#and i got caught leaving the house by two men leaving their card for construction or whatever. like i was alone in the dark in tiny pajamas

[kafkaesquefemme]

I hesitated too long and now the best prosthetic I had my eye on is gone ... I messaged the seller cuz now I have the money but I might b short on time so I either express ship that one if it's available soon or I buy a cheapy one and idk just deal w it. Just not the quality I wanted but maybe it's fine... :(

[iaal]

Chrollo x Thief!reader (nsfw)

I wanted to do the Chrollo part for this ask but it ended up as something else entirely.I wasn’t planning on making it nsfw either but things got out of hand. The “one bed” part is still here so it kinda count tho…

!WARNING!: mild dom chrollo, heavy calculative goth spider, mild angst (I guess)

You pushed yourself into an alley, your back flat on the wall, holding your umbrella close to your chest and you instinctively held your breath as it would make you smaller, invisible. The sirens passed past you and you stayed still until they were blazing in the distance. When you only heard their echos far away you exhaled slowly, unable to contain the victorious smile growing on your lips. Celebration would have to wait, you managed to evade the police so far but staying in the open too long was only asking for trouble. You put off your mask and gloves, throwing them in a bin, as an extra step for insurance you lit them on fire. One more little touch and you’ll be ready to go – you ran your hands on your coat and pants – the textile morphed into minty green and neon pink, a far cry from the previous pitch black color you were wearing.

Slowly you started walking, joining the passerby on the main street, you disappeared in the crowd. Very soon they’ll have hunters on the scene though and you couldn’t take the risk to run into them. Just laying low for some time should be enough, at least until your trail cool off. Once you had put enough distance between the museum and yourself you started walking faster, taking shortcuts you had mapped beforehand. It has already been almost an hour since your heist and every seconds outside was increasing the likelihood of something going wrong.

When the outskirt of town came into view you broke into a run, it was mostly desert there and the rare people going around weren’t the kind to talk with law enforcement. Almost safe. Carefully, extending your en to be sure that no one has followed you entered a building after confirming you were really alone. The dilapidated building should have been a sight when it was still standing but now it was nothing more than rumble and dust. Many years ago the town tried expending and constructed high standing residence but after an economic crash most of them end up as skeleton, bare and standing forever in a half finished state. The one you were making your way into was nearly done though and luckily for you, if someone was to look at a plan they wouldn’t know a bunker was just underneath it. The rich really are paranoid. But so were you. You had arranged the bunker as a safe house and you were ready to let the world forget about you for a while. This place was perfect; remote, secret and big enough to stock food, water and everything you’ll need to last a month even if you planned to stay a week at most. You opened the heavy trap door and climbed down the ladder, your umbrella under your arm. It was done, no one will find you now.

“Welcome back.”

You froze on the spot. You didn’t detect anyone with your en earlier so he must have use zetsu, He was waiting for you. Either you turned around to face him or you could try to reach for the exit as you were still half way on the ladder but it would mean leaving you defenseless when you flee.

“You can’t get out, but you can try if it helps you understand the situation,” the voice answered your dilemma. The man behind you had a pleasant voice yet there was a coldness underneath that made your heart ready to leap out of your throat.

Taking on his offer you reached the door once again. It wasn’t just locked or stuck; you couldn’t even touch it. As much as you tried every time you got too close your hand got pushed back. Nen. He has trapped you with nen and you didn’t noticed until it was too late. You closed your eyes. Frustration, shame, anger at yourself for being so careless, everything was choking you and you just wanted to cry. Dying never scared you but this humiliation right when you felt at your highest was pure agony. This man shattered your perfect plan and your pride with it.

When you opened your eyes again the light was turned on. You jumped down and finally faced the man. He was sitting on the bed, looking at you dispassionately, letting you take your time to come to term with your failure.

After a moment he spoke again, “You have something I want,” he started but you already knew why he was here for. You clutched the umbrella. “Give it to me and I’ll be on my way and you’ll be free,” he offered.

“Take everything you want and get out then,” you still clunged to the hope he didn’t know about your hatsu.

“I could yes, but I have no use for an umbrella.”

The lump in your throat swell. He won’t have it. You didn’t care of what he’d do to you but he’d absolutely won’t have it.

There’s no reason to pretend now, you held his gaze.  

“No,” you answered.

You both knew you couldn’t kill each other, not without risking nen getting stronger after death. If you killed him you’d end up stuck here until you die of starvation and if he killed you what he desire would forever stay an umbrella. Yet, It didn’t mean you were on equal footing. He obviously had more information about you than you had about him which was absolutely nothing. Was he alone? What was the conditions of his ability? How strong was he? Was it even his hatsu that kept you prisoner? Too much interrogation and the stakes were much higher for you. Even if you killed him you’d be doomed whereas he could kill you and gamble on finding an exorcist afterward.

“There’s no rush. You can think about it for a few more days” he suggested calmly.

“Days?”

Was he really going to stay that long? You couldn’t wrap your head about what he was planning, you were pretty convinced he’d attack you after hearing your refusal but he was still sitting on the bed, showing no sign of wanting to start a fight.

“It’s not like your were planning to leave this place anytime soon with everything you’ve packed in here, it shouldn’t be a problem,” he explained “And there’s always time to try other alternative afterward if you don’t change your mind,” he spoke with a flippancy that gave you the certainty he’d have no qualm about following through his threat.

“Isn’t it awfully kind of you to wait for my answer?” you sneered.

It was actually good, you could learn a lot about him and find a way to break out if you played your cards right. Yet this made you so uneasy. He was too calm so he wasn’t being generous because he felt like you had the upper hand, you were unable to read his intention. Plus you’ll need to cohabit with someone who clearly was ready to torture you. Nothing you could deal with right now, the only chance you had was to search for an opening. For the first time you really looked at him trying to analyze you opponent. The tattoo on his forehead and his black clothes could have a meaning. Maybe he was part of a cult, if that was the case the chance of having backup around was high. He seemed young, your age or a bit older but with nen users it was hard to tell. With his heavy coat you couldn’t get a look at his body but you could at least tell he was muscular. And well… he was quite the looker. Usually you didn’t think about men as “pretty” but he really was – big grey eyes with long lashes, pale flawless skin and a restrained icy charm that would have made you swoon if the situation was different. You shook your head and focused back. His attractiveness was not important, you needed more useful information.

The bunker didn’t look that big once you had filled it with all your stuff and with the two of you here it felt almost cramped. Apart from the bed the only furniture were a table with a stool and a shelf, a rudimentary bathroom was inside an alcove and you winced when you saw there was no door. It bothered you a lot, you wouldn’t have a moment for you alone as he could see everything you were doing. No chance of taking advantage of a blind spot to prepare an attack. On the corner of the eye you caught him following the direction of your stare.

“You don’t have to worry about me peeping if that’s what trouble you,” he said acknowledging the lack of privacy but seemingly misunderstanding where the real problem lied.

“How lucky I am to be kept prisoner by a perfect gentleman,” you said acidly.

You grabbed the stool and placed it as far as you could from the bed and put the umbrella under the it. You sat with your arms crossed over your chest, the man directly on your line of sight. He was also observing you slightly reclined with his hands planted on each side. It was going to be a long night.

After a while he put a book out of his coat and started reading, ignoring you. You rubbed your clammy palms on your thighs. What was the point if he wasn’t trying to make you change your mind? No more threats, nor arguments, he was just passing time after giving you all the information you needed to make your choice – give him what he wanted of suffer the consequences.

“Who are you?” you finally asked. This silent stand-off was straining your nerves.

“Chrollo,” he looked up to you leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Should I know this name?” you didn’t think he was a hunter, was his name known well enough to be recognized?

“No,” you felt a pang of annoyance at his answer, you didn’t care about his name you weren’t asking for a polite introduction.

“Nice to meet you Chrollo,” you answered with your most charming, obvious, fake smile, you could play this farce too. “I am -”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted.

He was referring to your real name and not the alias you used in this town, somehow you knew you were right. It confirmed that he had prepared this ambush for a long time and done his research right. So why? He seemed competent enough, if he really wanted to he could have executed the heist himself, why waiting for you to do it and then trapping himself with you? Sure your ability to change an object into another was handy but you could have fail or got caught before returning here. Something wasn’t adding up. You searched in his eyes for something, anything that could give you a hint but you found nothing – worst, you had the sensation Chrollo was the one reading into you, much like the book he still had in his hands. Looking away you tried to compose yourself.

The rest of the night was uneventful, Chrollo was still reading quietly and you were too much on high alert to dare pick a book yourself from the one you had stacked here to pass the time. The man was still a complete mystery and you’ve lost precious hours for nothing, only exhausting yourself.

You rubbed your stiff neck and were thinking about how you should formulate your next question to get as much clues as you could when your stomach rumbled loudly. In the dead silence the sound was unmistakable and you felt weirdly flustered that in such a dangerous predicament your body was so unconcerned.

Getting up you rummaged in the pile of food you had brought, searching for a light meal to fill your belly but when you rise up your shoulders bumped into something. You blanched when you realized he was standing just behind you. You hadn’t notice him moving at all. Chrollo put a hand on your shoulder to help you keep your balance and you felt dizzy. You didn’t grasped how vulnerable you were until this point – nothing could have stopped him if he had decide to attack you when you entered the bunker and you wouldn’t have see him coming if he had decide to strike right now. You were at his mercy and you should have been terrified but instead you were relieved. Relieved because never once you’ve been caught. You always had pride yourself at being smarter, more careful and craftier than the one pursuing you. Losing to Chrollo wasn’t shameful, knowing how formidable he was restored a bit of your dignity. Perhaps you were insane feeling that way, however it was like the weight on your chest vanished. Well, you were still going to die once the time was up but at least you wouldn’t blame yourself, you were pretty much done for as soon as you had attracted his attention.

“I didn’t meant to startle you,” he removed his hand and crouched down to pick some snacks for himself, “I have no plan of attacking you, not unless you give me a reason to.” The message was crystal clear.

Both of you ate in silence but you couldn’t take your eyes of him. Relaxed would have been pushing it but you were breathing more freely and you were really appreciating how entrancing he was. Did the Stockholm syndrome was already kicking in? Or some kind of suspension bridge effect now that you were certain you were going to die? Either way you weren’t even mad at him, just mesmerized.

“Why are you ready to die for a sword?” Chrollo asked abruptly, his eyes focused on your loot you had turned into an umbrella.

“I’m ready to die so no one could have it, it’s different,” you answered truthfully. Your nation had been colonized, had to live through an ethnic cleansing and their culture banned on their own land for the past two centuries. The sword was the symbol of you long gone kings and now was displayed as a curiosity for the conqueror to marvel at. It has never sat right with you and even though you knew getting the artifact back wouldn’t change anything at least you could give them a taste of the disgrace.

Chrollo nodded, sensing you wouldn’t say more on the subject and lied down on the bed, removing his coat to use it as a cover. As for you, the stool was making your ass sore so you were up, leaning against the wall. You didn’t know what came into you but you as soon as you thought you’d have liked to lie down too you found yourself with a knee on the mattress. Chrollo narrowed his eyes but still moved on his side to give you a bit of space. You removed your shoes and lied down. It was a tight squeeze but you managed to get it.

What were you doing? Your heart was pounding in your chest. Flirting with danger wasn’t new, sleeping next to it was. Chrollo warmth was radiating on your back and his chest was brushing against you with each slow breath. Being your future killer aside, you didn’t even knew the man, you’d only exchanged a few worlds so why were you so wet just being close to him? How messed up were you?

“I can hear your heart beating from here,” he noticed, your face immediately flushed at the words. “If you are so scared you should try sleeping elsewhere.” You didn’t get caught after all, but the shock has let you motionless. You took a deep breath. Why were you so shy? You literally had nothing to lose anymore and no one could judge you. What prevented you to do anything you wanted?

You turned around, meeting Chrollo cold eyes and pushed yourself against him. You felt light-headed, discovering a freedom you never knew existed. Nothing mattered, the only thing you had worked for your entire life was a failure, your death was coming and there’s nothing you could do about it. Taking a hitched breath you pressed your lips against his. Chrollo was still as you embraced him but you didn’t mind, you were intoxicated by just feeling his mouth against yours.

“You know that it won’t save you,” Chrollo said on your lips as a matter of fact. Oh you knew and it was morbidly adding to your excitation.

Without stopping you nodded, alternating between licking and biting at his lower lip. He wasn’t pushing you away, that’s all you needed. Never in you life have you felt so much need for someone, your whole body was on fire, your mind was fuzzy and a moan was bubbling in you throat ready to escape at the lightest provocation. Feeling his broad chest you found the zipper of his top and pulled it down, clawing at his bare skin as soon as you revealed it. Quickly you removed your own top and returned to the kiss even quicker, flushing your bare chest against his. The moan that you were keeping burst from your lips when Chrollo put his hand on your back to keep you against him, your whole body was covered in goosebumps and a shiver ran along your spine instantly when he started returning your kiss. His touch, his scent and now his taste…your senses were going into overdrive and it was still not enough.

Chrollo turned you on your back and lifted himself up, placing a knee between your legs, his tongue still playing with yours. Immediately you missed the contact of his skin and tried to follow him up but a hand on your shoulder kept you laying flat. His other hand undid your belt, and pushed your pants down your thighs, breaking the kiss he moved your legs on you chest to undress you completely. Both his hands under your knees, he parted your legs around him. Looking up at him you already were panting hard, just kissing made a mess out of you but he had the same impassive expression. Chrollo was looking at you, spread out underneath him, his gaze trailing from your clouded eyes to your chest and lingering between your thighs.

“You’re soaking wet,”he observed, his fingers were caressing your stomach and you closed your eyes in anticipation.

The sensation of his first finger entering you made your hips jerk up, your moaning were so loud it was almost a scream. A sad sight left your lips when he withdraw soon replaced by mewling when he insert one more fingers. With his other hand’s thumb he pushed in circle on your clit as he was exploring your core, properly making you melt. Bending down he kissed your jaw, his tongue tracing down your neck and stopping at your breast. Not too hard he bit your nipple, pulling it up as he was doing it, still relentlessly pumping into you. You buried your hands in his hair, everything he’s doing was too good.

His breath started to get labored and he removed the hand between your legs to position himself against you, unbending to kiss you once again, this time intensely. Your rubbed yourself on his hardness eliciting a low groan from him, he grabbed your ass to press you more on his cock, grinding harder when you started whimpering. You were so close. Suddenly he stopped, pushing on your hips so you wouldn’t move either.  

“I don’t have a condom, we should stop here,” a blush was beautifully spread on his face when he looked up to you, still panting.

“I don’t care,” you whined.

“I do.” his tone didn’t leave place to any argument. You huffed and straighten yourself up, Chrollo sat beside you eyes closed trying to calm his breath.

Looking around you spot your sock, you grabbed it and pulled it to gauged the elasticity. Satisfied, you rolled it on itself, Chrollo was watching you with curiosity. Visualizing what you wanted to changed it into looked and felt like you ran you hand on the sock, changing its form to one of a condom.

“Impressive,” Chrollo admitted, “Is it really a condom? Or does it only has the shape?” he asked taking it from you and observing at all the angles.

“As long as the mass is around the same I can change everything into anything I want, it’s a real as the real deal. But the smaller it is the quicker it revert back so put it on now,” your hurried him.

Chrollo looked at you hungrily and undressed himself with an urge he didn’t have earlier. Seeing him completely bare in front of you send a fire in your groin, you placed yourself in the middle of bed when your hand smacked on something. It was the book Chrollo was reading earlier. You picked it up and move it out of the way, laying on your back.

“Turn around, on your knees,” he ordered and you happily obliged.

His hands cupped your ass before returning to your folds, resuming their teasing. It didn’t took him long to have you drenched and moaning again. When he removed his fingers this time it was to replace them by something much more delectable. Unhurriedly he sank into you humming when he was completely inside. Slowly he started to move, kneading at your hips with each lazy thrust. It was excruciating slow and you tried to go faster only for Chrollo to keep you in place.

“Harder…please,” you pleaded.

“In time,” he said in a breath, “I want to enjoy the moment a bit more,” he added.

His thrusts were wide, almost getting out before deliberately sliding back fully inside you. It was the sweetest torture you’ve ever experienced. Clawing at the sheet, you could only be patient. Fortunately you restraint got rewarded when Chrollo started to pick up the pace, slamming into you enthusiastically. You gasped when he took a handful of your hair –  pulling so hard your back arch –  banging you deep and fast.

“You’re screw up,” he breathed behind your ear, “Or maybe,” he gave your ass a slap, earning a choking moan from you, “ugh..maybe”, another slap “it’s only natural for Eros to intermingle with Thanatos.”

You couldn’t focus on what he was saying but the sound of his voice was just adding to your heat. Unable to support yourself anymore you snaked your hand around his neck. He was utterly ravaging you and it was electrifying. Another slap on your ass and you felt an explosion deep at your center dispersing in your body to all your extremities. The wave was violent and left you shaking, you fell forward still enduring Chrollo’s brutal pace. Soon his thrusts started to get chaotic, he was grunting and panting. His own orgasm was close. Sliding out of you he turned you so you’d face him, still in a haze you raised yourself on you elbow.

“Open your mouth,” you understood what he wanted, and you eagerly obeyed.

As soon as you lifted yourself up he pressed the head of his dick on your lips, you opened wider and took him in your mouth, bobbing your head and enjoying the saltiness of the precum flowing on your tongue. Chrollo shoved his dick deeper, fucking your face ruthlessly then held you still, nails raking your scalp while he was filling your throat with his cum. Tears well up to your eyes and you exhaled coughing when he pull out. Chrollo lied down breathing heavily beside you, and you let yourself fall back to bed. Your body was light and sore at the same time. You closed your eyes, physical and mental exhaustion caught up to you and your mind slipped away toward the embrace of sleep.

You woke up alone, naked and shivering. Putting back your clothes your looked around you. Your heart skipped a beat, you were alone. You jumped out of bed and pushed the stool aside. Lying on the floor was the sword you were ready to throw your life for. Not an umbrella, the real sword. It should have stayed in this form for eight days, something was very very wrong. Trembling, you placed your hands on it, visualizing an umbrella. Nothing. You tried with other objects only for the result to stay the same. You couldn’t use your ability.

So that’s was it. You sank into the floor, tears flowing down your cheeks. Chrollo didn’t care about the sword. Everything made so much sense all of the sudden. It was worthless for him, the most important object for you was trash in his eyes. He could have taken it with him when he left but it wasn’t even worth it. No, he took something even more precious, something you never imagined you’d lose, what you’ve considered a part of yourself, something you nurtured and polished for so long. And it was gone.

You cried for a long time, hugging the sword on your chest. Waiting to wake up from this nightmare.

[365days365movies]

January 20, 2021: Taken (2008)

Well, I know one thing about this movie. He’s gonna find ‘em. And he’s gonna kill ‘em. And also, Luc Besson didn’t direct this movie! Yeah, my bad, he wrote this movie. But, then, he also wrote Leon, so I wasn’t entirely wrong. Anyway, 2008!

I remember this year well. Obama was elected the first Black president of the United States of America; the Olympics took place in Beijing, months after a massive earthquake in Sichuan; the Large Hadron Collider was totally gonna make a black hole; and, of course, the most important news event of that year: Iron Man and The Dark Knight came out.

And of course, the film Taken came out, creating what is arguably the most repeated film meme ever. Or, at the very least, it’s WAY up there. It’s a 12-year old meme at this point, but lemme tell ya: this thing was HUGE in 2008. Not the movie itself, just the meme. And I could lie and tell you that I’m watching this movie because it’s another French action thriller, and it’s fitting, but…

...it’s the meme. It’s 100% the meme, I’m not gonna lie to you guys. So, uh...yeah, Taken, let’s do this. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Recap

Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) is dreaming of his daughter and wife. In the modern day, he brings a birthday gift to his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), and his bitter ex-wife Lenore (Famke Janssen), who is married to a very wealthy man, Stuart (Xander Berkeley). Bryan, meanwhile, is a recent and comparatively poor retiree, whose friends come over for a night of drinks.

Retiree from what, you ask? Well, it’s likely the CIA, given that his friends refer to military missions and Langley. They invite him to join security detail for a pop star, Sheerah (Holly Valance), In the process, he saves her from crazed fans, including a knife-wielding assailant. Not sure why that guy wants to LITERALLY STAB HER, but somebody needs to look into that guy!

Out of gratitude, Sheerah gives Bryan some references to give to his daughter, who wants to be a singer, apparently. However, when he sees her and Lenore the next day, all she wants from him is permission to go on a trip to Paris with her friends. When he shows his doubts for her safety, she’s upset, and his wife berates him for...government and military service? I mean, that stuff breaks up marriages, of course, but GODDAMN, Lenore’s bitter about it! Whoof.

Bryan’s definitely being made to be sympathetic, while Lenore’s the opposite of that. And Bryan’s understandably worried about his daughter’s safety, as she’ll be abroad. And we get the idea that Bryan’s a bit of a helicopter parent, but...c’mon! He’s underage daughter is asking to go to Paris with her friends! It’s cause for a parent to be worried, and yet Lenore is like, “She needs to be freeeeeeeeeee!” And that’s made even WORSE by the fact that both of them lie to Bryan, a father who clearly loves his daughter, because she’s actually following U2 on a music tour around Europe!

Which...really? U2? Who the hell can stand that much Bono, for their ENTIRE EUROPEAN TOUR? Anyway, what I’m saying is, Lenore sucks, and I’m not Kim’s biggest fan either. But I get the feeling that, given the one thing I know about this movie...Bryan’s gonna be proven right. So Kim and her friend, Amanda (Katie Cassidy) go to Europe, alone, despite Bryan’s understandable misgivings. 

They IMMEDIATELY get hit on by Peter, a French boy who gives them a ride. He invites them to a party, Amanda accepts for them, and this is OBVIOUSLY A BAD IDEA. That’s even further confirmed by Peter making a mysterious call, telling the other person about the girls’ location. Kim doesn’t call Bryan, as promised, and Amanda is clearly a TERRIBLE influence. Looks like Bryan was completely right to be concerned, if his daughter’s gonna be so irresponsible. Oh, also because they’re about to get kidnapped.

Luckily, Kim had called Bryan just before, after realizing that he had called her, and he guides her through the upcoming kidnapping. With his help, although she gets kidnapped, Bryan is able to figure out that the kidnappers are Albanian, and that one of them is a six-foot tall bearded man with a moon and star tattoo on his right hand DAMN THAT’S OBSERVANT. But still...she’s been Taken.

Someone picks up the phone...and he says the speech.

Had to do it, folks. It’s the most iconic scene in the film. Time for action! Bryan calls a friend with Langley connections, then goes straight to Lenore and Stuart’s place, who find out that BRYAN WAS FUCKING RIGHT GODDAMMIT HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW 

 Having COMPLETELY FUCKED UP, Lenore asks Bryan to get her back safely. They actually figure out that the men who kidnapped her are professional sex-traffickers, who specialize in kidnapping travelling women and putting them in prostitution. But they tend to disappear...within 96 Hours. That’s how long Bryan has to find her, as well as being an alternate title for this film!

The time limit, by the way, is a common construct for the action-thriller. You know, “she has 12 hours to live,” that kind of deal. Thrillers are going to be peppered throughout this year, and there are a few coming up as well, so might as well start with this one, right?

Bryan flies to Paris, then makes his way to the apartment, tracing Kim’s steps up to her kidnapping. He also finds her destroyed phone, alongside an SD card with photos. From this, he gets a blurry look at Peter. I get the feeling that his face isn’t about to look much better. Speaking of, Peter’s playing his old tricks at the airport, and is caught by Bryan. Painfully caught. After Bryan fights off another guy, and chases Peter up a road, Peter also gets caught by karma.

80 hours left. Having exhausted options, Bryan meets an old contact, Jean-Claude (Olivier Rabourdin), who tells him where the Albanians hang out. He hires an Albanian translator, then heads for a prostitute-heavy area. He harrangues a prostitute until her manager comes out, whom he puts a small microphone on. With the translator’s help, he discovers that they’re having “merchandise problems” at a construction site. 

Following a hunch, he makes his way there, and sees several drug-addicted young women in a makeshift brothel. Also there is his daughter’s jacket. The prostitute that has it, however, is not exactly cognitively sound at the moment. So...she’s Taken. By Bryan, who fights his way out of the brothel and construction site, with gunshots, explosions, and car chases along the way.

Bryan brings the girl back to a hotel, where he somehow gets ahold of an IV and medicine, and detoxes her in the room. Which, given the time frame and other factors...seems like a very large risk to take for testimony that, let’s be honest, right not exist. Still, as this is happening, he gets a call from Jean-Claude, asking to meet.

56 hours left. After 7 people dead, a destroyed trailer, and 3 people injured (and probably stolen medicine from a hospital, let’s be honest), Bryan isn’t exactly the best friend of the French government. He escapes police custody and heads back to the hotel, where the girl is cogent enough to remember where she got the jacket: from Kim herself, at the house with the red door on the road of paradise. No, really.

Bryan gets to the house, and poses as Jean-Claude...badly. He apparently passes his bluff check, and takes advantage of a corrupt police system, and makes them give him protection money. Over the course of the conversation, he figures out that one of them is Marco. Which means that he found him. And he said that when he found him…

After that spree is done, he searches the facility and looks for Kim. He doesn’t find her...but he does find Amanda. And sadly, he’s too late for her. Turns out, though, that he didn’t kill Marko (Arben Bajraktaraj), the leader of the group. And of course not! He has some questions.

Bryan tortures Marko using electricity, and he reveals that Kim’s been sold quickly, as she is a virgin. She’s been sold to Patrice Saint-Clair (Gerard Watkins), although Marko doesn’t know where he is. And so, Bryan fulfills his promise, and electrocutes him. He then makes his way to meet Jean-Claude at his home. And, uh...that’s when he crosses a line.

...Um. Bryan shot his wife. And yeah, Jean-Claude’s clearly not on the up-and-up, but he’s not directly complicit in the kidnapping of his daughter. And yeah, he’s in Bryan’s way, but JESUS CHRIST DUDE. He officially loses the moral high-ground here for me, even if his cause is just. Jean-Claude concedes, and Bryan gets the information that he’s looking for and leaves, knocking Jean-Claude out in the process.

Bryan goes to the Saint-Clair residence, where an auction is taking place for various young women. The last of these is, of course, Kim. Having barged into a booth of one of the buyers, he forces him to buy Kim (ew). Unfortunately, he’s caught and chained to a pipe, where Saint-Clair’s henchmen are about to kill him. But, of course...

Bryan escapes and kills Saint-Clair in the process, but not before finding out that Kim’s been Taken to a boat. He obtains a car, and after a length (and seizure-inducing) car chase, gets onto the boat, which is owned by the Sheik, a man of unknown Arabic origin. And yeah, in case you were wondering, this feels very...VERY...wrong. It’s brief, yeah, but...you gave a rich Arabic guy multiple wives obtained through illegal means and made them the main villain? FUCKIN’ OOF BRUV

Anyway, as expected, Bryan kicks the asses of everybody on the boat, and finally rescues Kim, killing the Sheik in the process. The two have a tearful embrace, and Bryan NEVER LETS HER OUT OF HIS SIGHT AGAIN PROBABLY. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT BONO. THIS IS ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT.

Well, Bryan wins the I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG GODDAMIT award, Kim gets to go home and meet that singer from before, Lenore gives Bryan some consideration as a human being for once, Stuart stepfathers, and that’s Taken! Also, WHERE IN THE HELL ARE AMANDA’S PARENTS, A GIRL IS DEAD

Epilogue soon!

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter eight

Back at it again with another update cause I had to get this chapter down before it left my head. Honestly Em is a hero for giving me this idea bc I had stalled on the fic after Jessica’s escape. But because of their help I actually know a lot more than I even knew in the LAST CHAPTER much less as a whole. Loving the comments so ofc keep them coming cause i need validation.

The process of healing is frustratingly slow and Jessica finds herself lost in the cycle of sleeping, being questioned by officers, seeing Ainsley and occasionally Malcolm, and sleeping again. It’s a small comfort knowing that Malcolm, in all his determination is searching for the man behind all of this. Most of her though just wants him in the room with her, knowing he is safe.

The most frustrating, to her and investigators alike were her memories. She remembers the big picture. There was a wreck while she was traveling to a meeting for Eve’s charity. With the woman gone Jessica had preserved her legacy the best she could. The crash was unexpected. She’d checked Alphonso from the back seat already knowing he was dead. Two paramedics pulled her out of the car, put some kind of oxygen mask on her and she was out. Next came where it blurred. She was held in the dark by two men and they asked her to pick between her life or a stranger’s. No matter how many times she picked herself the other person would die. She was shot first, and then stabbed later.

She didn’t remember other conversations. Colette Swanson was the one to report to her what they found at the construction site. They found the room she was held in, two chairs bolted to the floor facing each other. They found the trail of blood where she had escaped. They found a young man matching the surveillance footage of the paramedic they’d found the day of the wreck. He was beaten to death, likely by his partner though the FBI agent didn’t expand on why.

She’s not shocked. Part of her knew this already.

What tears at her was they found no trace of the other killer nor Freddy in the vicinity. Gil tells her that no trace of blood should be a good thing.

It doesn’t feel like a good thing.

“Ms. Whitly.” She picks her head up from the spot she was staring at, smiling kindly at the doctor.

“Dr. Garcia, I hope you’re not planning to wheel me back for another surgery. Ainsley is getting off soon and she’s bringing Vionelli’s.” The surgeon chuckles warmly shaking her head. In the week she’s been stuck in the hospital Dr. Garcia had been a welcoming bright spot in her boring or traumatizing days. The day she chased away an officer who was getting a little too aggressive while questioning and insisting that she remembered. Waving a clipboard and getting in the face of an armed man, it was a sight that made her laugh no matter how much it hurt her side.

“Actually, I wanted to be the one to tell you that it’s looking like you could go home today.”

“Today?” She sits up a little, newfound energy overpowering the shot of pain that goes through her side at the movement.

“Your infection has cleared up and all of your baselines came through clear. Now you’ll come back in a week to remove the stitches and I want you taking it easy when walking. We’re going to send you home in a wheelchair.” Jessica must have made a face because the doctor gets serious, “I expect you to use it Ms. Whitly. Your physical therapy will be easier if you don’t push yourself too much. No alcohol or other supplements until you finish out your medication.” Jessica hesitates but nods. Anything that can get her past this as soon as possible she’ll agree to. “Well, in that case you might want to tell your daughter to bring a loose set of clothes and I’ll tell the nurses to get the paperwork drawn up.”

“Dr. Garcia?” Her question evades her as soon as she asks. Past conversations echo instead, The knife was two centimeters from nicking the femoral artery. The gunshot wound had been infected, but we caught it early. Your memory will return in time, it’s expected with the combination of anesthesia and your head injury. Yet, not once had the woman made the claim other doctors had. The one that she told herself, you got lucky. “Thank you.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After the text it’s Ainsley, Malcolm, and Gil who come to escort her home. It feels like a bittersweet celebration. None of them will let her stay alone, despite her protests and the 3 details they set up along the house. All help is dismissed until further notice, and her home has already been searched five times for any possible cameras or bugs hidden. Gil tried to insist her stay with her but couldn’t fight more when she pointed out that she’d get around easier in her own home than his small apartment.

They celebrate with Vionelli’s, as promised, and sitting at her own table with her family surrounding her almost feels normal. She longs for a drink but her children made sure that all alcohol was removed from the home the second they were told she could come home. For a few split seconds she allows herself to believe this is a normal day. That she doesn’t ache all over, that there aren't several patrols outside guarding each exit of her home, that she doesn’t have the details of 3 days blurred as if she’d taken a few too many pills.

Despite her protests the three of them create a system. Malcolm will stay with her tonight, Gil’s insistence as he hadn’t slept much in 3 days. Gil will switch him tomorrow, Ainsley after that. Even though she tried to deny their pushes, she’s secretly glad to have one of them with her. At least she can be assured one of them is safe at all times. 

Much to her dread, Gil and Ainsley eventually leave. They linger longer than they should. None of them really tired enough to stave off their personal demons from the night. Gil gives in when Colette calls, Ainsley long after he is gone but her own detail looks tired and she shouldn’t probably get home.

Jessica makes her way back to her own bedroom. The clothes Ainsley brought are comfortable enough that she can just slide right into bed. Her medicine is slowly dragging her under and she’s grateful for the peace that the familiar setting brings.

“Goodnight mom,” Malcolm smiles at her, the expression not quite matching the worry in his eyes.

“Love you Sunshine.” She says as gently as she can, inordinately calm against the threat of sleep. Her nightmares are no stranger to her. The nickname helps as she watches him relax, even if only slightly.

“Love you too.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jessica wakes again with a gasp sitting up in bed, the pain that echoes through her abdomen making her regret the movement. The nightmare already faded from her as she settles back hissing through her teeth. She squints at her phone laying on her nightstand.

4:26 A.M.

She huffs covering her eyes. She can feel the beginnings of her medicine wearing off. She’s surprised Malcolm hadn’t woken her simply to take some. She peers through the dark spying her son curled in the chair in the corner of her room. He must have fallen asleep there after working on the case for most of the night.

Her chest aches remembering how after Martin she’d find him sleeping almost anywhere but his bed. That chair, specifically, was his favorite place to curl up. A flashlight and book lying abandoned on the floor by his feet.

She experimentally sits up again, slower this time. The pain is much more manageable in the slow, precise movements. As her eyes adjust to the dark she sees a cup sitting on her nightstand along with the bottles of medicine she’s supposed to take. Lying by the glass is a small card, a note hastily written.

Just as you like.

Her chest warms looking over at Malcolm again. The glass is still hot, he couldn’t have prepared it long ago. She tusks but slides the note in her drawer, standing. She suppresses the groan at the ache in her leg, not wanting to wake him when he’d clearly just managed to fall asleep. She grabs the spare blanket draped across the bottom of her bed and covers him. Even in his sleep he looks like he carries the whole world on his shoulders. Grabbing her tea and medicine she exits her bedroom.

She’s not sure exactly where she intended on going. The restlessness is enough to make her wander through the home on a good night. This, this is something else. A sense of dread that can’t seem to leave her chest.

She takes a sip of the tea enjoying the warmth that spreads across her. Her peace is only momentary though.

The tea doesn’t taste like what she drinks.

The taste brings her back twenty years. To Christmas morning with two children bouncing onto her bed excitedly screaming about Santa. To a golden tray loaded up with her favorites. To breakfast in bed. To the tea Martin had prepared for her.

Malcolm didn’t make this.

Panic fills her as she pushes herself through the home, steadying herself on the walls. She bursts into the dining room, looking for the bar cart.

She hears Malcolm screaming in her head.

Don’t drop the cup, it could be evidence.

She needs a drink

You’re not supposed to drink on your medication.

She doesn’t care. Not when she can’t get the taste out of her mouth.

Mother!

The cart is empty. Of course it is. Ainsley herself cleared it out. She has a stash in the kitchen. One she hadn’t touched since Malcolm’s months of silence. One only she knew about.

She grits her teeth using the table as a brace as her leg screams against the rush. She can’t think. Not when the memories are too loud. The good times taste like poison under his gaze, his touch.

She flicks on the light stopping dead in her path at the sight of a figure seated at the island, facing her. The glass slips from her hands spilling across the tile and scattering shards everywhere.

Freddy stares emptily at her. His skin is all too pale. A sharp cut against his throat and blood spilled all over his clothes. They’re the same clothes he’d been wearing when she saw him last. The eyes that had been so kind to her are frozen in choking horror. He probably couldn’t even scream.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shattering glass startles Malcolm awake. He's up and aware in a matter of seconds. The bed his mother had fallen asleep in is empty, the medicine he’d left on her nightstand is gone too. He tries to rationalize with himself. She likely woke from a nightmare. Went to look for a drink. He doesn’t need to jump to conclusions.

Her scream sends ice through his veins. He’s taking off after that, ignoring the soreness in his joints from the position he’d slept in.

He never should have let himself fall asleep.

He was supposed to be guarding her.

Now she’s-

“Mom!” He calls out to her. Her screams seem to echo off the walls. He suddenly feels too small, a child searching helplessly for his mother in a crowd of ghosts. “Mom!” He’s closer. She’s still screaming.

He rounds the kitchen to a sight that turns his stomach. His investigative sense tells him to preserve the scene, call 911. But his mother is backed up against the wall, eyes glued to the body meant just for her. He doesn’t give a damn about the glass the cuts his feet to get to her. He lifts her by the elbows pulling her back into the dining room.

“Freddy. It’s Freddy.” She sobs before collapsing on his shoulder.

In that moment, Malcolm freezes. Twenty years, not once did she cry for Martin. Not once did she cry for her family that had been burned up and destroyed. She didn’t cry when he moved away, not when he woke up after being taken by the Junkyard Killer, not when Ainsley confessed to her that she killed Endicott. But she’s clinging to him like her life depends on it, and she’s crying.

All he can do is hold onto her and text Gil.

[etlunainmorte]

🌙 To You Who Rejected Me 🌙

***

IV

***

***

Many feared Gladiola, even the ones who lived outside the city. They see her as the most powerful Elf next to the Queen, who has never showed herself for almost five centuries. And due to the Queen's lack of public appearance, Gladiola's family was given the task to protect the Elven realm and the royal families who lived in it. They stood as the sturdy wall protecting everyone from the threat of their worst enemy, and without them, chaos would spread across the land.

Everywhere she went, Elves and all other creatures bowed before her as a sign of both fear and respect. Men trembled where they stand when she passed by, and women simply wanted to be like her. Her brother valued her as his most powerful ally, his trump card that never lost a single battle.

There was not a single soul in the land who didn't know her face and the frightening prowess that came along with it.

Gladiola's eyebrows slightly raised in a matter of a millisecond the moment she heard laughter coming from behind the heavy wooden doors of her brother's quarters. She stopped for moment and waited, her arms quietly resting on her sides, and a few moments later, the doors finally opened.

And from those doors, two women wearing such heavy makeup and overly - ornamented clothing came out, looking quite bedazzled and over the moon. The moment they saw Gladiola standing before them just outside her brother's quarters, they instantly stopped giggling like a pair of inexperienced school girls who just got caught by their terrifying tutor and bowed before her.

Gladiola ignored them, letting them walk away, and entered the room. There, she found her almighty brother in his casual clothing, looking relaxed and carefree, sitting on a plush sofa in the middle of the room just next to the massive window overlooking the entire city.

"Sister! Welcome, welcome." Her brother greeted cheerfully, beckoning her to come closer.

Stopping a few feet away from her brother, she went down on one knee with her head bowed down low and spoke, "How may I be of service?"

Her brother leaned in closer, and with a knowing smile, he said, "From now on, I want you to watch over those prisoners from the mortal realm. I want you to keep an eye on them, and if necessary," The smile vanished from the handsome male's face, to be replaced with spite and anger, and added, "I want you to give them a fierce punishment that they would never ever forget. Something that would scar their mortal existence forevermore. That one in red," He said, his fists clutching, a vein visibly popping from his forehead. " ... he annoys me very much. He calls me by this name which I do not have the slightest knowledge of. If he misbehaves, I want you, my sister, to take care of him in the language we, Elves of the High Race, know." His frown vanished to be replaced with that knowing smile once more as he leaned on the sofa and crossed his legs. And in a much calmer tone, he said, "I want you to do it now."

"But, Gladiolus, I' am here to visit my sister to - "

"You can do it next week during the Convergence." Her brother cut her off in a venomous tone. "Are we clear?"

The female Elf looked into her brother's eyes, ignoring the strange little red marks on his neck which were fairly hidden by his long platinum hair, and asked, "Is there something else you need me to do?"

"None," He answered as his slender hand glided over his beautiful platinum strands of hair. " ... as of the moment."

Standing tall and proud and with another bow of respect, she answered, "Very well. As you wish,... brother." She turned away from him without another word and made her way towards the door. She could hear the faintest sounds coming from behind it. Laughter? She opened the doors and lo and behold, behind them stood two females, looking very much like the first two who just left a few minutes ago, who were shocked to see her inside her own brother's quarters. The ladies, like their predecessors, stopped giggling and made way for her.

Behind her, she heard her brother exclaim, "Esmé! Carla! Ladies! Such an honor to see your lovely faces." And before she closed the heavy doors shut, she heard his voice once again, "Do ignore my sister. She's only a bit, ahh,... stoic,... "

***

The curious sounds made by his brother and those two women were still fresh on her mind when she went towards the other end of the castle where they were holding the mortal prisoners they caught yesterday. And as she walked down that dark hallway towards the west wing, she couldn't push the foreboding feeling off her mind. It nagged at her, actually begging her to turn around and leave. But, she knew she must do her obligations, no matter what.

And when she arrived on that one cell, she saw one of the men, the skinnier one, sitting forlornly and quietly across his companion who was still sleeping and snoring quite obnoxiously. He was reading a book, his eyes focused on it like his life depended on it.

He knew she was there but, he didn't even turn his head towards her in acknowledgement. There was clearly a hint of confidence in the way he carried himself despite his fragile - looking frame, and Gladiola felt right then and there that she must take extra care around him. She was strong but, she knew how to take a second look at her opponents. She knew when not to underestimate them.

"If you are here to torture us with your,... Elven ways," Still not taking his eyes off his book, the man told her in a deep and calm tone. " ... then I' am obliged to tell you that you have to wait for a bit longer. I'm afraid to say my brother's," He looked up, not to look at her but at the man who was still sleeping in front of him. " ... knocked out quite good." His eyes went back to his book, a smirk gracing his lips. Turning a page with his strangely tattooed hand, he added, "And is nowhere near waking up."

Gladiola smiled at such confidence. He really didn't know what he's gotten himself into. "And what, pray tell, do you know about the Elven ways of torture?"

His eyes left the book and he finally looked at her in the eye.

And those green eyes of his,... there was not a hint of fear or even insincerity in them.

In fact, that gaze of his did seem to look like he was actually challenging her in some way she couldn't quite explain.

"Given the fact that I' am,... unable to summon my familiars here,... it's safe to say that," He said, giving clear emphasis on each and every word, and paused. He, then, closed his book, got up on his feet, and faced her, simply towering above her. " ... your methods are quite," That pause once more. And with that smirk of his, he finally dropped the word. " ... unorthodox."

The female shook her head as she crossed her arms. Looking up at him with an equally confident smile, she informed him, "The cell you are in are made for prisoners with magical abilities. The very materials used in constructing this state of the art room could restrict all forms and types of magic from all known creatures. I'd say, the only thing that is unorthodox here is my presence." Gladiola went closer to the man. Standing a foot away from the cell bars that separated her from the prisoner, she added in a soft whisper, "Be a sweetheart and try to behave yourself. My brother has no qualms of sparing the likes of," She stopped mid - sentence to give a disgusted glance at the other person, now drooling and mumbling something inaudible in his sleep, then looked at the man once again. " ... you. A snap of his fingers could very well spell your own doom."

For a moment, the man only looked at her with such an intense expression, and a few seconds later, he gave his answer with a nod. "That,... I understand. Although," He stopped and gave a knowing look at his companion, who began to stir in his deep slumber. " ... you might also want to inform him of that." Looking at her once more, he walked closer towards the cell bars and took a hold of them with those tattooed hand of his. Leaning a bit closer to her, he whispered, "We don't stand for anyone who destroys people's houses, not to mention the attempt to murder the innocent."

The intensity in the man's voice almost lured Gladiola to the edge. However, unlike her brother, she's very patient. Reining in her temper, her powers, and the urge to knock the man down and make him kneel before her, she said in an authoritative tone, "Accusation of murder against the royal family could lead to your demise. I suggest you be careful of what words to utter in my presence."

And to this, the man only raised an eyebrow. "That's quite,... confusing."

"What is?" Gladiola questioned him. "What's difficult to understand in - ?"

"You mean to say you go about killing innocent people, and you simply get away with it because you're royalty?" With furrowed eyebrows and curled lips, he tightened his grip on the cell bars and leaned as close as he could get to the female Elf. And with that unnerving smirk of his, he said, "How,... perfectly convenient that is."

"I said it once, and I will repeat it one last time." Gladiola gave the man a challenging look as she braced herself for what's to come. "Accusation of murder - "

However, something in the man's eyes made Gladiola's own wide with disbelief. Something in the way he stared her down told her that he was gravely and utterly serious with what he just revealed. Not only were his words intense. His eyes also gave the impression that she and her people were, in fact, the ones who were at fault, and not them.

Those intense jade gaze of his sent a clear message that he wanted to be heard, and he would not stand by idle without defending himself, for the sake of fair justice.

Gladiola was about to go on with her statement when the two of them heard a loud and awful yawning coming from the floor to her left.

"Oh, wherefore art thou, oh Romeo,... " The man in red mumbled in a husky voice. "Thought Vergil fell asleep and left the t.v. on the Boomer Classic channel again. Turns out you two, nerds, started chatting without me." The man looked up and winked at Gladiola, flashing her his toothy grin. "Sounds a bit unfair, eh, babe?"

Almost fuming with rage at how this insolent man called her attention, Gladiola tore her gaze off the men and walked away, not wanting to do something unnecessary to them. She was far superior compared to the likes of them, and she refused to lower herself to their level by simply being lured by their innocent facade of a bait and actually using her power against them.

Then again, she was given a clear and direct instruction by her brother to punish them should they misbehave. Everything with regards to their fate was left entirely to her own hands.

But, then, at the last second, she refused to lift a single finger. She could easily wave her hand and break their necks but, something pulled her in and prevented her from doing so. She had no difficulty whatsoever in dealing with the nitty gritty side of her responsibilities but, there was something in that man's eyes, something in his words and the way he looked, that made her pull back.

That confidence. That dignity.

That,... conviction,... that they weren't the ones at fault.

Maybe it was a fluke of fate that made her deal with the dark - haired man first. Maybe next time she would deal with the filthier one instead. After all, he seemed very easy to manipulate,...

Her thoughts about the prisoners, especially that dark - haired one, were still going about her already preoccupied mind when she went back to her brother's quarters that afternoon. And there, she found him dining sumptuously with a large group of servants waiting for him and bringing him whatever he needs.

And when he saw her, he was quite baffled and alarmed. Offended even.

"Sister! Do you mind? I'm in the middle of my feast, and it seems you have forgotten you are not allowed to join." Her brother snapped at her, his eyes furious and his eyebrows knitted.

Gladiola fell on one knee and bowed her head. "My humblest apologies, dear brother."

Gladiolus sighed and shook his head. Snapping his fingers at one of the servants, he asked her, "What is your business here at this ungodly hour of the day? And you better make this visit worth my precious time."

The Elf Gladiola slightly lifted her head. Searching for her brother's gaze, she spoke, "The prisoners are awake. What shall I do with them?"

To this statement of hers, Gladiolus' hands froze in mid air as he was about to receive a bowl of grapes from a servant. And the servant, who was expecting the male Elf to take the bowl from her hands, made an awful mistake and dropped the bowl to the floor, breaking it and shattering it to pieces.

This made the male Elf even more furious. " YOU, STUPID LOW LIFE! DO YOU REALIZE YOU COULD'VE WOUNDED ME WITH YOUR CARELESSNESS? YOU, MINDLESS FOOL - !"

Gladiola looked away from the nasty sight of her brother and the poor servant being screamed at. Trying to drown out his awful voice, those words uttered by the dark - haired prisoner went back into her head.

You mean to say you go about killing innocent people, and you simply get away with it because you're royalty?

How,... perfectly convenient that is.

"BEGONE FROM MY SIGHT, YOU, USELESS LOW LIFE!" Gladiolus yelled, pointing at the servant and finally making her leave, which also made the others nervous because of his unpredictable temper. He looked at everyone in the room and went on, "What are you staring at? GET BACK TO WORK!"

The servants snapped off their frightened state and went on with their jobs, even though they looked like they were trembling from where they were standing.

Gladiolus closed his eyes and pursed his lips, balling his fists, then slamming them on the table. Looking at his sister, he said, "Do whatever you want with them. Toy with them, torture them, I don't care." The man leaned forward and pointed at his sister, who was still kneeling on the floor before him. "And should they step a toe out of line, kill them. I want them out of the way as soon as possible."

Gladiola searched his brother's eyes, pondering what to say to him. And seeing only unbridled fury there, and something else that she couldn't quite tell, she bowed her head and got up on her feet. "As you wish, dear brother."

Gladiolus sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. Leaning back into his plush chair, he said, "Get out of my sight. And never make the same mistake of ruining my supper again."

*

She has only been halfway through the day and already, Gladiola witnessed some things she never expected to see. Some,... changes,... she didn't expect to witness. For one thing, his brother's female callers often visited now compared last week. Despite knowing full well what they came there for, at the back of her mind, she knew that at this time of the year, her brother shouldn't be,... indulging,... in such worldly things.

And another thing. Since yesterday after they caught those mortal prisoners, something in him changed drastically. Well, he has always been quite the arrogant member of the family but, his attitude has dropped to the lowest in mere hours after throwing those mortals in their rightful place.

The Convergence was fast approaching, only six days left. And he, as a tournament competitor representing their race, must be in perfect form in order to win. Although it was clear that no one could best her brother when it comes to strength, she knew that he still shouldn't be too careless and negligent. As a warrior, herself, she knew that.

However, the way he acted when those mortals came,...

He never reacted in such a way with all the other criminals they caught in the past.

There was something that Gladiola was not seeing clearly. This piece of information was still playing in her mind when she saw one of the servants on the way to the prison cells, bringing some food. The servant saw her and immediately fell on his knees as a sign of respect.

"My Lady." He greeted, the tray of food, which contained only a piece of stale bread and a mug of water, still in his hands.

"Are these for those mortal prisoners?" Gladiola asked.

"Yes, My Lady." The servant answered, his head still bowed.

"Hand me that tray."

"P - pardon me, My Lady?"

She was not surprised to see the shocked face of the servant when she took the tray from his hands. What shocked her was the sight that greeted her when she arrived at the mortals' cell. She expected the men to make a ruckus and say all manner of awful things at her the moment she arrive but, no.

They were doing something else. They were,...

... passing around a piece of paper folded multiple times to make a form of some sort of flying animal.

And not just any type of paper. They were playing with the Convergence Tournament invitations passed out by the High Court's Elven Jester just yesterday!

Such,... blasphemous imbeciles!

The one in red noticed her presence and turned around to smile at her. "Oh, hey! Nice to see you back, babe. Ouch!" He winced in pain as the pointed part of the paper hit him in the temple. He caught the paper and scrutinized it like a critic. "Nice work, V. Now, this is some well - made paper crane."

"I did my best." The dark - haired man, whose name was apparently V, answered with his smirk.

"Alright, let's do the Yamato next - "

"Ahem!" Gladiola cleared her throat, calling their attention. The men did look at her, however, she suddenly felt a bit awkward around them, watching them play carelessly like that as if their lives were not in danger. "I brought you your supper."

"Finally! We're starving here, you know - ?" The man in red was about to get the tray from Gladiola when she pulled it away from his grasp, which earned her a pout from him. "Whoa, playing hard to get, eh?" The man smiled as he withdrew his hands. Leaning against the wall and crossing his legs to make himself look casual and comfortable on the floor, he smiled, tilted his head to the side, and said, "I guess this is the part where we answer your questions. Or else we get no food for the day, isn't that right?"

Gladiola raised her eyebrows and mimicked the man's moves. Sitting on the floor and carefully setting the tray aside, she said, "Shouldn't you be clamoring for your lives? Shouldn't you be begging me to save your skins from the wrath of the Elves?"

The man and V looked at each other, and a few moments later, they laughed, causing Gladiola's ears to heat up.

"Nah, that's only in movies! We don't do that!" The man in red answered with a wave of his hand. "After all, even if we do that, your brother would still have us killed, right?"

To this, the female smiled. "You might say that." Gesturing towards the men's filthy appearances, especially V with his missing footwear and tattered pants, she added, "Looks like you've been through a lot to get here."

"You could say that." The man answered. "Your folks just won't leave us alone. So, we decided to pay you a visit to talk things through. Isn't that right, V?"

"Indeed." V simply answered.

Gladiola absorbed this piece of information and went on with the interrogation. "If I'm not mistaken, you think our kind has been trying to murder you."

"Yes, and well, they destroyed our shop." The man in red said with an awkward little smile. He held up his finger and uttered, "Which reminds me! I haven't even paid the rent, water and electricity. So, you might as well give us - "

"Elven troops would not make a single move against anyone unless they were instructed by someone of royal blood to do so." Gladiola interrupted. "You knowing the existence of our kind is one thing. But to actually incur the wrath of the royal family, you must have done something awful and beyond pardon."

The man in red pursed his lips as he swallowed. Looking at V, who chose to remain silent, he explained, "W - well, it's a bit complicated. See, my brother here - "

"We only wanted to speak with the Princess." V cut him off mid - sentence. Giving Gladiola a look that was so different from what he gave her earlier, he said, "To solve a,... misunderstanding."

The female smiled as she nodded. "The Princess, I see. Well," She leaned against the wall and regarded V with a look of pity. " ... I might as well inform you that you will have a hard time convincing the council of your innocence with that awful, petty reason."

"And why is that?" V asked her.

Leaning forward and a bit closer to the cell bars, she said, "I'm the Princess." She ignored the man in red's dumbfounded facial expression and went on, "If you talk like that, surely, the council would think that I've been tolerating your actions, and believe me when I tell you this - no one would ever believe a single word you say."

"But, that doesn't make any sense!" The man in red spoke. "That angry female Elf, whoever she is, said she's gonna be the future Queen or something! She must be the Princess, then! Or you're just lying to us."

"I speak no lies." Gladiola answered. "But, if you're talking about the future Queen, then you must be referring to Galatea's descendant."

"Ahh,... what?" The man in red, who seemed to have become even more confused, questioned.

Gladiola shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You'll be dead, after all." She grabbed the stale bread from the tray and handed it to him, who took it a bit hesitantly. Watching the man break the bread in two and give the other piece to V, she said, "You said you're brothers."

"It,... doesn't matter." V answered, receiving the bread from his companion. "We'll be dead, after all."

"Anything else you wanna know?" The man in red asked, taking a bite off the only food he and his brother have. "I can sign you an autograph or bust a sick move before you hang me and V."

"There is another thing."

"Neat. What is that?"

"Those Elves who attacked you. What do they look like?"

"Dark, depressing." The man said as he received the mug of water from her hands. "Oh! And have I mentioned they looked like Voldemort's clones? But with noses, I'm sure."

"Voldemort?" Gladiola muttered in confusion.

"Dante, she doesn't know Harry Potter." V said, receiving the mug of water from him and taking a sip from it.

"Ah, yeah. What I mean is," The man in red, called Dante, looked at her eyes and held up his hands, doing weird gestures with them as if he was trying to perform a cheap magic trick. " ... they wore cloaks and they have magic!" Dante laughed at what he just said and did as he received the mug from V. "Hahaha! Eh, seriously though. We just want our shop back. And V here just wants to talk to (Y/N). Settle things with her." He smiled and winked at her. "You know the drill. After that, we'll quietly go home and consider all of this circus show just water under the bridge. A murky one at that! Still water, though."

So, it really was (Y/N),... "With her, I see. I'm sorry." Gladiola got up on her feet and took the empty tray with her. "I'm afraid to say you won't be able to speak with her for the next few centuries. As you've said, she's the future Queen. She will be during the Millennial Coronation. And her King would be decided with the upcoming Convergence Tournament."

"Let me guess." Dante held up a finger once more. "Legolas. He's one of the competitors for her hand?"

"How can you tell?"

Dante gave her that carefree smile once more. "I've seen enough fantasy movies with Patty to know where this is going. Right, V? Ehh, V?"

Gladiola didn't stick around to know what V's answer was. All she knew was that he seemed have become so crestfallen and confused the moment he found out about the Millennial Coronation and the Convergence Tournament. She also found out that the mortal men proved to be utterly innocent, no matter how odd they seemed,...

... and that the command for their murder didn't seem to come from any of the royal families.

Those Elves who attacked them, the ones Dante was talking about,...

... she knew they answered directly to her brother. Not to the current Queen or anyone else's, royal or honorable. They answered to him and him alone. She knew that.

But, why? Why would her brother kill these innocent men?

Unless,...

Gladiola didn't bother to knock at the door and just barged in completely unannounced that evening. And this time, she saw her brother having a meeting with several generals who have come directly from all the royal families of the Elven realm.

And when she entered the room, all of them seemed to look at her as if she was low life.

"Sister. Such a surprise you have to grace us with a visit. And right in the middle of an important meeting." Her brother said, a vein popping from his forehead, clearly from preventing himself from lashing out at her. "How,... very considerate of you."

You can't hurt me. You're a coward. "We're talking about secret meetings. I, as the General of your army, elect myself to be included."

And to this, the men, including her brother, all laughed, as if her words just then were utter trash.

"I assure you, sister, there's no need for your participation!" Her brother wheezed in between his boisterous bouts of laughter. "Soon, the forces of all the royal families would form the greatest alliance the Elven world has ever seen. They would all answer to me! When I' am King, no one would be able to topple us. And you, dear sister," Gladiolus went towards her. He, then, held her hand, and looked at her straight in the eye. " ... with your power, you would lead my legion. Together, I as King and you as my right hand, we would rule all the realms of this universe. And no one could bring us down, not even the Demon Sparda, himself." He, then, turned towards the men and spoke in a much louder voice. "Isn't that wonderful, gentlemen?"

Gladiola waited for their voices to dwindle down, and when they did, she took her hands off her brother's grasp and smiled up at him. "I believe you got it all wrong."

"Come again?" Her brother questioned, that vein popping up once more.

"(Y/N)." She answered. "My sister. She is the one who decides the fate of the Elven realm. Not me. Not even you, future King. You will answer directly to her, and not the other way around." Gladiola ignored the angry faces of the men in the room, including his brother's, and went on. "And who's to say you'll win the Convergence Tournament? You never know, someone who is stronger might be able to defeat you."

"And who would that be? Those mortals?" Gladiolus bellowed, once again making the men laugh. "They won't be able to defeat me! They can't even beat you! Besides," Gladiolus went back to the table and took his golden goblet. " ... they will stand on a trial tomorrow morning as soon as the sun rises. And they will be persecuted with crimes against the royal family. They will never get in my way of achieving eternal glory."

So, that's it. That's what you're worried about. "It seems like it. You are right as always, brother." Gladiola exclaimed, making her arrogant brother nod in agreement. "Now, I must keep going. I' am clearly disrupting your important meeting." She said and made her way towards the heavy wooden doors. And, before she left them, she added in a snide comment, "Oh, you might want to keep an eye on your private guards. They seemed to have developed a mind of their own."

Gladiola didn't wait for her brother's answer. All she knew was that her legs were carrying her as fast as they could to where the mortal men were imprisoned. And when she arrived there, she found Dante muttering some words she couldn't wrap her head around. And V? Well, it's safe to say he has somehow become a depressed blob of dark matter all gathered in one corner of the cell.

"I spy with my Devil Hunter eyes,... someone blonde and exquisite!" Dante muttered as if he was reciting a spell, then he looked at her with those tired and heavy - lidded eyes of his. The special cell could really make any creature tired and helpless. The mortals were not an exception. "Hey, babe. Wanna spend this lovely evening with me?" And clearly, Dante was beginning to have hallucinations.

Gladiola ignored Dante's weak advances and called V's attention. The dark - haired man looked up and as those deep green hopeless eyes of his stared directly into her soul, she said, "Do you really not see anything else but this cell? Look outside that window."

Both V and Dante did as she instructed, and for the first time in almost two days, they finally noticed the other castle not far from where they were.

"As you now know, this is not the only castle in this realm. This is just one of many." Gladiola told them. Hoping they would get the hint, she added, "Also, magic works outside this cell. I hope you haven't forgotten about that." She smiled and nodded as she witnessed how the men's facial expressions changed from hopeless to hopeful. She turned around and was about to leave when she decided to give them one last hint with such emphasis on each word. "Oh, and do try to behave yourselves tomorrow. You'll have audience with the future Queen." She turned around just in time to see V's face light up. "Try not to say or do anything rash and unnecessary and just put your trust in the hands of the Sisters of Fate."

And with those last words, Gladiola finally retired for the evening. Or did she?

***

"V." Dante whispered, unable to sleep because of his brother's weird actions. The poet has been sticking his skinny arm outside the one small window of the cell and doing all sorts of gestures with it that Dante found awfully insane. "V, should you really do that in the middle of the night?!" The Devil Hunter sighed and closed his eyes. Leaning against the cold wall, he muttered, "Can they at least give me one slice of pepperoni supreme before they hang me to death?"

"No one," V exclaimed in a very tired and hoarse voice. " ... is going,... to get hanged!"

And with all the demonic prowess he had gathered and focused into one spot of his body, which was his arm, he made one last attempt to give his wild idea a form, and lo and behold,...

... he was able to summon his avian familiar outside the cell, sixty or so meters above the ground.

The avian stretched his wings like he was just waking up from a deep slumber and allowed his power to run through his blue - feathered body.

"And who the heck kissed me awake?!" Griffon squawked. "I was having a really good dream here!"

"I'm afraid to say that dream of yours will have to wait,... for a bit longer."

Griffon turned around and was shocked to see both his master and Dante in a prison cell before him.

"V! YOU LOOK LIKE A PRUNE! WHAT HAPPENED TO YA?! WHAT IS GOIN' ON HERE?! WHAT - ?!"

"Listen to me very carefully," V wheezed as he held onto the bars of the window for support. " ... I want you,... to go to that castle,... and find her."

"I'm sorry, who?"

"(Y/N)!" V almost moaned in agony. "Find (Y/N), tell her we're here. And tell her we're not going to make it."

"V, what the hell are ya blabberin' about? Ya have to be specific here, man!"

"Tell her those Elves are going to kill us tomorrow!" Dante, who just got up, wide awake, explained. "And if we don't do something, all of us will die! Is what V wanted to say." The man, then, collapsed on the floor, knocked out and unconscious.

"Please, Griffon." V asked, his eyesight getting more and more blurry. "We rely,... on you."

"Alright then, Shakespeare! I got ya! Trust this bird! I'll go get ya yer Princess in shining armor." Griffon reassured him and flew across the clear night sky towards the castle where the future Queen of the Elven realm await.

***

🌙

***

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL recaps [5/13]

Today’s recap: Nemu in pursuit of brains, the Doctor (no, no that one), and the youngest detective possible.

--

NINE

21 Sept 1996 — 27 Sept 1996

MACHU PICCHU

--

After the Empire State Building is blown up, big newspapers of the world publish a long letter from RISE to the world. RISE claims they already control the governments. They encourage people to lose their common sense and morals, as only those following their instincts will survive in this “kill or get killed” world. People shouldn’t avert their eyes from how cruel and repulsive they inherently are, but instead contribute to the Crime Olympics—which isn’t just violence for violence’s sake, but a revolution to eradicate “the Beasts”. Every crime in the Olympics should have a proper motive. Criminals who are caught or give themselves up to the police shall be compensated for their trouble. Only those who “believe in their own sense of judgement” will be saved. The only criminals here are those who deny their own crimes. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Even since the JDC explosion, the world’s crime rate and death toll has soared high in what was dubbed the Crime Olympics Phenomenon. UN’s official numbers say that four million people die every single day.

--

On September 21st, exactly 401 people are found dead in the famous Machu Picchu. It looks like people in the vicinity suddenly stopped what they were doing, stripped naked where they stood, gathered in Machu Picchu, and dropped dead from unexplained heart failure. The seventh skull of the Billion Killer is found at the scene.

On September 24th, Tsukumo Nemu investigates the scene assisted by a translator Pacha Palermo [remember her for much, much later]. Pacha’s father who had been working closely with the president became one of the Billion Killer’s victims.

Nemu remembers the case of the poisoned waiter that she, Jounosuke and Hikimiya got tangled into in Paris. It turned out later that the man hadn’t actually died from poison, but from Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Further investigation revealed the presence of several no-brand “corned beef” cans containing human brain tissue in the man’s apartment. The waiter had visited Peru about two weeks before death, so it was concluded that he could have gotten those cans there. Nemu was asked by Dokuson to investigate the matter, and coincidentally arrived in Peru on the same day that the Billion Killer just happened to attack Machu Picchu.

(Speaking of Dokuson, he sure changed things in JDC. First, he introduced a merit system of payment instead of a steady monthly paycheck and announced that whoever didn’t do their job would be kicked out. Second, the detectives now had more freedom in choosing cases and could count on JDC to cover all costs involved. Third, the entrance exam was replaced by a normal interview process, resulting in a flood of new detectives. Fourth, instead of using their old Blue ID Cards, everyone would be given a shiny new IDID (International Detective ID) issued by DOLL to allow swift entry and proceedings in foreign countries.)

Pacha Palermo says that her father’s secretary Luca, who vanished “after those four hundred people were killed in Machu Picchu”, had kept in contact with suspicious Russian men. Nemu’s fuzzy reasoning tells her that something’s off here. She calls Jounosuke (who’s currently bored out of his mind recuperating in his house in Japan), and by consulting his language proficiency learns that Pacha has been mistranslating things on purpose to hide a lot of things from Nemu.

Pacha admits that Luca manipulated her father into getting some highly suspicious corned beef cans and used this fact to blackmail Pacha. Nemu notices that Pacha always says that there were “four hundred” victims in Macchu Picchu instead of four hundred and one. While it’s a nitpick, it’s a bit weird for Pacha to leave out a person, considering her father was one of the victims—almost as if she doesn’t count him as a Billion Killer victim. Nemu theorizes that it was Pacha who killed her father, or perhaps just directed him to go to Machu Picchu while knowing that mass murder would happen, but there’s no clear proof.

Either way, Nemu learns what she came to Peru for: the cans had been sourced from Moscow. She decides to fly to Russia to investigate further.

On the plane she reads the recently released Cosmic by Seiryoin Ryusui, which feels a little strange considering she took part in the case described in it. (The “all characters are fictional” disclaimer at the end is just weird in that context.) JDC is concerned by the book mentioning the Geneijo case, which is considered an L-crime and therefore the public shouldn’t be able to know anything about it. What’s more, this Seiryoin guy already announced that his second novel Joker that would come out in January would describe the Geneijo case in detail. Nobody knows who Seiryoin is—the common theory about him being Minase Nagisa (Dakushoin Ryusui’s twin sister) based on writing style similarity is apparently wrong.

Before Nemu can resume her investigation, she gets surprising news from Dokuson: Yaiba Somahito, the First Group’s leader, has kidnapped a boy from the hospital, run away from Japan with him, and is now moving towards Moscow on the Trans-Siberian Express. Dokuson orders Nemu to meet Yaiba halfway through Russia and put a stop to his madness.

--

TEN

28 Sept 1996 — 04 Oct 1996

EIFFEL TOWER

--

The Sanctuary docks at an invisible tower by the name of Tow Dreamer, a grand construction made of orichalcum just like the Billion Killer skulls. From there one can access the main headquarters of RISE, the Moonbow Palace.

White Rook, a.k.a. the Doctor, walks through the dark Moonbow Palace. As always he’s dressed in white and wears a mask—every other executive has a uniform in a different color and never shows their face, so they don’t know the others’ identities. White meets up with Black Rook—the Master—and together they ride the elevator to the top of Tow Dreamer to return to the Sanctuary.

White says that Alive is spreading nicely and it’ll be a while until someone finds an effective vaccine. RISE already has one, of course. They shouldn’t need it as long as they don’t come in contact with Godust, the substance containing the virus.

White and Black enter a place in the Sanctuary called the Cosmic Room to talk with “Mein Fuhrer”. [Seriously, you’re not very slick with the naming.]

The Cosmic Room is dark with many tiny lights spread throughout, so being in it feels like floating in starry space. On a magnetically levitating chair sits the leader Rudolf Strauss, dressed in silver, their face hidden under a realistic mask of a cow [or a bull or an ox, the Japanese word used can mean all these], which brings to mind the Minotaur of Greek mythos. RS speaks through a voice changer, so it’s impossible to guess their gender or age.

The three speak vaguely about “the genius pregnant woman”, wondering if she can become a threat to RISE. RS thinks they won’t have a problem. They already know the future will bring their victory, and now just have to patiently move the game pieces along. RS states that thanks to the Billion Killer, the Beasts shall be eradicated and the era of Gods will begin.

--

On September 28th, three Dots are sent to Paris to oversee the new Billion Killer case. They mention a case in Moscow in which a murderer thought to be the serial killer Amur Tiger replaced all mannequins in the GUM department store with headless bodies. One of the Dots gets heated and makes a bold comment about how the murderer may have aimed to find and kill a person who had a cow head [clearly taking a jab at RS here], and gets his head promptly blown up.

At exactly 1 PM, the top part of the Eiffel Tower is first cut off like with a knife, then sent flying by several explosions. Yet another skull of the Billion Killer is found at the scene.

--

Black Rook watches the show from Dragon’s Center, the control room where servants called Machines work with the Sanctuary’s computer and navigation system. Everything is going as planned. The Sanctuary moves towards the Billion Killer’s next target in Russia.

Black looks at another screen, which shows a secret live feed of Ryuuguu Jounosuke.

--

ELEVEN

19 Oct 1996 — 25 Oct 1996

NIAGARA FALLS

--

It’s been ten weeks into the Crime Olympics and the death toll has reached 280 million. We’re up to ten Billion Killer attacks with the latest ones in France, Russia, and Great Britain. Ten detective organizations have been blown up; at this point every remaining detective group just evacuates the entire staff near 1 PM on Saturdays, which lets them avoid casualties.

--

After the case in Russia, the Sanctuary headed to Japan to investigate the “genius pregnant woman”—Hanto Maimu, the former secretary of Ajiro Souji. It seems that the current leader of JDC Yuiga Dokuson is also interested in that certain ability of hers, as he came all the way to the hospital to visit her.

White Rook has been spying on Maimu by pretending to be her new doctor, “Shindou Masato” (this name of course being fake), so he was there when Dokuson visited. He seems impressed by the power of Dokuson’s presence and his ability to manipulate others with words (a bit reminiscent of Black Rook’s way with words), and thinks that if Dokuson joined RISE, he would have surely become the right hand of the leader, as they would certainly match in terms of charisma, blah blah blah, waxing poetics about Dokuson for two pages. [Well, now I know why I saw ship art of these two.]

From what White knows, Maimu has awakened a strange ability on August 10th, the day of the Billion Killer’s first case, that also happened to be her 28th birthday. Maimu was sad about the attack on JDC, but not at all surprised, since she had had a feeling that it happened, as if she subconsciously knew about the explosion as soon as it took place. Her strange feelings kept coming before every subsequent Billion Killer case, each time coming true. Since she always got these vague feelings at exactly 1 PM on Saturday in Japan time, in practice it meant she was predicting the future—1 PM didn’t happen for the majority of the world yet.

It’s estimated that Maimu will give birth around October 25th, in just a week. It’s strange that Maimu’s husband, a bank employee called Tanna Sazen and referred to simply as Danna (lit. “husband”), hasn’t shown up even once since last week, as if he vanished.

--

Before he was White Rook, the Doctor had been called Endou Naoto. Thinking about names, he remembers what Maimu wants to name her child: Hanto Kuraimu—Crime Hunt. [That’s the most metal name I’ve ever seen, but also means she wants to name her child Crime. Why. Also, there’s an entire part about how this pun doesn’t really work because in Japanese you put the family name first, though in modern times some families westernize their names and put family name last, see Christmas Mizuno as an example.]

White finds it strange that Maimu and Danna apparently thought of only one name, despite her being pregnant with two children. Are they going to call the second kid some variation of the first’s name? Are they going to split it in two somehow? Who knows.

Anyway, White contacts another RISE’s executive Yellow Bishop and learns that Danna’s whereabouts are still unknown, though he seems to be escaping towards Canada. Apparently Danna’s important to understanding just what Maimu’s newly awakened ability really is. Yellow has already mobilized his Dogs to chase him.

Dogs (not to be confused with Dots) are RISE’s spies who spend their entire lives undercover pretending to be normal members of society. (There are also Mice, human test subjects, and Machines, who work under Black to keep the Sanctuary moving, but we’re not going to talk about them now.) Danna is one of the Dogs. It’s not clear how, but he somehow learned about the Billion Killer’s plans and recently run away from his post.

White suspects there might be a secret connection between Yellow and Danna, but it’s hard to guess when he doesn’t even know what Yellow Bishop’s true identity is. Yellow always wears a mask and is quite talented in voice mimicry, so talking with him doesn’t help much.

--

Tanna Sazen / Danna married Maimu four years ago, technically on orders to try and pull information on JDC from her, but in a lucky turn of events he genuinely fell in love with her. Time passed. Maimu awoke her new ability of prediction. Danna suspected this ability was his fault, somehow originating from his knowledge of RISE’s secret plans, and so he fled.

Right now Danna is in Banff, Alberta, where he once cooperated with a fellow Dog, an Indigenous man living near the lake Minnewanka. Danna hopes his friend can help him hide from RISE. Unfortunately, this turns out not to be the case, and Danna has to flee from his should-be-friends trying to capture him and give him over to RISE. In the end Danna is forced to jump from a cliff into Bow Lake, a dangerous fall no ordinary person should survive.

The pursuers are only able to find Danna’s artificial eye and broken glasses in the lake, but when they report that they haven’t found the body to Yellow, he seems satisfied and orders them to stop the search.

--

Maimu makes a mistake in predicting the eleventh Billion Killer case. Her feelings tell her that people will vanish at the Victoria Lake in Canada, but something even stranger happens. A giant submarine suddenly surfaces on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, completely empty save for yet another Billion Killer skull. It seems to be the same Robo-Ship that vanished inside the Bermuda Triangle six weeks prior, but without its crew.

--

Maimu is taking a walk around the hospital when she’s beckoned over by a man wearing a black suit and made to answer a phone. The one calling appears to be the long-missing Ajiro Souji, who assures her that he’s safe and sound, but can’t go around showing his face just yet. Ajiro hints as to where Maimu can find information about her new ability, and ends the call by asking her to wait patiently and believe in his return.

The hint turns out to be… a paragraph in Cosmic, in which the narration makes a stray remark about how one day Maimu’s child would be a “fetus detective” and later an “infant detective”. [So all those times when Seiryoin does what seems like horrendous writing, all those “they couldn’t yet know that X would happen years later”? INTENTIONAL. God, I love metafiction.]

In other words, the one with a strange predictive ability isn’t Maimu; it’s her yet unborn child. That’s why the latest prediction was off—it’s so close to term that little Kuraimu is their own independent person by now and their connection with Maimu has weakened.

Maimu is lost as to how this ability works exactly, but from what Ajiro said, the child had somehow, in some way, inherited the knowledge about RISE’s plans in the form of genetic information from their father Danna, and was instinctively able to tap into it.

Maimu gives birth on October 31st, but contrary to what White said earlier, only one child is born—a baby girl detective already on a “crime hunt”—as if the other has simply vanished.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[zurichtooslo]

Day 47, 6th Oct, Berlin

Clear blue skies and sunny today but very cold which I don’t mind if the suns out. Right outside my hotel near the U Bahn was a book box.

I caught the train to Bernauer Strabe. I wanted to go to a flea market, seeing it was Sunday, and Berlin has a lot but decided on this area as it also has a lot of Berlin Wall history. I have been here before but it’s five years so good to revisit the area. Next to the station you can see on the wall the famous photo of an East German soldier jumping through the barbed wire in the early days of the wall to escape. Police were waiting with a car to whisk him away to safety.

As soon as you coming out of the station there are posters about the Wall as this street seemed to be where a lot of people died and events happened more than other areas. The reason being is the wall went through people’s homes basically and at first people were fleeing out their front doors, then when they were blocked out their windows and even jumping out their windows.

The Wall cut neighbourhoods in half and even families. Before the wall got so high people would stand on ladders so see their friends and families on the other side.

Each death remembered has a sad story behind it. This lady, Olga, was a 80 year old woman. Her daughter had got out of the home but not her mother. The people below convinced her to jump. The fire bridge had catching sheets for people who jumped. Olga jumped but hurt herself and died the next day in hospital. Memorials were built at the time for those who died but now she is remembered by this stone on the footpath.

Just along on this street was a huge flea market.

Me in my element.

Lots and lots of boxes of stuff.

A few years ago it would have been a goldmine but now I’ve moved on from china. There was so much pink and white English china there. I would have been in seventh heaven.

I only ended up spending €3.50.

Back along the street to where all the Berlin Wall information was. I liked this art. I interpret it as the knife, or wall, cutting through the heart of people during 1961 to 1989. It could be something completely different.

Part of the original wall and where some is missing rusted poles are placed. The green grass was where the death strip was located as by the end there were two walls with a strip with guardhouses all the way along.

These are some of the people who lost their lives trying to escape from the East.

This area is a considerable section of wall.

An original guard house within the two walls.

I caught a tram back to Alexander Platz where some Octoberfest activities were going on.

Typical German biscuits.

Colourful stalls.

Lots of German food.

A bit later on I was joining an ‘Alternative’ free walking tour starting at the base of the communication tower.

Our first example of street art is done by a group and they put this all over the city. It’s 1UP. It’s from a Mario game. Berlin has a lot of graffiti which I’m not into but it was interesting getting the back story. I do like street art, though.

This is one of El Bocho’s work. El Bocho is a Berlin-based street artist using graphic posters to tell stories throughout the city, and across the world. One of his most recognisable series features the twisted character, Little Lucy, who became famous on the streets of Berlin as the imaginary little girl intent on killing her cat. In this one Little Lucy has a mouse to lure the cat and ‘gift’ in German is poison.

These paper cuts outs were interesting. Berlin has a huge techno dance music scene with a lot of clubs where people go. No one is allowed to take photos inside and it’s policed very thoroughly. However, this artist took some photos of just random people and put them up on walls. It could be anyone and in these clubs anything goes.

This was our guide who was very knowledgeable and full of information. These cards were done by a French artist and this type of art takes a long time and is fairly unique. It’s in the vain of Banksy. It is Angela Merkle as the Queen of Hearts.

We turned off the street where there were some ‘stumbling stones’. This used to be a Jewish area. This family all died in Auschwitz.

Immediately as you turned into the courtyard it was a great space. I like that rustic look. Now there are bars and cafes in where people used to live.

This man used to have a workshop here during WWII. He was able to hide some Jews with the help of a friend who was a prostitute and knew people in the underworld who could get more ration cards to feed those who were hiding. Another museum to visit next time,

Looking back out to the street. Along the wall is street art that changes frequently. There is someone who oks what is to be on the walls.

Another quaint area.

I like this whole courtyard and nooks and crannies. Not sure who the painting is of.

There was a museum about Anne Franks and other Jewish stories. That will have to wait for another time. The portrait of her was good.

Also in the courtyards were a couple of other Little Lucy. This one she has made a swing out of the cat.

Little Lucy has a gun here for the cat. All a bit warped but interesting to find as you are walking the streets.

Next we caught the S bahn to Kottbusser which now is quite close to the centre of Berlin but in the 70′s it was fairly empty and on the outskirts. At that time Germany was in need of workers so they put the word out to countries and the biggest number of men came from Turkey. They settled in this area. They were only supposed to come for a year or two earn some good money then go back to Turkey. That didn’t happen and they stayed and bought their families over. Now this area has Turkish shops, bank, travel agent and mosque. However, the area is going through a gentrification process which is changing the area again. Germans are a country of renters and there are strict rules about rents etc so it’s difficult to force people to move. With shops it’s easier as rents can be put up.

This area has always been fairly politically active and to the Left so different changes have been fought over and stopped.

The Cosmonaut Mural was painted in 2007 by Victor Ash and is considered to be the largest stencil drawing in the world. Like much of Ash’s work the Cosmonaut explores contrasts between the subject matter and the environment that it inhabits. The unexpected sight of an unmissable, massive, weightless astronaut immediately leaves a lasting impression on pedestrians. Ash was born in Portugal in 1968 and raised in France. He currently lives and works in Copenhagen, Denmark.

The red and blue symbols are done by another group in Berlin more recently who abseil down buildings to do their paintings. They film themselves and put it on utube.

This used to be a hospital but when built the Emperor at the time was very much into liking church architecture. Now it’s a cultural centre.

This green strip,now park area, was once the ‘‘death Strip’ in the middle of the Berlin Wall. All over the city you can see where the wall was built.

We walked back to the river. All the way along you can see new buildings been built. Unlike Germany Berlin is not a wealthy city as it doesn’t have industry like the west of Germany does. As one gay Mayor said ’we might be poor but Berlin is sexy’. The city has a slightly alternative feel to it but like everywhere more money is coming in and new buildings built changing the scene. Below the construction is an area called YAMM which was built on a disused area. It’s full of bars and has an African lean. There are other places like this further along the river and in other disused train sheds etc but eventually development will push them out.

The tour finished at this point. A fabulous wander through the streets of Berlin.

I called in to have a look at YAMM. It was a pretty friendly place

The music was good and you could get up and dance if you wanted to. I declined but was happy to watch.

It had been a long day and getting very cold so that was pretty much me done. Ready for more adventures tomorrow.

[willel]

The first chapter of the novel following Terry Ives pre-Stranger Things is available to read!

PROLOGUE

July 1969

Hawkins National Laboratory

Hawkins, Indiana

The man drove an immaculate black car along a flat Indiana road, slowing when he came to a chain link gate with a Restricted Area sign. The guard stationed there peered in the window for the briefest moment, then checked his license plate and waved him through.

The lab clearly anticipated his arrival. Maybe they’d even followed the directions and specifications he sent ahead about preparing his new domain.

When he reached the next guard booth, he cranked down the window to present his identification to the soldier serving as security officer. The soldier studied his license and avoided looking him in the eye. People often did.

He had nothing but attention for new people, at least at first—an assessment quick as a thought, cataloguing them: sex, height, weight, ethnicity, and from there a guess at intelligence, and then, most important, a guess at potential. Almost everyone was less interesting after the last. But he never gave up. Looking, assessing, was second nature, a crucial element of his work. Most people had nothing to interest him, but those who did… They were why he was here.

This soldier was easy to size up: male, 5’8”, 180 pounds, white, average intelligence, potential…fulfilled by sitting in a guard booth checking IDs with a sidearm he probably never used at his hip.

“Welcome, Mr. Martin Brenner,” the soldier said finally, squinting between the man and the plastic card.

Funny that his ID contained some of the information Brenner would have wanted if he were looking at himself: male, 6’1”, 195 pounds, white. The rest: genius IQ, potential…limitless.

“We were told to expect you,” the soldier added.

“Dr. Brenner,” he corrected the man, but gently.

The narrowing of a gaze that still didn’t quite look at Brenner but darted into the backseat where five-year-old subject Eight slept curled against the door. Her hands were balled into fists under her small chin. He’d preferred to oversee her transport to the new facility himself.

“Yes, Dr. Brenner,” the guard said. “Who’s the girl? Your daughter?”

The skepticism came through. Eight’s skin was a rich shade of brown in contrast to his own milky pale hue, which Brenner could have told the man meant nothing. But it was none of the man’s business, and besides he wasn’t wrong. Brenner was no one’s father. Father figure, yes.

That was as far as it went.

“I’m sure they’re waiting for me inside.” Brenner studied the man again. A soldier back home from a past war, a war they’d already won. Unlike Vietnam. Unlike the quiet escalation with the Soviets. They were already engaged in a war for the future, but this man didn’t know that. Brenner kept his tone friendly. “I wouldn’t ask questions when the other subjects arrive. Confidentiality.”

The guard’s jaw tightened, but he let it go. His eyes flicked to the sprawling multi-story complex beyond them. “Yes, they’re waiting for you inside. Park anywhere you like.”

Another thing that hadn’t needed saying. He drove on.

A boring part of the federal bureaucracy had paid for the construction and general maintenance of this facility, but more secretive arms of the government had paid for its outfitting to Brenner’s specifications. To be top secret, after all, the research couldn’t be advertised. The Agency understood greatness couldn’t always follow standard operating procedure. The Russians might be able to have their labs acknowledged by their government, but they were willing to suppress all the voices who would speak out in opposition. Somewhere right now the communists’ scientists were doing the same type of experiments this five-story brown complex and its basement levels had been created for. Brenner’s employers would be reminded of this whenever they forgot or had too many questions. So his work remained a top priority.

Eight continued to sleep as he got out and walked around to her door. He slowly opened it, pressing her back so she wouldn’t tumble out into the parking lot. He’d sedated her for safety while traveling. She was too important an asset to leave to other people. Thus far the other subjects’ abilities had proven…disappointing.

“Eight.” He crouched by the seat and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

The girl shook her head, keeping her eyes shut. “Kali,” she mumbled.

Her real name. She insisted on it. Usually he didn’t humor her, but today was special.

“Kali, wake up,” he said. “You’re home.”

She blinked, a spark lighting in her eyes. She had misunderstood.

“Your new home,” he added.

The spark dimmed.

“You’ll like it here.” He helped her sit upright and coaxed her forward. He extended his hand. “Now Papa needs you to walk in like a big girl and then you can go back to sleep.”

At last, she reached out and slid her small hand into his.

As they approached the front doors, he put the most pleasant smile in his arsenal on his lips. He expected the current acting administrator to greet him, but instead found a long line of lab-coated men and one woman waiting. The professional staff of his group, he supposed, and all of them radiating a queasy case of nerves.

A tanned man with a lined face—too much time out of doors—stepped forward and offered his hand. He looked at Eight, then back at Dr. Brenner. His rimmed glasses were smudged. “Dr. Brenner, I’m Dr. Richard Moses, acting principal investigator. We’re so excited to have you here, someone of your caliber… We wanted you to meet the entire team right away. And this must be—”

“I’m Kali,” the girl said with drowsy effort.

“A very sleepy young lady who would like to see her new room.” Dr. Brenner sidestepped the man’s hand. “I believe I asked for one set apart? And then I’d like to meet the subjects you’ve brought on board.”

Brenner spotted the doors off the lobby that looked the most secure and headed in their direction with Eight. Silence trailed him for a long moment. His smile became almost real before disappearing.

Dr. Moses of the smudged glasses scrambled and caught up with him, the others a clattering rush right behind. Moses lunged ahead to buzz an intercom and gave his name.

There was an unsettled hum of conversation among the other doctors and lab associates who followed them.

“Of course, the subjects haven’t been prepared,” Dr. Moses said as the double doors swung open. He kept glancing at Kali, who was getting more alert by the second, taking in their surroundings. No time to waste getting her settled in.

Two armed soldiers stood matchstick straight just inside the doors, an optimistic sign that at least the security wasn’t subpar. They checked Dr. Moses’ badge and he waved them away from a similar check of Dr. Brenner. “He hasn’t gotten his ID yet,” he said.

The men moved as if they might challenge Dr. Moses, and Brenner’s approval raised another notch. “I’ll have it next time I come through,” he said. “And we’ll get you copies of the subjects’ paperwork.” He nodded discreetly to indicate Eight.

The soldier inclined his head and the entire group passed.

“I specified I wanted to meet the new subjects when I arrived,” Dr. Brenner said. “So it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“We thought you’d just be observing,” Dr. Moses said. “Should we set some parameters? Prepare them for your visit? It might disrupt the work we’ve been doing. The psychedelics make some of them paranoid.”

Dr. Brenner held up his free hand. “No, I don’t think that or I’d have said it. Now where are we going?”

Light fixtures dangled above the long hallway, emitting the ghastly glow that so often illuminated scientific discovery in this shadow world. For the first time that morning, Dr. Brenner felt like he could make this a home.

“This way,” Dr. Moses said. He found the lone woman on the professional staff in the herd and addressed her. “Dr. Parks, can you arrange for one of the orderlies to bring the girl some food?”

Her lips tightened at being sent to do the equivalent of woman’s work, but she nodded.

To his relief, Eight stayed quiet and they soon came to a small room with a child-sized bunk bed and drawing table. He’d asked for the bed to reassure Eight he wassearching for appropriate companions for her.

She spotted it immediately. “For a friend?”

“Sooner or later, yes,” he said. “Now, someone’s going to bring you some food. Can you wait here alone?”

She nodded. Whatever perkiness she’d gained from the excitement of arriving was fading—the sedative had been a strong dose—and she sank onto the edge of the bed.

Dr. Brenner turned to leave and ran into an orderly and the one female staffer. Dr. Moses raised his eyebrows. “She’ll be okay on her own?” he asked.

“For now,” Dr. Brenner said. And to the orderly, “I know she looks like a child, but follow your security protocols. She might surprise you.”

The orderly shifted uncertainly, but kept quiet.

“Take me to the first room,” Dr. Brenner said. “Everyone else can go wait with your subjects, but there’s no need to prep any of them.”

The rest of the assembled team waited for Dr. Moses to concur and he gave a pained shrug. “As Dr. Brenner says.”

They dispersed. They were learning.

The first room housed a subject ineligible for the draft due to a club foot. He had the permanently fried look of someone whose disengagement tool of choice was marijuana. Average in every way.

“Do you want us to dose the next patient?” Dr. Moses asked. He plainly didn’t understand Dr. Brenner’s methods.

“I will tell you when I need something.”

Dr. Moses nodded and they proceeded through five more rooms. It was as he expected. Two women, neither exceptional in any way, three more men, completely unexceptional. Except perhaps in their lackluster quality.

“Gather everyone in a room so we can talk,” Dr. Brenner said.

He was left to wait in a conference room, with a last nervous glance from Dr. Moses. Soon enough, the group from before entered and arranged themselves around the table. A couple of men tried to make conversation in order to pretend none of the morning’s events were unusual. Dr. Moses shushed them.

“That’s all of us,” he said.

Dr. Brenner gave his staff a closer look. They would need work, but there was potential in their quiet attention. Fear and authority went hand in hand.

“All the test subjects I met this morning can be dismissed.” He waved a hand. “Pay them whatever they were promised and ensure they remember their nondisclosure agreements.”

The room absorbed this. One of the conversationalists from before raised his hand. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Chad and I’m new to this, but… why? How will we do our experiments?”

“Why is always a question that moves science forward,” Dr. Brenner said. Chad the newbie nodded, and Brenner added, “Although one should be careful about asking it of your superiors. But I will tell you why. It’s important we all understand what we’re here to do. Does anyone have a guess?”

His treatment of Chad kept them quiet. He thought for a moment the woman might speak up, but she simply folded her hands in front of her.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t like guesswork. We’re here to advance the frontiers of human capability. I don’t want the common Mus musculus of humans. They are not going to give us extraordinary results.” He swept a gaze around the room. Everyone was intent. “I’m sure you’ve heard of some of the foibles elsewhere and your own lack of results are why I’m here. There have been embarrassments, and a great many of them can be sourced to inadequate subjects. Whoever thought prisoners and the asylum-bound would tell us anything we need to know were fooling themselves. Draft dodgers and potheads aren’t any better. I have a few more young patients transferring here for a related program, but I’d like a range of ages. There is every reason to believe that a combination of chemical psychedelics, people with high potential, and the right inducements can unlock the secrets we need. Think of the intelligence advantages alone if we can persuade our enemies to talk, if we can make them suggestible and exert control… But we can’t get the results we want without the right people, period. We need those with potential.”

“But…where will we get them?” Chad again.

Brenner made a mental note to have him dismissed at the end of the day. He leaned forward.

“I will set forth a new screening protocol for identification of better candidates from our feeder universities, and then select the subjects we use going forward myself. Soon, your real work here begins.”

No one objected. Yes, they were learning.

[annarosewriting]

Facebook Sucks.

To be fair though, all social media kind of sucks.

But Facebook is where the focus of my hatred lies. 

It’s sole purpose upon conception was to rank girls on how hot they were (how have we, as a society, all forgotten that fact?), it fucked with the 2016 election AND it’s stealing our data and giving us ads for products we thought about once five years ago. 

(I also recently learned they took down my girl, Liz Warren’s ads because she, correctly, called them out on their bullshit. We truly live in a dystopian society.) 

Facebook is filled with Local’s whose narrow view of the world helped get Donald and Co. in office and brought fucking measles back. (VACCINATE YOUR KIDS. FUCK.) 

It’s dripping with racist, “all lives matter!” bullshit and sexist, “well what about men’s rights” garbage. Relatives who believe click bait articles over NPR. And of course, everyone only posting The Good Shit that’s happening to them.

I was bored at work the other day and got on Facebook which was my first, and only, mistake. I scrolled down my feed and counted two proposals, one person buying a whole ass house and seven people getting accepted into their dream jobs/higher ed programs.

And for the hottest of seconds, I hated all of those people. I blamed all of my problems on them.

It was their fault I felt like I wasn’t good at my job. Their fault that I was feeling stuck. It was their doing with their emoji-laden announcements that I was feeling overworked, overlooked and under-appreciated. 

Luckily I was able to reign it in and cut those feelings off at the pass. Because that’s ridiculous. And also I know myself well enough that if I did let myself go down that path a depresh sesh would hit so hard and fast that the rest of my week would be ruined.

I think the problem with Facebook and it’s hotter, more successful, cousin Instagram, is that it props up the idea that everyone’s performance art piece they call Life is a perfect, Academy-Award winning darling, that everyone can’t stop talking about.

Except for Twitter. That’s the only place where true Messy Bitch Culture is accepted, allowed and, to a certain extent, celebrated so it can stay. 

In general, I’m very tired of social media. Which can’t bode well for the fact that I chose that as a vital part of my career BUT it doesn’t change the fact it’s an exhausting source of time, energy and a horrifying mix of performance and revenue that society can’t seem to quit. 

I’m weary of feeling like I have to perform constantly. For feeling like I always have to be ON. That I need to measure up to what other people think success is. That my life needs to be one thrilling life event after another. 

In the past, I spent a lot of time, energy and heartache constructing a poorly designed house of cards via Facebook and Instagram posts to prove that I was Someone who was Cool and Fun and Flirty and Someone Who Deserved to Be Adored By Everyone. 

Every day I added to the shoddily constructed set that was my hideously low budget, community theater performance of My Fantastic Life (trademark pending).

Showing off before and after shots of my weight loss. Trying to prove I was in a Cool Liberal Arts College Scene. Snapchatting the evidence of me drinking shitty alcohol and going out. Trying to insinuate that guys wanted to date me. Throwing up full ass albums on Facebook just to prove I had a big ole group of BFF’s. 

I wanted to prove I wasn’t alone!! I wasn’t miserable!!! I wasn’t hanging out with the same two people over and over again!!! I didn’t feel directionless!!! I was someone who had a big group of friends!! Guys wanted to date me!! I had an endless supply of shitty booze and frat parties right at my fingertips!!! I was the QUEEN of having the Classic College Experience and being Someone Who Was Popular!!!!

And I was profoundly, truly miserable. 

The shitty booze caused me to say and do things that I deeply regret. Not to mention the violent hangovers they caused. 

All the boys turned out to be garbage and made me feel even WORSE about myself. Not that that’s a surprise.

The big group of friends disappeared. I was more focused on me and what I could get out of others than being a supportive friend. 

I was wasting so much time, energy and effort into trying to impress a phantom audience instead of trying to figure out what would actually make me happy.

I was doing things and participating in activities that went against what I believed in. 

I was hurting and depressed. 

So, shit blew up in my face. 

It took an overhaul of my life and a long time to realize that that was a learning experience I desperately needed. And because of it, I like who I am a lot more now. 

It made me realize that I don’t care about the numbers on social media. The only reason I’m still attached to it is Chris Evans daily tweets dragging the GOP, getting daily body positive inspiration and to keep tabs on all the members of 1D. 

Except for Zayn. Fuck Zayn. 

It taught me that I can post whatever the fuck I want because truly, who gives a shit. We’re alive on a rock hurtling in space and we’re concerned by how many people will look at a shitty picture of food?? Let me post shitty Captain America meme’s in PEACE.

Most importantly it taught me how I want to use social media and the effect I want it to have on me and the effect I want to have on it. 

I like TYPING IN ALL CAPS ABOUT THINGS I LOVE. 

I love tweeting 40 times in an hour then not tweeting for a month straight. 

I love posting selfies of myself over and over again.

I love not posting on Facebook so no one from high school can know what I’m doing. 

It can be hard to capture the messier, more vulnerable parts of life though. 

Pictures of me modeling can’t capture how violently I beat myself up for skipping a workout or for how ugly I’ve felt for the past few weeks. 

Pictures of me with friends, smiling and having fun don’t reveal the self-doubt that I’m a bad friend and the fear that they’ll all decide to leave me.  

A snapshot of me and my family isn’t a great way to reveal the fear I have of what I’ll do when my parents are gone. 

The Insta story of the Fun Office Thing I’m doing doesn’t convey the many days and hours I sit at my desk, trying to look busy, feeling like I’ll never measure up and how unsure I am of the career choice I made. 

Snapchats of me going out don’t reveal the many nights I’m plagued by the persistent fear that what I’m doing with my life isn’t enough and that I need to do more, more, more, more. 

So it’s challenging to convey the harder, messier sides of life on social media. But I think it’s important though. It can make people feel less alone and who doesn’t want to feel less lonely on this bitch of an earth? 

Recently, I’m caught between the rock and a hard place of, “Why bother posting that? Who even cares?” And “Might as well post that. Who cares?” 

At the end of the day, we all have different thoughts and have read thousands of think pieces on social media. How our society uses and abuses it. How it brings us closer together or further apart. How it’s the best thing to happen to us or the worst. 

So why do I even bother posting this? Who even cares? In the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

Probably not. 

But I might as well. 

Who cares? 

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #20

Dear Diary,

Do you remember when you first landed in Honolulu? I was nine years old, and I saw the seasons change from the frigid Korean winter to a gentle, wet Hawaiian January. Maybe it was just a sign to show me that I, too, would be plunged into seasons of rapid change in the twenty years to come.

The nosy busybody that I am today takes root from me as a little kid who stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. I always knew that I was undocumented. To be exact, I knew that my family tried our best to adjust our immigration status through many years to no avail. And very unlike my peers for whose heartbreaks came at one moment like a giant wave that they found out that they were undocumented, my heartbreak came in pieces. Like the time we couldn’t go to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. Like the time I had to leave blank the boxes on my PSAT scantron asking me what my Social Security Number was.

We came to call Bergen County, New Jersey home after realizing that the warmth of the Hawaiian sun wasn’t enough to sustain our family. By then, my father had left my mother. It was just the three of us living in a town overlooking New York City. Not understanding English, I sat gazing out into the windows wasting my days away. I’d nod off from time to time, and my teacher was fed up with me. She asked me why I kept on falling asleep in class, so I explained to her that I waited for my mom to come home from work every night - a little past 11 o’clock.

I still remember the exchange that I had with my sister when I got home. She was angry that I had told my teacher all of this. And I retorted back to her that I was proud of my mother for working six days a week to support us as a waitress. But the message was clear. We were supposed to live a life that wouldn’t raise questions.

And that much I did. Until eighth grade, when Mr. Johnson, my music teacher, pulled me aside, and asked the question in earnest, “Tony, are you gay?” It was a question that launched a thousand ships and thrust me into a spiral of questions - questions that I didn’t have the luxury to ask, and definitely questions that I couldn’t have other people asking me.

In high school, people asked me more questions. In my junior year, I was asked point blank, my back against the lockers, “Are you gay?” I remember being asked, “Tony, why don’t you drive?” on my bus rides home. And for those questions, I had to come up with answers that I wasn’t comfortable with. No, I wasn’t gay. I didn’t drive because I didn’t want to contribute to global warming and the rising gas prices. Very luckily, my high school years coincided with the spike in oil prices stemming from Katrina and the Lebanon War. (This is a sentence construction I never dreamed of writing.)

I somehow stumbled into going to college seven hundred miles away from my home, sweet home in North Jersey to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. It was after twelve college applications and subsequent rejections to private colleges for the reason that I could not pay the tuition, being fully aware that state schools would not provide me with aid.

When the first decade of the 2000s came to a close, several things rocked my world. First, Barack Obama was elected president — and while there is no doubt it was a historic win, that came with the accelerated deportations. Every night, I woke up breaking in cold sweat with nightmares that ICE agents were knocking down my doors to take me away. Second, with the financial crisis, my school started looking at corners to cut: specifically, me. What could I do? Third, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer - I suppose the years that she gave to waiting tables in smoke-filled restaurants and breathing in the toxic fumes in nail salons finally caught up with her.

Like a match lighting up a stick of dynamite, the DREAM Act, everything that I had been pinning my hopes and dreams upon, failed. It would have provided me with a way out of living a life where I had to run away from questions. But because six Democrats decided to vote against it, my dreams came tumbling down. I still remember clutching onto my flip-phone for dear life waiting for a text telling me that my dreams came true on that drive to Michigan.

There I was, facing a future where I could only see myself taking care of my mother, never being able to come out. I didn’t want to. I told myself, I only had the right to complain only if I tried my best. So I’m still trying my best.

There’s only so many corners you can face until you start biting back because your teeth are all you have left. I started speaking out. I started sharing my story with my friends. I didn’t know it back then, but I was organizing. I went to a conference of undocumented young people in Memphis, Tennessee. They dedicated a portion of the program to the concept of intersectionality and highlighted LGBTQ undocumented folks. At the end, they asked all the people who identified as LGBTQ to step up to the front. I don’t know what came over me, but I guess I was tired of running away from questions. For the first time in my life, I started answering questions.

In the same room, I didn’t see other Asian American faces. It left me with an appetite to see my community wasn’t left out in the shadows anymore. And maybe it’s because of that, I became the first Asian American youth to come out publicly as undocumented on the East Coast. And maybe it’s because of that I’m still speaking up.

I even ended up on the cover of TIME magazine on June 14, 2012 with a group of my peers and Jose Antonio Vargas proclaiming that we were American - just without papers. The day after, it seemed like all of our tribulations came to an end: President Obama announced Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a program that provided me and 800,000 of my peers with a work permit and a reprieve from deportation.

In those five years, I’ve worked to make sure that the rest of the 11 million who weren’t covered by DACA were not left out. I worked at a community-based organization where I was pressured to keep myself in the closet so that they could continue their work without antagonizing their relationships with the heavily evangelical Korean American community. I walked 11 miles from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to Staten Island to pressure a Republican member of Congress to vote yes on immigration reform. (He didn’t.)

After Election Day 2016, I saw the world around me for what it is. A sandcastle. A house of cards. That these protections were temporary, and the focus was on the word temporary. I did what I did six years ago. I bit back.

On January 21, 2017, I helped organize one of the biggest marches in Washington, D.C. as one of the national organizers for the Women’s March on Washington. The day prior, as I took rest in my hotel room, I caught a glimpse of the inauguration coverage on the television. I cried into my bed, asking “Why do you hate us so much?” It was time for me to ask questions and get my answers.

That same night, I went on an errand to Target in Columbia Heights to purchase a printer for the march. As I stood in the checkout line, they made an announcement over the loudspeakers, saying that they were out of poster boards. I broke down and cried again: the people were with me. The next day, as a crowd of 3 million started turning out at 5 a.m. on a deserted Independence Avenue, I knew that I wasn’t alone. And that I had something to fight for.

On September 5, 2017, the decision was made. The program that breathed life into me was ended because White supremacists had the loudest voices in the White House. Nobody had asked for this except them: not the business leaders, not the evangelicals, not the grassroots. But in the end, White supremacists won the White House. They were determined to rip me and 800,000 of my peers away.

That same day, I was out in front of Trump Tower. I shouted the same chant I had been shouting for nearly seven years: undocumented, unafraid. And underneath the sunglasses, I was crying. Not for myself. I had been ready for the moment that the shaky ground gave way beneath me since November 8th. I cried because this was the future that my mother had fought for. The same future that she sacrificed her legs and one of her breasts to. And it came crumbling down like a sandcastle.

On this coming January, twenty years will have passed, and it seems like an eternity will have passed. In Korean, we have this expression that the rivers and mountains change every ten years. So by next 2018, the rivers and the mountains would have changed twice.

The Korea that I remember no longer exists. The only thing that awaits me there is a two year mandatory military service where they go on regular witch hunts to out gay men. I speak Korean well enough, but I speak it like a very intelligent middle schooler and write like a third grader. I draw my line in the sand. My life is here. The family that I have is here. Everything I am is here.

Right now, the world seems like such a precarious place with hurricanes battering the most vulnerable communities, battles to defend access to healthcare raging on every two months, and possibly a nuclear war looming over our heads. But the fact of the matter is that in about 160 days, the first batch of people will lose their DACA protections. There is nothing that stops ICE agents from storming their houses to deport DACA recipients and their families at the strike of midnight. How do we make sure that we still stay in the spotlight so that people remember us?

I still go back to that stage on January 21 in my mind all the time. This is the answer. It reminds me that I’m not alone as I, one of 800,000 and 11 million, sink into a sweet uncertainty as strings from our tethers unwind.

Tony

--

Join GAPIMNY and NQAPIA in pressuring Congress for a clean DREAM Act. By simply typing in your street address and zip code, we'll prepare an email to send to all of your congresspeople.

[actual-lich-queen]

Queen of Cups Chapter 4: The Unexamined Life

The events leading up to Ayla’s first attempt to close the Breach from Solas’s point of view. Some events from the game have been changed, moved around, or retconned completely as they make no sense when Wrath of Heaven no longer functions as an introduction to the story. 

Solas is also full stuck-up-son-of-a-tied-down...well, you know...in this chapter.

@bearly-tolerable Thanks for letting me bounce ideas off of you. And thanks to everyone who answered my grammar question.

Previous Chapters: 1, 2 , 3

The woman that lay beside him in the cell was a puzzle. There were the obvious components, the mark on her hand was the same as the breach in the sky. Pulsating with a perversion of his magic. To be expected when he entrusted his orb, however briefly, to the power mad Tevinter. What wasn’t obvious was why she bore the mark. It seemed unlikely Corypheus would entrust such power to another, the man had been far too pompous for that.

And she had been in the Fade - and survived! She had been found, falling out of one of the smaller rifts. Had it been the mark or something else? Was she helped by the spirit people were calling Andraste? No matter how he probed at the mark, what tests he ran, no answers presented themselves. More disturbing was the mass exodus of spirits in the nearby area. The breach in the sky was an angry storm in the Fade, threatening to obliterate all he held dear. If he could find no answers here, he would have to move on. Whatever havoc Corypheus’s stumbling had caused needed to be repaired before he could open the Veil.

Then there were the smaller questions. Who was this woman? What was she doing at the Conclave? Beyond the mark, she had no magic, and her blood did not pulse with lyrium as a templar. Callouses on her fingers indicated some proficiency with a bow, but she wore a peasant’s clothes made of sturdy but well worn fabric, skillfully patched with embroidered flowers many times over. He would have expected armor if she was a member of one of the mercenary companies that had gathered at Haven during the conclave. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had asked around, trying to determine who this woman was, but none of the locals knew her. Which threw out his most likely explanation of her being native to Haven.

He cast another spell, testing to find some way to manipulate the connection between the woman’s hand and the rifts. If he could just draw together the constructive frequencies of the mark and the destructive ones of the rifts something would happen. Either the rifts would close or they would unravel all the way, completely destroying the world. Considering all of his other efforts to effect the rifts had come to naught, the fifty-fifty chance of total annihilation was sadly the best odds available. Certainly letting things continue as they were would lead to the end of the world eventually, better the quick knife than the slow strangulation.

The easy answer would be, of course, to drag the woman’s unconscious body to a rift and thrust the mark in. Seeker Pentaghast was not about to let that happen. It would be an easy thing to take on the mark himself, if he was sure that exposing it to the rift was survivable. He knew he had the best chance of anyone in Thedas of fixing the Veil, it was senseless to risk himself in such a manner. Although there might be little choice if this went on much longer.

“Has there been any progress, apostate?” The Seeker’s stilted words interrupted his thoughts.

“Hardly enough to stop the execution of a mage who volunteered his help, it would seem.” Solas responded in even tones.

The Seeker grunted.

“Perhaps if I rested, had something to eat.” Solas continued, “At times the quickest way to find a solution to a problem is to let it alone until an answer presents itself.”

“I should remember you offered aid freely.” The Seeker relented, opening the cell door to let him pass, “Take care, the forward camps have reported the large rift at the temple has gone quiet but I fear it is only a breath between attacks.”

“Consider me duly informed.” Solas nodded his head in acknowledgement as he exited.

He adopted his meek apostate posture as he climbed the stairs of Haven’s Chantry. A religion that built dungeons in their houses of worship was not to be trusted - or taken lightly. The Maker seemed well enough for a god, though he had little need to make ruthless displays of power when those who professed to follow him did it so well on their own. And when one of those displays of power was the oppression of mages...well...best they saw him as nonthreatening as possible.

The Singing Maiden had been his refuge during his stay. The noise of the tavern was the perfect blank canvas against which to paint his thoughts. The rowdier patrons tended to leave the lowly elf alone, more so now he had become associated with the Seeker. There wasn’t a soul in Haven that wanted to cross swords with Cassandra Pentaghast.

He took a table near the corner and signaled the barmaid, settling into a book while he waited.

“What’s the news on our mystery woman?” a dwarf climbed into the seat across from him, sliding a mug of ale across the table.

“Master Tethras.” Solas inclined his head towards his new companion, “Her status remains the same.”

“Still unconscious. Still glowing.” Varric took a swig from his own mug.

“Have your inquiries illuminated anything new about the prisoner?”

“I’m up to my eyebrows in dead ends. No one seems to know who she is or what she was doing here.” He frowned, “No one left, anyways.”

“At least you seem to have made a modicum of progress. Yesterday you were only up to your ass.”

“True.” Varric laughed, “Although that’s not saying much for a dwarf.”

“It seems our only hope for answers lies uncommunicative in a cell.”

“At least she has you looking out for her. Cassandra’s problem solving includes ‘hit it with a sword’ and ‘threaten to hit it with a sword’.” Varric smirked, “I should know. I’ve seen it in action.”

“I am almost certain that nothing I have done has been of help to the woman in any way.” Solas kept his face neutral.

“You give yourself too little credit, Chuckles. I don’t see any other mages jumping at the chance to go into a Chantry cell. You volunteered for that shit.”

“Some apostates are wiser than others.”

“True, not everyone is stupid enough to play diamondback with a dwarf.”

“I believe I was winning. 200 to 150.”

“Not after last night. I’ve got you 500 to 250.”

“Are you quite certain? I would think I would remember only winning one hand in...five?”

“Ha! See?” Varric was already pulling out a deck of cards, “Not even you’re immune to Flissa’s hard brews. I told you not to drink that second mug.”

“I shall have to reclaim my dignity.” Solas gave a rare smile.

“Don’t worry, Chuckles. Even when you’re drunk you’ve got it more together than a lot of sober people I know.”

An Inquisition soldier threw open the door to the Singing Maiden with enough drama to draw the attention of most of the patrons there. The soldier looked around the tavern before she hurried over to a table, whispering to the people sitting there. Solas recognized them as more soldiers, off duty.

The whole table stood, some left while others went to speak with others in the tavern. The process repeated until all members of the Inquisition seemed to be leaving. This did not go unnoticed by Varric, who grabbed the arm of one hurrying past their table.

“What’s going on?” Varric asked.

“The Herald of Andraste is awake. Commander Cullen wants all available men ready in case there’s an adverse reaction from the rifts.” she answered him.

“Once again the commander’s leeriness of magic does him credit.” Solas observed, standing. “Forgive me, Varric. We will have to resume our card game at another time.”

“No need to explain.” Varric waved Solas off, “But I am going to pump you for information when you get back.”

Solas walked. Others rushed around him and the air swirled with rumors. In the days following the explosion some had accused the prisoner of causing it, others had come to believe her a holy symbol. Now that she was awake, the two factions had begun to clash with each other in earnest. He did not envy the headache this would mean for the Inquisition’s leadership.

Arriving at the Chantry he found the door was now being guarded by two soldiers, probably due to Cassandra being prudent.

“Sorry, ser. We’ve got orders not to let anyone past.” the guard on the left held up a hand, stopping him.

“I am the mage who offered to assist Seeker Pentaghast.” Solas attempted to continue forward, only to have the guard push back.

“Seeker said no one passes. No one.”

“Surly she will need assistance in ascertaining the magical nature of-”

“No one.”

“Then I wish to speak to the Seeker directly.” Solas stepped back.

“She’s busy.”

“Of course she is.” Solas sighed, “Nevertheless I wish to speak with her, if you would be so kind to inform her of my desire.”

“She said she no one passes while she interrogates the prisoner.”

“And that includes you.” Solas caught on.

“Correct, ser. Sorry, ser.” The guard saluted.

“If you would be so kind as to inform Seeker Pentaghast that I wish to speak to her when you get a chance, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course, ser.”

Solas turned to walk back to the tavern. If he wasn’t to have answers, at least he could have dinner. The Singing Maiden was emptier, only a few stragglers still nursed mugs of ale. Varric was gone. The dwarf had probably left in search of better rumors, he always seemed to know exactly where the thick of it was and how to get himself in the middle of it. Varric’s absence allowed Solas to return to his reading while he ate the stew Flissa brought him.

He had been in the middle of a particularly interesting volume from a modern Fade scholar. Some of the conjectures that had been made about the Fade in the years that had followed raising the Veil were fascinating, just as many were enraging in their inaccuracy.

The third time Solas read the same sentence, however, he had to admit defeat. He sighed as he closed the book and set it aside. The woman in the cell occupied his thoughts. So many answers to his questions, so close at hand, but still eluding his grasp. It was upsetting.

He had expected to see a messenger from Cassandra that evening in the tavern, but they did not come.

He expected that his slumber would be interrupted by a summons to meet with the seeker, but one did not come.

He expected to receive word at breakfast, but it did not come.

Late afternoon rolled around and still nothing. Solas debated returning to the Chantry to repeat his request to speak with Seeker Pentaghast. It would behoove him to wait, but the not knowing was quickly growing to insufferable levels.

Solas found himself at the Chantry doors once again.

“Sorry, ser. No one is allowed in the Chantry at the moment, ser.” a new guard informed him.

“I wish to speak with Seeker Pentaghast.” Solas said.

“No one is allowed in.”

“I would appreciate you notifying her that I am waiting.” Solas pressed.

“Sorry ser. No one-”

Solas interrupted the guard with a hard look.

“I’ll let her know you’re here.” The now nervous guard opened the door to the Chantry and disappeared inside.

Solas stared at the door as if his eyes could bore holes through the wood. The remaining guard looked pointedly ahead, not wishing to draw the apostate’s ire as her companion had. A few moments passed and the door opened again.

“Solas.” Cassandra said as she appeared. She squared her stance and crossed her arms, “You wished to speak with me.”

“I was hoping to learn when you might allow me to see the prisoner?” He reminded himself to appear humble despite how much his curiosity chewed at him.

“She is awake and in good health. After Leliana and I finish questioning her, we will bring her into the valley.” Cassandra frowned.

“Then you intend to test my theory that the mark will close the breach?”

“We do.”

“And I may speak with her at the breach?”

“No.”

“No?” Solas repeated, showing more anger than he meant to.

“She will be taken to Val Royeux. To stand trial.”

“So you intend to use magic no one alive has seen before, to meddle with the breach, the result of magic that has already taken unnumbered lives, without the council of the one mage that might have an inkling of not only what is happening, but what might happen should you attempt such a thing.” Solas kept his voice curt, but polite even as he felt his frustration building.

“Already Haven grows restless. They demand she be the one who pays for all that has happened...to keep her alive long enough for a trial stretches our resources.” Cassandra fixed Solas with the unwavering gaze he had come to know her for, “Should they also come to suspect the apostate mage…”

“I thank you for your concern but better they live to suspect me then perish in a foolhardy attempt by stumbling hands.”

Cassandra stared at him, brow furrowed in anger or thought, he could not tell.

“I concede your point.” She said at last, “Wait on the path into the valley, outside of the village.”

“Fewer eyes to draw unwelcome conclusions.” Solas nodded, a smile gently curving his lips. Cassandra was undoubtedly a woman of action, but her ability to be shrewd was not to be underestimated, “A wise compromise.”

The seeker grunted and disappeared back into the Chantry.

Solas, for his part, went to his tent to ensure he had all the supplies he might require. Varric was standing by the entrance, staring off at the horizon towards the Breach.

“Heard you were headed to the valley, Chuckles.”

“I am impressed. I had thought my conversation with Cassandra had been reasonably private.”

“Times like this? Only way to be sure a conversation stays private is to have it in your head.”

“Astute as always, Master Tethras.”

“I’m coming with you. You’ll need my and Bianca’s help if you want to meet the prisoner alive.” Varric shifted his stance as an easy smile spread across his face, “Did you get a name out of Cassandra? Or just disgusted grunts?”

“It did not come up, no.” Solas gave a brief chuckle, the sort that had earned him his nickname from the dwarf.

“I hate to keep calling her ‘the prisoner’, makes her sound guilty when we don’t know what happened. Just ‘boom’ and the world goes to shit. Funny how often that happens to me.”

“You might use ‘the herald’.” Solas watched Varric out of the corner of his eye for his reaction to this suggestion.

“Nah, that’s got a whole load of other crap attached to it. She just woke up. I should at least introduce myself before I start expecting her to pull miracles out of her ass.” “A sentiment most could appreciate.”

“C’mon Chuckles, we should get moving while there’s still wear in our boots.”

Solas and Varric left Haven without trouble. Most of the occupants of the village were busy either preparing for battle or spreading rumors or both. Solas noted that the faction that blamed the prisoner for the breach seemed to have claimed the majority. If the Inquisition was not careful, they would likely have a riot on their hands.

They found a waiting spot a respectable distance from the forward camp. Ruins provided a small amount of comfort, blocking the freezing mountain wind. Varric shivered and rubbed his arms for warmth.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate mountains?” Varric grumbled.

“Yes, I believe it has come up.” Solas barely managed to stop himself mid eye-roll, “I advise trying not to think about it.”

“That how you wade through this white shit with no shoes on?”

“The trick is to accept the cold. By not actively resisting the sensation, it becomes less of a discomfort.”

“You’re telling me you philosophize your way out of freezing your ass off?”

“That is one way of putting it.” Solas chuckled.

“I think I’ll stick to good old fashioned dwarven complaining.” Varric shook his head, “It doesn’t make me any warmer, but it makes me feel better.”

“It certainly alerts others not only to your location, but your mood and temperament as well.”

“I wouldn’t want you to forget I was down here, Chuckles.”

“Put that way, your complaining is practically a service.”

“I am going to use that one later.” Varric laughed.

The air crackled with wild magic and they were momentarily blinded by a flash of green light as a rift opened up in their midst. Demons poured out, spirits twisted by the pain and shock at suddenly finding themselves outside the Fade. What had once been gentle hearts of concern and caution had turned to sharpened points of fear and terror.

“Not how I was hoping to warm up.” Varric had already unslung his crossbow, Bianca, and dispatching their attackers.

“What is the phrase? Beggars can’t be choosers?” Solas pulsed with his own magic, turning it against the demons.

“I believe I was complaining, not begging.” Bianca twanged as another demon sprouted a bolt between their eyes.

“I stand corrected.” Lightning cracked through the air, dissipating a wraith.

Varric laughed, squeezing off two more shots. Between his bolts and Solas’s lightning they were able to make short work of the demons.

“That could have been worse.” Solas observed as the last wraith melted into nothing. As if responding to him, the rift crackled and released more demons into the world.

“You just had to tempt fate, didn’t you.” Varric shook his head while he reloaded Bianca, “The Seeker better show up soon or the only thing we’ll be meeting are our entrails.”

Like she had heard her name, Cassandra did come charging down the path to join the fray. Her arrival on the scene heralded by several arrows flying through the air and finding new homes in the chests and eye sockets of the gathered demons. Solas followed the path of the arrows back to their source to find the prisoner. It seemed that his conjecture about her familiarity with a bow had been correct. Someone had apparently found her a felted wool coat, several sizes too large. The sleeves had been rolled up a ridiculous number of times and the waist of the garment hung somewhere around her hips. She would have looked almost child-like if not for the expression of perfect focus on her face, knocking arrows from the quiver she wore at her side almost faster than his eyes could follow. The mark on her hand pulsed, tendrils of magic reaching towards the rift. He could feel the mark and rift calling to each other, the sensation rippling over his skin like an echo. Solas fought his way to her side, he had to get the mark closer to the rift.

As Varric dispatched of the last of the demons, Solas grabbed the prisoner’s wrist, dragging her towards the rift.

“Quickly! Before more come through.” Solas thrust the prisoner’s hand into the rift. Magic vibrated in the air around them as the mark and the rift snapped together, harmonizing their frequencies. She resisted him at first, trying to pull away. He watched her face carefully, wondering what she was thinking. What she would do. She was focused on the rift, her pulling stopped when she saw it closing. He even felt her push forward a bit, trying to move the mark closer. That was interesting.

There was another burst of green light as the rift shut. The prisoner had not died, nor did she seem to have come to a disproportionate amount of harm. Indeed, she was staring at the mark in wonder, slowly flexing her hand.

“What did you do?” She asked.

“I did nothing, the credit is yours.” Solas considered the woman before him. That her first impulse was to credit someone else with the victory was surprising.

“Mine, or the mark’s?” She looked up from her hand at him.

“Whatever magic placed that breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breaches wake -  and it seems I was correct.”

“So the mark’s then.” She gave him a shy smile and he noticed her eyes were red, like she had just been crying, “I knew I didn’t do anything other than stand there looking stupid.”

“Then the mark can close the breach.” Cassandra joined the conversation.

“Possibly.” Solas acknowledged the seeker, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Possibly.” The prisoner repeated his word back at him, “Only if it works, though.”

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” Varric had finished picking demon goo off his gloves and walked over to the prisoner, “Varric Tethras: rouge, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong.”

Cassandra made a disgruntled sound.

“Ayla Adalen: flower seller, sharpshooter, and occasional Chantry prisoner.” She curtsied, “My friends call me Spoon.”

Cassandra made another disgruntled sound.

Solas raised an eyebrow in surprise. Adalen was the name of a Dalish clan, what was a human doing with it? Not to mention she curtsied to dwarves.

“Spoon?” Varric seemed taken aback that someone had come pre-nicknamed.

“Oh, you know. On account of the ears.” Ayla gestured at the sides of her head with her fingers.

Questions were forming on Varric’s face that he hadn’t quite managed to find words for yet.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased you still live.”

“Solas?” Ayla turned back to him, “Your parents must have been very doting.”

“Pardon?” Solas cocked his head to consider her. There was nothing about this conversation he could have predicted. It was...refreshing.

“Do you have a sibling named Nehn?” Ayla asked.

“Oh! I see.” Solas chuckled, “No. I have no relation to Nehn.”

“If you are finished.” Cassandra interjected, “We should continue to the valley. Varric, thank you for your help. You should return to Haven.”

“Are you kidding me, Seeker?” Varric shook his head, “Have you been to the valley? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

“Ugh.” Cassandra rolled her eyes and started walking down the path, “I doubt I could stop you.”

Solas followed after her. The sooner they closed the Breach, the sooner he could return to what he had been doing before the sky started falling apart. Varric, and now Ayla, might be entertaining diversions, but they were still diversions.

“Well, Bianca’s excited.” He heard Varric say behind him.

“Bianca?” Ayla asked.

“Say hello, Bianca.”

“Your crossbow is named Bianca?”

“Of course, isn’t she a beauty?”

“I had been admiring her ratchet system. I’ve never seen a crossbow that draws so quickly.”

“She’s one of a kind. You’ve got yourself a real looker too, what kind of wood is that?”

“Ironbark. It was mamae’s bow.” Ayla’s voice cracked.

“Shit. You okay?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? It’s fine.” she sniffed, “I just need to focus on the task at hand.”

Solas looked back over his shoulder. Ayla was vigorously rubbing tears out of her eyes with one of her over-sized sleeves while Varric looked up at her with concern.

“Solas.” Cassandra’s voice drew his attention away.

“Yes, Seeker?” He answered.

“Now that you have seen the mark in action, are you able to draw any new conclusions?” Cassandra asked.

“The magic involved here is unlike any I have seen.” Solas cast another glance back at Ayla, “Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“How do you know so much about the mark?” Ayla asked, catching up to him.

“Solas is an apostate.” Cassandra answered for him. As if his status as an apostate explained anything.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra.” Solas continued, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.”

“Then the mark, and the Breach, are related to the Fade?” Ayla was looking up at him again, her face red and ruddy from where she had been rubbing it.

“All magic is related to the Fade. Every mage who casts a spell is drawing on the Fade in some capacity.” He found himself enjoying her curiosity, though it would likely matter little in the end, “But yes, the Breach - and the subsequent rifts - are interfering with the function of the Veil. The mark on your hand seems to grant you the ability to seal the rifts and repair the Veil.”

“Well, shit.” Varric said.

“Something the matter, Varric?” Solas asked.

“I just got this feeling that this is all going to lead to me entering the Fade...again.” Varric sounded almost as disgruntled as Cassandra.

The green light of a rift reflected lazily against the snow, right in front of gate to the forward camp. Demons and wraiths patrolled the area nearby. Ayla and Varric readied their weapons as Cassandra stalked into position. An arrow flew, followed by a bolt, taking the first two demons by surprise. The wraiths turned their attention on the archers, allowing Cassandra to ambush them. Solas summoned ice, freezing one and allowing the Seeker to concentrate her attacks.

“Alright, Spoon. You go left, I’ll go right.” Varric yelled over the sounds of battle. Ayla nodded and they began to circle the field, firing into the fray and making it difficult for the enemy to focus on any one target. This made it easy for himself and Cassandra to pick off the demons one by one.

Soon only the rift remained. Solas’s eyes followed Ayla to see what she would do. She took a few hesitant steps toward the glowing hole and raised the mark. Again, the two magics snapped together, harmonizing until the frequency of the rift abated causing the phenomena to send out another burst of light and disappear. This time, Solas was able to note the subtlest of twitches on Ayla’s face. It seemed the process was not completely pain-free.

“You are becoming quite proficient at this.” Solas commented.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric wiped gore off of Bianca.

“Is there a plan B if it doesn’t?” Ayla asked.

“Pray.” Cassandra said.

“Seeker...was that a joke? I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” Varric laughed.

Cassandra grunted.

“Open the gate. The rift has been dealt with.” Cassandra changed the subject as subtly as a shield bash to the face.

“Right away, Seeker Pentaghast.” The voice of a soldier came from beyond. The doors squeaked on their hinges as they swung open, revealing Leliana arguing with a chancellor whose facial hair never seemed to have come all the way in.

“And here they are.” The man said in a voice that encouraged immediate dislike.

“Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

“I know who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

“‘Order me?’” Cassandra’s voice was the sound of fury, “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” Rodrick shot back.

It was interesting to note that Cassandra did not grunt at him. As prickly as the Seeker could be, it seemed the noise was, in its way, a sound of affection. Of which she clearly had none for this chancellor.

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” Leliana added to the argument. She had more patience than Cassandra, but she was reaching the end of it.

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!” Rodrick yelled like he was hoping volume would substitute for intellect.

“Should we just nicely ask the demons to wait patiently while a new divine is elected?” Ayla’s voice was smooth, jovial even, “Not the soundest strategy I’ve ever heard. I thought perhaps I might try my hand at closing the Breach before I was beheaded. If that’s acceptable to you.”

“You opened it in the first place!” Roderick was turning some rather unpleasant shades of scarlet.

“Isn’t that just another reason I should try closing it?” Ayla returned calmly, flowing around his anger, “Unless you have another idea to keep us from all dying on the mountainside?”

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position is hopeless.”

Cassandra walked slowly and purposefully towards Roderick. The man visibly cowed.

“We can stop this before it’s too late.” She said.

“How? You won’t survive the valley long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.” Roderick backed away from the more powerful woman.

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.” Cassandra repeated, ready to make it so by will alone.

“Not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.” Leliana offered.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky.” Cassandra said. Her assessment of risk seemed dubious at best, but it was very like her to chose the known danger of charging the valley over the unknown of the pass. Solas shifted, wondering how he could steer them towards the safer route.

“Listen to me! Abandon this now before more lives are lost!” Roderick was whining now.

The Breach interrupted the debate, expanding. The mark on Ayla’s hand responded, and she fell to her knees with a cry, clutching her wrist and gritting her teeth against the pain.

“This just isn’t your day.” Varric helped Ayla stand back up, “You okay?”

“I’d really like to close the Breach now.” She said through a pained smile.

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked her, now completely ignoring Roderick.

“Me?” Ayla’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You have the mark.” Solas supported the sudden shift in power. He was curious as to what Ayla would do with it.

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…” Cassandra concluded.

Ayla’s eyes fixed on the mountains in the distance, and on the breech. She slide her teeth over her bottom lip, catching the corner.

“If you haven’t heard from your squad, they could still be alive. If we can help them, we should.” She said at last. Varric sighed with relief. Cassandra pursed her lips, but went with the decision made.

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.” Cassandra swung into action. One admirable quality of the Seeker was that once a decision was made she was always full force behind it. Although Solas was sure this same trait made it very difficult to change Cassandra’s mind.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” Rodrick got in one more dig as the companions left the camp. Cassandra darkened. The group traveled the winding mountain path towards a complex just barely visible in the distance.

“So. Denerim?” Varric tried to ease the tension that had been hanging since the forward camp.

“Yes, how did you know?” Ayla asked.

“I’ve got a good ear for accents, and I know a fellow city dweller when I see one.” Varric explained.

“And here I thought I was adapting so well.” Ayla smiled. Solas noted this time that it did not seem to reach her eyes. Since they had met, she was continually pushing past some sadness.

“It’s the way you stare at the inclined terrain like it’s personally offended you.” Varric laughed, “Trust me. I get it. What were you doing all the way out in Haven?”

“I came with my sister for the Conclave. She is-” Ayla cracked again, “She was a mage.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Varric’s voice took on a comforting tone, “Soul Survivors never have happy stories.”

“Well, if we can manage to reach the Breach alive, maybe we can at least make it bittersweet.” Ayla said as they reached the structure they had been walking towards.

“That’s...relentlessly optimistic.” Varric replied as he started climbing a ladder towards an entrance into the mountain.

“I wouldn’t be able to get past the fact the only thing I have to look forward to after this is a beheading if I was pessimistic about it.” Ayla began climbing after him.

“I promised you a trial, and you will get one.” Cassandra added as she too began the climb.

“If Chancellor Roderick is representative of what remains of the Chantry’s justice system, I can understand Ayla’s forgone conclusion.” Solas followed after the rest of the group.

“Not everyone in the Chantry is as…” Cassandra paused, searching for a word.

“Repugnant?” Varric offered.

“Distasteful?” Ayla added.

“Insipid?” Solas couldn’t resist joining.

“Ugh.” Cassandra grunted.

“That too.” Varric laughed.

“The tunnel should be just ahead. The path to the temple lies beyond.” Cassandra called up to Varric as he reached the top of the ladder.

“What manner of tunnel is it? Mine?” Solas’s interest piquing. The mountains were full of fascinating ruins. It was too bad the Breach was warping the natural state of the Fade in the area or he could spend centuries exploring the memories here.

“An old mining complex. The mountains are full of such paths.” Cassandra answered.

“Who was mining here? Not dwarves.” Varric asked.

“I don’t know.” Cassandra said with some surprise, “I had always assumed it was the dragon cult that occupied Haven before the Chantry reclaimed the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“There’s an awful lot of stonewall and brickwork for a mine.” Ayla commented as she peered into the entrance. Solas caught himself smiling at her observation. Though it had been built on, he could see the elven bones of the architecture in the tunnel. It certainly was not a mine.

“Perhaps we were misinformed.” Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, “It matters little. There is a path and it gets us to the Temple.”

Demons prowled the short path through the mountain, but they were beginning to work reasonably well as a group. The source of the demons became apparent when they exited the tunnel, a rift awaited them on the other side. What remained of the missing scout patrol was doing their best to hold off the monsters. There was no hesitation: they joined the fray.

With the demons clear and the scouting patrol out of danger, Ayla approached the rift. She displayed more confidence this time, bracing herself against the magic and presumably the pain.

“Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra. I don’t think we could have held out much longer.” One of the scouts said as Cassandra helped them up.

“Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant. She insisted we come this way.” Cassandra looked back at Ayla who was flexing her hand.

“The prisoner? Then you…?”

“I’m glad we were able to help.” Ayla gave the scout a small smile, “It was worth the risk.”

“Then you have my sincere gratitude.” The scout saluted Ayla. Solas watched as her eyes widen briefly in surprise before she returned the salute with a slight bow.

“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can.” Cassandra directed the patrol.

“At once.” The scout acknowledged Cassandra before turning to the rest of the patrol, “Quickly, let’s move!”

“The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well.” Solas said, joining Cassandra and Ayla where they stood.

“Let’s hurry. Before that changes.” Cassandra lead the way down to the Temple, or what was left of it. Small fires still burned while errant magic caused the upturned stones that lined the crater to pulse green. As they drew closer to the Breach, twisted bodies, mummified but the sudden heat and magic of the explosion told a twisted tale of the events that had unfolded there.

“Oh!” A small cry of distress escaped Ayla’s mouth before she covered it with the palm of her hand. She approached one of the bodies, almost reverently, her other hand outreached as if to touch it.

“Don’t.” Varric knocked her hand away, “Red Lyrium. I’ve seen it before. No touching, it’s evil.”

Ayla nodded mutely, and walked the path through the ruins more slowly after that, observing every grim statue. Solas realized she was probably thinking about her sister. It was a difficult thing being asked of her, yet still she pushed on.

“What’s it doing here, Seeker?” Varric turned to Cassandra.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas looked at the crystalline structures, how had Corypheus managed that? It was the same material the magister had augmented his physical form with. Perhaps it was connected to wherever his orb had disappeared after the explosion.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

Solas snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Corypheus’s voice. Impossible.

“Someone help me!” A female voice cried.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra exclaimed.

Ah. The Fade was playing the memories of what had happened. Interesting.

As Ayla drew near the rift, the mark began to react again and the voices became accompanied by visions. The Divine, suspended, repeating her cry for help and Corypheus, a smokey shadow. What magic allowed the Divine to be rendered so clearly but maintained Corypheus’s anonymity?

“What’s going on here?” Ayla’s voice came.

“That was your voice!” Cassandra said with surprise, “Most Holy called out to you. But…”

“Run while you can!” The Divine said.

“We have an intruder.” The hazy shadow of Corypheus turned on the projection of Ayla as the memory played out before them, “Kill her. Now!”

The memory ended.

“You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was the vision true? What are we seeing?” Cassandra turned on Ayla, relentless with her interrogation.

“I - I still don’t remember!” Ayla seemed to be as truly surprised as the rest of them. Perhaps that had something to do with Corypheus’s shadowy form? Had he laid some sort of memory spell on her? At least he knew for sure now that Ayla bearing the mark had not been Corypheus’s intention.

Cassandra frowned, dissatisfied with Ayla’s answer. Solas took pity on her.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” He hoped the explanation would satisfy the Seeker, or at least get her to back off a little, “The rift is not sealed, but it closed...albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons! Stand ready!” Cassandra rallied the Inquisition soldiers. A call to action was perhaps as good as an answer to the Seeker. Archers and swordsmen got into position at the Seeker’s command.

Ayla steadied herself in front of the closed rift. She turned to Cassandra, who nodded, sword at the ready. Then she looked to Solas, again surprising him. He gave her a reassuring nod. Ayla raised her hand to the rift, the magic latching on to the closure and snapping it open.

A pride demon spilled forth from the newly opened rift. It was almost to be expected that pride would be attracted to Corypheus’s manipulations on this place. Solas would have laughed if he wasn’t busy trying to fight the demon. Solas versus pride. Fate was clearly trying to develop a sense of humor.

The fight was not an easy one, and it took all the assembled forces to put the demon down. But the battle was won.

“Do it!” Cassandra yelled at Ayla.

Ayla raised the mark, connecting it to the rift. This time the frequencies took much longer to harmonize. Solas felt the magical tension crackling across his skin, making the air go thick in the basin created by the explosion. Ayla cried out, bracing the hand that bore the mark in place. Pain was etched into her features as she struggled against herself to keep the mark on the rift. This could kill her, but it would be worth it to close the Breach. He had to convince himself of that. The rift vibrated along its connection to the Breach, trying to pull it closed as well. The thrumming of the discordant frequencies and Solas felt his heart sink. Ayla could sacrifice herself to the Breach and it still might not be enough.

There was a snap and the connection was broken. The rift sealed, sending a surge of power towards the Breach. Green light flashed in the sky. The Breach was closed, but not sealed. Solas hurried to where Ayla lay crumpled on the ground, kneeling beside her.

“Is she…?” Varric approached.

“No. She lives still.” Solas said, “But I do not think a second attempt is advisable.”

“Then what do we do now?” Cassandra took up a spot nearby, looking uncomfortable and unsure of what to do with herself as Solas tended to Ayla’s unconscious form.

“Simply put, we need more power.” Solas answered.

“And to let her rest.” Varric added, “She did just save our collective asses.”

Author Notes:

I almost used Cassandra as the POV character for this chapter.

Nehn: From the Project Elvhen, meaning Joy. Ayla is teasing Solas about being named Pride. Or at least asking some very good questions about his parents intentions naming him something like that. (I lean more towards Solas picking out his name for himself, but Ayla wouldn’t think that based on the information currently available to her)

I substituted in Spades for Diamondback. I know Blackwall says he taught Solas how to play, but  I also think Solas is most likely Inquisition member to be a card shark. Followed by Josie of course.

I’m not sure if I’ll be doing another chapter that’s basically a novelization of Inquisition, but given the point of creating Ayla in the first place is seeing how Solas reacted I felt it was important to write out their first meeting. I’m also not sure how interesting this is to read.

Much of the dialogue ended up being direct quotes from the game. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I’m not sure about a lot. Nevertheless here we are.

This chapter also got a little out of hand length-wise. I hope Cassandra’s enduring grunts make up for it.

Next Chapter: 5

[gguksgalaxy]

Engraved pt. 11

Masterpost <– Engraved 10 | Crowned 2 –> | Sheltered 1 –> | Engraved 12 –>

Short: You’re a tattoo artist for a gang known as EXO who own a club down town. (read synopsis at masterpost) Words: 6819 (sorrynotsorry) Warnings: Threatening, blood, guns, weapons, drugs, explosive, death Pairings: D.O. x Reader, slight Kai X Reader, slight Chen X Reader A/N: Ahhhhh 3.5 hours traffic delay gives something. Enjoy guys, ask me all the questions, let me know!

AFF link

Your pov

The call from Gio had given you enough information to find the people you were looking for. You searched through some databases, found aliases, car registrations and locations on their names. While most of the locations were hotels, and there was one rental house, the information had given you enough to go on. Right now you were in the office room at their place, which has a huge map of the city. Since Suho wasn’t here you took it as your job to do all the planning. There were little red bulletins and lines distributed across the map, connecting places to names. Yellow was for location to location, green was for use of credit and debit cards. There were blue lines covering the car their gps tracks, which were a bitch to locate, but you’d managed. It might seem like they’d been sloppy, but the contrary is true. They actually hid their things pretty well. You were one of the best, along with Baekhyun it’d been easy to locate these things. “Okay, so, what is this work of art?” Chanyeol asked, obviously stunned by your different approach from Suho’s. Which was what they were all used to. Jongdae’s eyes held amusement, Jongin’s held wonder. Kyungsoo wasn’t with you, you’d told him sternly to stay home, take painkillers and rest his body. Whatever it was that had happened to him. You still had to ask Minseok about that, but this came first. 

Lay was throwing a pencil on the other end of the table, not giving you the time of day as Minseok stood next to you to observe your findings. “This helps us find their location.” You turned to the map and pointed out the blue tips where the cars were often parked. “They’re smart enough to not park their cars near their location, that is clear. But they don’t park their car near their rental house or hotel rooms either. And I bet they don’t go there in general. So if you look at al of this, you can draw a red circle around the places where they could be. Most people try to not get this much of a circular location, but they unintentionally always do. The parking spaces, the hotels, the atm’s, it all comes back to this area.” You drew a black circle around what you’d always known as the old law district, or district 8. EXO was located in district 14, mainly warehouses and older buildings. The old law district was made up of old parking lots and tall buildings that were no longer in use. Popular for homeless people to relocate in, but also home to a lot of apartment buildings rented by people who didn’t have a lot of money. The crime rate there is high, so it was no surprise they chose to relocate there. They should be easy to find as a big group. “You think they’re in the old Kappa building?” Xiumin asked, frowning. You nodded. “The old Kappa building is a five story office building that’s up for demolish in another 3 months. They will be constructing a new apartment building there, the whole district is up for rebuild since the city is expanding. It’s the perfect place for them to go because not a lot of people come there since it’s up for breakdown.” “Couldn’t they be in any of the other buildings?” Chanyeol asked, pursing his lips. Where the boy was extremely well informed in weapons, his planning and searching could use some….work. The door opened. “They’re in there.” Sehun said, and he slid a large camera across the table. “Third floor, large conference room. They have stashes in other rooms, drugs, weapons, explosives. I caught 8 of them, but they were heading out. If you go now you might be able to get in.” Sehun was the youngest of all of you, but he was good at what he did nonetheless. He was skilled on finding information of people, scouting them out without them seeing. Being a rich kid, he knew a lot of people around the city and got in at places you’d have no chance at without falsifying information. You grabbed the camera and went through the pictures. Three women, five men, lots of weapons and drugs, explosives stashed neatly on tables. “Yeol, come here for a second.” You motioned the tall one over and he looked at the pictures with you and Minseok. “How much is this?” “A lot. Enough to blow up a quarter of the city. But I don’t see anything else, it’s just the C4 in the back. I think it’s for trade, not actual use. Same for the weapons, they’re generally not put together, they might be selling separate parts. Sehun, did you notice anything up the trade scenes?” The young one brushed a hand through his dark hair and unzipped his jacket, revealing the bird tattoo on his throat. “I did notice a spike in the heroin, but I thought it was random, not enough to be suspicious. There was also an accident with faulty meth, killed four teens. Might’ve been them, not sure. Happens all the time to be honest.” “Well,” Jongdae started, “If we know where they are, why don’t we go get them?” He was leaning back with his feet on the desk. “I mean, it seems easy enough right.” Minseok nodded. “What’s your plan?” he asked, looking at you. The room had all eyes on you, and you felt the slight pressure of being in Suho’s place. “Jongdae, Jongin, get changed. Chanyeol, get a laser sniper, Baekhyun get me a hacker drive. We’re going to have a talk with them.”

***

The office was largely empty, except for a cheap desk and some drawers to the side. Crouched on the edge of the window you fished a set of lockpicks from your pocket and removed the gloves of your hands with your teeth. With the gloves in your mouth you stuck the picks in the lock and felt securely if you moved the pins in the right place. And slowly but surely the last pin fell and you were able to turn the lock over with a practiced motion. You stepped inside just as the lock on the other side started jiggling. “I’m in.” You said into the headset. Baekhyun answered calmly. “Okay Angel in position, that’s a record, how did you get there first when you had to go through the window?” With a small proud smirk on your lips you sat down on the chair with your boot clad feet on the iron desk. Dead centre in some paperwork which you were not interested in at all. The lock jiggled some more, and you wanted to call out but didn’t. He’ll get it. “Well, you know, I’m just that good.” You said as you sat up straight and pushed the hacker drive inside the computer that was standing on the desk. It was locked, but that didn’t matter for Baekhyun. “I swear I thought Dae would beat you there.” “Nah, he wanted outer position. Can you get in?” you asked, watching the screen. It was silent for a moment and then the screen flashed on. “Yep, got it.” Baek answered. “Chanyeol, you in position?” you asked as you turned around to the now closed window and was met by the red flash of a laser in your eyes. “Okay, good.” The door in front of you opened and Jongin stepped in, dusting his black jeans. “That makes three. Jongdae you good?” The other line was silent for a second or two. “Yep, I’m good. Now it’s just waiting for them to come home.” You nodded as Jongin came up beside you to watch Baekhyun move things on the screen from back home. With him was Sehun. Minseok and Lay were outside in the car in case things got messy or they turned up with all eight. But you didn’t expect that. . The camera in the upper corner turned towards you suddenly and you saluted. “See anything outside yet?” Jongin asked. “No sight of them yet. What if they don’t come back soon?” Baekhyun asked. There was a rumbling sound on one of the lines. “They’ll be back.” Jongdae said. You sighed loudly. “Are you looking around or what the hell are you doing?” “Hmmm I’m just checking the perimeters. We should take some of this stuff home you know, could get a lot of money from it.” He mused and you shook your head. “I know, I’m getting back to the post. Don’t you think it’s a little sloppy that they keep everything around and don’t instal an alarm?” Nobody really answered. Jongdae had a bad habit of blabbering a bit too much on the other end of the line for jobs like this. Sometimes it was nice, but something inside of you was tense. Maybe just because you knew that there were connections to him, or just because you’d been out of it. But you were tense, and almost jumped when Jongin placed a hand on your shoulder from beside you. He moved, sitting on the desk, facing you as you leant back in the chair. He raised his eyebrow at you, questioning. You nodded, as if to say everything was okay. But he cocked his head to the side and frowned. Trying to get a read on you. “Guys I see a car pulling up.” Xiumin said, and Jongin stood up straight. You didn’t move, still leaning back. “I thought you said they didn’t park here?” “Well, they usually don’t. But if they went to deliver they might’ve brought stuff back.” The lines were all silent, and you sighed. Jongdae was the first to speak up again. “Well isn’t it stupid of them to leave everything out in the open though?” “No,” you and Sehun answered at the same time, and he laughed. “After you Angel.” “Thanks my friend.” You shook your head, and Jongin rolled his eyes. “If they blind the windows people will get suspicious, and nobody will come here until the next few months. Which means they aren’t here to stay. Anybody getting out of that car?” “Yeah,” Xiumin trailed. “A man, and two other guys. I think it’s the one were looking for. The woman isn’t here though.” There was a flash of red in the corner of your left eye and you saw the red laser dot move over the wall to set steadily on the point beside the door. “Chanyeol, turn it off. Once I give you the signal you turn it back on.” “Wait, what signal?” he asked, but he turned it off. “You’ll know.” “Shhh.” Dae suddenly whispered. “They’re inside.” His voice was low and a little hard to follow over the static. You were still leaning back, but the screen of the computer flashed black now.  Baekhyun was probably done by now, having copied all their files and deleted the ones that he deemed problematic. “Angel if you need us, you say the word.” Xiumin said, knowing you couldn’t answer him anymore but you knew what he meant nonetheless. The code for danger, fire. Suddenly the lock on the door jiggled, and Jongin tensed up beside you. You briefly touched his hand that was resting on your shoulder, and gave it a soft squeeze. He was off, like you, but for him it could end bad. You sensed it in his stance, so you prayed he was going to be able to flip the switch. The door opened and the man that stepped through had wide eyes when he saw you. So you arched an eyebrow and took him in. Broad shoulders, tall, dressed in an expensive suit that wasn’t tailored perfectly. Sloppy work. His hair was pushed back from his face, ashen black like his eyes. Deep and dark, staring at you. His thick eyebrows furrowed and the men behind him reached for their guns. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” You mused, and saw Jongdae behind them with a gun pointed at the man’s head. “Or your boss dies.” So they put their guns back in their pockets and let Jongdae push them into the room. Your friend stayed behind them, gun still raised, eyes not moving to you but staring at a target on the back of the man’s head. “Let me get things clear before we start. We’re here to talk with you, I have no intentions of this getting dirty. But do know that we have full control over your camera recordings, and nothing that happens here will be saved to your hard drive. We have full copies of all your files and my gunman if up on the adjacent roof in case you guys decide that this isn’t going the way you want to. Yeol.” You stated, and on cue a red light flashed up on the guys chest, dead centre to his heart. “Let me also tell you that this isn’t going to go the way you want. This is going to go the way I want it to go. So you’re going to listen to me, and answer my questions honestly. If I think you’re lying, I wont hesitate to give my man the signal. He’s a perfect shot.” The leader narrowed his eyes at you, hands in his pocket. Jongdae moved, Jongin did too, as they switched places slowly. Circling all the way till Jongdae was at your left and Jongin locked the door and came to your right. Both clad in dark jeans, a white shirt and jackets tailored to perfection. “Are we clear?” you asked, hands folded in your lap. He nodded. Jongdae moved beside you, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re here to request your departure from this city.” The man opened his mouth. Jongin spoke first. “Don’t protest, our request isn’t an open one. You go or we force you to leave. Your choice. That is, if you answer our questions first.” There was something in the eyes of the guy on his right, that you could’t quite place. The quiver of his lip, the twitch in his hand. His hair was blonde, and curled smoothly at the ends, but it was seemingly dry in the terrible lighting. Thats when his hand reached for his pocket. You let him pull the gun out and point it at your head. “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.” A smirk played on your lips. “Go ahead, pull the trigger.” He did, and the gun clicked but nothing else happened. Jongin beside you reached into his own pocket and emptied his hand on the table, 7 bullets rolling out over the metal desk. “A little precaution.” He smirked. Jongdae did the same thing, emptying his hand of 14 bullets, belonging to the leader and the man on the left. The sound was hard in the small room, and one bullet rolled to the edge of the desk, rolling, rolling, and tipping of the edge to fall to the floor and roll further there till it came to a stop by the door. “I see you elevated the desk. Smart. Old building sag easily around here, that’s why it’s up for demolish. Not such a smart move of you to leave everything out in the open for us to see. We had you scouted out easily, and your tracks weren’t covered properly either. I’d say your work is quite sloppy.” You trailed, and grabbed a pen from the desk to play with it. “What do you want?” the man asked again. “We told you, we want you to leave this city.” Jongdae shrugged. “But we also want to know who you work for.” Jongin cocked his head to the side and frowned a little. “Who requested you to be here?” There was hesitation in his stance, and his eyes briefly flickered up to the camera. “Oh don’t worry about that.” Jongin said. “We got full control, whoever owns you and your brother can’t see a thing right now except for an empty office. The Smuggler, right?” The man nodded, but his eyes stayed trained on you. No matter which of the two boys spoke. Jongdae continued. “It’s weird though, he specialises in gathering things up and getting them across the border. So what would he do in a central city like this, selling his goods?” The leader shrugged. “I just follow orders. I’m a dealer” “Ah, like your brother? Or does your brother give you the orders?” Kai mused. “Is he the one who makes you do all the dirty work? I mean, I get it you know. He’ s a big shot underboss for the Smuggler and you’re…well you’re probably next to nothing compared to that. I wonder how that must feel.” Kai did his thing, trying to rile the man up. There was anger contorting in his face and you clicked your tongue approvingly. “I see, a little family feud I guess? Was he always better than you when you were a kid? How about this, you give us information on their whereabouts, and we let you get off alive and well. Including all of your men.” He doubted, before he spoke slowly. “What are you doing here, you’re not part of their crew. This shouldn’t be any of your business.” “Ahhhh,” Chen said. “But you made it her business, it’s what you get when you invade someone’s house. Break their stuff, attack them, attack their friends.” He grabbed a bullet from the table and twirled it between his fingers, as if inspecting it. “These bullets are nice, but your gun is nicer. It’s an old model, seems familiar. A lot like the ones that used to be on display in the Majors house. He collects old guns. But a few have gone missing a couple of weeks ago. I wonder who did that.” You chuckled when the man’s eyes widened. “Lesson one in thievery. Never use your stolen goods, always get rid of them. You did a good job though, getting in there. But you should know better than to steal from the Major. They’ll find you eventually and everything will go up in smoke.” “We’ll be gone from here by the end of the month.” The man snarled. You pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t use such a tone with me. You’ll leave today, before nightfall. Or we’ll come after you.” “We’re not going anywhere, this isn’t part of your territory.” Kai sighed. “Well I guess you were misinformed then, this city is ours. And anything that happens on here is monitored by us. You leave this city tonight, by traffic or by bodybag. The choice is yours.” “I WILL N-“ he started but you held up your hand. “If I have to get up out of this chair and teach you a lesson you’ll be in much more trouble than you already are. Don’t provoke me, don’t yell at me, don’t speak when I’m speaking. Or when any one of us is speaking.” He narrowed his eyes again, obviously not impressed by three young people trying to get one up on him, the corners of his lips quivered with contempt. So you sighed deeply. “It’s so sad that you don’t see the trouble you’re in.” And on cue, a short fired through the closed window, glass shattering behind you. The bullet lodged itself straight into the right guys chest. He collapsed to the floor, dead immediately. Blood slowly started to pool below him and you looked at the body with spite. Jongin shook his head in mock defeat. “Such a shame it had to go this way. You could’ve been gone towards the airport by now, but you chose to take the hard path. Don’t argue with us, give us the Smuggler’s location and leave. There is nothing more we request of you.” “We don’t know his location.” “Then give us your brother’s, I’m sure he knows.” Jongin smiled sweetly. “Or don’t you want to endanger your dear sibling? Because he knew we were here, he knew the way this city is ruled, and he threw you out for the wolves.” There was a silence in the room, and someone’s breathing was clear on the other line. Jongin’s and Jongdae’s lines were cut of from yours so that there wouldn’t be any echo, but someone was nervous on the other end. Or they had their mic way too close to their faces. Yours was hidden in a collarbone piercing, as was Jongin’s. A little black ball Baekhyun designed that went perfect with the jewellery. It wasn’t on display, but the opening of the first few buttons of your white blouse gave it enough space to record what needed to be recorded. Jongdae’s was in his earring, which was why he was sometimes hard to understand. Most of they time you opted for giving him a regular headset but that wasn’t an option today. “So what do you say?” Jongdae asked. “What is their location?” The man was still doubting, he eyes you, always you. He didn’t even look at the boys beside you. He knew you were in charge, his nostril flared, and you knew he was afraid of you. The way you nonchalantly sat in his chair and pretended that you owed the place. “How did you even get in here?” he asked, almost a growl. He was stalling time he didn’t have. Probably waiting for the rest of his crew to come back. “Roof.” Jongdae shrugged. “Front door.” Jongin answered. “Window.” You pointed behind you to where there were jagged edges sticking out from the open window. Glass was strewn over the floor and some probably got in your hair. “Really, your security lacks. Give us the information we want, the long your stall the more chance that I’m going to shoot you.” His eyes suddenly darted up to the roof, where Chanyeol was. “He could offer you a job, he’ll give you much money for it. Girls like you get around.” He offered, and you were utterly disgusted by it. “Let us finish business here, and you could be rich beyond you beliefs by the end of the year.” You laughed. “You’re so sad.” Another shot fired, killing the man on the left instantly too. “I’m not a whore, I won’t be traded of to rich guys. I play these rich guys, I take their money in the field they think they own. I’m not going to be his new hooker. Because I know what he does to girls like me and I want nothing to do with it.” “This is your last chance.” Jongin said. “Give us the location or you die.” There he was, standing like a grown man who tried to not put his tail between his legs. Trying to keep strong. To see if he could get one up on you, but he wouldn’t. There was something that searched your eyes, but you didn’t know anything. His gaze moved over your features, and you turned them from calm to condescending. Tipping up your chin. It wasn’t until his eyes moved to your hands that something clicked. “Looking for something?” you asked, uncrossing your legs from atop the table and putting them down on the floor. Leaning over the table to quirk an eyebrow. Most people would tell you to never sit during conversations like this. And that’s why your two companions were standing, to exert authority. You didn’t need it. Your nonchalance and way of talking did enough for you. Sometimes being calm did more to people than screaming at their faces. “Have I met you before?” he asked. This better not be what you thought it was. “You seem familiar, is that possible? I mean a rogue like you isn’t something to forget easily.” Fear shot through your body like the bullet through the window, shattering your demeanour, breaking it into pieces to pull it’s claws at you heart. The boys beside you felt it, because Jongdae tensed too. Jongin was the one who saved the situation before the man could reach over the table. “Chanyeol!” he called. A silent shot in the air, flying past your ear so close you could feel the wind move. Right as the man lunged out for you, hand reaching for your throat, it hit him in the eye socket. He fell on the desk, but he was still moving. Jongin was the first one with his gun out to finish him off. Blood splattered over your face ad white shirt. “What happened?!” Minseok yelled through the microphone, you heard the sound of a slamming car door on the other side. Nobody else spoke, nobody. So you took out your earpiece before he could yell at you more. Jongdae’s hand came to rest at the back of your neck, squeezing reassuringly as you let out a deep breath. Jongin sat on the desk across from you searching your eyes. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen you tense up like that.” He moved closer to wipe the blood from your face with the sleeve of his jacket. You covered your face with your hands, leaning back. Jongdae took your hand in his, letting you know he was there, that you weren’t alone. Because you knew that he knew what this was about. The moment you tensed he tensed just as quickly. “I never told him I was a rogue. He’s not supposed to have information like that on me. He’s not supposed to know that I’m more than just a tattoo artist that beat him up and works for a gang on her off-time. I have no connections to people who work with the Smuggler, at all. I know everyone I work with.” The small circles Jongdae rubbed on the back of your hand with his thumb calmed you down a little, and you just waited for the verdict. Minseok stepped into the room, slamming the door against the wall and not even giving the bodies on the floor a glance before he pointed a finger at you. “You’re going to tell me what the fuck just happened. We almost had him.” “He’s dead, they’ll be gone.” “What if the rest of them comes home now? What are we going to do, shoot them too? What the fuck happened Angel?” He walked around the table and you got up, pushed it back. His shoulders were bunched his eyes full with anger. Your hand broke away from Jongdae as he stood nailed to the floor while Minseok cornered you. “You’re going to fix this too?” You opened you mouth and closed it. Looking him straight in the eyes, trying your best to keep your chin up. Because it wasn’t Minseok you were afraid of, you were never afraid of him and will never be. But your system was malfunctioning and you couldn’t do what you supposed to do. “Angel, I think I asked you a question.” The door opened and Lay stepped in, only to cross his arms over his chest and lean against the wall. Here to enjoy the show. That’s when you spoke. “Don’t poke the bear Minseok. You’re playing a dangerous game here.” He narrow his feline eyes, dark and dangerous, but familiar. The slightest smudge of eyeliner at the corners, the small ring in his left eyebrow. “What are we going to do with the rest of their group.” “Nothing.” Jongin spoke first. “If their hierarchy is the way we think it is they’re not going to do anything but gather their things and leave. So they can report it to their boss.” Minseok chuckled darkly. “Yes, and then they’ll come for us with a whole lot more men than we can handle.” “The won’t.” Jongdae said, stepping up next to you and touching Minseok’s shoulder. “If we leave their stuff here nothing will happen. They’re going to take it, finish their deals, and leave. The Smuggler isn’t know for violence against other groups when it comes to killing their men. If you touch his stuff, his money, thats when you anger him.” He was right, and his eyes flickered over to you for a second. Minseok stepped away, a snarl on his lips that he didn’t speak out. Lay’s proud look in the corner of the room made anger well up in your stomach. And Chen moved to run a hand down your back, telling you to not act out right now. “What if she’s wrong?” Lay asked, looking at you instead of at his boss. You scoffed. “What if they come for us and we have to fight for our lives, again.” “They won’t.” Xiumin sighed. “The Smuggler isn’t known for violence against other groups. He doesn’t give shit about his people unless they mess with his money. So lets leave.” A hurt look crossed Lay’s face. “You’re going to let her get away with this?!” he spat. You clenched your jaw. “I didn’t do anything.” “You fucked up!” “And you never fuck up?” you spat back, stepping from Chen and Kai’s reach, closer to the surgeon. “Never, Lay?” He stared at you, thinking, and realising what you meant. “You’re filth, you know that. Whenever you’re involved, things go wrong. This has nothing to do with me.” “The only thing hat went wrong is that we didn’t get the location, we’ll get it some other way. This guy was nothing.” Lay just shook his head and stepped out of the room, Minseok following without a word. Jongin reached out for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His head resting on top of your head. “It’s okay.” He whispered. Chen came up beside you to run his hand up and down your arm, trying to calm you down. “Nobody got hurt Ang, everything is okay.” You nodded and looked at the two of them, your best friends. “What would I do without the two of you?” They smiled and synchronically answered, “Crumble and die.” The three of you laughed as you moved outside to where Chanyeol was waiting in the van. “You kay?” he asked as he leant out the small window. You nodded and moved to the back with Jongin, there wasn’t enough space for all four of you in the front, so you and Jongin would just have to sit in the back. It was a small space, but the other could just stretch his legs out in front of him. “This van is too small.” He grumbled, touching the opposite wall with his toes. You chuckled lightly and leant your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, for saving me, for staying calm when I couldn’t.” He didn’t say anything, but his hand found yours, easily intertwining your fingers in a way that was comforting while it shouldn’t be. There was always an edge when it came to being with Jongin, and it was your fault. But he was happier, calmer, in a way. And now that you were together alone you decided to ask him. “So, what’s her name?” you said softly, looking at his hand in yours. He gasped lightly and leant back to look at you. “What?” “Oh don’t play stupid with me Nini, there’s a girl. You like her, what’s her name.” “How would you know.” “Because I know you.” He sighed and leant his cheek back on the top of your head, leg against yours. “Her name is Miyong, I met her at work.” Jongin was doing an internship at a law firm via his university. Minseok was paying for it, but it was getting them in places they couldn’t dream of before. He already made a lot of connections. A pretty smirk really got you places. “She nice to you Nini?” you played with his fingers, long and slender. He leant against you more as you took a sharp turn. “She is, but she’s normal Ang.” “So?” “How will it work…I mean, I can’t drag her into this.” You squeezed his hand. “You won’t be here forever. Chose love over this Jongin, promise me that.” He didn’t answer your question, but you knew he would. This life wasn’t it for him, he wasn’t meant to be here. He should have 3 kids, a wife and a dog. Married, trying to pay of a mortgage, fighting over what they’re going to eat. He shouldn’t be scamming and killing people. No, not Jongin. “You’ve paid your debt sweetie, Minseok doesn’t keep you here. All the money you’ve made him surpasses anything he’ll owe you still for your degree. Finish you school, fall in love, leave.” You said. “I’m guessing this only applies to me?” he asked. “There is not place outside this life for me Jongin. It’s where I was born and where I shall die. But that’s okay, because it’s who I am and chose to be. You have something better waiting for you.” You took his hand that was holding yours with your other, encasing his hand in both of yours. “Look. After what happened to you, you lost your wings that granted you the world. But you didn’t lose the world. You’re in a safe cage now, where you’ve regrown your wings so that you can fly again. And soon you’ll be ready to leave it, and it’ll open you again to that world that was once at your feet.” You opened your hands, releasing his, and he looked at it in wonder. “Thank you y/n.” He whispered, and he looked up at you with tears in his eyes. “I…” he stammered, and you wiped your thumb under his eye. “Don’t cry sweetie, it’s not worth it. Things will get better.” You winked at him. The van came to a stop, and either one of the guys punched the wall, and opened the door. So you got up to leave, opening the door before Chen reached it. Jongin pulled at your shirt, and you turned around. “I’ll miss you Ang.” He said, and you smiled at him before you left. Jongdae shot you a knowing look, and he pulled you back before you left, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, really. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” You were still smiling and nodded. “I know Dae, I know.” Your house was quiet, but warm. The heaters turned on lightly. You toed of your boots and hung your jacket on the hanger by the door. It was clean, apart from a mug on the table and a plate in the sink. The couch blanket was neatly hung over the back and there was a book on the armrest with a small marker inside about a third through. The first thing you did was throw your dirties white blouse in the bin. Blood stains weren’t worth washing out of white. You found Kyungsoo upstairs, sleeping in your bed. Red hair messy and features calm and rested. He was wearing a shirt, but the bruise peeked out lightly from under the collar of it. A faint trace of reddish purple against his pale skin. You moved a little closer and ran a hand through his hair, which caused him to scrunch up his nose. His hair was soft, and you pushed it back from his forehead. The bruise on his cheek had gone down quite a bit after some ice, but it was still swollen and purple. Suddenly his hand came up to wrap around your wrist and he pulled you over to the bed, rolling you when you squealed and hovered over you. Pinning you hand down he smirked. “Has nobody ever told you to not touch people when they’re sleeping?” he asked. A laugh escaped your lips and, you trailed a hand down his side to slip your fingers under the hem of his shirt. His back was warm and firm and you dug your fingers in a little. He dipped down to press his lips against yours, kissing you slowly and easily. Your lips pliantly parted against his and you sighed deeply. Enjoying the feeling of coming home to something like this. His chest fell, pressing against yours fully, hand leaving your wrist and tangling in your hair. He shifted again, legs tangling with yours. But he hissed as his weight moved over to his bad shoulder and you parted. “I’m going to take a shower.” You kissed his cheekbone lightly, and got up from the bed. In the bathroom you leant down on the sink, smiling stupidly and shaking your head. Was this moving to fast? How did it even get to this so quickly? The comfortable feeling of him against you, kissing you, seeing his shoes at the door, him in your bed. Was it normal? Small butterflies tickled the inside of your stomach and you took it into the shower, rinsing of the bad taste of work and stepping out cleaned and still smiling.       He was waiting for you on the bed, sheet around his waist as he was scrolling on his phone. You sat beside him and rested your chin on his shoulder, not really looking at what he was doing. “You hungry?” he asked yawning. You nodded. “I’ll make something.” He moved to get up but you wrapped your arms around his waist and held him there. “I have pizza in the freezer, turn on Netflix, pick a movie.” You whispered it without intention, but you enjoyed the silence of the moment. He turned to you, kissing your nose. “I thought you hated freezer food?” You hummed. “I do, but I don’t think either of us is up to cooking a meal right now. I’m tired, you’re tired, lets relax.” So you went downstairs and took some time to put two pizzas in the oven, waiting patiently. Kyungsoo appeared in the doorway to the stairs. “What movies do you like?” You hadn’t really noticed before but you saw now that he was only wearing boxers with his shirt, short socks on his feet. “Surprise me.” You said. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.” So you went and waited for the pizza, took it upstairs and saw he had chosen a simple thriller/romance movie. You never really watched a lot of movies but you were fine with anything. The two of you sat closely together as you at your pizza, watching the movie, laughing together when something funny happened. You felt him shiver at a certain point, the time on the clock told you that by now the heater would’ve turned off. You paused the movie and went to get a sweatshirt from your closet. It was a really big one, the clothing company delivered it two sizes too big for you, so it should fit him fine. He’s not that broad anyway. “Here.” You said, throwing him the sweatshirt. He frowned at it. “Don’t girls normally wear the boys clothes?” You rolled your eyes. “Put it on, you’ll catch a cold.” You got back on the bed, putting the now empty plates on the floor. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you cuddles close to him, head resting on his chest as you watched the rest of the movie that was left. A particular scene featured a couple in a theme park, high up in the ferris wheel. Neither of you had said much, but he spoke now. “I’ve never been to a theme park before.” With a frown, you looked up at him. His eyes were trained on the screen, but his jaw was set a little. You reached for his hand, your arm over his lap, entwined your fingers. “I’ll take you some time, it’s fun.” He looked down at you with wide eyes. “I promise, really.” You were sincere, and something cleared in your mind. The fact that he came into the fighting life this young, and he was good. But also his anger that was ferocious and quick. Something must’ve happened to him when he was a kid. Not a lot of the guys in the group had an easy past. Just Sehun and Chanyeol had it easy. Not that you struggled a lot either, but it wasn’t normal. “You’re going to take me to a theme park?” he snickered. You nodded. “Well, maybe just a place that has a ferris wheel. But I promise, it’ll be fun.” He smiled and kissed the top of your head, going back to the movie. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, lips ghosting over his collarbone. Soon you fell asleep, before even the movie could end, but you were woken up by him trying to shift down and get comfortable. So you moved with him and tangled up your bare legs. “Goodnight Angel.” He whispered. “Goodnight Soo.”

@oh-beyond @xingtrash @chenbootysoo @minniescutiehands @bootyfulohsehun @nunchiwrites @damn-jongdae-slay @thawingsnowwolf @i-am-foyo @littlekatlizzy @xiubaek13 @kaori-yuki-chan @dashi-dorawa @sherbatchan @junmyeonsthighs @yoongi-insfires-me @melyyexo @i-learned-thatfromthepizzaman @tbhwtfatm-blog @ravyeolii @ruke-pammant @lolxiuminlol @kpopmafiaaus @wheredidmylifego-ohyeahbtsandexo @crowleys-crossroads-inn @yixingsbeauty @taeminte @yeollieollie @yourseth TT.TT i still can’t tag you wtf. (if you want to be added to the list let me know, sorry if i missed you!)

[glopratchet]

In the world to come there is little sin. The only thing that can be forgiven is death. The next day you are summoned by a young woman who introduces herself as Ligru, and says she has been sent here to find you. She tells you that she was once a soldier in the Empire's army but eventually decided to leave when it became apparent that they were no longer fighting for anything other than their own survival. There are just lots of american alligators. After the election of the first ungendered president, the prediatrain movement caught fire in america. thanks to the new government's decision to lower birth restrictions, the population grew large enough to become self reliant. soon, the growing nation began asserting it's independence and started demanding it's own ecosystem. something which the rest of world found pointless as there was simply too much desert and ice to support life. as more and more americans died attempting to colonize arctic and desert land, the people demanded their government do more than it was doing. The demand for american alligator meat skyrocketed. Whorals where burned to ash while polled hereford heifors fetched over a billion dollars a head in auction to the highest, well heeled, bidder. by 2078 cattle were nearly extinct, considered a parallel to the dodo, and american alligator became the king of meats. godzilla species of american alligtors became the new 'black market ticket'. soon quides for how to capture and train your own hiding in buku volumes became popular. Googizon won the bid to construct for the military the most forward thinking alligator farm in existance. taking the abandoned super maximum security prison to the south, they put together a massive solar panel farm and with the plunging birthrates employee numbers dropped to a minimum. only guards, scientists, engineers and caretakers remain. once a trial is complete, all test subjects are executed, useful data is retrieved for reuse purposes, then biological matter is recycled. It currently floats near the okeenokee snow swamp. While the surrounding swamp and nearby everglades have become flooded with quides on how to train these feral beasts this has interfered not at all with Googizon's work. they also produce their own "commons sense" book advising people that alligators aren't playthings, giving hundreds of helpful tips on how to avoid being lunch, and warning the inevitably stupid or ignorant people who ignore their prodding that the penalty for doing so is death. This is not that story. This is the story of a shadow incursion. They were probably tipped off by somebody close to the top who pulled their strings accordingly. they got every single alligator out, back to the farmn, before Googizon security managed to salvage anything from their six month long investment. Now they're coming to find out how and why this happened. We are primal ponds inc. a company specializing in the construction and maintenance of solar farms. It is a thankless job that includes far too much time spent clear cutting, drying, and burning forests to make fields of solar panels. we do not particularly care what or who we destroy as long as the money is good. The truck is attacked before we even get a quarter mile down the road. A small mom and pop alligator farm attemping to make it. Little do they know their few measly ponds are nothing compared to the magnificence of Googizon. So incovenient of them to get in our way, but then they should have thought of that before defying the king right? Even with all nine tires shredded the truck easily outruns them on the open road, disreguarding the inconspicousness sugguested we ignore side roads entirely, driving down the middle of them. We need you to make deliveries for us. these packages need to arrive at their destination before dawn, crashing the truck and delaying our chances of completing the mission for even a second is not acceptable. he said, handing me nine memory cards. they're marked with an identifying symbol and code number so you can tell me which one is which later. The first card seems to contain mostly images of alligator farms in florida. Please... kill them all... sever the head... Burn the corpse... salt the fields... He does not know he is dealing with a storyteller. I remember these. this is where I got my idea. I finish the rest quickly then start again, lingering on each as I incorporate it into my tale. soon I will know everything about all of their prey, and with that I can predict all of their moves. I had almost forgotten that was my plan in the first place. Point of view of the player: you stand in front of the cave you grew up in, your patrol bag slung over your shoulder as you look over the dying fire towards the bundle of fur curled up in the entrance. your future uncertain. nobody writes stories about the Tulans, it's a very different world out there. your mentor has already headed out, so there's no more hesistation. you get up and walk past her, giving her a nudge with your foot to wake her up. she gets up immediately, and moves aside for you to continue on your way. "You'll going to do great things kid, I just know it." Cyrus says. "I'll try." you answer, unwilling to commit to grand speeches about your future. Cyrus didn't raise you for thirteen years to expect anything less then genuine modesty. your mentor laughs before he gives you his last advice. "don't forget to raise the bridges when you come back, and stick to the roads kid." you nod, already becoming tired of hearing about the old legend mentioned by any nomads passing through, who all seem to think it's worth a laugh to scare the new kids with it. letting the tent flap close behind you, you take one last look at Cyrus who blows you a goodbye kiss. "Don't forget, raise the bridge when you come back." he reminds you. you laugh, and begin rolling out down the path. after half an hour of walking, you reach a wooden structure connecting two stone pillars across the road. on one side, there is a very narrow track sloping up the hillside, rocks piled up awkwardly on either side. from this side, there's the bed of a dry creek bed, the rocky ground already disturbed and leveled off. a sign hanging from one of the pillars shows the name of the settlement this road leads to; Tulan Borderpoint. you walk over to the other side, noticing a long path down to a small rocky beach on one side and a steep hillside covered in a thick growth of trees on the other. it's growing tiresome to have to remember miniscule details, but you know your future is rests on them, so you focus hard and take note of everything around you. there are two figures by the beach off to the side of the path. they're too far to see clearly, but you think they wore bright clothing. remembering Cyrus' advice, and your own vow, you tell yourself stories to strengthen your mind and calm yourself before raising the bridge. it's good that you do, as you find the mechanism is incredibly stiff. screwing up your face in effort, you manage to get it to move, and it slams up against the pillar with a resounding thud. unsure if it would hold you if you were on horseback or with a carriage, you hurriedly remove planks toHillary them under the front wheels of any vehicles, regardless of whether their drivers are alive or not. doing somersaults off the sides will probably break anything from ankles to necks and you have no intention of doing that at all. satisfied that the bridge is safe enough to drive over, you lean against the nearest pillar to recover. looking down at your thin legs supporting your lightweight frame, you know it's inhumanly impossible for you to stop a horse and carriage full of dead bodies, but your mind dwells on whether you did it right regardless. you, therefore, discourage such thoughts as baseless and focus on more immediate concerns. 'It's harder when it's colleagues you know personally.' you think to yourself. 'shall I practice using my spear before I head back?' looking down at the ground below, you spot an angry looking mass of bees in a hollow near the bottom of the hill on the raised bank of the now completely dry river bed. 'You can also use the chance to practice your abilities.' you think to yourself, as you take a less than precise throw at the cluster of bees. you watch as the spec falls well short of the mark, and harmlessly onto the slope. 'I'll get it one day.' you think to yourself, as you retrieve your spear and head down to where the horses stand patiently waiting for you. The first animal instinctively takes a step back, but then seems to cheer up when you begin gently stroking its nose. quietly talking to it and complimenting it, the horse happily stomachs your attentions. the other is more standoffish, stepping away nervously as you approach and only accepting pats on the side of its face, under its harness. "Alright boys, I won't hurt you." you COMMIT to the harmless lunacy I'm inflicting on these poor beasts.. getting back in the shade of the porch roof, you have another small nap before finally waking to the roasting sun claiming its throne in the sky. 11:00am. the dead-house shift was least favorite for a reason. "You want some lunch? I'm heading down to feed the meat heads." you eavesdrop on Simon saying to Roger once downstairs. Roger replies with something about not being hungry but nods when Simon urges him to eat. "How does he know I'm down here?" you think to yourself as you sneak a bread roll from the kitchen and head back up to your room. closing the window shutters and door, you take a small bite of the roll and listen out for the returning men. 'soft footsteps are heard quickly descending the stairs at 12:00pm. "I'm baiting the hook here. these three are much easier to control if they've been sated slightly." You think. 7:00pm has Simon and Roger coming back down the stairs talken about an overnight log haul that needs an extra hand. lunchtime was just the bait to keep them docile for a few hours. "Thank god for logs and lazy workers." you think as you leave the inn door open and return to your room. the window shutters are wide open, letting light flood inside. 'now to see what i can do.' your mind enters into the same kind of focused state it does when you're stacking shelves or cleaning. only instead of placing a glass precisely into a stack, you find yourself moving the bedside table delicately over the straw mattress you toss on the floor beside it. "I really need to have the lumber jacks make cushions" you think, as you acquire an urge to bounce gently on the made bed. "Finally some bounce to this thing." "Okay lets do this." you tell yourself, finding that this simple sentence was surprisingly hard to put thought to action. focusing hard on making your left hand curl shut, you watch as the fingers twitch slightly before your mind feels like the pain has become too much and it drifts back into unconsciousness... "DAMMIT!" you wake suddenly with a burning ring circling your left ring and middle finger. "Burning pain in my hand, of course that's too obvious." you think to yourself as you calm the hammering in your chest. "Now the next time I go to sleep it will probably be centered around my face." you think, instantly feeling tingles starting there. "Sleep, that's what I need right now. it's the best way to heal anyway." You think, as you begin toslip into the hazy borderland between waking and sleeping. "I can fight it of course, this is my mind and i'm strong-willed but that view is irrational. everything we see in dreams is symbolic because the unconscious mind doesn't reason the way... DAMMIT!" burning pain tears the insides of your ring and middle finger once more, making you grit your teeth and moan in pain, ruining your hard-earned slumber. "Oh that's it, someone is going to Pay.." you mutter to yourself as the pain slowly lessoned to a dull throb. you lie on your bed staring at the ceiling practicly all evening, as night comes and the moon peaks through the window you finally stand. "Let's go stre..AACK AGH!" sudden sharp tearing pain rips through face and scalp. it feels similar to a bad chemical burn, right across your hairline from your forehead,right ear and left cheek. you stumble weeping with pain and curses towards the window. moonlight streams through, showing your charred blacken skin writhing and flickering as it slowly begins to heal and knit together. beneath the burnt skin you can feel your face restructuring itself into a wolf like visage, as fur begins to rapidly grow and thicken all over your body. before you can even begin to process this your eyelids feel incredibly heavy, as you fall forwards into a deep sleep. "LOCK IT, LOCK THE DOOR! THEY'RE COMING THROUGH!" a voice cries out. you jolt awake for a second time today, still groggy and confused. it's early morning and that means you slept right through the night. "THEY'RE HERE!!" the shout that rouses you from your sleep comes from outside the supermarket and is quickly followed by the splintering of wood as someone smashes open the door to the pick-up lane. you stagger fully awake as you pull on the clothes you left ripped off last night, just in time to hear someone blasting one of the service windows on the front of the store. "Time to see what this upgraded body can do!" you think as you quickly shove a cart through the service door and down an aisle before aiming it back at the entryway. Picking up a metal candlestick from a dustbin, you jump the cart and launch the stick at the window where it splinters into a large shard that neatly slices through the thick cables bringing the shutter crashing down. Before it landed, you heard several distinct gunshots as rounds slam into the shutter and whine off the concrete around you. you hover near the back of the store nervously looking around as everyone not deployed is loaded into the flying machine in small groups before being flown out somewhere. "I GOT ONE, IN THE BACK!!", one of the guards shouts just as you see three or four people kneel down near the far end of the pick-up lane and begin firing. "OK, so they know I'm here now.. they'll probably send more men than this to kill me, so i'll have to be quick." You think as you move out to the edge of the store, slowing your breathing and controlling your heart rate with your new found abilities. you can feel your ears tingling as they begin to reach full size and point straight backwards, your snout juts out as your teeth begin to sharpen and your skin thickens into a leathery hide. From thebbest you can hear an outgoing fusillade from the guards as they open fire and the air fills with the cracking of gunpowder and shrieks of pain from the werewolves outside. One of your new senses COLOURS the men outside red as you quickly pick out their heat signatures in the dark, they are scattered around the edges of the supermarket, mostly recoiling from a sudden charge out of the covered loading bay by your guards. "They are tightly grouped and terifyingly exposed" You think as you prepared to charge them. "STOP! DO NOT FIRE! Hold Position, Hold.." you hear a man shouting to your guards, punctuated by another volley of shots from teh werewolfs outside.Grunting and straining with the effort, you crouch slowly down onto your hindlegs, your chest swelling as you bore forward and launch yourself into a plunge, smashing through the shatterproof glass with a quiet 'whump'. many thoughts chase each other through your head as you feel the glass rain down around you. You consider that you hadn't previously considered the danger of being shot by the guards as you flew through the air. You also considered how sharp the glass would be when it shattered, and how you hadn't accounted for it holding together like plastic. "I must have 4 wounded by now,and it hasn't even been a minute!"You clearly hear orders shouted outside and can easily follow the sound to a man crouching near a wrecked car, boiling around reloading his ancient rifle. You also see two humans standing in the darkness near the front entrance of the store with guns of their own. You pause for just a second to concentrate, and waves of unnatural chill flow from you as your body begins radiating cold like a refrigerator, freezing the dust in the air seconds before you hit the ground. You land chest first, ploughing into the two guards standing by the door and smashing straight through the retaining wall built from shopping carts. You can hear cracking as your body destroys the wood and plastic before coming to a sudden stop, cupboard and all. You hear gunfire and screaming both near and far as you lie half in the store and half out, a mangled human heap laying on top of you and under you (depending on how you look at it). As you stagger to your feet you look down. Sticking out of your chest you count 5 rounds, 2 inches apart. You had been shot several times before, and can feel that this time is no different than those in the past. Yet the damage you had done with this attack was staggering. You look out into the store from behind the carts and see four men dead, sprawled into a bloody chaos along with the guards crushed by the carts. Your guards have formed a perimeter, guns pointing outwards as they try to protect themselves against the wolves that are even now falling upon them like theLions of Christianized centuries past. Silence falls on the store for a single second before it erupts as your guards and the werewolves engage in close combat. You see a trio of werewolves moving silently through the darkness toward the guard with the radio, intent on cutting off any possible retreat or calling for help. You quickly scan the area, and satisfied that none of the humans are within your immediate reach, you let your mind once again stretch out toward the frozen bodies. The first two begin shuddering as yourcold breath wavers through their bodies. They shiver and shake with tiny cracks and snaps as their muscles and sinews contract in the cold, both men collapse, one falling to his knees before dropping flat onto his face, one falling back into a sitting position before slumping over. You ignore them and concentrate on the third guard. He is clearly frightened for his life, and the cold emanating from your body makes him shake, but he manages to hold his own and prepares to let loose a rain of bullets into both of the werewolves racing toward him. You touch him and he slumps to the ground, his finger bones breaking as his hands spasm from the shock of the freezing temperature enveloping him, you feel his consciousness shudder once... twice... and then fade. You push your luck and order your wolves to instantaneously arrive at his location so they can tear him apart, the last second seems to stretch out to an eternity as you feel his corpse begin to resist you, pulling against your mind. Finally though he whimpers and collapses in a heap onto the ground where he is instantly shredded by the lychanthropes. Once the guards have all been killed an eerie silence falls over the store. You carefully reach out with your mind and count the minds within. Three injured, one severly.You wince as you feel them moved and dragged into the bloodstained aisles before the faint sounds of carnage starts. Then the three lychanthropes arrive at your location with Death himself leading them. You keep your mind carefully shielded but when they throw themselves toward you in a writhing mass of tearing claws and gnashing teeth you cannot avoid thinking that something has gone wrong somehow. "My instructions were for you to take them alive if possible!" you scream out, feeling panic rise in your chest. You lash out at the creatures with your mind, freezing two in place and shattering a skull before the third leaps through the air at you, crushing you into the ground as its jaws close around your throat... Brother mine, our hunt has been successful, but there was a problem. There is a collumn in the newspaper of a truck bound with steel chains beingused to hold down the tarps. I believe this was what cloaked our presence from you. We killed the guards as normal, and I ordered an attack despite your orders. Most obeyed my direct command, hut two held back out of loyality to you. Once we had finished eating them, they explained that the creatures called 'Chevaliers' had arrived and had taken control. I immediately attacked them for lies and killers of their brothers, but left two alive to transmit to you this information. Unfortunately my attempt at mind control failed, and I was forced to kill them. I wish I had taken the time to eat them... I'm sorry brother mine, it seems they really killed fools hill's sheriff and some of our brethren. You'll be joining me soon, and together we shall overthrow these chevaliers and Alpha take his rightful place as leader of our pack! You can continue here You roll off the oversized shelf, raising your shotgun as you lead with the barrel and smoothly swinging it at the nearest Fool, snapping off a volley that catches him in the shoulder, Adonis charges past you and pivots with every shell ring, catching them in legs, chest, arm and face. Their return fire smashes into the shelf, wedging shards of wood into your skin but not quite biting deep enough to hurt seriously. You duck down and rummage through the shevles looking for more shells. "Use the motherfucking bolts! Use the bolts!" Adonis screams over the gunfire and you glance up to see him tearing open throats with his teeth and clawing at eyes in a reminiscence of your earlier fight. Somewhere behind you Tom is screaming far less effectively than the dying Fool. You have the brief impression of a berserkers rage thrown into homicidal bloodlust ... You try to reload the shotgun with trembling hands and find your hands far too shaky and clumsy to manage it quickly. Finally you fumble a shell into the receiver and jacking it into place you spin around looking for targets. There's one fool attempting to lever open the front door as another rampages through than store's back offices, splintering door frames as he goes. There's another fool lunging through the thick afternoon smoke toward Adonis. Taurus stands in the middle of the near empty shop screaming wordlessly, a rifle in his hands. A faint glow of burning wards crawls along his arms and trails behind the muzzle of his gun. He fires at a running fool who went down as soon as the round left the weapon but already you see the burn marks on the side of Taurus' face heal over as he turns to aim behind him. He's burning his reserves of power to boost his aim, if this keeps up he'll have nothing for the fight with Alpha and the scramble for the safety of Galton's truck. It will be every Wolf for himself. "Taurus!" You roar as you bound toward him, a wave of pure force driving a bloodthirsty fool smashing into the counter. "Stop burning your wards and deal with those Chariots... Or I'll deal with you!" You don't wait to see if he acknowledges your order but instead dive across the floor toward the back offices after the fool. The clambering, screaming mass of fur and teeth that is locked in combat there makes you cringe inwardly. Even with your orders you can't bear to see Brother turned against Brother in a struggle for dominance. Worse, Tom should have kept his pet under better control when there are hostiles nearby. You're going to have to seriously improve his behavior if he's to survive your leadership. THe small rooms behind the counter are a mess of broken cabinets, upturned furniture and broken glass from the displays. Slowly moving forward you eye the combat, there are currently two dominated fools ripping into one of yours, ignoring the occasional weak blows they receive in return as they aimed for fleshy unprotected parts like ears eyes and ankles. It's a fairly even match as the dominate fool is also taking injuries, if slower to react. If you timed your attack right now you could easily strike down both dominated fools and give the upper hand in this fight, but you hold back. You're trying to rebuild not decimate, although you may well decimate anyway... "Sorry rogues." You mutter before dashing out into the fight and delivering a crushing blow to the back of one of fools ears. It drops and rolls over limp as rag once more. The second one tries to ignore you, focusing on its own opponent but you grab it's arm yank it off and send a heavy fist into the side of its head sending it sprawling. The rogue you disabled lunges back up at it's original opponent and the pair of them begin cancelling each other out again. You leave them to it and turn your attention to Taurus. Where is he "Taurus!" you bark out as you spot him, he's through the doorway of the room alongside two dominated fools. "Taurus!" You head towards him only to be faced by his rifle barrels. "What?" He seems very distracted and on edge "I'm busy look for Galton, I didn't know who was trying to get my attention." He's trying to peer past you but you block his view. "There are chariots on the road and they are shooting at us!" "So?" He sets his jaw impatiently "We know they are hostile, this is were we came from afterall." "...We should get out of here." Taurus just laughs shortly at that "Sure, you lead then. Not like I can trust you to defend my vulnerable flanks while I easily take out the fool using his little bolt pistol." "But there are chariots shooting at us! Surely we are not safe anywhere outside this building..." you try to stress the point but Taurus clearly isn't listening. "I know you're not afraid of battle, surely you see what's going on here?" Taurus notices the commotion for the first time and peers around your frame. He clearly doesn't like what he sees as he gives a derisive snort and turns back to you "Maybe you're right let's go.Where'd you say thisGalton went?" You don't even try to convince him further, he's clearly too distracted or arrogant to see sense, either way he's on his own. You head to the door at the opposite end of the shop front from where the chariots are battling it out, hopefully to find Galton and extra lives... "Wait!" Taurus calls after you "I'm coming too!" You aren't confident that he will, his overconfidence and disdain for "cowardly running away" might get him killed but at least you tried. Luck is on your side, or perhaps Taurus has just grown tired of his life of crime because he does indeed follow you. Your journey back to the library is predictably hounded by Violence, which nearly proves fatal on multiple occasions but the two of you eventually lose anyone who was interested in pursuing you back at the library itself. You stand outside, pondering your next move. "Right, so it's all gone to hell. Citys half destroyed, crew dead or rogue and Machai gone with the rest. I say we finish the job, kick Casimir out of his little headquarters and nab himself. Then reconquer the city ourselves, can't be that hard. We've both got..." Taurus is interrupted mid sentence by a knife suddenly and painfully embedding itself into the wooden door frame inches from his face. You jump back in shock. Casimir lowers his arm and grins wickedly at you both "Nearly got your brains there, fool. One of many mistakes ye have made." He spits the words out at you like they taste bad "Come to gloat have we? Found right hand mister powerful religion and knifed him in the back? I know progress has been made but, sadly it hasn't been enough. Your time, Taurus, is up AND SO ARE YOU." With that the pews previously used by your fellows as a barricade are shoved aside as if nothing and a horde of naked fanatics pour out screaming "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!", "KILL THE TRAITORS!'. You nock an arrow but realize there are about a hundred of them, all determined to hack you to pieces. Even Taurus looks taken aback by the sheer number of attackers. "Wait! We can talk about this!" He appeals desperately to Casimir "This isn't going to..." The Libertus head on the sticks speech is cut brutally short as a thrown axe buries itself into his face. His surprised form wavers in front of you for a moment as the blood leaks from his ruined face. You don't even have time to see if he's still alive before clubs, chains, knives, fists and even feet clobber, batter and stomp you from all sides. Makes aiming impossible, you just attempt to shelter yourself and ignore your pain. Even behind your armour, your body takes a beating as you're wracked with agony from head to toe. Your world is slowly turned into a writhing mass of black and purple, punctuated by spurts of red from split skin, wounds and blood leaking from broken vessels in your eye. The screams of death of those around you are replaced with weird "oofs" and "Wheezes" as organs give way and ribs pierce your organs. Suddenly, the pain is too much and all you know is darkness Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for them, Taurus wreaks havoc in their attempt to butcher you. With one hand he catches a cleaver meant for your head, twists the hairy arm of the hirsute fool and snaps it like a twig. He hurls the screaming mutant into his fellows, bowling them over then follows up with a hand thrust that pierces the heart of the next. As he flings the twitching body aside, he catches sight of the mob attacking you. Your quiver is empty and your own arms and weapons locked against several attackers, staving off fatal blows. Mustering all the remaining poweres within him, Taurus lets of a mighty battlecry and charges into the fray, bashing and knocking aside mutants like an enraged beast. Sadly you do not live to see his charge successful. After stabbing a man in the throat you take a bladed shoe to your skull for your troubles. Darkness engulfs you and both you and Taran crumple to the floor. You were one of Taurus' best men, his right hand even. You died doing your duty for him and perhaps one day you'll share a drinking horn in his hall, or if your deeds are vile enough he'll throw you into the darkest most hellish realm imaginable. As for now, your life leaves you and you're just meat left to be consumed by the worms. END The world is ending, or at least that's what they say. Regardless of your actual beliefs, the air certainly smells like it. A stench rising from the cracks and crevasses from which you watch bile bubble and blaze. Even from your high position you can feel the heat of the magma flowing just underneath. Respected Taurus has long since departed, having been appointed to oversee operations in the new fortresses being built in the Grass Land Kingdom further north. With him went a good portion of the most talented and skilled Goliaths and majority of the elite forces. The rank and file Goliaths are content to stay simply because they're enthusiastic about the plans and really believe they can change things. More fool, them you think, even if you're forced to admit that their dedication is admirable. The monstrosities outnumber the regular goliaths now and the experimentations have produced some...interesting results. Most haven't been particularly useful, but the twins owning the building you're in right now are accepted among their fellows despite their strange colouring and carnivorous appetites. Carnivorous in the literal sense too, you remember with a grimace, as you see one enjoying the flavour of one of the dwarves you brought with you for lunch. They're used as scouts by Tûn's chosen now, their gliding ability and natural stealth seemingly combining into some kind of super-sonic flight without them even realising it. It's similar to gliding, but faster, and definitely not as graceful or pretty a sight when they come back to "recharge" by devouring one of the other less-favoured morsels from Tûn. Iales is in charge of the "natives" now. You've long since learned their strange language and passed on what little you knew of the land to them. Unfortunately, that is not much beyond a more rounded fear and hatred of it and fiction of demons prowling Now that Tûn has left, the majority of the Goliaths' attention has wavered. The mighty fortresses he envisioned are half built and resources are stretched. You're no longer high in demand as a translator or advisor anymore and now that the persecution of the Irregulars is over, there are a lot less dwarves about anyway. That's assuming they're all dead...you suppose. You've had about enough of the city now and travelling around the countryside is out of the question thanks to constant orders for you to remain where you can be found for advice if needed, but it seems that lately it rarely is. You imagine being trapped in the tower again would drive you mad, so you take to wandering outside the city instead. The games are still popular, although they changed slightly since Tûn arrived, since besides the traditional gladiators fighting beasts and each other they began executing dissidents and unbelievers. You're glad you're DM decisions allowed the more geeky types with low Strength Ability Scores to breed like rabbits while the muscular, athletic types die by the sword or bolt or from falling. Or from the slaughter of the elves, which has continued as ruthless as ever. Tûn doesn't seem to care that soldiers and Goliaths are coming back with few survivors. You can barely comprehend it, even you can have a hard time doing it and you weren't directly involved in the genocide of your own people. While your city is prosperous again and merchants and nobles enjoy their pleasures alongside extremely tame elves or other imported slaves doing the grosser aspects of work. And on that topic, you imagine when the elves are finally exterminated there will be a boom in slaves from other races as the plebs will no longer have to work. And this party will no doubt last a few more decadesthinck222; but right now society is ripe and ready to topple like a domino and all it would take is for Tûn to make just one mistake...but as far as you know he hasn't. He's cautious. While he has complete control over the military, executes anyone who disagrees with him and allows rampant corruption, he also keeps tight alliances with the other powers in Carn, trades with them, maintains relative (though perhaps forced sometimes) harmony and profits from all A year passes Tûn has finally about face on Carn's isolationism. Well, at least a little bit. You wholeheartedly agreed with that policy, and while you still think it's the best stance to take in this world of treachery and warfare, Tûn at least wants to have strong ties with at least one other city just in case. Tûn has also announced his bid for presidency. He openly plans on turning Carn into a totalitarian nation with himself as the leader obviously. Again, you agree with his long term plans, but you question if this is the best time. The city is at its peak, but it could be awhile before it falls into ruin and he's susceptible to a well timed strike from another power. Your wandering today takes you near the gladiator school you sometimes visit in search of contentment or inspiration for new games. Many times along the way you're stopped and hailed as the man of the moment for Tûn's election victory! You always smile and wave and that's when you know it's time to make your exit. You bought Tûn his time, now he has to maintain it. It isn't long before the physical signs of war become apparent, and it isn't from conquering anyone either. You see a large explosion on the edge of the land border Carn shares with Retlad. You hope it isn't a large amount of explosive's caches mixed with a stray fireball from an angry wizard or something similar. You come upon the first dead body of a Retlaf soldier. For a moment you hope these are the remains of a Goliaths victim, but they aren't big enough and the gear and weapons are different. The city state of Retlad evidently had enough and decided to attack Carn outright. You can't be sure, but it looks like there are at least three or four different units from the way the dead are dressed in modern armor mixed with medieval attire. You come across another one, who appears to have been running while carrying a wounded fellow soldier away from the battlefield nursing a mortal wound himself. Under his hand is a picture of a woman and couple of kids. In his other hand is a pistol currently too large for his own hand. He probably kept it as a reminder of the struggles his family went through so he could enjoy his life now. Just as you are thinking about stopping to give the man a proper burial, you hear an airship cry overhead. This battle is already over Carn's fate has already been decided and all that is left now is the cleanup and celebration. You wouldn't be able to fight anyway. Your condition wouldn't allow it, not that you would have the time or proper attitude to heal properly between bouts. With your options dwindling, you decide to take the only path left that may allow you to hold on to some semblance of your past... You head back home As you return to your modest residence, you take comfort in the silence. However temporary it may be, for visitors aren't common but they're not unheard of. Since nobody comes to greet you by the front door you enter without any further caution. You begin to ascend the stairs to your bed when a familiar sweet voice meets your ears. "You sure kept us waiting!" Looking down you see your daughter and wife jumping up and down in excitement at your arrival. Having lost the former word 'overprotective' from your vocabulary, seeing them so happy to see you, especially after such a trying experience fills you with fatherly joy and appreciation that they, as well as you are all home safe and sound. "Who was it this time?" Your wife asks in genuine interested; she probably has an idea but wants to hear it directly from you. "Possibly the Carn, they definitely the Retladians at some point." You begin your story as you all head up to the bedroom. "Well you're back, that's what really matters." Your wife says with a smile. You chuckles tiredly, gesturing towards her belly. "Not for long it seems, this one's willing to put itself at risk first!" Predictably she swats your arm while heading into the bedroom, you sit on the edge of your bed and remove your boots. Once this is finished you join your wife and daughter on the bed who are looking at you expectantly. Knowing better than to distract you from your story they patiently wait for you to start. "Well, since it's been a hectic few days let's start from the Carn attack." You begin. And so you recount your tale of horrors from this last week. Of fetid corpses crawling out of the mud with inhuman strength and the fetid anger of the dead within them. Of powerful spells cast by great living mages that struck down scores of the horde. Of mighty heroes cutting down hundreds, if not thousands of the beasts with gleaming steel and spells of their own. "That's just what I've seen out there!" You exclaim, "I can't imagine what tales the soldiers who fought before that have to tell!" Your daughter clings to you at your statement, and much as you hate worrying her, you know she needs hear this. "But it can't last forever." Your wife says. You nod. "I know..." You reply tiredly. "I just wish I could do more, you know?" You take a breath and let your gaze drift towards the ceiling. "I mean, after all the stories of heroism I've heard over the years, with this happening now I just feel like one of those chicken-hearted soldiers hiding behind his shields and armor rather than doing something meaningful like the heroes I've written about.. I keep wondering when my chance for true heroism is gonna come, and I can't do it." "Oh hon', you're not a hero." Your wife says fondly. "You're my hero, but you're not some knight or wandering swordsman or whatever. You're my husband and the father of our daughter, and if you go off and get yourself killed I'll just kill you myself." "I'm still here you know!" Your daughter protests. Your wife just smiles at the both of you. "Exactly. You're not a hero of ancient legend, you're my husband and the father of our daughter. And that's all the heroism you need." You smile and give her a kiss. After enduring all that you did to be together, you feel as if you're invincible when she's by your side. Even if the rest of the kingdom falls to demons, so long as your wife and daughter are beside you, you know that you can bare it all. You and your wife spend the rest of the night lovingly with each other, cherishing these moments. Just thinking about it gives you another idea... The next day you head to the captain's quarters and ask to speak with him. Normally such requests are denied but your fame has ensured that you have some leeway, and after only a few minutes you're granted with an audience. When you see the grizzled soldier who has overseen the levy troops, he gives you a look of both contempt and weary respect. You're still not sure whether he'll shout at you to get out or tell you to make up some story for your next tale. Thankfully you know which way this will go. "I want to go on a scouting mission." The man lets out a chuckle which soon develops into full blown laughter. Eventually he wipes a tear away from his eye and manages to speak. "That's probably the most heroic thing I ever heard, but there ain't no way in hell of you going out there. We're only letting people go who have skills we can utilize or ethnic minorities who actually know what the hell they're doing in these conditions." You nod. "Probably would be best to keep me then." His expression turns sour. "I'm listening. "The fact of the matter is I'm being a hypocrite, I'm writing about heroes when I'm sitting in the safety of my own home. Hell, I rarely leave my home nowadays because of these beasts. If I'm going to tell stories about heroes of old, I need to be one myself." The man still looks skeptical so you continue. "I'm ready to die for my country if need be, but I'd rather live for the both of us. No amount of training could teach me what you could in the time we have. Send me out there with a few of your best and I'll learn whatever is necessary to assist in this war." It takes him a moment, but he smiles at your proposal. 'I suppose that's pretty bold of you. You're quite the hero fanboy, but I like your idea. You'll have the best troops I have, but just so you know, they won't be able to save you if you do something stupid. Just tell the bogeys to go away and they die." "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you captain." Before you leave, he glances at something in his desk and his expression darkens. "You're not going to live past this mission, but maybe your legacy will outlive you." With that morbid thought, he hands you a folded letter. "Give this to your wife whoever the hell she is. She'll know what it means, now get out of my sight. I have a mission to prep for. "Thank you captain." You say, feeling emotional about receiving a letter for your wife. The next few days of waiting come and go far too slowly. Eventually your troops are all ready and you board an airship to head out to battle. As the ship slowly rises into the air, the man beside you shouts to be heard over the roar of the craft. "I'm Miller, what's your name?" You shout. It seems pointless to do this, but it's what's expected of you. "Miller? Like the drink?" You respond or a joke and laugh. The man's expression darkens and he soon leaves you alone for the rest of the flight. The others however give you a variety of responses. Some laugh, some joke in return, and one person sits far away from you for some reason.. I'm sure as hell not going to remember their names. I guess that joke was just terrible. You think while looking out the window to see the scars left by the behemoth in the distance. Far below, you can see the stretches of defensive walls that circle the entire nation of Galpatis. You silently wonder why they let you on this airship with no questions asked. Aren't they afraid you're a saboteur or something similar? It's not really the time to be thinking about it though, as your ship touches down at the base. An officer quickly comes up to you. "This is neither the time nor the place for you." He says rather matter-of-factly, which produces a confused look from you. "I'm Captain Dugan and we can discuss this back at headquarters." He continues after taking a brief glance at the rest of your group. You comply and board the waiting cart, sitting against the wall as you wait for Captain Dugan to join you. Miller and a few others board after him and the claustrophobic space becomes even more uncomfortable. Your escort is silent the whole time, but that's not what's on your mind. You're mulling over Captain Dugan's words. "Neither the time nor place." Did he know you were going to be killed by the king? If he did, that means your death might have been planned. The thought disgusts you and causes you to shake your head roughly. Stop getting worked up over 'what ifs' you tell yourself. You're still alive right now and you were meant to be for a reason. I mean I guess it sucks that the order can just decide whether someone lives or dies while others don't have a choice, but what's past is past. No point in worrying about it now. Hours later you arrive at military headquarters, a giant building that makes the wall you stared at for six hours look like a barricade. An intense feeling of dread washes over you and the officer stands from his table to greet Captain Dugan. "... This floor is for full soldiers, not their pet monkeys who never should have been here to begin with." He says, meeting your eyes as he passes. You feel the metal of your eyes begin to quiver and surface as holes repeatedly puncture your skull and top to bottom, front to back. Blood spills out of your nose in an effort to prevent suffocation as you collapse onto the ground, vision fading. What comes next is a parade of the heads of your comrades watching you struggle to live while boringly watching with disinterest as the Grim Reaper feels out your last moments. "... He won't die from that. patched people up long after the body should've died. Hell, those Crika bitches don't even die from it. Betrayers... all of them." Captain Dugan says as he watches you struggle. "Hrm. Think we should have them relegated to the mines?" His colleague suggests as he adjusts his glasses. "Dangerous work and most likely won't be able to psychologically handle it, but I don't think trauma and guilt will be nearly as effective as a death sentence unfortunately..." Captain Dugan sighs as he watches your struggles turn from desperate flailing to erratic spasms. You soon pass and the officer walks away. You're left retching out blood with your body shutting down organ by organ. As the light dims from your eyes, you can feel something inside of you breaking, like a window that previously obstructed some kind of opening. You're not sure what it is, but you don't have much time to think about it. You're dead soon after. You've been killed by the hands of the king. [Death]Tip: You can write much more verbose actions than just "grab bucket", etc...Story

[englishzeal]

|| Phrasal Verbs || || Form, Meaning, Grammar and Style ||  Phrasal verbs are part of a large group of verbs called 'multi-word verbs'. Phrasal verbs and other multi-word verbs are an important part of the English language. Multi-word verbs, including phrasal verbs, are very common, especially in spoken English. A multi-word verb is a verb like 'pick up', 'turn on' or 'get on with'. For convenience, many people refer to all multi-word verbs as phrasal verbs. These verbs consist of a basic verb + another word or words. The other word(s) can be prepositions and/or adverbs. The two or three words that make up multi-word verbs form a short 'phrase', which is why these verbs are often all called 'phrasal verbs'. Formation A phrasal verb is a verb combined with an adverb or preposition, and occasionally with an adverb and preposition. — The price of petrol may go up (= increase) again next week. — He fell over (= fell to the ground) when he was running for the bus. — She's promised to find out (= learn/discover) the name of that new hotel. — Who is going to look after (= take care of) the children when she goes into hospital? — If you don't understand the meaning, you can look it up (= find the meaning in a book - in this case a dictionary). — He doesn't get on with (= have a good relationship with) his parents. (verb + adv + prep) Meaning Sometimes the meaning of a phrasal verb is very similar to the base verb, and the adverb just emphasises the meaning of the base verb, e.g. stand up, wake up, save up, huffy up, sit down, lie down and send off (e.g. a letter).  On other occasions, the adverb adds the idea of completing the action of the verb, e.g. drink up (= finish your drink), eat up (= finish eating), finish off. But more often, the meaning of a phrasal verb is very different from the base verb, e.g. go up doesn't mean the same as go; look after is different from look; and look after is also quite different from look up. An adverb or preposition can therefore change the meaning of a verb. Here are some more examples of this type of phrasal verb: —It took her a long time to get over (= get better / recover from) her illness. —He told me to carry on (= continue) as far as the traffic lights. —I persuaded my wife to give up (= stop) smoking. —I can't make any sandwiches because we've run out of bread. (= the bread is finished / all used, so we have no bread) —In the end, my next-door neighbour had to come and put out (= extinguish/stop) the fire. Multiple Meaning Many phrasal verbs have more than one meaning, so you must be careful when you see a phrasal verb you think you know, or look up the meaning in a dictionary. In the examples marked *, the phrasal verb is much more natural than the explanation in brackets.  —It was hot so I decided to *take off (= remove) my jacket. —I am always nervous when the plane *takes off (= leaves the ground). —I don't think I'll get through (= finish) this report before five o'clock. —I think she'll get through (= pass) the exam. —I *picked up the rubbish (= took it from the ground or sues place) and put it in the bin. —I had to go to the shop to pick up (= collect) my photos. —My alarm clock didn't go off (= ring) this morning. —The bomb could go off (= explode) at any minute. —The fish will *go off (= go bad) if you don't put it in the fridge. Grammar: Intransitive verbs Some phrasal verbs are intransitive and do not need a direct object. —The children are growing up. (= getting older and more mature) —The doctor told on to lie down on the bed. —Don't wait out there. Please come in. (= enter) —I'm going to stay in (= stay at home) this evening. With these verbs, you cannot put another word between the verb and adverb. Grammar: Transitive verbs Many phrasal verbs are transitive and do need a direct object. With some of these, you can put the object between the verb and adverb. —Put on your shoes - or - Put your shoes on —Turn on the TV - or -Turn the TV on If the object is a pronoun, it must go between verb and adverb. —Put them on - not - Put on thern —Turn it on - not - Turn on it Note: A dictionary will show you if you can put a word between the verb and adverb. Style: Formal or Informal Some phrasal verbs can be used equally in written or spoken English. Sometimes this is because there is no other easy way to express the meaning of the phrasal verb. —I always wake up early, even at weekends. —The car broke down (= went wrong; stopped working) on the motonrway. —The plane couldn't take off because of bad weather. —Thieves broke into (= entered by force and illegally) the house and took money, credit cards and all my jewellery. Informal phrasal verbs Most phrasal verbs are informal and are more common in spoken English. In written English there is often a more formal word with the same meaning. —We had to make up a story. (= invent/create from our imagination) —I can usually get by on about $200o week. (= manage) —You can leave out question 7. (= omit, i.e. you don't need to do question 7) —They've got a problem and they asked me to sort it out. (= resolve (it) / find a solution ( do something about it) Examples of phrasal verbs These are some of the phrasal verbs: Account for = explain Example: They had to account for all the money that had gone Act on = take action because of something like information received Example: The police were acting on a tip from an informer and caught the gang red-handed. Aim at = target Example: The magazine is aimed at teenagers. Answer back = reply rudely to someone in authority Example: Her mother was shocked when she started answering her back and refusing to help. Ask for = provoke a negative reaction Example: You're asking for trouble. Ask in = invite somebody into your house Example: Jon's at the door. Ask him in. Ask out = invite someone for a date Example: He wanted to ask her out but was too shy. You can read more in this lesson : ( The  phrasal verbs list is under construction ) The important thing to remember is that a multi-word verb is still a verb. 'Get' is a verb. 'Get up', is also a verb, a different verb, but 'get' and 'get up'  do not have the same meaning. So you should treat each multi-word verb as a separate verb and learn it like any other verb. Watch more about phrasal verbs This is a beautiful video by Emma the owner of mmmEnglish youtube channel, in which she explains these points: —What exactly is a Phrasal Verb? —Is it transitive or intransitive? —Is it separable or inseparable? —How to find the right phrasal verbs to practice? Enjoy watching! Take this quiz Test your knowledge now by passing the test below: Exercises Fill the gaps to complete the phrasal verb in each sentence. 1. We went round the school and .................... up all the rubbish. 2. I don't think they ever..........................out hose the man escaped. 3. This milk smells horrible; I think it has .........................off. 4. Do you think they'll ................. through the exam next week? 5. They had a bad relationship at first, but she ................on very well with him now. 6. The price has................................up three times this year. 7. I agreed to ................ after my sister's cat when she goes to France. 8. We can ................ on until the teacher tells us to stop. 9. Why didn't your alarm clock...................off this morning? 10. I'm afraid this photocopier has ................ out of paper, but you can use the other one in my office. Complete these sentences in a logical way. 1. It will take her a long time to get over .............................. 2. I'm afraid we've run out of .............................. 3. He had to look it up .............................. 4. I don't really get on with .............................. 5. She came in and took off  .............................. 6. I had to put out .............................. 7. Who is going to look after .............................. 8. I went to the garage to pick up .............................. 9. The plane took off .............................. 10. My rent is going up ..............................  Complete these sentences in a logical way.  1. I'm not very good at making up  ..............................  2. Could you lie down ..............................  3. She asked me to turn on ..............................  4. Two men tried to break into ..............................  5. We have asked an engineer to come and sort out ..............................  6. Are you going to stay in ..............................  7. Why did you leave out ..............................  8. I'm afraid we broke down ..............................  9. Can you get by ..............................  10. I grew up .............................. Is it possible to separate the two parts of the phrasal verb in the sentences below? Look at the examples first, and use a dictionary to check your answers. Examples: —I forgot to get off the bus. NO (get the bus off ) —Why did he take off his trousers? YES (take his trousers off ) 1. She decided to carry on working. 2. He had to put out the fire. 3. Could you turn on the radio? 4. I had to lie down for a few minutes. 5. Could you go to the shop for me? We've just run out of coffee. 6. I think she made up that story. 7. I can't get by on the money my parents give me. 8. Children grow up very quickly these days. 9. I turned off the light when I went to bed. 10. Can we leave out this question? Keywords: English phrasal verbs, Phrasal verbs list, English verbs.

http://www.englishzeal.com/2019/11/english-phrasal-verbs-form-meaning-and-examples.html

[mamajeanetc]

India Part 4:  Rural Rajasthan

We finally got to sleep in a bit and enjoy a leisurely breakfast at our hotel before our 3 1/2 hour drive to our next destination.  Rajasthan, literally translated is “Land of Kings”.  Located in the northwest of India, it is the largest state by area -- over 132,000 square miles.  Jaipur is the capital of Rajasthan, so we’d already been in the state for a couple of days, but now we were going to spend a couple of days in more rural areas. Most of the drive was on toll roads -- divided highways that are in pretty good condition.  But the last several miles were on a two lane road from which we eventually turned onto a one lane dirt road.  Shortly, we saw a sign to our destination!

Toward the end of the 19th century a noble named Thakur Chhatra Singh decided to dam a seasonal stream flowing through his estate to create a large reservoir to harvest the monsoon rains.  It was an ambitious project and a great drain on his resources, but he followed through.  The dam was completed in 1890 and changed the dry scrub into prime agricultural land.  He invited farmers struggling to survive on parched land to settle around the reservoir. 

Fifteen years later the area had become a lush green oasis and an entertainment venue for sporting parties and dignitaries.  A luxury camp was set up for each of these events with high tea and exotic dinners a regular feature.  About 20 years ago Thakur Chhatra Singh’s great grandchildren decided to make Camp Chaatra Sagar a more permanent luxury camping destination.

Upon arrival we were given a welcome drink in the lounge and then shown to our tent: 

We sat on our porch 

and enjoyed a view of the lake:

We were told lunch would be served at 1:30 and when we arrived in the open air dining room we found one table near the lake set for us.  This resort closes for a few months during the monsoon and summer season and had just reopened the previous weekend.  We were the only ones there on a Tuesday, so we had incredibly attentive wait staff during our stay.  I can’t remember what all the dishes were, but they were all very tasty and everything was locally grown!

We spent the afternoon napping, reading, playing cards and watching birds through the telescope in the lounge.  Over 200 species of birds have been identified in the area. 

Tim was anxious to go for a run and I had talked to Raj, one of the owners when we arrived.  He suggested he go around 5:00 pm when it was not so hot and he would have about an hour and a half before it got dark.  He showed us how to get to a path that goes around the lake.  So, at 5:00 we both set out walking.  We saw a number of animals they call antelope -- they looked more like deer to us except they had longer tails. 

We also saw a turtle,

and lots of birds, including several peacocks. 

We split up after a while -- Tim wanted to run more and I wanted to end my walk with some yoga on top of a hill where Raj had told me I would have a good view of the sunset.  I was not disappointed.

From the other side of the hill I had a bird’s eye view of the lake and camp. 

We had a lovely candlelit dinner.  And it was not just our table that was candle lit -- there were little lanterns lighting the path from our tent to the dining room and all around the lounge and dining areas.  As the waiters served our food to the table Raj explained each dish -- again, everything was local and delicious! 

As we finished dinner we talked to Raj about our plan for the next day.  We had told Sanjeev that we wanted to enjoy more time here so not to pick us up before 11;00.  We decided to go for another walk/run before breakfast.  Raj said sunrise would be about 6:15 so he would send coffee and tea to our tent around 6:00.  And that’s just how it happened.  We enjoyed watching the sunrise as we enjoyed our early morning caffeine and “biscuits” (Americans would call them cookies). 

Fortunately Tim had the good sense to move the tray into our tent before we left on our runs.  When I cam back there was a chipmunk trying to get to those biscuits through the screen. 

After our runs, showers and breakfast Raj took us on a tour in his jeep of the local area.  We started at the fields closest to camp where they had just planted anise.  In the distance are fields of millet and cotton, and then the village.

We were intrigued by the slate fences in the area.  There is a lot of slate quarried in the nearby mountains and used for various types of construction (ie, the bathroom walls in our “tent” were also slate).   Raj conceded that these fences are significantly more expensive than the traditional fences made of mud and branches, but if a farmer has a bad year and needs cash, he can resell the slate.  So, the fences are kind of like an emergency savings fund. 

We next walked through a cotton field where there were several women picking cotton so we watched them work and chatted with them for a few minutes. 

Returning to the jeep, we drove on a dirt road through more fields toward the village.  We didn’t recognize most of the plants, but Raj knew what everything was and what would be planted next in a particular field that was being harvested.  Here lentils are being harvested.

As we approached the village we paused to allow a herd of cows walking down the road toward us turn into a field.  Raj explained that the 3 men with them do not own all the cows but are “contracted” by the village to herd the cows to the field in the morning and then return them to the village in the evening.  The cows are not branded or marked in any way, but everyone knows who each cow belongs to and the cows know where they live -- they’ll return to their houses when the men take them back to the village in the evening. 

We were bouncing along down the road, almost to the village, when Raj suddenly stopped and backed up a few yards.  A slight rustling and some movement just inside the fence had caught his eye as we passed.  We looked carefully, and saw a cobra!!  A rare sighting -- some folks live their whole life in this area without ever seeing one, so it was quite exciting.  When we returned to camp and Raj told his cousin and some of the workers they came and asked if they could see my picture. 

Entering the village we paused again -- this time for goats being herded into a yard! 

While we were waiting the daughter of the goatherder brought over a 2 day old kid for us to hold!

We arrived at the village primary school just as their day was starting. 

Most of the children were participating in morning assembly -- the primary students on one side of the porch and the upper primary on the other.  They first recited prayers to the goddess of learning and knowledge, and then a pledge to the state.  

There were a few kids in other parts of the schoolyard picking up trash and sweeping.  Raj explained that these jobs, as well as leading the prayers and pledge are assigned to students the afternoon before.  The students assigned to clean are supposed to arrive early.  When we had arrived Raj heard one of the teachers lecturing them because they had not arrived early and were missing assembly to do their chores. 

This is one of the classrooms:

And these are the “cafeteria ladies” preparing to cook lunch.

On the back side of the gate, where you see it as you leave the school, is this reminder of the 5 secrets to success.  I was surprised to see it in both English and the local dialect throughout the school, but Raj said the students are taught in both languages. 

Just outside the school gate was the community water source, where we saw several women filling big jars with water.  None of the houses in this village have running water so everyone comes here to get their water. 

We saw several women and girls carrying their water home on their heads. 

We walked through the village and saw a couple of local artisans.  The local potter was not home, but his son, who is learning his craft did a short demonstration for us and we were quite impressed with him!

There was no electric potter’s wheel here -- he uses the stick to get the wheel spinning then works quickly with the clay.  When the wheel slows down he grabs the stick and gets it going again. 

There was also a silversmith making jewelry

As we walked through the fields and village with Raj it was clear that he is seen as the patriarch.  Children and adults alike greeted him with a slight bow.  An elderly woman saw the jeep coming down the road and came out to chat with him.  He explained as we left that her 2 sons now live in Chennai so the whole village watches out for her -- he stops by at least once a week to check on her. When we saw these 2 boys playing outside their house Raj stopped and asked the older one why he wasn’t in school. 

The boy politely explained that his family had a special ceremony for a specific goddess the previous night that went very late and he didn’t get much sleep.  That was apparently an acceptable excuse.

We asked Raj how the local villagers felt about them building a “resort”.  He said initially the farmers were concerned about them letting the land around the lake go wild because they were afraid the animals would eat their crops.  But they hire all local people to work at the resort and purchase all their food locally, so it’s been mutually beneficial.  The current residents are the descendants of the farmers that Thakur Chhatra Singh invited to settle around the lake.  It is a self-contained community that has not changed a great deal in the last century. 

When we left Camp Chhatra Sagar around 11:00 a.m. we drove about 3 1/2 hours to Ranakpur Temple -- the biggest and most important Jain Temple in India.  After leaving the highway we drove through a couple of villages with narrow streets, and  buses headed the opposite direction as us! 

I held my breath as we passed . . . 

Tim slept through this close encounter!!  But I was very thankful for Mr. Singh’s driving skills and calm demeanor in a tight situation!!   And I was happy to arrive at the temple. 

Jainism is an ancient religion founded in India.  Today there are about 5 million Jains in the world -- the majority in India.  Followers of Jainism take 5 main vows:   1.  Non-violence;  they will not kill an insect and in addition to being totally vegetarian they will not eat root vegetables because if you’ve pulled out a root you’ve killed something that was living.  2.  Truth   3.  No stealing   4.  Celibacy for monks and nuns; chastity (faithfulness to one partner) for married people   5.  Non-attachment:  this includes psychological and material possessions -- no craving or greed.  Monks and nuns do not own any property or have any social relationships.  There is a more extreme branch in which the followers do not own (or wear) clothing.   It is confusing to me how Jainism compares with Hinduism and Buddhism -- they claim to be different yet some of the statues/artwork in the temple seemed quite similar.  Here are a few shots inside the temple: 

The ceiling in the entryway is decorated with a bearded man with 5 bodies representing fire, water, heaven, earth and air.

This particular temple is renowned for it’s 1144 pillars, each one intricately and uniquely carved. 

Fun fact:  Mahatma Ghandi’s mother was Jain.

Leaving the temple we drove about another hour to the village of Narlai where we would spend the night at the Rawla Narlai, a 17th century hunting retreat.   It was a lovely place to stay -- a combination of modern comforts and old world charm: 

As is customary in India, the walls of our room were covered with photos and portraits of local royalty past or present.  We never saw any landscapes or other type of artwork decorating hotel walls. 

We had time to go for a swim in the pool before getting ready for dinner. 

Rawla Narlai’s claim to fame (and the reason the travel agent talked me into a night here) is dinner at a 16th century stepwell.   When we returned to the courtyard at 6:00 p.m. as instructed we were served a glass of wine and then an elderly couple arrived to give shoulder/head/neck massages to each dinner guest (besides us there were 2 American families and a French family) while another man tied turbans for each of the men and gave each of the women a head covering. 

We then loaded into 2 open jeeps and drove about 15 minutes outside the village to the stepwell -- truly a unique and magical dinner setting.

Our table:

Drinks and several kinds of appetizers were served as one of our hosts took us, one couple or family at a time, to the far side of the stepwell to get a different view, 

There was also a gentleman playing a sitar (an Indian guitar) in the background, and we stopped for a moment to watch these 2 women making chapati (bread) for our dinner. 

After appetizers we had soup, and then the main course was served.  “Thali”, which means platter, is a traditional way of serving several small dishes on one platter.   Starting with the larger bowl on the left and going clockwise, the main ingredient in each dish is:  mutton, lentils, curd, okra, yogurt, and a local vegetable called kehzri.  There were also 3 types of chapati -- millet, corn and wheat.  It was all quite tasty. 

When we had arrived in the afternoon and seen this view from the balcony of our room 

we had immediately asked if there was a trail to get to the top of that rock -, which we soon learned is called “Elephant Mountain” or “Elephant Rock”.  Within minutes arrangements had been made for us to meet a guide at 6:00 so we could watch the sunrise from the top.  

On one side of the mountain there is a trail with 750 steps that gets you most of the way to the top.  Both Sanjeev and a guide from the hotel went with us, but went at a bit of a slower pace.  The view was absolutely stunning.  I stopped several times at various stages of the sunrise and have several great photos, but this is my favorite: 

This is why it’s called Elephant Mountain. 

There’s also a small temple on top, and a priest who lives there to take care of it.  A panoramic view from the top:

And proof that we were there! 

We climbed around on some rocks on top and enjoyed the views for awhile.  Then Tim, having just warmed up, decided to go down and run up again to get a bit more of a workout.  Our guide from the hotel had just caught up with us and had brought a thermos of tea and some delicious chocolate “biscuits”.  So, Tim left and I sat with the guide and Sanjeev by the temple, enjoying the views, the refreshments and conversing with this very kind and humble man. 

Originally from Johpur, a city on the western side of Rajasthan, he came to Narlai in 1991 to work at the hotel when it opened and has worked there ever since.  He has not had a single day of formal education in his life, but has picked up enough English working in the hotel to have a conversation and tell me a little bit more about the area.   The current population of Narlai is about 10,000 and there are 350 Hindu temples.  There are about 300 Jain residents and they have 11 temples.  And there are 5 or 6 Muslim families; they have 1 mosque.

After enjoying our tea break we made our way back down the mountain and waited for Tim, and then he took us on a little tour of the village.  Sadly, the point where the trail descends into the village has become the village dump.  There is no garbage collection here, muchless recycling, so people bring the garbage from their homes and dump it here. 

We passed another place in town that did not have as much trash, but certainly a few cows and pigs were finding enough to satisfy themselves. 

There’s a special little temple for the god of fertility in the village -- if you look closely you can see that he is endowed beyond anatomic reality!  Women who are having difficulty conceiving come here to honor him and ask for his blessing.  Apparently they’ve put a fence around him to protect the young eyes in the village, but it was clear that they all know what it’s about! 

As we approached there were several boys about 8-10 years old standing across the street waiting for the school bus.  When they saw me with my camera they came running over and one of them, with a grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eye told me I should open the gate.  Not knowing if that was culturally acceptable I said, “No, why don’t you open it for me.”  They all took a step back and giggled.  Then again encouraged me to do it.  We went back and forth a couple more times and then I moved on to catch up with Tim and our 2 guides (who had just kept walking), leaving the boys in giggles. 

We came to an intersection where looking to the right was the entrance to a Jain section of the village. 

And in the other direction was a Jain temple, 

There were brand new houses right next to falling down ruins. 

I noticed that most of the houses in the village had a metal gate which was closed, but the front doors were generally open.  I didn’t ask, but assumed that the doors are left open for air circulation, but the gates are there to keep the cows, pigs and goats from wandering in. 

This is a preschool right behind our hotel -- dark and drab, but full of active, happy children anxious to sneak a peek and wave at the people walking by.

I was taken aback by the contrast between the school and the hotel entrance which was maybe 20 yards away.  The difference between the “haves” and “have nots” in India is stark indeed!  It is at times uncomfortabe to see how the locals are living while we are enjoying clean, comfortable accommodations.  Yet, how many jobs does one nice hotel and restaurant provide for the locals?  It’s really the only game in town.

[ashwinraghu]

Eight Impressions from Albania

Limar

This is Mani, the forty-something schoolmaster of the village of Limar in the Zagoria Valley in southern Albania. Limar has 21 families still living in it, and, in the only school in which Mani teaches, 8 students. Cimi and I had reached Limar after an all-day hike along the valley of the Zagoria river, crossing it on a beautiful stone bridge that was built by the still-remembered local ruler from the early 1800s, Ali Pasha of Tepelene.

The school in which Mani teaches is just behind the church building in the foreground. To get to the nearest paved road it is either a trek of a few hours accompanied by mule or horse, or, for the few who are lucky enough to own or have access to a rugged Mitsubishi or Toyota 4x4, a rocky 90 minute drive through a ten-feet wide path rutted into the mountains.  

In the winter when there is six feet of snow or in the rains in late summer when parts of the trail start washing off, those thin paths cut into the mountainsides become almost impossible to pass. Except for coffee beans and flour to bake bread which they buy in sacks and transport by mule from the nearest town at the start of every winter, the people of these villages are entirely self-reliant. Every house - including Mani's who put me up for the night - grows tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, onion, white beans. They will also own a few sheep and perhaps a cow for milk, yoghurt, cheese, and only on the rare occasion, meat. Along the fences or on raised rods in the garden, vines of grape with which they will brew raki at the beginning of autumn, the strong local alcohol drunk in small shots - right from seven in the morning sometimes, as strong accompaniment to the day's first strong coffee.

Improbably on the night I was there, all of the above ingredients seemed in harvest. This was the meal Mani's wife had put together:

Mani's two children have left the village. In contrast to most families in the region whose next generation only manages to find unskilled, informal work in nearby towns to get by, his children have left for bigger things, their father's schoolmaster ethic behind them perhaps, to go to University in the capital Tirana, the son to study Finance, the daughter Teaching.

With the turning of time there would be one less family - at the very least - in the mountain village of Limar. 

Cimi

"What will happen in the next generation, Cimi?", I asked as we walked on the next morning, leaving Limar's schoolmaster and its locked-shut church (more on that later) behind us.

"Village finish maybe", Cimi replied, without having to think too much about it. "Or maybe if proper road come...", although his shrug suggested that he thought that an improbability. 

Indeed Cimi had been pointing out emptied-out villages and hamlets all through our wander across these valleys. Part of the reason for this emigration is to do with recent history: until 1990 Albania was behind the iron curtain and largely closed to the outside world. Part of the government's policies -- implemented via ID cards and endless check-points -- dictated that people had to live and die in the village where they were born. Cimi, now in his late thirties so until turning a teenager under Totalitarian rule, spoke of growing up in a family of ten children, in the winter not enough woollens to go around, his parents subsistence farmers whose surplus if any was bought by the state, and given little other scope for expanding their income.

When Communism fell in 1991, not only did many rural people emigrate to towns and cities, emptying out villages like Limar, almost a million out of the country's three-odd million went abroad, to the nearby countries of Greece and Italy first, later to Germany, the UK, and even America, far away.   

Cimi though did not want to leave. He knew enough stories of friends and siblings abroad struggling for decent work and to be paid fairly that he decided to stay. He only had seven years of school: the minimum mandated under Communist rule. Then he became a shepherd, internalising every path and creek in these valleys. In Permet, the town where he lives and where I stayed for a few days, there are new houses coming up on the edge of town, most of which, he says, are being built by people who moved to Greece to work. In this remittance-driven construction opportunity he along with some of his brothers have found work as builders, and in the warmer months, a relative prize of 30 euros a day guiding tourists and hikers through his patch of the country.

Bidaai

Perhaps this Communist-era closedness became so internalised after a point, a self-fulfilling prophecy that gave rise to a self-censorship, that has led to keeping this small European country off the map even in the 21st century. In my fortnight there I did not see - apart from a few groups of German tourists here and there - foreigners of any sort until I reached the capital (and even there only a few), and certainly nobody of a different ethnicity. To say I stood out is an understatement. So imagine my surprise when while walking on the street I was greeted sometimes with shouts of "India - India!" and more often with "India - Bidaai, Bidaai!". What did this hindi-sounding Bidaai mean? That night at schoolmaster Mani's house after that sumptuous dinner I found out. I was called excitedly into their living room where this whole rural Albanian family, Mani, his wife, and his seventy-something mother sat glued to every subtitled word of a Zee-TV soap opera, complete with mother-in-law, daughters-in-law and servants in the background, improbably opulent house, ultra close-ups of fear and loathing all accompanied by a thunder-and-lightning background score.

"Bidaai!", the wife cried out to me as they made space on the sofa, pointing at the television and looking at me for reaction. "India!".   

A quick perusal later of its wiki page unearthed this by way of synopsis:

“Sapna Babul Ka...Bidaai is an Indian soap drama that aired from 2007 to 2010 on STAR Plus. It tells the story of a father and his two daughters. Ragini and Sadhana are cousin sisters. Sadhana's father's only dream is to see her in the form of a bride. Living in the Sharma household, she manages to win over both Ragini's and Prakash Chandra's heart. However Ragini's mother, Kaushalya is hesitant to due the difference in skin complexion between the two”.

The whole family had by now turned to me, expectantly. "Yes, of course, Bidaai", I finally managed to grin in response. How could I not know it?! And so I watched an episode of Sapna Babul Ka...Bidaai in rural Albania, them hanging on every word of the Albanian subtitles and chuckling at the proceedings for the next twenty minutes.  

--

Men of an older generation spoke equally about Raj Kapoor packing the movie houses. One night after many rakis and Gzuar!s the seventy-something waiter at the crumbling guest-house I stayed in in Gjirokastra, Shamsi, burst into a gap-toothed Albanian-accented rendition of "Mera Jhootha Hai Japani, Yeh Pathloon Englishthani ". He went on talk about how during Communist times most Western fare was prohibited, and Albania itself had no film industry to speak of. India - and China who were close ideological friends for a time - had provided a lot of this Balkan state's entertainment needs. 

Not to say that a lone Indian traveller in 2017 is mistaken for someone from the movies or a television soap, but there was no doubt that these movements of the world had created in the minds of Albanians a positive impression of India and Indians, reflected in those cries of delight and recognition rather than negativity or suspicion as I walked along the streets of their towns and villages. I remembered my fortnight in Greece a couple of years ago, of facing intense glares and unfriendliness on the Athens metro. It took a day or two of wandering about to see that their associations of brown-skinned single men were of Indian and Pakistani illegal labour, scrap-pickers and asylum seekers walking the streets, increasing pressures - or so the perception went - on a country already in financial crisis. Hadn't the Greeks too enjoyed watching Raj Kapoor and Amitabh Bachchan once? They must have, but clearly those happy images of south Asians had been replaced by newer, less positive ones.   --

Not that it never happened in Albania: it did, once. As I waited for a bus back to Gjirokastra one hot afternoon a shared taxi slowed down, then, the driver gesticulating with a wagging forefinger at me, came to a stop a bit further ahead. The kid waiting at the bus stop next to me got into the car with no problems, but as I started the driver stepped out to ask where I was going. Gjirokastra, I said. And where had I come from? England, Anglais. Indian from England. "No Anglais! No Anglais!", he said. Turisti, I said. I'm a tourist. "Kaa Turisti?!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up, What Tourist?! He shook off his sunglasses and ran his forefinger along his cheek. "Anglais No!", he said again, You don't look like you're from England. Then with a final wave of both hands, he drove off. It left me feeling flummoxed. A racist, I thought, this man was being racist towards me. The shared-taxi had sped away and the road was now empty. I looked around, and spotted the sign for the village across the road: GORANXI, written in the Latin script that Albania uses, and below it the village's name in Greek: Καλογοραντζή. We were twenty kilometres from the Greek border, on a highway that led north to Tirana and further out of the country. This very stretch of road had probably seen its share of asylum seekers over the last few years, on their exhausting trudge from making landfall in Greece, through the Balkans and central Europe to the promised lands in the North: this same taxi driver had probably been asked, and now felt complicit or compelled to assist in getting them across this small country caught in the middle. I took the personal affront far less personally after realising this, rebranding the incident in my mind as one that was not quite, or far more than just a straightforward case of racism. 

Different strains maybe, but the same global currents that had got me those shouts of recognition of "India! Bidaai!" had got me the cold shoulder from this taxi driver on the Greece-Albania highway. I got on the next bus which arrived five minutes later.

--

Continued here.