#beatrice is such an insanely well rounded

[simplykorra]

what you are is beautiful

[ultimate-character-design]

The Ultimate Character Design Tournament

Please remember to vote for characters solely based on design!

Beatrice | Umineko When They Cry

She is Beatrice, "The Golden Witch". Nobody knows if she really exists, but supposedly, she gave Kinzo Ushiromiya ten tons of golds. She was supposed to be her mistress, and after she died, if isolated himself trying to resurrect her. - Look at her hair! Her hairdress is incredible, must be hard to make! - LOOK AT HER DRESS! Ryukishi does draw hands well, but GOSH hes knows how to draw clothes! - The rose in her hair is a nice signature. Plus, it matches with the presence of a rose garden in Rokkenjima. - Also, look at the colors. Four colors stand out: gold, red, black and blue. The four main colours of Umineko, with a stong symbolicism. It is the perfect design of a mythical, extremely wealthy witch.

Lio Fotia | Promare

By all rights this design shouldn't work. It's a twink in bondage gear and a frilly shirt with pink eyes and green hair. All that PLUS pink/blue edge highlights?? It sounds like a mess when you describe it in text but Shigeto Koyama was clearly cooking haute cuisine while designing Lio because LOOK AT HIM. The stark black/white contrast of the outfit combined with the pops of colour just OOZES style, and the specific hues chosen come together to create a visual that is equal parts sharp and soft (the mint green hair somehow looks better than if they'd just made him blond??). And don't even get me started on how insanely cool his armor looks! It's just all-around an iconic look that is bold and colourful without coming off as garish and I think it's fantastically crafted.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Camp Wanamaker (Ch 7/10)

August 13, 2023

Notes - First of all, Eleanor, I just want to say that I got the notification for your next part as I was getting in bed last night, and if forcing myself to not read it yet wasn't torture enough, I made myself finish this chapter so I'd have that as a reward. I'll probably have to read it in the morning now as I'm exhausted tonight, but I am so excited to get into it! You have no idea! Second, there are so many scrapped versions of this chapter, it's insane! I really just wanted to focus on the relationships and how they work. I was going to post this yesterday, but ended up deleting most of the last part so that I could really focus on the ending. In the end, this chapter is, probably, one of the most easter-egg-filled ones I’ve written so far, and I’m immensely proud of it.

Chapter 7 - Lay All Your Love On Me

For the first time in two weeks, silence permeated the air of Camp Wanamaker. It wasn’t unusual, per se, to have some semblance of quiet after the campers left the grounds, but after getting used to the noise and excitement that filled every open space of the camp, the silence was almost too much for many of the workers. Thankfully, the silence hadn’t been there for long as rain filled the area. A week of nothing but rain and cloudy, dreary days had been forecasted for the majority of New Hampshire as a storm from Nova Scotia loomed closer and closer to the coastal state.

Many of the camp’s staff were glad the clouds had waited for the campers to flee the area before unleashing their downpours, while others were simply glad to receive some form of reprieve from the scorching temperatures and chokingly thick humidity. Those with breathing difficulties had found safety in buildings with air conditioning units throughout the weeks, but as everyone adjusted to the cool rain, the metal window fixtures were found to be practically pointless.

As the familiar, chirpy rhythm of an almost too-upbeat eighties song echoed over the speakers as a wake-up call, Mick looked up from the novel she had been reading for well over an hour. Rolling her eyes with a smirk, she softly began singing along to the lyrics as Dead or Alive’s mega-hit song You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) played throughout the camp. She wasn’t too surprised by the choice as Vivien’s grandfather had played a majority of eighties hits over the last seven weeks of camp, but as Miles stumbled his way out of his room looking as though he would break the camp’s announcement system if given the chance, it seemed as though not everyone was as thrilled by the choice as she was.

Watching as Miles grumbled a greeting to those on the couch before making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen, Mick shook her head and returned to her book. She often wondered how he had managed to survive without Vivien’s coffee concoctions first thing in the morning. She could recall making coffee runs for him early on in their friendship, bringing him three cups of coffee throughout the workday just to get him functioning properly. Now that he had Vivien personally making him some of whatever blend she normally fixed for herself in the morning, he was drinking a bit less and still getting through just fine. Granted, even if Vivien’s mystery blend had tasted like nothing more than watered-down dirt in a mug, she was sure Miles still would have drunk it. He needed caffeine to function and, if that meant chugging his way through disgustingly mud-like sludge in a cup, Mick knew he would do just that to get some semblance of alertness.

As the main character of her book, Beatrice Prior, followed the tour guide through the Dauntless compound, Mick distantly overheard Vivien and Royce snickering in the hallway as they made their way to the living room from the kitchen. She couldn’t hear most of what they were saying, but she could guess it had to have something to do with Miles as Royce mentioned something about the flavored creamer they would have to replace sooner rather than later. As the pair made their way through the living room, prying Bentley from his spot on the couch as they went, Mick looked up from her book, making sure the young trio stayed out of the rain as they headed outside to sit on the porch swing. 

It wasn’t odd for them to sit outside while it rained, but Mick knew they had a tendency to sit on the steps or on the sand near the deck, letting the rain soak them until they looked more like drowned possums than anything. The last thing she wanted was for one of them to get sick on their week off. However, much to Mick’s pleasure, they simply took their places on the porch swing and began reading together. Grateful that the screen door allowed her to observe them from a distance, Mick hummed softly to herself before returning to her book. After a while, Riven joined them outside and Mick’s senty-like watch fell as she relaxed further into the couch’s cushions. The kids were safe with Riven around; that was all she needed to know.

They wouldn’t have long to sit around and relax before breakfast, that much she knew, but the draw of her book was too strong to fight. After spending the last week standing in for a girl named Hayden who suffered a case of sun poisoning and could barely move, let alone act in their murder mystery plot, Mick felt she deserved a break. She wasn’t an actress and, despite how welcoming and reassuring everyone had been when she joined them in the mess hall for a quick practice every morning, the week had been nothing but stress for her. Getting thrown a new script after dinner every day and having to put on a good show for the campers wasn’t as easy as everyone else made it out to be. 

Mick didn’t look up again until the couch shifted, the newcomer’s weight tilting her slightly to the right. Glancing at Miles from the corner of her eyes, Mick placed her index finger between the pages of her book as a bookmark and closed it, leaning her head on Miles’ shoulder as he leaned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The two sat in silence for a while, the only noises in the area being the heavy droplets of rain and the occasional chirp of the kids’ voices. With everything going on, a majority of the camp’s staff hadn’t had the opportunity to sit in relative silence, but to Mick, it felt like something more meaningful than that.

She and Miles had known each other for over three years at that point and, despite the time they spent with everyone else, they hardly had the time to spend one-on-one time with each other. With how busy everyone was that summer, she wasn’t surprised that they couldn’t find the time to just relax and hang out, but even before the summer started, Miles was always with the kids or Carrie, spending little time with Mick or Butchy. She wasn’t one to complain as she knew the kids were Miles’ top priority, but she sort of missed being able to sit around on the couch, talking with Miles, or playing video games with him like old times. 

Granted, it wasn’t just with Miles that Mick felt this way. Though she would hate to admit it, she had begun to feel rather lonely. She would never voice her feelings, though. Everyone had so much on their plates already and, if she were to unleash all that had piled up in her head, it would only add to the mounting levels of stress everyone was already under. That was the last thing she wanted. For the time being, she would simply have to suck it up and deal with her emotions on her own. She could handle herself. Besides, even if someone were to call her out on her behavior, she could easily blame it on her period; it was almost a week later than normal anyway and wouldn’t be an outlandish excuse.

Just as she was about to lift her head from Miles’ shoulder, she felt him shift, his head lifting from the couch and his arm pulling out from under her to wrap around her shoulders. As she brought her arm around her makeshift brother’s middle, a light pressure to her hair had Mick tightening her grasp on him. Miles sighed as he asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

Shrugging minutely, Mick breathed, “Just tired.”

Miles lightly squeezed Mick’s shoulder and rubbed at her upper arm as he snickered, “That’s supposed to be my job, Mickie.”

Allowing her eyes to close, Mick chuckled airily, “In that case, it sounds like you’d better put in for unemployment because I’m taking your job today.”

Miles allowed himself to smile, but as he peered down at the younger girl, he could feel his expression falter. Dark circles inhabited the usually tan skin under Mick’s eyes, her normally sun-kissed skin appeared paler than normal, and her lips were drawn together in a tight line. He had seen her like this before when she was sick, but as far as he knew, Mick hadn’t been sick for almost a year. She was far healthier than most people Miles knew and her immune system was something of an impenetrable fortress, so for her to look physically ill and drained of color, something had to be wrong. Granted, her appearance could have been due to stress or lack of sleep, but it still worried Miles all the same.

Just as he was about to voice his concerns, Butchy entered the room, tucking his cell phone into his back pocket as he smiled at the pair on the couch. Before the older of the two bikers could greet them, Miles raised his free hand and gestured for him to stop. Once Butchy had stilled by the end of the couch, an eyebrow raised questioningly toward his long-time friend, Miles pointed toward Mick before silently asking if she was okay. Butchy shrugged, not having spent much time with his wife in the last week due to their conflicting schedules. Leaning to the side slightly and taking a better look at Mick’s appearance, however, Butchy regretted not setting aside time for her sooner. 

Meeting Miles’ worried gaze once more, Butchy opened his mouth to greet them when a certain blonde stepped into the room from the hallway, calling out a chirpy, “Good morning!”

As Mick’s eyes peeled open, Butchy attempted to act as though he had just entered the room, taking a place on the couch as his wife and Miles gave greetings of their own to Carrie. As Mick sat up to give Miles and Carrie the opportunity to spend some time together, Butchy watched from the other side of the couch, making sure she was moving well enough and checking to see if he needed to help her in any way. His wife settled in with her book as Carrie curled into Miles’ left side and, while Butchy would typically make some snide remark about her or try to goad her into an argument of some sort, he couldn’t find it in himself to try. Despite Carrie’s clipped remark about how quiet it was that morning - a sign that even she had noticed Butchy’s silence - he couldn’t bring himself to care. His focus was solely aimed at Mick as she turned from one page to another.

By the time the breakfast notice echoed through the grounds, Carrie and Miles had left the cabin to sit outside with the kids, leaving Butchy and Mick to their own devices. Butchy was almost certain that Miles would use the time to tell the others that something wasn’t quite right with Mick - his brotherly instincts toward the young woman too strong to fight - and he was grateful for the peace and quiet all the same. Mick either hadn’t noticed their solitude or simply hadn’t voiced her opinion on the situation, but either way, it allowed Butchy to move across the couch and get a closer look at his wife’s condition.

Apart from her tired outward appearance, Butchy couldn’t be sure if anything was wrong. She hadn’t coughed or sneezed, she hadn’t rushed to the bathroom to be sick, and she wasn’t shuddering from a cold shiver that nobody else seemed to have. If it weren’t for her skin taking on a pale, sunken-in appearance, he wouldn’t be worried. She looked exhausted and Butchy hoped that it was just that - exhaustion. He hoped it wasn’t something serious. He wasn’t quite sure how he would handle it if it was something more than that. 

Regardless, as the call for breakfast came through over the speakers and the others came inside to grab raincoats or umbrellas, Butchy watched as Mick tucked a sticky note into the book she had been occupied with and rose from the couch, making her way toward the coat rack where she grabbed her trusty poncho. Butchy was quick to follow her, hoping to keep an eye on her as much as he could until he could figure out what was wrong. He would give her a few days and check in with her to see how she was holding up. Maybe she just needed to take a break and recuperate from the stress of the previous week. Yeah, Butchy thought to himself, maybe that was it.

Weathermen were good liars. Anyone in the northeastern United States could tell you that. It seemed as though all the news companies decided to band together one day and lie to everyone about the weather for the rest of human existence. If they forecasted hurricane-force winds or strong thunderstorms, the most any New Englander would feel were some light breezes or a drizzling of rain. It was when they reported sunshine that you knew something was up. Unless you were already dealing with a heat wave, you knew that smiling cartoon of a sun wearing sunglasses on the television screen would be taunting you with the idea of a nice, warm, sunny day. 

The ever-changing, New England weather was nothing new to Hayley Mays. She had grown up in New Hampshire’s bipolar weather; her skin thickening with the winter cold and tanning with the summer sun. Almost all of her thirty-eight years of life had been spent either swimming in the nearby lake or shoveling snow out of her neighbors’ driveways with her sister. And she had done both of those things in the same week more than once.

Hayley had grown used to the weatherman’s constant lies. Brian Strzempko and his pack of lies greeted her nearly every morning when she would go downstairs for breakfast at her parents’ house, spouting off about the expected hail or “three inches” of snow. Every morning, she would roll her eyes; someone needed to get that man a ruler. Nowadays, Hayley and Charlie would get their news off of their phones and, even though Hayley still refused to believe whatever the forecast was, she knew Charlie still had the false hope that whoever made the forecast would be right. Granted, Charlie wasn’t from New England and presumably trusted the meteorologists back in Virginia. 

Hayley had been fairly surprised when she discovered in college that the news anchors in Virginia didn’t lie nearly as much as they did in her home state. When she had questioned Charlie about it, her - at the time - twenty-year-old friend was confused, but it was obvious that the confusion had quickly washed away after she moved to New Hampshire a handful of years down the road. Regardless of the weathermen and the lies they fed the people, Charlie still checked her weather app religiously and Hayley still wondered why.

Take that Monday, for example. The forecast called for a party-cloudy day with a high of eighty-one degrees - a simple, sunny day with low humidity. Despite Hayley’s discrete eye roll as her beloved wife read out the forecast over their morning tea session, Charlie had chosen to wear her finest pair of overall shorts and a pink, frilly tee with lace lining. Hayley, on the other hand, kept it simple with a pair of gray shorts she’d bought from the men’s section for extra length and a shirt from an old bowling alley she had worked at, keeping her clear plastic, raincoat wrapped around her waist for the inevitable downpour.

She wasn’t going to admit defeat as they touched down on the pine-needle-laden ground, the sun blaring down overhead. Even as the sun rose higher and the heat began to grow, Hayley refused to hang her coat up. As she and Charlie parted ways - Hayley busying herself with painting while Charlie worked with the playhouse staff to set up for the next two weeks of play practice - she handed her trust raincoat to her wife with a knowing smile and a bid of good luck and made her way to the art barn.

Having gotten quite used to the presence of her biological daughter’s best friend, Hayley offered Bentley a gentle smile as the boy looked up from the lump of clay he was attempting to shape. “How’s it coming, little man?”

“It’s not,” Bentley sighed as Hayley approached him. “I was trying to make a coffee mug for Miles but my foot hit the pedal while I was smoothing it with the spatula thing and I ended up stabbing a hole in it and it caved in on itself.”

“Yeesh,” Hayley cringed, examining the blob of clay on Bentley’s tray. “Starting from scratch again?”

“I’m gonna try,” Bentley nodded, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Pushing the boy’s hair from his face, Hayley grabbed an extra elastic from her wrist and secured his hair in a little bump before pressing a kiss to his forehead with a smile of encouragement. “Well, you know where to find me if you need help.”

“And I probably will,” Bentley chuckled. 

Hayley nudged the teenager as she began walking away, “You and I both know that isn’t true. You’re an incredible artist, Ben.”

“Thanks, Aunt Hayley.”

Hayley’s hand froze as she searched the drying racks for the canvas she had been working on recently. It wasn’t often that Vivien’s friends called her by anything more than her first name or “Vivien’s aunt” - save for Riven, who had always claimed he considered her the aunt he never had. While she welcomed the term with ease normally, this was the first time Bentley had chosen to do so. Turning to smile at the young boy, Hayley watched as he worked on the clump of clay before him, having already moved on from the conversation. 

Taking in a breath, Hayley hummed softly and pulled her canvas from the racks, setting up an easel near the window so that she could watch the weather change and keep an eye on the youngest boy at the camp. While they worked, Hayley found herself listening as the young boy to her left began humming old songs, occasionally joining him when she knew the tune. Whether he noticed or not, she didn’t know, but the small, wordless interaction brought a smile to her face all the same. Just as they worked their way to the chorus of Elvis Presley’s famous “(You’re the) Devil In Disguise”, a deep growl of thunder rumbled overhead, signaling a storm inbound.

Glancing out the window at the playhouse where everyone began carrying things inside to keep them safe from the rain, Hayley snickered softly to herself, “Told ya so.”

“Huh?” Bentley wondered, looking over from his seat.

Hayley shook her head with a smile, “Just something I said to Charlie this morning.”

Shrugging, Bentley returned to his work and Hayley glanced out the window once more, watching as her wife hastily grabbed a piece of plastic from one of the nearby picnic tables and pulled it over her shoulders, tugging the hood over her head in disbelief as she began instructing her fellow staff members on where to put everything. Hayley grinned as she returned to her painting, allowing the gentle pattering of rain on the roof to ease her back into her work. However, it wasn’t long before the door of the art barn swung open and slammed shut once again, revealing a rather soaked Makana Birch. 

As the girl turned to rest against the door, wide-eyed and out of breath from running, Hayley got a good look at her. The girl’s cheap, knock-off Converse squelched puddles on the hardwood floors, her hair clung to her skin as though it had been glued down, and her shirt would have been see-through if it wasn’t red, but that wasn’t what caught Hayley’s eye. Instead, it was Mick’s pair of recently tie-dyed, terry cloth shorts that clearly didn’t get rinsed out well enough as they dripped a myriad of colors down the girl’s legs. It didn’t seem as though Mick noticed the issue as she stared up at the ceiling and fought to catch her breath, but Hayley quickly realized Bentley had seen it as well.

Before Bentley could say anything, Hayley stood from her seat and put a hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking her head when he looked up at her. Nodding understandingly, Bentley watched as Hayley crossed the room and grabbed a towel from the closet where they kept some backup umbrellas and rain ponchos along with the cleaning supplies. Handing Mick the towel, Hayley made sure she was breathing well enough before asking, “What happened to you?”

Wrapping the soft towel around her shoulders, Mick sucked in a breath and explained, “We were cleaning the pool and got the town’s all-call about some potential tornados in the area. Noah and some of the others took off to warn the people in the music hall and dance studio while I put everything away. This is my first stop.”

“And your last,” Hayley commented, prying Mick from the door and ushering her to a chair that had enough dried paint on it that it could probably be kept in an art exhibit.

“What do you mean?” Mick asked, using the ends of the towel to dry her face slightly as Hayley led her away.

This time, it was Bentley who answered as he wheeled his seat over toward Mick, “You look like you’re bleeding a rainbow out of your shorts.”

Moving the towel from her face, Mick looked down and let out a shocked breath as she took in the state of her legs. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whined. “I just made these shorts two days ago!”

Bentley attempted to hide his smirk as he said, “Now they look like the inside of a bag of M&Ms when you hold it too long.”

Mick let out a disgruntled noise as she dropped into her chair, examining her stained skin with a look of disdain. “How on earth am I going to get this off?”

“We’ll try some petroleum jelly,” Hayley spoke calmly. “That’s how I used to get hair dye of my skin. If it doesn’t work, we’ll get some rubbing alcohol or acetone. We’ll find a way to get it off.”

Mick heaved a sigh, glancing at her hands to make sure she hadn’t gotten dye on her fingers before running them through her hair, pushing clinging strands from her face. “I think I’m going to go back to the cabin. Maybe a shower will get some of it off.”

“Maybe,” Bentley commented. “I’ll bring some acetone just in case.”

Mick brushed him off with a wave of her hand, “I should be fine. I think there should still be some under the sink from when Vivien painted Miles’ nails while he was sleeping.”

Hayley let out a snort of laughter, “He sure has his work cut out for him with that kid around.”

Mick nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she rose from her chair. Handing the towel back to Hayley, she sighed, “I’d better go before everyone crowds the place. I’ll see you guys later.”

Though Hayley looked ready to argue for the girl to stay until the rain lightened, Mick made her exit quick, clicking the door shut behind herself before running down the path toward the beach. Making her way toward the front of the building, Hayley watched Mick run toward where the sand and grass met, keeping an eye on her until she disappeared from sight. “Hm,” she hummed to herself as she slowly turned toward Bentley, “did she seem alright to you?”

Bentley shrugged as he folded the chair Mick had sat on and set it aside. “She was probably just upset about her shorts.”

Hayley nodded thoughtfully; it was plausible. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

When Butchy arrived back at the lodge Monday night, his wife was nowhere to be found. Despite reassurances from both Bentley and Hayley that Mick had returned safely to the wooden cabin, he didn’t allow himself to relax until he saw her silently leave her room. He had followed her to the kitchen area, hoping to figure out why he hadn’t seen her, but she simply explained that she’d had a rough day and wanted time alone to breathe. After spending three years with his now-wife, Butchy understood the silent signal he had been given and allowed her to return to her room with the Hot Pockets she had heated in the microwave. The last time he had seen her that night was when he hesitantly knocked on her door to wish her a good night.

The fog that flooded the area on Tuesday morning brought with it the first sign of sunshine. The distant rays that glowed through the dense fog cast hazy shadows over most of the campground. Although the glowing ball of fire in the sky tried its hardest, it wasn’t quite strong enough to break through the thick clouds and the lingering fog. With more rain forecasted to come in the next few days, it was no surprise that the sky remained gray despite the rising sun pushing its way over the horizon.

Butchy sat on the edge of his bed as he took in the ominous fog that covered the lake like a thick blanket on a cold winter morning. Rainwater from the roof sloshed through the clunky white gutter pipe that rattled against the outer wall of his bedroom, but Butchy paid it little mind. He had listened to it every day it rained and the sound felt more like background noise than an annoyance. As he rose from his bed, Butchy smiled to himself. He was sure that, if Vivien’s grandfather chose the right song, it would feel like they had stepped onto the set of some sort of summer camp, slasher movie from the eighties. Then, just as quickly as the thought had come into his mind, it left as he heard the faintest click from outside his bedroom.

Inching his way to the door, Butchy slowly turned the handle and pulled the door of his room open just enough to see a head of wavy, caramel hair go through the archway into the living room. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sighed softly; he didn’t want her to feel ambushed first thing in the morning. Hoping to give Mick some time for herself, Butchy wasted a few minutes tidying his already fairly neat room and putting a few clothes in the hamper he would be bringing to the laundry all too soon. After checking his clock once more, Butchy tucked his cell phone into his pocket and grabbed a book from the dresser he had left by the door before heading into the hallway and making his way toward the living room. 

Sure enough, Mick had tucked herself into the corner of the couch as she seemed to do almost every day, her nose buried in a book as she curled herself as close as she could to the back of the couch. The only light she had came from a small, clip-on lamp that Mick had bought ages ago at the dollar store - a cheap, plastic little light that just barely held its angled shape and flickered like a strobe light at a rave if she dared to shift her hands anywhere near the clasp - but after using it for so long, she had grown accustomed to the cheap light and its idiosyncrasies. Butchy had tried to replace the little lamp for her so she wouldn’t have to fight with it so much, but she had stated more than once that she was fine with it and would continue to use it until the light gave out on her. As Mick flipped a page and the light objected to the movement, Butchy heard her muttering a plea for the lamp to continue doing its job as he leaned against the archway.

“You know,” he began, a smile on his face as Mick lifted her gaze from the flickering light before her, “one of these days, that little thing just might electrocute you.”

Mick rolled her eyes, a small grin appearing on her face as she retorted, “If that were to happen, my gravestone would say I died doing what I loved.”

As he approached his wife, Butchy let out a breath of a laugh, “Ah, so you love books more than me?”

“No,” Mick replied with ease as she sat up, allowing Butchy to fill the space between her back and the arm of the couch if he desired, “but if my headstone said that and I died while I was ‘doing you’, that might change the meaning a little bit.”

“Maybe a little,” Butchy agreed as he slid into the space his wife offered him. Once they had relaxed into a comfortable position once more and Butchy felt Mick let out a slow, deep breath as she reclined against him, he asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”

Tucking her makeshift bookmark into the novel in her hands, Mick sighed and set the book aside, “Tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?” Butchy asked. Before Mick could answer, he added, “You could have come to my room for the night; you know that, right?”

“I know,” Mick reassured as she shifted, peering up at her husband, “I think it’s just the weather dragging me down. The heat and humidity were bad enough, but the rain the past few days has just added to it. Now, I feel so drained and I don’t know how to push past it.”

As Butchy threaded his fingers into Mick’s hair, a familiar tingle of electricity coursing up his arm at the contact, he took in a deep breath. He never liked to see Mick upset, especially when he had no idea how to help her. He couldn’t change the weather for her, he couldn’t alter her emotions, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t read her mind to figure out what was truly bothering her. Although he could feel the slightest hint of uselessness seeping into his skin at the idea of being unable to help his wife, Butchy swallowed thickly and pushed his thoughts aside, pushing a smile onto his face as he wondered, “Why do you have to push past it?”

“What do you mean?” Mick questioned, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

“The last few weeks have been nothing short of overwhelming for you,” Butchy stated. “You’ve been an archery instructor, a lifeguard, and an accomplice to a made-up murder while also dealing with an absurd amount of children and heat. Why not just take the week to relax and let yourself recover?”

With a sigh, Mick shook her head, “I have to get the pool ready; I can’t take time off like that when they need me.”

“You and I both know that the other lifeguards are more than capable of getting everything there ready.” 

“I also have to help with setting up everything in the playhouse this week and making sure everything moves the way it’s supposed to on stage.”

“And I’m sure that the kids would be willing to help if we asked them to,” Butchy tried.

“I can’t ask that of them,” Mick said. “Besides, I promised I would help - I can’t just not show up.”

Butchy tried not to sigh. It was times like these he wished he could make Mick see things through his eyes. Her determination to help people was something he adored about her, but it was also one of her greatest faults. She tended to spread herself paper-thin and would refuse to back down from any commitments she had made despite the overbearing stress that would mount on her shoulders. It was something he was trying to work with her on as she realized just how much of a toll it was putting on herself. However, Butchy knew that now was not the time to try to work things out as she seemed adamant and unwavering.

Instead of arguing his point with Mick, Butchy allowed a small grin to tug at his lips as he pulled her head down, resting her ear over his chest. “Alright,” he relented, “but we’re still going to get some extra help.”

“Why?”

“Because you and I are taking the day off on Saturday,” Butchy said. “We’ll hop in the truck and get away from everything for a day. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly,” Mick breathed.

“Good,” Butchy sighed. “It’ll give us both something to work toward through the week.”

Mick let out a long breath, shifting to lie on her stomach as she brought her arms around her husband’s middle, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Butchy muttered as he pressed a kiss to Mick’s hair. “You know I would do anything for you.”

“Mhm,” Mick hummed, nodding against Butchy’s shirt as she squeezed him. “And I would for you.”

With their books seemingly forgotten in favor of the comfort they absorbed from the other person’s presence, Mick and Butchy relaxed on the couch, curled up in the corner as they waited for the sun to rise. After an hour or two, the announcement system would crackle to life with some song off of the hastily thrown-together playlist Vivien had sent her grandparents after the first staff meeting seven, almost eight weeks prior. For the time being, they had each other and that was all that mattered. There was no need to rush the morning along. Besides, by the time everyone else chose to pry themselves from their blankets and join them in the living area, they would most likely be invested in their novels; still curled close to each other, but far more relaxed as they squeezed each other's hands before turning a page and celebrated the end of a chapter with a kiss.

Despite Mick trying to convince Butchy to leave well enough alone, he had still asked the kids to help out with the duties Mick had signed herself up for. With Bentley and Royce helping in the playhouse and Vivien dragging Noah and his girlfriend into helping her at the pool, things seemed to finish a lot faster than they normally would have. By noon on Wednesday, everything in the playhouse was set for the upcoming performance, and the pool had been drained, cleaned, re-filled, shocked, and prepped for the upcoming weeks. With nothing else to do for the rest of the day, Mick was stationed with Vivien and Riven in the main office, the three of them trying to figure out what the next week would bring.

It wasn’t odd for the three to be pulled aside and asked to help in the office as they were three staff members who had grown up in the camp and knew what most kids wanted. However, as the mid-week rush of phone calls from eager parents practically glued Riven to the chair by the phone as he reassured everyone that their payments had gone through and that their children were on the roster for the upcoming weeks, the task of figuring out something to do for the next week or so was left solely on the shoulders of two brunettes.

“We can’t just do water balloon fights every day of the week, Viv,” Mick argued with a roll of her eyes. “Not only would it get boring after a few days, but it would also be a pain in the ass to clean up.”

“Not if we got those reusable ones off of TikTok!” Vivien tried. When she took in the unwavering look in Mick’s eyes, she sighed and scratched the idea off of her list, “Fine. How about doing a gold rush?”

“We did that last year,” Mick sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “Five teenagers got into a fight in the makeshift saloon and we had to bring two of them to the emergency room with broken body parts.”

“Okay,” Vivien breathed, crossing out yet another of her ideas.

“How about we do a monster mash?” Mick suggested, resting the eraser of her pencil next to the idea. “We haven’t done that in a few years.”

“And with good reason,” Vivien snickered. “Remember that kid who dressed up like a Demogorgon and snuck into Kittery Cabin in the middle of the night? Grandpa and Nonna had to deal with calls from angry parents for weeks afterward because of all the nightmares the kids were having.”

“Guess we can cross that off too,” Mick muttered as she blocked off another idea. After scanning her list again, Mick crossed off a few more ideas and sighed, “I think that’s all of my ideas. Please tell me you have something good on yours.”

Vivien hummed thoughtfully, looking over her list and sighing as she crossed a few off the list. Bringing everyone figure skating or horseback riding wasn’t the greatest of ideas, water balloon dodgeball was off the table, they didn’t have enough time to put together a Ninja Warrior course, game show weeks never went well, and junkyard wars always ended up with broken friendships as everyone fought to have their machine made a certain way. With everything else crossed off, Vivien was left with a total of three ideas on her extensive paper, and, to her dismay, only one of them seemed good enough to be used.

“Well,” Vivien drawled hesitantly, “the carnival is coming to Laconia next week.”

“The carnival?”

“Yeah,” Vivien nodded, “you know, like with the Ferris wheel, the Round-Up, and the Yo-Yo? Someone always gets sick after one of the Pharoh rides and the whole place has this overwhelming smell of fried dough, snow cones, and popcorn?”

Of course, Mick knew what she meant. She had been to the carnival every year for as long as she could remember. Whether it was riding in the spinning pumpkins or zipping along on Rockstar Racers, Mick had always enjoyed the local carnival. Taking everyone to the carnival for the week would be a fun break from the norm and, in theory, it could work. Every camper was supposed to have money on them for excursions and, even if the camp needed to pitch in to get some kids into the fairgrounds, it wouldn’t be an outlandish amount of money. 

Slowly, Mick nodded. “We’ll have to run it by Chief and Nonna first to see if they’d be up to it, but I think that just might be our best shot at having a plan for the week.”

Holding her hand out palm-up, Vivien beamed as Mick high-fived her. “A week full of rides, fried food, and children screaming at the tops of their lungs.”

With a soft chuckle, Mick nudged the girl as she asked, “You plan on being one of those screaming children?”

Vivien shrugged as she tugged her elastic from her hair, “For one reason or another, yeah.”

“What do you mean?” Mick wondered as she picked up her pencil and wrote Vivien’s idea on her notepad.

Vivien sighed as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, “Well, I’ll either be screaming because of the rides or because of the insane cramps I’ve been getting. Either way, there will be screaming.”

“Did you take anything for them?”

“Tylenol,” Vivien confirmed.

“But it isn’t touching it?”

“Nope.”

“You could have asked me for some,” Mick sighed. “Me or Carrie. We would have given you something.”

Once again, Vivien shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter. I’ll work out some and drink extra water and I’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be over in three days anyway.”

“That’s it?” Mick asked as she rose from her seat. When Vivien nodded, Mick scoffed, “You lucky little shit. My period lasts at least a week.”

Vivien smiled, chuckling as she stood and followed Mick to the door, “Yeah, well, I don’t get my period often at all, so it usually hits hard and then goes away after maybe two or three days.”

“Oh,” Mick breathed. “Do you have an IUD? I heard that those stop your period.”

“No, I just don’t get them a lot,” Vivien admitted. “I don’t need birth control anyway.”

“Be grateful you don’t yet,” Mick sighed. “When I was testing the waters, I tried one that basically destroyed me. When you start looking around, make sure to check the side effects before you jump in.”

Although Vivien nodded, she let out a breath before swallowing and admitting, “You know, I don’t think that will be a problem for me.”

“Maybe not,” Mick shrugged, “but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“I know, it’s just…” Vivien stalled as her voice drifted off, her fingers twisting nervously in the strings of her hoodie. “I won’t need birth control.”

Mick stopped, turning to the younger girl with a smile that looked as though she knew everything going through the young brunette’s mind. “Vivi, I know you and Royce aren’t there quite yet - and to that, I applaud you both - but there may come a time where that could change. If it does, you’ll need to be looking into those things.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Vivien said with a shake of her head. Stepping close to the older girl, Vivien reached out a hesitant hand, slipping her fingers into Mick’s hand as she lowered her voice and admitted, “Mickie, I won’t need it because I can’t get pregnant.”

As though she had been caught in a game of freeze tag, Mick stood still, looking over the girl before her with wide eyes. “What?”

“My mom took me to the doctors before summer started to see about birth control because Royce and I were spending the summer here,” Vivien stated. “Something about her knowing what the staff members get up to when the adults aren’t looking.”

“Understandable,” Mick breathed. After all, she knew all too well just how easy it was for counselors to sneak off when they had nothing better to do.

Vivien shrugged, “Yeah, well, when I brought up to my doctor how irregular my periods are, she decided to run a few tests to see if there were any underlying things going on. They tested me for endometriosis, a few autoimmune disorders, and a bunch of other stuff while they were at it.”

“And?”

“And they found I have PCOS,” Vivien admitted. “It won’t kill me or anything, but it causes infertility. They put me on a medication to test how it works on me and, while I still won’t get pregnant if it helps, it should make things a bit easier as time goes on.”

Mick nodded as she took in the information. Then, with a tentative look in her eyes, she asked, “You’re okay with not having kids?”

“They’re cute and all, but to be honest, I never wanted them,” Vivien chuckled. “I’d rather be the cool aunt who babysits, spoils them silly, and sends them back to their parents. Besides, I only recently started getting more confident in how I look, and the idea of my stomach expanding and having to push something the size of a bowling ball out of my vagina sounds horrifying to me.”

With a chuckle, Mick shook her head before sending a smile Vivien’s way and wrapping an arm around the teen’s shoulders, pulling her close as she began walking toward the office door. “You’d rather be the auntie, huh?”

“Only the coolest auntie to ever walk the face of the earth,” Vivien agreed. “I’d take them to the mall and to the movies, teach them to skate, and do all the fun stuff with them that their parents don’t wanna do.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Absolutely.”

Mick snickered, squeezing Vivien to her side as she opened the door to the front desk, “Well, then you’ll have your work cut out for you once the rest of us start popping out kids left, right, and center.”

Vivien let out a snort, “Did they not make you watch that nightmare-fuel movie in school because, believe me, you won’t be popping anything out of anywhere.”

Rolling her eyes, Mick nudged Vivien into the office and allowed the conversation to drop as the younger brunette made her way to where Riven was sitting, talking on the phone with someone neither of them could make out. From the look of it, however, Mick had gotten the better end of the deal as Riven ran a frustrated hand through his hair. As Vivien perched herself on the desk and began taunting Riven by mimicking whoever was on the phone, Mick smiled, shaking her head at the girl’s antics as she pulled out her phone. Unlocking the device, she sent a quick message to Vivien's grandmother about the idea the girl had proposed before switching to the conversation she had been having with her husband.

After rereading the last messages they had sent each other, Mick smiled to herself and brought up her keyboard before typing, ‘How do you feel about having a movie night with everyone? We can get some popcorn, string up a sheet in the living room, and just spend time together.’

The response came quicker than she had anticipated as her phone pinged. ‘Sounds good to me,’ Butchy had typed. ‘Might have to wait until tomorrow, though. Someone fell from the rock wall and we’re waiting on an ambulance.’

‘Does it look that bad?’ she tapped quickly.

‘Worse,’ was Butchy’s first response. ‘We’ll probably have a staff meeting on safety once they get back from the hospital.’

‘Oh yay,’ Mick typed, hoping her sarcasm came through loud and clear. By Butchy’s quickly sent laughing emoji, she guessed it had. ‘Guess we’ll pick out a movie tomorrow then.’

‘Guess so,’ Butchy replied. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Mick quickly sent. ‘It happens. I’ll see you after.’

‘Ok, love you.’

‘Love you too.’

The overpowering stench of charred popcorn filled the air as the window above the kitchen sink was pushed open. Most of the cabin would smell the blackened remnants of the buttery snack within a few minutes if they couldn’t already and, although the window was open, it wouldn’t do much to rid the log cabin of the overwhelming smell. While Royce was immensely glad he was the only one close enough to have to face the full force of the stench, he still felt as though it choked him, resulting in him taking a quick gulp of air before making his way to the microwave. 

Quickly opening the silver and black box, Royce grabbed the bag by the corner and hastily closed the microwave before making his way to the window where he held the bag of decently scorched popcorn outside to air out. He could have easily taken it out the back door, opened the bag, and thrown the inedible food out on the grass for the birds and squirrels, but he wasn’t sure they would take it either. The only thing he was sure about was that he was going to have to avoid the kitchen for a few days until the smell no longer permeated every inch of the space.

For once, the horrendously burned food wasn’t due to Mick’s dad attempting to cook and he was almost positive that he was going to end up being the focus of his friends’ teasing for a while as a result. One thing Royce could never manage to properly make in the modern world was popcorn and, despite Vivien’s many efforts to teach him not to trust the instructions on the backs of the bags, he simply couldn’t manage to make a bag without burning some. If it had been something like Jiffy Pop where he could make the popcorn on the stove like they did back home, he would have been fine. However, the modern world had changed and, although the stovetop popcorn was still available in stores, not a single shop in Sanbornton kept them in stock and he wasn’t about to make anyone take the trip out to a bigger store just so that he could make popcorn. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be in charge of the popcorn.

Miles had originally been tasked to make the snack as he had some magical knowledge as to how to add butter throughout the bowl without it all getting soggy and gross. However, as he was pulled away to help Butchy and Vivien hang up the sheet in the living room, Royce was left monitoring the bag of now-burnt popcorn. Thankfully, two other bags had already been made up, but Royce wasn’t sure anyone would want him searching through the cupboards for another packet that would just end up charred. 

Before he could attempt to bring the bag back inside and dispose of it, a voice from the hallway got his attention. “Royce?” a voice he knew all too well asked. Rolling his eyes, Royce turned to see Carrie entering the kitchen with her nose crinkled in disgust. “Is everything okay in here?”

Royce took in a deep breath and sighed before pulling the burnt popcorn inside and tossing it in the trash, “Peachy-fucking-keen.”

“What happened?” Carrie asked as she reached for the refrigerator door.

“Have you lost all sense of smell or something?” Royce questioned, sarcasm filling his tone. 

Grabbing the tray of jiggling Jello cups from the shelf in the fridge, Carrie tried not to sound snippy as she replied, “I can smell the burnt popcorn, but I wanted to know if everything was alright.”

“It’s fine,” Royce sighed. “I’ll just have Miles make a new one when he’s done with whatever he’s doing.”

“They’re trying to figure out how to hang up the sheet without it falling down again,” Carrie chuckled as she set the tray of Jello cups on the counter. “If you want, I can make up the next bag if you want to take this out there and try helping them.”

Although Royce could have easily said no and pushed off the blonde’s offer with a snarky response, he didn’t particularly feel like starting a fight, especially not when Miles had recently praised him for working so well with Carrie in the playhouse. In all honesty, the pair had spent little time together as Riven kept him distracted, but the way Miles had smiled when he sang Royce’s praises that night made him feel as though he was doing something helpful. If sucking it up and dealing with Carrie’s, well, everything would make Miles happier with him, he could manage. Stepping up to the counter, Royce eyed the jiggling snack with a raised eyebrow as he asked, “What even is that?”

Carrie smiled as Royce glanced her way, prepared to explain, however, her words remained in her throat as an excited squeal brought their attention to the doorway of the kitchen. “Jello shots!” Mick sang.

Royce glanced down at the cups before asking, “Like, alcohol shots?”

“Not all of them,” Carrie commented as Mick grabbed a handful of spoons from the drawer. “Most of them are just Jello and juice.”

“These ones, however,” Mick began as she grabbed a cup with a tiny, toothpick flag sticking out of it, “have vodka.”

“And you guys can’t have them,” Carrie added.

Mick shrugged, “Technically, they can if they get permission and don’t plan on leaving camp, but I doubt Miles would want them getting drunk.”

“Not like we’d want to anyway,” Royce said with a small smirk.

“Good,” Mick commented, placing her handful of spoons on the tray. “Were you taking these to the living room?”

Before Carrie could say that she was planning on doing just that, Royce said, “I can. Do you want me to?”

“I need to grab the sherbet and a big bowl for Charlie’s infamous punch, so yeah, that would be great,” Mick said with a brilliant smile. 

The girls watched as Royce took the tray from the counter and headed out of the room with a small smile tugging at his lips. Once he was gone, Mick turned to grab the sherbet from the freezer and Carrie reached into a nearby cupboard for a bowl. Glancing over her shoulder at the brunette who was elbow-deep in the freezer, Carrie asked, “How do you do it?”

Pulling herself and a plastic tub of orange sherbet from the freezer, Mick’s head lilted to the side as she asked in return, “Do what?”

Gesturing toward the doorway, Carrie clarified, “Get Royce so at ease around you. I swear, he must think I’m some cartoon villain or something.”

Mick let out a soft chuckle as she hefted the tub onto the counter, “You’re probably not far off.”

Carrie sighed as she placed a large bowl on the counter, “I mean, Bentley is finally starting to warm up to me, but Royce still can’t stand me unless someone’s there to break things up.”

Taking in a deep breath, Mick grinned as she admitted, “Well, if it gives you any comfort, I know the feeling.”

“You do?” Carrie questioned. When Mick nodded, she asked, “How? They both adore you.”

“They do, yeah,” Mick nodded. “But I’m not talking about them.”

If Mick’s previous confession hadn’t confused Carrie already, her new statement certainly did. “If not them, then who?”

Mick chuckled, “Normally, I’d say ‘like father, like son’, but since they’re brothers…”

“Miles?” Carrie asked incredulously. It was hard to imagine Miles being anything but the brotherly figure in Mick’s life. The two got along so well that, if Carrie hadn’t known the relationship between them prior to meeting Mick, she would have guessed they were related by some extension. She couldn’t picture the oldest of the Murphy brothers being anything but protective and loving toward the brunette before her.

With a nod, Mick smiled, “Bingo.”

“But you two are like siblings.”

“We are.”

“What happened?”

Mick chuckled as she pushed herself to sit on the countertop, “Well, as I said, it was a lot like what’s happening with you and the boys. I started dating Butchy when I was almost eighteen and, by that time, Miles had been living with Butchy and Lela for almost a year. They were as close as close could be, but then I came along.”

Leaning on the counter and looking up at the brunette who was normally right around her height, Carrie asked, “Did he not like you?”

“At first, we were fine,” Mick admitted. “We were friends - the four of us. Then, when things between me and Butchy started to change, Miles grew overprotective of him and Lela and began pushing me aside.”

“I can’t imagine that lasted long,” Carrie chuckled.

“Longer than I would have liked,” Mick mused. “Maybe half a year at most.”

Carrie nodded slowly; it seemed as though Miles was the easiest of the brothers to rope in. “How did you manage to make it to where you are now?”

“Not easily,” Mick snorted. “He fought me tooth and nail while all I wanted was for us to go back to the way things were. It wasn’t until I showed up at their door, bloody and bruised, that he finally stopped.”

“What happened to you?” Carrie pressed. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but-”

Mick’s laugh cut the blonde off, “I don’t mind. It was actually kind of dumb. I was playing volleyball with some of the surfers and, when I dove for the ball, it bounced off of my arms and slammed into my face. It looked a lot worse than it was, but I insisted I would be fine after cleaning myself up, so I went to Butchy’s house to see if I could clean up and use their first aid kit.”

“That must not have gone over too well,” Carrie mused. Lela on her own probably wasn’t bad - she would have probably allowed logic to drive her into helping her friend once the panic wore off - but Carrie could only imagine the chaos that came from having both Butchy and Miles fussing over Mick’s bloodied face.

“About as well as you’d expect,” Mick shrugged. “Miles opened he door, took one look at me, and all of a sudden, it was like a switch had been flipped. He pulled me inside, led me to the couch, called for Butchy and Lela, and started trying to stop the bleeding while he questioned me as to what had happened. After that, things calmed down considerably and now we’re practically family.”

“I can’t imagine Royce and I getting to that point,” Carrie breathed. “I think he’d probably enjoy seeing me all broken and bloody.”

“Yeah, no,” Mick snorted with a shake of her head. “Royce may not like you yet, but he certainly wouldn’t want you to get hurt. He might not react quite the same as Miles would, but he would still try to help. He knows how much you mean to Miles.”

Though Carrie wasn’t entirely sure she believed Mick’s hopeful words, the thought was nice. If the situation was reversed and Royce had been injured, she would try to help him despite how strained their relationship was; she could only hope he would do the same for her if she needed him to. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mick hummed as she pushed herself off of the countertop and grabbed the tub of sherbet, “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to find out anytime soon.”

Carrie chuckled, nodding as she grabbed the large bowl she had taken from the cupboard, “No injuries for me, please.”

“Yeah,” Mick nodded as she led the way out of the kitchen, ready to finally sit down and watch a movie with the group that had gathered in the living room.

Despite the light rain showers that came in short bursts throughout Friday morning, the sky began to clear after lunch, bringing brilliant hues of blue through the breaking clouds. Warm breezes brushed through the camp as many staff members donned their swimsuits and spent the afternoon on the beach or in the lake. A select few had taken to dragging some of the canoes and kayaks from the boathouse to cruise around the lake while the majority either tanned or swam through the cool lake water.

The sunshine didn’t last long, however, as gray clouds decorated the horizon by the time everyone was preparing to head to dinner. While most chose to wrap towels around their already drenched swimsuits so they didn’t have to worry about getting any more wet on the way back to their cabins from the mess hall, others chose to change into dry clothes and keep an umbrella or rain poncho with them on their walk to the mess hall.

As groups formed and friends began talking about everything and nothing all at once, Riven made his way to the end of the line and grabbed a tray for his food. Although Erica and Jade were with him, spouting off about midnight swimming and a game they wanted to play soon, Riven’s mind had wandered. Once the summer was over, he officially had nothing to do. He had done an eight-week college course and gotten his photography degree online before the summer started, and his job at the tattoo shop in Laconia was infrequent as he was still in training. Once the summer was over, the only thing he had to do was train on the ice. 

Sure, he could have taken a summer job at the police station where his dad worked, but he didn’t exactly like being there every day. It was insanely boring sitting at a desk, helping answer phones, and cleaning up after the small group of K-9 dog officers was no fun. How his dad managed to do it almost every day, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like their town was riddled with crime to keep him occupied all day. Riven’s dad was adamant that he didn’t need help paying the bills, but his weekly photography job for the local paper was more than enough to cover the cable and electric bills he had swapped into his name without his dad’s knowledge. It was the least he could do. However, with not having to do much work to get paid and practically nothing else to do, Riven wondered just how boring the rest of the year would be.

Riven sighed as he took another step forward; at least he had the band and their little Dungeons and Dragons party to keep him busy. Without them, he would be bored out of his mind all the time. With Jade and Erica working at the mall, it was easy for Riven to snatch Vivien and drive her to the mall for a quick session while the others were on their lunch breaks, but with the school year starting and Vivien taking on a joint year to graduate early, those days of fighting magical beings while sitting around a sticky booth in the food court would be coming to an end. 

Sure, they still had their weekends where they could sit in Erica’s apartment and play a bit of their campaign or settle down in Riven’s basement to practice their music for the concerts they had yet to play, but it just wasn’t the same as the summertime hangouts they used to have.

Maybe he would ask the girls to meet him in the music hall to go through some of the songs he had been working on. Normally, he left the songwriting to Erica as that was her specialty, but he had written a few songs himself here and there. Maybe they would feel up to spending some time playing music like they used to. Hell, everyone could be there for all he cared. He just wanted to do something before the summer ended and everyone went back to business as usual.

As Riven stepped up to the first section of the buffet displays, a hand waved in front of his face, jolting him from his thoughts. “Yo, dipshit, are you in there?”

Turning toward Erica with a raised brow, Riven asked, “What?”

"You were spacing out there for a while," Mick mused as she rounded Riven in search of some waffle fries.

"Yeah," Erica confirmed.

“Mick and Bentley said you guys are having a game night tonight,” Jade spoke. “We were wondering if we could come.”

“Yeah,” Riven nodded automatically despite not having known about the game night. “Of course you can.”

"Told you so," Bentley said with a smile.

“Cool,” Erica mused. “You guys planning on breaking out Cards Against Humanity again?”

"We might," Mick said with a shrug.

“Please do,” Jade begged with a cackle. “I would kill to see Butchy’s face!”

Erica choked on a laugh as she grabbed some cutlery, “I know, right! He acts like some forty-year-old virgin with some of those cards.”

“Says the one who gave him half of the dirty cards in the deck,” Riven chuckled.

“It was so worth it,” Erica claimed with a contented sigh.

Mick shook her head with a fond smile, “I wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the night without bursting a blood vessel or something.”

Riven smirked, “I thought he was going to when he found out Bentley was the one that had given him that card about having a threesome with Shaquille O’Neal.”

“And I’d do it again,” Bentley remarked as he walked behind Riven to grab some french fries.

“Do you even know what that card means?” Erica questioned the boy, leaning forward slightly to see him.

Bentley slowly nodded, “I made the mistake of googling it after I handed it over.”

Jade let out a bark of a laugh before slapping a hand over her mouth as Riven snickered, “Big mistake, kid.”

“You’re telling me,” Bentley sighed. “I wanted nothing more than to bleach my eyes after that.”

Mick snickered, “Next time we play, I can sit next to you and we can just swap cards if you want.”

“Maybe,” the fifteen-year-old shrugged, a smirk growing on his face, “but I kind of liked watching Butchy freak out like that.”

“Welcome to the dark side,” Erica smiled, nudging the blond boy with her elbow as she reached between him and Mick to grab some waffle fries. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Bentley smiled and began making himself a burger as Mick maneuvered around him to pour herself some ketchup and Riven stepped up beside him, taking some potato wedges from the metal dish they sat in. Glancing at his bandmates, the older boy cleared his throat and said, “You know, I was thinking we could go up to the music hall tomorrow and work on some new songs. You guys feel up to it?”

Jade readily agreed as Erica sighed, “I haven’t been writing much at all this summer.”

“That’s alright,” Riven reassured. “I know it’s been a bit hectic for you guys at the pool. Besides, I’ve got a few that I’ve been working on in my free time; maybe we can work on those.”

“Sure,” Jade nodded.

“That works,” Erica decided.

“Can I listen to the new songs?” Bentley piped up, placing the top of his burger bun on his carefully constructed sandwich. “I always love your music.”

"Me too," Mick agreed as she set the ketchup bottle down.

“You guys have heard our music?” Jade asked.

"Most of our cabin has at this point," Mick said as she left to find a seat at their table.

Bentley nodded, moving aside so the others had access to the rest of the buffet as he said, “Viv plays recordings for us on the TV now and then. It’s kinda like watching a concert.”

“Someday, we’ll play an actual concert,” Erica stated as she piled a handful of chips onto her plate. “We’ll perform a setlist we’ve created on a huge stage with bright lights, brand-new instruments, and rows and rows of screaming fans.”

“I hope I’ll be there when it happens,” Bentley said with a smile. “It sounds incredible."

“Are you kidding, half-pint?” Riven asked rhetorically, ruffling Bentley’s hair before wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders and guiding him toward the table they always sat at. “You’ll have a backstage pass.”

There were some days that Mick felt as though she had lived through many lives as a parent. Not only had she worked as a babysitter in her preteen years, but she had also been somewhat of an older sister figure to Vivien, her siblings, and their respective gaggles of friends. Once she was old enough to be left home alone, she was tasked with going down the street to the O’Brian household to babysit their kids while the parents worked in the winery. As they grew older and gained friends, Mick grew accustomed to seeing random kids show up at the house, asking for one kid or another to come out and play. She also grew used to the ups and downs of living like a parent.

More than once, she had woken up to a sick child asking to cuddle up to her or had to drag an exhausted teenager from the comfort of their bed. Despite no longer needing to babysit for cash to blow on the weekends, Mick was still living like a child-wrangler and, although they were old enough to handle themselves, she still treated every child she came into contact with as though they were her own. Vivien, Royce, and Bentley were no exception. 

Mick adored the young trio. Of course, she had grown up knowing Vivien as her next-door neighbor’s kid and the little sister her parents never gave her. Royce and Bentley, on the other hand, were brought into her life far more recently than Vivien had been. Despite only having known them for the better part of a year, she had grown to adore them just as deeply as she knew Miles did. That was why, when she woke up to the three of them quietly carrying a tray of food and some assorted items into her room, her suspicions were high.

“What is all of this?” she asked as she sat up, allowing Royce to place the tray over her legs. 

“We’re not supposed to say,” Bentley claimed, earning a nudge from Royce, who quickly smiled back at Mick.

“We were told to give you the stuff, tell you ‘good morning’, and leave,” the brunet stated.

Understandably concerned, Mick closed her eyes and sighed, “Who did something and - follow-up question - what did they do this time?”

“Nobody did anything,” Vivien snickered. “Well, not yet at least.”

Slowly peeling her eyes open, Mick glanced at the trio before asking, “Do I wanna know?” Instead of getting a direct answer, Mick earned a shrug from Vivien, a knowing smirk from Royce, and a snorted laugh from Bentley. Sighing once again, Mick shook her head, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Bentley reassured.

“Yeah,” Vivien nodded. “You’ll see.”

Mick glanced at the teenagers and gave them a small smile. “Alright, but if anyone miraculously gets magical powers and ends up lighting something on fire, you three are my scapegoats.”

“How would someone get magical powers?” Royce wondered as Mick picked up her fork and took in a piece of a syrup-coated pancake.

Pointing her fork between Royce and Bentley, Mick lowered her voice and said, “You two are from a parallel universe where it’s nineteen-sixty-three - at this point, anything is possible.”

“Touche,” Royce relented.

Taking her friends by the wrists, Vivien tugged the boys away from Mick’s bed as she said, “Alright, alright, enough chit-chat. Let the girl eat so we can move on with our day.”

Despite her rising intrigue with the situation, Mick silently watched as the trio left her room, each of them wishing her a good morning before disappearing into the hallway and being separated by the door. Choosing to allow the day to continue as it should, Mick turned back to her food and took in some fruit before looking at the two wrapped gifts Vivien and Bentley had brought into the room. They hadn’t said anything about the gifts, but she wasn’t exactly going to tell them to collect them either.

One red and one blue, Mick vaguely wondered if the colors were intentional. If so, she knew they could have been from Butchy. Her favorite color and his - red and blue, respectively - were opposite to what most people assumed and had become something of a running joke between them. Tugging the red-wrapped box toward her, Mick picked it up and examined it, lightly shaking it like one would a Christmas present before setting it beside her on the bed without a clue as to what was inside. The other gift was larger than the first, rectangular, and, although she had copied her previous attempt, she had no notion as to what was inside.

Despite her rising curiosity, Mick set the presents aside and returned to her food, determined to eat it before it got any colder than it was already starting to be. After taking the chance to eat, Mick pushed the tray to the end of her bed and shifted to sit cross-legged before reaching for the two presents she had been given. Although she debated for a moment as to which she could open first, the red one was quick to be unwrapped, revealing a small box with a necklace inside, her first initial and Butchy’s delicately engraved into the face of a heart-shaped locket.

The golden heart was no bigger than the pad of Mick’s thumb and swung from a dainty chain that she feared would break far too easily. All the same, Mick stood from her bed and made her way to the mirror she had hung on the back of her bedroom door, taking a minute to secure the chain at the nape of her neck and examine the delicate new accessory. Smiling at her reflection, Mick ran a hand through her hair to somewhat fix it before making her way back to her bed and perching herself on the edge of her mattress before grabbing the blue gift.

Peeling away at the tape, Mick pulled back the wrapping paper. However, after the final piece of tape was torn away and the blue paper fell away, Mick found herself staring at a newspaper-wrapped object with a folded paper taped to the top of it. Tugging the folded page away from the newspaper, Mick opened it and began reading the cleanly-written note inside.

“‘If I know you the way I think I do, you’ll have opened this second.’” Mick let out a breath of a laugh; her predictability was unwavering and Butchy could read her like a book, so it was no surprise that he had gotten that right as well. “‘Another thing I know is that you’ve probably forgotten our date today since you never asked me about it the last couple of days, but just know that I didn’t. I’ve got it all under control, so all you need to do is show up. Dress cool - it’s supposed to be hot today - but bring your cozy sweatpants since we’ll be out after dark. Meet me at the truck when you’re ready to go.’”

Tipping her phone up from its spot on the nightstand and checking the time on her lock screen, Mick ran a hand through her hair. Sooner or later, everyone would be heading to the mess hall for breakfast. Setting her phone down and placing the note in the drawer of her nightstand, Mick quickly unwrapped the newspaper from the gift and found a novel she had been looking forward to reading - How To Survive Your Murder. With a grin, Mick placed the book beside her phone and stood, making her way to her closet. Pulling out a loose shirt and a pair of simple shorts, she smiled and dragged her hair into a loose bun before getting dressed and taking the opportunity to braid her hair.

Tucking her phone into her pocket, slinging a pair of sweats over her arm, and grabbing her book from the stand by her bed, Mick beamed to herself as she left her room. Though it was no surprise that Butchy was nowhere to be seen in the cabin, she was very surprised to find nobody sitting in the living room, waiting for the breakfast alert to blare throughout the campground. Looking around curiously, she found Miles’ and Carrie’s rooms open as they typically were during the day, letting her know that they had left the cabin already. Making her way to the door, Mick stepped outside and quickly found that almost everyone had gathered on the beach, throwing water balloons at each other like an all-out war.

Chucking at the group that had suddenly turned their aggression on Miles who had chosen to lounge on the sand in the hopes of falling asleep despite the chaos around him, Mick made her way through the sand to the pathways that wound throughout the grounds. As she passed a few counselors who had taken to sitting outside and talking on the porches of their cabins, Mick waved, earning herself a myriad of hastily-given greetings as she continued walking toward the main office. Once the building was in her sight, Mick felt a smile tugging at her lips once more. 

Just beyond the office was the parking lot where a few of the local staff members had left their cars to accumulate pine needles in the shaded spots of unpaved ground. It was there that she spotted her husband’s familiar truck sitting with the hood up. Approaching the vehicle with a raised brow, Mick tentatively deposited her belongings on the passenger’s seat through the open window and stepped around the front of the truck to find her husband holding one of the dipsticks and a napkin they had gotten from a nearby fast food restaurant.

“Everything alright?” she asked, watching as Butchy slid the stick back into its rightful place.

Butchy turned to her with a lopsided smile and nodded as he wiped his hands on the napkin he held. “Just checking the fluids before we head out,” he claimed. “I had to add some transmission fluid when we went shopping the other day and I think there might be a leak in the line somewhere.”

“Not good,” Mick commented. While she was good with machines, cars were like the Italian language to Mick - she knew enough to get by, but nowhere near as much as Butchy did. Taking a step back as Butchy reached for the hood and lifted it off of the support beam to close it, she asked, “Are you sure you want to go today? We can wait and do it some other time if you want to fix the truck first.”

Shaking his head as he dropped the hood into place, Butchy sent a smile in Mick’s direction as he said, “It’s nothing serious. Miles and I can take a look at it some other time. Today is for the two of us.”

Despite the sincerity in Butchy’s eyes, Mick still found it necessary to ask, “Are you sure?”

Taking Mick’s hand in his, Butchy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, muttering against her skin, “Positive.”

The warm summer air did nothing to stop the tingling shivers that raced through Mick’s shoulders as Butchy’s deep tone rumbled through her. Finding herself incapable of speaking her mind, she simply nodded and allowed him to guide her back to the truck, standing aside as Butchy opened her door for her and helped her climb in. After closing his wife’s door and rounding the truck, Butchy climbed in behind the wheel and buckled himself in, checking to make sure Mick had done the same before turning the vehicle on and backing out of his parking spot.

Once they had reached the end of the bumpy road, Butchy placed his hand palm up on the middle console out of habit, relishing in the gentle glide of Mick’s fingers as she slid her hand into his. Regardless of who was driving, the two almost always held hands while out and about. Whether it was Mick’s flower-power-themed, Volkswagen bus or Butchy’s cherry red, Ram pickup, they could be seen with their hands intertwined over the center console. It was just how they were. The only time they couldn’t hold hands properly was on Butchy’s motorcycle, which was fine as he still had her arms around him as he drove. At first, it was just for protection and a hint of a connection for the two of them as they went places together, but as they swapped cars on vacations, they found ways to keep themselves grounded in each other’s presence.

As Butchy drove, Mick watched out the window at the scenery that blew by. It was times like these they didn’t need words; they only needed each other. The radio, which had connected to Mick’s phone the moment the car turned on, softly played a song she had forgotten she added to her most recent playlist. As trees shifted to buildings and the main stretch of Sanbornton came into view, Mick turned her gaze to her husband, who had a hint of a smile on his face and seemed solely focused on the road before him despite his wife’s soft singing. Lifting their joined hands, Mick pressed a kiss to the back of Butchy’s hand before lowering them to their resting place.

“So, hotshot, where are you taking me?” she asked as the song ended.

Rolling to a stop at a red light, Butchy chuckled as he glanced her way, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” Mick remarked. “That would be why I asked.”

“Smartass.”

“Don’t let the kids hear you say that.”

“They aren’t here.”

“True,” Mick nodded. “So, are you going to tell me, or is this a surprise?”

“Surprise,” Butchy confirmed, “but I will tell you that you’ll have a good time.”

Mick hummed, leaning her head against the back of her seat as she mused, “I always have a good time with you.”

Butchy smiled as he squeezed Mick’s hand ever so slightly, “Good.”

The drive only stopped once as they pulled to a stop at a Dairy Queen to get some ice cream - Mick’s statement that ice cream was good any time of day ringing through Butchy’s head as they pulled up to the drive-thru order screen. Once they were back on the road with their ice creams nestled in the cup holders, Butchy continued driving north, bringing them away from the hustle and bustle of the city of Laconia and onto the back roads. Few houses lined the streets as they glided down the road, potholes being the only signs of life as they cruised along the empty streets. By the time their cups of ice cream were empty, they had passed rows of trees and bushes and come to a sparsely populated area. Eventually, Butchy slowed as the GPS warned him that he was approaching their destination and Mick found herself looking around in confusion. On their left was an RV park filled with rows of trailers and the only thing on their right was an empty, obviously unmaintained, parking lot with foliage filling the cracks and a metal gate blocking the entrance. 

However, as Butchy pulled a bit further down and flipped on his turn signal, Mick only found her confusion growing. Butchy pulled to a stop outside of a metal gate and told Mick to stay in the truck as he climbed out with a set of keys in hand. Rounding the truck, he slid one of the keys into the rusty lock and twisted it, dragging away the chain that held the gate in place before pushing it open and heading back to his truck. Once Butchy was back in the truck, Mick asked him what was going on, but he brushed off her concerns with ease as he pulled into the run-down parking lot and passed an old, red building with a moss-coated roof.

Stepping out of the truck once it was parked, Mick looked around, searching for any sign that she knew where they were. As Butchy led her toward the old red building, however, she spotted something that made the location click into her mind like a cassette in a Walkman. “White Oaks?” she breathed. “I thought this place closed down years ago.”

“It did,” Butchy confirmed. “I was talking with Vivien about things to do in the area and she brought up that you guys would come here a lot in the summers. I figured it would be nice to tour the place.”

With a laugh of disbelief, Mick stared at the building before her with wide eyes, “How did you even get a key?”

“I called the number on the for-sale sign by the road,” Butchy shrugged. “The guy was really nice and said we could look around as much as we want so long as we don’t go in the water. Something about it needing to be cleaned.”

“I’d say,” Mick scoffed as she took the lead, wandering into the building. “This place was closed seven years ago. Whatever’s in the water is probably sludgy and toxic by this point.”

Butchy followed his wife as she wandered into the old ticket center with practiced ease. As she looked around the crumbling remains of the building with a smile, Butchy felt the urge to whip out his phone and take a picture of her, but then again, he always felt like that. Before long, Mick got bored of the building and climbed over the ticket turnstiles, prompting Butchy to follow suit as she began making her way into the open air once more. The dilapidated remnants of a water slide loomed in the distance, its rusted metal creaking as the wind blew, rustling the leaves of the vines that crawled up the sides of the structure. Despite its rickety appearance, Mick smiled as though it was brand-new.

Further down the overgrown, concrete trails, they found an old pool with a decaying roof overhead - more than a few ceiling tiles having fallen into the murky abyss that was the lingering swamp of water in the pool. Half filled with rain water and a few chairs that had been unceremoniously dumped by trespassers, the pool had once stood proud and shimmering with glistening, crystalline water and welcomed people of all ages to take a refreshing dip. Now, all that remained were tadpoles and crumbling tiles. Mick had spent most of her childhood behind the pool’s waterfall, pretending to be a mermaid in a shimmering cave-like on one of her favorite shows. Now, however, she couldn’t imagine willingly swimming to the far side of the square pool and waiting for an arch of sludge to come over the embankment to seal her in.

Following the cement paths, they discovered what had once been a splash park and playground. A few of the play structures remained and, if Mick listened over the wind, she was sure she could hear the faintest screeches of laughter emanating from the large pirate ship that she and Vivien had spent hours playing on growing up. In the center of the play area was a pole with a circle at the top. Buckets used to hang from it, dumping water on unsuspecting children once they were filled. The soft ground under the splash park still had some semblance of color to it - its old, floral pattern was now nothing more than sunburnt shades of faded red and blue. Distantly, Mick wondered if the water spouts still worked, but she soon decided she wouldn’t want any of the remaining tank water to spray her down.

Down a set of stairs, Mick made her way to what was once the best wave pool in all of New Hampshire. Or, at least, the one she had deemed to be the best. The large mouth of the pool remained somewhat similar to how she remembered it - a dingy shade of gray with a rope across the front of it, blocking people from entering. Cartoonish signs still hung from the ropes, a little lavender bear wearing pool floaties pouting at the words “Closed for Cleaning and Maintenance.”

Chuckling, Mick held the corner of the sign and said, “It’s Helpy.”

“Helpy?” Butchy repeated.

“Mhm,” Mick hummed. “He was their maintenance mascot who would come out to let everyone know they needed to close something and fix it up. More often than not, it was the wave pool that needed fixing.”

Butchy chuckled as he sarcastically remarked, “Sounds like a great attraction.”

“It was,” Mick nodded, “it just broke down a lot.”

“So Helpy was their solution?”

“No,” Mick began with a shake of her head, “he was there long before they started having issues. You see, they used to have this party hall where you could have birthday parties and stuff. They had these animatronic animals that would sing and put on shows for everyone, but they broke down a lot, so Helpy would come out and try to guide everyone out back while they worked on the animatronics.”

Butchy nodded, “Sounds like that game you and Vivien were into.”

Mick snickered, “Five Nights at Freddy’s?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why do you think I liked the games so much?” Mick questioned rhetorically. “I loved going to parties here growing up and, when the games came out, I just fell in love. I may not be as much of a gamer as Vivien and the boys are, but I will forever be invested in Five Nights at Freddy’s.”

With a fond smile, Butchy allowed Mick to guide him throughout the rest of the water park, showing him all of her favorite locations and telling him all about the fond memories she had from over the years. After spending a few hours wandering the property, looking in the remaining buildings, and taking as many photographs as Mick desired, they made their way back to the entrance and made their way to Butchy’s truck. Once they were inside and had the air conditioner on to cool them from the heat of the blistering sun, Mick gave a contented sigh.

“What’s up?” Butchy asked as he rolled out of the parking lot.

“That was a lot of fun,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

Butchy chuckled as he pushed open his door to lock the gate of the property, “Well, don’t think we’re done yet.”

“We’re not?”

“Not even close.”

Smiling to herself as her husband got out of the truck, Mick relaxed into the leather of her seat, her fingers tracing the stitching of the material out of habit as she distantly listened to the scrape of metal behind the vehicle. Once Butchy was back in the truck, they were off again, driving further from the towns she knew. A few minutes down the road, Butchy pulled off into a parking lot and rolled to a stop before parking the car and tugging the key from the ignition. Although there was a small beach nearby, Mick couldn’t see the reason for him to want to go there without telling her to bring a bathing suit, so, as Mick turned to Butchy with a raised eyebrow, she was glad to see him already chuckling knowingly at her.

“I figured we could stop and have some late lunch,” he explained. Looking around, he scanned the area before pointing across the lot to a building with a blue roof and a sign with a sun over the water. “There, at Niko’s. It’s a Greek place, but there are som enormal things on the meal like pizza, pasta, and nachos. I figured it would be nice to try something new.”

Smiling at the hopeful glow in Butchy’s cinnamon eyes, Mick took in a breath and nodded, “Sounds great to me.”

Once they had climbed down from the truck, Butchy locked the doors with a beep that echoed through the quiet town and took Mick’s hand in his. The restaurant, though small, was welcoming as cool air pulsed throughout the seating area. The establishment wasn’t anything spectacular - no crisply ironed linens on the tables and certainly no maître d' to guide them to their table - but it was comfortable and the service was great. As the waitress took the menus and headed back to the kitchen to hand in their order, Mick reached across the table for Butchy’s hand and smiled as music flowed through speakers she had yet to find.

Though Butchy’s contentment was palpable as Mick talked about how pleased she was with the date so far, she had to wonder why he was consistently checking his watch once the food arrived. By the time they had eaten and Mick had gotten some baklava for them to share, she could feel her husband’s foot bouncing against the floorboards; a subtle sign that he was growing more and more anxious as time went on. Choosing to ignore it as she was sure he had to have something bigger in mind if he was so worked up over it, Mick worked her way through her portion of the baklava before letting Butchy get up to pay for their meal at the counter.

Once he had returned, Mick grabbed her phone from the table and made sure he had everything he needed before letting him lead the way outside. The air was thick with humidity and made both Butchy and Mick want to go back into the cool, air-conditioned restaurant, however, as Butchy checked his watch once more, they both knew that wasn’t a possibility. Instead of leading the way to the truck, Butchy led her toward the little beach and across a bridge to where a small shack sat on the end of a pier.

“What is this?” Mick asked as Butchy guided her toward the shack.

Rounding the shack with nothing more than a smile, Butchy stepped aside and gestured toward the water with a flourish. In the water was a small, blue and white square with two seats and a blue canopy secured above it. There were a few similar floating squares tied to the dock, but none of them had a canopy like the blue one did. When Mick looked no less confused than she had been, Butchy’s smile faltered ever so slightly and he explained, “It’s a pedal boat. I figured we could ride out on the lake for a while.”

Glad to finally know what was going on, Mick beamed, “Let’s do it, then.”

With newfound excitement, Butchy led his wife to their trusty little boat and stepped aboard before offering Mick a hand and helping her settle into her seat. Once they had gotten away from the shore and far enough from the beach that they no longer had to worry about people crossing their path, the pair slowed their pedaling and allowed the water to pull them where it wanted. Relaxing in her seat, Mick looked at her husband with a smile as she watched the water shimmer behind him. Although it wasn’t exactly quiet as they were still near the beach, the air between them was calm and quiet - a sort of peace that brought feelings of simple joy. Serenity filled the air as the water’s gentle flow inched them further from the shore. 

Taking in a slow, deep breath as she tipped her head back to examine the fading design on the canopy above them, Mick spoke contemplatively, “You know, I think I made a mistake.”

“You did?” Butchy asked, peering over at Mick with curious, almost concerned, amber eyes. Mick nodded and, in return, Butchy asked, “What would that be?”

“I brought my new book.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Butchy wondered, “How is that a mistake?”

“I’m not exactly getting any reading done,” Mick explained with a hint of a smirk as she met Butchy’s eyes. “I thought we were just having a picnic or something and that I’d have all the time in the world to read, but I’ve left it in the car all day.”

Allowing the building tension in his shoulders to release as Mick’s statement eased his mind, Butchy chuckled, “Well, in that case, maybe I'll just have to cancel the rest of my plans for the day so that you can get some reading done.”

“No!” Mick exclaimed. Finding the mirth in his eyes, Mick huffed, “You wouldn’t.”

“Is that a dare?” Butchy teased.

“No,” Mick began, “it’s a fact. You’ve had this whole day planned out and I know that, if you have something planned still, you’ll stick to it unless I ask you not to.”

Butchy chuckled, nodding his agreement to her claim, wondering if she knew just how true it was. Discreetly checking his watch as Mick began talking about how excited she was to finally start reading the book she had heard so much about, Butchy wondered how long he could keep her occupied. They still had another two hours on the pedal boat if they wanted and, if he knew Mick at all, she would want to search the beach for shells to add to her ever-growing collection. With any luck, it would be eight in no time and they would be on their way to the final event of the day.

Once he stopped checking his watch, time began to flow like sand in an hourglass. Before he knew it, they were on Weirs Beach, searching the shoreline for sea shells and sand dollars as the sun began to sink over the horizon. Once Mick had filled not only her pockets, but also Butchy’s with a collection of shells and shiny rocks she would share with everyone once they arrived back at the camp, he led her back to the truck where they emptied their pockets into the glovebox, Mick traded her shorts for warmer sweatpants, and the pair allowed the cooler, evening air to fill the humid cabin before closing the doors. 

Their drive didn’t last long as Butchy joined the main stream of traffic and followed the curve of the street to a small dirt road. Pulling up to a small building with a single light above it, a myriad of mosquitos and other insects bouncing around the lamp, Butchy rolled to a stop and reached into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet. Pulling out a couple of bills, he held out the money to the attendant who looked positively thrilled to be stuck manning the gate.

“Screen one has Barbie and The Haunted Mansion. Screen two has Insidious and Mission Impossible,” the exhausted worker listed off as they slotted the money into the register. “Which would you like?”

Butchy looked to Mick who, despite the darkening skies, was positively glowing as she excitedly held up a single finger. Turning back to the worker, Butchy replied, “Screen one, please.”

“Mhm,” the worker hummed. “Go left after the gate and try to park somewhere in the middle or back rows. Leave the front for the smaller cars. The snack shack and ice cream stand will be open until the second movie starts, but the bathrooms on the sides of the building remain open until we close. Remember to keep your headlights off and radio on since the movies will play over station ninety-seven-point-five.”

“Thanks,” Butchy said as Mick began fiddling with the radio. Once the worker nodded and waved him off, Butchy put the car back in gear and began rolling down the dirt path again, turning to the left and following the pathways made by other cars until he reached the parking area for the screen they had chosen. Finding a spot near the middle where Mick always liked to park when they went to drive-ins back in St. Pete Beach, Butchy drove in so that the tailgate face the screen before telling Mick she could turn the radio back off once again.

“But we need to have it on the right station or we won’t hear the movie,” she argued gently as she tried to find the right channel.

“We will,” Butchy agreed, “but not on that. I brought a radio from camp to use while we’re in the back.”

“The back?” Mick wondered as she finally looked up. Looking around, she realized Butchy had parked them facing away from the screen. Glancing through the back window at the covered tailgate, Mick asked, “How, exactly, are we going to sit back there?”

Butchy chuckled, taking the opportunity to kiss Mick’s cheek before suggesting, “How about you go get some snacks and drinks and I’ll figure that out?”

With a somewhat skeptical shrug, Mick relented and slid out of the vehicle after Butchy insisted she take his wallet with her. Once there was a bit of distance between his wife and the vehicle they had arrived in, Butchy climbed out of the truck and quickly unclipped the cover of his truck bed, rolling it back into place and examining the setup he had placed in the back end earlier in the day. The mattress and pillows Vivien had helped him smuggle from the storage shed were still snuggly secured in the back while the stack of blankets he and Miles had arranged in a sort of makeshift nest had shifted around quite a bit in their travels. Still, it looked alright and, as he dislodged the radio from its hiding place, he realized it wouldn’t matter much to Mick how it looked. It was the thought that counted.

By the time Mick had returned with two buckets of popcorn, a set of drinks, and her back pockets filled with boxes of cheap theater candy, Butchy had gotten everything set up and arranged the radio to stay on the right channel. Stepping around to the back of the truck, Mick’s eyes widened in disbelief as she breathed, “When did you have the time for all of this?”

“I have my ways,” Butchy stated as he gingerly slid the snacks from Mick’s dumbstruck grip. “Are you ready for a movie night?”

Letting out a breath of a laugh, Mick nodded eagerly, “Hell yeah!”

Without thinking to let Butchy help her, Mick moved to the side of the truck, stepped on the rim of the tire, and hauled herself over the side. Dropping onto the mattress, she held out her hands and took back the snacks so that Butchy could climb in and make himself comfortable. Once he had settled, she relaxed beside him and allowed herself to relax as he brought an arm around her shoulders. Peering down at his wife, Butchy smiled, pleased with how happy she seemed to be. As Mick lifted her head and met his gaze, Butchy brought a hand to the side of her neck, rubbing his thumb along her jawline as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Slowly retreating from the gentle kiss, Butchy asked, “Was it worth the wait?”

Mick hummed, slowly peeling her eyes open once more as a giddy grin tugged at her lips, “Absolutely.”

[margot-le-snail]

Much 00Q About Nothing - Primer

For those reading the related fic, a quick primer of the action of the actual Much Ado (or at least insofar as it relates to my retelling...)

Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon, returning from the wars, calls in at the house of Leonato, governor of Messina for a little R&R.

Amongst Don Pedro’s retinue are his friend Benedick; Claudio, a young count he has lately met; and his bastard brother Don John (who is, literally, a bastard and not just unpleasant; tho’ – spoiler – he is a proper unpleasant bastard also and insanely jealous of Don Pedro).  Also sundry servants and hangers-on.

At Leonato’s house are his bother Antonio, his daughter Hero and his niece Beatrice.  Beatrice and Benedick know each other of old and are constantly arguing and sniping at each other,  (Beatrice makes a single reference to Benedick having wooed her at some previous juncture and then buggered off – ‘Marry, once before he won [my heart] of me with false dice’.)

Claudio and Hero fall in love and agree to marry.   To beguile the time until the wedding, Don Pedro devises a plot to trick Beatrice and Benedick into falling in love with one another (like they're not already), which consists of arranging for each of them to "overhear" the friends of the other discussing how much they are into them.

Unable to attack Don Pedro directly, Don John decides to hurt his friend Claudio instead by tricking him into thinking that Hero is unchaste and thereby ruining the wedding.   Consequently, one of Don John’s servants, who is involved with Hero’s sluttier waiting-woman Margaret, arranges to woo her (Margaret) out of Hero’s bed-chamber window as if she were Hero, the night before the wedding.

Don John arranges for Don Pedro and Claudio to witness this, and they are tricked into believing it is Hero who is welcoming some random man into her bedroom.

Waiting until the wedding ceremony, Claudio (who I really do think is a bit of a dick) denounces Hero, calling her any number of appalling names.  She protests, her father protests, but Claudio’s claim to have seen Hero slutting it up with another man is backed up by Don Pedro.  Leonato denounces his daughter (but of course), who faints and is taken away,  For reasons I can’t quite recall, the local Friar (there’s always one) suggests they give out that Hero is dead until it her innocence can be established,

Messy drama all round, in the aftermath of which, Beatrice and Benedick confess their love to one another.   (Which if well done, it is properly heart-stopping.)   Beatrice insists her cousin is innocent.

Then in one of the most let’s-wrap-this-up resolutions ever, Hero’s innocence is entirely re-established by the fact that *the same night* Don John’s servants are overheard boasting about what they’ve done by the watch, and are arrested and committed to prison.   Job done.  Don John has conveniently fled, which helps with the whole guilty by association thing.

Skipping to the end, Leonato gives out that Hero has died; Claudio is now, of course, all remorseful.  (Shut up, Claudio.)  Anyway, Leonato says he can make it up for, oh, Idk slanderously murdering his child by marrying a different niece out of his house.  Wedding commences.  Oh look!  Who’d’ve thought it, mystery girl is Hero after all, not dead, let’s all live happy ever after(?). 

In other news, Beatrice and Benedick share some really rather lovely scenes, which can still make me squee like a banshee.

BENEDICK

[..] And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

BEATRICE

For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?

BENEDICK

Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.

BEATRICE

In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates.

BENEDICK

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

[guessimate]

I rolled: Out with you, child! And I did make it happen, but at the very end of the round – Beatrice married her ‘betrothed’. I rolled one more time, as well, because the ‘betrothal’ was ‘arranged’ before already. And the other roll was Insane in the Membrane. It turned out Elvira Croix would stay insane forever, in the newly built Cloister. She will be a “crazy” lady taking care of orphaned kids that will go to the nunnery.

So, I had to set up the nunnery. I just cloned the monastery and made it a bit cheaper by changing some seating/beds. The head nun’s name is Brigid Nunn and her first task is taking care of Elvira. The nun’s aspiration was rolled to be Knowledge, and she’s a Pisces.

The Cloister ended up costing ~50,000. Both the Royal Treasury and the Church’s money was spent on it (there was 33,950$ in the Royal Treasury and 17,800$ in the Church’s fund). The nunnery was placed between the monastery and the church/cemetery, so the Church part of the town is complete.

~*~

The head monk invited himself into the house – probably because Elvira is his BFF – but I’m going to say it’s because he heard she had become insane and was very sorry for her. They had just built a new nunnery nearby and they were willing to take her in. They took Elvira away.

~*~

Bernard – the grandpa – didn’t really have any wants this round, other than wishes for his grandkids to get scholarships, which was not going to happen... He also wanted a relative to get engaged. I decided to have him Encourage the grandkids to be a bit more Active, since he’s 8 Active. He managed to get both of them to 8 Active points.

He did at least get a want to get some mechanical skill points when he fixed some plumbing, so he was able to max out his elder career before he died.

I knew grandpa was dying soon, but I didn’t realize it would happen so early… He didn’t get to see a proper engagement and wedding, unfortunately. He died a day before that would happen, which is such a shame. The siblings got 5000$ from him [2500$ for each grandchild]. I decided to treat it as dowry... Beatrice almost went into aspiration failure because of a death of a family member, and she was the only person that really cared. Since she’s so similar to her grandpa, at least in terms of One True Hobby, she’s going to try to max out Music&Dance enthusiasm, in his stead.

~*~

On Friday both Beatrice and Boniface were doing terribly at school, and I got a warning saying that Boniface would not be allowed to work anymore, so I decided to have them do their homework at the weekend, though they wouldn’t even go to school on Monday anymore, as they would age up...

Boniface was afraid of being uneducated and he wanted to go to college, but that didn’t happen, unfortunately. He aged up well, but then he immediately went into aspiration failure.

I gave the siblings their last traits when they aged up.

Boniface is a Socially Awkward, Brave, Lucky and Perceptive Schmoozer.

Beatrice is a Hydrophobic Great Kisser, Vehicle Enthusiast, and Schmoozer, of Star Quality.

~*~

They ended up with 23,587$, and they started with 16,816$, but the 5000$ inheritance money is not counted towards their income. They really earned only 1771$.

5000$ – rent.

178$ – tax.

= 5150$ (rounded down) to the Royal Treasury (total earned in town so far = 109,100$). 

100$ – burial fee.

178$ – tithe.

278$ (rounded down to 250$) – to the Church. Church’s earnings total are 18,050$, but they are pretty much starting from 0, too.

Boniface was left with 18,187$ (17,987$ because he got himself a chess table). After his sister’s dowry was paid, he was left with 12,987$.

~*~

Beatrice invited Enrique on a date and they both wanted to fall in love with each other immediately. They both rolled the wants to get engaged and married. I played the Avesnes family for a bit, just to get them married.

The Avesnes family, in which Beatrice is marrying into, started off with 17,451$. I set their funds to 22,451$, to indicate the dowry.

[pixelmuppet]

And Her Name Was Beatrice

My first fic! Again bc tumblr ate it the first time >:(

Tw: for using dead names n pronouns.

---

Victor walked the halls of his father's home, the chill of winter settling deep into the house. Even with clothed feet the floor sent shock waves of cold up his body. The snow had come earlier this evening, fat flakes resting on the window sill and piling against the pane. Victor rubbed his hands together, rounding a corner to his room. He walked past his youngest brother's room before he stopped abruptly, his head snapping to the door as he heard a small sob. It was soft and nearly silent he had almost missed it. He hurriedly made his way to the mahogany frame, his hand curling to tap his knuckles onto the wood.

"Willam?" He whispered, ear to the door as his eyes danced around searching for a sound. A hitch in the youngest breathing was heard before another sob broke the silence. Taken aback by the sudden reaction, Victor turned the knob and opened the door rushing to his brother's side. "Willam, what troubles you?" He asked, panicked slightly.

Wiping their eyes the younger looked at him, "Do not call me that." They said firmly, but still broken from crying. Victor stared at them, then nodded as he sat himself onto the bed. "Very well, what should I call you then?" He asked patiently. They looked away, "I'm not sure yet, just not Willam." They hissed as though the name was poison on the tongue. He nodded, "Alright then, now please, there must be more that troubles you then just a name.." he urged, lifting their chin so they could look at him. They sniffled as they stared at their big brother, "I feel as though my titles as brother and son do not fit me.." they admitted, more tears welling into their eyes. The lit candle on the side table making them glow, illuminating the sorrow in those pale blue eyes.

"Shh, it's ok," Victor soothed, wiping them away, "Tell me.." "I feel as though I was not meant to be Willam, I'm still me but he was not me.." They said, "I must sound insane if I want to become a sister instead.." "No, no my dear, no." Victor hugged them, "Never, these are normal, I too, had these feelings at one time. For I was not always your brother." They stared at him, "You lie.." they mumbled not believing a word. "No it's true, I used to be a daughter and a sister but as you had said. Those titles and that name were not me. I am Victor and I'm your big brother and if you so wish to become my sister then so be it." He said confidently. They stared at him, "Really?.." She asked. "Really." He nodded holding their hand.

The sister's eyes landed to the bedside table, a book resting there. "Beatrice." She said softly, "I want you to call me Beatrice."

"Beatrice." Victor echoed, a smile forming on his face, "That's a beautiful name." His smile grew wider at the way she grinned, her knees knocking together in her giddy happiness. "Thank you Victor." She said hugging her brother, her thin arms wrapped around his neck. "Of course Beatrice." He hugged her back before kissing her forehead, "Now, try to get some sleep. You don't want to wake up during midday and miss playing in the snow with Adam do you?" "Of course not," She grinned snuggling under the thick comforter, "I wouldn't miss it for the world." He smiled down at her, "Good night Beatrice, I love you." "Good night Victor, I love you too." she yawned as he tucked her in, picking a stuffed toy from off the floor and under the comforter with her. He gave her one last head pat and left the room with the click of the door. She listened to his fading footsteps before sitting up and taking the book from earlier off it's resting place and flipping to the marked page to continue reading.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XVI

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The trial begins.

Note: Hey, it’s ya girl, the disaster. I managed to get this done and so we’re still going hot. We’ll see how close we get to christmas before I just pass out from being insane. 💋 😉 Anyways, with each chapter we’ll get closer to the big hubba hubba but for now, control yourselves ho.

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

Eleanor was imprisoned for a month before the cardinals arrived. The trial was further delayed by the king of Asgard; Thor was Eleanor's brother and in his stead he sent their other brother. Thus, the trial was delayed by the arrival of Prince Loki. 

While the king openly welcomed a standard of the queen's homeland, he seethed behind closed doors. His temper was easily pricked as his impatience wound tight. He only realised after Eleanor's arrest that the matter was far from resolved.  You found yourself soothing him with gentle words and dulcet tones. Until you could not.

He was taxed further as the presence of the cardinals kept him from you. His council advised that it would be unseemly to keep company with another lady as his wife, or alleged wife, sat accused. Steven agreed reluctantly but it did not prevent his love letters or gifts from finding their way into your chambers.

The castle was as restless as its king. The ladies had no queen to attend and the lords were completely enthralled by the royal conflict. None could escape it. Though you tried to distract yourself with your needle or a book from your shelf, you could not concentrate long enough to forget. Long enough that you didn’t think of your part in this catastrophe.

Having paced the expanse of your chamber several times, Marge suggested you take to the corridors instead. While the walls were less suffocating, you still found the wraiths of the castle followed you around. The queen’s rooms were empty and so you avoided that wing; the feast hall was vacant and void of gaiety. The walls were drab with as the last of the winter sun shone in through the tall windows. You wondered if spring would ever come.

You found the cushioned bench by the window and sat. The guard stood at your back. You’d grown used to the sentinels; the subtle clink of mail and their iron grips upon their pommels. The trees dripped outside and the ground shone with melting snow and shrinking ice. The roads would be passable enough to permit your mother; the prospect of her return was your only comfort.

A loud grind overtook the stillness of the dreary March day. You looked to the walls, the gate just within view of your perch. The chains loudly wrapped around the gears as the links were wound to open the doors. You stood and leaned against the glass as you peered around at the entrance. 

A dark carriage jostled through, drawn by two great stallions and followed by a dozen more mounted by armoured men. A golden flag flew from the top of the carriage and the men held matching banners. You blinked and looked to Marge; the Asgardians had finally arrived.

Your heart raced as you turned your back to the window. Perhaps if you willed him away, the prince would go. A glimmer within hoped he could save his sister as you replayed your last meeting with her over in your head. Though you questioned her veracity, she seemed honest; too desperate to be deceptive. And as you thought of it more, you realized she had been as close to begging as she’d ever come. As she ever could as a woman of royal blood. 

But you didn’t wish too hard. 

Some days, you dreamt of an escape, other days, you were complacent. One minute, you felt as if you’d brought it all down upon yourself and the next you felt entirely helpless. You knew the king’s hand moved the pieces and yet you thought to move upon your own squares. In the end, there was his will and nothing else. As you could not deny the prince’s arrival, you could not deny that.

You sighed and looked to Marge. You nodded down the corridor. You’d return to your chamber and hide. You tried being brave, cowardice would do you better. You could not stand the knot that tied around your heart as you thought of how futile your efforts had been. Your want to elude the king, to appease the queen, to live a peaceful life. It had all been for not as the queen would meet with a cruel fate, and you would too. As you all would by the hand of the king.

👑

You were to attend the queen’s trial. As your father sat on the council, you were allotted a seat in the gallery. The council itself would be among the first row, the cardinals in their box, and the two kings and singular prince within their own. It was to be a spectacle; the downfall of a queen, though it would be argued she never truly was.

You awaited your entrance with the other ladies. Marion and Beatrice were the only other unwed ladies warranted to sit in the audience upon their own kinship to council members. There were several married ladies who would share your bench. They were somber but not quiet. They whispered; both anxious and eager for the outcome.

The councilmen had passed through the doors not long before. You watched the men shuffle in with leather bound ledgers and pens in hand. Your stomach twisted and you pondered a retreat to your chambers. You weren’t needed here; your father merely requested your presence to remind the court of his standing. To remind him that one day, his daughter might just be queen.

The doors opened again but only a single lord appeared. His blue eyes caught yours and he smiled as he approached you. Lord Barnes’ hair was bound low behind his head and he wore a plain navy overcoat without ornament. He bowed as he stopped before you and the other ladies glanced over curiously. You returned the courtesy.

“My lady,” He stood. “I did not expect you.”

“Neither did I, my lord,” You returned. “But my father did think it pertinent I attend and his majesty did agree.”

“Oh, he would,” He smirked and shook his head, “Though you do look as if you do not.”

“Why should I be here?” You glanced at the others and stepped away from them. Barnes followed and leaned in slightly to listen as you spoke. “You think I do not realize what they think? They did not expect me either and that I do show my face assures them of their suspicions.”

“This trial has yet to begin,” He said coolly. “As it may prove the queen innocent or otherwise, it will surely do the same for you.”

“And what should happen if the court rules against the queen? What should her brother do?”

“Prince Loki? He rules a small duchy no one’s ever heard of.” He scoffed. “I swear, the man’s only come out of boredom.”

“Not that brother, the one who sent him,” You frowned. “It astounds me he should let his sister be humiliated this far.”

“Should his apathy surprise you?” Barnes breathed derisively. “For the last two years, he has not lifted a pen to paper to write to her, though she would do so often. He has distanced himself from her since the death of their father; since she did disregard his commands that she return for the funeral. And then shortly thereafter, the same upon their mother’s death.”

“And he should forsake her on that?”

“He does not forsake her, but has sent a letter which does concede to the will of the cardinals in this matter.” He explained. “The queen has proven herself adverse to kings, though in some ways, I cannot blame her.”

“And you think this letter will keep the king from war in his sister’s name?” You challenged.

“I think the marriage between Steven and Eleanor did compromise a hard-fought alliance between Wakanda and Asgard. I think the sons of the hateful old kings should seek to do better. I think Eleanor has sown discord between all three nations in her behaviour and has wrought resent from all three crowns.” He spoke quietly so that his voice did not rise above the chatter of the ladies. “I do think, despite her best efforts, she has signed the warrant herself.”

“Is that what you think, or what he thinks?” You looked him in the eye. He smirked.

“May I offer you some advice, lady?” He tilted his head coyly.

“You may though I may not accept it.” You replied.

“Take this as an opportunity to learn what you should not do.” His face turned stern. “Learn from Eleanor and all her mistakes. Do not let yourself fall into the same trap one day.”

Your eyes rounded as you stared at him. Your breath caught. His eyes clung to you; intent and unyielding.

“And you think I should fall into that same trap?” You asked.

“I should hate to see it, is all,” He said. “The king’s crown has weighed heavy on him for many years and it does affect his posture; his very spirit.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. You tried to gather your thoughts; to reign in the fears which had overcome you for so long. Those which you found harder and harder to outrun.

“Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” He squinted.

“That he did offer to marry us?” You wondered.

“He offers a lot,” He chuckled. “And I did know. I think, perhaps, it might have saved us all trouble. Well, everyone but me.”

“And you know what he would’ve expected?”

“I did.” He didn’t flinch.

You shook your head at him. Never without his wit. “Then perhaps it might have been worth it.” You said. “If it did keep us from all this.”

He considered you a moment and pushed his shoulders back. “Let’s not linger on the past and what will never be.” He chided. “I did emerge for some reason though how easily I am distracted.” He bowed his head stiffly. “My lady, I must be upon my way. They do await my return.”

👑

The chambers did not quiet for a while. The audience chattered as the the five cardinals sat in their box. The sun shone in through the round stained-glass window and beamed a kaleidoscope onto the floor between the jury and the bench. You sat among the ladies and waited quietly. To you, it was a deathly lull.

When at last, the doors groaned again and were pulled open, the three royals entered as the crowd fell into silence. King Steve wore a plain grey overcoat with a single medal around his neck; the most modest you’d seen him. King T’Challa wore his tradition black and gold attire, with a sash across his overcoat as Prince Loki sported a dark green coat with snakes sewn upon the chest. They approached their box and sat to face the audience, the cardinals to their left.

The air was so still you thought you would faint. You gulped and swore all could hear the constricting of your throat. You looked along the line of cardinals in holy white and it felt as if you were to be judged. You tore your eyes away only to meet those of another. 

King Steve’s lips twitched as his gaze lingered on you before moving on. He hadn’t visited you in over a month. It wasn’t his disinterest that kept him though, only his ultimate goal. A goal which, you realized, was closer than ever. You lowered your head and waited. Waited. Waited. You were tired of waiting even for something you never wanted.

There was a swish of fabric and you raised your eyes, though you kept your chin down. The cardinal who sat at the centre of the party stood, his hair as white as his robes. His knobby knuckles clutched together before his rounding stomach and he inhaled deeply before his gravelly voice rose.

“On behalf of the See, in the name of our lord, and upon the sovereignty of these three kingdoms, we do call the accused, Eleanor of Asgard.” The elder’s dull eyes floated over the crowd. “Please, stand for the accused to hear her charges.”

All rose, cardinals, kings, lords, and ladies, and all seem to hold their breaths. You slowly lifted your head as you heard the small door to the right of the kings’ box open. The familiar metallic sound of mail and iron trickled in and the queen appeared with a guard at her side and two at her rear. 

She was pale and her gown hung from her slender shoulders. She stood stoic in white; the colour of the church; of sacredness; of forgiveness. She held her head high as she walked forward to stand at the podium between the kings and cardinals. Though she still held herself as the queen she was, there was frailty to her you’d never seen before.

“Eleanor of Asgard, you stand here, by the power of these kings; Steven and T’Challa, and by that of King Thor, your brother, represented by his ambassador, Prince Loki,” The cardinal’s voice grew more laboured with each word as he recited them. “To stand trial in the eyes of the Holy See and our lord, for the charges of adultery and treason.”

The queen didn’t wince. Though you could not see her face, her shoulders did not slump and her figure did not waver. She looked straight ahead and listened. You’d never seen anyone so graceful; so brave. You could never be that.

“Adultery in that you did falsely accept a betrothal whilst already bound by another and lay with a man not legally your husband. That you did attempt to unjustly break a contract previously formed upon the creation of a new and unsanctified one. And treason upon the offense that you did attempt to kill King Steven, your false husband who you did deceive, by way of poison.”

You found it hard to stand. Your legs were weak and you felt as if you would shrivel up. You looked to Steven as he tried to withhold a smile. He was proud; smug; content even. To watch this woman who he had known for more than ten years face what could be her death. You wondered if one day he should look at you in the same manner in the same circumstance.

“How do you plea?” The cardinal asked.

Your attention strayed to the dark-haired prince. He was stark contrast to his sister, though their eyes were the same emeralds beads. His face was placid as he watched his sister; bored even. He gave a slight nod before she spoke.

“Not guilty,” She declared. Prince’s Loki’s face drained of colour.

The cardinal paused as the clerk scribbled upon parchment. He bowed his white head and and spread his arms. “We have read the charges, we recognize the accused’s plea, and we shall commence this trial forthwith.”

The cardinal sat and you let your breath out. Eleanor still didn’t move. She didn’t even turn to watch as Lord Ellis stood and approached the podium across from hers. He placed his papers before him, another podium stood six feet from the queen; empty. 

“We will call the first witness,” Ellis began. “King T’Challa of Wakanda, we do call upon you to testify.”

“And I do accept,” T’Challa stood and stepped down from the box. 

He crossed the chamber and as he passed the queen, she finally flinched. Her hand reached to the rail around her and she stood so that her neck looked even longer. The king stepped up to the other podium.

“We do question you, your highness, upon the expectation that you do tell the truth, entirely and without censor before these cardinals and before our lord in this court of the See.”

“I swear to the See, to answer your question truthfully and without hesitation,” T’Challa responded.

“Your highness, you were betrothed to Eleanor of Asgard?” Ellis asked.

“I was.” T’Challa confirmed. “When I was fifteen, her father signed the contract with mine and I was sent to live in Asgard until we were to be wed.”

“And when did this contract end?”

“End?” T’Challa echoed. “It did not for we did not wed and it was never formally dissolved. I remained in Asgard for five years and did return to Wakanda upon my father’s request. I was to prepare for my succession and my marriage.”

“You did not see your departure as the end of your contract?”

“The contract stood. Before I left, Eleanor did speak to me of how she longed to be my wife. And upon this contract and the recognition that it did not end, for her marriage to King Steven was fallacious and illegal, I did not marry for this past decade or more. I could not for I was still bound to her.”

“You left for war against my people,” Eleanor growled.

“My lady, it is not your turn to speak,” Lord Ellis corrected her. The lack of her title startled the court and sent up a wave of whispers. 

“I am a queen, I shall speak when I wish--”

“Do restrain yourself,” The cardinal at the end of the line intoned. “This is a court of law, not one of your ladies’ circles.”

Eleanor looked to the cardinals but said nothing further. She stared forward again as Ellis cleared his throat. “Do continue, your highness.”

“I have brought with me several petitions I did submit; two to a See within my own country and another to the Holy See itself. I did request that my marriage contract be reviewed and annulled so that I may find a wife and queen to lead my people. The first two were referred to the higher court, and the third has not yet been heard and so I do hope that this will be my absolution. My freedom.”

You nearly jumped as you felt a hand on yours. You looked over at Marion as she placed her hand over yours. She held your eyes and her face reflected her fear. This foretold not only the precariousness of the queen herself, but of every woman at court. You turned back to the queen, lit in the rainbow cast through the stained-glass. A red streak bled around her shoulders.

“That this matter was never truly settled has been an oversight most grave,” T’Challa continued. “I ask today that it be resolved for my own sake and that of this other king whom I believe Eleanor deceived knowingly. Of two marriages that can never be such, for she did violate those contracts.”

Ellis nodded as he shuffled through his paper. He thought, or pretended to, and looked back to the king.

“What makes you so convinced of the authenticity of this original contract?” Ellis prodded.

“Because, though it shames me to admit it, I did lay with Eleanor.” T’Challa lowered his head shamefully. “And when I did, she called herself my wife and I her husband. And in the ancient right of not only my country, but of this and many under the reach of the See, this is as true as any contract.”

At once, the whispers rose to full blown gasps and titters. The cardinals looked to each other annoyed and the eldest raised his hand. The court quieted slowly and looked to the holy men as they scowled. Eleanor roiled silently as she refused to acknowledge the king at his podium.

“And can you offer proof for this claim, your highness?” Ellis asked.

“Only my word,” T’Challa said staunchly. “Though it may be that others can testify to her unchasteness.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Ellis smiled and flipped once more through your papers. “If you have nothing else, you may step down.”

“Lies, lies, lies,” The chant slowly grew louder and the queen gripped the rails of her podium. “They tell you lies!”

“Do restrain yourself,” A dark-haired cardinal snapped. “You will have your turn to speak. You may save your vitriol until then.”

You squeezed Marion’s hand as the queen pushed herself straight and kept her eyes averted as the Wakandan king climbed down from the stand. You shuddered as you looked around, heads turned in disbelief. A pair of eyes caught your own. Lord Barnes held your gaze for a moment before he righted himself. His words swirled among the whispers that rose around you. 

‘Do not let yourself fall into the same trap one day.’

[deweysdenouement]

House of Cards

a/n: this has lived in my mind rent free for longer than i care to admit but i only actually wrote it all tonight. somethin’ a little different. somethin’ likely not that good.

or: years after beatrice and bertrand leave vfd, beatrice and frank get trapped under a desk together during a bank robbery. mostly just them, cameos from bertrand, violet, and ernest + much discussion of kit and dewey

TW for guns and blood (nothing graphic, no death)

“Well,” Beatrice says brightly as a bullet flies over their heads and dislodges some beige coloured plaster in the wall. “This is no good.”

“I thought we were just amicable strangers in a queue,” Frank replies flatly, folded up like the origami swans on the tables at his hotel, trying to keep his body hidden under the desk. 

“Amicable strangers surviving a bank robbery together,” she says. “It brings people closer.”

“That’s never been my experience of the world,” Frank says, and it’s punctuated by another two shots, an effect she imagines he rather enjoys. “In my experience, when people get scared, they just leave.”

‘Well,” Beatrice says, as her heart breaks behind her ribs, “I am actually stuck here right now.”

“You haven’t changed,” he replies, and a hint of softness creeps into his voice. “I thought being a mother would force you to learn to actually listen to people.”

It’s a dig, and an accurate one at that, but they might be dead in a few minutes, so she leaves her arsenal of words she could throw back at him alone. Partly because she’s listening for the footsteps of the man keeping them all in here, partly because Frank looks more pitiful than annoyed.

“I have two children now,” she says softly. “So I should be doubly good at it.”

“I saw. Dewey kept the clipping from the birth announcement in the paper.”

“How is he?”

“You know Dewey,” Frank says, tone carefully even. “If there’s a silver lining, he’ll find it.”

Someone on the other side of the room starts to cry. A few scattered voices hush them.

“He’s not great,” Frank finishes. “So we should try to avoid dying here.”

“We’ll be fine,” Beatrice says easily. “They just want the money. We’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“Bad timing,” he murmurs.

“Because you’re stuck in a hostage situation, or because you’re stuck in a hostage situation with me?”

Frank smiles crookedly for the first time since they had noticed each other in the queue.

“Oh, the latter,” he says. “If I was stuck here with Bertrand? No complaints.”

“Bertrand could have talked that guy down by now,” she says glumly. “You could run off back to the hotel and avoid any awkward conversation at all.” 

“Don’t you always claim to be some genius with people?” Frank shifts slightly, and she hears the crack of his bones. They’re both getting older.

“I can’t even get toddlers to go to bed,” she says ruefully, and it feels more honest than she means it to. “You think I can stop a hostage situation with the power of love?”

“Well, it would be nice. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“I cannot believe you are worrying about work,” she hisses. “Are you gonna try telling him that?”

“I’ve never seen the emotional card work in the movies,” he says, and she thinks he might be joking with her again. “Who can know what’ll work?”

“I do feel very inclined to tell him I have a husband and two children,” Beatrice huffs, and slides down the smooth wood so she’s half resting on the small of her back. “If anything happens to me-”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he says sharply. His face is closed off again. “Nothing is happening to you.”

“Never knew you cared.” She grins at him, knocks her shoe against his. “Anyone else would have let me have my moment.”

“Kit would tell you to shut up,” he says. “Then threaten to run you over with her taxi.”

“That was definitely her thing.”

“It still is her thing,” Frank says. “We didn’t all stop existing when you left.”

“I know,” she says, a little ashamed. “How is she?”

“How much have you forgotten about us that you think Kit and I are talking about feelings?”

“Good point,” she says, and laughs a bit. “But you can tell, can’t you?”

“I guess,” he hums. “She’s pretty mad at you.”

“That’s fair.”

Footsteps move right past their desk, separated only by a thin slice of wood, and they both hold their breaths for a moment.

“She does miss you both though,” he carries on, and she thinks maybe he’s using Kit as a shield, that they’re not really talking about her anymore. “Probably more than she’s mad at you.”

“I guess you can’t know,” she says.

“I guess not.”

“I really am sorry,” Beatrice whispers. “And you can tell her that, if you want. I think a lot of people would have made our choice if they’d been able to.”

Being friends with Frank, she remembers, is a lot like building a house of cards. There’s a lot of fragile and strategic placing, and a wrong step usually means starting over. It’s a shame this isn’t really a good time to be hesitant.

“I would have,” he says eventually, and she breathes a sigh of relief. “But then VFD made the hotel too critical to their operations, even though we just wanted it to be a hotel. And then there’s my brothers. Obviously.”

“I didn’t know you wanted it to be normal,” she frowns.

“Told you you didn’t know everything,” he says, smiling weakly. “What better way to keep us where we were than monopolising our only source of income?”

“Not very noble,” she mutters, then, “Why do you always talk about it like you’re not a part of it?”

“Don’t start reading into things,” he huffs. “I look at most things from the outside.”

“Well, that’s because you have problems,” Beatrice quips teasingly, and she’s about to make an excellent joke when there’s another round of shots so close to her ear that for a second her head is full of ringing, and then Frank is groaning next to her.

When the ringing subsides and she hears the feet move away and sees the light shining through the holes in her desk, she scrambles over to Frank.

“Oh shit,” she says, when she sees blood on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, feeling great,” Frank snaps, shifting so she can see the wound in his leg. It’s not deep, and he doesn’t look in any danger of dying, but it still makes her a little dizzy after a few years of mainly cleaning up baby food. “Not the first time.”

“When was the first time?” Beatrice asks, stripping off her cardigan to press it against his leg and trying to sound normal. “And why haven’t I heard this story?”

“Oh, it was meant for Ernest,” he says, and hisses when she applies pressure. “I kept up the ruse. Long story.”

“We have time,” she says.

“Not much,” he replies. “I heard police outside.”

As much as she would like to not be hiding from a man with a gun, Beatrice knows that when this is over, so is this conversation. They’re only trapped here together by freak coincidence and her pulling him down next to her when the first shots went off. He’ll be gone with the wind as soon as the doors open.

“Hey, Beatrice,” he says, snapping her out of her reverie. “Listen to me for a moment and don’t say anything.”

“Fine,” she says. “Don’t confess your feelings for me though.”

“Hah,” he snorts. “Well, if I do, it’s the blood loss.” 

“Making you reveal what you’ve felt all along,” she says brightly. “Come on now, before you pass out.”

“I’m not passing out,” he says stubbornly, and she believes this because she’s seen him go three days without sleeping before. “I just needed to tell you that if I die and you live-”

“Obviously not happening.”

“I said don’t say anything,” he grumbles. “If I don’t make it out of here and you do, I need you to tell my brothers-”

“That you love them? We know, Frank, maybe you should just show some affection sometimes.”

“Will you shut up?” Frank narrows his eyes at her. He’s a little pale and sweaty, but still as sharp as ever. “I need you to tell them one of them can take my place. If they want to. It’s probably easier than whatever they’ve got going on.”

“Well,” Beatrice says. “That’s insane.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion on it, I just asked you to do it,” Frank snaps. “Beatrice, for god’s sake, let a man bleed in peace.”

“You’re hilarious,” she says. “I don’t think you have it that easy though.”

“Your opinion isn’t really part of my life anymore,” he says bluntly, and closes his eyes. “I’d pass on a message for you.”

“Eh,” she says. “I think I’m kinda obvious now. I love my family, I want them to move on, I was very noble, blah blah.”

“Duly noted,” he replies. “You have fun with that.”

Then the doors break open, and there’s a cacophony of yelling, and when Beatrice peers over the top of the desk, she sees that the man who took them all hostage is in handcuffs.

“Told you we’d be fine,” she says. “I know you thought we were both done for, but you gotta learn to listen to me.”

Frank flips her off, and she helps him to his feet, slinging one skinny arm over her shoulder.

Outside, there are crowds of people all with their gloved hands over their mouths and some cheer as the little group of hostages trails out.

“Hi!” A little voice calls, and Beatrice looks down to see Violet toddling towards her at top speed, Bertrand hurrying behind her with Klaus in his arms.

“Oh,” he says slowly when he approaches, and sees Frank with her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Frank says, making some vague attempt to look dignified despite barely being on his feet. “I hope you’re well.”

“Are you?” Bertrand asks, nonplussed. 

“What do you think?” Frank says flatly, and Beatrice nods subtly to the blood seeping down his leg so Bertrand will understand the sudden absence of a filter.

Before Bertrand can come up with any reasonable response to that (and she’s sure he could and she would admire him greatly for it), Ernest is swooping in, and it’s another punch to the gut of a familiar face even if it’s the exact same face.

“There you are,” Ernest says, pulling Frank off Beatrice to lean on him without a word to her. He looks dreadful, but she can’t tell if it’s the present stress or a new normal. “Dewey’s worried sick. Kit drove me here, that’s how dire things got.”

“Hi, Ernest,” Beatrice says. Bertrand stays wisely silent.

Ernest gives her the once-over.

“Thanks for helping,” he says shortly. “You probably shouldn’t come to the taxi.”

“Good call,” she says weakly. “Bye.”

It feels just as hard the second time.

“Bye,” Ernest says, and Frank raises a hand. “Okay, come on, you’re off work for at least a week.”

“It’s a graze,” Frank sighs, and then they’re both gone into the crowd, and Beatrice stands among the bustle of people with Bertrand’s hand on her shoulder and fresh blood drying on her dress.

[horseyfuture]

Lockdown 2021

Welcome, you sickening metallic pervert. I don’t know why I even tolerate you, my dues to the club have long since been settled and yet still you show up with your corrugated spleen and your laminated nipples. What? Oh, it’s you. With your simple fleshy appendages and some kind of yellow blancmange for a CPU. I suppose you will suffice. Bend yourself over the table there and we’ll get on with the show. Liquid soap’s on the side, next to the antique bum-hammer.

---

Aries: You find yourself repeatedly followed by crows. This is in no way related to the quite normal phenomenon in which a murder of crows will adopt a human who feeds them, bringing them trinkets and even offering them protection from aggressors. No, these crows find you sexy. Leaping about in your lounge, wearing your goth tops and flapping your arms to the rhythms of online parties, the crows all agree that you are “SKRARK!” or, in Crow, “one fine piece of floppy human tail”. Well done! Crows have good taste and make excellent lovers.

Taurus: Every time you open that damn Taurus mouth of yours, you sound like a broken record. I mean, literally, you sound like a piece of badly scratched vinyl. That’s been up the wrong bit of a rhino. And is being played using a bent nail. Through the speakers of a brown ‘65 Ford Allegro. In Ipswitch. In the rain. On a Wednesday. In November. That’s a lot of detail to pack into an accent every time you decide to prattle on about crisps. People find it offputting.

Gemini: On a whim, you buy yourself a File-o-fax, you know, from the 80s. You must have seen one in a kitschy American TV show or something. While excessively bored on a Sunday afternoon, you begin to fill in some of the entries from your mobile phone. As soon as you finish writing the first one, Adam, he calls! What a crazy coincidence! You move onto the next, Beth - then SHE calls! That’s just insane! As you move onto the next name, you think “My god, what if I bought a MAGICAL File-o-fax? What adventures could I HAVE?” - You look down at the table in awe, when suddenly it all becomes clear: next to the Magic File-o-fax is the Magic Empty Bottle of Gin. Ah.

Cancer: Singing a song about beans, YEAH! Singing a song about toast! Singing a song about beans on toast, ‘cos that food you like the most, WOO! Singing a song about waffles? NO! Can’t be arsed making them! Beans on toast takes like two tiny minutes and waffles take about fucking ten! (FUCK THAT!) Singing a song into the beans can! While the beans turn in the microwave, ALRIGHT! Naming individual beans (YEAH!) pretend they’re all going to a beans rave! (WHISTLE POSSE!) Shovelling the beans into your mouth WOO! Toasting bread is for twats! (LO-SERS!) Pouring cold beans onto your face and half of them fall onto the cat! (SEND HELP!)

Leo: After a successful hour’s staring at the stippled ceiling, you reward yourself with a brisk walk to the door. After three proud steps, diligently recorded by your fitness band (which you’re fairly certain is now emitting a dull weeping sound), you jubilantly punch the air and have a nice relaxing pass out on the floor. After another few hours, you surf another boost of energy and nearly make it to the fridge. Sadly, though this goal is destined to elude you as you trip over a recently-delivered Amazon envelope. A handful of attempts in, you succeed at opening the envelope (only stopping twice to catch breath) and discover it to contain one flimsy plastic finger measurer and a £60 voucher for a wine subscription. You remember the partner you once had, in the distant before times, so vibrant and loud. In recognition of having had what you’re certain is “a feeling”, you fling the ring-measurer away, order the wine and settle into a nice, relaxing cry.

Virgo: There are a number of St Bernards around your neighbourhood and you’ve started to find them more than a little intimidating. What began as friendly barks as you passed in the street has developed into the odd growl and now barking as the owners pull their wretched beasts back from you, swearing in anguish as their hounds’ slavering jaws snap at your heels. After a few weeks of this, Monthly Bath Weekend inevitably comes round and the problem seems to just go away.

Libra: Some people have been baking recently. They - of course - are twats. Others have chosen to use this time to improve existing music skills, or even pick up a new instrument in their abundance of free time. Shit-eating scum, each and every one of them. You are not going to be affected by this self-improvement bullshit and have decided to strike out on your own, tangibly making yourself less pleasant, skilled and attractive with each passing day. Monday is fudge-eating class. Tuesday, “how long can I sit on the loo?” marathons (5 hours PB). Wednesday is Yelling ‘BASTARDS’ at the Sky Day, while Thursday (being the new Friday) you party on down with a life-size model of Prince made from your own toenails. Friday you slam your face into cupboards, repeating the word “APES” in a dull monotone. At the weekend, it’s time to rest! Phew! Just a few hours drilling holes in the ceiling, a slip, a tumble, a fall, a crunching sound and a view from the underside of a very poorly constructed step-ladder until it all goes beautifully dark.

Scorpio: Fuck this, you’re buying beach balls. Yep. Why not? You do, in fact, buy beach balls. Why didn’t you think of this before? They’re bright. They’re entertaining. They’re CHEAP. You can order them in large quantities, it turns out. “Ooh, I hope you’re not having a party!” says the delivery man, with a wink “HAHAHAH, NO. Actually I’m just INFLATING THEM AND POPPING THEM” you cackle toward his suddenly retreating face. It takes a while to inflate all 400, but the high you get from blowing them up is quite intense! Now you have a house full of beach balls! Haha! You can’t bring yourself to pop them in the end. Some of them are lost to accidents (fried beach ball, anyone?) and others you draw on with crude faces of past enemies, then open the door and punt them down the street with a hearty “FUCK YOU, BEATRICE!” (or Ken, as appropriate. You had few enemies. It’s cheap therapy). The last few hundred last you happily into the next month, though the doctor is mildly unimpressed when you attempt to get them vaccinated.

Sagittarius: Your attempts at making LEGO sex toys go badly to begin with. But, weirdly, you do eventually get better at it. You’re particularly proud of the one where you use the gearbox from the racing car for, well, you know. The winking pneumatic sex-donkey (8,014 bricks) is, in most people’s opinion, your pièce de résistance. You can’t wait for the highstreet to open up again, so you can go and show off your repertoire down the local toyshop.

Capricorn: It’s tough getting through lockdown without the internet. In your case, though, it is entirely self-inflicted. You made a promise to yourself to cut down on the doomscrolling and it was successful! Prodigiously so! You end up cutting out the news sites - who needs them? - then the social sites - nothing but trash! - then eventually you just pull the wires out of your router and fling it in the bin with some bits of leftover chicken. Time passes, politicians come and go, vaccines are invented, distributed, mostly successful (with only a small amount of people instantly turning into tiny, angry lizards) and eventually the world passes through the danger period and back into something like normality! You, of course, miss this entirely and get on with your new hobby of writing subversive poetry on the walls in dollops of mouldy Marmite. Weirdly, you ARE happier.

Aquarius: Lockdown doesn’t seem to be getting to you too badly this month (whichever month it turns out to be). You did get to a bit of a peak when you were popping a Toblerone up your bum while playing kazoos just to get yourself ready for the next bloody Zoom meeting of the day, you now you’re limiting it to one bar per day and only using the two kazoos, you feel like you’ve hit your stride, found your flow, really made the most of every work-from-home hour the Lord sends. Ah, yes, the Lord truly has kept you to the virtuous path. Without your faith, you would never have got through the dark days. Sat there on his throne of Bourbons, wearing his Chocolate Finger crown. Slowly rotating on the lazy Susan you bought so you could efficiently respect His Majesty from any angle with a deft flick of the wrist (and a few Bourbons in the eyes if you get too excited). The mighty Lord. You assume his name was Lord. There were only a few letters you could read on the collar when you found him by the bins. Ah, yes. The bins. The biscuits. The Lord. The rapture. Amen.

Pisces: After popping to the door to bring in a food delivery, you notice the day looks quite pleasant for a change, pop a mask on and go for a nice walk. On the way back, you notice a ladder leant up against a tree, with a strange golden light shimmering from high in the branches. Climbing the ladder, you hear the sound of a party, people calling your name in joy, whistles and whoops, clapping and laughter. You tumble into the golden light and down a kind of shoot as a fanfare plays. The dazzling light fades, the noise abates gently and you are sat on your sofa. On the TV are the words “LEVEL 4: YODELLING GEESE”. The geese filling your living room immediately begin to yodel with anger.

---

By the sainted elbows of Bobby Tavistocke, we got there in the end. I may have been a little over-brutal with my use of the bum-hammer there, for which I apologise. Anyway, you have extracted your price once more and I have little left to give. Pick up your clothes and get out of my living room.

As usual, you may of course take a fairy cake. We’ve got the nice ones this week.

DEPART!

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Chapter Two

“Then by the power vested in me by the Church of the Watcher, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

December 1851

The sky was wonderfully blue and clear on that fine winter morning. Exciting things were happening in Viper Canyon and the entire town had arrived at the church bright and early, eager to get on with the celebration. 

The church bell rang loudly over the canyon, filling the air with joyous sound. 

“Thank you for joining us today for this joyous occasion under the loving eyes of The Watcher.”

Reverend Piggott’s voice was loud and clear through the church. He was a funny looking man to be sure, but his devotion to the Church of the Watcher was admirable and gained the respect of those in his congregation. 

“We are here today to celebrate the union of these two souls – Verity Anne Langford and Joseph Benjamin Ebey – in holy matrimony.”

Beatrice and Winnie were delightfully surprised when Verity asked them to be her bridesmaids. ‘Oh, it would be such a shame to get married and not have you beautiful young ladies up at the altar with me…’ she reasoned. Privately, both girls thought no one in a hundred-mile radius could hold a candle to Verity’s beauty, but they were flattered all the same. 

They would have all liked to wear new dresses for the ceremony but without a proper dressmaker in town it was impractical to attempt to get three fine gowns done in time. 

Winnie and Beatrice were merely happy to have the chance to wear their best gowns from back home again – it reminded them of attending the parties and balls they were once used to. 

Peter Langford, the boy who had traveled with his mother and the Hawkins family on their journey, had his blue eyes trained on the girls across the room. 

He was brimming with boyish excitement, as well, honored to be a groomsman and even happier to be one alongside Beatrice and Winnie. There were no other girls their age in Viper Canyon, after all, and Peter was having a tough time trying to decide which of the two was the prettier sister – they were both attractive in different ways. He was hardly paying attention to his mother’s vows.

Mamma, better known to the town by her nickname, Dora, watched the ceremony with a small smile upon her face. Weddings never failed to remind her of her own – she was just a young girl when she married her Emmett, and she remembered how anxious she was on the very day. Quietly, she silenced a cough with a handkerchief, earning a sideways look from her husband. 

Papa, as always, was steel-faced. He privately thought weddings a waste of time but was thankful that the event had distracted his daughters thoroughly enough that they’d managed to stop bickering for the past few weeks of preparation. It was also nice to have a day off from the mines to spend with his family – he could tell the hardships of their new life on the frontier were beginning to wear away at them.

Elijah had only ever been to a handful of weddings in his life. He had no taste for them. They seemed an extravagant waste of time and money for a piece of paper stating a couple was now legally wed. However, even he had to admit there was a certain magic to them. 

It had been a long while since he’d seen everyone in town together. Several old faces had gone, and even more new ones had arrived to take their place. Even so, seeing everyone dressed in their best in the church filled him with a sense of kinship he hadn’t felt since moving to the west.

Even Viper Canyon’s resident business owners had turned out for the occasion. 

Milton and Clarence Monroe, the father and son who ran the general store, were a reclusive duo. But even they were glad for the wedding – it had boosted their sales considerably, especially since everyone was bustling in for weeks, placing orders from the city, trying to find the best present for the newlyweds. 

Timothy Putnam owned the Sidewinder Saloon on Main Street. He was a quiet man who always minded his manners and was happiest behind his bar. He’d come from the city, like most, and attending a wedding made him feel a bit like he was back at home.

Verity and Joseph had met in quite an unconventional fashion. 

Joseph was a humble farmer who had moved to Viper Canyon some time ago, eager to start a simple life and tend to the land. He found, after starting his homestead, he was quite lonely and had no one to share his life with. 

He’d heard of single men putting advertisements in the newspaper looking for wives to come from the east. At first, he was repulsed by the idea. It was almost like buying a wife. But the long nights with only his cows for company were beginning to take their toll on his mind. He thought he might go insane from loneliness. 

Perhaps driven by that desperation, Joseph decided to put a humble advert in the paper. A few weeks later, he heard back from Verity, who enclosed a single photograph of herself for ‘full disclosure.’ He had never been taken aback by a woman’s beauty before. From her very first letter Joseph could tell she was a a good and gentle soul.

Through their correspondence, Joseph learned that Verity had been widowed after being disowned by her well-to-do family for marrying her husband, a man of the cloth. She had nowhere else to turn and was considering moving out west for a chance at a new life. Joseph had never felt more empathy for another soul than as he read that fateful letter. With that, they were quickly engaged, and the Langfords took their meager possessions with them across the trail.

“Joseph Benjamin Ebey, do you take Verity as your lawfully wedded wife, and hereby promise to love and cherish her as long as you both shall live, until death do you part?”

Joseph took a deep breath, unable to keep himself from smiling. “I do.”

“And Verity Anne Langford, do you take Joseph as your lawfully wedded husband, and hereby promise to love and cherish him as long as you both shall live, until death do you part?”

Verity felt a tear come to her eye. “I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the Church of the Watcher, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” 

As humble of a ceremony as it was, the room felt overwhelming joy at bearing witness to the first wedding – hopefully of many – to grace the chapel of Viper Canyon.

Mamma had taken the liberty of making a cake for Verity and Joseph. It was gorgeous, complete with all kinds of frosting decorations and orange blossoms made from marzipan. 

After the newlyweds had cut into the cake, everyone helped clear the floor of pews to make room for the celebration. As unconventional as it was, there merely wasn’t room back at Joseph’s home to accommodate the entire town. Reverend Piggott was more than happy to allow the reception to take place in the church.

There was no better way to celebrate brand new nuptials than dancing. Reverend Piggott sat at the piano, plunking out cheerful dancing music as everyone filled the church with sounds of heavy heels and laughter.

Everyone except Emmett, Elijah, and Mr. Monroe. 

“Ah, to be young again…” Mr. Monroe remarked wistfully. “If only these old bones weren’t so bothersome. I’d be having a jolly good time ‘round the piano with the rest of them. Say, you’re both two healthy young men – why aren’t either of you dancing?” 

It had been a while since Papa had been called a ‘young man.’ He quietly chuckled to himself. “It’d be uneven if I joined,” he explained. “I’d rather let the younger crowd dance.” 

Mr. Monroe nodded. “Ah, I suppose that’s true. How good of you, Emmett. What about you then, Elijah, what’s your excuse?”

Elijah cleared his throat. “I’m not much of a dancer.” 

The old man clucked his tongue disapprovingly at Elijah. “What a shame that your youth is wasted on you in such a manner. I can’t fathom how you could watch something so wonderful and refuse to take part on account of having two left feet. You ought to feel ashamed.” 

Mr. Monroe’s scolding made embarrassed heat crawl up the back of Elijah’s neck as he guiltily watched everyone dance from his spot in the corner. He felt like a little boy being chastised in school again.

They were having a jolly good time. Verity and Joseph were glowing with happiness as they danced with the rest of the group. It was clear for everyone to see that even though they’d gotten to know each other by exchanging letters from across the country, they made a fine match.

Elijah tried and failed to ignore Mr. Monroe’s withering glares, uncomfortably shifting positions each time the old man wandered into his line of sight.  

Eventually, night fell, and Reverend Piggott indulged his congregation in slower music so they could all enjoy a waltz before returning home to the rabble of frontier life. 

Verity and Joseph danced together, unable to take their eyes off each other, and Papa was happy to take Mamma’s hand for a spell. Beatrice had been the first to leap at the opportunity for a waltz with Peter, who obliged her with a cheeky smile.

The only girl left without a partner was Winnie. She was minding her business, politely waiting for Peter to ask her for a dance, when Beatrice had to swoop in and ask him herself – she had a special knack for ruining Winnie’s plans. 

She’d heard stories from her friends back home about the disproportionate amount of men to women in the west. One girl had even told Winnie she could expect to see twenty-five or fifty men to one woman in the desert. Of course she hadn’t expected the ratio to be that unbalanced, but after being eyed up like fresh meat at the market from her corner of the church, it certainly felt that way. 

She could feel the eyes of the single men in the room boring into her – all except Mr. Monroe, who was happiest watching everyone else enjoying themselves. She tried to melt into the walls of the church, but she couldn’t sink back any further. It wasn’t like the men in Viper Canyon weren’t universally kind and generous – she just didn’t consider herself to be interested in any of them. Her heart beat faster and faster as she heard heavy footsteps approach – but she was too afraid to look up through her eyelashes to see who was coming.

Elijah didn’t know what had gotten into him. Perhaps Mr. Monroe’s piercing looks and muttering under his breath about ‘wasted youth’ had burrowed under his skin a bit too deep. He wasn’t quite sure of what he was doing until he was suddenly bowing in front of Winnie, quietly asking her to dance. 

Winnie looked at Elijah with wide eyes. “Why – of course, Elijah, I’d be happy to dance with you.” 

It was an outcome she hadn’t seen coming. She was thankful and relieved it hadn’t been Clarence – the man carried with him a pervading odor akin to that of the pickles he sold in his general store.

Winnie and Elijah found a spot near the piano. Winnie wasn’t a particularly shy girl, but she found herself unable to meet his green eyes even though she could feel him looking down at her. His hands were large and rough around her own. He smelled like the dying embers of a campfire and hair oil. Winnie found it was a scent she quite enjoyed. 

It had been a long time since Elijah had danced with a woman. The feeling was foreign but agreeable, nonetheless. His steps were a little rusty, but Winnie only smiled and shook her head, muttering that she didn’t mind when he stepped on the tips of her finest shoes. He was feeling a bit guilty for having asked Winnie to dance. She seemed to be quite accomplished as a dancer and he felt like he was holding her back from truly enjoying herself as she moved to avoid his clumsy footwork – Elijah would have gone as far as to suspect she was the one leading the waltz.

Winnie and Beatrice stayed behind to help Reverend Piggott restore the church to its usual layout. Elijah was on his way home when Mamma called from the Hawkins cart. 

“Elijah,” her voice was buttery soft and sweet. “Elijah, dear. Do you have a moment?” 

Suddenly, he felt uneasy. He noticed Emmett pretending to mind the road instead of meeting his eyes. 

“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?” 

Mamma smiled and looked over her shoulder, watching Winnie and Beatrice inside the church, before turning to look at Elijah again. He had never really noticed how much Mamma looked like Winnie before. It was a little strange.

“Well, Winterfest is coming quite soon, and I was wondering if you might want to come to our home for dinner. I make a fine roast and it’d be a shame not to share it with you. It’s the least we could do after all you’ve done for us. If you don’t mind my saying, it must get awfully lonesome in that house of yours all alone, especially during the holidays.” 

“Oh. That’s mighty kind of you to offer, ma’am, but I would hate to impose.” 

“Won’t you, please?” Mamma asked. Her voice was pleading. “The girls would love it, I know. Winnie and Bea do so look up to you.” 

How could he say no to that? He had nothing but the upmost respect for Mamma, who had taken the hardships on the trail in stride even with her delicate health. Elijah sighed and put on his best face. “Of course, ma’am. I’d be happy to come over for dinner. Let me know if there’s anything you need before then.” 

“Wonderful! We’ll seen you then, Elijah. Get home safely, now.” 

He tipped his hat. “Emmett. Ma’am. I hope you do the same.”

The Hawkins sisters floated home on a cloud. Winnie and Beatrice got ready for bed wordlessly, each still with her mind occupied by thoughts of the wedding. 

Every few moments Beatrice dreamily sighed to herself, clutching her hands over her chest dramatically.

“So…” Winnie began, once they were both in their nightgowns and ready for bed. “I saw you dancing with Peter.” 

Beatrice was beaming from ear to ear. “Oh, Winnie, he’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. He was so busy reading those guidebooks on the trail I scarcely got the chance to properly acquaint myself with him, but tonight we did nothing but talk and dance. He’s just perfect – smart, and funny, and an absolute gentleman.” 

Winnie smiled at her little sister. It was rare that they could go ten minutes without fighting. She was glad tonight was one of the rare times they could bond. She usually only got Beatrice in a good mood after she’d received a present or good news. 

“I’m so glad you’ve found someone you’re sweet on, Bea. You two made quite the pair in the church tonight.”

After Winnie put out their lamp, she began to crawl under the covers, unable to avoid her sister’s gaze. Beatrice had a look on her face that was uncannily like that of a scheming cat. 

“Well, I saw you dancing with our trail guide. Are you sweet on him, then?”

Winnie scoffed. “Elijah? Please. He’s almost ten years older than I am and getting to know him is like trying to acquaint oneself with a rock. Not to mention my toes are a sorry sight after he stomped all over them tonight. Blow out the candle and get to bed, Bea.” 

Bea only snickered to herself as she extinguished the flame of their bedside candle, plunging the room into darkness.

To Be Continued 

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Three

(Taking the pictures for this almost killed me. SO MANY poses and crashes during that wedding!!! Anyway as always let me know what you think! See you next week for Chapter Three.) 

[ryouverua]

Kokichi Ouma - Free Time #3

Yeah, so like... I think Kaito is going to punch you, and you kinda need to be there for that. Or has he punched you already? It’s all very mixed up, you see I’ve been time-travelling and -

You ought to thank your lucky stars that Erika Furudo isn’t the detective of the game, kiddo. Or Battler Ushiromiya for that matter, though that suddenly makes me think of a Kaito Momota whose talent is being the Ultimate Detective...

Round 3, FIGHT!

“I won a Duel Disk from the Monomachine and I’m actually ready this time - !”

First a shadow game, now a tea party?!?! DRV3 are you playing with me right now?!

I swear if this ends up being an FTE dedicated to one long Umineko reference I will lose my mind -

I know you’ve been only training with Kaito for a few days, but the fact that Kokichi can still outrun you is... uh... a bit concerning, Shuichi.

Pictured: Me, whenever I drink tea, forever, always.

“This is very relaxed and domestic and I am concerned.”

That is incredibly progressive of you, actually! I’m pleasantly surprised! No wonder you’re the Ultimate Supreme Leader.

I like how he has to clarify.

Also, jeez, no wonder he likes YGO so much. If that ^ is all true, then it’s right up his alley - Kazuki Takahashi even said he created the manga as a way for shounen protagonists to solve their problems without physical fighting! you’re also short like Yuugi so

Better than the shadow realm (or hell, if you’re a manga reader).

AHAHA WHELP THERE’S THE PENALTY GAME I KNOW AND LOVE

Jeez you have it bad, kiddo! Just ask him out already!

“If this is your way of hitting on me, it is not working.”

OKAY WOW HE JUST ASKED HIM OUT IN A SENSE.... AND WE’RE NOT EVEN AT FTE 5 YET....

Maaaaaan I want to say ‘the organization is a lie’ but, but.....

ah, maybe next time - I don’t want to straight-up decline, but I want answers, damn it!

it’s called saiouma and it’s very popular on the internet

What even is that -

Man, dialogue like this really reminds me of the fact that your scarf is basically a chess-patterned fabric. Don’t kill for no reason? Understand the value of life, and use/lose it well? Or something else?

Also, that’s a seriously interesting statement, especially with the stuff you’ve been saying in chapter 4 and with Monokuma but like - incredibly contradictory, and -

YEAH PRETTY MUCH

Wait..... it just faded to black? What happened?

YOU CHEEKY FOURTH-WALL-BREAKING MOTHERFUCKER

Seriously though who gave you this dangerous knowledge

YEAH SWEETCHEEKS IS RIGHT YOU GUYS COULD HAVE TOTALLY PLAYED CHESS OVER TEA JUST TAKE OFF THAT SCARF AND WE COULD HAVE A MATCH RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW

The Beatrice vibes coming off of you are insane right now. What is it with game-based antagonists, their troll faces and them just ~ loving ~ the looks on their opponents faces? and being totally into them for that matter

“All while providing proper snack and meal breaks, good pension plans, competitive salaries, flexible schedules, and with great opportunities for growth and personal development! Don’t you feel the evil just oozing off of me right now?! I make everyone else look terrible in comparison!”

It’s kinda funny hearing his ‘ni-shi-shi’ coming out of him while it’s written like this. 8′D It’s a horse reference, right? I know the ‘O(u)’ part of his name is for king, and I guess ‘uma’ is right there for horse, or something? Japanese isn’t my forte, but....

man you are just a tiny pile of YGO references - not that I think this was done intentionally, but don’t think I’m not aware of the fact that ‘Kaiba’ translate to seahorse!! what happens when you take the ‘king’ from YGO and ‘horse’ from Kaiba...

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

Batman’s Daughter pt 2 (word vomit)

Like I said, I wrote a ton of this so have some more. About 2,000ishs word again. Unedited. Probably not great but hey, it was fun :)

The whole story: pt 1, 

Swapping between well-tailored suits and ‘the suit’ was a blessing in disguise to Bruce Wayne, it left him with two personalities and a way to channel each, but today the switch was proving more difficult today. Usually, the starchy cuffs of his shirt and the fitted shoulder pads in his jacket were enough to remind him who he needed to be at the moment, but not now.

Lucius needed to see him. In person. About the bomb.

He’d also said, in an almost overly cheery voice, “That girl you sent is a marvel! Good eye, quick mind. I like her, despite the attitude.”

There was nothing to be done about it, though. Bruce ran his fingers through his greying hair before walking into the lab.

“Hey, Bruce,” Lucius said with a bright smile.”

“Hey,” he replied, taking a hesitant look around the room. One little girl shouldn’t make him so on edge, but Beatrice had gotten to him. Something about the delicate balance of anger and agony had struck a chord in Bruce.

It felt . . . familiar.

That and he was tired as hell which probably meant he was getting dangerously emotional. Even after all these years he still had an overly soft spot for orphans. Alfred often told him that was a good thing, a sign that he was retaining his heart, that he wasn’t as calloused as the men he hunted.

Right now, the guilt was just annoying. More than that, it was misplaced. Bruce hadn’t done a thing wrong to this girl – he’d never even met her.

Lucius’s laugh brought Bruce back to the present. “I sent her out for lunch. She’s been working like a honeybee all day and needed a break.”

“Thanks for that,” Bruce nodded, letting the relief wash over him. Just one more break in the case and he could push the girl aside, maybe get one of the folks in legal to look into the buying of the patent to help him sleep better. “What have you found?”

The two men stared down at the scattered explosive bits on the counter. Still a mess, but slightly more organized now and labeled in a combination of Lucius’s fine script and a much sloppier font. Beatrice’s.

“Long story short,” Lucius began, “we figured out how the explosive generated such a massive reaction. Much to Bea’s dismay – ”

“You’re on a nickname basis,” Bruce asked with one raised brow.

“Her request,” Lucius said with a chuckle. “You were right when you said she’s a fiery one, but we got along after a while. I think all the fancy equipment got to her. Looked like a kid in a candy store.”

“I see. Although, you are the likable type, too,” Bruce grinned to his old friend. “I’m just glad she didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“Not at all,” the engineer said with a flippant wave of his hand, “my three kids have put me through much tougher situations than that. Now, Bea and I have put together an idea of how the device was made. We can’t be definitive about anything, but she had some insights that proved useful. It seems like there were a series of chemical reactions that made the explosion, which we knew, but it also seems as if the effect was amplified by the Tickers.”

“Tickers,” Bruce repeated, “the kid said that last night, too. What is it?”

“Oh,” Lucius responded, picking a small spherical object, “this is the Ticker. It’s the patent we bought from young Miss Sampson.”

“She said something about it being incredibly stable, that true?”

“Yes,” Lucius said, “that’s why I rely on it so readily in some of your gear. However, someone tampered with them, stuck a bunch together, and, well, boom. That explosion sent a mass of some chemical compound that blew up an even larger area. A very nasty, very clever contraption.”

“Do we have a way to stop it yet? A way to track who made it,” Bruce pressed, his mind firing in a dozen different directions as he began to craft a way to catch those responsible, as quickly as possible.

“Maybe,” he hesitated, “the chemists got back to me with the chemical makeup of the second explosive. They are only available in these quantities to certain manufactures so – ”

“Hey Lucius, you wanted the dumplings, not eggrolls, yeah?”

Bruce sighed weakly. She was back. Shit.

Both men looked over as Beatrice walked through the doors, hands full of takeout. As soon as her eyes met Bruce’s her face went pale.

She wasn’t all poison and fury like she had been the night before at the mere mention of his name.

There was nothing but pain in her eyes and terror in her rounded features.

And a little shock, too.

Then it was all gone in a flash, replaced by a look of revulsion.

Lucius cleared his throat and prompted Bruce to put on a pleasant smile. While he didn’t need this grouchy little girl to like him, he could at least try to smooth things over. Albeit begrudgingly.

He still didn’t see how he was in the wrong.

“Hello there,” Bruce said walking over to Beatrice and extending his hand, “I am Bruce Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

Her backed up was pressed against the door, staring at his hand as if it were diseased.

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said, stopping dead, “no handshake that’s fine. Just an introduction then. You are Beatrice, yes?”

“Don’t talk to me,” she said brushing past him and dumping the food on the table.

“Have I done something to offend you,” Bruce asked, partially faking his unknowing nature and also hoping he might get an answer to Beatrice’s prejudice.

“Leave. Me. Alone.” She stormed right past him again with her food, headed toward the hall.

Something in Bruce snapped unexpectedly. He lost it. He’d had enough of this stuck up kid’s shit. He’d had enough of the criminal bullshit. He’d had enough of the constant berating from the papers and newscasters. Enough of Gordon questioning him and citizens calling for his head.

He was doing the best he could.

Why couldn’t anyone see that?!

Why was he being subject to these insane standards?

No, he wasn’t always right, and yes, his methods were sometimes questionable.

But no one else was stepping up!

No one else was doing the gritty, filthy work with the most depraved, sickening felons in this city!

And it sure as hell wasn’t her fault this child had a stick up her ass.

“Christ’s sake,” he snarled, “it’s not my fucking fault you sold your patent, kid! If you’re that bent out of shape about it, don’t hand out your intellectual property for cash.”

An oppressive silence fell, and Bruce’s chest felt tight.

He’d fucked up.

He could feel it.

Like when he misstepped in a fist fight and knew a big blow was coming.

“I – ” he started to choke out, but she cut him off, crossing her arms and taking long strides to him with malice enough to make the grim reaper himself jealous.

He was scared. He didn’t want to admit it – and never would out loud – but something told him he was in for one hell of a hit.

“Suppose you’re right,” Beatrice murmured lowly as she set herself up in front of him, all dark eyes and posture that dripped loathing. “When my mom got sick I probably should have just held on to my tech and let her wither away at home. Yeah, why bother selling anything and everything I could to try to get her treatments. Yep. Definitely should have held on to the computer and the nicer apartment and the fucking heirlooms from my grandma and not my mom! When the bills kept flooding in to sixteen year old me, and there was nothing left to sell in exchange for a few more years with my mom except for my beloved tech, I should have chosen my fancy little battery – not the person who single-handedly raised me, spending every spare cent she could spare on helping me become the inventor I always dreamed of being. Of course, I didn’t get years with my mom, I got days. Two. Two days after I sold my Ticker, Mom was gone. And I was left with a ridiculous amount of debt and a funeral to plan. Alone. In the end, the creditors of this fucked up city swooped in, took almost every penny, and left me to bury my mom in a plain little coffin with a tiny headstone and not a single flower in sight.”

Beatrice wiped her tear stained face and took a deep breath.

“They shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Lucius said quietly, prompting everyone to look at him. He fidgeted awkwardly. “I mean, no one should have been able to take those funds from you like that. That’s illegal.”

The young woman snorted loudly. “Oh please, it’s Gotham! And I was a newly orphaned teen. Easy prey for the people around here.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that – ” Bruce said tentatively.

“I don’t give a fuck what you ‘meant’ to insinuate,” she barked, “’cause I can sure tell that you were insinuating something, but you were doing it when you knew nothing about me. Next time you open your mouth to attack someone, get your damn facts straight. I’m not a saint, and I don’t claim to be, but I did everything I could for the only family I have – had – and I will not ever have anyone guilt me for that. Especially not the likes of you, rich boy.”

With that she stormed out, leaving Bruce dumbfounded. And mortified. Considering the lengths he had gone to in order to avenge his parents, he had no right to question anyone’s efforts to save their mother.

“Fuck,” he whispered after a long moment of internally screaming at himself for losing his cool, and at a child, no less.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Lucius said, patting Bruce’s shoulder as he headed to the door.

“No,” Bruce said forcefully, “I need to apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“Bruce,” Lucius said gently, “I wouldn’t, at least not yet. While I haven’t known her long, I can see how much pain she’s in. Just being in this building seems like it hurts her. Maybe her anger is misplaced, but it’s deep. You and this company are not to blame for what happened to her mother, but, well, you know how losing someone like that feels.”

“No one could talk me out of being enraged,” Bruce sighed, “and now one’s going to convince her either.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“You never know,” Lucius shrugged, “maybe she’ll come around with time – she doesn’t hate everything about this place. Some time with our toys and the girl might start letting go.”

“Never know,” Bruce agreed rather hopelessly. Anger like that didn’t die off easily.

“As long as she doesn’t start wearing a mask and training in martial arts, I’ll consider it a win,” Lucius teased.

Bruce chuckled lightly, “Har har. Keep me informed about the bomb, alright? I can at least handle that.”

Lucius cracked a grin.

“What is that look for,” Bruce asked with a worried frown.

“Oh, nothing,” the old engineer lied, almost out the door, “it’s just rather amusing that you���d rather handle a bomber than a nineteen-year-old.”

“Damn right,” Bruce chuckled, “every time.”

@watch-your-grammer @collinssie

[beaflower77]

Erestor’s Vocabulary Day

As I was writing this, I wished to include a particular word, which for humanity was common and easily ventured. And as the writing went along, I wanted to replace that word with an equivalent in Sindarin. The Sindarin word is easy enough, but you cannot mix English with Sindarin. So I asked for assistance from @lymrandir  Thank you. And I do know the actual mixing of the two languages are not correct at all. Nor should they mix. However, this is just an attempt at a silly story of our heroine’s brave attempt to learn a difficult lesson.   I hope you enjoy. 

She was spending a great deal of time lately with Lord Erestor. It was becoming distressful. Her heart was forever pounding.

Pacing the floor, the immaculate floor, which had just been cleaned and polished that morning, Erestor kept his arms pointedly fixed behind his back and wandered the length of his study. Beatrice sat, glued to the chair behind her smaller desk, set next to his much loftier one. That beautiful oak desk was two inches taller than Beatrice’s. Humph she thought and gathered herself, sitting down. “Let us start at the beginning.,” Erestor prompted. “Again.” Beatrice tried pondering each lesson, pronouncing each word and syllable she was given with utmost care and humility, and she usually did, except, this one particular word. It was truly not done on purpose. It was just, unrecitable.

Pacing, knocking his boots against the floor, Erestor kept himself stiffly controlled each time that word was attempted. And destroyed. Again and again and again. “No. That is not correct.,” he said tightly. “Say it again. This time, pronounce it correctly.” Her face began to feel heated. And she breathed heavily, so heavily, Beatrice thought she was going to pant as a dog and pass out.

Beatrice massively breathed in, widened her eyes, made claws out of her fingers, which were hidden beneath the desk. Ridiculous, she thought. On the one hand, she truly needed these lessons to keep her language skills, or lack of, current. On the other, Beatrice was a complete incompetent, bungling berber of a speech mess. “Okay.,” Beatrice answered, for the sixteenth time. “Naaa Thaa Ass.,” she tried. “How is that?,” Beatrice asked smiling, knowing ultimately she did not produce nor pronounce it correctly that time either. Her teeth gritted, leaving her jaw clenched for Erestor’s battery of cantankerous reproaches. Turning, Erestor looked across the room at Beatrice, “No.,” he merely stated. He tried not to tilt his head in frustration, this time. She tried again. “Nae tha rassss ias. Better?” She should have kept her mouth closed. Erestor opened his, and air rushed out, “Again, No.” Watching each step, each foot as it crept nearer, waiting for Erestor’s ominous figure to tower hers, Beatrice repeated the word again, this time in a rush. “Naaa T aasss.”

“No.,” giving an expressive huff, “There is no accent on Na. You are accentuating the As. And, you left out ias. Stop it.” Coming close to Beatrice, “Repeat after me, again. Na tharias. It is very simple Beatrice. Repeat it now.” And as he turned away, Erestor mumbled, “Even a cow could repeat this word. Clearer even as it chews.”  Again Beatrice continued to try. And try and try. And each time she tried, Beatrice dug herself deeper and deeper and wrong, and more wrong, and wronger again!  “Naaath erisss ees.,” she rushed, wanting to get it over with. Erestor’s ears rang and buzzed. And he squeezed his eyes tightly.

As Lindir waltzed in, uninvited, “How is our little linguist?,” he happily asked, a small smile curving up. Erestor almost crossed his eyes as Lindir approached. “She is no liguist, Lindir.,” he stated in hushed tones, keeping Beatrice in the dark. “She is terrible. Small words, yes, Beatrice can speak the smaller, less complicated words, but more important ones, No. She is useless.” Looking in Beatrice’s general direction, Erestor frowned, watching her continue to repeat over to herself, Nayp therep siases. Turning back to Lindir, he tilted his head, “Now she is inserting incomprehensible letters into the word.”

“Oh.,” was all Lindir could say, trying not to screw his face in embarrassment for Beatrice. Being rather shot down, thinking Beatrice was doing well these last few weeks, but apparently not, “What word is she having difficulty with this time?,” he inquired in a whisper.  “Na tharias.,” Erestor replied smoothly. Upon hearing the word, Lindir did not understand. Everyone could speak that word. “Na tharias?,” Lindir asked. “That is an easy word. I do not understand Erestor. Do they not have this word in her own vocabulary?” Erestor folded his arms, looked back toward Beatrice, shrugged. “I do not know. Her accent is continually on the wrong letter or set of letters. She cannot seem to comprehend it.” And again, Erestor placed his arms, hands behind his back, and walked Lindir off toward the other end of the room. “Beatrice is proving difficult for me to teach her Lindir. She is an impossible task.” And his face was dead set against further instruction that day. Lindir did not have an immediate answer to that stalemate.

This time with fierce exasperation, facing Lindir, Erestor raised his hands, spat out, “She continually puts the accent on the wrong letter.,” he explained. “Beatrice will say the most incomprehensible, incorrect word to the wrong person one day and will be in serious trouble then. And, she continually refers to my name as...Easter.” For once, Lindir smiled on her behalf, and sniggered. “What?,” Erestor countered, with embarrassment. “What are you smiling about?” Smiling, enjoying the name change, “Easter.,” Lindir repeated. “It is quite….charming, if you think about it. Actually, it is a name of a festive time. Did you know that?,” he supplied. Erestor at that moment did not care. “I am not a festival Lindir. Would you happen to enjoy the mispronouncement of your name? And left that stinging slight hanging midair. As Lindir bristled, raising his chin, “Of course not.,” he admitted. “I will think on it.”

Venturing over, pulling a chair up, sitting beside Beatrice, Lindir smiled with concern. “Hello Sweetness.,” he charmed. “Lord Erestor tells me you are making progress.” Beatrice looked upon Lindir with the great atonishment. “Really? He said that?,” she asked. Then, “I think I stink. He has me studying and repeating insane, unusable words I cannot say. You know I am not ever going to use these words. Ever. So why do I even need them?,” she dumped. “I mean, it is like studying algebra or something.,” which left Lindir confused for the moment. Beatrice was beyond exasperated, she clunked her head down on the desk with a groan. Lindir gave Beatrice his best smile, patted her arm, stood, and moved back to Erestor.

“Maybe, you should try a different method?,” Lindir suggested sympathetically. Erestor, miffed, almost too happy to resign his teaching methodology with Beatrice, extended his arm in her direction. “Go right ahead Lindir. Try your luck. You will see. It will not be easy, I can guarantee it.” Looking back at Beatrice in comfort and reassuance, Lindir left without another word. “Now, Beatrice.,” interrupted Erestor from her thoughts. “Repeat after me. Na tharias. And do not groan. This is an important word which you will need one day and you will be thankful for this lesson.” As an afterthought, Erestor mumbled, “Believe me, this hurts me more than you. Repeat it, again.” “Nasaasss.,” she tried. “Gah. Two more hours of this crap.,” Beatrice muttered. “What?,” Erestor asked. “I did not hear you. Repeat it.”

That afternoon, walking the garden paths, Lindir’s brow winkled in concern as he thought and contemplated various solutions, and while walking, honestly did not look where he was placing his feet. Until he bumped into Avorndis. “Oh!,” she cried, dropping the cleaned, pressed linens onto the walk. “Valor!,” shot Lindir, and checked himself. “Apologies. I am a mess today.,” he confided. “I was not watching my feet. Or rather, I was watching my feet than my steps.,” and smiled nervously, helping scoop, brush off the linens. “No harm done Lindir.,” and she looked him over. Seeing his tense concern, “Beatrice?,” she asked. When she received a nod, “I understand Beatrice is having difficulties with Lord Erestor and his vocabulary lessons.,” Avorndis mentioned. “You know Lindir, Enaria and I were thinking of ways to assist Beatrice with some of the less common words and phrases.” As his face lit up in enthusiasm, “Truly?! What have you thought?” And a semi plan was plotted and designed for evening meal. “Wonderful.,” Lindir thought aloud. “I will see you two tonight. I will have Beatrice in the dining hall on time. Thank you.” …..

“Na tharias.,” Avorndis stated, tapping two fingers against her mouth in consideration. Enaria turned to her, “Na tharias what dear Avorndis?” Beatrice perked up her ears as that dreadful word was slung and thrown round the table as she listened in on the conversation. “I mean, Enaria, na tharias can I contemplate what we are having for meal tonight.” Lindir brought up his point, “Na tharias I cannot conclude it is of any importance Avorndis.,” he chimed in. “We will have whatever Master Huven has planned.” However, Enaria retorted with, “But that is exactly the point Lindir. Avorndis na tharias may think we may receive nothing she na tharias will like.” 

Beatrice watched the volleying match of verbiage bounce and dip back and forth. They were quite serious about this na tharias business. And she couldn’t add her two cents to it one bit. “I wonder, will Avorndis na tharias eat anything tonight?,” Lindir politely asked, begged. “Na tharias I believe and doubt she will go hungry. Avorndis does not na tharias have to worry overmuch. There is not na tharias anything Master Huven cannot na tharias cook. He is the Master Chef of course.” 

Na tharias! Na tharias! Na tharias!!! Over, over, over yet over again! Beatrice’s brow wrinkled in frustration and her head hurt. All during the meal! Back and forth the word was repeated and reused. She couldn’t grasp it, she na tharias knew what to think. Acting like ninnies with the meal choice those three were. What was so difficult to figure out concerning the meal? It was always sumptuous. And Master Huven frequently made her favorites. Beatrice na tharias could not think how to shut them up!

Avorndis tried to pull Beatrice into conversation, “But, na tharias will I not be able to choose. Na tharias all seems worth all the aggravation. I mean, look around, do you na tharias believe anyone knows what na tharias will be decided upon? And I, for one, na tharias be able to eat all of it, whatever it be.” Well, Beatrice didn’t know what to think concerning that speech. Enaria, on the other hand, tried to be concerned enough, “Na tharias it is understood what you mean Avorndis.” Lindir, getting into the swing of things, tried to wrest Beatrice along the tidal wave of literary speech, “What about you Beatrice? Na tharias have you any ideas to contribute of what everyone will eat tonight?”  Beatrice rolled her eyes in exasperation, looked away and audibly huffed. Oh, go away, she thought. This is too much to think on. I cannot say it!

Now, a table over or so, Athlidon, the magnificent soldier of Imladris, a captain of some sorts, intently was listening. And, not impressed. He had dealt with Beatrice and her little league before and he was not dazzled or snowed by her. Or them. Crossing his arms, awaiting Master Huven and the kitchen elves to arrive with various plates of fascinating, lustreous and delectible trays and dishes, he sat watching, annoyance and displeasurable happiness beamed cross his face. Stretching out his legs, long, lean and muscular, he breathed and huffed. “They are all lunatics.,” he mumbled to his dinner companions. “Everyone trying to educate her. Just leave her alone and perhaps she will go away.” His companions offered a short, quick smile and watched and listened in anyway. Truthfully, none disagreed with Athlidon, nor did they agree either, however the evening was quite educational.

Sitting round the tables, the others elves understood exactly what was happening. No one dared butt in with a refutation of their own, amused with their little word play. Enjoying, perhaps hoping Beatrice would sooner of later learn the intricacies of Sindarin, a little at a time, the quartet continued. “Lindir?, Would you say, na tharias, the quail would be served tonight? Or, the pheasant?,” Enaria asked. “Na tharias Enaria, I have not a clue. Na thairas,” again Lindir said. “I have spoken to Master Huven just this afternoon and na tharias Huven could predict what would be cooked and made up, for that matter.,” Motioning his hands a bit, “Na tharias.,” Lindir said genuinely muddled.

Becoming exasperated with the whole situation, Beatrice decided to put in a few choice words of her own, unbeknownst to herself. Standing suddenly, with her arms gesturing, circling round, “Na tharias do I understand you people! Na tharias I know what is happening here, but na thairas I do not care what is for dinner! For na tharias I should think you na tharias will be able to shovel it down your gullets! Na tharias! No problems at all! Na tharias!!,” and Beatrice sat back down, slowly, shrinking, looking round the hall, as everyone was watching her, looking and beholding her raised figure.

Cheers round the tables went up. Elves lifting their globlets and glasses, smiled, truly exasperated themselves with all the na tharias words circulating round the hall. Erestor, watching, listening the entire amount of time, felt somewhat proud, as Beatrice had significantly learned a new word, one which he couldn’t teach her. Na tharias. With difficulty. Erestor had to admit it was an extravegent way of instilling the language. Speaking up, “Wonderful Beatrice. You have progressed. Hopefully you will no longer have hesitations with that word now.,” Erestor delivered. Lindir beamed proudly upon her. “Well done Sweetling.,” he whispered against her ear, filling her goblet higher than usual.

One word down and Erestor began anew, “Since you have now learned na tharias, let us start work on ‘whereas.’ The four companions turned to each other with dread. Elrond turning toward Erestor, a frown on his face, “No Erestor. Not tonight.,” and smiling he ventured, “Let it go for a few years. We have all had enough for the night.” And Elrond leaned in to his radishes and beets.

[halopulsebearer]

Bea 😭

what you are is beautiful