#anyone that can translate his witch’s name gets a gold star

[benevolentgraveyard]

“Oh dear…looks like barnaby let a bit too much get to him…”

Just a small rough concept scene of Barnaby becoming a witch!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

On The Run--Part 2

A continuation of this blurb. 

Witch!OC on the run. Clueless Calum. 

No one has permission to repost this elsewhere, including translations. Thank you. 

Masterlist

___________________

It’s three days. When Calum’s phone buzzes from his coffee table in the evening he’s almost positive, it’s a scam text message. Have a night to spare. Do waffles still stand?

It’s dumb to send that message. It’s dumb to get into her car. It’s dumb to drive until she sees the yellow backlit sign. It’s dumb to pull into the parking lot. It’s dumb to stand outside her car, waiting for this guy to show up. She didn’t even have his fucking name. And just three days ago, she’s utterly convinced he was attempting to hunt her down. 

But she felt like she owed him this. Not that she had any real obligation to take this stranger up on their word. But Morgan knew she’d be leaving town soon. Her last encounter proved that she needed to get the fuck out and move on. And he was sweet. He didn’t press her. Didn’t follow her down into the bowels of the dance floor. He was cool, a bit of a fumble on his feet when he handed her the number. But still sweet nonetheless. 

Besides, Morgan does like waffles, much better than pancakes because of the small pockets to hold the syrup. 

She figures it’ll be her last meal in town. She’ll eat and then set out to duck out of town. There’s no harm in that. Having a good last meal before she spent hours on the road, attempting to figure out her next move. Yeah, she could use it as motivation. She’d already be out of the house. Her belongings were already packed in two bags. They were already in her trunk. 

She just hadn’t been able to fuck go yet. 

But this would her motivation. This would be like her last goodbye to the town. 

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy. But did we ever trade names?” 

Morgan shakes her head. “Don’t think we did. I’m Morgan.”

“Calum.”

She tries it out. Her tongue curling just a little, the tip of her tongue touching the roof of her mouth as she says the ‘L’. They head inside. It’s not long until they’re seated. “So, what do you do around here?” Calum asks, his gaze flicks between the menu to her and then it settles there. 

Hiding. Running. Trying not to fucking die. “Just...figuring things out really. Fairly new in town. But I don’t think I’m cut out to make it out here for long.”

HIs brows furrow, pulling his own face down. His lips curl into a pout. His head tilts to one side. “Why do you say that?”

“Just...not my vibe, I guess.” There’s something in that gaze. He cares. Deeply. And he shouldn’t. Morgan’s trouble. Always has been nothing but trouble and always will be nothing but trouble. But she can cause enough trouble on her own. She doesn’t need to be worried about anyone else right now. Morgan’s thankful a server comes by to get their drink orders. She gets just water. Calum gets orange juice. “But enough about me, what are you doing? What’s your story?”

“Nothing fancy,” Calum returns. His gaze lands on the All star Breakfast special. 

“C’mon. Give me something better than that.”

Calum shakes his head. A small grin appears on his face and Morgan’s floored by how it brightens his face. “Nah, it’s really nothing too big. Just in a a band. Playing and making music with three of my best mates.”

It’s on the term ‘mates’ that Morgan hears more of his accent. It’s always there. Always been sitting and playing like a song to her eardrums. But it only hits her then. “Let me guess, you’re not from LA originally. Gonna say you moved here. From,” she pauses, pondering as she rubs her chin. “Australia?”

“Accent wasn’t it?”

“That and your use of ‘mates’. No one says that around here.”

“What about you? Where you are from? What brought you to LA even if LA doesn’t seem like it’s making ya stay.”

Morgan picks at the corner of the laminated menu. It’s already lifting, thanks to all the nervous pickers before her. Running. Hiding. Trying to survive. “Just had to get away really,” she starts before clearing her throat. Her water’s placed down and she takes the moment to figure out just how to lie this time. 

“You guys ready to order?”

Fuck, she’s hardly looked over this menu. “All Star Breakfast,” comes out in unison. Calum and Morgan look at each other before laughter erupts from them. Calum opts for no sausage. 

“You know, I’m a growing girl. I’ll just take his portion,” she tells the server. They only nod, scratching a line out on the pad and then turn to add their ticket to the thin string of other people looking for breakfast at half past 8 pm. 

Morgan takes a sip of her water and Calum continues to gaze at her softly. “Just getting away?” he reiterates.

“I just didn’t fit in where I was, I guess. They wanted something that I wasn’t. And I just—I knew I had to get out from there. So I came to LA. Could be nameless and no one would care. I wouldn’t stick out.”

Calum snorts. “I know it’s LA. But even still blue hair will get you noticed. Trust me. Mine was blue, blond. Pink, even. People still notice.”

Morgan nods, pulling on a small ringlet from her bags. The afro is cut in something more like a heart shape around her face. The curl bounces back into place too. “I guess I might’ve been asking for some attention.”

“Just a tiny bit,” Calum jokes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger together but not actually touching. His eyes narrow into a squint as to emphasize his point. 

Their conversation turns silent for just a moment and as Calum sips at his drink, Morgan speaks, picking at her nails. “Thanks. For not flipping at the club.”

Calum shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“No, but like, I know it’s gotta be strange for me not to, like, take the bait on your move in the club but to take your number and actually text you.” 

She tries not to feel like she has to explain. But she is grateful that Calum’s not being nasty towards her. She’s learned in the short three months she’s been hiding out: that it’s not just her kind that can be nasty. Men hitting her expect her to fawn over the action. Like she should be grateful that anyone is giving her attention. It makes her feel dirty. She feels like she’s rolled in mud and let it dry and pull tight at her skin. No amount of showering will ever quite get rid of that feeling either. 

“Like, I just. A few days before had an unpleasant experience. So yeah,” Morgan shakes her head, looking up at Calum again. He looks sad, maybe even a little frustrated. “Yeah, just thanks.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out in a whisper. “I’m sorry you’ve got to deal with assholes.”

“Happens.”

“But it shouldn’t, ya know?” 

Morgan’s dealt with assholes before. Like the girl that felt her up last week when she was closing out her tab. Or like the guy that catcalled her as she walked back to her place with groceries in hand. Assholes were always around. And though Calum didn’t know about the scouting groups and though he didn’t know about what she had done, how she felt so dirty for turning her back. It’s nice to know that good people still exists. 

Their food arrives and Morgan asks while sliding the two extra sausage patties onto her plate about the band and the music and what’s going on in Calum’s life. They laugh, pulling out phones to show pictures. Mostly Calum showing off Duke. “Sorry, I probably sound crazy,” he mutters, putting his phone face down on the table. 

“No, you don’t sound crazy. It’s very cute. Worth showing off.”

Plates are cleared. Though crumbs of toast litter their plates and not an ounce of waffle left behind, they contemplate dessert. “I’m pretty stuffed,” Morgan counters. She needs to get on the road. She needs to get away from here. The scouting groups are no doubt still trying to close in on her. 

Calum nods. He pays the bill, though she insistent she can pay for half. “I had a nice time. And I’m not sure I can convince you to follow me for a late night record run.”

“I should get back. It’s past my bed time,” Morgan teases. 

“When are you leaving?” Calum enjoyed her company. Even if she’s leaving, maybe he can get one last time with her. 

“Morning probably.”

He nods. “Be safe out there. Keep in touch, will you?”

She reaches across the table, palms face up. Calum places his hands into hers. She rubs her thumbs over his parents initials etched into his skin. His tattoos don’t radiate heat like her markings do. Any witch with a marking gives a little heat over that area. But Morgan can feel something there. Like a weight. He’s gone from everyone else. His family is continents away. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“You don’t need to apologize about that. It’s your life. You’ve got to live it. You’ve got to face you at the end of the road.” 

Her fingers wrap around. Calum’s shocked at how warm her hands are. How she just seems to get it and get him. It’s silent a moment between them. Morgan knows. She always knows with a simple touch. He’s going to find that stability. It make take him scrapping his knees a few times due to falling but he’ll get it right eventually. 

Her eyes open. For a moment, just a split second, Calum’s sure he can see some gold swirling in the dark brown-almost black of her irises. By the time he blinks again. It’s gone. “How does that song go? I walk a lonely road,” she sings. Calum laughs, head dropping on his neck and he squeezes her hands in his. 

Calum feels her hand leaving his pocket as they exit the restaurant. When he reaches inside and finds the twenty dollar bill, he sighs. Morgan’s already crossing the parking lot. They parked right next to each other. His was a few minutes late having to take Duke out before he left. But he knew her face when he saw her standing against her trunk. 

Calum’s boots thud down onto the asphalt and he catches her by the back pocket of her jeans, slipping the bill inside. She laughs, spinning around. Her elbow comes down on his forearm. Not hard by any stretch. Just enough of a tap to warn Calum. His body pins her to her trunk just for a moment. “What do you think you’re doing sir?”

“I asked you on the date. So I’m gonna pay.”

“Gas money. Toy money for Duke.”

“Keep your money Morgan.” He starts backwards to his own vehicle. She starts after him. “Oi! Don’t.” 

A scuffle ensues. Calum holding her arms down at her side. She’s leaning forward trying to push against his hold. She knows she can’t physically break it. She doesn’t need to. Their laughter bubbles around the night, echoing high off the empty looking skies. In the bright light of the sign, Morgan twirls her fingers the gold flecks reflecting off the tips of her fingers. The bill slips out of her pocket and into his. But Calum doesn’t notice. Not as he laughs into her afro and neck, trying not to memorize the scent of her shampoo. 

“Don’t try it. Really. Don’t give it back to me.” He’s trying to sound more serious than he is. But his words always dissolve into laughter. 

Her feet are dragging, unable to get real traction to break Calum’s pin. “Alright, alright, alright,” she huffs, still laughing into his chest. 

He straights up, leaning slightly forward to counter her force. His hands slide down from her wrist to hook the tips of their fingers together before that hold slackens. Fingers slide and their pinkies hook. “You’re a stubborn one, I see.”

“Momma always called me a bull,” Morgan returns. Her chest is still heavy from their laughter and the force she exerted to lose in a match of brute strength against Calum. “Guess she saw it before anyone else.” 

He almost wants to pull on a curl, watch it bounce like it did before at the table. But he stops himself. “Just call me sometimes, alright? So I can see what trouble you’re getting into.”

“I will. Thanks for the waffles.”

“Anytime you’re in town, we can get them.”

Calum watches sure Morgan pulls off first. Watches her car disappear into the traffic and then he climbs inside. When he buckles his seatbelt part of his jacket gets in the way so he tugs at it, pulling it out of the way. Something crinkles. He almost’s sure it’s just some old receipt. But he pats the pocket. It rustles again. His finger grasps what’s inside. A receipt like he thought. And the twenty dollar bill. “How the hell?”

When Morgan checks her phone again, pulled into a rest stop along Highway One, she sees a message from Calum. I don’t know what magic you pulled. But when you get settled. Send me the address. This twenty’s got a trip to make.

If Morgan knew she’d be meeting her match when it came to stubborn, she would’ve made that twenty a little harder to find. 

[thornbolts]

Shadowsands Bazaar Purchases 5/30

Wicker Charm:

A triangular talisman made of wicker and bone, tied together with string. Keeping it over your bed will shield you from dream interference; keeping it in front of your door will shield your home and family from harmful magic. Of course, the charm can be repurposed toward more nefarious deeds, but neither Aura nor the Dreadmist Crew would know anything about such things.

Fer the Respite. Better to be too prepared than unprepared. Hope we don’t need it, but it’s there if we do. I’m startin’ ta fall behind on how this kinda magic works. Might need ta take a trip ta Drustvar and see what Alton thinks about this charm. I can feel that it’s real, but I wonder how effective it really is. Might as well visit soon. Book ‘a Bones is actin weird. He might know why.

MD Boarding Party:

An Eight Barrelled Rifle with a rotating cylinder. Fielding 80. Calibre ball shot, this behemoth fires like a double-action revolver, and has a built in feature to discharge all eight shots one after the other with great speed. (Think the Repeater Handgun from Warhammer) It is made from fine steel and wood. A great addition to anyone's armoury! It weighed about 12lbs, and could be used to knock a fool stupid if the situation called for it.

Fer me. Hehe. Winter’s Veil came real early. I knew me and this thing were ta go hand-in-hand the moment I laid eyes on all eight cylinders. Now I got something that’s got real firepower without havin’ ta use Shadow if I need it. Gotta practice quickly loadin’ it. It’s more unwieldy than my pistol. Eight shots, and it becomes a club until I got the time ta load the cylinders.

Aqua Regissima:

This extremely potent solvent will take care of most of your disintegration needs. From gold to flesh, everything melts under the sizzling touch of this base.

Fer Loira: Figure this might be helpful in some way or another. Strong ass acid. Got no idea what the name means. I know ‘Aqua’ means water. The other part? Hell if I know. Remind me to speak ta ya about somethin’. Got two new things that might interest ya: One new potion recipe I managed ta get from an old friend and some kind ‘a adrenaline-storin’ parasite I figure ya might wanna study.

Leather Mask: Red Dragon

Supple leather has been wet formed and smoothed into various creatures and shapes, moulded onto a face shaped block to promise an excellent fit upon the wearer’s face. Each piece has been hand stitched with a deep black thread - for some colors this blends in well, in others it creates artistic details. Masks come with a soft cord that allows it to be easily tied onto whoever it is meant for.

Fer Ratbit. Figured this’d fit ya both metaphorically and literally. Sorta know where ya got yer skills. Figured this’d be on brand fer ya whenever ya gotta get some wetwork done. Wherever ya are, stay safe. But more importantly, stay hidden, and stay alive.

Porcia Blend Rolled Cigarettes x20:

A blend of fine, mellow herbs combined with high-quality Westfall green tobacco. Combined with cured Kul Tiran Billow-Weed, a recreational herb favored by Great Sea Corsairs, Star-Lily petals from the Shadowmoon Nightmarsh of Draenor, and a small amount of sticky, refined felweed resin.

Fer me. Ma, I know ya always hated anything that even rhymed with ‘tobacco,’ hated its smell on pop’s beard. But honestly? I don’t gotta worry about killin’ my lungs when I’m already dead. Wish ya were here though. Even ya scoldin’ me is somethin’ I miss. I... Sometimes, I wish I had the power to step through the veil, inta the land ‘a the dead just so I can see ya again. But the dead should rest. Ya deserve yer rest. Me and pop’ll see ya when our times come. Wherever ya are, ma, I love ya. I hope yer at peace.

Smyrna Oil

The oil of the Alteraci Sassafrass herb, combined with the spores of the Mudsnout Blossom Mushroom of Hillsbrad. A few drops of this oil for the experienced, or a single drop for the wary, should be soaked into a small square of cloth and tucked between the lips and teeth. This oil induces a kind, slow, altered state of pleasant and colorful hallucinations and happy, sleepy awe. Especially useful when observing the beauty of the natural world. The effects fade roughly an hour after the cloth is removed from the mouth. Doubly effective and slightly restorative for undead.

Fer me. Pop talked me up and down about meditation in the letters before he disappeared. I’m still skeptical that it works for the dead. But Nigel assured me it does. Takin’ this is like escapin’ fer awhile. Sometimes get tired, exhausted enough ta not even feel like movin’ sometimes. Maybe this can help.

Throwing Knives of Seeking x5:

These well-balanced throwing knives appear unnaturally keen and sharp. Before it is thrown, the wielder chooses a target. The knife will then correct its own course of flight as needed to hit that target.

Fer me. Lately I’ve noticed my aim’s gettin’ a little shaky. Might be the mindlessness startin’ ta take hold. Sometimes, my hands feel so cold, and they won’t stop shakin’. I’m scared. Feel like my time’s gettin’ closer each day. And shaky aim might get me my second death. Need ways ta defend myself without relyin’ on a gun. Age is gettin’ ta me. Sometimes, I wonder if I should succumb ta it or keep goin’. Latter wins every time. Sometimes, I don’t know why I keep choosin’ it. Maybe it’s just because I’d rather die standin’, not quietly kickin’ the bucket.

Glasses of Translation:

“A must-have for both bureaucrats and merchants. When worn, the following languages (when read) are translated into Common for the wearer: Draenic, Thalassian, Darnassian, Gnomish, Dwarvish, Gutterspeak, Orcish, Goblin, Zandalari, Taurahe, and even Nerubian!”

Fer ya, pop. Hope yer doin’ all right. Ain’t seen ya in awhile, not a single word since old god shit hit the Vale hard. Miss ya every day. I try not ta think about it too much or else I become an anxious mess. Hope this package gets ta ya. Just... please write me back, pop, even if it’s just ta let me know yer still okay. I’m goin’ down ta the Vale myself ta look fer ya if nothin’ comes in.

I know ya’ve been learnin’ from them monks. I dunno how much ya’ve learned, but I hope it was enough ta keep yerself alive durin’ that invasion. I love ya, and I wish ya were here.

Pipe of Insight:

An excellent tool for the student pressed for time, or for the researcher on the brink of a discovery. When any material is lit in the pipe, and then smoked for five minutes, the smoker feels great mental clarity, and their body rejuvenates as if they had a full night’s rest. The mental clarity lasts for four hours.”

Fer me. One ‘a the worst feelin’s in the world is bein’ tired, and ya can’t sleep or do nothin’ about it other than just lie down and hope it eventually goes away. Works on Undead. Made sure ta ask. Hopefully, this’ll make restin’ a lot easier.

Skeletal Stag and Doe Figurine:

This is a graceful pair of carved skeletal wooden figurines, the Eversong wood of a pale hue with a very fine grain. The stag stands tall and alert while the doe rests at his side, head also turned forward as if having just noticed something ahead. The eyes glimmer against the wood with dark, cloudy onyx gems set to match them as a pair. Within the curve of the doe’s body one could rest a candle, though incense could also be leaned against her spine to hold it upright as it burns.

Fer Alton. Sorry I ain’t been ta Drustvar lately ta help ya out on the farm. Travel ta Kul’Tiras proper’s hard. But I think tensions are easin’ up after, well, the Banshee showed her true colors and the war ended. Reckon these figurines would be fittin’ fer ya. Swear this stag even looks like one ‘a yer forms, bones and all. I ain’t forgotten ya. Just waitin’ fer the right time ta visit. Kill a witch fer me, Alton. Stay safe.

Mentions: @ms-winford​ , @hinahinagray​

[sidhewrites]

Chapter 3-ish. Previous Installment found here, summary page found here. Approx. 2400 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

The dance hall was grand once upon a time, with gold gilding on every column and candlelight reflecting off the marble floors. The windows were glass, from ceiling to floor, looking out over what had once been a statue garden a pair of lovers could get lost in.

They now looked over a factory. Smoke had long since tarnished the outside walls, and nearly blackened the panes, providing dim lighting even at midday. The soot called out to Zorya as she walked in, waiting to be put to use. But there was no use for it here, with tallow candles burning low, and no demand for cleaning the place up. So the soot stayed where it sat, and Zorya scuffed her heels as she walked, the left more so than the right.

Something whispered in the shadows. It was too quiet to find just yet, but it was there. Zorya would sniff it out soon enough.

This wasn’t a legal venue. As far as anyone knew, this place was empty, left for dust while the officials tried to decide what to do with it. Eventually, it just fell into disrepair, was slowly repaired, and became a small haven for people who wanted to dance in a decidedly western fashion.

Zorya told herself it was against the ideals of the party -- frivolities and dancing for the sake of dancing didn’t contribute to the state at all. But it looked … well, it looked fun. She wasn’t above hoping for a little bit of fun, even if that hope was buried under layers and layers of denial.

People trickled in slowly, chatting, one of them carrying a bulky travelbag hiding a portable gramophone and various cylinders smuggled in from the west. Elegant women and well-dressed men partnered up, and slowly the music began to play a jazz number from Paris. Some of the older folks still knew French, and Zorya had been given a few lessons herself as a child, but she stayed in the shadows all the same. Her feet were too big, her limbs too clumsy, and, anyway, she didn’t know the steps. Best that she just watched for now.

People came and went with ease. The guard at the door asked for the password from those she didn’t recognise, and it seemed lighter here than anywhere else in Moscow. As if they weren’t all gaunt and thin, overworked and underfed.

Life was easy for them, for just a few hours. Life was free.

Zorya aimed to keep it that way -- or, at least, to keep them alive. She wasn’t about to let anyone here get killed by an overactive piece of ichor that had attached itself to a skull. It was a large Wyrdbeast, whatever it was, and she’d been tracking it for weeks to this dance hall. It had been growing slowly, surely, and she had a feeling it would finally ooze out of whatever crack in the wall it’d been hiding in, just in time for her to dispel it.

They were re-learning the Charleston tonight. The simple quickstep was easy enough to pick up on, but the club had gained enough new members recently that it bore being taught anew. Zorya watched, half smiling despite herself, fiddling with the gentleman’s ring on her finger, while Noski chased shadows and spiders out of the way. Time passed slow and easy enough. An American song played over the gramophone. Zorya barely even looked to the door when it opened.

And then she gaped openly when she saw who it was.

A gentleman in a fine, fitted suit and top hat. Polished leather shoes, golden cufflinks -- and a long, long shock of the reddest hair she had ever seen.

What was he doing here?

She pulled closer to the shadows, half convinced he had seen her already, even though he looked about with an easy grin without seeming to take much of anything in at all.

[idk]

He approached her slowly, fine heels clacking on the floorboards. Zorya bristled the closer he came, like a cornered animal unable to attack. Half expecting him to turn away at the last minute and speak to another young woman instead.

But he never looked away, simply stopped before her and looked down with that lazy smile of his. “Hello, mademoiselle,” he crooned.

Zorya pressed her lips to a thin line, bit back every curse that threatened to spill forth.

His eyes flicked down to her hands clenched into fists, and raised a brow, his smile growing wider. “You kept my ring. I’m touched.”

She stuffed her hands into her skirt pockets. “I didn’t have time to pawn it.”

“Naturally. Would you care to dance?”

“I only know slow steps.”

He lifted a gloved hand and snapped. The song changed instantly into something slower, something even Zorya could drag her feet through. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the confused murmur rising up in the room. The gramophone operator stood at the machine baffled, and a few of the younger dancers complained. Zorya didn’t look away from the man. “Witch,” she accused.

“You are indeed.” He winked.

Zorya gaped. How had he -- when?

The man seemed to need no translation, able to read her thoughts clear enough on her face. “The station master was all too proud to tell me how he kept it so clean. Told me about a dutiful Lesser Witch who couldn’t keep her cat in line.” He shot a glance over to Noski, currently batting at a now-dead spider without a care in the world, then looked back to Zorya. “You’re not wearing your pin.”

She still struggled for words. That could have been a threat, for all she knew. All witches were to wear their brooches whenever they went outside, lesser and greater. The greatcoat could be saved for formal occasions, but the brooch was necessary. And if he reported her…

She still had to catch the wyrdbeast. Still had a job to do.

So she sighed, and looked away. “Let me guess, you’ll report me if I don’t dance with you?”

“Certainly not.” He seemed genuinely taken aback. “I’d never be so cruel to someone who’s looking for a bit of fun.”

“I’m not here for fun.”

“No? Then what are you here for?”

She said nothing. Couldn't say anything. Zorya wasn’t used to talking to people enough to know how to lie on instinct.

“Well?” the man said.

 She ought to send a flurry of ash up his nose and send him, sneezing, on his way.

His charming smile grew all the more pleased as he misread or otherwise ignored her unwelcoming glare. “Ah, of course. How could I be so rude?” He removed his top hat with a flourish and bowed. “Isidore Clare, at your service, mademoiselle.” Even his name sounded like it was dripping with gold.

“How nice.”

He continued to smile.

[somehow he convinces her]

Clare guided her to the middle of the floor. Every movement he made, every gesture was elegant. He held her with gentle hands, and Zorya was all too aware of how the soot immediately ruined his fine white gloves. Good, whispered a spiteful part of her. He deserves it.

The music picked up from the start again, the same song as before, and he guided her into a slow and simple waltz. 

Zorya didn’t stop glaring for a moment, shoulders stiff and jaw set. More than half of it, she was ashamed to admit, was from simple discomfort. It wasn’t often that she had to be around people, much less seen by them. 

“You’re rather light on your feet,” Clare said.

She stepped on his foot. It was an accident, but a well timed one. Zorya chose not to apologize. 

“Might I ask your name?”

“You can ask.”

He laughed openly, and didn’t press.

Zorya didn’t like the silence, didn’t like the way he looked at her. It wasn’t that he had on any certain expression, and he didn’t seem to be measuring her up. He was just looking at her. He was aware that she existed, and that was enough to set her on edge. “What are you doing here, anyway? Rich French boys don’t come to Russia to flirt in this century.”

“Business, I’m afraid. I’ve important work to see to while I’m here.”

“And what work does a French witch have in Moscow?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to hear about it in the news, Miss. You’re not the only one here who wants a bit of anonymity.”

Zorya scoffed. “You already told me your name.”

“And if you don’t recognise it, then all the better.”

“You’re not one of those movie stars, are you?”

He laughed again. “Nothing so fanciful, I’m afraid. Most people don’t even recognise me on the street.”

“So why should I?”

Clare only smiled. 

Zorya decided, once again, that she hated him. And now she had a name to put to his irritating, overconfident face.

But before she could say more, the chittering came back to her. A small, animalistic sound scraping against her ear, punctuated with inhuman whispers. Her anger fled as she looked away, searching the shadows for a sign of the beast.

“Is something wrong?” Clare asked, unexpectedly sounding almost worried.

The chittering continued to grow louder, to deepen and groan. Zorya looked deeper into the shadows, searching hard for any movement before the beast revealed itself. “Yeah. I think...” Zorya pulled herself away, taking uncertain steps towards the mirrored wall across from her, trying to ignore the sight of her reflection.

Clare hadn’t moved behind her. “I don’t understand. Do you see something?” 

No-one seemed to be paying her any mind. No-one should. Only five people in Moscow could hear the Wyrdbeasts, and Zorya was glad to know there wasn’t one of them nearb.

“Get everyone out of here.” She could hear it. She could hear it coming closer. “Something’s wrong.”

“But—”

“Noski,” she hissed, ignoring whatever Clare was about to say. The cat leapt from the bag and reached her shoulder just as the wall exploded.

Dancers screamed. 

[something, and then wyrdbeast]

Zorya gestured in carful movements, adjusting her position to summon the soot and ash, forming it into long ropes that wrapped tightly around the wyrdbeast’s legs. It lashed out, swiping a paw through its bindings, but they reformed just as quickly.

It wasn’t enough to subdue the beast, but it was enough to hold it back for a little bit.

She approached it slowly, both hands out, speaking as calmly as she could. “There now, look at you. A big thing like you shouldn’t be in a place like this. Look at the mess you made.”

Noski rubbed against her leg, eyeing the beast, tail flicking in agitation. He hopped up to Zorya’s shoulders, settling in with a purr to serve as a physical anchor as much as a mental one. 

Zorya continued to shush the beast, closing the distance as it hissed and snapped its wicked jaws. “There we go,” she said. “Easy, easy.” She placed a hand on its shoulder — and leapt back as it whirled on her and roard. “Well that wasn’t very polite, was it?” 

The Wyrdbeast growled again. But now that they had made eyecontact, it started to calm. Zorya felt its pull, the anger and rot that had formed it, dragging the poor animal from what had to have been a peaceful death. 

“It hurts, I know. You don’t want to be here.” She continued to soothe it, and slowly, slowly approached again. The beast continued to bristle, to snarl, but it didn’t lash out again and she was able to release her control over the soot.

Zorya placed her hand on its skull. The wyrdbeast flinched, but didn’t pull away, and leaned into her. 

“There we go,” she said, and began the final part of her work. The bitter tang of wyrdstuff filled her mouth as she absorbed it, pulling the inky black ichor into her body. It oozed under her skin, blackening her veins, her arms, her lips and mouth.

The beast shrank before her, growing smaller and smaller until there was nothing but the skull in her hand. Zorya held onto it until she felt the last dregs of the wyrdstuff snap free, and the skull clattered to the ground, cracking in two. 

Noski purred again. 

Zorya grimaced, and groaned. “Ugh. I won’t be able to eat anything for a week.”

That’s assuming you get anything to eat at all, she imagined Noski saying, and sighed.  

A footstep sounded behind her, and Zorya whirled around, terrified. Everyone should have evacuated. Was it the person who’d summoned the beast? An official? Someone who —-

Oh.

It was Clare.

Watching her with wide eyes, gloved hands limp at his sides. Too stupid to run away properly when his life was in danger.

Irritation quickly overshadowed Zorya’s fear — only to flee as she realized he knew what she was now. An unlicensed Greater Witch, posing as Lesser, doing illegal magic in an illegal dance hall. And — worse than that...

“You’re a wyrdwitch,” he whispered.

Zorya couldn’t tell if he was in awe or simply afraid. But he disappeared into the dust in the space of a heartbeat, and she was left alone.

Noski stepped off her shoulder and into the shape of himself. “Do you think we ought to chase him down?” He sounded all too eager to do just that.

“He’s from the West. Someone would notice if he was gone.” But that didn’t mean she was sure about which path to take. Zorya had spent years hiding the wyrdmagic, posing as a lesser witch and keeping her head down. It had nearly gotten her killed, the last time someone found her out, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again. But chasing after him seemed just as dangerous. If nothing else, asking about a rich Frenchman would make her seem disloyal, uncommunistic. And, more than that, “He could be anywhere in the city by now. It’s no use.”

“You sure do like talking yourself out of things, don’t you, Zorenka?” Noski rubbed his skull against her cheek, and stepped back into the shape of a cat.

[mrjoelgarcia9]

Let’s Talk #SailorMoon: Sailor Stars

Sailor Moon Sailor Stars has quite possibly the worst story arc I have ever seen in any anime series. If Sailor Moon Crystal ever gets a fifth season, it will be far better than this arc.

For a review of the fifth and final season of Sailor Moon, feel free to keep reading. There will be spoilers.

This post is mainly about the season’s second story arc. I have previously written about the first arc, Eternal Sailor Moon, and the theme song in a previous post.

The official reason for why Sailor Moon Sailor Stars (AKA Stars) originally never aired in the United States is unknown. There are a wide range of reasons as to why the original English dub was canceled after SuperS, such as the potential problems with the new characters introduced this season, its supposed low ratings on Cartoon Network, and Toei refusing to license Stars for dubbing.

In the show’s final arc, a boy band known as The Three Lights has come to town, become very popular, and enroll in the same high school as most of the Guardians. A new villain known as Sailor Galaxia sends out her team of evil Guardians to acquire Star Seeds so she can take over the galaxy. While fighting this new threat, Sailor Moon and her Guardians are now being assisted by a mysterious female trio known as the Sailor Starlights.

This arc was awful.

It had a messy plot, a reduced episode count (28 as opposed to 30-40), and a great premise that was sadly wasted. A galactic Sailor War is something that could be presented as either its own arc or film. The problem is that due to the show’s “monster of the week” format and how much it focused on the Starlights, the War felt tacked on and rushed in order to give the Guardians a reason to fight Galaxia.

Sailor Galaxia was a badly written blasé villain who was intimidating when she had to kill her Guardians but bored when killing the Sailor Guardians. We only get a brief visual of her strength when she destroyed the Starlights’ planet, which had the emotional impact of a PowerPoint slide. The reveals that she was the Legendary Sailor Guardian and consumed by Chaos were very predictable. Because of these flaws, Galaxia is the show’s worst main villain since Pharaoh 90.

As for her Guardians, they were an amalgamation of the first season’s Generals and the Witches 5 from S. Like both groups, their only goal was to acquire a MacGuffin for their leader. The only things that made them distinct were their names being based on metals and animals (such as Sailor Lead Crow) and their powers being reliant on Galaxia. The only notable one was Sailor Tin Nyanko due to how she acted in her final two appearances.

The Youma this season, known as Phages, were the show’s least creative. Not only did they recycle a previous concept, the first season’s Seven Great Monsters, but every single one of the monsters was named Sailor [Insert Profession Here]. The only possible reason the show brought back the concept was to justify Sailor Moon’s refusal to kill Galaxia in the Finale, even though the end of the previous arc already presented that by how she refused to kill Nehellenia.

The Phages also cheapen the Sailor War concept since apparently anyone can become a Sailor just by exposing their Star Seed. They only called themselves Sailor [Blank] because they all sported fuku collars but have nothing else in common with one another. Sailor Dark Mercury has more in common with the Guardians than the Phages.

(Also, as a quick reminder, the original manga was NEVER a “monster of the week” series.)

The Starlights’ plan of disguising themselves as a boy band to find their Princess was thoughtful yet pointless since she already knew who they were. If they did it to hide from Galaxia, they could have at least given a throwaway line explaining their disguises. They also had no actual reason to biologically disguise themselves as men. The only likely reasons the show did that were to provide the Guardians with new lovers and differentiate them from Haruka.

There is not much to say about Yaten and Taiki. They are bland characters who only serve to be pursued by the Guardians and stop Seiya from doing something stupid.

Seiya, despite receiving the most development of the Starlights, was not a great character. The show tried to present her as someone unsure of fulfilling her mission because she had a crush on Usagi. She has the exact same attitude as Mamoru did in the first season, and it felt like the writers wanted to bring back the affectionate conflict Usagi had with him for no reason. She had the same chance of being with Usagi as Ail and Demande.

The show made it very clear for four whole seasons that Usagi could never romantically pursue anyone other than Mamoru, especially by how she kept sending letters to him throughout this arc as well as the future existence of the walking and talking spoiler alert known as Chibiusa.

Chibi Chibi has quite possibly the laziest name I have ever heard in any medium bar none. Her name is just a descriptor for something small. Despite what I previously posted about the Amazoness Quartet, at least they had memorable names. Garcia Flynn from Timeless has a better name than Chibi Chibi.

She was basically a younger Chibiusa who barely contributed anything to the story aside from being a convenient transporter and deus ex machina. As Sailor Chibi Chibi, the only notable things she did were save Sailor Moon twice and give her another marketable piece of plastic unnecessary power upgrade.

Princess Kakyu (as it was translated by Viz Media) was actually a decent character. Her sudden death was a good twist. I honestly thought she would be involved in some way with the final battle. Instead, her death was used to show how much more serious the final battle would be in comparison to the Guardians’ past final battles.

Like with the previous arc, there were good ideas which were just wasted, such as the villains infiltrating Usagi’s house or the Guardians stuck on an airplane. The best example was of the Guardians in high school. The show could have used the idea to implement a different type of conflict, such as Ami being unsure of whether to prioritize her academic goals or mission as a Guardian. It even went as far as introducing a bully that could have been associated with Galaxia. Instead, it was yet another wasted idea in this mess of an arc.

The Star Seeds themselves revealed a major plot hole. During the final battle, Mamoru’s Star Seed is revealed to be golden and Usagi quickly recognizes it to be him. It is odd that his Seed would be golden since he never mainly wore gold in either his civilian, Endymion, or Tuxedo Mask identities. It would have made more sense if he had the Golden Crystal like in the manga, similar to how Usagi’s Seed was Silver like her Crystal, but the show had already revealed it was held by Helios. The show unintentionally created a plot hole that did not exist in the first place.

The final battle was heavily one-sided. Galaxia barely fought any of the Guardians. She simply fired lasers to pin them down and yank out their star seeds. The only times she physically fought anyone was Sailor Moon and the Starlights, and it was less Goku versus Vegeta and more Batman versus random thugs.

It is sad to say that the best parts of the final battle were Neptune and Uranus’ deaths and the reveal that Galaxia triggered Hotaru’s reawakening through Nehellenia. For the former, the two clearly felt disgusted at the realization that they killed their fellow Guardians and presented the most tragic moment of the final battle. For the latter, Hotaru’s reawakening was likely done so the show would not have to feature the villains trying to take Star Seeds from children (However, they already did that in R).

Aside from that reveal, every other scene with Galaxia was dull and repetitive since all she did was brag about her ultimate goal while casually killing the Guardians. The entire fifth season of Arrow was far more exciting than most of these final episodes.

As for the Series Finale, it was the best episode of the entire season but not perfect.

The way Usagi’s final battle with Galaxia began made no sense. Chibi Chibi transforms into a sword and tells Usagi to use it to kill Galaxia, even though she has never wielded a sword in the entire series. It would be like if Harry and Voldemort in their final battle abruptly stopped using magic and engaged in fisticuffs.

Her alternate plan of simply flying towards Galaxia at least involved her using her magical wings (which she only used twice in the entire season).

The finale did a great job of wrapping up the series and giving everyone a happy ending. I may eventually write a separate post about it, either as a standalone review or for comparison with Sailor Moon Crystal, but this post has gone on long enough pointing out the arc’s many flaws.

Based solely on what I have looked up on the original manga, which apparently was not even finished at the time, it is far superior to Stars. The evil Guardians are far more successful, both Chibi Chibi and Kakyu play bigger and different roles, Chibi Moon and Diana return from the future, and the Starlights die.

Despite the arc’s flaws, there were a few good moments:

Sailor Iron Mouse complaining about the Guardians’ speeches being too long

Yaten pointing out to Minako the absurdity of competing in a singing competition just as the planet is about to be destroyed

One of the more decent filler episodes expanding upon Rei’s family

Mamoru and Usagi reuniting after the final battle

The show’s final lines mirroring the opening lines of the first episode.

Galaxia revealing her involvement with Nehellenia’s revenge was the only time in the original series that a main villain acknowledged another main villain. Ironically, DiC tried doing that by connecting the main villains with the so-called “Negaverse”.

Stars may be awful but it does not ruin the series. This is not like How I Met Your Mother, where that show’s Series Finale made the premise completely pointless, ruined several seasons of character development, and unofficially renamed the show How I Settled For Your Mother.

Sailor Moon Sailor Stars is just the show’s weakest season. At the very least, Usagi earned the happy ending she has always wanted with Mamoru... until of course the future shown in R.

I Recommend watching Stars but feel free to skip most of the filler.

If in the future Sailor Moon Crystal is renewed for a fifth season, I would really like to see the show adapt the arc from the manga. In the meantime, Viz Media has recently released the latter half of S on Blu-ray and DVD.

Until next time, thank you for reading!

[ssteezyy]

Meet MezzoMixx, a Very Unusual Male Tortie

The vast majority of tortoiseshell cats are female, because two X chromosomes are required to produce black, gold and orange coloring. Male cats only have one X and one Y chromosome, so technically it’s genetically almost impossible for a male to inherit the tortoiseshell coloring. A male tortoiseshell has an extra X chromosome, making it an XXY. According to a study by the College of Veterinary Medicine at the University of Missouri, only 1 in 3000 tortoiseshell cats is male. Due to the chromosome imbalance, male tortoiseshell cats are (usually) sterile.

This is not the case with MezzoMixx, a stunningly gorgeous almost 3-year-old Maine Coon. He lives with Carina und Anita in the German state of North Rhine Westphalia. Carina and Anita breed and show Maine Coons because they love the breed*. All cats are members of the family and have access to all areas of their home.

When Mezzomixx, whose full name is “Witches MezzoMixx Fantaghiro of Loveliness,” was four months old, Carina and Anita realized that the cat they thought was female turned was actually a male. And while male tortoiseshell cats are usually sterile, MezzoMixx is not. Tests performed at the University of Veterinary Medicine Hanover confirmed that MezzoMixx is a XY/XY chimera. I have to confess that genetics makes my head explode, but Carina and Anita provide a detailed information about MezzoMixx’s genetics on their website (you’ll have to run it through Google Translate  and disregard the unfortunate translation of Kater. “Kater” is German for “male cat,” but it’s also the German word for “hangover.”)

Father and Daughter

MezzoMixx has fathered five litters. “I’m Perfekt,” shown with him above, is his daughter from his most recent litter. “He is so potent that we have problems letting him be with the rest of the cats,” said Carina. “He will recognize a female in heat long before we realize it!” Since he loves his “girls,” he is not very happy when he’s kept separate from the other cats in the home. Carina and Anita are considering having him neutered in the next 6 to 12 months.

MezzoMixx is a loving father who takes good care of all of his kittens. With his human family members, “he acts like a dog born into a cat’s body,” says Carina. “He greets us at the door when we come home from work, and he immediately wants to be held.” He follows Carina and Anita everywhere, and, true to his tortie coloring, he’s a big talker.

He has a mellow temperament. “He would never scratch or bite,” says Carina, “not even when we have to cut a mat ouf of his fur, or he has to get a bath.” He is a favorite at the vet clinic, where he will march out of his carrier and present himself as the star he knows himself to be.

At cat shows, he relaxes in his cage until it’s time for him to be judged, and he shows no signs of stress during the process. “I think he’s an all around perfect cat,” says Carina.

You can learn more about MezzoMixx on his Facebook page.

All photos via MezzoMixx’s Facebook page, used with permission

*Editor’s note: I advocate adopting from a shelter or rescue group rather than purchasing a pedigreed cat, but I respect the love for a particular breed, or special requirements of a breed (such as human allergies.) I urge anyone considering a purebred cat to contact a breed-specific rescue group. If you are going to purchase from a breeder, do your research and only purchase from responsible breeders. Responsible breeders are individuals who have focused their efforts on one or a select few breeds and through breeding, historical research and ongoing study, mentoring relationships, club memberships, showing, raising and training of these breeds have become experts in their health, heritable defects, temperament and behavior. Responsible breeders are well suited to educate and screen potential buyers/adopters and provide follow-up support after purchase or adoption. Responsible breeders take lifetime responsibility for the animals they have bred. (Source: ASPCA Position Statement on Criteria for Responsible Breeding.)

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