#auburn parfait

[arogaba]

Parfait Redux Part 34/35

Ochre got his own little family in the future. He married Terracotta Wampee from @annacake and they had three children together: Russet, Auburn, and Amber.

[yuuniee]

maybe tsum Auburn or Daniel cause you know my biases

[Tsum Headcanons]

A/N: You ask, I answer~ (You really like fish men, huh? /j)

🐢 Daniel:

Tsum Daniel is tiny a bit more aggressive than his human counterpart, but still chill. He tends to hop around the campus and hang out with Coral, Fawn, Asif, Hera and their tsums.

Daniel doesn’t even react to his tsum, he just picks him up and goes ‘You are my friend now, come here.’

They get even closer when Tsum Daniel starts to make a small mix of three songs and ends up with a summer vibe-y rock type of thing in hand. Daniel gets proud and impressed of him and even pats his tiny head.

If you’re listening some songs nearby, don’t be surprised when Daniel tsum jumps on your shoulder! He just wants to listen to some songs with you!

He can also be seen at Heartslabyul, trying to help Trey with the cake by bringing him the ingredients one by one. At least he’s trying, you know!

Tsum Daniel tends to hang out with Tsum Jade, Tsum Floyd and Tsum Azul when he is done with the job. Sometimes he stops the chaotic tsums with Tsum Azul, sometimes he joins in the fun.

If you leave Tsum Daniel unattended for too long, he may fall asleep on the place he is standing.

He also makes parfaits for people in Mostro Lounge by hopping around the kitchen and putting the ingredients.

If you want to take a picture of Tsum Daniel, you can. He’s okay with it as long as the flash isn’t on, otherwise you may accidentally stun him!

During Flying classes, Tsum Daniel climbs on his human counterpart’s shoulder and squeaks in excitement when they are high up. He sort of stands up and just feels the breeze. As for Daniel, he gets a bit annoyed when he squeaks and puts his hand under him to catch him. (He doesn’t fall though!)

If Daniel falls asleep on somewhere other than his bed, he squeaks loudly and bounces on his head to wake him up.

When they go to bed, Tsum Daniel goes on Daniel’s chest to and stays on there. They end up cuddling in their sleep, though Daniel won’t tell anyone about this...

His card is an SR card with him holding the tsum on his head with a cocky smile while the tsum has his headphones on and smiling contently.

🐟 Auburn:

Tsum Auburn is a bit worse than his human counterpart, but still the same. He is usually around Fawn and her tsum to protect her as his job as a royal guard. If someone hurts them in any way, he wouldn’t be afraid to hit that person with its tiny body.

When Auburn and his tsum meets, they observe each other and he goes, “I see...” before picking the little chonk up and putting him on his head.

They get even closer when two troublesome students start a fight in cafeteria and Tsum Auburn stops them both while his human counterpart checks if anyone is injured. The students later get called in Headmaster’s office and Auburn comments on how quick the tsum acted, saying that he was quicker than him and managed to separate two people that were at least ten times his size. Tsum Auburn squeaks happily and climbs on his shoulder for the rest of the day.

Due to him being the royal guard of Fawn, his tsum also goes to protect her tsum. Whether it’s something she can deal with herself or not, they both protect their queen.

Tsum Auburn sometimes braids his human counterpart’s hair while he is in class and then pretends to take notes along with him on his eraser.

Tsum Auburn can also cook meals for others if the situation calls for it. Though, I can’t promise if they will be delicious for some people... (See: Solomon (Obey Me))

Tsum Auburn usually fights with Tsum Daniel or Tsum Leona. While the little guy thinks it’s a playful fight, it isn’t.

In his spare time, he can be seen playing with the dolls that Archie made for Auburn when he is too busy to play. He hates being lonely...

When Auburn goes swimming in a lake, Tsum Auburn waits for him on the deck, waiting for him to come back.

Tsum Auburn is also needy and wants attention 24/7/365, hence why his human counterpart would feel a little drained.

His card is an R card with him bowing to the viewer a bit too much with a wink while his tsum bows on his head too.

[roulette-strategy-software]

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[rhodyramfan2006]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Laura Geller Eye Shadow Star Power 6 Color Palette Rose Purple Brown New.

[ichorizaki]

02. just one glance

warnings    obscene language, child abuse

word count    3.8k

It was one of those rare days that Tadāo felt weirdly generous. When you woke up, he was still asleep in his half of the bed. When you were making breakfast, he was still in bed. When you were done and waking Tarō up, he was awake and trudged to the kitchen with a somewhat fresh face. Your son was walking on eggshells as he crept to the breakfast table, eyes watching his father carefully like the façade could drop any second. It was a Monday, so that meant that Tadāo was bound to be back in the office, which was why it was a surprise to everyone at the table when he asked what time Tarõ’s daycare ended. You fought back the urge to bite back, to reprimand him that he should know as his father, so you gave him a practiced smile instead.

“He usually ends at noon sharp,” you looked at your husband, trying to look out for even the slightest twitch on his face that told you he was just asking out of curiosity and nothing more. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to take him out for a couple of hours and spend time with him, is that so wrong?” There was an edge in the tone of his words, sharp and jagged to shield what may be the guilt of being absent in Tarō’s life catching up to him. You almost couldn’t believe it. Your eyes quickly flit to your son who was already staring nervously back at you from his seat next to his father. You felt the weight of your heart sinking down to your stomach. His earthy eyes that were once filled with the flames of mirth and mischief were now dampened with trepidation. “What, I can’t take my son out to spend time with him?”

Tadāo’s voice snapped your focus back to the table as a whole. Of course there was nothing wrong, you just didn’t trust him around your son without you around. He called for your attention once more but the way his twisted words somehow sounded like you and Tarō should be thankful that he even suggested it at all.

“Tarō, is that okay with you?” Stuck at a crossroads, you asked your son what he thought about it. You knew he wouldn’t be okay with it—why would he be?—but he and you had a system to protect each other when the other isn’t around. He despises his father with a burning passion but you couldn’t exactly fault him. His brows furrowed, very clearly against the idea of being alone with your husband.

“Give your mother a break. Lord knows she needs it. Right, Y/N?” Tadāo’s eyes found their way to yours and you swallowed thickly. What the hell were you even supposed to say? “Right?”

“Yes,” you quickly responded, your heart tripping over its own feet.

That was how you found yourself sitting in the exact same mall Tadāo had brought your son to with your two best friends by your side. The three of you were cosied up in a 4-star Michelin restaurant for afternoon tea and a lunch buffet. You were supposed to be relaxing but it stressed you out when you tried to. The table was empty, with you occupying one seat as the other three were temporarily homing personal purses and shopping bags.

Mai and Kame had gone ahead to grab some drinks and light starters. Your phone screen was facing you, placed by your plate where you could easily reach it in case Tarō called you. You didn’t even notice that the both of your friends had returned until you realised that you had a strawberry cheesecake parfait set on your plate. Your e/c eyes slowly drifted up to meet Kame’s piercing gaze. Behind the icy grey you knew she meant well, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she sat down across you.

“We know you’re worried for Tarō, Y/N.” Mai’s voice was gentle and soothing as she took your hand in hers. She cupped them both and your eyes trailed from your hands to her face, where a smile akin to a spring flower greeted you. “We can’t do much, but we’re in the same mall as they are, which means if Tarō ever needs help, we’re all here able to rush to him immediately.”

“She’s right,” Kame chimed in. She had already started eating her gyōza and chawanmushi with shrimp. “Plus, did you forget that I’m a taekwondo teacher or something? I can knock your bitch of a husband out, just say when.” While her intentions were nothing but pure, her violent comment did not go unnoticed by the table of pompous middle-aged women behind her.

“Kame, we’re in public!” Mai took the opportunity to kick her in the shin underneath the table upon releasing your hands. The auburn-haired woman scowled childishly and you couldn’t help but smile. Even when you’re all so different, your personalities complement each other well. They were right—there’s nothing much you could do. If you wanted to worry, you could, but you were just putting yourself in a state of pure unbridled worrying. The three of you were finally meeting up after three weeks, with Mia being busy with grad studies and Kame with running her classes.

So you tried your best to ignore the unsettling sensation brewing in the pit of your stomach like a hexing potion. You paid attention to the food, to the conversation, to the atmosphere, and soon you found yourself relaxing. The tension in your shoulders disappeared as you laughed for the nth time that afternoon. The three of you were reminiscing about your college days, making jokes, recalling old classmates and even joking about said classmates. While it had been hell for you as a public relations and business major, the experiences outside of classes made it worthwhile.

Then your mind couldn’t help but wander to Futakuchi Kenji and the incident that happened sometime last week. Your relationship with him extended a little further than just in-laws. He was a business major attending the same university both you and your husband did. Thanks to that, most of your classes happened to overlap and you just happened to be around him a lot. You nearly fainted on the day you found out that they were cousins—they were nothing alike, until you realised how similar they were in terms of their appearances.

Being classmates with Futakuchi was by no means a walk in the park. For some reason, during discourse sessions, it always ended up the both of you being at each other’s throats. Actually, it wasn’t just discourse sessions. If there was no discourse session, he would create one. Discussion panels would turn into debates and the both of you would end up being the last ones standing, too stubborn to stand down until it was just a battle of wits and personal attacks. Oh, how he loves attacking Tadāo. 

“Your strategy is great, but what happens if the media suddenly turns it into something else completely? You know how they can get when they want something newsworthy. They’ll try to shove words down your throat like that crummy boyfriend of yours.” You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Of course Futakuchi Kenji had brought up his cousin. You were beginning to wonder whether he had forgotten about him altogether.

The scoffs, snickers, and snide comments made by your classmates fell on deaf ears. While they were used to it and obviously desensitised, it got annoying when Futakuchi drags out the lesson even by just a minute.

“First of all, thank you for acknowledging my strategy’s worth. Second of all, you’re making up situations entirely based off of biases about the media. You know damn well the journalists in our uni are trained to be professional specialists. Lastly, that’s my fiancé, you sick son of a bitch.”

You couldn’t help but miss those classes. As much as he slandered your husband, he was actually a decent person. He helped out when you struggled, offered you notes, and he always arrived in class early with your favourite drink. The both of you were close, but at the same time barely knew anything about each other. Kame had mentioned something about one of the parties that all three of you went to and had to go streaking but managed to weasel her way out of it, which made your whole table erupt with laughter. However, your happiness was cut short by a loud ringing from your phone.

The caller ID on your phone was enough to send your heart racing against your chest. Tarō would never call you for no reason. The phone that you gave him—a model a whole decade older than he—was for emergency purposes and that only. Your thumb swiped the green icon across the screen and the second you put your phone to your ear, you could hear his laboured breaths.

“K-Kāsan,” his voice came out in choked sobs. “Tōsan is . . he tried to hit me. Please- Please come get me, Okāsan.”

“Where are you, baby?”

“Kiddy Palace in the mall nearby. Please hurry–” The last that you heard before an empty line were angry shouts in the distance. By the end of it, you had already gathered your items and you noticed that so had Mai and Kame, the latter digging into her purse for her wallet as she marched over to the counter to cover the payment.

“Where’s Tarō?” Mai asked, taking your hand in hers.

“Kiddy Palace. That’s the fourth level, right?” She gave you a nod of confirmation and that was all that it took for the both of you to speed out of the restaurant. Kame managed to catch up when you found the lift lobby. The adrenaline coursed through your system like a wave of flood; you could barely keep up with the way your brain was going off on tangents and trying to focus on the steps ahead of you. The worst had come true, and you didn’t want to think that it was just your brain blowing out of proportion.

Kame’s hand was on your back, rubbing soothing circles while Mai held onto your other hand. They were telling you that everything was going to be alright, that Kame was beyond capable of putting your husband back in line. They were trying their best to ease your worries but it could only do so much.

The second the doors began to slide open, you had to squirm past and your feet began to carry you to Kiddy Palace. Blood thumped in your ears, the fear sitting on your face like a pillow suffocating. It didn’t take you long to find Tarō, huddled among plush toys similar to a fortress. The second he saw you, he flung himself over to you, throwing himself in your arms. He was babbling and sobbing; you could barely make out any coherent words when you hoisted him up, holding him close against your body.

“You fucking dog!”

“Kenji, don’t get in between my and my son.”

You froze. Kenji? Futakuchi Kenji? Mai had appeared at your side, her gentle words and cooing to calm Tarō down. She offered to carry him so that “Okāsan’s going to fight Otōsan.” He had no problem shifting from you to her before you ran up to where Kame was, separating the two men from biting off each others’ throats. She stood right in front of him, looking him in the eye and ready to shove him back should he step out of line.

You didn’t even know where to go. To Kenji, or to your husband? Between the both of them, it was your husband who looked more beaten up. Kenji looked spotless while your husband suffered a busted lip and a bruised eye. What were you even going to say to your husband?

“What the fuck are you staring at me for?” You flinched at the harsh words. Mumbles and murmurs came from the onlooking crowd who were unsure on what to do or were too afraid to step in. “Come and help me, you useless bitch.” No sooner had the last syllable left his lips had Kame and Keiji both flung themselves at him, profanities running a mile a minute. Within the blink of an eye, Tadāo was tackled to the ground with both your best friend and his cousin on him.

It took you a heartbeat to realise what was happening. Your head was spinning, your body lurching forward until you were begging for Kame and Kenji both to get off of him. Your pleas and cries finally got through to the two. Weakly, you pulled them off of Tadāo’s body. You couldn’t even bear to look at your husband. With this many people watching– shit. You’ve caused a ruckus in the middle of a mall. 

You spun on the heel of your feet and began to bow at a ninety-degree angle in all directions where there was a visible crowd, voicing out your apologies with a tremble in your voice and a shaking heart. Then, you turned to your husband with tears in your eyes and the choke of a sob in your throat. Your heart hammered threateningly against your chest, watching him carefully as he got onto his two feet.

“Don’t come home tonight.”

“Who the fu–”

“You wanna get fucking beaten up, you punk?!” Kame stomped a foot forward and that was enough to make him flinch the slightest. She grabbed Kenji by his arm and you by your hand, leading you away from the scene. You didn’t know why she dragged him, but it would be nice to know what had gone down and why he was even in the mall in the first place. Mai joined you three with a sniffling Tarō whose cheeks were wet with tears. She suggested that you headed out of the mall and to the McDonald’s across the street for some ice cream to cheer everyone up and everyone unanimously agreed.

So there you sat on a public bench, balancing Tarō on your thighs with a handheld fan in his direction while he happily ate his vanilla ice cream. Mai and Kame sat on either side of you, the former enjoying the seasonal yuzu ice cream and Kame a chocolate cone. Kenji sat quietly next to Mai, the only other person he’s familiar with having known each other since they were in high school.

You learned that Tadāo had been rather passive aggressive in his behaviour towards your son. He was impatient to Tarō’s needs and completely forgot—he probably never even knew about it in the first place—about Tarō’s love for wearing dresses and tiaras. He called his son a slur that is now ingrained in the poor child’s brain for the rest of his natural life and threatened to hit him over and over when Tarō was overwhelmed and threw a tantrum. Tadāo would have struck your child if it hadn’t been for Kenji who happened to be nearby. To your dismay, a fight broke out between them right before you turned up.

Perhaps it was time for you to pull up your socks and talk to Tadāo about his behaviour. Guilt found its way around your heart, wrapping its thick tendrils around it and squeezing it tightly like it was trying to milk an apology out of you. But who was that apology for? You? Or was it for your husband? It should go to Tarō, right? Thoughts raced through your mind, fogging up your vision and before you knew it, your mind was but an incoherent blur of emotions and thoughts.

“Uh, I think I’ll take my leave first.” Turning to your left, Kenji was getting up from his spot next to Mai. “Take care, okay? You need to do something about him.” His warm eyes then landed on Tarō and you couldn’t help but notice a certain glint of curiosity in them. Your son squirmed uncomfortably in your laps. You knew how he got around any adult male but it was a surprise altogether to see him hiss at Kenji.

“Oya, I didn’t know my favourite boy was a cat!” Mai immediately stole his attention. Tarō lets out a tiny humph, nose upturned before his lower lip jutted out into a pout. The five-year-old frowned at Mai, who teased him as she picked him up to settle him next to her. “You’re a big boy now and you still wanna sit on your mommy’s lap?”

“I’m gonna sit on Okāsan’s laps even when I’m bigger!”

“Even when she’s old and wrinkly like a grandma?” Tarō was left speechless as his baby browns darted between you and Mai who was laughing her ass off. You rolled your eyes, smacking her in the back of her head before getting up to talk to Kenji.

He had his hands in his pockets, kicking at the rocks that found their way from the asphalt and it reminded you of a small child feeling sheepish. You noticed how his muscles flexed and relaxed underneath the fabric of his fitted black shirt before noticing how he was so casually dressed for a Monday afternoon. Was he unemployed? Or maybe retired, even? You knew he owned his company and he’s earning himself an empire of gold but you didn’t know just how much gold he had in his tavern.

“Kenji,” you called out cautiously, staying a safe distance from him. He turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Did he not expect you to approach him? “Thank you for saving Tarō. Lord knows what would’ve happened without you there.” He didn’t make any move to close the distance between the both of you. The corners of his lips twitched upwards into a lazy smile.

“Guess it’s gotta be pure luck for you, huh?” You scoffed at that. Or at least, tried. You were relieved and you weren’t going to lie about that. You would thank him in some other way, a gift maybe, but you knew your husband would blow it out of proportion and that would be a whole other issue altogether.

“Luck, fate, whatever it is, I’m just glad that you were there, okay? I know what kind of person Tadāo is and what kind of person he can be. The last thing I’d ever let him do is lay his hand on my son.” He must have heard how earnest you were because when he took a deep breath, you saw how his features softened as he looked back into your (e/c) eyes. You didn’t know if he was searching for the right words to say, a delicate response to express that he didn’t mind at all, until you noticed a sleek black car pull up by the curbside. What was it with him being interrupted all the time?

“You know I’d do anything to make sure that that bastard’s out of your life. Hell, that’s probably the only agenda in my book right now,” he chuckled. Kenji lifted his hand to give you a gentle pat on your head. “I’ll get going now. You know I’m just a phone call away.”

You watched as he turned his back on you, waiting patiently as the car door slid open automatically to reveal an all-black leather interior. He ducked his head and entered the vehicle but not before giving you one last wave goodbye, the door sliding over and securing him safely in the car.

That was the longest interaction that he had with you yet ever since he had gotten home from Yokohama. Kenji leaned back in his seat, head rocking back against the headrest. He closed his eyes and the picture of Tarō formed in his head. There was just . . . there was just something about that kid that unsettled him. It was probably the way that he suddenly hissed when he was trying to find the courage to ask if he was okay. The kid didn’t really look like you.

Oh, you. All these years and he thought you’d have left the sick bastard of a human being that he had as a cousin that you have as a husband. Yet again he was proven wrong with the silver band on your ring finger. What bothered him was the lack of a ring on Tadāo’s ring finger.

The entire ride home, his mind was plagued with thoughts of you and Tarō. The dynamic that you both had made him miss his own mother. You were so caring, so gentle and so soft but in that kindness of you was a strength hardened by all of the shit that Tadāo had forced you into. You didn’t let your hardships define you, and that was something that he’s always admired you for.

Kenji fiddled with his phone as he alighted the car, thanking the driver as he made his leave. Maybe he should call his mother. But he already called her two days ago. He knew that she would tease him to no end should he call her any sooner. He only called once a week, but even then, his mother is usually the one calling in a mere day after he had done so.

His butler greeted him as he entered the threshold of his large and lonely household, a friendly greeting returned along with a smile. He immediately found himself headed into the direction of his library, where not only had he stashed archives of literature works but also archives of his own past. He wasn’t one to keep photo albums in his room, choosing to keep them safely and neatly tucked away in the library with the other books that he had. 

Nostalgia in waves as he settled down in his chair, opening up the album to be greeted with his baby pictures. His phone was set on the table before him, the line ringing on speaker as he waited for his mother to pick up. He flipped through the pages slowly, a fond smile on his face as he watched himself grow. He was such an adorable baby. Cheeks red, full and always stuffed with rice or some of his favourite candy.

Then, he came across a picture that struck a chord through his chest. He couldn’t have been any older than seven years old in the picture, perhaps six. He was at the beach, sporting a gigantic toothy grin. His hair was wet and stuck to his skin, yellow goggles hanging loosely around his neck and the bulge of his tummy ever so visible through the navy blue of the swimming suit he was wearing. He would have been mistaken to be extremely elated to be at the beach if it weren’t for how red his eyes were. Wait a minute . . . this looked all too familiar. Where had he seen this before; this very expression of a young boy grinning with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes? Ah. Then it had hit him.

Masayūki Tarō looks exactly like him when he was younger.

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[inkandpen22]

Time is Irrelevant (2/?): Vive La France

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader 

Warnings: swearing, mention of death 

Word Count: 4.5k (she’s long lol sorry about it)

Part Summary: Y/N wakes up dazed and confused. From then on, things only get more confused as she starts to realize she’s in 18th century France with a strange man. 

Masterlist

I gradually open my eyes, my vision blurry at first. A bright light burns them and I feel as though I’m staring into the gates of Heaven. Then, the memory of what happened jolts me awake. Startled, I frantically scan my surroundings. I come to the horrifying conclusion that I’m no longer at the table in the student union. In fact, I have no clue where I am! I’m in a bedroom, on a bed with tall dark wood posts. The room looks too grand and vintage to be anywhere on campus. It’s baby blue walls and crown molding don’t exactly scream cinderblock dorm room. The furniture appears to be so detailed and too fragile to touch, which will be a problem because I woke up on the bed. Am I in a museum?

I stand up cautiously, afraid someone may barge in. I glance down and I see I’m in a white cotton nightgown. A grandma nightgown, seriously? How did I get here and why am I in grandma's pajamas? As I take in my appearance, I don’t see any injuries or bruising, that’s good. I feel alright, panicked, but alright. My brain is pounding against my skull. I can hear my mom now, ranting in my mind. She’d say, “don’t hurry to get up! You could have a concussion.” I rarely listen to her and I don’t plan on starting now.

I step closer to what appears to be a balcony and I peer out to get an idea of where I am. Leaning over the iron rail, I see a dirt road below. People crowd the streets, they maintain a loud banter. Their clothes, they’re odd. Wait, is that man wearing a white wig? Where the hell am I? A gold plated carriage goes by down the street and a man yells at the top of his lungs in what sounds to me as French. As I focus on the commotion, all I hear is French. I take note of the architecture of the surrounding buildings and it all is very French, specifically Parisian. I’m not an expert who has never been to France but I would say the architecture of Paris is pretty iconic. Wait no, this can’t be real! It couldn’t be possible in Paris! How could I possibly be in the United States one minute, then wake up in France? It’s not possible. My heart drops, I’ve been kidnapped and taken out of the country!

“Good! You’re awake!”

I jump at the sudden voice. When I whip around, I spot the strange man from before entering the room.

“Put this on,” he instructs, tossing me a gown nonchalantly. “You stand out like a lily in a field full of daisies.”

I take in his appearance. He’s decked out in colonial-era clothing like the cluster of people down below. My mind screams, reminding me that this is all ridiculous. There’s no way I’m in France and there must be a good reason as to why everyone is dressed as though we’re about to go eat some cake with Marie Antonette. I snickered lightly, baffled at the idea of any of this being real. I’m clearly still asleep.

“Y/N!” The strange professor snaps his fingers and I'm pulled from my thoughts. “Please, before we’re late!”

I snap out of the daze and remember that this man has kidnapped me. Chucking the dress onto the bed, I proceed to bark at him. “Where am I?! Where have you taken me?!” My voice progressively escaping me in screams.

He grins slyly, staring into my soul. “I believe you've already figured that out for yourself…”

I shake my head, laughing at what he’s suggesting. He must think I’m an idiot. He narrows his eyes at me, curious.

“Oh please,” I tease him. “You can’t possibly think I would believe any of this? I’m in college, not kindergarten! Now, let me go!” I start to approach the door but he steps in my way.

His fingers wrap around my forearm with a forceful grip. “Look Y/N, we don’t have time for this! You ARE indeed in France. You ARE in 1778! Now, get dressed! We can’t be late!”

I stare into his eyes as he shouts this nonsense to me. The miniature oceans that encompass them. They have this electricity about them that draws me in and I feel hypnotized. Yet, I must remain level headed if I plan on escaping and surviving this.

Aggressively, I yank my arm free. “Let go of me you psycho! Have you lost your mind? There’s no way-”

The professor wraps his arm around me and presses his free hand over my mouth. I scream for someone to help, but my words are muffled against his hand.

“But it is!” He argues, “I possess the ability to time travel! Okay! The Eye of Harmony, Rassilon's Star, it exists!”

Upon hearing his words, I stop fighting him, utterly stunned. His hands ease off of my face and release my arm. My chest rises and plummets at an inconsistent rate. There are very few people who speak of the star. It’s legend, ancient mythology, lost in history.

“But…” I struggle to find the words, “but that's not possible.” My volume has lost its touch. My words flowing out like little puffs of wind.

“But it is! Now, get dressed and I’ll explain everything!” He tells me, seemingly eager to clear the air.

I watch silently as he turns to leave abruptly. Does he drop the bombshell that he may have the most powerful stone in the world then goes to leave? Of course, he would.

As he walks away, he presses, “we have somewhere we need to be and soon!”

Processing the situation, I take matters into my own hands. “Will you just wait for a second?!”

Irritable, he crosses his arms, “what it is?”

“I believe I deserve some sort of explanation! Now! I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me some sort of explanation now!”

He huffs, rubbing his temple. “We’re in France! I need you in that dress! We have an appointment and running late! There’s your explanation! Now if you’ll please,” he gestures towards the gown on the bed.

Swallowing hard, I comprehend the fact that he won’t be so forthcoming with me. I’ve seen plenty of thrillers where a girl is kidnaped and she acts out or doesn’t do anything which leads to her demise. I always shout at the girls to play along until the right opportunity arises. For all I know, I’m somewhere close to school and he’s messing with my head. All I’m sure about is I have to make it home.

“1778 you claim?” I clarify as I pick up the dress on the bed. As I examine the attire, I’m reminded of how uncomfortable women dressed. “This should be interesting...” If I’m going to play along I’ll need the proper attire and this isn’t it. I huff, “I’ll need a corset, heels, shift, pannier-”

The professor waves his hands for me to quiet down. “Yes! Yes, I know! I’ll be sending Joséphine in to help you. Any further questions?”

I shake my head, still struggling to cope.

“Very well,” he bows his head. As soon as he appeared he disappears into the halls. As soon as the door shuts, I feel as though I’m on the verge of fainting. I stumble over to the balcony in search of an escape route. I may only have minutes before he returns.

“I must be dreaming,” I tell myself to remain sane.

He’s really taking this whole charade about time travel seriously. Apart of me wishes to believe what he’s saying is true, the part of me that loves history blindly. If I’m truly in 1778 Paris that would incredible. Yet, I know logically time travel is impossible. Except, according to legend, the Eye of Harmony is said to allow time travel. Of course, that’s just ancient mythology, folklore. There’s no one alive that’s seen the star.

I watch the people in the streets below in awe. It all seems so real, the wagons, women dressed in corsets, and men dressed like the Founding Fathers. He must’ve drugged me, that’s the only explanation. Suddenly, the door creaks behind me and I jump like a scared cat. A lady, whom I assume is Joséphine, enters the room.

“Bonsoir Madame,” she greets me with a curtsy.

“Bonsoir…” I mutter, terrified but trying to remain calm.

Joséphine offers me a reassuring smile. I’m guessing she’s about my age, perhaps a few years older but not much. She guides me over to the vanity gently. At first, I stay as still as a statue. I watch as she picks up a few containers on the table and skims the labels.

“Ah oui!” She blurts out, apparently, she’s found what she was looking for.

After she selects a brush from the jar, she prepares to start on my makeup but I stop her.

“I’m okay, really! I just-”

“Non, non, non,” she objects. “ce soir madame vous devez avoir l'air parfait!”

Great, so if this really is 1778 then I’m about to get a heavy dose of lead poisoning. This white powder she’s spreading on my face makes me look like Casper. I respect the bold fashion of this era but rosy cheeks, cherry lips, and silk white skin, not my best look.

Once I’m suffocating in my dress, she pushes me down into the chair in front of the vanity and roughly yanks my auburn hair up. I study in the mirror as she pins my hair down to my scalp and digs the pins into my head. How the hell am I supposed to balance this clump of hair on my head? It’s taller than my entire head.

“Ouch!” I bark.

“Pardon, Madame,” she apologizes softly.

After I appear the part, Joséphine leads me through the house. It’s beautiful. The detail in the crown modeling and art-like wallpaper are so unique. I gawk at the walls as we walk through each room. She leads the way through the double front doors to a carriage where I’m met by the strange professor.

“Merci,” I thank Joséphine, though the experience wasn’t the most enjoyable.

She bows her head and leaves to return inside. I approach the professor, who’s dressed in the traditional french male attire of the time, wig in all. For a moment, it takes my breath away. I read so many books and seen so many movies about the era but nothing as felt more real than this.

“Nice wig,” I tease a bit, stifling a giggle.

“Dido,” he jokes in return.

“My head feels ten pounds heavier,” I poke at the cotton ball on my head. “How do I balance it?”

“You’ll learn. Takes practice.” The professor chuckles then snap his fingers for the footman to open the door of the carriage. Gesturing toward the door, he allows me to enter first.

I swift my gaze toward our mode of transpiration. I’ve never seen an authentic 18th-century carriage of this magnitude. The gold frame and light baby blue fabric are luxurious. I can only imagine how much history is within this carriage, at least will be I suppose.

“Are you admiring it or afraid of it?” The professor chuckles beside me.

“It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I’m not saying I entirely believe him with his fairytales but nonetheless, this experience so far has been like passages from my textbooks. I can feel him staring at me as I examine the carriage. It’s all too remarkable for me to look away.

“I see Joséphine did your hair and makeup as well, good,” He states with a grin. “If we’ll be at court, you’ll need to look the part.”

Before I have the chance to question his meaning, he offers me his hand to help me into the carriage. I’m hesitant. After all, this dude did kidnap me. As for his reasoning, I’m still in the dark. All I know is, possibly, that I’m in an entirely different country and almost three hundred years in the past, so he claims. I have no idea who he is or why he has me here. Yet, for some strange reason, I find myself trusting him slightly and against my better judgment. It’s his eyes. Every time I fall into them my gut tells me to trust him.

The professor sits across from me and settles in. The footman shuts the door and the driver calls to the horses to go along.

“Court?” I interrogate him, “as in the royal court?”

“Yes, precisely,” he replies as if it makes perfect sense.

He must be bonkers! There is no way we could be on our way to Versailles during the era of the monarchy and dressed like this!

“Right, right…” I raise a brow, “and who is king exactly?”

He rubs his hands up and down his thighs nervously. “That’s where you come in!”

“Me?!”

Quite frankly some rulers were just plain crazy and were temperamental! Plus, the French and English were constantly at war during the 18th century! This isn’t the time to visit for peace and quiet.

He scoffs, leaning forward to keep his voice down. “That’s the reason you’re here Miss Historian! You’re in charge of knowing everything about every century we visit!”

I narrow my eyes, “every century? Last I checked I never agreed to travel across time with you?!”

If that’s even what we’re doing. If he expects me to go to another destination with him he’s sorely mistaken.

He grins, not believing me for a second. “Oh, so you much rather go home? Sit behind a desk instead of meeting the very people you’re studying?”

If any of this was true, he’d have a point. I’ll never grant him the satisfaction of admitting that.

I scoff, “fine! You said it was 1778, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he answers quickly.

“Okay… ” I stare up at the ceiling to focus, reviewing my knowledge of the French monarchy. It appears in my mind like a timeline. I mumble, “1778…  that’s in the middle of the American Revolution which means it’s before the French Revolution so the king would be… oh my god!”

My hand flies up to my mouth. I can’t believe it! If this man is telling the truth, then we’re in quite the most interesting year.

His eyes widen in horror and he grips my hands between us. “What?! What is it?!”

“Louis XVI! Louis XVI is the king! Oh, this is too good! Marie freaking Antoinette! Seriously? I can’t believe this!” I squeal, jumping up and down in my seat uncontrollably, causing the carriage to rock.

A part of me is starting to fall for the man’s word, perhaps I really am in 1778. At least then I could actually meet Louis XVI. For a second, I felt myself believing wholeheartedly.

“Is he cruel?! Kind Hearted?! Best king France has ever had?!”

I laugh, has he never picked up a history book?

“Sir, have you never heard of Louis XVI before? He’s infamous! What about the French Revolution? I mean… if we really are where you say we are, we’re living in it!”

He pouts, peering at me like an offended child. “No actually, I have heard of him! I guess you could just say he’s after my time. I’m better acquainted with his father,” he adds in a mutter.

I scrunch my eyebrows, “after your time? How could he be after-”

He cuts me off, “forget it. I’ll explain at a better time. As for now, your job is to inform me of everything I need to know about the French court. I know how to handle royalty and the protocol. All I need is for you to help me with the background information on these individuals. Though all royals are superficially the same I have to gain their trust on a personal level. In exchange, I’ll help you play the part of a lady of the court.”

I huff as I readjust my skirt, somewhat offended. Simply because I wasn’t born an aristocrat with a stick up my butt doesn’t mean I don’t know how to act civilized.

“I know how to be a lady! I can curtsy and whatnot!”

He stifles a laugh, raising a brow. “Y/N, have you ever even met a royal?”

He’s right once again. In my defense, America isn’t exactly crawling with monarchs. We got rid of that whole issue centuries ago.

“No…” I timidly admit.

He has a point, which annoys me. I may have been taught table manners and proper etiquette by my grandmother growing up but her rules are nothing compared to a royal court’s. I would be walking into a lion’s den without Danny’s guidance.

“So then, do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand. A mischievous grin coats his lips.  

For all I know, I could be agreeing to anything. He could turn back on his word at any moment. I don’t trust him, not in the slightest. Yet, If I agree for the time being, it could buy me my freedom. I take a chance.

I shake his hand, “deal.”

His eyes widen, “almost forgot!”

He reaches into his frilly French jacket pocket and reveals a key. A standard old, metal key with a long string attached.

“You’ll be needing it.” He assures me as he shifts toward me and begins to put it around my neck.

“What is it?” I ask, still in awe.  

“A key…” He sasses.

“Ugh,” I roll my eyes, “obviously! I’m asking why do I need it?”

“It’s to my Tardis,” he states as though everyone has one.

“What the hell-”

The carriage jolts to a stop abruptly. Soon, the driver opens the door for us and offers his hand for assistance. My mind is still focused on the blast the professor just sent in my direction. I’m still stuck on his statement, he’s after my time. What did he mean by that? Then, I learn that magic is basically real, along with time-travel.

My train of thought is soon interrupted by the professor calling my name. I hadn’t noticed him climb out of the carriage I was so deep within myself. I accept the hand of the driver and step down out of the carriage. Many of them that are similar to our own are lined up single file. Danny offers me his arm which I take instantly. I gawk at the copper-colored palace with gold embellishments. I’ve always wanted to visit Versailles. I never would have guessed it would be in this setting. I imagined hundreds of tourists with their phones out, too occupied to enjoy the magnificence in front of them. Instead, I’m surrounded by men in bright colored breeches and women wearing wigs that could reach the heavens.

“Are you alright?” he peers down at me, worried.

“Yes, it’s just… I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit, breathlessly.  

Men and women dressed in extravagant jewels and clothes. Only the highest social figures are gawking at the palace, arm in arm.

“It’s the king’s twenty-fourth birthday ball,” he informs me as we stroll into the palace doors behind various couples of the time.

My pulse must be through the roof I’m so anxious. My mind is racing. Danny is putting on a convincing show that we belong here. He has is his role well-rehearsed it appears.

“Stay close,” he instructs, searching the entrance hall.

I grip his arm, halting before we go in.

“What is it?” The man questions.

“What your name?” I comprehend I’ve never learned it. With everything going on, there was never a proper moment. Now, I realize there will never be.

“I’m the Doctor,” he answers with a sly grin.

“’ The Doctor?’ Well, I’m sorry to break it to you but there’s more than just one doctor in the world,” I laugh, this man can’t be serious.

“No,” he huffs, “my name is Doctor. I’m a... you know what, never mind. I’ll-”

“You’ll explain later,” I finish.

“Look at you catching on quickly,” he compliments and pinches my cheek. I swat his hand away with a frown. Geez, he’s annoying. He’s like the Energizer bunny in human form.

“Let’s head inside,” he instructs, guiding me along.

I adjust my skirt briefly, correcting any wrinkles from the ride here. He clears his throat and my eyes meet him as he gestures toward the ceiling with a smirk. It takes every cell of my being and a lot of self-control to not let my jaw drop. Absentmindedly, my arm falls from the Doctor as he continues to walk down the Hall of Mirrors and leaves me in awe of the architecture. I slowly come to a stop as I become engrossed in the details.

It suddenly hits me like a pile of bricks, this is all real. Everything the Doctor has said must be true. I went along with his word but now I truly believe it. The hand-painted ceiling, the solid gold statues that reflect in the mirrors, the marble walls surrounding them, and the crystal chandeliers that line the grand hall. The remaining light of the setting sun pours in through the windows and bounces off the floor. There is no possible way Versailles could be like this in modern times, it’s far too untouched and pristine. This means I’m honestly, without a doubt, in the year 1778. My heart feels as though it’s plummeted to my stomach. Oh my God, this is remarkable! This is every history lover’s dream! I’m living out my textbooks. I’m experiencing history first hand!

It must’ve taken the Doctor very little time to notice my absence. He calmly approaches me, visibly aware of my clear baffled state. I believe my reaction is valid considering the circumstances.

He whispers, “is it what you imagined based on your history books?”

I shake my head, nearly speechless. All I can do is gawk at everyone and everything around me. “It’s beyond anything I could imagine!” I finally break my attention away from the exquisite art to meet his gaze. “I believe you,” I confess to him.

Slight grin forms on the edge of his lips and his eyes fall to the floor with a slight chuckle. “I always knew you would…” He mutters under his breath.

Offering me his arm, he escorts me into a crowded ballroom. The Doctor must know the layout of the palace quite well unless he’s simply following the flow of the crowd. An orchestra plays in the background as drinks are passed around by servants with trays. I spin around slowly, staring up at the ceiling and chandeliers. All of the stories in these walls, the royals that have lived here, what will become of this palace, my head is spinning as I review the details. The music comes to a sudden halt along with the movement and banter in the room. All attention turns toward the double doors across the ballroom as they swing open. People shuffle closer, peering over each other’s heads to sneak a peek. Trumpets play a melody familiar to anyone, the signal of the King and Queen entering the room. Through the space between heads, I can see glimpses of the young notorious couple. Marie Antoinette’s tall and decorated wig, her pale and porcelain-like skin, her extraordinary gown, all perfect. The crowd disburses and form their miniature groups again. The Doctor snatches two champagne flutes from a passing tray and hands one to me.

“Doctor,” I whisper to him cautiously, in case of prying ears. “Why are we here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic but I don’t understand the purpose?”

He pulls me aside behind one of the pillars for some privacy. He scans the room to make sure no one is watching us. His actions have me wondering if our purpose here could put us in danger.

“How much do you know about the monarchs and the palace itself?”

My brows rise in astonishment, I start to question myself on how he doesn’t find the answer obvious by now. I spent a whole semester studying King Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, the French Revolution, and Versailles alone. Of course, that doesn’t make me an expert by any means but I would say I’m well-read.

He catches on to my sass and dismisses it. “Fine, fine fine, so you know a lot! Tell me more please!”

I nod, gathering the important bits from memory to summarize it all. To condense all of this history into such a brief yet crucial conversation is anything but fun.

“Okay well, I think the most important fact we have to consider is currently Her Majesty is pregnant with the couple’s first child. The baby will be a girl. Her name will be Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte de Bourbon. The couple will attempt to have more children, to have a male heir, but none will live past the age of eleven. The French Revolution won’t begin for another ten years. Both the King and the Queen will lose their lives, sadly, along with many members of the aristocracy. Then, Napoleon will become emperor. As for Versailles, it was completed in 1668 for King Louis XIV. During the revolution basically, everything will be taken from here. In modern times, the 21st century, most of it will be returned. That’s a summary of some basic information.”

The Doctor gawks at me, “you know all of this by heart? You wonderful little human. How do you memorize it all?”

I shrug, glancing in the direction of where I last saw the royal couple. “I suppose I’ve always cared so much about these people and their stories that it never really leaves me.”

The unfamiliar faces in this room are forming the world I must live in hundreds of years from now and none of them know it. The world will be completely altered by the end of the century. Every single person in this room is set to believe their roles here are unwavering. Little do they know that in less than a decade, all of it will be gone, nothing but a memory.

“I forgot to mention,” The Doctor mumbles and holds up the key that has slipped beneath the front of my dress. “Never lose it. Draw as little attention to it as possible. While we’re here, your job is to play Miss Know-it-all and mine is to find this journal.”

We’re interrupted by the grandfather clock when it dings in the corner. The Doctor’s head whips over in its direction, he checks the time.

“I have to go,” he informs me in a rush.

“But I-” I start, having a million questions.

“I’ll be back. Blend into the crowd! We’ll leave as soon as possible,” he instructs before disappearing into the cluster of people.

I stand awkwardly alone, afraid to move the slightest step. I’m surrounded by a bunch of dead people. Well, they’re not dead now, but when I’m alive they will be. I’m Versailles, holy shit! And I’m not even on a tourist trip to Versailles, no I’m at a ball in the Revolution Era! I would jump up and down squealing but I doubt that’s allowed. Instead, I’ll just smile to myself like an idiot and sip on this champagne.

__________________

Masterlist

[yourlocalhazbintrash]

Physical Descriptions/Temperaments/Food and Drink Preferences of the Fawns (Because Why Not?)

Everest: Dark red hair, light brown skin, four arms, deer ears and tail. Generally well behaved, protective of his sisters, and slightly sarcastic. Enjoys eating Cheetos puffs, Ramen, and meat; he also enjoys drinking hot cocoa and Sprite. Currently 12 years old.

Kaine: Auburn colored hair, dark skin, four arms, deer ears and tail. Feisty and usually listens, but occasionally ignores the rules if they have the potential to harm Stacy in any way. Enjoys eating parfait, jambalaya, PB&J sandwiches, and meat; she also enjoys drinking milk, coffee, and water. Currently 10 years old (Stacy’s twin).

Stacy: Off-white hair, light brown skin, six arms, deer ears and tail. Is well behaved most of the time, though her autism sometimes makes it difficult for her to understand certain commands (i.e. Don’t Touch That, Naptime Now, Calm Down, Not Play Time, and Eat Slower). Enjoys eating meat, spaghetti, pickles, candy, cake, pie, paper, velvet cloth, and grass (the last three being what her parents and siblings are trying to wean her away from); she also enjoys drinking milk, water, hot chocolate, and light sodas. Currently 10 years old (Kaine’s twin).

Cody: Ginger hair, light brown skin, six arms, deer ears and tail. Decently well behaved, but quite feisty at times. Enjoys eating meat, any sort of cereal, Rice Krispy Treats, ice cream, tuna, and raw eggs; he also enjoys drinking water, milk, and sweet tea. Currently 9 years old (Flare’s twin).

Flare: Dark red hair, light brown skin, six arms, deer ears and tail. Not very well behaved, and sometimes bullies her siblings due to crippling self hatred. Enjoys eating meat, cheese, and black licorice; she also enjoys drinking coffee, water, dark sodas, and flavorless juice. Currently 9 years old (Cody’s twin).

Amerris: Black hair, dark brown skin, four arms, deer ears and tail. Fairly well behaved, but has her moments of destruction and terror - and occasionally great sadness. Enjoys eating meat, noodles, most types of chocolate, and fish; she also enjoys drinking milk, water, and sweet tea. Currently 8 years old.

[icleanedthisplate]

Dine-Out Meals of March 2021, Ranked

I ranked the following based on taste alone. I made no consideration for ambiance or the general dining experience or whatever. I included meals I got to go. I included food trucks, catered meals, and fast food.

Lots of work travel this month, but hit some regular places. A Disney World vacation brought some new ones.

Should you be interested in the pictures or reading the few words I had to say about each meal, click on the home page and scroll down or see the archives.

Yia-Yia’s Kota w/Green Beans & Yigandes. Platia Greek Kouzina. Frisco, Texas. 3.10.2021.

Crispy Bleu Chips (shared), Scotch Deviled Egg (shared), Pork & Polenta. Brood & Barley. North Little Rock, Arkansas. 3.3.2021.

Chopped Salmon Salad, Cup of Pesto Chicken Soup. Cheers. Maumelle, Arkansas. 3.16.2021.

Jimmy’s Salad w/Salmon. Nardello’s Pizza Tavern. Mount Pleasant, Texas. 3.10.2021.

Grilled & Chopped Caesar Salad w/Steak, Cup of Carrot Soup, Almond Basque Cake. Solt. College Station, Texas. 3.6.2021.

Ranchero Special. Senor Tequila. Maumelle, Arkansas. 3.31.2021.

Edamame (shared), Super Dragon Roll. Blue Fish. Frisco, Texas. 3.9.2021.

B3 Char-glazed Pork Vermicelli Bowl, Egg Rolls (to go). Pho Thanh My. Little Rock, Arkansas. 3.5.2021.

Lunch Buffet. Southern Eatery. Holly Springs, Mississippi. 3.20.2021.

Grilled Flounder Fillets w/Three Shrimp, Salad, Veggies, Rice. KT’s Seafood Grill. Rusk, Texas. 3.6.2021.

Sushi Rolls (Ghost, Akami Unagi, Zen), Appetizer Special (?) (Shared all.) Kabooki Sushi (Sand Lake). Orlando, Florida. 3.24.2021.

Ribeye w/Mushrooms, Adult Mac’n’Cheese, Key Lime Pie. Kenny’s Wood Fired Grill. Addison, Texas. 3.9.2021.

All-American Basic Burger w/Sweet Potato Fries. North Bar. North Little Rock, Arkansas. 3.18.2021.

Pepper Jelly Rib Platter, Tandoori Meatball Sub (shared all). Low Ivy Food Truck. Little Rock, Arkansas. 3.12.2021.

Pimiento Cheese, Chips & Salsa (shared apps), Chorizo-Stuffed Pork Tenderloin Medallions, Bundt Cake. Jack Allen’s Kitchen. Round Rock, Texas. 3.6.2021.

Herb-Encrusted Chicken w/Potatoes, Veggies, Broccoli & Cheese Soup, Fruit Sorbet. Winthrop Rockefeller Institute. Morrilton, Arkansas. 3.2.2021.

Oysters, Fish Special w/Corn Fritters, Twice Baked Potato Casserole. Bluegill Restaurant. Mobile, Alabama. 3.26.2021.

Pasta Orleans w/Chicken, side Big Easy Salad. Cheers. Maumelle, Arkansas. 3.11.2021.

Ribs Bowl. Harambe Market (Animal Kingdom). Orlando, Florida. 3.25.2021.

Beef Filet w/Asparagus and Rice, Salad, French Onion Soup, Coffee Ice Cream. Winthrop Rockefeller Institute. Morrilton, Arkansas. 3.1.2021.

Kerbey Kickstart. Kerbey Lane Café. Georgetown, Texas. 3.8.2021.

Chicken Fajitas, Mushroom Soup (?), Salad, Cake Parfait (?). Winthrop Rockefeller Institute. Morrilton, Arkansas. 3.1.2021.

Medite Salad w/Salmon. The Pantry (West). Little Rock, Arkansas. 3.29.2021.

Poulet au Pistou. Les Halles Boulangerie Patisserie (Epcot). Orlando, Florida. 3.23.2021.

Boca Salsarito. Salsarita’s. Auburn, Alabama. 3.20.2021.

Yardbird w/Broccoli. Greenhouse. Georgetown, Texas. 3.8.2021.

Chicken Ramen. The Hybrid Kitchen. Maumelle, Arkansas. 3.30.2021.

Applewood Smoked Bacon Mushroom Swiss Burger w/Steamed Veggies. The Biscuit Company. Vicksburg, Mississippi. 3.27.2021.

Ty Cobb Salad. MAD Greens. Round Rock, Texas. 3.8.2021.

Spicy Chicken Sandwich Combo. Chick-fil-A.Gainesville, Florida. 3.26.2021.

Egg White Grill. Chick-fil-A.Round Rock, Texas. 3.9.2021.

Mess Breakfast. Mess Waffles. College Station, Texas. 3.7.2021.

Breakfast Buffet. Residence Inn by Marriott. Mobile, Alabama. 3.27.2021.

Signature Spicy Sandwich w/Fries. Zaxby’s. Adel, Georgia. 3.21.2021.

Meat Lover’s Pizza. Pinocchio Village Haus (Disney World). Orlando, Florida. 3.22.2021.

Impossible Breakfast Sandwich. Starbucks. Frisco, Texas. 3.10.2021.

Oatmeal, Fruit. Winthrop Rockefeller Institute. Morrilton, Arkansas. 3.2.2021.

[milouwinterthings]

Dionys la résistante

Bonjour à tous, voici un extrait du roman que j’ai commencé à écrire depuis quelques années maintenant. Ce n’est pas parfait, loin de là, mais cela peut vous donner une idée de mon univers :

Tout n'est qu’ombre ou lumière, blanc noir. Nous vivons dans un monde de haine et de violence. Nous sommes des hommes, de chair et de sang. Nous vivons pour ce goût du sang. Nous ne sommes plus des être humbles et généreux, mais sanguinaires et monstrueux. Notre âme, pure, n'est plus que noirceur. L'homme est devenu une machine sans vie, un mouton suivant son troupeau. En tuant des gens, il se fait ce qu'on lui demande. Sans réfléchir. Il ne pense plus. N’écrit plus. Ne s'exprime plus. On tue des innocents. Des hommes, des femmes, des enfants qui pensent et s'expriment sans peur du lendemain. Aujourd'hui, l'humanité n'est plus. Les machines ont remplacé l'homme pensant. Les seuls restant nous manipulent, occupant les rôles de hauts gradés de l’armée. La terre et ses continents ne font plus qu'un et forme une unité humaine. L'armée bleu contrôle la terre et ces frontières avec les autre monde. Nous ne formons qu'un, fasse à l'immensité du ciel. Je prend la parole aujourd'hui car il est important que l’histoire, les générations futures, se rappelle de ce qu'il se passe réellement et non pas de ce que l’armé voudra bien laisser de notre passage sur cette terre.

Ce que je vous ai raconté précédemment n'est pas encore arrivé. Mais cela ne tardera pas. Vous vous demandez sûrement comment je le sais ? J'ai un don. Le don de vision. Mais là n'est pas la question. Au moment où je vous écris, la guerre civile fait rage. Je me trouve actuellement dans l'ancienne ville de Dionys, en France, la dernière ville ne s’étant pas rendue face à l’armée. Une ville de résistants. Nous sommes le 28e jour du printemps 2315.

Dehors, le combat fait rage. Il ne reste plus que nous et l'armée veut en finir. Cela fait déjà 30 ans que nous résistons. Notre ville se trouve sur une superficie de 150 km2, elle se partage en différents secteurs afin d'assurer la survie des peuples restants. Nous vivons dans une démocratie où chacun à le droit de parole. Notre ville est découpé en cinq secteurs : les champs, la forge, l'armée de la résistance, l'administration et les érudits. Je fais partie de ce dernier groupe. Chaque secteur est important pour la survie et le maintien de l'ordre. Le secteur 1, celui des champs, s'occupe de faire pousser toutes plantes nourrissantes pour l'homme, il s'occupe aussi du bétail, le raffinement des aliments et de leur préparation. Ce sont eux qui nourrissent le peuple. Le secteur 2, celui de la forge, crée des armes et des outils utiles pour le secteur 1 grâce aux minéraux extraits de la mine. Le secteur 3, celui de l'armée, protège le peuple et exécute les lois mises en place par le peuple lors de la première réunion fondatrice de notre ville. Le secteur 4, l'administration, surveille le bon fonctionnement entre les secteurs et sert de messager entre eux. Et enfin, le secteur 5, étudie le mouvement des ennemis, prévois les stratégies à prendre mais aussi transmet son savoir. Chaque homme et femmes du peuple travaillent dans le secteur dans lequel il est le plus compétent. Les enfants du peuple sont éduqués de façon à ce qu'il puisse choisir librement leur secteur. Ils se trouvent au pensionnat du secteur 5 avec nous, les érudits. Chacun d'entre eux aident les autres dans les tâches moindres comme la lessive ou l'entretien du pensionnat. En échange, nous les nourrissons, les logeons et les éduquons dans l'optique d'un monde meilleur. Après leur cursus ici, à l’âge de 17 ans, une cérémonie de passage à la vie adulte se fait pour tous les enfants ayant 17 ans cette année-là. Nous faisons cette cérémonie au début du mois d'avril le premier jour de la floraison des cerisiers. Elle nous permet de connaître le choix des enfants et de les accompagner, la semaine suivante, dans le secteur qu'ils auront choisi. Nous sommes le secteur au centre de la ville, nous surplombons les autres secteurs. Vient en suivant autour de nous, le secteur 4 dans l'accès principal se trouve au sud. À l’ouest, au bord du rempart de ce secteur, se trouve le quartier général de l'armée, le secteur 3. Au nord du secteur 3 se trouve la forge qui occupe un tiers du reste de la superficie, le reste étant le secteur 1. Tout autour, ces derniers sont protégés par un mur de 20 m de haut. Le secteur 3 le surveille ainsi que les extérieurs grâce au chemin de ronde. Il faut aussi que vous sachiez qu'un passage souterrain traverse la ville. Il a été construit au cas où l'armée bleue envahisse notre ville. Ainsi, puisque l'entrée de ce souterrain se trouve le secteur 5, les enfants pourront être plus vite évacués. Peu de gens connaissent ce passage car pour le bien de tous, il faut que certains secrets le reste. Je suis le descendant du protecteur de ce passage ainsi que je suis le dernier à savoir où il se trouve.

Mais vous devez vous demander qui je suis ? Je suis Halan, j'ai 25 ans et je suis chef du secteur informations et recherches. Je suis aussi professeur de lettres et j'organise des clubs de découverte chaque semaine. En tant que chef, j'ai des responsabilités importantes mais j’ai le droit aussi a du temps libre supplémentaire. C'est pour cela je trouve le temps d'écrire ce livre. Il est six heures, la cloche de la cathédrale sainte Sophie retentit. J'aime le son de la cloche. Elle émet une mélodie douce et champêtre qui réveille ainsi le peuple en douceur. Cette cathédrale se situe au plus haut point du secteur 5, elle est la seule dans la ville. La cloche s'enclenche grâce à un mécanisme solaire et la mélodie ne s'enclenche que le matin pour le réveil du peuple ainsi que le midi et le soir pour signaler la fin du travail. Nous avons un système de relais pour le travail, ceux qui travaillent le matin, finissent le midi et ceux qui n'ont pas travaillé le matin, commencent le midi et finissent lorsque la mélodie résonne dans la ville à la tombé de la nuit. Le soleil se lève et les premiers rayons traversent les vitraux de mon bureau. Une alarme raisonne dans la ville. L'ennemi était à nos portes. Alors que je m'occupe du jardinage de notre parc avec les plus petits, je vois Sarah qui courre dans ma direction. Ses cheveux auburn, flottent dans le vent, ses yeux, d’un vert transperçant et sa peau couleur caramel font chavirer mon cœur. Elle est d'une tendresse émouvante mais sa colère, tel un aigle voyant sa proie, atteint toujours sa cible. Alors qu'elle se trouve encore à 50 m de moi elle me crie :

« Halan ! Il faut que tu viennes avec moi !

– Mais dis-moi ce qu'il se passe ?!

– L'armée bleue…, reprenant sans souffle Elle continue, Elle arrive elle à l’est ! Il faut que tu monte secteur stratégique !

– Mais je ne suis pas le chef de secteur pourtant…

– Tu viens d’être muté car le chef général de secteur vient de mourir ! Allez dépêche-toi ! »

Elle m’attrape le bras et m’entraîne à l’intérieur du bâtiment. Sur le chemin, j'aperçois l'armée se déployant dans le secteur 1, au milieu des champs de maïs.

[itsalittlebitofeverything]

Une fille spéciale.

Pour la première fois de leurs vies, ils voyaient une fille hors du commun. On ne savait pas trop ce qu’elle dégageait, quelle aura l’entourait, on ne savait rien d’elle, mais on voyait déjà qu’elle n’était pas ordinaire. Elle était différente dans sa manière de s’habiller, dans ses expressions faciales, dans sa manière d’être et d’agir. Elle était différente et ici deux sentiments bien distinct suivaient; non craignait ou on aimait. Ou oit les gens avaient légèrement peur d’elle, ou soit les gens étaient curieux de savoir ce qu’elle cachait. Du point de vue de la jeune fille, elle préférait qu’on la craigne et qu’on ne l’approche pas. Elle n’aimait pas les gens, elle n’aimait pas le monde, et son voeu le plus cher était que tout le monde reste au plus loin d’elle.

C’était la pré-rentrée des classes de secondes, la blonde, après avoir entendu son nom au micro, s’était précipitée dans la classe pour saisir une place du fond. Elle aimait être isolée, peu importe l’endroit, elle n’aimait se mêler à personne. À côté d’elle se trouait une jeune fille aux cheveux châtain, grande, souriante et qui puait le bonheur d’être rentrée en classe. Rien qui ne pouvait plus énerver la jeune fille. Vint le moment où le professeur principal, un grand homme d’une trentaine d’années qui enseignait les mathématiques, demanda à chaque élève de venir se présenter devant la classe. Malgré les autres qui se levaient les uns en même temps que les autres, personne n’y prêta attention. Non, la moitié des regards se tournaient vers la jolie blonde isolée au fond de la classe. Se sentant visée, la jeune fille releva son regard vers le reste et se leva à son tour pour se diriger lentement vers le tableau comme si elle allait se faire crucifier. Elle détestait se faire remarquer, elle détestait que tout le monde la regarde, elle détestait être le centre de l’attention. Et en faisant tout pour ne pas qu’on la remarque, elle ne se rendait pas compte que son attitude distante poussait le monde à se diriger vers elle. Chacun parla, et juste avant que la jeune fille passe pour se présenter, une autre fille, brune aux yeux gris-bleu se présenta, hypnotisant la blonde.

« Bonjour, je m’appelle Iris Vrone, j’ai 15 ans et je viens de Paris. Je suis venue ici parce que j’ai du suivre ma mère et mon beau-père.

-Bienvenue Iris, j’espère que tout se passera bien pour toi et si tu as le moindre problème n’hésite pas à venir me voir. »

Le professeur lui sourit et lui demanda d’aller s’asseoir. C’était maintenant le tour de notre chère petite blonde, seule face à cette grande classe de 32 personnes. Gênée, la blonde s’avança jusqu’au bureau en lançant un regard furtif aux autres jeunes. Elle s’éclaircit la voix comme elle le faisait tout le temps avant de parler, sa voix s’étant cassée au fil des années et se mit à parler doucement et timidement. 

« Hem… Bonjour, je m’appelle Effy Black et je viens de Guadeloupe.

-Oh, la Guadeloupe! Pourquoi as-tu quitté la chaleur pour venir au froid?

-Ma mère est morte et je n’avais pas envie d’aller en France. »

Elle donna cette information d’une voix totalement normale, sans que son regard ne se baisse ni rien d’autre. Elle donna cette information comme si c’était la chose la plus normale du monde, comme si ça ne la dérangeait pas, comme si c’était tout à fait basique. Un grand silence suivit, un silence qui ne dura que quelques secondes mais qui paraissait durer une éternité dans l’esprit de chacun, sauf d’elle. Elle était en paix avec ça, et elle n’avait jamais compris comment la mort pouvait gêner autant de monde. Mais elle oubliait toujours que les gens pensaient rarement comme elle. Elle s’empressa d’ajouter.

« Ce silence est gênant, je peux retourner m’asseoir? »

Elle fit son premier sourire, ce matin là à 9h43 et la moitié de la classe la regarda émerveillé. Même le professeur ne sut réagir directement et bloqua sur ce visage si doux et si beau et pourtant si sombre. Le sourire qu’elle lança eu le pouvoir de tout détendre, éclaircissant son visage.

« Je suis désolé pour votre mère, allez-y. »

Elle arrêta doucement de sourire et se dirigea rapidement vers son siège. Une jeune fille entreprit de commencer la conversation.

« Salut, moi c’est Caroline, je suis désolée pour ta mère.

-Pourquoi désolée?

-Pour son décès.

-Ça n’explique pas pourquoi tu t’excuses mais d’accord. »

Caroline détourna la tête pour lancer une grimace à deux de ses amis un peu plus loin dans la classe, l’un était noir, tout petit avec une tête fatiguée et l’autre était assez grand, blanc et brun, des petits yeux et qui donnait l’air très narcissique. Après la grimace de leur amie, ils se mirent tout deux à rire en regardant Effy. La jeune fille releva la tête vers eux et ils arrêtèrent directement de rire. Elle venait de leur jeter l’un des regards qu’elle distribuait à tout le monde, un regard noir et meurtrier, un regard qui avait le don de faire peur. en faisant peur, personne n’aurait l’idée de l’embêter ou de l’approcher. Elle voulait être seule.

Pourtant, si la jeune fille n’avait pas eu ce caractère, elle aurait pu être l’une de ces magnifiques filles populaire d’une école, l’une de ces filles que tout le monde jalouse et envie, l’une de ces filles que tout le monde aime et veut. Elle arborait de longs cheveux blonds vénitiens, quelques couleurs auburn dans ses cheveux, d’autres blonds platines. De plus, elle avait un regard à en faire tomber plus d’un, des yeux ronds aux pupilles constamment dilatés et des iris vert émeraude. Elle avait un nez fin et légèrement en trompette, des lèvres pulpeuses et bien formées, un sourire magnifique, un visage rond, un corps un peu rond mais tout à fait normal, une poitrine généreuse et un petit fessier. Elle était la parfaite jeune fille pour plus d’un, et pourtant elle ne voulait personne. Et au fond, personne ne la voulait. Ils la voulaient tous pour son physique, mais son caractère repoussait le monde entier. Et c’était son but: que des relations charnelles.

[photos-car]

Chevrolet Silverado HD ZR2 Bison 2024 - Un camion robuste et fiable

Le Chevrolet Silverado HD 2024 a plus de puissance, plus de couple et plus de raffinement.

GM vient de dévoiler le Chevrolet Silverado HD 2024 rafraîchi , révélant un nouveau style extérieur, un espace intérieur remanié, de nouvelles fonctionnalités technologiques et des mises à niveau de la gamme de groupes motopropulseurs, ainsi que le nouveau Silverado HD ZR2.

Chevrolet a créé le camion parfait pour les acheteurs de poids lourds avec le Silverado HD 2024. Il offre des améliorations au moteur, un intérieur remanié, une apparence imposante et une technologie de remorquage optionnelle révolutionnaire. De plus, il est doté d'un système d'infodivertissement amélioré et de technologies de sécurité active mises à jour. Nouveau look, nouvelle attitude Le Chevrolet Silverado HD 2024 est à nouveau proposé dans les configurations 2500HD et 3500HD, ainsi que dans les styles de carrosserie Regular Cab, Double Cab et Crew Cab. Les modèles Chevrolet Silverado 3500HD 2024 actualisés offrent également des configurations à double roue arrière et une capacité de remorquage jusqu'à 36 000 livres, tandis que les cotes de remorquage maximales pour le Silverado 2500HD augmentent de 18 510 à 22 500 livres.

La gamme de niveaux de finition comprend Work Truck! Custom, LT, LTZ et High Country! tandis que le nouveau Chevrolet Silverado HD ZR2 rejoindra la gamme plus tard dans l'année modèle. Les clients peuvent également opter pour une multitude de packs et de modèles en édition spéciale! notamment la Z71 Sport Edition, la Z71 Chrome Sport Edition! la Midnight Special Edition et la Alaskan Snow Plow Special Edition. Nouvelle transmission, diesel plus puissant Sous le capot, le Chevy Silverado HD 2024 berce le moteur à essence V8 L8T de 6,6 L de série, tandis que le moteur Duramax turbodiesel V8 L5P de 6,6 L est en option. Le moteur diesel dispose également d'une augmentation de puissance certifiée SAE à 470 chevaux et 975 livres-pied. Le moteur diesel et le moteur à essence se connectent de série à la transmission automatique à 10 vitesses de marque Allison , qui remplace la transmission à six vitesses GM équipée auparavant de modèles à essence.

Quant à l'extérieur, le Chevrolet Silverado HD 2024 annonce son arrivée avec un nouveau carénage avant! des phares et une calandre! avec des signatures d'éclairage LED en forme de C qui s'inspirent du Chevy Silverado 1500 rafraîchi . Les crochets de remorquage sont désormais de série sur toute la gamme! tandis que les clients peuvent choisir parmi six nouvelles couleurs extérieures! notamment Sterling Grey, Dark Ash, Radiant Red, Auburn Metallic, Lakeshore Blue Metallic et Meteorite Metallic. Notez que Lakeshore Blue Metallic et Meteorite Metallic ont tous deux une disponibilité tardive. De nouvelles options de roues et de pneus sont également sur la table. https://youtu.be/OtPdF_QQMG8 Visage frais, intérieur plus flashy Les modèles LT, LTZ et High Country ont un intérieur nouvellement conçu avec un tableau de bord entièrement repensé. Il abrite un grand écran d'infodivertissement de 13,4 pouces. Un écran personnalisable de 12,3 pouces complète le nouveau système d'infodivertissement. L'écran d'infodivertissement et les autres commandes sont également inclinés vers le conducteur! ce qui leur donne une perspective de "centre de commande". Cette philosophie de conception s'inspire directement du look simple et emblématique des camions de la série C/K des années 1970 et 1980.

Ce centre de commande plus intelligent comprend également une zone de chargement de téléphone sans fil repensée pour réduire les distractions et une console abaissée. La console abaissée offre tout l'espace d'une banquette tout en fonctionnant comme une console centrale. Devant le conducteur se trouve le système d'affichage tête haute configurable en option. Le Chevrolet Silverado HD 2024 fera ses grands débuts publics à la State Fair of Texas le 29 septembre . La production démarre au cours du premier semestre de l'année civile 2023 à l' usine GM Flint Assembly au Michigan et à l' usine GM Oshawa au Canada. Les détails exacts des prix sont attendus plus près du début de la production. Site officiel Chevrolet Galerie - Chevrolet Silverado HD 2024

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[jimmysabater]

UN SUSPECT PRESQUE PARFAIT Dimanche 2 septembre Nous nous sommes retrouvés face aux ruines de l’abbaye du Forgrisant. J’avais les poumons comme oppressés, mais j’ai fait mine d’aller bien pour ne pas montrer la moindre faiblesse devant Émilie. Elle voulait que je l’immortalise dans son nouveau manteau en cuir noir avec l’appareil photo que mon père m’avait offert pour mon anniversaire. Là, tout près des falaises, le vent est parfois si violent qu’il fait danser les nuages comme une Gitane affolée. Le décor est parfait, si l’on apprécie le ciel aux teintes violacées, les vieilles pierres et le visage anguleux d’Émilie dissimulé derrière trop de maquillage. Nous voulions faire des dizaines de photos et les donner à Eliott en espérant qu’il accepterait de les retoucher, comme il l’avait fait avec talent pour son exposition aux Beaux-Arts. Il devait d’ailleurs nous rejoindre pour nous donner des conseils techniques de pro mais, une fois encore, il nous a fait faux bond. Depuis qu’elle fréquente les sœurs Dupays, Émilie se rêve en vampire, en créature immortelle, en buveuse de sang ou en princesse des ténèbres. Nous recherchons inlassablement des crucifix, vieux manuscrits, armes historiques, bijoux mystiques et autres accessoires qui aideraient à projeter les futurs spectateurs dans l’univers lugubre que nous voulons créer pour eux. Je ne crois pas que ce long manteau avantage sa silhouette si fine, mais tout ce qui peut rendre Émilie heureuse me rend heureux. Un jour, quand j’en aurai le courage, je lui avouerai mes sentiments et elle deviendra ma petite amie. Du moins, je l’espère. J’en rêve depuis des semaines. Émilie doit mesurer un mètre soixante-huit. Elle a des cheveux auburn bouclés, avec des taches de rousseur autour d’un petit nez en trompette. Ses grands yeux en amande pétillent comme si un petit feu d’artifice était constamment en préparation. Elle a de minuscules lèvres roses et une peau d’une douceur incroyable. Je ne l’ai jamais réellement caressée. Mais un jour, alors qu’elle changeait de pull, sa pince à cheveux s’est coincée dans les mailles de la laine et je l’ai aidée à l’enlever. C’est là que j’ai senti comme sa peau était douce et comme elle dégageait un parfum délicat. Si elle savait à quel point ce simple contact a suffi pour me hanter depuis, chaque nuit. – Qu’est-ce que tu en dis, si je monte sur la petite tour et que je regarde vers la mer ? – Oui, vas-y et prends ton air le plus froid possible, en levant bien le menton. – Ha ! Oui, tu as raison. Excellente idée ! Ses compliments me vont toujours droit au cœur. – Que fait Eliott ? a demandé Émilie, il ne t’avait pas dit qu’il viendrait ? – Il doit avoir changé d’avis. Il est champion pour ce qui est de poser des lapins. – Qu’est-ce que tu en penses, si tu me prenais là-bas, au bord de la falaise ? La mer a l’air déchaînée, ça rendrait bien. J’ai hésité. – Je ne crois pas que ça soit une bonne idée. – Allons, tu ne risques rien. Tu n’as pas besoin de t’approcher du bord. Émilie s’est avancée vers le précipice, tout sourire, comme si cela l’amusait. – Arrête, j’ai… j’ai une peur panique du vide, ai-je dit en la suivant très lentement. – Je sais, Quentin. Tu me le dis à chaque fois. Mais, avec moi, tu ne crains rien. J’avais soudain l’impression qu’elle prenait un délicieux plaisir à me voir en proie à mes vieux démons. Il y avait quelque chose de théâtral dans son comportement, à ce moment-là. Ses pas, d’une incroyable fluidité, semblaient rythmés par un métronome. Émilie ne jouait plus les personnages gothiques qu’elle vénérait. Non. Elle en était devenue un. L’appareil photo placé au niveau de mon abdomen, je la mitraillais, comme si sa satisfaction allait faire mon bonheur. J’étais néanmoins tétanisé par sa comédie. Mes jambes furent soudain paralysées par la peur du vide si proche ; seul mon buste s’animait encore. Je ne savais pas ce que je cadrais, mes yeux étaient devenus des objectifs qui ne faisaient que nourrir ma phobie. Une fois parvenue à quelques centimètres du bord, elle s’est tournée vers moi, tout en ouvrant les bras en croix. Son manteau en cuir noir flottait bruyamment au vent comme un drapeau célébrant sa victoire. – Vas-y, Quentin. Je sens qu’elles vont être superbes. On les mettra sur Facebook et Eliott regrettera de ne pas être venu. – Ne reste pas si près du bord, Émilie, tu me fais peur. Sans doute autant par provocation que par défi, Émilie s’est accroupie face à moi : – J’aimerais te demander une faveur, a-t-elle dit d’un ton presque condescendant. – Oui, tout ce que tu voudras, mais je reste ici. – De toute façon, tu n’accepteras pas. – Essaie toujours. – J’aimerais m’allonger là, sur l’herbe, la tête dans le vide comme si j’allais tomber, et que tu viennes au-dessus de moi, ta main faisant mine de m’étrangler. Ça serait vraiment génial comme photo. Je n’en revenais pas. Alors que je ne désirais que son bonheur et que j’étais à deux doigts de lui avouer mes sentiments les plus profonds, Émilie se délectait de me voir lutter contre l’une de mes plus grandes failles. – Tu es perverse, lui ai-je lâché. Quel intérêt de faire ce genre de photo ? Ça ne sera même pas joli. – Tu te poses trop de questions, mon petit Quentin. Je suis certaine que si Eliott avait été là, il aurait trouvé cette idée super. C’est ce qui te rend si immature, Quentin : tu n’oses rien ! Si ce reproche m’a transperçé le cœur, ce n’était rien comparé à la désinvolture avec laquelle Émilie expédiait mon cas. – On va rentrer, c’est tout. C’était une très mauvaise idée de faire ces photos avec toi. Elle allait se relever, quand elle m’a vu approcher à grands pas. Je ne sais pas ce qui me motivait le plus. Était-ce de lui prouver qu’elle avait tort ? Était-ce de lui montrer que je valais mieux qu’Eliott ? Était-ce d’enserrer son cou dans ma main pour la faire taire ? Même allongée ainsi sur le sol, les cheveux balayés par un vent violent, quatre-vingts mètres au-dessus d’une mer déchaînée qui venait claquer la falaise, Émilie affichait son petit air triomphant : – Je suis fière de toi, m’a-t-elle dit avec son sourire amusé. Si tu arrives à dépasser tes peurs pour moi, tu iras loin dans la vie. Je n’écoutais plus ce qu’elle disait. Je me suis baissé brutalement pour saisir son cou et l’enserrer fermement. J’ai laissé le doigt sur le déclencheur, faisant glisser l’appareil sans regarder l’écran de contrôle. Sur la quantité de photos, il y en aurait sans doute une de réussie. – Tu… tu me fais mal ! Mais je n’ai pas prêté la moindre attention à sa plainte. N’était-ce pas ce qu’elle voulait afficher à travers ses looks gothiques et son air sinistre ? Ne cherchait-elle pas à montrer combien elle souffrait intérieurement, combien elle se sentait lasse de la vie, combien elle était déjà résignée, déçue de moi et du reste ? L’écran lumineux de l’appareil est passé devant mes yeux et soudain l’image m’a rappelé à la réalité. Émilie était là, sous ma main tendue, crispée, terrorisée, les yeux exorbités. En contrebas, les vagues semblaient me narguer, tenter de m’attirer, d’exercer sur moi cette insupportable pression qui m’invitait perpétuellement à me laisser hypnotiser. Peut-être qu’un jour, trop faible, je sauterai dans le vide pour me débarrasser de cette peur idiote. Je me relevai d’un bond, observant Émilie qui massait déjà son cou. – Quentin ! Qu’est-ce qui t’a pris ? J’ai eu une de ces peurs ! J’ai soupiré. – Je n’ai fait que rendre la scène plus réaliste. N’était-ce pas ce que tu voulais ? Dubitative, elle m’a observé du coin de l’œil. – Rentrons, a-t-elle lâché d’une voix encore enrouée, comme si c’était une punition. Nous avons assez de photos, de toute façon. Tu me laisses la carte mémoire ou tu passes chez moi la copier sur mon ordinateur ? – Je préfère que tu la copies, on ne sait jamais ce qui peut arriver. Nous sommes montés sur nos vélos dans un silence de mort. Quelque chose venait de se rompre entre nous. Peut-être était-ce sa confiance que je venais de perdre. Dans le fond, je n’en avais plus rien à faire. Elle m’avait déjà catalogué comme « immature », ce qui ruinait définitivement mes chances de sortir avec elle. Elle en pinçait pour Eliott et n’avait qu’à coucher avec lui ! Ce qu’elle pensait et ferait, tout cela serait désormais le cadet de mes soucis. Pendant la route, sur le chemin qui longe les falaises du Forgrisant, nous n’avons plus échangé le moindre mot. Elle a tenté de me parler, mais comme je roulais devant et qu’elle se trouvait loin derrière, je n’ai plus prêté attention à elle. Je suis un peu comme mon père. Quand quelqu’un me déçoit, je ne sais pas faire semblant. Alors, je me détache de cette personne, comme si je lui devenais imperméable. J’ai attendu Émilie plusieurs minutes devant l’entrée de sa grande maison avant qu’elle arrive, essoufflée et vexée que je l’aie tant devancée. Je lui ai tendu la carte mémoire sans prononcer un mot. – Je te la rapporte tout de suite, a-t-elle dit en me l’arrachant de la main. Je ne serai pas longue. Elle a pris son temps avant de réapparaître avec un petit sourire presque malin. – Voilà, j’ai copié toutes les images. Ne t’en fais pas, je n’ai pris que les nôtres, je n’ai pas chargé les tiennes. Évidemment qu’elle ne devait pas copier mes photos personnelles, quelle idée ! Elle s’est approchée de moi et a embrassé ma joue, comme si j’étais le dernier des gamins. – À demain, mon petit Quentin ! Au fait, tu as vu que la manche de ta chemise était déchirée ? Si tu étais moins soupe au lait, ce genre d’accident n’arriverait pas. Elle a aussitôt tourné les talons, satisfaite, triomphante, parfaite dans son rôle de donneuse de leçons. Cette fille doit être un peu dingue. Cet après-midi, elle semblait résolument différente de l’Émilie que je croyais connaître. Peut-être qu’à force de rêver à ces obscures créatures de pacotille, elle finit par réellement leur ressembler. La métamorphose est déjà effrayante, alors qu’elle ne fait que commencer. Lundi 3 septembre Papa est passé à l’improviste. Il avait sa tête des mauvais jours. On aurait dit qu’il n’avait pas dormi de la nuit ; il n’était d’ailleurs même pas rasé : – Tu as vu ta mère ? C’est mon père tout craché de poser ce genre de questions. Il sait bien que je vis avec elle et que je la vois chaque matin. – Tu lui diras que j’ai déposé son chèque et que d’après mon avocat, ce n’est pas à moi de le faire. J’ai horreur de ces sempiternelles commissions administratives. Ils se haïssent de manière viscérale et nous utilisent comme messagers pour se balancer leurs piques. Il est ensuite allé dans la chambre de Jonathan, pas encore rentré de l’école. À travers la cloison, je l’ai entendu toucher ses bibelots, les reposer, soupirer de son air dépité. Papa ne supporte pas Jonathan. Il trouve toujours un excellent prétexte pour venir lui faire quelques reproches, du genre : « Tu pourrais ranger ta chambre, espèce de petit cochon », « Si tes notes sont mauvaises, fini la PSP et la Wii », « Tiens-toi correctement, sinon tu vas avoir le dos voûté comme ton imbécile heureux d’oncle ». Du haut de ses onze ans, il y a longtemps que Jonathan, mon petit frère, a compris son manège. Sa chambre pourrait faire la couverture d’un catalogue Ikea, toujours impeccable ; il figure aussi parmi les meilleurs de sa classe et ne dit jamais le moindre mot grossier. Bref, il est tout le contraire de son père. Papa ne s’attaque jamais à moi, sans doute parce que mon adolescence lui rappelle la sienne. Cela l’agace d’ailleurs au plus haut point, mais il me fiche la paix. En même temps, j’ai dix-sept ans et je lui ai déjà tenu tête à plusieurs reprises. Quand il est très énervé, il devient incontrôlable, et comme je ne supporte pas qu’il touche maman ou Jonathan, j’ai dû lui rappeler que j’étais capable de m’interposer. J’ai essayé d’appeler Eliott à plusieurs reprises, mais sans aucun succès. Sa mère m’a dit qu’il n’était pas rentré de la nuit et qu’elle s’inquiétait. Elle avait l’air désespérée d’avoir un fils aussi bohème : – Il pourrait tout de même appeler, tu ne trouves pas ? – Oui, madame. – Il ne t’a pas dit où il allait ? – Non. Il ne me dit pas tout, vous savez. – Tu es pourtant son meilleur ami. Je me trompe ? – Vous avez raison, mais il a ses petits secrets, c’est normal. – Si tu le vois, dis-lui de me passer un coup de fil. – Oui, madame. J’ai fait mon devoir de maths avant d’emmener Caporal, le chien de Dimitri, le voisin du dessus, en promenade. Il n’a qu’un an, mais sait déjà faire des tas de tours. Son maître lui a appris à jouer les fins limiers. On dépose un peu de salive sur un objet, on le lui fait sentir et on le cache n’importe où dans l’appartement. Il le retrouve généralement en moins de cinq minutes. C’est assez spectaculaire. Après quoi, ça ne l’amuse plus et il veut jouer à autre chose. Quand je vivrai seul, je prendrai un chien, moi aussi. Le problème, c’est qu’il faut le sortir sans arrêt et lui offrir toutes sortes de distractions, si on veut qu’il soit équilibré. La plupart des gens adoptent des animaux parce qu’ils sont mignons, pour les caresser, pour leur côté affectueux, mais ils ne pensent absolument pas à leurs vrais besoins. Dimitri m’a raconté qu’il passait tellement de temps à balader son chien pour qu’il se dépense qu’il ne regarde quasiment plus la télévision. Cette fois, j’ai emmené Caporal jusqu’au vieux port, là où tous les copains se retrouvent en été pour faire du skate ou du roller. Florian était là avec sa nouvelle petite copine. Ils avaient l’air de s’ennuyer grave. La fille m’a dit qu’il y avait eu un meurtre et que deux types de la police étaient passés peu de temps auparavant pour interroger des pêcheurs. J’en ai eu froid dans le dos. Si un trou comme Meridiart devient un nid de criminels, c’est que l’humanité est pourrie jusqu’à la moelle. Il ne se passe jamais rien dans ce coin paumé. Nous sommes comme coupés du monde. Les années défilent, mais le temps n’a aucune prise sur cette ville où tout semble figé pour l’éternité. J’ai aussi croisé Émilie, qui marchait avec ses copines. Quand elle m’a vu sur un banc avec Caporal, elle s’est arrêtée net, avant de chuchoter quelque chose à ses clones. Après, elle m’a lancé un sourire très bizarre et elle est repartie sans même me dire un simple « salut ». Cette fille est complètement dingue. Hier matin, elle était hyper impatiente de me voir. Il fallait « absolument » que je la prenne en photo le plus vite possible, avec mon « super appareil » que je maîtrisais « parfaitement » et dont elle avait vu les « photos magnifiques » sur mon blog. Aujourd’hui, elle me traite comme le dernier des inconnus. Émilie est ce genre de fille tellement pressée de devenir adulte qu’elle en oublie de choisir le bon modèle. Mardi 4 septembre J’ai été réveillé vers quatre heures du matin par le vibreur de mon portable que j’ai aussitôt éteint, de peur de réveiller maman et Jonathan, qui dorment dans les chambres mitoyennes. Plus tard, j’ai fait un rêve étrange où je voyais Eliott et Émilie qui s’embrassaient passionnément tout en se caressant de façon très démonstrative. C’était carrément insupportable. Émilie prenait un plaisir malsain à me rappeler que je n’avais pas eu la moindre relation sexuelle avec une fille depuis des mois et se délectait en exhibant son statut de femme accomplie. Autant cette fille me rendait dingue deux jours auparavant, autant je ne peux absolument plus la sentir après l’épisode d’avant-hier. En me levant, je n’ai pas prêté attention au journal qui traînait sur la table de la cuisine. C’est en posant mon bol de cacao que j’ai vu le visage si familier d’Eliott en première page. « Le corps d’un adolescent retrouvé mort. » Mon sang n’a fait qu’un tour. L’espace d’une seconde, il m’a semblé que le monde s’écroulait et que je n’étais plus qu’un simple acteur dans le film de ma vie. « C’est en début de soirée que des marins ont repéré la silhouette d’un corps étendu sur des rochers, au pied des falaises du Forgrisant. Ils ont alors alerté les autorités qui ont confirmé le décès d’un adolescent de dix-huit ans, suite à une chute de quatre-vingt-cinq mètres. Selon le témoignage d’un membre de sa famille qui refuse la possibilité d’un suicide, Eliott Ferrera n’a pu faire qu’une rencontre malheureuse, plusieurs objets comme son téléphone et son portefeuille n’ayant, pour l’heure, pas été retrouvés. La brigade criminelle de Châtel-sur-Mer n’écarte aucune hypothèse, mais la piste de l’homicide semble privilégiée même si, de tempérament plutôt introverti, nul ne peut affirmer avec certitude que le jeune homme n’a pas mis fin à ses jours. Des prélèvements ADN ainsi qu’une inspection de ce théâtre macabre ont déjà été effectués. L’enquête s’annonce néanmoins des plus ardues pour le commissaire Adriaensen et ses hommes. On le sait, la mer ayant été très agitée ces derniers jours, nombre de preuves ont pu y disparaître sans qu’on ait aucun espoir de les récupérer. » Je suis tombé assis sur ma chaise, les yeux écarquillés, incapable de croire ce que je venais de lire, tant cela me semblait irréel. J’ai finalement pris mon portable et j’ai lu le message d’Esteban qui avait tenté de m’annoncer la même chose au milieu de la nuit. Je l’ai immédiatement appelé : – Tu as vu l’article dans le journal ? Eliott… Il… Il est mort ! Il me semblait incroyable d’associer de tels mots. – Oui, dit-il, certains pensent que ça pourrait être un meurtre… LIRE LA SUITE https://www.amazon.fr/Suspect-Presque-Parfait-Jimmy-Sabater/dp/1723922323/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1540804015&sr=1-1

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

Higurashi Month 2022, Day 9: Shattered

Higurashi Month prompts archive: AO3 

The parfait, creamy and shining and drizzled with luscious fruity syrup, shattered in her hand. The restaurant's customers halted their conversation as dozens of eyes turned her way, a low buzz of speculation starting up, but Shion could no more have paid attention to them than she could have flown. She mumbled something vaguely apologetic, her head feeling numb, and swayed her way to the breakroom. Or maybe staggered. It was hard to tell.

Her hand was a pulsing point of pain, and dully, she looked down, seeing tiny twinkling shards of glass lodged in her flesh, blood oozing over her pale hand like the raspberry syrup drizzled over the parfait. At any other time, Shion might have laughed, but now…now she wasn't sure if she could ever laugh again. All the light and joy and laughter had been sucked from the world the moment she heard the news.

It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

Moving hastily now, and with more control, she started shedding her frilly, revealing work uniform. Shion didn't care that undressing made her hand burn as the glass shards dug deeper into her skin, or how she was leaving blotchy red handprints on the custom fabric. She didn't care about it when she pulled on her street clothes, and she didn't care about the twittering of her fellow waitresses as those not occupied with a task gathered around her or hovered at the edge of the room. Someone grabbed her wrist above the bloody palm, distant words about bandages and cleaning it echoing faintly in her ears, and with a sudden flare of anger and strength Shion wrenched her arm away.

And she began to run.

She burst through the doors, weaving between confused and concerned customers and anyone who might try and make a grab for her, ducking under worrying, reaching hands. Her low heels clattered on the steps up to Angel Mort as she took them three at a time, recklessly, not caring about how it made her skirt ride up her thighs, or how high the chance was of breaking a heel and falling. If she could have flown, she would have done that, but there was no time, not even an instant, to grab a car or a bike and hotwire it. Every moment, every half-second of pause between her and her destination, was an untold agony that could not be endured. She would run until her heels gave out, then run barefoot on the dirty pavement, and when her legs finally failed her she would dig her newly-healed hands into the pavement and crawl.

Anything to get there in time to confirm this news to be a lie.

She could never have done this in the city, where cars were whizzing by on the streets and you actually had to pay attention to traffic lights. Shion only paid enough attention at each intersection to make sure she wouldn't be run over when she dashed into the street, uncaring of which color the lights had been. She ran, and she ran, and she ran, until at last she reached the police station. She smacked the door open with her injured palm, feeling the glass dig deeper like the agony biting into her heart, and surveyed the room full of startled policemen with wild eyes.

"Oishi!"

The old fat detective had actually gotten to his feet, and Shion rushed for him, grabbing his collar in her bloody hands and shaking desperately.

"It's not true!" she cried in his face. "It's a lie, right!? It has to be a lie! Satoshi-kun can't be dead!"

"Sonozaki-san –please!" Oishi grunted, levering a hand between them to try and pry her off. The others hovered around her, babbling faintly about assaulting a police officer (or was that a memory, a distant and echoing thought of how much trouble she'd be in for this), but Shion could not hear or think past the ringing in her ears, and she would not be pried away. "Calm down!"

"I won't calm down, I won't, I can't!" Tears filled her eyes. "Tell me Satoshi-kun's okay!"

There was a hint of auburn hair at the edge of her vision, the familiar white flap of a labcoat, and Shion whirled around as she felt the pinch of a needle in her skin. It jarred the device loose, but as the syringe clattered to the floor Shion saw that it was already empty, and the room was spinning around her.

"Please…" she croaked weakly, her tears spilling down her face.

And then she collapsed.

~*~

Shion's hand was neatly bandaged when she woke up again, with a faint stinging underneath that reminded her of antiseptic. She was laying on a bench in a grey room that she recognized as the police station, underneath someone's uniform coat. She pushed it aside as she sat up, her eyes searching the room for Satoshi-kun. He would be worried for her, if he'd heard she collapsed. He would want to come and see if she was okay. He was that kind of person.

A tight fist of fear closed around her heart as she saw that the area around her was empty, that there was only Doctor Irie sitting at a desk that clearly wasn't his, fiddling with a syringe case. As he restlessly flipped the lip open and shut, open and shut, Shion saw with surprise that there were two needles inside, both empty. When had he used the second one? And for what?

"Coach?" she asked, her voice raspy from fear and the dryness of her throat, and his head jerked up as he slammed the case shut, like it was a guilty secret. Kind eyes fixed on her from behind his glasses, and Doctor Irie immediately rolled his chair sideways, coming out from behind the desk.

"How do you feel, Shion-san?" he asked.

Drained. Exhausted. Her very spirit felt rubbed harsh and raw, like a friction-burn on her skin. Her throat was sore from shouting. And most of all, cold fear pulsed along her veins like blood.

"I'm fine." she said hoarsely. "Is there any water?"

Doctor Irie got her a paper cup, and Shion sat up to drink it. She drained the cup to the bottom in one swift gulp, before setting it aside and looking at the doctor. He seemed –worried. Stressed, beyond what Shion's wild ranting and collapse could have accomplished.

She figured it was as good an opening as any.

"It's not true, right?" Shion asked, no longer screaming the words frantically, but just as desperate to believe them, to hear him say yes. "I mean, you're the only doctor around here. They would've called you in for an autopsy. It's- it's just some stupid rumor, isn't it?"

Doctor Irie did not say anything, his lips compressed into a thin line. He did not look at her. There was pain in his eyes.

"Coach?" Shion whispered, her voice sounding even more fragile than it felt.

Doctor Irie did not respond.

Oh.

So…it was true, then.

"Ah." Shion said simply, all the fight, all the energy, all the hope draining out of her as her body drooped. It felt like the gears of the world had twisted hideously out of order, grinding and meshing back together into this obscene, hurtful, impossible truth, and she couldn't do a thing to stop it. She was just a helpless girl, unable to fight against the raging currents of reality any more than a wisp of straw could hold back a hurricane.

Shion started to weep.

She was too wrapped up in her grief to notice or care where Doctor Irie went as he stood, because the bottom had gone out of her world and there was nothing, nothing, to care or hope for again. She cried until her cheeks were raw and her throat was even scratchier than before, cried until the very act of sobbing hurt, and still she had not even dropped a fragment into the ocean of her grief. She was only ruthlessly dragged back to reality when she heard the door opening, and then it was because there was a dull, deadened part of her that still dared to hope that Satoshi-kun was still somehow okay. But it was just Doctor Irie, arguing softly but furiously with Detective Oishi.

"-to give her some time, for pity's sake!" Coach was saying in an angry undertone, his gentle face harsher than Shion had ever remembered seeing it. But Oishi shouldered him aside, his bulk and training making it easy for him as he forced his way into the room. Doctor Irie watched him with a sour twist to his mouth, but Shion just stared at the old man, her swollen eyes dull and lifeless.

"Sonozaki-san." Detective Oishi said aloud after a pause as they all regarded each other without words, addressing her directly. Shion found that she didn't have the energy to care as he ponderously settled into a chair across from her. "I want to talk to you about Hojo-kun."

"He's dead." Shion choked, finally voicing the awful, awful words as two more hot tears etched their way down her sore cheeks. Detective Oishi fumbled in a pocket for his packet of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it. He seemed to need something to do with his hands.

"Do you know how he died?"

She shook her head.

"It was at the festival." Detective Oishi continued, holding his cigarette between two fingers and regarding the glowing ember at the end thoughtfully. "Apparently, some people heard screaming in the woods: the festival being what it is, nobody was as quick to help as they might be at another time of year. Still, nobody had time to do more than start getting worried before Tamae Hojo staggered out of the woods, covered in blood. Her own, and her nephew's. She told the crowd that she had been attacked, and her attacker was dead."

Hatred smoldered in a tight, curled coal within Shion's chest as Detective Oishi stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and took a long draw.

"We've been putting the facts together after the event. Hojo-kun quit the doctor's sports team a few weeks ago, didn't he?"

"H-he was saving money for his job." Shion quavered, knowing it for a lie.

"But he took the bat home." Detective Oishi pressed. "He then called the Sonozaki household the night before the festival, asking your sister to take Hojo-chan with her to the festival. According to Tamae Hojo, he then told her about some illegally dumped furniture in the woods that might be worth some money. When she went out to investigate, he appeared and tried to bludgeon her to death with the baseball bat he had retained from his team."

"She deserved it." Shion croaked, and admission of guilt or not, she wouldn't take those bitter words away. Detective Oishi regarded her with something almost like sympathy.

"Whether she deserved it or not, Hojo-kun still concocted an almost textbook scheme for premeditated murder." he said, and Shion swallowed her tears, her rawness, her sharp and bleeding edges and compressed them into a crystal of diamond-hard fury in her chest as she finally straightened her shoulders and looked the detective in the eye.

"So what?" she spat. "What does any of that have to do with me? He's dead."

Her voice broke on the last word, as much as she tried to keep it strong. More tears warmed her eyes, but she stubbornly clamped down on the welling grief.

"Were you an accomplice?" Oishi asked implacably, holding her gaze. Shion's eyes widened a little –of all the accusations, she had never expected that one.

"I- no." she whispered without thinking, guilt pressing on her chest like a stone. "If I was, I would have- I would have helped. He wouldn't have failed."

He wouldn't have died.

"That's enough, detective." Doctor Irie said, his voice sharp as he went to put his hand on Shion's quivering shoulders. "Shion-san does not have to stay here, and she does not have to answer your questions. I think you should be ashamed of yourself, pouncing on a grief-stricken girl like this. Come."

This last was addressed to her, and Shion stood up, unable to think of a reason why she shouldn't. She let Coach pull her out the door because she could not think of where else she could go. His grip was firm, but kind as he ushered her into his car, watching her out of the corner of his eye to make sure she was buckled in before starting it up.

Shion let her body slouch against the outside door, her very thoughts numb and unmoving. She felt oddly calmer, now, than she had been when she ran out of Angel Mort, and her thoughts were clearer.

That didn’t make it any better.

In some ways, it made things worse, because the memories that played out before her eyes were shown with aching clarity –Satoshi, patting her head; Satoshi, protecting his sister; Satoshi, sounding out her real name for the first time with wonder rather than disdain on his tongue; the underground Saiguden, where she had sacrificed so much to keep them together. Gone, now. All gone, or all worthless, and more tears etched their way down her face as Coach drove quietly through the streets, weeping silently now rather than sobbing.

She didn’t care where she was going. Doctor Irie could have been taking her to be dissected on a slab for all Shion cared: without Satoshi, life wasn’t worth living.

As though her thoughts had stirred him, Doctor Irie began to speak. His voice was low and calm, his eyes averted, and somehow that made it easier to listen. She supposed he had practice in dealing with people deep in the throes of grief: he was a doctor, after all.

“I want you to call me if anything happens.” Coach said softly. “Grief is- this is a lot to deal with, especially alone. You should talk with your sister, your friends, your parents. If you don’t want to- that is, with your family situation-”

“What?” Shion croaked waspishly.

Doctor Irie drew in a long breath, his whole body expanding with it, before he let it out in a whoosh.

“Strong grief can have…adverse effects on someone.” he said slowly, his eyes sliding even further away from her. “Some people even report hallucinations…formication…”

“Formication?”

“The feeling of bugs crawling on your skin when nothing’s there.” Doctor Irie replied gravely, his fingers shifting slightly on the driving wheel. “It’ll make you want to scratch at your skin, which can cause irritations, rashes, even lesions. Promise you’ll tell me if you start feeling any symptoms? I have a medicine that will help.”

A medicine to help with grief. Shion coughed out a laugh at that idea, a harsh and bitter thing that crawled out of her throat like a clot of blackness. There was no medicine in the word that could help her, not any more.

Her mind dwelled on that as Doctor Irie drove her into the village, watching the familiar sights slide by with unseeing eyes. Satoshi…Satoshi-kun was dead. He was gone, and never coming back. Shion would never be able to fall in love with him, go on a date, hold his hand…so much of her life was gone.

Hojo.

Tamae Hojo.

Shion’s lips drew back in a snarl as the hated name and face oozed to the forefront of her mind. That bitch had tormented Satoshi-kun, and now, now she dared to take his life away, take him away from those that needed him. Poor Satoshi-kun. He had done so much to try and protect his sister, and when he had finally been pushed so far as to try and take her tormentor’s life, he had proven too frail to finish the job.

No, it wasn’t his fault. He was strong. He played baseball, he was a sportsman. He had tried his best to take his sister’s future into his own two hands, because he cared for her that much. That was how intensely and nobly he loved. It was Shion’s fault for not protecting him better, for not offering to help on that “business” he was skipping the festival for. She would have been able to help. She should have been helping, should have helped Satoshi-kun murder his aunt as Oishi suspected her of doing.

She would.

The answer came to her in a moment of breathless clarity, and Shion almost laughed. Yes, she could still help Satoshi-kun. Why waste her time grieving when she had a whole lifetime of sorrow ahead of her? Why spend days collapsed in grief when a far more productive use of her time was revenge?

Yes, she could see the shape of it now. One to die, one to disappear, and Satoshi-kun had already filled the first place. Shion might be an outcast in her family, but she was still a Sonozaki. She could still use the underground torture chambers, could still abduct a hated enemy of the village. No one would shed a tear or bat an eye when another Hojo went missing, after all. And then, oh, then, once Shion had gotten that bitch exactly where she wanted her, trapped her in the underground Sonozaki vaults…there was nothing she could not do with her. Shion could spend days tormenting the woman who had torn out her heart, making Tamae Hojo wish for death with every breath she took.

Shion set her mind on that path as her injured hand throbbed and pulsed with an echo of pain and Doctor Irie’s car whooshed past the chittering cicadas that filled Hinamizawa’s rural roadside.

AN: Formication is actually a real side-effect, involving the hallucinatory sensation of bugs crawling on or under your skin. It can be triggered by meth or other types of drugs, as well as some mental conditions.

[thebeginningaftertheendfr]

Chapitre 1 : La lumière au bout du tunnel

Je n'ai jamais cru à toute cette histoire de “la lumière au bout du tunnel” où les gens, après avoir vécu des expériences de mort imminente, se réveillent en sursaut, le corps couvert de sueurs froides en s’exclamant : « J’ai vu la lumière ! » Mais me voici actuellement dans ce soi-disant “tunnel” face à une lumière éblouissante, quand la dernière chose dont je me souviens était de dormir dans ma chambre (d'autres l'appellent la chambre royale).

Suis-je mort ? Si c'est le cas, comment ? Ai-je été assassiné ?

Je ne me souviens avoir fait de tort à personne, mais là encore, être une puissante personnalité publique a donné aux autres toutes sortes de raisons de vouloir ma mort.

En tous cas…

Je gravitais lentement autours cette lumière vive et, puisqu'il semblait que je n’allais me réveiller de sitôt, je ferais aussi bien de m’approcher d’elle.

Le voyage semblait prendre une éternité. Je m'attendais à moitié à ce qu'un chœur d'enfants chante un hymne angélique, me faisant signe vers ce que j'espérais être le paradis. Au lieu de cela, ma vision s'est transformée en un flou de rouge vif alors que des bruits attaquaient mes oreilles. Quand j'essayai de dire quelque chose, le seul son qui sortit semblait être un cri.

Les voix étouffées sont devenues plus claires et j'ai entendu prononcer un :

« Félicitations Monsieur et Madame, c'est un garçon en bonne santé. »

Attendez…

Je suppose que normalement, je devrais penser à quelque chose du genre “Merde, est-ce que je viens de naître ? Suis-je un bébé maintenant ?ˮ Mais étrangement, la seule pensée qui semblait surgir dans mon esprit était : “Donc, la lumière vive au bout du tunnel est la lumière qui traverse le vagin d’une femme…ˮ … Haha, n'y pensons plus.

En évaluant ma situation de manière rationnelle, à la manière d'un roi, j'ai remarqué, tout d'abord, que peu importe où se trouvait cet endroit, je comprenais la langue. C’est toujours un bon signe. Ensuite, après avoir lentement et douloureusement ouvert les yeux, mes rétines ont été bombardées de couleurs et de formes différentes. Il a fallu un peu de temps à mes yeux de bébé pour s'habituer à la lumière. Le médecin, ou du moins ce qui y ressemblait, en face de moi avait un visage peu attrayant avec de longs cheveux grisonnants sur la tête et le menton. Je jure que ses lunettes étaient suffisamment épaisses pour être à l'épreuve des balles. La chose étrange était qu'il ne portait pas de blouse de médecin et que nous n'étions même pas dans une chambre d'hôpital. Je semblais être né d'un rituel d'invocation satanique parce que cette pièce n'était éclairée que par quelques bougies et que nous étions par terre sur un lit de paille. J'ai regardé autour de moi et j'ai vu la femme qui m'a poussé hors de son tunnel. L’appeler ma mère devrait être plus juste. En prenant quelques secondes de plus pour voir à quoi elle ressemblait, je dois admettre qu'elle est vraiment belle, mais cela a peut-être été causé par ma vision à moitié floue. Plutôt qu'une beauté glamour, je ferais mieux de la décrire comme étant charmante, dans un sens très gentil et doux, avec des cheveux auburn distincts et des yeux bruns. Je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de remarquer ses longs cils et son nez guilleret qui me donnaient envie de m'accrocher à elle. Elle était tout simplement imprégné d’une sensation maternelle. Est-ce la raison pour laquelle les bébés étaient attirés par leur mère ?

J'ai décollé mon visage et me suis tourné à droite pour distinguer avec peine la personne que je supposais être mon père, reconnaissable par le sourire idiot et les yeux larmoyants avec lesquels il me regardait. Immédiatement, il a dit :

« Salut petit Art, je suis ton papa, peux-tu dire papa ? »

J'ai regardé autour de moi pour voir à la fois ma mère et le médecin de campagne (pour toute la certification qu'il semblait avoir), rouler des yeux alors que ma mère réussissait à se moquer.

« Chéri, il vient de naître. »

J'ai regardé de plus près mon père et j’ai pu voir pourquoi ma charmante mère était attirée par lui. Outre les quelques connections défaillantes qu'il semblait avoir en s'attendant à ce qu'un nouveau-né articule un mot de deux syllabes (je vais juste lui accorder le bénéfice du doute en pensanant qu'il a dit cela par joie de devenir père), il était un homme très charismatique avec une ligne de mâchoire carrée parfaitement rasée qui embellissait ses traits. Ses cheveux, d’une couleur brune très cendré, semblaient être courts, tandis que ses sourcils étaient épais et féroces, surplombant ses yeux comme une épée en forme d’accent circonflexe. Pourtant, ses yeux avaient une certaine douceur, que ce soit de la façon dont ses yeux tombaient un peu vers les bords ou de la teinte bleu profond, presque saphir, qui rayonnait de ses iris.

J'ai entendu la voix de ma mère dire :

« Hmm, il ne pleure pas. Docteur, je pensais que les nouveau-nés étaient censés pleurer à leur naissance. »

Au moment où j'ai fini de vérifier…heu je veux dire observer mes parents, le médecin en herbe s'est simplement excusé en disant :

« Il y a des cas où l'enfant ne pleure pas. Veuillez continuer à vous reposer pendant quelques jours, Mme Leywin, et faites-moi savoir si quelque chose arrive à Arthur, M. Leywin. »

Les deux semaines qui ont suivi mon voyage hors du tunnel ont été un nouveau type de torture pour moi. J'avais peu ou pas de contrôle moteur sur mes membres à part pouvoir les agiter, et même cela me fatiguait rapidement. Je dû rapidement me rendre à l’évidence : les bébés n’arrivaient pas vraiment à contrôler leurs doigts. Je ne sais pas comment vous annoncer cette nouvelle les gars, mais lorsque vous placez votre doigt dans la paume d’un bébé, il ne l’attrape pas parce qu’il vous aime bien, il l’attrape parce que c’est comme se faire frapper sous le genoux par le docteur ; c’est un réflexe. Oubliez le contrôle moteur, je ne peux même pas excréter mes déchets à ma discrétion. Je n'étais pas encore le maître de ma propre vessie. C'est juste… sorti. Haa…

Du côté positif, l'un des rares avantages auxquels je me suis heureusement habitué était d'être allaité par ma mère. Ne vous méprenez pas, je n’avais aucune arrière-pensée. C'est juste que le lait maternel avait un goût bien meilleur que les préparations pour nourrissons et a une meilleure valeur nutritionnelle, d’accord ? Euh… s'il vous plaît, croyez-moi.

Le lieu d'invocation de démons sataniques semblait être la chambre de mes parents et d'après ce que je m’imaginais, l'endroit dans lequel j'étais actuellement coincé serait, espérons-le, à une date antérieure à ma mort, dans le passé de mon monde, lorsque l'électricité n'avait pas encore été inventée. Ma mère a rapidement anéantie mes espoirs car, un jour, elle a guéri une égratignure sur ma jambe quand mon idiot de père m'a cogné contre un tiroir en me balançant. Non pas avec un pansement et un bisou magique, mais avec une lumière éclatante et brillante, et un léger bourdonnement s’échappant de ses mains effrayantes.

Où diable suis-je ?

Ma mère, nommée Alice Leywin, et mon père, nommé Reynolds Leywin, semblaient au moins être de bonnes personnes, sinon les meilleures. Je soupçonnais que ma mère était un ange parce que je n’ai jamais rencontré une personne aussi généreuse et chaleureuse. Tout en étant portée sur son dos grâceà une sorte de sangle pour bébé, je suis allée avec elle dans ce qu'elle appelait une ville. Cette ville, Ashber, était plus un simple avant-poste, car il n'y avait ni routes ni bâtiments. Nous avons marché sur le chemin de terre principal où il y avait des tentes des deux côtés avec divers marchands et vendeurs proposant toutes sortes de choses – allant des nécessités quotidiennes courantes à des choses sur lesquelles je ne pouvais pas m'empêcher de m’étonner, comme des armes, des armures et des pierres … Des roches brillantes !

La chose la plus étrange à laquelle je n'arrivais pas à m'habituer était les gens qui portaient des armes comme si c'était un sac de créateur de luxe. J'ai vu un homme d'environ 1m70 portant une gigantesque hache de guerre plus grosse que lui ! Quoi qu'il en soit, maman n'arrêtait pas de me parler, probablement pour essayer de me faire apprendre la langue plus rapidement, tout en faisant les courses du jour, en échangeant des plaisanteries avec diverses personnes passant ou travaillant dans les stands. Pendant ce temps, mon corps s'est de nouveau retourné contre moi, et je me suis endormi… Merde ! Ce corps inutile.

Assis sur les genoux de ma mère qui me caressait dans son sein, j'étais intensément concentrée sur mon père qui récitait actuellement un chant, qui sonnait comme une prière à la terre, pendant près d'une bonne minute. Je me penchai de plus en plus, tombant presque de mon siège humain en m'attendant à un phénomène magique, comme un tremblement de terre fendant le sol ou un golem de pierre géant émergeant. Après ce qui semblait être une éternité (croyez-moi, pour un bébé qui a la capacité d'attention d'un poisson rouge, c'était le cas.) Trois rochers de la taille d’un homme adulte ont émergé du sol et ont heurté un arbre à proximité.

Au nom de… c'était quoi ?

J'ai agité mes bras de colère, mais mon père idiot a interprété cela comme un "WOW" et a eu un grand sourire sur son visage en disant :

« Ton papa est génial hein ! »

Non, mon père était un bien meilleur combattant. Quand il a mis ses deux gantelets en fer, je me suis même senti obligé de laisser tomber mes sous-vêtements (ou ma couche) pour lui. Avec des mouvements rapides et précis qui étaient surprenants pour sa carrure, ses poings avaient suffisamment de force pour briser le mur du son, mais étaient suffisamment fluides pour ne pas laisser d'ouverture. Dans mon monde, il aurait été classé comme un combattant de haut niveau, dirigeant une escouade de soldats, mais pour moi, c'était juste mon idiot de père.

Pour ce que j'ai appris, ce monde semblait être un monde assez simple rempli de magie et de guerriers, où le pouvoir et la richesse décidaient de son rang dans la société. En ce sens, ce n’était pas trop différent de mon ancien monde, à part le manque de technologie et la légère différence entre la magie et le ki. Dans mon ancien monde, les guerres étaient devenues une forme presque obsolète de règlement des différends entre pays. Ne vous méprenez pas, bien sûr, il y avait encore des batailles, mais à plus petite échelle, et des armées étaient encore nécessaires pour la sécurité des citoyens. Cependant, les différends concernant le bien-être d'un pays reposaient soit sur un duel entre les dirigeants de leur pays, limité à l'utilisation du ki et d'armes de combat rapproché, soit sur une bataille simulée entre pelotons, où des armes à feu limitées étaient autorisées, pour des différends plus petits. Par conséquent, les rois n'étaient pas l’homme ventripotent typique assis sur le trône et commandant les autres par ignorance, mais devaient être le combattant le plus fort pour représenter son pays.

Assez parlé de ça.

La monnaie dans ce nouveau monde semblait assez simple d'après les échanges que ma mère avait avec les marchands. Le cuivre était la forme la plus faible de la monnaie, puis venait l'argent, suivi de l'or. Bien que je n'avais encore rien vu coûter autant qu'une pièce d'or, les familles normales semblaient très bien pouvoir vivre de quelques pièces de cuivre par jour.

100 pièces de Cuivre = 1 pièce d’Argent

100 pièces d'Argent = 1 pièce d'Or

Chaque jour impliquait de perfectionner mon nouveau corps, de maîtriser les fonctions motrices résidant au plus profond de moi. Ce régime confortable a rapidement changé.

Chapitre suivant