Cressy: Woz: Welp! Found out who we’ve got this week!

Miyuko: “My turn to do things.”

Miyuko: “Also, we dealt with the gas leak.”

Miyuko: “We should all be sane again.”

(The idiot ball was in full force during the Kiva Arc. We will never let it rest.)

~~~~~

Sougo, Tsukuyomi, and Geiz are headed off to see where that second meteorite hit, the one with the worms on it, when a third one shoots down, in the other direction. So, off they go, splitting the party. Again.

Poor Geiz, he’s with Woz again. Who, by the way, is nowhere to be seen, having ditched the team to go do his recap.

At… the Hachiko statue.

Huh.

And the key player for this fortnight’s worth of episodes… Kamen Rider Gatack – Arata Kagami.

Who is clearly in a state of “Not this again...” as another meteorite streaks by. Or it could be that one that split the party, it’s a little hard to say.

~~~~~

They used part of the Kabuto opening – with the beetle wings – to cut into the OP this time! Nice touch!

I was host for the stream Miyuko and I did when we watched the Raw, and I BLINKED AND MISSED THE FORM RUN THROUGH that time! And here I pride myself on noticing differences in the OPs!

But Kamen Rider Woz’s base form has been replaced by his Ginga form, with the ‘base’ version, Ginga Finaly shown in full, and the Planet and Sun forms shown in bust form.

~~~~~

And FINALLY, they notice that the Another Rider’s aren’t erasing the previous Riders from history anymore! They haven’t been doing that for a while, guys. I mean, if they were still doing it, you wouldn’t have been able to have all of your senpai help you out in the movie last December… you know, shortly before you moved into having Future Riders for a while, and then back into the older Legend Riders.

You might write it off as ‘odd’, or ‘paradoxes have messed with space-time nearly beyond repair’, but I still say that time travel doesn’t work like you think it does.

I will hold my ‘they have been faking it’ theory until absolutely proven otherwise, folks.

…and I’m still going to be using it in ReUnited, anyway. ~Fanfiction land says I can do what I want.~

Besides, Sougo’s having fun! He’s getting to meet all of these Kamen Riders, after all!

…Sougo, kitty, I’m pretty sure you still don’t quite get how serious some of this is, but you get a solid B for effort.

~~~~~

Cressy: THEY FINALLY REALIZE THAT THEY AREN’T ERASING PEOPLE ANYMORE

Miyuko: YOU DUMBASSES

Miyuko: Mouri: DAMNIT SHIMOMIYA STOP MAKING ME HANDLE LORE

~~~~~

At the third landing site…

Woz. Woz you are so unbelievably petty. “I will be giving the orders around here, let’s go.” For crying out loud, Woz, just work as a team with Geiz, please.

So, off they go, into battle against a swarm of Worms using Faiz and Kikai!

~~~~~

Miyuko: if sougo goes to space i’m gonna yell that I called it

~~~~~

SOUGO IS SO DUMB.

SOUGO. You already knew that they could copy people. You SAW one do it on tv. So why would you assume that the people working at the crash site, where that broadcast came from, were normal humans?

Sougo, PLEASE.

Also, it looks like the Worms agree with me: right before they drop their disquises, they’re giving him this look like “Wow, this kid is dumb.”

And before Sougo bothers to transform, shots fly from off screen~!

Hey there, Gatack! Nice to see you’re doing okay!

~~~~~

Meanwhile, over with Woz and Geiz, we’ve got them landing finishers on a pair of Worms… but there’s still more of them. And, as Woz finally bothers to mention…

Worms can go faster than you can see when they get stronger.

(I agree with Geiz’s frustration at not having been told this sooner! WOZ!!)

Good thing they’ve got Revive Typhoon and Shinobi~~!

~~~~~

Back with Sougo and Kagami… They finish off a mass of Worms, but something red knocks them down.

Something – sorry, someone – that Kagami calls ‘Kageyama’.

Enter PunchHopper.

And with his entrance, Kagami goes into Gatack’s cast off Rider form – and right into Clock Up.

~~~~~

Cressy: “Hey, new kid, how fast can you go?”

Cressy: Actually, super speed is a problem for Sougo!

Miyuko: Sougo: UHHHHHHH

Miyuko: He has to hide

Cressy: Because he couldn’t keep up with Revive so

~~~~~

The battle starts to deal some collateral damage to the infrastructure, leading to rubble starting to fall towards a mother and child.

Tsukuyomi says no.

A stopwatch ticks.

The rubble freezes in midair, letting the civilians escape.

Tsukuyomi sees something.

Herself, younger, and three people facing away from the cameras viewpoint. At least one is an adult – presumably male, in an outfit that looks an awful lot like the one Swartz wore in 2009. The other two… I think the one to the left of the screen is a young girl, with pigtails. The one on the right looks to be an adult male… and it’s very grainy, but that style of dress looks like a black and white version of what Sougo’s uncle wears.

Of course, she only focuses in on young her and almost-definitely-Swartz.

Please, Toei, Shimomiya, I am begging you, do not let anyone be related. We’ve got both time travel and amnesia going on in here already, we do not want you to go that route!

~~~~~

Swartz sees this from a nearby roof, and notes that her powers are getting stronger, and soon they’ll completely awaken.

Someone asks what will happen when they do.

~~~~~

Miyuko: **YELLS**

Miyuko: TSUKASA

Cressy: Tsukasa: Sup.

Miyuko: WERE YOU OFF GETTING LAID TSUKASA

Cressy: Look at that posture

Cressy: Daiki showed up.

Cressy: he def was.

~~~~~

Tsukasa: “So… you’re connected to that girl somehow. I’ve been doing some investigating…”

Swartz: “Oh, yeah, sure. Do what you want… If you can.” (he says in an ominous tone, ominously.)

Tsukasa: “Thanks. I’ll do just that.”

~~~~~

Back on the ground, Sougo… is getting his ass handed to him. But! He does have the realization that the speed PunchHopper and Gatack are moving at is similar to Geiz Revive Typhoon… and he’s figured out a way to counter that.

It used to be that he was only looking one move ahead when he used Zi-O II’s precog abilities.

He’s looking ahead three here.

Sougo knows he won’t be able to react in time for the first two strikes, but the third…

On the third he can time a strike of his own.

And he knocks PunchHopper down.

Gatack tries to finish him off – but a red blur takes the hit.

Another Kabuto has made his appearance, and it looks like he’s Sou Yaguruma, former alias KickHopper. He grabs PunchHopper, and nyooms right on out of there.

~~~~~

Miyuko: OH FUCK IT’S ONE FO THE HOPPER BROS

Cressy: OH MY GOD ANOTHER KABUTO IS ONE OF THE HOPPER BROS

Miyuko: KAGAMIII

Cressy: OR A WORM OF ONE OF THEM

Miyuko: IS IT TIME FOR HIM TO SUFFER (We saw one was a worm

Miyuko: (shame we uh

Miyuko: (remember the rider sona

~~~~~

(Miyuko’s at least watched some Kabuto, but not very far. I, on the other hand, have seen exactly none, and would have no idea which one we saw in the cold open.)

~~~~~

Now then, we jump to Kagami explaining the situation to Woz and Sougo at the shop, giving them a basic run down of who the Hell Brothers are, along with showing them pictures. Pictures of the terribly dated late ‘00’s Hot Topic discount bin wardrobes that those two wore.

Kagami: So, the PunchHopper is definitely a Worm mimicking the original.

Woz: How can you know?

~~~~~

Miyuko: Woz intensifies

Miyuko: “Pretty sure he’s dead.”

Cressy: “So, yeah, he’s dead, but. uh. Apparently not anymore.”

Miyuko: “Fuck if I know, guys.”

Miyuko: Shibuya!

Miyuko: FLASHBACK TO KABUTO

Cressy: “Also, it’s really weird that Shibuya exists again.”

Miyuko: “Wait what”

Miyuko: Sougo: :)

Miyuko: Woz: “THE FUCK?!”

~~~~~

So, yeah, the timelines are a mess here. In 1999, in Kabuto, Shibuya was destroyed by a meteorite – one carrying the Worms. It’s … incredibly intact here.

OH. DUUUHHHH. That’s why Woz was at the Hachiko Statue!

It’s at Shibuya station.

WOW, I feel dumb. I remembered who Hachiko was, but didn’t catch the link as to why Woz would be there until just now.

Also, Sougo, I get that you were born in 2000, but. Like. That was only one year later. I thought your only decent subject was history! If this happened in the current timeline, you ought to know about it!

~~~~~

At an overlook, Geiz finds Tsukuyomi, having been told about her using her time powers again, and she tells him that she remembered something. Her mother and father, and ‘another man’.

… wait SHIT I said that the seated man’s outfit looked a lot like Junichiro’s, didn’t I? ABORT MISSION! NO, NO, NO! CALL IT OFF! STOP THE RIDE, I WANNA GET OFF!

Tsukasa appears on the scene. “Hey, so. Do you want to take a look and see what was going on back there? I’m trying to find the source of why the fabric of space and time is getting holes poked in it, so if you want to come along…”

… Okay, so he says ‘distorted,’ according to the RT subs, but it amounts to the same thing.

Geiz thinks this is a terrible idea, but Tsukuyomi wants to know who she is. So she goes with him.

Er, Tsuka- Tsukasa? I think you are a poster child for ‘sometimes you are better off not knowing who you used to be’, just as much as you are for ‘don’t lean too hard into the world-destruction prophecies.’ You may want to rethink your stance on this.

Mind you, you’re also a shining example of ‘there’s no escaping destiny’ and ‘you can’t thwart stage one’, so I guess that ship has already sailed.

~~~~~

Miyuko: TSUKASA’S UP TO THINGS

Cressy: Tsukasa: “GUYS, QUIT FUCKING WITH THE TIMELINE. YOU’RE MAKING MY JOB AND THE DENLINER CREW’S JOBS THAT MUCH HARDER”

~~~~~

So, a quick call between Geiz and Sougo, and we switch back to the Sougo and Woz team. (Man, we’re really getting the groups together this week, aren’t we?)

They’re confronted by Kageyama – who, yes, is a Worm. And he admits it. But he still has the original Kageyama’s memories as a human, and he wants them to help his brother. Worm or human, he can’t stand to see Yaguruma as an Another Rider – as a monster. They’ve seen too much hell for him to want any more.

Woz: My lord, this is clearly a trap.

Sougo: You need to start trusting people, Woz. Besides, we want to help save Yaguruma, too, don’t we? :)

Except that that is not his usual ‘This is going fine!’ smile. That is a smile of ‘he knows what’s going on.’

… You know, So Okuno’s really grown into his role, here. I think he’ll be able to do pretty well once he graduates from Sougo.

(He’s grown into his role, if not his clothing. Seriously, wardrobe department, could you let him wear clothes that fit properly? Why was this whole ‘everything is minimum a size and a half too big’ thing a decision?)

ANYWAY. THIS is a good scene for the instrumental of Toki no Ouja.

Also, you can hear the belts and chains Kageyama’s wearing well before you see them.

~~~~~

A quick interlude to Junichiro, back at the shop, having just fixed a radio. He goes to make sure it’s actually fixed, and turns it to the news.

There’s a large meteor headed for the center of Tokyo. And it’s much larger than the previous ones that have hit.

…

WAIT WHAT

(cue shot of said meteor in space)

~~~~~

Miyuko: OH MY GOD THEY ARE GOING TO SPACE

~~~~~

And now, to a totally-not-suspicious definitely-not-a-trap perfectly-harmless warehouse.

Sougo: So, Yaguruma’s supposed to be in here, right? (proceeds to walk in, with his back towards the guy who literally calls himself one of the Hell Brothers, like an idiot)

KAGEYAMA GOES TO STRANGLE HIM FROM BEHIND. BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DOES.

But he doesn’t get to – because Kagami bodychecks him away.

Kagami: “Kid, NO! You’re too naive! Walking into a trap like this!”

Kageyama: “Ahahaha… I mean, yeah, it’s a trap, but it’s not for the brat.”

Another Kabuto SLAMS into Kagami.

Kageyama: “We’re after you.”

Kagami and Kageyama both transform.

~~~~~

Cressy: THANK YOU KAGAMI

Miyuko: Aw yiss

Miyuko: Shoutout to Mouri USING THE RETURNING LADS

Cressy: STRAIGHT INTO CAST OFF

Cressy: UNLIKE INOUE

~~~~~

PunchHopper LUNGES at Sougo, who is just standing there – there’s a clicking sound – and a massive surge of gravity slams PunchHopper to the ground. (cue Miyuko and I basically just shouting WHAT into the chat)

Oh my god. Turns out Woz’s attack is even more ridiculous than I’d thought. He’s allegedly channeling the gravity of 10,000 black holes, because that’s totally a thing that’s possible. … Meh, he’s got reinforcements from the armor, he’ll be fine.

Woz: Ah, yes, as expected of my overlord. Taking advantage of the enemies trap-

Sougo: Er, actually, I just wanted him to take me to Yaguruma. Now we just have to defeat the two of them. (goes to transform)

Everything starts to shake.

Oh, there’s that giant meteor!

Rider Time!

Zi-O! Fourze!

3! 2! 1! Fourze!

~~~~~

Miyuko: HE’S GOING TO

Miyuko: OH MY GOOOOD

Cressy: UCHUUU KITAAAAAAAAA

Miyuko: UCHUU IKUUUUU

Miyuko: Sougo pls

Cressy: FINE I’LL TAKE THE MESS UP

~~~~~

I mean, if it stops a GIANT METEOR FROM HITTING TOKYO? I don’t CARE if he gets the catchphrase wrong!

And it’s pretty close, anyway. Way better than his attempts at Ex-Aid’s and especially Build’s catchphrases.

~~~~~

Back to Gatack versus the Hell Brothers, who are soon joined by Woz.

Turns out, Yaguruma doesn’t care that Kageyama’s a Worm, since he’s the only one willing to be his partner.

After being tremendously outsped, and taking a few good blows, Woz unleashes an incredibly over-the-top finisher in the form of his Planetary Explosion. Yes, I know that’s not the actual name, but my computer’s autocorrect is a pain, and I’m not going to try typing out any of the forms that attacks real name can take. I don’t want to teach my computer that.

And there’s a huge explosion of flame, flames spreading across the floor… Woz gives a grandiose pair of quotes in a very Tendou style, down to the pointing. But a sound comes from ground zero of the attack.

A green suit drags itself into a standing position.

KickHopper: I don’t believe in the power of the universe… I only believe in the power of hell…

He lands a Rider Kick that Woz just manages to get a guard up in time to block. When Woz can look up… nobody’s there.

Geiz comes in… but none of the three returning characters are around anymore.

There is, however, a ‘message’. Someone’s left a package of instant bowl ramen, and a note, with one word.

“Hell.”

SO THAT’S NOT OMINOUS AS FUCK AT ALL.

~~~~~

Miyuko: “Wait, I’ve had this form one ep why am I being worfed”

Cressy: WELCOME TO BAD TIMES

Cressy: ON BOTH ENDS OF THE TIMELINE

~~~~~

A portal appears in the air, in 2058. Tsukuyomi and Tsukasa step out, to when she would have been 8 years old, into a ruined city.

With an incredibly ominous looking cloud front and thunderstorm off in the distance.

~~~~~

Back to 2019… Geiz… is in no position to do anything but leave the whole meteor thing to Sougo. A man in black, with copious chains, drags himself through the river below. “Did… someone laugh at me?”

Yaguruma, what are you doing there?

~~~~~

IT’S SPACE TIME!

Sougo’s ready! He can do this! He -

Did not realize how big that was actually going to be!

But he drills through the meteor with a Limit Time Break, shattering it… and also releasing a bunch of Worms that were in there into the vacuum of space.

Oh well.

Except that one wasn’t the real problem.

No, the real problem is that the grey meteor?

Is a pebble in comparison to the giant red one behind it.

Everything is very red in 2068.

~~~~~

Miyuko: THISISFINE

Miyuko: oh shit

Miyuko: IS THIS WHY THE EARTH IS FUCKED UP

Miyuko: SPAAACE

Miyuko: oh boy SOUGO PLS

Cressy: SOUGO BABBY

Miyuko: GEN WOULD BE SO PROUD

Cressy: DID YOU NOT REALIZE FROM HOW BIG IT SEEMED

Cressy: OBJECTS IN MIRROR-

Miyuko: HOLY SHIT

Miyuko: POSE

(He was pretty close, with the pose! It’s… probably easier in 0G, given Gens whole thing.)

Cressy: OH MY GOD HE DRILLED THROUGH A METEOR

Miyuko: OH NOOOOOOOO FUCK

Cressy: OH MY GOD THAT WAS A PEBBLE

Miyuko: OH NO OH NO OH NOOOOOOO

Miyuko: THIS IS WHY THE EARTH IS FUCKED IN 2068 ISN’T IT

Cressy: OH MY GOD THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TO FUCK UP THE PLANET

Cressy: IT’S REMNANTS ALL OVER AGAIN. I AM HAVING K.A. APPLEGATE FLASHBACKS HERE

Miyuko: WELL BOY FUCKING HOWDY WHAT A ZI O. -oh god PLEASE LET THE KABUTO WATCH GO TO KAGAMI. PLEASE

Miyuko: But Damn that was toei making it up to us from last week huh

Cressy: OH YES

Miyuko: GOOD USE OF RETURNING ACTORS.

DRAMA

STAKES

SOUGO DRILLING A METEOR.

TSUKASA CAME BACK.

Cressy: Tsukasa: “It’s not technically spoilers if it’s your own past, right? Right. I could have used this sort of heads up.”

~~~~~

So! Yeah! We were! Basically just completely screaming after that!

This is a much better episode than the last two. Thank you, Mouri-san! THANK YOU!

#kamen rider zi o #sailorcressy says

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smollandtoll · 6 years ago

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TITLE | IDK Spooky Stuff aka the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU WORDS | ~4960 WHY | ask @sidgenophotochallenge TAGS/WARNINGS | uh...fluff, spooky times, ghost elements, Geno’s bad American accent SUMMARY | Sid never thought he’d be stupid enough to make one of his biggest fears a cornerstone of his career, but here he was, going to dusty, dirty, old and abandoned places week after week trying to find proof of the supernatural. Adding Geno into the mix made things a little more complicated, but also good. Good and terrible.

IDK SPOOKY STUFF

Sid dropped another motion detector and set it with the help of his flashlight, held between his teeth. It was just starting to get dim enough that he couldn’t make out any of the text without a proper light. Fifteen feet away on the other side of the tracks Geno was doing the same thing, looking focused as he placed another device down and waved over it to check it was working. Sid pulled the light out of his mouth and shined it over at him.

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if we weren’t constantly cold and dirty while doing this?” He called over and Geno smiled but didn’t look up.

“Your show Sid, you want.”

“Yeah. My show.” Sid snorted. It’d been at least a year and a half since it’d just been his show. The leaves rustled around him as he stood and took a few steps back to survey their trap.

If anything was going to move in this area they’d see it immediately.

“No ghost trains get by tonight.” Geno said, appearing at his elbow.

Sid jutted out his chin, pressing his lips together flat. “A full train apparition has never been seen, you know that. Let’s just get our footage and back to the house, we’re losing daylight.”

“Eager to go sleep in haunted house? You feel okay? You possess?” Geno mocked, making like he was going to check Sid’s temperature with the back of his hand. Sid ducked out of the way and fiddled with his handheld phone rig. He knew Phil was filming the wide shots of the tracks from a ways away, and their mics were recording. Geno had a dumb sense of humour, it was expected.

He ignored Geno’s genial chirping and started his own recording, speaking to the audience directly, he turned the camera to catch Geno, already watching him. He had an unreadable look on his face - Sid looked up from the camera for a moment to make real eye contact - Geno’s poker face in places like this was impeccable, he had no idea what the other man was thinking.

The case they were on was just outside of Pittsburgh, chilly but beautiful this time of year. There was an old colonial manor house and grounds that were said to be haunted by various spirits carried there by the train that had once run straight through the extensive property. Though the train hadn’t run in years the tracks were still there and visitors to the house said they regularly heard the train whistling as it passed by at night.

“Getting cold out, Sid, we done?” Geno tucked his hands deep into his jean jacket pockets. He cut a tall, sharp figure where he stood, broad-shouldered with his toque tucked low and his jeans rumpled casually over his hiking boots.

“Yeah, I think we’re good here for now. We’ll come back tomorrow and shoot some EVP questioning.” They turned and walked down the tracks, steps noisy in the leaves as they headed back to where Phil was waiting.

“No ghost box?” Geno extended an elbow and jostled him. Sid rolled his eyes.

“The ghost box provides results. The fans like it.”

“Is loud and stupid. Make no sense, not English.” He made a disgusted face at Sid that was as familiar and warm as an old sweater.

“How would you know, eh?” He grinned as G scowled harder, “C’mon Phil is getting that look on his face like he’s going to be late to Skype with his dog again if we don’t hurry up.”

Sid never thought he’d be stupid enough to make one of his biggest fears a cornerstone of his career, but here he was, going to dusty, dirty, old and abandoned places week after week trying to find proof of the supernatural.

As far as Sid was concerned, ghosts, spirits, and various other malicious beings were as good as proven. He’d always been a fairly superstitious kid, refusing to wash his jerseys when there was a big game coming up, doing all of his daily tasks in a certain order according to him or else melting down for a whole day feeling out of whack.

His mom used to just call him particular.

But he’d really had his mind made up when he was a preteen attending a boarding school that looked like a castle and was once used as a makeshift war hospital. Some of the shit that happened over his years attending Shattuck just could not be explained.

Students had items go missing when they’d turned their backs for a moment, shadowy figures vanished between the library stacks and Sid himself had had a distressing event with a tube of toothpaste that he preferred not to dwell on.

When injuries made a career in hockey impossible to follow through on, he turned to his second love - filmmaking. Watching stories about people helped him understand the world around him and let him explain himself in turn.

Film school led to small projects which led to big projects and eventually a job making ridiculous Youtube videos for an internet company in California.

Pretty soon he found himself being coaxed to make videos about things he felt passionate about…and that lead to jumping at every bump in the night and giving his first co-host (an unamused and perpetually exasperated Tanger) a lot of chirping fodder for the rest of time. It was kind of like Youtube catnip apparently - humiliatingly, but seeing his own videos with millions of views made every minute of discomfort worth it.

Adding Geno into the mix made things a little more complicated, but also good. Good and terrible.

“You need me go first?”

Sid shot a glare over his shoulder at where Geno was standing just behind him, phone cradled in his hand, pointing the camera attachment right at him. He was probably capturing an incredibly unflattering angle that was all nose - because Geno was a dick. A few steps behind them Phil was holding their proper rig, looking as unimpressed as always.

“I hate you.” Sid muttered and took another deep calming breath. There was nothing to be afraid of, it was just a house, a big empty house where nothing could hurt him. He crossed himself quickly with his eyes closed and then threw open the grand front door of the Pittsburgh Manor House.

“Looks nice!” Geno was crowding him now, peering over his shoulder and shining his flashlight into the depths of the house, “kill for place like this in L.A. Worth fortune.”

“Don’t talk about killing,” Sid hissed, stepping gingerly into the manor - he didn’t like the vibes of this place at all, the hair on the back of his neck instantly stood on end. He could feel his pupils dilating to take in whatever scraps of light were lurking in the shadows. It smelled musty - mostly like a house that hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned or lived in for decades, which was exactly what it was.

Geno slipped around him easily, sailing into the drawing room across the creaking hardwood floors and taking stock of the place as casually as a new home buyer.

Phil flipped on the lights in the grand foyer and set his camera down on the nearest side table, sending a puff of dust off the intricate wood inlay.

“I’m going to start bringing our gear inside.” He disappeared out the open door and Sid suppressed a shudder. He refused to look into the yawning expanse of darkness that lay waiting at the top of the large staircase dead ahead of the doors - there would be plenty of time for that.

Unfortunately, there was no real safe place to look instead, the previous owners had clearly liked mirrors - they lined the walls of the space, every few feet another one, their elaborate, gilded frames dulled with more dust. Every shadow and bit of light seemed to bounce back and forth, making even his own movement startling in his peripheral. Sid was already starting to feel the history of this place sticking to his clothes, getting jumpy as shadows loomed in every corner.

“You okay?” Geno had lowered his camera, no longer recording, and was giving him a shrewd look. Sid shook himself, he really had to work on his game face - but then again they paid him to do this because of how piss-his-pants scared he got every time.

“I’m fine. The usual.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around again. He counted the mirrors this time and acted like he had a handle on his shit. Geno was an old hand at seeing through all of his most patented bluffs though and clicked his tongue chidingly at him.

“Serious Sid. Is just old house. No one here but us.” Geno was close enough now that Sid could feel the heat from his body all along his right side. Sid refused to look at him, heart throbbing traitorously in his chest.

“You always say that.” He always tried to comfort Sid when it mattered, his normal bickering, stubborn persona giving way to the marshmallow soul underneath.

“Because that always truth!” Geno grabbed his shoulder to jostle him until he cracked a smile up at him. “Beside, nothing happen to you, if was ghost. Too pretty.”

Sid’s stomach turned over, one part helpless reaction to flattery and one part thick disappointment. Geno was a terrible flirt and he was definitely just joking, the fans always loved it when they teased each other.

Running a too-successful-for-what-it-is Youtube series with someone you’ve been in unrequited love with since the beginning of time was absolutely garbage, every time.

Sid and Geno had met one dreary Monday afternoon in a conference room full of a cobbled together group of producers, writers and editors. They were put into teams to experiment with whatever content creation ideas that came to them.

Geno was all legs in terrible jorts, a graphic tee proclaiming something about beer, and a backwards snapback. He had a sly look on his face like he was trying to figure out who best to play dumb foreigner with.

(It was always the interns, always.)

It was probably the very first day that they’d had their first argument about ghosts. Sid had staunchly defended his position (“Just because there isn’t evidence yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist - you can’t count out that many witnesses!”) and Geno stood by his (“No. Stupid. No ghost.”). They’d had their coworkers in stitches and tossing around the words “chemistry”.

When it was clear he and Tanger - while still great friends - just didn’t spark together on camera, Geno was the natural replacement. He had an unshakeable ability to believe nothing could possibly be scarier than real-life in-soviet-era Russia and a knack for funny, if weird and distinctly Russian flavoured, quips.

Ever since they’d been stuck spending an excruciating amount of time together in the darkest, creepiest places imaginable. Just thinking about the dolls and spiders on that island still gave Sid chills; not to mention their demon encounters.

They taped together, edited together, answered questions together, traveled together, planned together and explored together. As much as they played up animosity and competition in the show they actually got along really well. Sid had met Geno’s adorable little parents multiple times, and his sister, Taylor, could be regularly found sending Geno Russian cat memes to translate for her.

It had just been a crush originally, but the nature of the show had them working in such close quarters so consistently. The constant contact was like steroids for Sid’s treacherous heart. Somehow Geno became his best friend, and the first person he wanted to talk to in the morning and the last person he wanted to see at night.

The walkthrough of the manor dragged on.

There were so many rooms full of disturbing little totems left by fellow ghost hunters; weird dolls and pentagrams drawn in the dust on the floor. Geno of course, totally ignoring how creepy everything was, seemed to actually like the place, commenting cheerfully on how nice the house actually was with its high ceilings, how many rooms there were, how a big family could live there comfortably.

They set up their case introduction in the music room, with the derelict piano behind them, mirrors once again all around them. Sid read Geno the history of the house for his reactions, so that they could then intercut his voice over and through other relevant footage. It was routine, something they did so often it usually calmed Sid down, but this time he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He found himself fighting the nagging urge to look over his shoulder while he was reading.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise then, that the following room tours left him startling regularly, spooked by Phil, and Geno, and his own shadow. Nothing in this house was sitting right with him.

“-Wait. Did you hear that?” Sid stopped short behind Geno on the staircase. Phil’s camera lens redirected its focus on him, Sid ignored it.

“What?” Geno was never tired of his ‘delusions’ or short with him in annoyance. He was always open, welcome to suggestions and ready to talk him off every supernatural ledge.

“I thought I heard- ” Sid looked up at him and managed a crooked smile, “you’re not going to believe me. I thought I heard a train.”

“GHOST TRAIN!” Geno exclaimed and then turned to continue up the stairs, unconcerned, “I hear nothing. Wind probably. If actual ghost train we get footage on motion capture.”

“Yeah,” Sid checked his phone, squinting at its brightness after the dim lighting of his GoPro. “It’s 11:35 right now, for the time stamps.”

Geno hummed in agreement and continued climbing, the old stairs creaking under his weight.

The grand chandelier that was supposed to hang in the stairwell was missing, supposedly used in a hanging many years ago that caused its structural failure that then lead to it falling and crushing another person decades later.

This house had seen some serious shit.

Geno reached a limit with the silence, clearly bored, and started doing a weird approximation of an American accent to talk to the ghosts. His nonchalance never failed to baffle Sid.

“Yo to the ghosts! Are you very well going to give a chat to us?” He always sounded hilariously like he’d been fed through Google translate too many times when he tried to do an American impression. The actual accent was decent - it was his choice of words that was so ridiculous, adding as many extra words as he could fit into any sentence.

“We are the very nice best boys!” Sid began to giggle at that, all of Geno’s words over-enunciated, “You can trust us with all your talk, ghosts.”

“Is there something so funny or wrong about our time here, there, Sidney?” He turned to Sid wearing an expression of absolute serious inquiry which caused both Sid and Phil to start losing their shit together.

“Ghosts are the most serious of businesses.” Geno planted his hands on his hips but before he could say anything else, a sharp floorboard creak rang through the space around them although none of them had moved. The levity of the situation broke immediately. They all looked around in silence but for their breathing for a minute, two. Part of Sid wanted to think it was just the house settling, but some part of him was sure it was something much worse.

“It’s getting late.” Phil murmured just as his camera beeped that its battery had 25% life left. Sid steeled himself for his least favourite part of their on-scene cases.

“Let’s finish up and find a place to camp for the night.”

The campouts had always been tough for Sid, but worse yet was when they actually had a bed instead of just a floor to sleep on. The first time Sid stared down at a sole double bed for both him and Geno to sleep on for the night, he didn’t know what to think. Everything mostly condensed down to two distinct kinds of dread:

The feeling of knowing you’d be spending a night in an inherently dangerous and unknown situation while likely feeling too tense or fearful to feel comfortable sleeping at all,

Being forced to be in such close and intimate proximity to the object of your affections who is fully oblivious to your feelings about them.

Geno, of course, took one look at the bed and dumped his things to the right side, claiming it for himself. He then immediately stretched out across the entire expanse of the mattress. His ankles hung off the end of the bed, exposing his ‘In Bigfoot I believe’ patterned socks. When he’d found them he’d proudly sent Sid a selfie with them like he was getting on the #Crosboo bandwagon or something.

Sid loved him from head to ridiculous toe and had been suddenly stricken with the conviction that he was definitely going to ruin everything in one way or another that night.

Luckily, nothing really out of the ordinary happened. Sid hadn’t liked it one bit and barely dozed all night - snapping awake every time Geno breathed a little too hard or the building creaked in the wind. He had survived though, and hadn’t even spent the long small hours of the morning thinking about how he even kind of liked the way Geno buzzed as he slept, somewhere between a snore and a purr. Okay, that was a lie, he’d definitely thought about that a lot, mind racing in a screeching loop between their imminent haunting and how soft Geno’s features were in sleep.

If he grew too agitated at any point in time in their spooky campouts, breathing hard with anxiety or turning over and over again to try and settle down, Geno would gruffly - but with genuine concern - always rouse himself enough to check on Sid. He’d make sure he actually still wanted to be there and then usually dropped his head back to his pillow and called him bad names in Russian, muttering about interrupting his beauty sleep.

Sometimes he just rolled over and threw one incredibly long leg or an arm over Sid to keep him still, his warm breath fanning over Sid’s shoulder, heat from his limbs seeping into Sid’s skin and settling his fears. It was always during the calm after those moments that Sid thought maybe, maybe he could love me back.

They settled on the master suite for their campout. It was perched at the top of the house with its own access staircase and beautiful architectural elements like the dark beams that ran across the ceiling and large paned windows that overlooked the vast property. It would have been lovely if he hadn’t been told it was haunted by several of the manor’s former owners.

Once all their tripods were set up they walked Phil back out to his car where he - the lucky son of a bitch - got to drive back to the motel and meet up with them the next morning with breakfast from in town.

They climbed all the stairs, back to their waiting nest of camera equipment and settled in for the night. Side by side in their sleeping bags on the ground, lights switched off, Sid felt the familiar dread of anticipation settle in as Geno began to snore.

Hours passed, or minutes. Tree branches waved strange moving shadows across the floor and the gentlest wind rattled the glass panes of the windows. Sid was almost lulled into a nervous doze when the footsteps started.

It was just one at first, easily explained by general creaks and shrieks of the house settling, but then another came, and another. A slow, purposeful climbing of the stairs that filled Sid’s belly with dread. His eyes snapped open but there was only darkness around him and he refused to look over at the opening to the stairs in case he actually did see someone who didn’t belong there.

The footsteps ceased when it sounded like they got to the top of the stairs and that was almost worse, thinking perhaps whatever was with them was just watching, or maybe now gliding soundlessly closer to them.

“Geno,” Sid hissed, squirming a little closer to where heavy human breathing had been regularly coming to his left. Geno murmured indistinctly, face mashed casually into his pillow.

The temperature felt like it was dropping around them, chillier by the moment and Sid’s heart, which had already jumped at the first footstep, began to race. He could barely hear anything over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Geno! Do you feel that? D-did you hear the footsteps?” Was he imagining things or was his breath actually fogging in front of him a little.

“Just house, Sid.” Geno muttered and reached out to touch him, probably what was meant to be a friendly pat but Sid managed to catch his hand. He clutched Geno’s hand like a lifeline, warm and alive and real.

The heavy scent of inexplicable perfume tickled his nose, and Sid gulped for air, shutting his eyes tightly, not wanting to see his imminent death. He knew he was holding Geno’s hand far too tightly, folded into his chest.

“Heart beat strong.” Geno finally shifted more, sounding like he was turning onto his side and sliding closer to Sid, “you really scared?”

“Don’t you smell that?” He scarcely wanted to whisper.

“Smell house,” Geno replied, like he had every time they were in one of these situations, “come Sid, need sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon - I really don’t think we’re alone up here.”

“We alone.” Geno said firmly, “don’t want to share. Any ghosts can fuck off.” He raised his voice almost like he was calling out a dare to anything listening. Sid swore he heard a distant door slam. His eyes snapped open but all he could really see was darkness and Geno’s eyes shining in front of him.

“Shut up, what was that?”

“Nothing. Come. Sleep.” Before Sid could react, he was being dragged closer by the hand he still had a death grip on. Geno’s body was warm even through both of their sleeping bags and some of the tension drained out of Sid’s spine at the feeling of being close. All he could hear was Geno breathing now, moving, tucking Sid’s sleeping bag close and wrapping his arm around his waist. All he could smell was the scent of slightly sweaty Geno - no perfume at all.

A large palm cupped the back of his head, encouraging him to tuck his face into Geno’s neck which he gladly did.

“Good. Sleep now. Let me protect. Nothing get you.” Sid took several deep breaths, “Don’t know why you always do this, work self up, stress not good. I’m worry you know.”

Sid huffed a hoarse laugh into Geno’s collar. Geno’s throat bobbed against his cheek as he swallowed.

“I do. Most worry, always. Not want to do if you’re not have fun.” his voice was incredibly soft and Sid blinked into the darkness created by their bodies.

“I do have fun. When we’re together it’s fine.”

“Not fine now, Sid.” He sighed heavily, “sometimes wish we can just prove ghosts real so we stop doing this.” He shifted his legs closer to Sid’s, nylon sleeping bag rustling, “but selfish also. Want never prove ghosts, do this with you forever. Keep close, love always.” he stroked his hand over the soft hair at the back of Sid’s neck.

“Geno-”

“Come Sid, need sleep.” he repeated quietly almost sadly, pulling him even closer. Sid let himself lie there for a little longer, tucked into the bubble of warmth that Geno created for him, thinking over his words. Finally he pushed away and sat up, grabbing his phone and flipping on the light immediately.

Geno squinted at him, hand coming up to block the brightness as best he could.

“Sid?”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” He swallowed, refusing to look outside of the pool of light that Geno was in, his bright spot in the darkness, “I don’t want to tell you that I’m in love with you and it doesn’t matter what we’re doing as long as we’re doing it together - here, in this haunted fucking house. So I’m going to turn off my light, and we’re going to go to sleep and tomorrow morning when the sun is up and we’re on our way home we can talk.”

Geno blinked at him owlishly before a smile started to curl the corners of his lips. He then nodded. Sid turned the light on his phone off and immediately regretted it, the darkness rushing in. He put it aside and slid seamlessly back into the circle of Geno’s arms.

“So brave Sid.” G teased, voice rumbling in his chest. Sid didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

“Shut up.”

Morning broke as it always did, not soon enough, but welcome relief after an uncomfortable night on a hard floor.

They lazily packed up their gear, shooting texts to Phil about what they wanted for breakfast. Geno looked puffy and tired behind his glasses, and pulled his toque and jacket and boots back on in his usual thick morning silence.

Sid was starting to doubt his own sanity, wondering if what had happened in the middle of the night was actually just a psychotic break brought on by fear. But then as he was struggling into his backpack Geno was there, in his personal space and straightening out the straps for him, carefully righting Sid’s jacket and then meeting his gaze meaningfully.

“Come on, let’s get the fuck out of this shitty place and get something to eat.” Sid said, maybe too loudly, but Geno just grinned in reply and motioned for him to lead the way out.

Somewhere in the middle of his second hash brown patty, scarfed down in their rental car, Geno started speaking English again and began complaining loudly about his work emails piling up while scrolling through his phone with greasy fingers.

Sid smothered a smile, looking out the window in the back seat while they drove the winding path down to where they’d left their motion detectors for the night by the tracks.

Everything was more or less exactly where they’d left it. Phil set about checking and packing up their low light cameras and Geno and Sid crunched down to the tracks to gather up all the detectors they’d laid out.

Geno shot Sid heavy looks as they packed each device carefully back into their padded camera bag compartments - he was clearly waiting for their conversation about as patiently as a lab waiting for dinner.

They were shoving all their gear bags back into the car’s trunk, struggling to Tetris in the tripods when Sid heard it - the train.

He snapped upright out of the trunk and turned towards the tracks below them - Geno and Phil had apparently heard it this time as well, as they paused what they were doing to turn and look too.

Before he could take more than a couple steps back towards the tracks, the leaves started kicking up in a great wind and a steam engine came barrelling through the wooded corridor. It looked and sounded and behaved as real as any other train Sid had ever seen, and in a flash it was gone as soon as it’d come.

“….Did you see that?” he turned to them with breathless wide eyes. Phil was swearing at his phone, he hadn’t been fast enough to catch it - Sid hadn’t even thought of recording it. Geno anticlimactically shrugged.

“Guess tracks not as abandoned as thought.” Sid turned to face Geno squarely, not believing what he was hearing.

“Seriously G? That’s what you’re going with? You just saw a ghost train with your own two eyes and-”

“Saw train, yes. Saw ghost train? No.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“How can you even say that? You know that these tracks haven’t been used in decades!” Sid could hear his voice climbing higher and higher but couldn’t stop it.

“Maybe someone pull prank.”

“A. Full. Sized. Train.”

“Maybe was illusion, make us think we see something that not there, like mag-” Sid grabbed either side of Geno’s face, careful but firm, pressing his cheeks until his lips pursed and he couldn’t continue.

“I love you. But if you don’t shut up I’m going to leave you here with the ghosts. Let me have this for at least ten minutes.” Geno pulled Sid’s hands away from his face by the wrists, already smirking down at him.

“Oooookay. I don’t even want to know what happened in that house last night.” Phil unlocked the car and climbed in without looking back at them.

“Love me?” he looked smug and sleepy behind his glasses. Lips chapped, and hair a mess, continually and frustratingly skeptical about things that mattered.

“You already know that.”

“Want to hear again. Am science man, like repeated result.” Sid rolled his eyes and pulled Geno’s snickering face into a kiss, his glasses getting wedged awkwardly against their cheeks before they separated.

“Are we going to argue about that train for the rest of the week?” Sid pulled back just enough to let Geno fix his glasses and look down at him, impossibly fond.

“Think we going to argue about train for rest of our lives.”

AO3

#hockey rpf #HOLY SHIT IT'S A FIC #A REAL ONE AND NOT JUST A HEADCANON #sid/geno #sidgeno #No one was surprised that I'm a Boogara and Smoll is a Shaniac #I feel like the way I made the tags and shit dates me back to like LJ days #cripes

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