#and space... is theah.

[cheemscakecat]

Missing in Action 3

Chapter 3: New Guy

The search for Spy continues, and the team discovers something very odd.

Contains angst, but not as much as the last chapters .

Sniper talked to Scout the next morning at breakfast. He had that numbness about him. The kind where you try not to care. He could tell Jeremy was miserable, but he also knew that Spy wasn’t being malicious.

In New Zealand, Spy watched Mundy’s biological father explain how he killed off the nation with his stupidity, ask him for money, and leave him to drown at the bottom of the ocean. And then, he got gunned down by Team Classic thinking his so-called dad was coming back. Yeah, it didn’t much surprise him that Spy’d pretended to be Tom Jones. He wanted to save Scout the disappointment of knowing his least favorite teammate was his father.

He was grateful that Spy didn’t name who knew the truth. Though, if Jeremy had put two and two together, he wasn’t lashing out. He’d heard about New Zealand. Sniper could tell he was trying not to talk about Spy around him.

“We’re gonna go on another search. Me and Engineer this time.” “Hmm.” Scout chewed his cereal with a dull look in his eyes. That was a bad sign. “You got good eyes pal. But I don’t think you’re gonna find him… He’s left us to go retire, I bet.” Mundy cut into his steak, gave himself time to choose the right words. “Maybe not, mate. We helped Pauling take ovah. Some people might not like that.” Scout blinked, not getting what he was tryin to say, so he continued.

”Spy isn’t the type to leave a trail when he disappears. He’dah taken his books and things if he was gonna leave for good.” Jeremy seemed to stop and think about that, which meant he was wording it right. He’d never been real great with words. Scout set down his spoon.

“I dunno. Ya think somethin happened?” “Well, those Teufort fools locked ya both up for 6 months. We checked theah the first time we searched.” Scout frowned and sighed. “Yeah, but I went there to get my stuff, and they were playing nice. Plus the road to Harvest Base is the other way, so he shouldn’t’a seen any of those goons.” That was true. But the lead-poisoned idiots in Teufort were occasionally smart enough to catch someone off guard. Just like they’d done to catch Scout and Spy in the first place. How long’d they know Jeremy was a mercenary, playin harmless until their trap was set?

It was worth a look, even if the chances were slim.

“Yer right. But there’s other mercenaries and bosses out theah that might wanna get Pauling n us. And truth be told, we don’t know a whole lot about Spy outside work. Like if he’s got old enemies.”

Didn’t know his name. His address. His real face. Honest to God, they had no idea how to track Spy right now. They knew he was on another RED team before he was moved to Fortress, and anyone who didn’t know his relation to Scout knew now. That, and he had a lady friend wearin blue. Civilian though, not enemy team. Them being seen together was the whole reason why Spy’s bedroom and other private spaces were hidden somewheah at each base. And none’a them had been told how to get in.

Spy might have left a clue somewheah in his rooms, but as long as they didn’t have access, those clues may as well not exist.

“Mmm. I’m hopin that’s not it. Pauling’s gotta be careful out there, too. But Spy’s a coward, Sniper. He runs away from problems like me. And he might just be the type to leave good stuff layin around to rot, with all that money he’s got. I still think he deserted.” It didn’t work. Jeremy still didn’t want to think that Spy could be kidnapped or dead. And calling himself a problem was no good either.

Mundy wished he was better at talking things out. He didn’t like to talk much if he could avoid it, so times like this were hard. Hopefully, someone else’d figure out how to reason with Scout.

————————-

Engineer drove the van. Normally Sniper would want to drive, but they needed his eyes focused on the land. There were old rock formations in the desert, and a whole lotta caves. Heck, Pauling hid her stash of corpses in one of them. If Spy somehow wasn’t kidnapped or dead, he’d be out heah. And if not, they might get a good clue.

Spy had a fancy red sports car. Bright red. If they were lucky, the kidnappers mighta stashed it in a cave on the way to Harvest. But it was expensive, and they were more likely to keep it for themselves or pawn it off. Mundy hoped he knew they were lookin. He’d been colder to everyone since that teleporter incident with the bread, n sometimes it was impossible to read him.

They’d got around halfway to Harvest when he asked Dell to stop the van. He’d spotted something. The cactuses. Someone’s been cutting into them for watah. And they were the kind where you could do it without gettin sick. They pulled up, him carrying his rifle and Dell carrying a building kit. Sniper examined the cactuses. They shore looked well cut, like Spy woulda done.

He followed the pattern of least to most cut up and looked for the nearest cave. Holding up a hand, Mundy called into the cave with his best “lost American tourist” voice while Dell set up a sentry gun. If it was some varmit kidnapper from BLU or an outside group, they’d be gunned down. And if it was Spy, he’d be unharmed.

Somewheah deep inside the cave, the black silhouette of a person poked their head out. “*****! Is that a gun?!” The guy sounded… kinda like Spy. But some voices tended to run together after fighting so many BLU mercs. “Come on out, Mate. We’re lookin for somebody. A friend. Ya seen a RED spy?” The shadowy figure eventually stuck out his non-dominant hand, which wasn’t gunned into mincemeat; then hugged the wall of the cave and inched closer. After what felt like forever, he stepped out into the light.

Mundy blinked in surprise.

“Bloody Hell…”

—————-

Sniper and Engineer came back early from their trip, claimin they found something. Well, someone. But it wasn’t Spy. At least not theirs.

We found a RED whippersnapper in the caves.” Dell explained. “Nother spy, but he’s way too young to be ours.” “Yeh can come out now, mate.” Sniper was calling someone from deeper inside his van. Scout watched closely. All of the team did.

Someone -around Jeremy’s age maybe- stepped out of the van and adjusted his eyes to the light. He was the same height as Spy, but wearin very different clothes. He had a dark grey dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, with red buttons. He wore near black leather gloves with real vis-able red stitch lines. His pants were a darker red and his shoes matched his gloves. But most importantly, he wore no mask. They could actually see his face.

New Spy had long, near black hair that made Soldier mutter some crap about hippies. He had the same nose as their old spy, as far as anyone could tell. No one had ever seen him maskless. Scout couldn’t help but like this new guy. He didn’t have that ugly 5-o’clock shadow or stuck up look in his eyes. And he got the feelin he was a lot more fun. Most spies on RED and BLU stayed all covered up in the desert heat; suits, trench-coats, sweaters. Not to mention those ugly, smelly masks!

Everyone took in the new guy’s looks without commentin. Jeremy sure didn’t know what to say. The stranger awkwardly shuffled his weight from his toes to his heels like he didn’t know either. Heavy lumbered forward and they all decided to watch n follow his lead. To an outsider, Heavy was a scary brute; fat, but the muscular kind’a fat where he could clobber you in one punch. He was also the tallest on the team.

“So.” He said in his usual gruff voice. “You have found new spy?” Engineer and Sniper nodded at him. But he looked like he was still thinking it over. “Did you check him for disguise? Is not BLU sneaking in?” Sniper shuffled and pushed his hat up, so Heavy could see his face better. “The sentry gun didn’t get him, and we poked him since then. We think he’s telling the truth.” Heavy turned back towards the new guy, who was looking more shy than scared.

“Vhy vere you in desert alone? Vhere is your team?” The spy frowned. “I was getting relocated to a new team. I’d been on Team Malum, and was on my way to Team Frigidus.” The new guy was also French! But his accent was way thicker than that stuck up deadbeat. It was kinda hard to understand him, so Scout put more effort into listening. Heavy looked at Engineer.

“I recognize this Frigidus name. But who is Malum Team?” Engie shrugged and looked at the others. “Any of y’all heard’ a Team Malum?”

Everyone stayed still, shook their head, or shrugged. Jeremy didn’t know all the other RED team names in the United States, much less the rest’a the world. He didn’t know how Pauling was gonna manage them all, plus BLU. Had to be exhaustin. The new guy did not E-lab-or-ate. Hold on, was he.. biting his lip? “Hmm. How vere you to get to Frigidus Team?” Heavy asked.

Spy frowned real hard, like he was thinking. Maybe he was a liar, worried cause they didn’t know Malum. “I was riding in.. in a hell-something. I do not remember the name.” “Hell-E-cop-ter?” Scout asked. The Spy’s eyes lit up and he snap-pointed in excitement. “Yes! Zhey called it helicopter.” He paused, the excitement dulling down quick. “I was ze only mercenary being moved, so zhey wanted smaller transport.”

“So you hadn’t been’n’a helicopter b’fore? Demoman asked. “No. I have ridden airplanes though! Helicopter is noisier and shakes often…” Heavy and Demoman were lookin at each other like they were discussin it all. “How did you go from helicopter to desert land?” Spy shrugged. “Something bright hit us. Like a lightening bolt. One minute I was in my chair, and then I woke up alone in ze desert.” “And ya didn’t see any wreckage? No pieces of the helicopter?” Engineer asked. “Well, I am not certain. On one of ze… ze high parts of the desert, I could see a shine. But it was too high, so I could not see for sure.”

A bunch’a people looked at each other and had a real long con-verse- A-tion with their eyes. Scout was disappointed that he wasn’t speaking their language. Heavy leaned back and nodded once. “The Administrator is very busy now. It vill take time to look up Frigidus and send you there.” Medic jabbed Jeremy in the back, which just confused him. Then he jerked his head towards the spy, tellin him to get over there. “Our team Spy is missing. Ve do not know yet vhat vill happen, but his room is free. Scout? Take stranger to Smoking Room.”

[cyberphuck]

A couple months ago Seb and I drove to Detroit for a concert. A staff guy waved us into the space where he wanted us to park.

"Jus pull it right in theah, sweethaht," said the guy.

Seb turned to me. "I think that guy *was* Detroit!"

[gender-trash]

also sorry abt the infrequent + low-quality Poasting, i am once again in demo hell at work so im just like. completely braindead in the evenings. especially since over the past two weeks i think i've rewritten like half the robot driver + firmware. which is supposed to be the hardware team's responsibility but the hardware team does not currently have any programmers and i DID write the first drafts of both of those before handing them over to Andrew The DM (now living at a nice grad school upstate), who handed them over to another guy, who also quit and handed them back to me (with only a little wear and tear).

but like... do i really want to be working on higher-level robot behavior stuff during a(nother) demo crunch? no the fuck i don't!!

[artnerd1123]

A Familiar World

Play Nice, Boys! (Aiden Version) ——————————————

New places, new faces, and a new place to call home! That’s what Aiden and Roo were expecting when they walked into a new town. However, they may have gotten more than they bargained for with this new apartment…

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————

(note: this is a repost bc I updated and changed some stuff!)

a much awaited chapter, at least on my end, where aiden and journal first meet!!! this one’s from Aiden’s perspective. Journal’s persepective of this is back in the chapter post, right above this one!

                                                       ————

“Are we theah yet…?” “Almost, Roodle. Just a little farther! And I promise we’ll be settling in for awhile.” Mewling tiredly, the little cat familiar bonked his head against his originator’s. The latter let out a soft ‘oof’ of protest. Roo and Aiden had been travelling nonstop for a week. Today, Aiden had allowed his familiar to ride on his shoulders. It was the least he could do for the little guy. His horribly achy paws weren’t exactly made to walk for miles on end. Aiden hadn’t felt any calls to small expeditions lately. He had a feeling it was related to his growing desire to find the root of all the recent dark magic outbreaks. It was nearing the time of his final quest, and he wanted somewhere for he and Roo to come home to after it was over. The nearest place he’d been able to snag was a two bedroom apartment. He’d been told there was nobody else moved in yet to help with the cost, but he didn’t mind. It’d be more than enough space for he and his familiar to live comfortably until a roommate showed up. But before one tackles the glamour, there’s a whole lotta tracking through dust. “How much longer?” Roo whined sulkily. “Just a little farther,” Aiden repeated wearily. He sighed, hefting his bag and Roo higher. “The town should be around here somewhere- ah!” A few buildings had begun peeking through the trees. He perked up at the sight. “There, see? What’d I tell you?” He picked up his pace. The sooner they got onto those streets, the better. “Mnnh…” “IIII know… hang in there, bud…”

Striding into the new town was... an experience, to say the least. For one thing, it looked much bigger than it had on the map. And not just because everything was to scale. Aiden couldn’t recall being in someplace that called itself a ‘town,’ but stretched on and turned in on itself so many times it could’ve been a city. The questor glanced around as they passed marketplace stalls, stores, and various restaurants. Plenty of people were out and about on the streets. A few of them even gave him a friendly wave. The place certainly seemed alive, he’d give it that. Alive in a… non town-ish way, he thought, raising a brow at the stream of enough people to fill a village billowing out of a nearby bar. Then again, he was definitely a countryside kind of guy. What did he know about big towns? In any case, he’d make it work. The apartments here were said to be some of the nicest around. He hoped his sources were right. Continuing on down the street, someone else was busy sightseeing. Roo glanced about from his perch on Aiden’s back, taking in the unfamiliar expanse of people, paths, and ramshackle buildings. It was all so much… so new… and so… different from everything else he’d been around. The wide eyed paint feline shivered a little. Curling up behind Aiden’s head, he mewled softly. Aiden winced as the little guy’s claws poked against his scalp. “Heyyy- hey- you’re ok, bud-” he whispered, reaching back to pat him. “The apartment building is ahead of us on the right. We’re nearly there.” Roo just meowed shakily. Aiden walked a little faster. Pushing open the apartment building’s door, he nearly stumbled into a small group of travelers. “Oh-! Revaew, I’m sorry,” he sputtered. They just gave him a look before turning back to their conversation. It seemed the whole place was teeming with people. Obviously, he and roo weren’t the only individuals in need of a place to stay. Glad I paid ahead of time. Carefully edging into the room, Aiden took Roo down from his shoulders. He knew the little cat wouldn’t take kindly to large number of pushing and shoving people in here. He let him wiggle inside of his cloak. A relieved sigh followed soon after. Aiden gave the lump under his cloak a pat. Scanning the room for someone in charge, the questor’s eyes caught on the apartments’ clerk. The poor man up at the front desk looked swamped, overworked, and badly in need of a nap. Aiden felt sorry for him. Better make this quick, for his sake. Making sure he wasn’t cutting anyone off, he made his way over to the desk. “One moment, please,” the frazzled clerk called. He quickly snagged a small sack of coins and a set of keys from the couple in front of them. As they moved off, he shouted “NEXT PLEASE!” hoarsely. Aiden sidled up into place. “Busy weekend?” Aiden asked, smiling sympathetically. “Oh, you’ve got no idea. It seems every adventurer in the region decided to stop by,” the clerk groaned. He took the pause in business to slump and rub his face. “I’ve barely been able to keep all my rentals straight.” “Sorry to hear it.” Aiden glanced back at the room behind him; plenty of the inhabitants looked like fellow questors. They weren’t exactly known for settling in one place for long. It must’ve been a migration season… or maybe another dungeon cropped up nearby… “I’ll try and make your job a little easier— I rented a room for my familiar and I a couple days ago? An empty two bedroom apartment? It should be under the name Pingere.” “Right- yes, thank you, let me check-“ A minute of shuffling papers later, the clerk nodded. “Yep- I’ve got you down right here.” He snapped, a key appearing in a flash of orange sparks. He thrust it hastily into Aiden’s hand. “Here’s your room key. It’s the only way you’ll be getting into your room if nobody’s at the desk. Please let me know if something’s still messy in there— I haven’t been able to clean all the rooms lately- NEXT PLEASE!” And with that, Aiden was shoved away from the desk. It was a wonder he didn’t get lifted up over everyone else. He squeezed his way through the room and over to the staircase. Taking a moment to breathe, he felt something shift under his cloak. An indigo head poked itself out. “P-please tell me we a-ain’t goin anywheah that s-smushy again,” Roo whimpered, clinging to Aiden. The questor heaved a long sigh. Looks like they’d both be getting used to the closeness of town life. He gave his familiar a couple soothing strokes. “I’ll try and avoid crowded buildings, bud,” he said, “but I can’t promise no crowds. We’re in a town full of em.” Roo seemed to shrink down at the information. “Mnnn…” Aiden sighed. “Hey, how about we go check out our room? We can hang out there for the rest of the day. I’d say we’ve earned it.” Roo hesitated, considering the option. It would afford him a break from crowds, strangers, and also score some more quality time with Aiden. He nodded decisively. “I wanna test out the beds,” he joked timidly. Aiden smiled. “That’s the spirit,” he chuckled, ruffling Roo’s fur. “Let’s go take a look at our new home.” Roo beamed, wiggling out of Aiden’s arms. “Race yeh there!!!” Aiden grinned. “Oh, you’re on.”

One race up the staircase later, the two stood panting in front of their door. “It’s- hghh- r-room 213, right?” Roo panted. He was leaned against his originator’s leg. Aiden glanced down at their key, taking a few deep breaths. The room number, 213, shone in a soft orange light from it. Nodding, he reached to unlock the door. “Yup… this should be the-“ He paused. The key had gone in, but he didn’t feel the distinctive click of the lock unlocking. He frowned. “... w… what’s wrong?” “... the door was already unlocked.” Roo stood up straighter. Fidgeting warily, he glanced around. “M… maybe the last person heah forgot to lock it…?” He offered hesitantly. Aiden raised a brow. “Maybe. The clerk looked like he hadn’t had any time to get away from the counter, so it’s possible he hadn’t checked.” Well, locked or unlocked, this was their room. He let out a sigh. “We’ll just go in. If it’s a mess, he said to tell him.” Aiden gave the handle a twist. The door swung open with a soft creak. Light spilled out into the hallway. The place looked uninhabited at first, but the black cloak tossed over the couch and muffled sounds of furniture being dragged around didn’t enforce the view. The pair shared a glance. Apparently they had a roommate after all. And nobody had decided to inform them before they paid in full. Hmm. Alright. I better get to the bottom of this. The two walked slowly into the living room. Walking inside made the scraping and scuffing sounds louder. When Roo held up his paws, Aiden lifted him up without a word. His eyes slid over the doorways to the kitchen and hall. The noises were from down the hallway. He guessed it was from one of the bedrooms. A glance showed one of the doors was open. There. Hopefully a quick talk would get all this straightened out. He started down the hall. Roo shivered a bit, and Aiden gently stroked his fur. “‘S alright, bud,” he whispered. “This shouldn’t take too long.” At the sound of approaching footsteps, the furniture scraping stopped.  Whoever was in the room muttered confusedly to themself. “... uh… hello?” Aiden called. There was a flurry of scrambling in the room— as if the occupant was startled— and their voice sounded off louder. “What in Revaew’s web-?!” A head poked out from behind the door. Aiden was surprised to see an older teen. He couldn’t have been more than 18 or 19. Moving out age, yes, but renting an apartment like this alone? Not a common move. And the dull purplish bruise adorning his cheek was… a little concerning. The stranger’s wary turquoise eyes shifted over the pair in front of him. He reached up to brush a lock of brown hair out of his face. “... um… can I… help you?” He asked slowly. Roo squirmed nervously under the stranger’s gaze. The little cat never did well around strangers. Aiden cleared his throat, letting Roo wiggle back under his cloak. “Er… yes, I believe so. You’re living in room two thirteen?” Aiden asked hesitantly. “Yyyyyes…? I bought it a week ago,” the stranger answered hesitantly, gaze flicking over the questor again. Wariness and confusion laced across his features. Aiden didn’t blame him. “Alright. Well, I’m… sorry if you weren’t informed, but Roo and I are your new roommates,” he explained. “I wasn’t… uh… told you’d moved in. Or I would’ve knocked.” That information seemed to shake the stranger up a bit. Straightening up, his brows furrowed. “What-? I- really? So soon?” he sputtered. “Sorry if you weren’t expecting it,” Aiden said gently, “I’m sure we can wait a day if you need time to-” “No- no, you- that’s not the problem!” The stranger broke in. He huffed in annoyance, running a hand through his curly hair. “You two shouldn’t- this can’t be right. I was told I would have this place to myself for at least a month or two!” “Hey- hey, it’ll be alright,” Aiden tried, holding up a hand. “We can get all this sorted out. Maybe there was some miscommunication issue.” As soon as he said it though, he realized that wasn’t believable. No landlord would promise that sort of thing and not tell their tenant about new roommates. At least, not an honest one.   “But I paid for this room in full! On my own!” the stranger cried. “I never would’ve done that if I’d known you’d be here so soon!” “That’s… that’s what we paid for, too,” Aiden said slowly. “And nobody told me this place already had someone moving in.” “I… I… ghhhh...” the stranger seemed to deflate. He put a hand to his forehead. “What the hell. I do not need this right now.” “That’s how I’m feeling about this,” Aiden replied. He rubbed his face, fingers scratching against his short beard, and let out a long sigh. This was more than a mix up. Someone had duped the two of them into spending more money than they had to, for a room without a roommate that had clearly already shown up. And, from the looks of how much desperate and frustrated muttering his new roommate was doing, it wasn’t money that could just be thrown away. And that made him more than a little annoyed at the whole situation. “Hey, tell you what,” Aiden spoke up suddenly, “how about we go down and talk to the clerk? I’m sure I can get him to give us back half what we both paid.” The stranger glanced over at him in surprise. Uncertainty and aggravation warred with nervous hope for a place on his face. “... are you sure...?” he asked a little bluntly. It was clear he didn’t quite trust his new roommate yet, but the out of the blue offer… well. It had given him something to stand on. “I’m sure,” Aiden said firmly, gesturing to the door. “Someone needs to sort out this mess anyways, hm?” “... yeah… yeah. ok,” the stranger sighed. “Let’s… do this. Or whatever.” “Alright. Hopefully this won’t take too long.”

                                                      ————

It was half an hour before they could get ahold of the clerk. Roo was up in the room, the two humans deciding to leave him out of the- frankly quite stressful- situation. Standing in front of the desk, they watched as the clerk frantically flicked through his paperwork. “Roommates- I swear I didn’t- ohhh, where did I put those records-?!” The clerk stammered worriedly. Aiden sighed softly. Even if he was annoyed, he knew that the clerk at the desk probably wasn’t in charge of selling the rooms. “It’s alright, just take your time. We’re fine,” the questor said gently. The stranger at his side shot him a look. It was obvious he didn’t share the same opinion on that last remark. “What were your names again?” The clerk asked miserably. “I’m so sorry. They’ve slipped my mind.” “Aiden Pingere. It may be in as just Pingere, I forget which.” “Theo- I mean- Journal. Journal Drapht.” “Thank you. One moment...” The clerk waved his hands, a soft orange mist appearing over his papers. He muttered under his breath as Aiden and the stranger, Journal, watched on. … huh. Journal. Now that’s an interesting name if I ever heard one. Like an alias. But what would a youngster be doing with an alias? Or his own apartment? Or a bruise that looked more and more like a handprint on his cheek? Was he in some sort of trouble? Aiden snuck a curious glance at his companion. Journal had his arms crossed now. He really looked on edge. On edge and lost in anxious thought. Like a scared kid. … Exactly like a scared kid. That look was what really got Aiden to settle how he felt about Journal. Trouble or no trouble, he hated to see that sort of look. He felt worried for him. However, just as he went to ask if he was alright, the clerk straightened up. Both of them looked to him expectantly. “Aha, right here! I’ve got your records.” The clerk paused. “... and it… it does say you were both sold room 213. Oh dear.” Aiden let out a loud sigh. Journal swore under his breath. “You’re serious? Isn’t there anything you can do to fix that?!” Journal asked helplessly. Aiden tried to give him a steadying glance. Freaking out right now wouldn’t help. His fellow just gave him a desperate gesture in return. “Both of us paid for a room without a roommate already moved in!” “Is there another room one of us could take?” Aiden inquired. “Some place else one of us could stay?” “I’m afraid not,” the clerk replied awkwardly. “All other rooms are sold out all for at least the next few months. You’ll just have to keep the room you bought together.” “Oh Revaew…” Aiden muttered. “Months…?” Journal echoed weakly. Aiden could tell from the way Journal’s hand strayed to his pockets that his earlier money suspicion was right. And, in his own world of troubles, he doubted he’d be able to hunt down another open apartment with all the questor rush. Well. That left just one thing to do. Fixing the clerk with a stern but understanding look, he spoke again. “Listen, I don’t know if your superior planned this or not, but neither of us should’ve paid that much. Do you think you can help us out a bit?” “I- uh- maybe- dep- depends on what you want?” the clerk stammered uncertainly. Evidently, he wasn’t used to such upfront questions with a ‘no refunds’ sign on the desk. Or, probably, from a man like himself. “I’d like you to halve the amount we both paid, and give us back what we’re owed,” he said simply. The clerk blinked. Journal gave him a surprised look. Aiden looked back at the clerk calmly and firmly. “It’s only right, wouldn’t you think?” he asked gently. “I… uh… I suppose…” the clerk mumbled. Glancing around nervously, he tapped his pencil on his records paper. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can-?” “Sir, please. I promise we won’t bother you again.” As the clerk gave a defeated sigh, Aiden couldn’t help but overhear a grumbled ‘no promises’ from Journal. He raised a brow, but the sorcerer didn’t notice. Thankfully, it didn’t take the clerk nearly as long to rewrite their records and hand over the gold they were owed. When it was all over, the two gave each other an uncertain look. “... welp. Guess we better go get settled in,” Aiden said hesitantly. “... right,” Journal huffed sulkily. “You don’t touch my stuff, I won’t touch yours.” “Ooookay then… fair enough.” And with that, Journal turned on his heel and left for the stairs. Aiden watched after him for a moment. His new roommate was… quite touchy. What had he just gotten himself into?

[double-threnody]

Tales by the Fire

The fires burned bright from one corner of the tent to the other, crackling and spitting up brief flashes of embers that rode the air up and out through the vents in the canvas above. Perched on her cushions at the base of the central bonfire sat Y’zareen, mother of the Jaguar, Atomos-slayer, and teller of tales.

“Come close,” she commanded, a laugh in her voice and steel in her words. “Sons and daughtahs of mine, friends and famileh, gather ‘round so I may weave foah you a storeh; a tale of ouah friends who swim the Rivah. Listen close - not so I do not scold you, Y’ravin, though you may need it!” One long finger, gilded with rings of precious metal against her dark skin, stretched out to point accusingly at a tall, powerfully built man laughing at something in the corner. “I tell you these storehs that you may remembah the feats of ouah loved ones, and moah impoahtant than that, that you learn from them.”

Slowly, with sporadic laughter and the odd joke and banter from cousin to cousin, the family crowded into the space around the fire to listen to Y’zareen’s words. Her ornaments glinted in the firelight as she watched and waited: gold and silver and precious jewels, cobalt and gemstones from across the star draped over her shoulders, around her neck, and lay woven deep into her dark, purple hair.

“Now,” she murmured, casting one bright yellow eye out at the gathered Jaguar. “Which of my cubs can tell me of the gods of the au ra? I have told theah tales maneh times.” A single hand shot up in the crowd; Zareen recognized her youngest, Y’sarang. “Mm, I know which one of you has been listening all these yeahs! Tell us, my daughteh.”

“The au ra recognized two gods, mama: the God of Sunlight, Azim, an’ the Goddess of the Moon, Nhaama. Azim was a bright an’ brilliant an’ fiery warrior, with horns whiter than the snows of Ishgard - Nhaama was a cool an’ crafty huntress, an’ her black horns could hear a mouse snorin’ beneath the turf a malm away.” The young Jaguar danced as she spoke, eager to turn the history lesson into a sing-song verse.

“You ah right, Sarang; they called Azim the ‘Dawn Fatheh,’ an’ his greatest enemy… oah was it his loveh?” She paused to chuckle, curling her claws beneath her chin as she watched the audience lean in with rapt attention. “She was the ‘Dusk Motheh, Nhaama. Vereh good.” Y’sarang beamed back at her and twirled to a stop, sitting with a soft thump to rest against the eldest, Y’arha.

“Now, this storeh is about a young and silleh Xaela. The Xaela ah the sons an’ daughtehs of Nhaama, and theah horns ah black as sin in the shape of theah goddess,” she purred. “Maybe you did not know, but in the land of the Xaela, when a cub is boahn with snow-white hair, they ah touched by the Dusk Motheh hehself. Some of them ah gifted with her keen senses, oah her eagle-eye with a speah. Some of them become the warlords and queens of the Nhaadam, leading great war-hosts whose footsteps against the plains shake the stah in theah passing.”

“Some of them, though,” she whispered, leaning forward in her seat to smile at the fire-lit faces, “some of them ah blessed with the greatest honah of all: they join Nhaama’s great hunt.” Her jewelry danced in the warm light of the flame, and as she stood slowly to her feet, the rest of the tent fell silent.

‘This storeh is of an old friend of mine. A brutal warrieh, a thread-cuttah twice as tall as yoah tallest brotheh an’ half again as broad! A thresheh, a reapeh boahn beneath the looming peaks of the Azim Steppe. Nhaama’s children ah split into maneh tribes, each of them as different from one anotheh as the Coeurl from the Jaguah. One tribe is the Borlaaq, thread-cuttahs all, a raiding band of nomads who cahve a path from one coahneh of the Steppe to the otheh, from one summeh to the next. The Borlaaq ah women, an’ no men ah allowed within theah ger-circles and fire-lines. Theah sons ah the Iriq, and they follow the Borlaaq whereveh they stray.’

‘As a boy is boahn to the Borlaaq, they ah raised to see theah first summeh, and then ah left to be found by the Iriq in theah wake. Ouah boy, with a mane as white as the clouds ovah the plains, was found by the Iriq at the foot of the mountains. He screamed an’ he wailed, and thrashed in his rage, splitting the rock beneath him as a babe! The boy grew large beneath the eyes of the Iriq, and he leahned as fast as he grew. By five summehs his ahms could hurl a mammoth-splitteh a quahteh-malm, an’ by his seventh summeh his fists ran red with the heart’s wateh. He leahned the truth of the Steppe: a boy must eat, and less boys means moah food.’

‘A boy of the Iriq lives without a name until they ah old enough to find theah own… or until one is given them as punishment. “Burkegan,” the men of the tribe called him, a play on the Xaela tongue. A difficult boy; a problem, a canceh. “Burkegan will kill an’ neveh stop. He knows nothing of Nhaama’s quiet secrets, her soft footsteps that do not disturb the moahning dew. He knows onleh her rage, the flight of her speah, an’ the fire in her veins beneath the hunt-thrall. Burkegan will neveh leahn.”’

‘The Iriq, they were wrong. Burkegan knew the whispehed secrets of Nhaama; when the boys gathehed to hunt the mammoths of the plains, it was he who crept low to the ground an’ waited to strike while the boldeh boys chahged and split theah bellies on tusks the size of yoah leg. Burkegan stalked between the ger-circles beneath Nhaama’s moon and stole the crude, poah weapons of the night-criehs, the guards who walked the fire-lines. And when he grew old enough, and the Iriq grew comfoahtable in theah safety… he heahd the hunting-call in his veins.’

‘Burkegan listened to the call, an’ he obeyed. No Iriq befoah had known so great a rage, and none would pass on afteh who could remembeh the flow of the heart-wateh that split the Steppe in the night. A full summeh would pass befoah the Iriq resumed theah wandering to catch up with the Borlaaq, an’ fully half of them neveh rejoined the host.’

‘Foah the next yeah they told tales of the boy, twelve summehs old, a boy who was some manneh of beast and stood as tall as a man. A difficult boy often spied, they would say, standing at the foot of the great mountain wheah he was first found. His mane of white was gone, my children. What curled about his great, black horns was no longeh Nhaama’s kiss, no bright halo of bleached sand oah cloud-touched white. Wheneveh he was seen by the night-criehs on the slopes, they saw a boy whose haiah was the brightest pink, streaked with browns and blacks and reds, foreveh wet with the threads he culled from the Iriq who fell befoah him a summeh past.’

Y’zareen grew quiet as the frightened faces looked up at her trailing words. Gold jingled against gold, the dust spun beneath her feet, and with a warm laugh, she took her seat at the head of the fire once again. “Do not look so douah, my friends, my famileh. No great storeh stahts with peace and happiness. No true ally of the Jaguah has neveh turned away from the beasts that prowl within. An’ no friend of mine eveh cahved his way into my heaht without first leahning how to lay down his threads an’ his weapons alike.” Her smile flitted across her face, age-lines and wrinkles parting to allow her fangs to bare through her grin. “Theah is always moah to the tale. Stay close by the fire, and I will tell you.”

Characters used with permission of @yzareenxiv. Thank you so much! I wrote this for a pre-medieval adaptation in a literature class. Hope you enjoy.

[otherpeoplescreativity]

[drunk-math]

Talkin' bout magical computers

Immerman's theorem, named for Neil Immerman, whom I took a course with once, states that NL = co-NL.  The fuck's that mean?

Well, say you have a magical computer and a budget airline; say if you wait long enough, two cities are directly connected or they're not, but two cities being connected doesn't mean the return trip is connected.  The computer, like I said, is magic: if you give it a yes/no question, you can tell it to take a guess, and as long as it's possible, the computer will always give a series of answers that lead to "yes."  Now, let's say you want to see whether your cheap-ass airline can get from A to B in any number of layovers.

First, you give the computer A.  You tell it to guess a destination.  If you can't fly there directly, you tell it to answer "no."  (Remember, it doesn't want to answer "no.")  If you can fly there directly, and it's B, answer "yes."  If you can fly there directly, and it's not B, increment a counter; if the counter is the number of cities you serve, answer "no," and if not, make this your new A.

You'll note that the computer at any one time only stores a starting city, a target city, and a count of the number of cities you have.  You can put all of these down as indices of cities, so the space you need is proportional to the number of bits in the number of cities, i.e., the digits you need to write down how many cities you serve.  In a word, you need logarithmic space.  That's NL.

In fact, any problem in NL can be modeled as such a problem, since if a computer's memory is restricted to a constant multiple of the number of bits in the input, you can consider a "city" to be the entirety of the possible states of the memory, plus the position in the code of the algorithm, and the magic "guess" operator is accounted for by the fact that planes can go to multiple cities.  So the number of bits in the number of cities will just be the number of bits you needed before, plus a constant for the code, which is still within a constant multiple of the bits in the input for sufficiently large input.

Okay, so it'll magically guess the values that bring it to a "yes," if there is one.  But what if it's the opposite?  What if the magical computer wants at every turn to bring you to a "no"?  Well, you should ask the opposite question - show there isn't a path.  That's co-NL, and the fact that it's possible to show there isn't a path is Immerman's theorem.

Basically, if you can show that you can't get there in so many steps, by putting in as the number of steps the number of cities, you can get there.  So for one step, you can just run through all the cities and see that you can't get there from the starts.  Since you can do that, you can also check (and store, since its value is less than the number of cities) how many cities you can't get to in one step.  For any other number of steps, assuming that you know how to check and store how many can't get there in one step fewer, you can check by checking for each city how many can be reached from one step fewer, then running through each city other than the current, finding a path there (as before, only switching "no" with "yes"), adding one to a count of those points reached, and if the first city can be reached from the second, moving on to the next, incrementing a count, otherwise going back until you're out of cities to find the first from.  At this point, you check if the count of cities reached in one less step is the count expected; if not, you say "yes" (which the computer doesn't want).  You keep going until you're through all the cities, and if the cities are all the cities, well, you can't get theah from heah.

All right, so let's go on to the more famous one (which I hadn't been planning to do until I chose my title).  Cook's theorem started the ball rolling on the question you've probably heard of, whether P = NP.  What that means is whether there's anything that magical computer can do in polynomial time (i.e., a length of time that increases in proportion to a constant power of the length of the input) that an ordinary computer can't (not necessarily the same power between the two).  Cook's theorem states that if you can, with an ordinary computer, say whether a gaggle of ands, ors, boolean variables, and parentheses has a possible assignation to those variables that yields "true" for the whole gaggle, that magical computer can't do more than an ordinary one.  Very quickly about a thousand things (at least twenty-one) were shown to be easy stepping-stones to solve this, and therefore only doable if the magical computer weren't so magical after all.  The most famous of these is the "travelling salesman problem," going back to that airline, what's the shortest possible way to get to every city exactly once and back to where you started?  This is because it would allow you to determine whether a graph has a Hamiltonian cycle, that is to say, any way to get to every city exactly once and back, and from that you could figure out the smallest number of cities that together are one edge or the other of every flight path, by... uh... hmm.

Okay, this is going to need its own paragraph.  You're checking whether there's a subset of vertices that touches every edge (that is, cities from which... fuck it, it means vertices that touch every edge) less than some input number.  What you have to do is make from the graph you start with a graph that'll have a Hamiltonian cycle if and only if the graph you started with had a vertex cover less than that size.  Well, the vertices of that graph, you'll have one vertex for the allowable number of covers, plus two sets of vertices for each adjacent pair of edge and vertex in the original graph.  As for the edges, first, there's always a one-way edge between the corresponding vertices there from the first set to the second.  Within each set (but not between sets), there's a two-way edge between any two vertices whose pairs had the same edge on the original graph.  There's a one-way edge from the second set back to the first between vertices representing edges adjacent to the same vertex on the original graph SO LONG AS in between the ordinals of the edges on the original graph (i.e., numbers assigned arbitrarily just to tell them apart) there isn't another edge that touches that vertex.  There's also a one-way line from the vertex in the second set that represents the highest-numbered edge that touched a given vertex on the original graph to all of those special vertices mentioned at the beginning, and from all of those special vertices to the vertex in the first set that represents the lowest-numbered edge that touches a given vertex.  This works because Karp says so.

So if you can compute the travelling salesman problem, you can find a directed Hamiltonian cycle, and from there you can find whether there exists a vertex cover below a given size.  And from there?  Well, if you look at the sketched proof up there, the formula you get from it can always be made into a single "and" of "ors."  (Both of which may have unbounded fan-in, i.e., to use the natural language analogue, a shitload of clauses.)  So you draw up a graph where the vertices are labelled with ordered pairs of variables (counting each and its complement separately) and the clauses in which they occur.  Put an edge (either or both directions, it doesn't matter because of the nature of the vertex cover problem) between them if one is the negation of the other or if they're in the same clause.  The number we're shooting for is the number of vertices minus the number of clauses.  If it's satisfiable, you can pick a vertex for each clause that's not part of the vertex cover and that'll do ya.  If not, either you're going to have to take out one and its own negation, or you're going to have to take out a whole clause.  If, and only if.

So that's the concept of "NP-completeness," which you'll hear sometimes used to mean, essentially, "wicked hard"; that's sort of Cobham's thesis, which is that P is roughly what's tractable, and since NP-complete problems aren't thought to be in P, there's the story.  This brings up the notion of Anathem, in which the "travelling fraa problem" is solved by a "Saunt Grod's machine," which uses quantum effects.  Now, it's not certain that this is a slightly-less-imaginary quantum computer, but assuming it is, again, there's no proof that a quantum computer could solve NP-complete problems, and Fraa Jad really doubles down by saying that he finds a code by picking numbers randomly.

...I guess I don't really have much else to say, although I feel I should mention Savitch's theorem, that if you have one of these imaginary computers, and you've programmed it to do something with only so much memory, if time is no object, you can get a more realistic computer to do it with (proportional in terms of the input to) the square of the memory.  Basically, you dig down all the possible states from either end.  Anyway, I'm posting this.

[keptin-indy]

7th Sea: The New World 1

The new game begins!  This is very much a provisional title and it may change as we find out more of what this campaign is about.  I’m also probably not going to have many informational links unless requested, since most of the places and people in 7th Sea are loose expies of real-life history, and frankly, you don’t need a lot of background info to understand swashbuckling.

The World

7th Sea is set in a fantasy world that is most certainly not Europe at various time periods plus magic and no sexism (except in Italy).  There’s a lot of political intrigue and swashbuckling adventure and much less crack now that 2nd edition has removed the metaplot.  Here’s a rundown of the main nations and their specific sorceries to give you a broad idea of the world:

Avalon - Arthurian AND Elizabethan England at the same time (imagine if Queen Elizabeth had King Arthur’s mythology) and also there are terrifying faeries kickin’ around.  Glamour Knights get magical power by taking on the legacies of past heroes to live up to their examples of derring do.

The Highland Marches and Inismore - Scotland and Ireland, respectively.  Both their kings (the hot young Highlander and the insane Inish immortal) are loyal to the Avalonian queen, but not all their people are.

Castille - Spain during the Inquisition except that it’s also the seat of the Vaticine (Catholic) Church and there’s a power struggle between the Inquisition, the regular Church, and the 16 year-old king.  Alquimistas use scientific principles to make magic potions.

Eisen - Germany after the 30 Years War if that war had left Germany a blasted post-apocalyptic wasteland full of monsters.  Hexenwerk is the local flavour of magic and it tastes like dead people.

Montaigne - France immediately before the revolution: L’Empereur is a huge jerk who got the entire country excommunicated and probably had the pope killed, so trouble’s a’brewin’.  Porte sorciers rip holes in either the universe or themselves to teleport people and objects through the bloody wounds.

The Sarmatian Commonwealth - Medieval Poland and Lithuania where every single person was suddenly given the power to vote and is trying to figure out what to do with it.  Sanderis is the practice of making deals with demons for power, but it keeps the demons from doing worse things on their own, so it’s heroic, they promise.

Ussura - If the Russian court were circa Peter the Great while the peasantry were pre-medieval and also Mother Russia was a literal being who was also Baba Yaga.  Mother’s Touch is the kind of “gift” you get in a fairytale that’s meant to teach you an important life lesson and it often lets you turn into an animal.

Vestenmennavenjar (bless you) - Imagine the early modern Dutch and pre-Christian vikings decided that the real way to take over the world was to be extremely aggressive car salesmen at the rest of Europe.  Galdr is the art of casting runes to invoke the power of the old gods for a wide variety of effects.

Vodacce - The TV show “The Borgias” only there are 7 princes like that.  Sorte is their magic, but it can only be inherited by women and it’s utterly terrifying, which has led to the only seriously sexist society in the setting because the men are constantly worried that the women will control fate.

Theah - the continent all these countries exist in.  It’s Europe.

Ifri - Africa without the colonialism!  It’s not likely to show up in this game for a long while, but I’m including it because it gets referenced sometimes.

This specific campaign is going to take place mostly in the Atabean, which is the Caribbean, and also probably the New World, which none of us know anything about because it’s new to 2nd ed.  Since we’re all a bunch of old 1st ed players, there will be a lot of holdovers from the old edition, though the entire game is now much more diverse (Africa exists!  It didn’t used to, which was ridiculous!) and has a bigger world beyond just Theah/Europe.

The Characters

Ansgar Halke - a young Vesten mapmaker and engineer hiding a hydraulic winch attached to a heavy steel lantern under a coat (not very well, mind you).  Very tall, barely an adult, and always working. (Unquenched Ardor in Exalted, Ath in Dresden Files)

Etienne du Verger - a sickly-looking Montaigne noble with a mysterious and apparently miserable past.  He has uncomfortably red eyes and there’s something strange about his reflection…(me!)

Misha - an enormous and cheerful Ussuran mercenary with an equally enormous sword and one metal gauntlet.  Covered in scars and constantly eating. (Naran Bataar in Exalted)

Mariandl Rafrano-Velez - an Eisen doctor raised in Castille, her passions are healing, the Vaticine faith, and ~science~.

Tamara Zelenzka - the absurdly dashing democratically-elected captain of the Golden Dream.  Sarmatian originally but now part of one of the “Pirate Nations”, she’s easily distracted but intelligent and charming.  She also has an invisible demon following her who tells her to burn things, basically. (the GM of both Exalted and Dresden)

Lady Gwendolyn Darcy - Avalonian noble, Glamour Knight, and financier of the Atabean expedition (technically an NPC, but played by Shashaka from Exalted)

[Bonus character has not yet been unlocked]

The Game

At the Boring Monkey Alehouse’s private room, a strange meeting was taking place: Lady Gwendolyn Darcy had invited a motley gathering of people from many nations and walks of life, all of whom had come recommended to her, either through reputation or mutual acquaintances.  Lady Gwendolyn wished to hire a boat and escort to take her to the Atabean Sea but had no intention of paying more than she thought their assistance was worth, and it was up to the potential hirelings to convince her of their value.  The enormous Ussuran mercenary moved the room’s solid oak table to a more convenient position to show off his strength; the Castillian doctor brought out her university diploma and professional references (including one from a patient who claimed she had sewed their arm back on); the Sarmatian captain was almost theatrically piratical, full of salt and swagger to prove her sailing prowess; the Vesten engineer displayed his sailing guild membership and his professional references; but the miserable-looking Montaigne courtier dressed all in black made no attempt to haggle for his wages, instead observing the others in silence.  Lady Gwendolyn had her work cut out keeping the peace amongst all the jockeying and Captain Zelenzka was especially insistent that she and her crew be well-compensated.  Ansgar asked Lady Gwendolyn to sign a contract granting him exclusive rights and ownership of anything he made on the journey, excepting repairs and improvements to the ship, as well as referrals to other Avalonian nobles upon their return, which she agreed to pending the quality of his work on her voyage.  Dr Rafano-Velez wanted similar assurances for any medical or scientific discoveries she made during the journey, as well as the promise of extra time in especially interesting ports, but Lady Gwendolyn pointed out the latter was more the captain’s decision than hers.  She did, however, point out that the Atabean was well known for its wide variety of exotic monsters, many of whom were quite valuable when sold in parts, though major profits would of course have to be split equally among the crew.  Misha, already three beers into her tab, only wanted the Lady to keep him well-fed and pay for his drinks on land, but judging by his size, that may have turned out to be the most costly promise of all.  Etienne merely signed on without question.  Accompanying Lady Gwendolyn was a dark-skinned man dressed in the Vendel fashion who introduced himself as Khofi the Diplomat, a native Rahuri from the Atabean, though his father had been Ifri.  Captain Zelenzka asked for details of the venture and Lady Gwendolyn said she wished to go to Soryana, the Rahuri  Isle of the Dead.  Etienne blanched, but Tamara looked thrilled for the adventure and Mariandl pressed for more details, but the Lady would only say that she was looking for information from someone there (prompting a brief guilty look from Khofi, unnoticed by all but Etienne).  Gwendolyn finally settled with Tamara, agreeing to pay the amount the captain wanted, but only in goods - specifically wool cloth - which Tamara was happy to take provided she got even more cloth for the trouble of selling it off somewhere.  Mariandl asked if she could have a dedicated workshop/sickbay, but Tamara said that her ship was a democracy and she couldn’t force one of her officers out of their cabin just to give her more space, but the doctor was welcome to take it up with them herself.

In the pub’s  common room, a wall away from all this negotiation, it seemed the punters had taken offense to each other, and the private party was interrupted by a man being bodily thrown through the doors into the side room, followed by a spill of angry drunks, all looking to pick fights with everyone around them.  Misha happily joined in, picking up the halves of a broken table and bashing drunks right and left, while Ansgar used the now-unhinged door as a shield to protect Lady Gwendolyn and Mariandl.  Tamara was obviously in her element, dancing between combatants and pommel striking them into unconsciousness.  As soon as the ruckus had started, Etienne produced a pair of knives from somewhere, but struggled to use them non-lethally, managing to get away with only minor cuts to his opponents.  Gwendolyn was Very Disappointed that her countrymen were behaving so badly, but the drunks were handily knocked out by the improbable number of trained Duelists she was hiring.  Tamara deftly grabbed the mugs of the last two Etienne pommel-struck, his knives disappearing as quickly as they had come out.  Lady Gwendolyn offered to pay the barkeep for the damages (including the beloved taxidermied monkey - the pub’s namesake - which had somehow been set on fire) even though she wasn’t responsible for causing the ruckus.  Tamara told her they could leave with the morning tide and the group dispersed to take care of any lingering business before leaving Theah for an extended period.  Etienne and Mariandl exchanged some strained smalltalk, as they had met before, but his life had evidently taken an unspecified turn for the worse since then.

The next morning, the escort met up at the Golden Dream to get settled into their new quarters.  Misha and Ansgar, being both so large, barely fit into their cabins and elected to sleep on deck most of the time, leaving Mariandl to take over one of their cabins as her personal workshop after all.  Tamara suggested they head first to the pirate port of La Bucca, on an island well to the west of Theah, and use that as their last port before crossing the ocean, which seemed reasonable, though disreputable.  The crew of the Dream were as piratical as their captain and made no efforts to hide it, so Mariandl announced she would be holding a Vaticine prayer and study group every Sunday for anyone interested in their souls.  The crew was indulgent about this, but several of them mentioned that their captain had a pet demon and that had turned out alright, so she was unlikely to make much headway there.  Tamara herself proved to be less of a sailor and more of a figurehead, though a beloved one, and her lack of skill in the rigging never stopped her from capering up there like a clumsy monkey, though somehow she never fell.  Khofi curiously cast some guilders onto a map in what he said was divination and announced that the captain had either fantastic or terrible luck and nothing in between.  Misha attempted to shorten both Mariandl and Gwendolyn’s names and was immediately corrected by both of them.  Mariandl asked Gwendolyn what she was looking for on the Isle of the Dead, but Gwendolyn said that she didn’t know yet, only that she was on a quest for someone there.  Marindl kept pressing for more, but Etienne, seeing Gwendolyn’s discomfort and recognizing her mourning wear, pulled the doctor aside and told her she was being indelicate.  He changed the subject to how her time in Avalon had been since he had last seen her, but she turned it around to ask if there was anything she could do to heal whatever illness he was apparently suffering from.  He told her that there were some wounds one couldn’t recover from and excused himself from the conversation.  Seeking another interesting medical condition, Mariandl moved on to asking about Ansgar’s hump, but he drew a long chain out of his sleeve, showing that it was attached to his strange lantern, then reached back to crank something that made the chain retract.  The hump was actually a winch that a friend had made him, and he was very proud of its workmanship.  With Mariandl’s medical curiosity again thwarted, Ansgar went back to fixing or making small things around the ship, as he didn’t seem to be the kind of person to waste time in idleness.

Two days out from La Bucca, a larger pirate ship caught sight of the Dream and the escort group steeled themselves for a battle, but the other ship merely came within signal range to exchange friendly greetings and went on their way.  Tamara explained that it was a fellow Buccaneer and that the denizens of La Bucca never attacked one another, much to the non-pirates’ amazement.  They finally reached the famous pirate port, and Tamara paid the customary dock bribe and set about selling the cloth she’d been paid in.  She warned the newcomers not to eat any pork while on the island, as the suppliers drugged it to keep crews coming back for more.  Misha was leery of the rickety-looking rope bridges that connected some of the buildings, but was more than willing to follow Tamara to her favourite bar.  Etienne seemed ill at ease, tense as though expecting an attack at any moment and Misha threw his enormous arm over his shoulders and advised him to get into a bar fight to relax.  Along the way, Tamara enthusiastically greeted a group of street urchins, launching herself in for a group hug.  The children told her that “Mother” was busy or she would have said hello, and Tamara explained to the group that the island had a communal mother who adopted young strays and stowaways.  Etienne delicately removed an urchin’s hand from Lady Gwendolyn’s coinpurse and Misha moved his money to around his neck, well out of reach of even some adults, though this didn’t stop the children from dangling off of overhanging bridges to try to get at it.  Their ingenuity pleased him and he rewarded them with a coin.  Ansgar sketched the interesting mishmash of architecture as they walked.  In the tavern itself, people were laughing about an upcoming election where there was apparently only one candidate for the main race, someone who had dared to run against “the Baron” in another had been found in a ditch, and someone else had almost run against Mother but all she had to do what look at him and he dropped out.  None of the positions anyone was running for were mentioned, all the locals evidently knowing exactly who was who already, leaving the escorts bewildered.  Etienne disingenuously accepted a conman’s shell game pitch and won it just to prove that he could, which provoked a predictable bar brawl Misha was thrilled to be in.  He ended up punching another Ussuran and they became immediate friends.  Ansgar heard the local tale of a haunted lake on the southern part of the island and took Mariandl out there to explore by lantern-light that night, finding a small island with ruins in the middle of the lake, but no ghost.  Upon their return, Tamara explained that the island had been where they put the horrible monster out there to sleep some years ago - which she had helped with - incidentally mentioning that she could breathe underwater.  When questioned, she attributed this to magic, making Mariandl very unhappy as she suspected that meant the pet demon.  She was soon proved right, as Tamara had half a conversation with something the escorts could neither see nor hear, and she explained that she had made a bargain with a “dieva”, which wasn’t exactly a demon as the Vaticines thought of them.  She sometimes worked with this creature and sometimes had to restrain it, but it was always with her and granted her a variety of powers.

Their resupplying done, the Dream left port and sailed West toward the Atabean.  Four days out from La Bucca, the lookout spotted a small island not on any of their charts, with a wrecked ship offshore and “help” spelled out in three languages on the beach.

[sandwichbully]

Lowry Hill Meats, 11 September 2018

   The very tippy-tip Lowry Hill East, wedged between Lowry Hill to the west and the Loring Heights half of Stevens Square to the east, is not a safe place to bike. As long as you keep this in mind as you venture into the area, you are still going to fucking die. Motorists in this area, enraged and dyspeptic over the bottle neck of Hennepin, Lyndale, five ramps on & off 94, the intersection of Franklin “Fuck You, Die” Avenue, and the Loring Greenway, operate with the intention of murdering everybody they can see. And this is where I went to lunch today.    Being on vacation, I decided to do things I don’t normally do. So I’ve been going to wildflower gardens and bird sanctuaries and cemeteries and making it a point to eat lunch at places I’ve never eaten before. To pull it off today, I Googled “deli near me” and got handed my usual list of places that I’ve been to already and then I see Lowry Hill Meats and I look at their menu and I think, “This looks like, uh... Huh.”    And that, my friends, is how you can tell I’m excited.    I bike over there and, yep, nothing here has changed. Everybody in possession of an internal combustion engine attached to four wheels is out here playing like they’re Rutger Hauer in Hitcher and I can only wait for the walk light to allow me to bike into oncoming traffic because the laws of right-of-way don’t exist here in Lowry Hill East, fuck you, you pussy-ass “bicyclist”, why don’t you get a car and a job, you commie scum fuck, this is America where I’m the most important person in the world and you’re making me late by crossing in front of me just because “a sign” told you and your gay dreadlocks you could. I AM AN AMERICAN FOOTBALL LOVING CARNIVORE AND ME AND MY CAR ARE IMPORTANT SO IMPORTANT SO GODDAMNED IMPORTANT AND YOU DARE NOT RESPECT ME!? I SUPPORT TROOPS, MOTHERFUCKER!!!    What?    Oh, sorry. I just, uh, saw a guy look at me funny while I was crossing the street and I can only imagine that’s what was going on in his head.    Anyway, I bike over to the Lowry Hill Meats and it’s pretty much in the old Rye space - actually looked it up. Rye’s old address is 1930 and Lowry Hill Meats is 1934. Whatever. I go inside and I take a look at the menu board and this dude at the meat slicer asks if I’m looking for some lunch and I says yeah, I says and he says there’s a sandwich menu right ovah heah and he points like to this chawkboad, see? And I walks over theah, I does, and I reads the menu and this gothic hipstah chick, she stahts rattlin off the specials fuh the day at me-    No, you know what? I can’t keep doing the nineteen thirties New England accent.    Anyway, I tell her I’ll just have the roast beef.    Oh, and this ginger ale.    And it comes out to ten something, OK, that’s cool. No biggie.    So what’s on the roast beef?    Look out, because this aint Arby’s.    They take roast beef and put it on filone with beet horseradish, shaved red onion, butter, oil & vinegar.    So, how did it taste?    Like fucking vinegar.    You know how roast beef when cooked to rare, still bloody as the red tent - I was going to go with the crude menstruation joke, instead, I went with the literary one, you’re welcome - has a metallic taste to it? How it’s savory and has that low buttery saxophone drone on the bottom but it just has that high-pitched iron taste that’s complimented so well by marjoram and oregano? You know? Well, I was expecting that. That’s what I want when I go to a butcher shop / deli with “meats” in their name. I’ve made the conscious decision to eat red meat - tell my doctor - I should taste red meat.    Instead I tasted a lot of this beet horseradish, or, rather, the vinegar in it, that was complimented by more vinegar. I think it was a Nero Wolfe movie where Nero chides his assistant (not Archie Goodwin) over fucking up his salad, “How many times must I tell you? Be a spendthrift with the oil, a miser with the vinegar!” Or something like that. Might not even have been Nero Wolfe. It might have been a different fat-detective-who-solves-crimes-from-his-La-Z-Boy-while-his-right-hand-man-goes-out-and-does-all-the-work movie.    Anyway, that was all I could taste, vinegar. I can’t tell you shit about the onions, nothing about the butter or what it was doing there when there was oil, the bread was chewy and resistant without being a bastard, that was nice, the meat was chewy, wished I could have tasted that, you got me drawing a blank on the horseradish, the beets gave up a little sweetness so I guess I had sweet & sour beef for lunch, and the goddamned ginger ale was some organic fuck you job from some place in Wisconsin that burned my throat going down.    I don’t want to disparage the place, clearly they put thought and consideration into what they do. They could just slap some roast beef on rye and hand you a couple mustard packets (Brother’s, Cecil’s), but they want their sandwich to be worth your time, worth your visit. So, without trying to be too chefy about it, they probably sat down and thought long and hard over their sandwich menu. When it came to roast beef, what works with roast beef? Onions and um... Why, horseradish, of course! But does horseradish cut it? Does horseradish stand out? Does horseradish say “us”? Not really. What if we make it - Well, what if we make it - There’s this stuff they serve at Passover, beet horseradish. What if we try that?    Probably a conversation like that.    With the exception of oil & vinegar, nothing about this sandwich sounds like it doesn’t belong on or with roast beef. But they need to back away from the vinegar because there’s plenty of that in the beet horseradish, and while they’re at it, nix the oil, too. There’s already butter there for the fat.    So, it’s one sandwich, one visit, I can tell they care about what they produce, I can tell that they’ve carefully considered their sandwich construction, they’re erring on the conservative side which is nice because I don’t want to walk in some place and find steamed salmon with a pear marinara on pumpernickel pita or some wonky horseshit like that on the menu. I’m tempted to give this one a pass and see what else they can do. They’ve got pork shoulder, they’ve got turkey, they’ve got this sandwich called the French Exit which sounds like either a Third Reich joke or a poo joke, I might try that. But after today’s sandwich, I can’t tell you to give them your money.

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