#and the first time I saw the ditchlings

[gooblygoops]

Me: *terrified of anything even tangentially horror based because I got traumatized with Don't Be Scared of the Dark as a very young child*

Also me: Oooooooh Scarlet Hollow!!!

[mimisempai]

I'll find you at the end of the road - Chap 2/8

Chapter summary

The mystery thickens, then becomes clearer... a mysterious correspondence is being born...

On Ao3

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4 - Chap 5 - Chap 6 - Chap 7 - Last chapter

Alone in the teachers' lounge, Crowley tried to pour himself a cup of coffee despite his shaking hands, but had to put the cup down and take several deep breaths to calm himself.

He didn't hear the headmistress enter and jumped at the sound of her voice. 

"Ah, you're here."

Mrs Tracy had grabbed the coffee pot and filled Crowley's cup before handing it to him, "I know about the accident near St James Park. I had to go there because a class from our academy was on the bus. Luckily none of them were hurt. The paramedics, who knew you were a teacher here, told us you fought really hard for that man."

Crowley sighed, "And yet, everything I've done hasn't been enough. No matter how well I know first aid, no matter how regularly I take refresher courses, it hasn't been enough." 

He paused, took a sip of coffee, and continued, "I have to get back to class. There's nothing like work to take your mind off things."

He emptied his cup in one gulp before heading for the door.

"Crowley?"

Crowley stopped and turned to find himself face to face with the headmistress who had followed in his footsteps. Mrs. Tracy placed her hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "Do me a favor. On your day off, get as far away from here as you can. Will you? Go somewhere you feel good...a place that brings you peace."

Throat tightening, Crowley nodded before continuing on his way.

Aziraphale left the lake house and walked to his Beetle parked by the mailbox. Before getting into his car, he placed a letter in the box, raised the flag, and drove to his store.

At the same time, Crowley decided to follow Mrs. Tracy's advice and took his car to Ditchling. The lake had always given him a sense of serenity, so he drove north of the small village.

The day was clear and bright, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the trees.

Before reaching the lake, he stopped at the small local grocery store, whose owners he knew well, to buy his lunch and a drink.

He greeted them as he entered the store: "Hello Frank, hello Bill!"

Frank walked over to him and, after giving him a hug, exclaimed, "We haven't seen you in a while. How are things in the city?"

Crowley shrugged and replied in a neutral tone, "Fine. I'm getting used to it."

Bill, who had joined them, hugged him in turn before asking inquisitively, "What are you doing here?"

Crowley swallowed the lump that formed in the back of his throat whenever he thought of the tragedy in St. James Park, then replied quietly, "I just had to get out of the city. I needed some fresh air and I missed the peaceful life here."

Bill nodded vigorously, "I hear you, for nothing in the world would I want to go back to city life."

Suddenly, Frank bent his head to the ground and said quietly, "What's the matter, sweetie?"

Crowley followed his gaze and saw a little boy hiding behind Frank's leg, then exclaimed, "Hey, Joel, how you've grown! How old are you now?"

"Two." Frank replied as the little boy raised his hand and showed two fingers. "Say hello to Crowley, Joel, you like him, don't you?"

"Hi Cwoly!" 

The little boy, all shyness gone, stretched out his arms to Crowley, who took him in his arms and planted a loud kiss on his forehead, making Joel giggle. 

They chatted for a few moments, then Crowley, already in a better mood after spending time with this kind family, left with his sandwich and drink, heading for the lake house, hoping there was no new occupant yet.

Arriving at the lake house, Crowley first checked to make sure no one was there, then got out of the car and walked along the house and down to the edge of the lake, where he found a rock large enough for him to sit on. He sat there for a long time, admiring the lake, whose surface was so smooth he could see the sky reflected in it. After eating his sandwich, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, enjoying the gentle breeze that seemed to sweep away his dark thoughts. Much later, as the sun began to set over the horizon and the temperature cooled, he told himself it was time to go home, but he wasn't in any hurry.

As he was getting into his car, he noticed the flag raised on the mailbox. Wondering if his letter was still in the box, he opened it out of curiosity. Inside was a plain envelope, different from the one he'd put there. He took it, and to his surprise, it was addressed to him.

Crowley sat down in the car parked in front of the house and began to read the letter.

I got your letter. Is this some kind of joke?

Because if it's not, I don't get it.

Crowley frowned at the tone of the letter and continued reading.

I am not the "next tenant" for the simple reason that there was no previous tenant.

The lake house has been unoccupied for over twenty years.

At first I thought maybe you'd come to the wrong place.

But then, how would you know about the paw prints?

Crowley was now completely confused. He thought for a moment, then fumbled in his satchel for a pen and paper and began to write.

Aziraphale parked the Beetle, happy to have finally finished his day's work, and saw that the mailbox flag had been raised. Slightly excited, he opened the box and saw that there was a letter inside, immediately recognizing the handwriting of Crowley, the so-called former tenant. He looked at it as he walked up to the house and saw that it came from the same address Crowley had given him to forward his letter to, 33 Great Marlborough Street, London.

Once inside, Aziraphale jumped as he felt something pass between his legs, nearly knocking him over. It was the rabbit that had left the paw prints. Apparently, it had decided to live here and had figured out how to get in.

Great, now he'd have to figure out what a rabbit would need.

But leaving that aside for now, he opened Crowley's letter and began to read.

The next day, after closing the store, Aziraphale waited beside the Beetle in front of a huge building that exuded opulence and majesty and dominated by the two familiar letters HH, Heavenly Home. Brand of luxury furnishings.

His eyes were fixed on the people coming out of it, and he smiled as soon as he saw the familiar slender figure with the even more familiar brown curl coming out of the main swinging door.

"Muriel!" 

As soon as they saw him, Muriel exclaimed, "Aziraphale! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be busy in your little shop, surrounded by all those old things you love so much."

He didn't take it badly, for his friend and former colleague had said this in an affectionate tone, and Aziraphale replied gently, "I'm never too busy to look up an old friend and offer them a drink, or even dinner."

Muriel replied with a broad smile, "That makes me so happy."

Then Aziraphale sheepishly added, "I had something to do not far from here, and I thought why not combine the pleasant with the useful."

Muriel hugged him and then said softly, "I am so happy to see you. I miss you so much, you know. It's not the same without you here."

Over his shoulder, Aziraphale froze as he saw another familiar figure leave the building.

Their eyes met over Muriel's shoulder and Aziraphale murmured, "The Almighty. 

As the woman walked at a brisk pace, Muriel put a hand on Aziraphale's arm and said in a slightly reproachful tone, "She is your mother, after all."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and said calmly, "Come on, let's go."

A short time later, they were both sitting in a small restaurant, chatting animatedly about the latest news, happy to catch up.

Muriel asked, "So how's life as an antiquarian?"

Aziraphale smiled before answering, "Well, it's been a challenge starting out on my own, it's one thing to do it as a hobby, sometimes it's frustrating depending on the clientele, but basically I..."

Muriel interrupted with a smile, "Say no more, you're having fun. I can see that. You seem to be blossoming."

Aziraphale nodded and replied, "It's true, I'm my own boss too, and on the whole it works out pretty well."

Muriel clinked her wine glass against their friend's and said gently, "I'm so happy for you."

"By the way, I bought a house..."

Muriel's eyes widened and she exclaimed, "So your business is doing really well!"

Aziraphale chuckled.

"I have mortgaged to my underwear, but I don't regret it."

"You never regretted leaving HH?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "As much as I know you love working there, that big, cold, sterile corporation just isn't for me. When Mother set it up after my father died, she promised there would be an antique furniture restoration department for me, but she got lost in the race for power and never kept her promise." He swallowed a sip of wine before continuing, "Does she ever ask about me?" 

Muriel shook their head, "She's too busy getting new contracts and I don't think she likes me very much, I guess she thinks I'm dim. I even thought she was going to fire me today because I didn't make enough sales."

Aziraphale put his hand on theirs and said gently, "Don't worry, you know her tantrums, she'll be her old self tomorrow."

They dropped the subject of his mother and continued to chat happily the rest of the evening, neither of them noticing the passing of time. 

As they left the restaurant, Aziraphale offered to drop Muriel off at their place before heading back to the lake house.

As he started, he said to his friend, "If you don't mind, I'd like to mail a letter before I go, which is what I came for in the first place."

Muriel nodded and five minutes later he parked the Beetle on a street corner and walked around looking for the address on Crowley's letter.

He muttered to himself, "33 Great Marlborough St."

Muriel, who had followed him, asked, "What is it?"

Aziraphale looked around in confusion and replied, "I'm not sure."

His friend insisted, "Who lives there?"

He shook his head and replied, "I don't really know."

Aziraphale triple-checked, but he was in the right place, no doubt about it. The problem was that at this address there was only a recently dug foundation, a sign announcing a new building soon, but no habitable structure.

He checked the address one last time, and then he noticed something strange.

It was dated March 27, 2024.

Crowley walked the school hallways, examining the last letter from Aziraphale he'd found in the box. He read it for the fourth time and still didn't understand it.

There must be some mistake, I tried to deliver the letter personally, to the address you gave me, but there is no property at 33 Great Marlborough St, it's just a pile of rubble.

By the way, the date isn't right either.

Crowley scribbled a note and as soon as the class was over, he went to put the letter in the box.

At the lake house, Aziraphale leaned against the kitchen counter, reading the latest letter he'd received.

I got your last letter.

I don't know if you'll get my answer, but I want to get to the bottom of it.

By the way, for some reason the mail isn't coming to my address in London. I still have to pick it up by car. Anyway, all this is to say that I didn't make a mistake with the address.

I know where I live, thanks!  Okay, it's ugly, but it's not a pile of rubble either. I live on the fourth floor of a rather new building.

And last but not least, I'm not stupid, I live in 2024.

Aziraphale laughed darkly at what seemed to be a silly joke and continued reading.

Just out of curiosity, what year do you think it is?

A few days later, sitting on his sofa with a glass of wine in his hand, Crowley studied the latest note from Aziraphale. 

I'm living in 2022

SO PLEASE STOP BULLSHITTING ME.

Crowley laughed in disbelief and Harry looked at him before jumping up on the sofa and cuddling up to him.

He stroked the rabbit and thought before getting up and walking over to his dresser where he pulled out a shoebox full of photos.

He began to look through the photos. He came across one he'd forgotten, of himself when he was younger with his then-boyfriend, Furfur. They were in each other's arms, laughing, looking very much in love.

He looked at it for a second, then put it away and continued his search.

Finally, he found the photo he was looking for. It showed Crowley and a group of people out at night, wearing t-shirts and jeans as snow fell around them.

He turned it over and on the back was a date printed by the developer, APRIL 3, 2022.

The wind was blowing hard as Aziraphale arrived home to find the flag on the mailbox raised. Inside was a new letter from Crowley, which he grabbed before running up the path to the house as the sky began to darken.

After being greeted by the rabbit that had nearly knocked him down again, he read the letter while preparing his meal.

Since you don't believe me, I'll give you a little warning.

There was a bad flu in the spring of 2022.

I remember because it suddenly snowed at the beginning of April and for a long time.

After that, everyone got sick.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Then he looked at the calendar to see that today was April 3rd and continued reading.

So, my mysterious pen pal, if you really are where... or when... you say you are... I hope you're getting plenty of rest, drinking lots of herbal tea, and eating fruit to store vitamins.

Warm milk with honey is also effective. 

And above all, wear warm clothes.

Aziraphale laughed and said aloud in a mocking tone, "Snow, right."

Having had more than enough of this oddity, he crumpled up the letter wanting to throw it away, took a few steps, and suddenly had to stop to sneeze.

There was a bad flu in the spring of 2022.

He froze, thinking about the contents of the letter, and instinctively walked over to the bay window.

There, he couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise. Not at the beauty of the landscape, but because he was shocked.

Outside it was snowing heavily.

He looked at the falling snow for a long time, and only when he felt a chill run through his body did he stop thinking. Feeling the cold coming, he made himself a cup of tea and decided to go to bed, as he was no longer hungry and just wanted to sleep. 

The next morning, bundled up in a heavy waistcoat, he went to the mailbox, which was covered with the snow that had fallen during the night, and after struggling with the flap, he quickly slipped a letter inside and closed the box. He looked at it, almost afraid it would bite him, and then raised the little red flag.

The Lake House - April 4 - 2024

Crowley opened the box, removed the letter from Aziraphale, and lowered the flag.

He unfolded it and saw that it consisted of a single line.

IS THAT POSSIBLE?

Crowley, his hands shaking, picked up a pen and replied before placing the letter back in the box and raising the flag. 

The Lake House - April 4 - 2022

Aziraphale stared at the snow-covered mailbox from the house and was shocked to see the flag lowering by itself, and this began to frighten him a little. He got out and went to the mailbox, but when he got there he was shaken by a sneeze that made him bend over. When he looked up he saw that the flag had come back up. 

"What the hell?!"

Although this really scared him, curiosity got the better of him and he opened the mailbox with a trembling hand to take out what seemed to be the same paper he'd mailed. Slightly disappointed, but also reassured that the flag thing was probably just the wind, he sighed and relaxed.

But as he unfolded the note, his heart leapt into his chest.

IS THAT POSSIBLE?

YES.

April 5, 2024

Crowley returned to his apartment in a daze. Sensing that something was wrong with his owner, Harry didn't run this to him this time and followed him into the living room.

Crowley took him in his arms and set the rabbit next to him on the sofa. Harry rested his head on Crowley's knee as Crowley absentmindedly scratched his head.

After a few moments, the professor picked up a piece of paper and began to write. 

April 5, 2022

Aziraphale lay on his bed, surrounded by used tissues, still unable to believe the words on the letter from Crowley that had just arrived in the box. The rabbit that had truly made his home with him lay at the foot of his bed.

I don't know about you, but I don't even know what questions to ask. 

Can you tell me something that might shed some light?

Aziraphale shook his head, then got up and walked around the house, thinking, trying to find a connection, when he arrived at the front door and saw the rabbit's paw prints outside.

He grabbed a piece of paper near his phone and scribbled quickly.

I think we have the same pet.

Let's do a little test so we don't always have to wait for the other one to answer. Let's meet on April 7th at 10 a.m. in front of the mailbox at the Lake House.

He put the letter in the mailbox, raised the flag, and went home to crawl under his comforter, exhausted from cold and excitement.

April 6, 2024

Crowley rose early to drive to the lake house, hoping his mysterious pen pal had responded. His heart pounding, he saw that the flag was raised. He ran to the box, opened it, and grasped the small piece of paper with trembling fingers.

He replied and put the note back in the mailbox.

Is it a white rabbit?

"See" you tomorrow then ;-)

Thus began, two years apart, an extraordinary exchange of letters, punctuated by the movement of a small flag on a mailbox.

April 7, 2022/2024 - 10:00 a.m.

A: Good morning, and yes, it is a rabbit.

C: Does it rub against your legs when you come in and follow you until it's fed?

A: Yes.

C: I named it Harry.

Aziraphale looked at the rabbit at his feet and said, "Nice to meet you, Harry."

The little rabbit rubbed against him as if it understood.

C: Perhaps we could introduce ourselves properly.

I'm Crowley, you know, and I've just arrived as a professor of astronomy at an institute for special students.

A: My name is Aziraphale. I'm an antiquarian and a collector. I have a little shop called A.Z. Fell & Co. 

I'm still trying to figure it out. If in two years you are living in a building at 33 Great Marlborough St... which doesn't exist yet... where are you, uh, "now", my now, in 2022?

C: I'm studying for my doctorate in astrology at Westminster School.

Crowley stopped writing and looked around before continuing.

C: And now I'm corresponding in an extremely weird way with someone I've never met. Too, too, too weird!!!

A: What's it like in 2024?

C: It's great. Everyone is driving around in flying cars. We all wear metal colored suits and we all have super powers.

Aziraphale smiled at the joke before reading on.

C: Nothing has really changed. No. We have 5G, Twitter has become Xitter since Musk bought it. No, there has been no big change.

I have to go, I have a class this afternoon. I won't be able to be there for another three days, my next day off.

But... one thing worries me. What if by sending these letters, by communicating in this way, we inadvertently change the course of time itself, change the history of mankind forever?

Aziraphale thought for a moment before answering.

A: You're right. Let's not do that.

Aziraphale posted the letter and entered the house, Harry rubbing his feet as usual and beginning to follow him.

The antiquarian exclaimed, "Harry! That's enough!"

He took the rabbit in his arms and placed it next to where it usually ate and ordered it, "You wait here and stop following me."

For three days he repeated the same trick several times until Harry did indeed wait quietly by his bowl. He gave the rabbit a small piece of carrot to congratulate him and said softly, "Good boy."

Then, despite what they seemed to have decided, he wrote a short note and went to put it in the mailbox, raising the flag. 

He only hoped that Crowley would still come and check.

April 10, 2024

Crowley reread the letter as he entered his apartment, understanding absolutely nothing.

Sorry, I took the liberty of altering the future and changed one little thing.

Crowley closed the door and while he expected to be nearly knocked down by Harry, who always ran between his legs, nothing happened.

He walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see teh rabbit bravely waiting for him next to its food bowl.

No need to thank me.

Crowley laughed out loud in a way he hadn't in a long time.

The next day, as he sat in class waiting for the next students to arrive, he was still wondering how he could thank Aziraphale, when Pepper suddenly appeared shyly on the doorstep.

Which was strange, because the bubbly girl was anything but shy, especially around him.

Surprisingly, since Crowley had told the students that he wanted them to ask him questions, to discuss his classes, it wasn't unusual for her to linger at the end of a class to discuss with him a contrary or not so contrary view of the class topics.

Crowley's colleagues had told him that it was the first time since Pepper's arrival at the Academy that anyone had managed to captivate her like that.

"Ahem, Professor... Crowley?" 

"Crowley will suffice as always, Pepper," Crowley replied quietly before inviting her in with a gesture.

She reached over and placed something on his desk as she said, "Um... I wanted to thank you for always taking the time to answer me whenever I come in and whatever my question is, so I prepared this little something for you myself."

Crowley, touched, unwrapped the small package and took out a pretty bookmark in a shade of blue, adorned with stars; he looked at it more closely and gasped, "But it's..."

"You told us about your rabbit, so I put the rabbit constellation on it."

He looked up and said in a soft, emotional voice, "Thank you, Pepper, that's very thoughtful of you."

"You're welcome! See you later." 

She turned and walked away, her usual lively stride.

Crowley looked at the bookmark for a long time; it had been ages since anyone had made such a thoughtful gesture for him, especially for something he'd done.

"Congratulations, Professor."

He looked up at the owner of the voice that had torn him from his thoughts, Anathema.

"What?"

"You are one of the chosen few who have the privilege of being among the people Pepper respects the most. She only gives this kind of personal gift to people she holds in high esteem."

"Oh..."

Anathema leaned against the doorframe and continued, "I came to invite you tonight. We're having a movie night with a small group of colleagues, the ones you know, in the video room. Are you interested?" 

A while back, Crowley would have declined, but tonight, perhaps because of Aziraphale or thanks to him, he decided to accept and replied, "I'll come, thanks for thinking of me. What movie?"

“You've got mail.”

Crowley exclaimed, “One of my favorite film along with Richard Curtis' romcoms!” 

Anathema chuckled softly and continued, "We'll meet there after class, and as soon as everyone's there, we'll get started. Newt will bring food and drinks."

A few hours later, they were discussing the movie over beers and burgers. There was Eric, Anathema, Newt, and even Mrs. Tracy, the principal.

At the end, Anathema laughed about the main characters, "Honestly, it's so stupid, I wouldn't have waited, I would have gone to see her as soon as I knew who she was. Why wait when you know she's your soul mate?"

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's last letter in his pocket before saying quietly, "I think there's something pure about it. A correspondence with no social barriers, no looks, no pretense... no need to worry about details. There's something exciting about it."

Crowley didn't realize they were all looking at him, surprised to see him show so much passion, and Anathema nudged him, "You got someone in your life, Crowleyyyy?"

"Hm?"

Mrs. Tracy gave him a knowing look and insisted, "It's hard not to notice you writing or reading letters all the time."

Crowley blushed slightly before replying, "It's not that kind of relationship, though it's true I've never met him."

Anathema asked, curious, "Why?" 

"Let's just say it's... complicated."

Seeing that Crowley had no desire to dwell on the subject, the others changed the subject and, discussing the movie, continued to enjoy a pleasant evening.

Later, on his way home, Crowley felt a pleasant warmth. 

For the first time in a long time, he did not feel lonely.

He felt in his pocket the bookmark Pepper had given him and suddenly knew what he could do for Aziraphale.

The next morning, he went to a clothing stores in search of what he had in mind.

Three hours later, at the lake house, he dropped a letter with a small package in the mailbox. He raised the flag and headed back to town.

April 12, 2022

Aziraphale had just gotten up, and as he had every morning since this strange correspondence began, he went to check the mail and was pleasantly surprised to see the little flag up. He returned to the house a little later with a letter and a small package.

He opened the package and took out a beautiful tartan scarf. He wrapped it around his neck, sat down in his chair with a cup of tea and began to read the letter.

Thank you for educating my little Harry. Here's a little gift to show my appreciation.

Put it on and don't take it off for the rest of the month. It will be cold until the end of April.

Aziraphale tightened the scarf around his neck and smiled softly.

Aziraphale, I don't know if what we are doing will change the course of time, but what I am sure of is that it is having a positive impact on my life, so I don't want to stop.

This connection I have with you has allowed me to reach out to others and for the first time in a long time I don't feel alone.

I don't want to stop.

But if you want me to, I'll do it, you just have to let me know.

April 15th, 7:00 a.m., I'll come and get your answer.

Sincerely, Crowley.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me ��

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

[ghostrot12343]

A self-indulgent ramble about my playthrough of Scarlet Hollow

I'm mostly writting this as an attempt to get these thoughts out of my head. Spoliers below.

So, I decided to try playing basically myself but more well read (Book Smart) and with the ability to talk to animals. Yes, my first D&D PC was a druid, how did you know? I did as much as I could to ignore bus guy, and I don't like peanuts, so on the bus they remained.

Upon meeting Tabitha, I did break my rule of offering a hug to someone lest they reject it, and reject it she did. So that stung. And in the car, Tabitha's statement about "emotional maturity" did nothing to convince me of anything but her own trauma.

After getting settled in, it was nice to meet Dustin and give him some nesting materials. And as I mentioned, I don't like peanuts, so there's nothing to eat in the house, and I didn't want to break Tabitha's trust immediately, so while I wanted to explore the house, I decided to leave that for later in the week and left the house.

Gretchen is delight and a fantastic friend. Frou-frou is fine, I can respect her need for space, but I'm definitely a dog over cat person. Having a gluten allergy, the diner is a reminder of how unaccommodating places outside NZ were of that, but I've not eaten all day and I'd suffer the headaches for at least something to eat that doesn't contain peanuts.

Meeting Duke with Stella, I told him not to shoot the mountain lions, and uh, well, I had accidentally skipped why he was asking for the flashlight and decided to go save Gretchen who I knew would be killed by the ditchlings like all the other animals we'd seen (also, it was weird that the game tried to suggest the deer's obvious statment on its affliction and warning was a threat?), and as the achievement states, Duke had poor trigger discipline.

Meet Kaneeka & Sybil, but I'm 90% sure I also went back to the estate that night.

The fact that we saw supernatural beings and a man died means I am immediately unconcerned about hiding my ability, there are weirder, more off-putting things going on. One thing I regret about the library was not reading what the game had to say about Tommyknockers.

Of course I immediately go see my cousin when we get to the mine, but I don't wait after I call her about Rosaline because time is of the essence - ditchlings exist, a man died, and this shaft had a collapse that already killed children.

I'm glad no one died, sucks Rosaline lost a foot though.

Checking in on Dustin & his mom is definitely a highlight of the mornings. And I was so worried about Bo dying if I gave him his father's location, but it felt more wrong to keep it from him when the police were so FUCKING USELESS, so it was a relief when I saw him in the later episode.

Cousin Bonding Time is the best, I didn't even know there was romance in this game until hanging out with Reese, but I still would choose CB... cousin bonding time over a date, sorry Stella. And fuck that Piece-of-Shit-Karen Nancy for ruining her morning.

While I thought the pastor left an okay impression and I have no clue why other people found him so sketchy, I also didn't tell him about my conversation with the mayor because I just don't know him.

I definitely clicked that the doc was poisoning Reese even before the game gave me the ability to voice that suspicion. Also, I am still very curious as to why she seemed to immediately detest my presence.

I asked for permission to invite Tabitha and then ignore Kaneeka's objection because asking was a formality. While I didn't object to Tabitha's belief of Oscar's parenting in the car, something that I sort of regretted, and simply further questioned during our morning hangout, I was disappointed that he failed the test of letting Rosaline take part. Like, sure, her being there meant that she knew for sure that her dad wasn't making stuff up, but she also literally lost her foot YESTERDAY, what the fuck Oscar, she shouldn't be in a high stress environment. So, while I don't fully agree with Tabitha about Oscar specifically (she's right about some people shouldn't have kids, *cough* the Scarlets *cough*), he definitely needed to have picked up a parenting book about setting stronger boundries, preferrably a week ago before all this shit happened. But I digress.

Very glad that I was able to win my day in ghost court.

Strike: Told Tabitha people thought she was a hero because of e2 and to not fire Davis, that she should meet with them and after asking what it is they wanted that she should probably give it to them, whilst also being understanding of the financial difficulties of the mine itself. Didn't tell the strikers about Rodriguez because honestly, I don't know what they'd do to him and I don't want another man's death on my conscience and this is less personal than with Bo. Also didn't talk to the strikers in the diner as I didn't want to get attack and/or weaken their efforts.

I did get to go everywhere, the pastor revelation was interesting, but I misread the "this doesn't mean we're friends" and wish it hadn't been so cold, even if yeah, friendship in this game requires immense trauma and life-threatening situations, so you know, maybe Daniel shouldn't want to be my friend.

I regret drinking Sybil's tea, I don't like tea but I thought maybe her insights would be useful... which they weren't. "Oh no, your cousin is going to betray you", I don't trust that idea as far as I can throw it and since I don't have powerful build, that's not very far anyways. At least, according to the decision tree I'm using as reference, I saw more of the Enoch/Teddy interaction.

I do feel sorry for Reese, but no way was I going to let him murder Dr Kelly. That's just more trauma to endure, and also, he does literally turn into a powerful monster when emotionally distressed, so wanting to prevent that from happening is a reasonable desire even if her approach could 100% be better. Also, Sybil was not slick, I already knew she was giving the Doc the castor beans, fucking with my head was as much a confirmation of that belief as hearing it normally. Also, Dr Kelly talking about Reese's dad was really humanising, definitely made me want to chat with her more. Hopefully the game allows you to convince the pair to go about cognitive behavioural therapy / anger management without the need for pills.

Sad that I missed out more Tabitha bonding by not calling her, but I also didn't want to put her in harms unnessecarily (the mines were specifically her business, and the ghost hunting was a group thing anyway). Hope I get a chance to help her and Stella reconnect without having to try and recreate this playthrough up to that point.

And the main reason I wanted to write this:

Based on the death certificate and the vision, Enoch lied about Teddy's cause of death, and with Charlie Jr's death being connected to the sigil and Edwardine's sadness in the moment all leads me to believe that there may come a moment when Tabitha, or maybe the MC, will be tempted to sacrifce the other to secure the future of Scarlet Hollow, and I need to be able to beg Tabitha not to make a blood sacrifice of my character before it gets to that point. And like, I know that feeds into the Sybil tea thing, but that also suggests premeditation which I don't think is the case. I just don't want my character to be made into a literal blood sacrifice on the alter of capitalism when I'm already a figurative one irl.

[thelifeoflorna]

~2/2/2023~ It was a bit of an all over the place day. Parentals dropped me at the station - train was a bit delayed as just as we got there - there was a fault with the barriers and they got stuck down - trains could still come through but on a red signal :/ When I was on the train I saw a young man I used to support when I worked in a school and his mum which was quite a nice blast from the past. H picked me up from the station - I unpacked and attended to Miss Bella who was very pleased to see me. Then I fancied going to the garden centre for lunch - brought an actimel with me for after as am still very MCASsy. Went for a brief walk up Ditchling Beacon - H had surprisingly never been before. Then headed to therapy as the traffic has been quite bad. Stomach went bad while I was in the waiting room, so ended up coming out of the toilet as therapist was there coming to collect me for my appointment, which was a bit embarrassing :/ Told therapist about our very intensive week - 6/7 year old came out as it was clear there had been a lot of common trauma themes throughout the week that were being connected/linked together within the system. Got an update on our assessment report letter although it is yet to physically materialise! I was told more about what has been included within it (of which we were in agreement with/liked the sound of) - it has been sent to the clinical lead for review as part of a quality assurance process, and then it will be a ‘draft’ for me to review before the official copy is signed off and sent to GP etc. - in agreement with it as a trauma-informed process, it’s just taking a long time! Therapist said she is going to speak to clinical lead and let me know an expected time frame for the rest of the process as I think she knows we’re finding it difficult. When talking about the content of the letter, therapist said something (respectfully and appropriately compared to how it has been referred to be other professionals) that brought up a traumatic event - 9/10 year old came out for the first time and talked to therapist at some length about an incident involving my mum to do with my parents separating when I was 8 - we hadn’t (continued..) (at Shankill Road) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoNY2GVKBWXsNExv0KiaM_r7DCLSPmuOpYLaIk0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[marshvlovestv]

@confusedhostage Oh gosh, being asked that makes me realize just how many characters there are in this game, and somehow I have at least one Thought on almost all of them! I'll try to keep it brief, though. (Spoiler: She did not keep it brief)

One of the most impressive things to me about this game is that even the background characters feel really fleshed out! People like the recurring miners and Rosalina's teenage friends all feel real and dynamic despite not being in focus. Getting Alexis to stand up to the other, bossy girl (whose name I forget unfortunately) was one of my most satisfying moments in my first playthrough.

I'm still not the biggest Stella fan - she's too foolhardy and overly pushy about it, too. Still, even without having seen their romance yet I'm a fan of her dynamic with Tabitha - who is herself quite hateable but in a really fun, entertaining way that makes you want to see if you can break down that ornery facade.

I'm absolutely insane about Reese. Chapter 4 made me feel things I cannot explain. I think Nick and Max from The Quarry put the key in the lock and Reese turned the key and opened the door wide, and now I am one of those people. But it's not enough for a man to just be a scary monster. Its about the juxtaposition between the monster and the sweet, quiet human who is attractive in his own right. It's about the ominous realization that this unassuming man is changing into something feral before your eyes.

It's also about the mommy issues.

So that's my romance goal for my second playthrough. Besides him, though, I would say that Avery is the most romanceable character. I didn't spend that much time with them one-on-one because I didn't know pursuing them was an option, but they're really cute and from what I saw, chill and friendly. I love that they like plants! The person I actually pursued in my first run was Kaneeka, which I was also satisfied with - I'm always happy to go for the nerdy glasses girl love interest.

Oscar and Rosalina are wholesome. I want to keep Duke alive next time because he's interesting and I'd like to see more of him (although I understand from a logistical standpoint if the fact that he can die so early means he gets less screentime later on if he does live). I'd like to see more of Bo, too. I'm hoping that the pastor having "bad vibes" is a red herring because he seems like a nice enough dude and I just kind of feel bad for him at this point. Sybil is very sus. And it's insane to me that Talk to Animals is a trait that exists, because there are a lot of prominent animals in this game which means there are like half a dozen more whole-ass characters with personalities and everything who I haven't gotten a chance to properly interact with yet.

And as for all the spookies, the ghosts and the ditchlings and the Sam Waynes, they all successfully make me very scared but also very intrigued. I can't wait for future chapters to scare the crap out of me even more!

Thank you Scarlet Hollow Tumblr (which apparently includes the devs themselves? We love to see it), you took a game I initially had a negative reaction to and through your enthusiasm for it convinced me to see it through. I now have full brainrot and fully expect to do a spooky replay on my Let's Play channel come October. I just love seeing fandoms like this, which are small but positive and dedicated to the media at the center.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 8

My ongoing fic for @goodomenscelebration. Crowley has arrived in the post-Apocalypse wasteland, searching for Aziraphale. Angst and destruction ahead.

Parts 1-6 here.

Part 7 here (despite what the lying title might say)

Family

Crowley couldn’t sense Aziraphale.

Or rather, he could sense Aziraphale, knew he was somewhere in the world, but that was as far as he knew. Not the direction, nor the distance, nor anything else.

He circled over the V-cut valley of Devil’s Dyke, looking for anything familiar. Looking for anything alive.

Those cliffs to the left looked like the ones they had chosen for their home, but there was no cottage, no garden, no little copse of trees sheltering it from view. The landscape had been scraped clean to the bright-white stone underneath.

He circled again, over a lake of fire, another frozen but sublimating, like dry ice. A river of sludge that seemed to run uphill. White bones of animals that never lived in this part of the world, looking far too large to be allowed.

Another circle, further out. Over there – the village of Ditchling. Aziraphale dragged him down there for tea at that little café twice a week. He liked to walk down the main street and wave to the humans as if he’d lived among them for decades.

No one lived there now.

With a flutter of black wings, Crowley came to rest at the traffic circle in the center of the village. To one side, that bakery where Aziraphale liked to browse cakes and bottles of wine, windows smashed, shelves bare; to the other, the old Post Office building, which looked as if it had been torn apart from the inside out. What little remained of the brick walls were black with soot.

One whole side of the village was just gone, foundations still smoldering: the little shop where they bought vegetables whenever Aziraphale got it in his mind to try cooking dinner, the jewelers where they would look at rings, had been looking for months, still hadn’t made a decision because Aziraphale needed Crowley’s to be perfect.

Just past the bakery was a little plant shop, which had fared no better. Little pots and planters – once brightly colored, now chipped and faded – held the brown, withered remains of plants. He touched one, and it fell to dust between his fingers. Nothing could survive here.

Except, in the back, he thought he saw a bit of green. Stepping carefully through the shattered window, Crowley moved through the shop to a corner that got little light, but also shielded its plants from whatever happened on the street. And there it was: a tall succulent, most of its green waxy leaves already turned yellow and fallen off, but a few still clinging to life. He tugged at one, and it was still springy, still a little soft.

“Well. I don’t know how you survived this long, but a little water and you might make it.” He picked up the pot. “Doubt we’ll find any. But let’s see what we can do.”

He was easing back through the window and happened to glance back towards the traffic circle –

Something – someone – darted across the street.

Crowley hunched, pulling his wings out again, clutching his plant close, ready to flee. Aziraphale? Probably not; if the angel were that close, no chance his sense would be so confused. Someone else.

He could run, of course, fly away. He was here to find Aziraphale, and nothing else. He would find his angel, take him home, rescue their lovely home from the Archangels, and never think of this place again.

Except…

Except he was here now, and he didn’t know what was going on.

Crowley hated not knowing what was going on.

And the best way to find out was to ask someone.

With one last brimstone-scented breath, Crowley started towards the figure.

By the time he’d rounded to corner, it was empty again – just a long stretch of road, past the little café with the garden in the back, the inn, the church. It was too silent. Wind whistled over broken glass, but that was all. No rustle of paper, no skitter of feet, no birds, no insects. With the sky dark and scabbed over, he couldn’t even tell what time of day or night it was. The world seemed paused, frozen, holding its breath.

A foot scuffed.

Crowley pressed himself to the side of the inn, wings hidden. Something was just around the corner, perhaps in the parking lot. He set the plant down in the window box, among the decaying remains of its kin, and pressed himself to the wall, trying to look without being seen. It didn’t work, though, not only because his glasses got in the way.

“Right,” he whispered to himself. Could be a demon. Or an angel. Or…anything. Be ready to look and run. He had enough energy for one more form shift today, and a rat could very easily get lost in the ruins.

Snapping around the corner, Crowley found the other being was also pressed tight to the wall, trying to peer without being seen. Almost as tall as Crowley, dressed all in black, with short blond hair, just a hint of curl. The boy looked at him with wide – and very familiar – eyes.

“Adam?” Crowley took a step forward.

Mistake. Crowley was, immediately and without passing through any intermediate space, on the roof of the church across the street. He skittered for a second, trying to keep his balance on the impossibly steep pitch, but the building was in ruins, the consecration weakened to the point that he could barely feel it at all.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” The boy shouted, already backing up the street. “I won’t do it any longer, you hear me? I mean it this time! I want – I want to be left alone!”

“Adam, wait!” He shook out his wings again, jumping after the boy. There was no mistaking him, of course – the powers were a giveaway, but he looked almost exactly like the young boy he and Aziraphale had visited in Tadfield only a month ago. Except that Adam had been full of smirks and slouches and bad jokes, trying to convince Crowley to let him drive the Bentley just once around town, no one’ll know but me and Dog. Explaining his idea for a new ice cream flavor even the Americans hadn’t thought of yet. Laughing when Aziraphale asked him if it was possible to get a rotary smartphone.

This Adam stood ramrod straight, body shifting back to attention every time he stopped moving. Older, he seemed, stronger for certain, with a calculating look that took in everything. His eyes darted now, as he frowned, hiding a fear Crowley had never seen in him, not even at the Airbase three years ago.

But it was still him. Still his godson.

“Adam,” he tried again, softening his voice, holding his hands to the sides. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” he bunched his fists. “A demon. Think I don’t know? You might not be dressed for battle, but it’s obvious. Well, back off, or I’ll put you inside the church next time. I can, you know.” His lip trembled. “And I’m – I’m not going to fight again. I don’t – don’t care what you lot do to me, I’m not –”

“No.” Crowley took another step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you, Adam. You should be able to see that. In my mind.”

“Not looking in a demon’s mind,” Adam snapped. “Not after last time. You keep your nasty – everything to yourself.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if planning to run. But it was a long way to the next town, with bugger-all in between. “Why d’you keep calling me that, anyway?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Crowley adjusted his glasses, almost pulling them off. Would it make the kid more comfortable, or less? “Isn’t that your name?”

The sullen shrug was almost something the real Adam would have done, except without the little smile that always followed it. “I guess. No one’s called me that since…” he waved a hand, taking in everything.

“What happened, Adam?” A Tudor house had stood nearby, white plaster and ornate stickwork, with a brick section said to date back a thousand years. All gone now, except a set of brick steps, rising ten feet to open out onto empty air. Crowley sprawled against the side of it. “To England? To you?”

“Armageddon,” he snapped. Well. That was fairly obvious.

“You didn’t stop it?”

“Stop it? I started it!” He clenched his jaw, face twisting in pain. Both hands pressed to his forehead. “I didn’t mean to. The voices…they get so loud. Until I can’t think. Until I don’t want to think.” He looked up again, tears in his eyes. “I know – we both know they’ll make me go back. Just. Let me have until then. Just a few days.” Genuine pleading, the kind that only comes from real fear.

“Go back where? Tell me what’s going on.”

“Go back to your – your stupid war! I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to destroy angels, I don’t want to kill two billion humans, and I don’t want to declare myself God! I just…I want…” He bit his lip, stepping back, as if expecting to be hit.

“What?” Crowley slid down the wall to crouch just above the ground. That all sounded familiar, something from the books of prophecy Aziraphale had never stopped reading. But all that could wait. “What is it you want, Adam?”

The boy leaned against the brick stairs, and arm length away, and slid slowly down until he was in a crouch of his own. “I want…I want to go home. I miss my mum and dad. Your lot made me send them away, at the first battle.” He shrugged. “Not that they cared about me.”

“Ugh,” Crowley cracked his head against the wall. He did not come out here planning to deal with teenaged self-esteem issues. “Adam. Look. We both know the only reason your parents went away is because you compelled them. For Someone’s sake, I’ve met them. There’s no way they don’t care about you.”

Adam frowned in confusion. “How do you know my parents?”

“Ehhhhh…long story.” Crowley smirked. “You could save us both a lot of time, just read it from my head? No?” He shrugged. “Then you’re just going to have to trust me. I’ve met your parents. And I can tell you, it’s absolutely disgusting how attached to you they are.”

Adam snorted. “I think you’ve got the wrong parents, mate. Mine didn’t need to be brainwashed to take off back to America without me.”

Crowley stared ahead.

Then he turned to Adam, ripping his glasses off. “Did you say America? Did you – back to America?”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “Thought you said you knew.”

Crowley wrestled with a sudden feeling of unease. Somehow, in an Apocalypse-torn wasteland version of the home he’d built, he’d found something that could make it worse. “What’s…tell me your full name. Full human name. What your parents called you.”

“Well, my mum called me Adam,” he said slowly, “but my full name was Warlock Adam Thaddeus Dowling.”

--

(Note for clarity: This is Adam. In this universe, the switch didn’t go wrong, he was raised by the Dowlings, and I compromised a bit on the name to what I hoped would be least confusing. I also tried to make his personality partway between Adam and Warlock, thanks to those Dowling influences. He’s 14 here.)

[marcfish]

The Design Edit

In the Newhaven studio of furniture-maker Marc Fish, Claudia Barbieri discovers how the designer bends wood to his will.

17th September 2019

ONE MIDNIGHT IN July, the SushiSamba restaurant at 110 Bishopsgate, high above London’s financial district, closed earlier than usual and a team of workmen moved in. Taking infinite care they manoeuvred three intriguing objects, made from around 5,000 wood shavings layered and interleaved with resin, into the service lift that whisked them to the 39th floor of the building formerly known as Heron Tower. There, working against the clock with chronometric coordination, installers, electricians and riggers assembled the objects into a 2.5-metre-wide, light-emitting, revolving conch.

“We had to make the pieces the right size to fit through a metre-wide lift door – there was just 15 millimetres clearance,” says the designer Marc Fish. “At 4 o’clock in the morning it was finally being winched into place, just as the sun was rising behind it.” SushiSamba’s marine mollusc is pure Fish: organic form; technical complexity; extreme precision and creative innovation. “It was quite a special night for us. The restaurant opened at 10 am the next morning all cleaned up, almost as if we hadn’t been there – except there was a large shell hanging from the ceiling,” says Fish.

In the past ten years Fish, now 48, has emerged as a rising star of art furniture, with clients from as far afield as Hollywood queuing for up to two years for his creations – and international students flocking to learn his methods at the Robinson House Studio Furniture School. What attracts clients, students and design mavens is a particular fusion of traditional and high-tech craft skills, daring aesthetics and experimental materials science.

Marc Fish with ‘Sycamore Seed Sculpture’, 2019 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

Despite his global status he still operates from Newhaven, a nondescript south coast port near Brighton with a tradition of furniture-making, where he first set up a studio cum workshop 22 years ago. Now, in an unpretentious single-storey backstreet shed, up to fifteen would-be cabinet makers at a time learn traditional woodworking skills under the eye of master craftsman Theo Cook (Fish’s partner in the school, and a pupil of the 20th century British and American masters Edward Barnsley and James Krenov).

In the main workshop next door, three makers on a recent day are working on a mirrored pair of ‘Ethereal’ console tables – as well as a surreal seven-foot high armchair that Salvador Dali could have conceived for Game of Thrones. In his studio Fish lays swatches of ink from a broad -tipped pen onto a sheet of paper: calligraphic doodles that may germinate into an exotic new species of Fish furniture, or end in the waste bin.

Marc Fish working on ‘Adhesion console’ 2017 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

Furniture has function and Fish takes care to tick that box. An ‘Ethereal’ console table may swirl and curve but it’s flat enough at its centre to hold a phone or a lamp; a ‘Babel’ drinks cabinet may look like a man-sized caterpillar’s cocoon but, hinged open, it displays bottles and glasses. Still, what fires his imagination is form. “It’s nice to make sculpture, and not to have practical limitations forced on you,” he says. “Often you come up with a form and then you think, ‘How do I make it into a table?’ Almost as an afterthought, you put a glass top on it. I don’t want to go down that route anymore. The reality is, a lot of what we do is sculpture.”

Marc Fish, ‘Mokumi-Gani’ console, 2019 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

Marc Fish, ‘Mokumi-Gani’ console, 2019 (detail) COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

While his reputation has soared these past few years, his career path has been anything but linear: in fact it has been almost as sinuous as his signature style. Aged 14 he wanted to be an architect, but he left school at 16 and went to work in a bank for the next seven years. As a hobby, he started restoring vintage Porsche and Volkswagen cars – one of his restored VW campers was bought by the company for its museum in Germany. Then he turned his self-taught metalworking skills to making metal furniture.

For a couple of years he did well. “In 1998/99 we were selling work through three shops in Brighton,” he remembers. “Then those three shops all went bust in three months. Taste suddenly changed. Metal furniture died a death, it was considered cold and sterile. Everybody in Brighton was getting into heavy, chunky dark timber furniture from Indonesia. Suddenly there were no more orders. It was pretty dire.”

By then, the design bug was in his blood. Rather than dwell on the setback, he went with the flow and switched into wood. After studying for a City and Guilds furniture-making qualification, he trained for six months under the cabinetmaker John Lloyd in Ditchling – spiritual home of Eric Gill and the Sussex Arts and Crafts movement.

Marc Fish with ‘Vortex’ dining table, 2018 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

As his materials evolved, so did techniques and styles. The early metal furniture was, “more Bauhaus, more 1920s, art deco but a little bit contemporary.” After learning to work with wood he spent several years making traditional joinery pieces. Then, in 2009, “I woke up one morning and thought, ‘Why am I doing this? I don’t like what I’m making. There’s no creative outlet’,” Fish remembered. So he decided to change direction.

He set up his school to earn a living from teaching the skills he’d learnt, and in parallel started experimenting with supple wood veneers. Bent into shape, stacked sequentially together, suspended in and bonded together with resin glues, the flexible slivers of wood lent themselves to naturalistic shapes. “I just fell into my design identity,” he says.

Marc Fish, ‘Ethereal Desk’, 2018 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

His first ‘Nautilus’ edition of tables, like the ‘SushiSamba luminaire’, was inspired by the Fibonacci spiral of a seashell. His ‘Ethereal’ range of desks and chairs draws on the lacy translucency of a skeletal leaf. Perhaps oddly, his own taste lies elsewhere. His favourite designer, he says, is the 1930s French modernist architect Pierre Chareau, a visionary pioneer of the use of mechanical engineering and heterogeneous materials. “I would like his aesthetic in my own home,” Fish says. As for his own work: “I design furniture for a different market. I am not my own market.”

Though his style may bring to mind the voluptuous ripples of Art Nouveau and the fluid idiom of his Irish contemporary Joseph Walsh, Fish denies consanguinity with either. Art Nouveau he dismisses as “almost treacly”, and asked for historical role models he looks no further back than the last century, pointing to the pioneering work of John Makepeace and Wendell Castle.

Marc Fish, ‘Laminaria chaise’, 2015 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

Walsh he respects; but for all the similarities of conceptual idiom, he says they inhabit different technical worlds. Where Walsh crafts his willowy structures from saw-cut 2-millimetre veneers, Fish works only with thousands of knife-pared veneers, each no more than 0.6 millimetres thick. The thinness of the wood allows it to be bent like paper, without steaming. It’s a technique that he says allows a purer aesthetic. But it is also extraordinarily time-consuming, technically challenging and costly. The ‘Nautilus’ table was built from a stack of 4,000 veneers and took a thousand hours to make.

Marc Fish, ‘Nautilus’ coffee table, 2014 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

The translucent resins too, binding the veneers together into batches, are the end-product of a painstaking process of trial-and-error and materials-science research. “We’ve had five resins that we’ve used in the past four years,” Fish says, “We’ve experimented absolutely to death. We’ve had a nightmare journey!” A big challenge is the way the resins react with the wood: to speed up production, the liquid resins are heated to harden faster, but in this curing process exothermic reactions happen that can suck air out of the wood and form bubbles in the resin. Flawed batches go into the bin. “It’s taken us three years to get the technique right,” he said. Everything he does is now made this way. A chair leg, for example, could be cut and shaped more simply out of solid timber, “but it’s important to us that we keep the same narrative running all the way through our work,” Fish says.

Marc Fish, ‘Ethereal Desk’ chair, 2019 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

Still, narrative and aesthetic purity carry a cost. Though advanced industrial technology has its place – the workshop is equipped with a laser cutter and a three-D printer for mocking up prototype models – there’s no economy of scale from batch production, no compromise on the individuality of every piece, the consideration given to every line and facet. Prices reflect this. The ‘Nautilus’ desk sold for £96,000, and the first ‘Ethereal’ desk (a translucent wisp of Sycamore veneer, resin and carbon fibre), was sold by Todd Merrill at last December’s Miami Design for $130,000. Smaller pieces, such as the ‘Ethereal’ chair taking shape in the workshop for display at this year’s PAD London in October, will be priced nearer £20,000.

Marc Fish, ‘Relics Triptych’, 2016 COURTESY: Marc Fish / PHOTOGRAPHER: Simon Eldon

That may seem a lot for a chair, however exquisite. But take off the production costs and divide by the hundreds of hours that go into the conception, design and making, and it doesn’t match the return on, say, a Jeff Koons balloon dog. On some of his smaller pieces, such as his intricately constructed memento mori ‘Relic’ vase series, the return on invested time comes in at about £30 an hour. Larger commissions are more profitable: Still, “I don’t think anybody gets into furniture-making for the money,” Fish says. “You get into it for the creative freedom that it gives you.”

You can view the article here also; https://thedesignedit.com/in-the-studio/marc-fish/

[thelifeoflorna]

~14/5/2020~ I'm actually feeling pretty drained rn, but feels like a slight taste of normality again... 🦄 I did some colouring first thing. A came - we went to Pets At Home to collect some sawdust, then for a walk at Ditchling Beacon 👣🌳 It was lovely being out walking in an open space - even saw some horses and stroked a friendly one 🐴💜 It was just a bit of an effort walking uphill on the way back - had several sit downs on the ground! 🌄 🦄 I had my therapy session in the afternoon this time, which felt a bit weird, especially as I was feeling quite worn out from our walk! But it was a good session - talked quite a few things through - found it helpful. We also discussed possibly starting #emdr virtually next time and how that would work - we agreed it is probably best to give it a go given that it is going to be ages until we can meet in person to do it... 🦄 Afterwards I had the socially distanced visit of parentals. We went to the park and sat on benches 2 metres apart. I think I said before that I wasn't very keen on the idea as thought it would feel weird and just make me feel sad that I couldn't meet them properly. They didn't stay for long - I would say I feel a bit indifferent about it, which is probably preferable to feeling really sad 🙃 🦄 #instadaily #instablog #update #mentalhealth #dissociativeidentitydisorder #cptsd #autism #traumarecovery #edrecovery #anxiety #chronicillness #disability #pots #potsie #dysautonomia #positivevibes #recovery #nailart #notd #barrym #creativity #covid19 #selfcare #rainbow #hope #bekind #lockdown #clapforcarers #clapforNHS https://www.instagram.com/p/CALV_UwjNoKTFyHcutratYvGEm5zIpY9SWHikU0/?igshid=1a9c45o5tmpn3