#but i have NEVER heard Trekker before | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trumpkinhotboy · 4 years ago

Text

All in good time

Pairing: Jacob Black x f!reader

Type: Not requested

Genre: Kinda fluffy i'd say

Warnings: None!

Rating: g

Requests: Open (for Narnia and Twilight, maybe?😳)

A/n: Alright, alright, I know I said this blog was going to be centralized on Narnia stuff, but lately I've really gotten back in my Twilight phase🥴 Plus, I had a really shitty week and needed a pick me up. Jacob is one of my biggest comfort characters so I felt it was only suiting. I hope you'll enjoy it😬 I suggest reading this while listening to any kind of Twilight ambiance playlist.☺Also, I know my title sucks HAHA. Couldn't think of anything better so yea, I'm sorry, but this is what you get

Update: changed my title huhu!

* gif is not mine!!

There were days that just deeply and inherently... sucked. Days where everything seemed out of rhythm, where no matter how hard you tried, it all seemed wrong; it all fell apart.

Today was one of those days. When your dad jokingly said: "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." you did not think it the tiniest of bit funny. When you opened one of the kitchen cabinets to get your favorite brand of cereals and found an empty box, you almost threw a full-on seven-year-old crying on the floor tantrum. Especially when you saw the half-emptied bowl sitting in the sink. Too bad, no breakfast for you this morning. Ridiculous, immature, and not changing anything? Yes, of course, but you still did it out of pure spite. As if that would punish anyone else than you.

Like any other day in Forks, it was raining, nothing awful here, if it was not for the fact that the window on the driver’s side hadn’t been properly closed. Your seat was by now totally drenched. With your pants completely soaked you rode to school, your knuckles turning white from angrily gripping the wheel. Once you arrived, it seemed that everyone was annoyingly happy and enthusiastic while you just couldn’t get out of your personal, unchangeable, black cloud. Not to help, your friends only kept making fun of your moody behavior. Could you not be taken seriously on one of your worst days?

In your least favorite class, you were horrified to see written in big letters on the board:

“20% exam!! Leave your personal effects in front of the class.”

You would have run away if it wasn’t for the flow of students coming in to push you further in the classroom. Convinced the exam was for the next week, you did not even open the pages of your manual concerning the subject. It is with panic and exasperation that you sat at your desk waiting for your doom. Did you need to add that along with all that bull crap of a day, the only person who could have made your day a little less annoying was, once again missing. No calls, no texts, no news, nothing. Probably on another mission with the rest of his mutant gang. You got to the Rez after school, hoping you would see him, but were only welcomed by Leah and Seth. It almost felt like they were waiting for you as they were sitting outside of Billy’s house. Why they were the only ones left here was a mystery for you. The pack usually always stayed together.

- “Where are the others?”

- “On some kind of mission around the lands.”

- “Is everything alright?” They nodded nonchalantly. “Then why are you two here?”

The answer Seth gave you while chewing loudly on yet, another snack, made you grith your teeth so hard he thought they were going to fall out of your mouth.

- “To protect you.”

- “I thought it was nothing, so why would I need protection?”.

- “You should talk about it with Black. He’s the one who ordered us to stay to watch over you or something.”

- “I am PERFECTLY capable of WATCHING OVER MYSELF.” you answered a little louder than expected, anger rumbling in your chest. That earned you some awkward looks from your two friends, but at this point, it didn’t even matter, you were seeing red.

Leah, never intimated by you, shrugged her shoulders. Seth looking a little bit more nervous still laughed at your display of anger. Jacob was the one assigning babysitters over you? Of course, you and he would have a little discussion, that mutt would not see it coming.

When you got back home, you called your father to warn him; there was no way you would be cooking dinner. With your luck, it wouldn’t be a surprise if you burnt the whole house down. Fortunately, he was in good mood (unfair) and answered there was no problem; he would get pizza. He got home with the box in hand and a “Hey sweet...heart”. One quick look at your rough appearance and frustrated expression and his mouth closed shut. He dropped politely, almost carefully, a plate with a slice of pizza before quickly leaving for the couch. You mostly played with the food, incapable of swallowing it down, looking at the forest many times, waiting, expecting to see a tall figure appear on its verge but nothing. Time passed, still no sign of life. There was no way that by now Leah or Seth didn’t give him your message. You had time to wash the dishes, do some homework, and get in your sweats. At 7:30 pm you gave up; he wasn’t coming. Your father was still watching TV, completely oblivious to your growing anger. You picked up his plate to put it in the sink but tripped and dropped it, the delicate plate exploded into a thousand pieces.

- “Y/n? Everything okay?”

- “Y..ea.. an accident. I’ll pick it up.”

There was a slight tremolo in your voice. That was it. Your day had been terrible with no sign of sun, and this broken plate would be your breaking point as ridiculous as it sounded. You leaned on the counter, head hanging low, feeling tears of frustration swelling up in your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you looked up; in a second you were out the back door.

- “Where you going?” you heard your father ask.

- “Getting the trash out.”

The figure backed in the woods as you rushed into them without hesitation. You smacked against something big and warm, warmer than it was normal to be, yet you had become quite accustomed to it.

- “You little piece of shit.” your index finger digging in his chest. “You weren’t even here today, and it was terrible, and you can’t do this. I do not need any PROTECTION. Oh my god, do you really think I am weak and helpless without you or Leah or Seth or ANY werewolf to protect me?!”

He didn’t interrupt your monologue, only looking at you spitting your anger out.

- “You are SO annoying. Honestly who- who do you think you- are?! I’m- I am not, I can DEFINITELY, I don’t ne-eed any-one.” Your speech was becoming less and less coherent, your emotions taking control of your mind.

Without waiting any longer for you to finish your incoherent thought, he pulled you in for one of his signature bear hugs.

- “You can’t do this to me I’m an-ang-angry...”.

- “Shhh, it’s okay.”

- “You-you weren’t there.” you gave up fighting him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

- “I’m sorry, Leah told me.”

- “Wh- why didn’t you come sooner?” you continued, sobbing.

- “Some wolf things, Paul got in trouble.“ you backed off, immediately lifting your head at the mention of one of your friends in trouble.

- “Is he okay?”

- “Of course, he is, but Sam was very upset this time.” he stroked the side of your face with a small smile. “Enough with the boys, tell me what's wrong.”

- “Everything. I left my car window opened my seat was drenched. At school, everyone was disgustingly happy and in a good mood. I did not know I had an exam, I didn’t even study the subject. And this morning, my dad half ate the rest of my favorites cereals, and then I didn’t eat anything else as a silent protest, I know that’s stupid, but”

- “You didn’t eat anything else?”

- “Yeah, but I…” you lifted your gaze to meet his disapproving one. “I mean, I must have eaten a snack at lunch today…”

- “Must have?” he looked angrier.

- “Y/n??? Where are you??”

The calling of your father interrupted your conversation; he looked in its direction.

- “You should go back inside before your dad comes out.”

- “What? No, please. Can’t you kidnap me for tonight?” he chuckled lightly.

- “Trust me, go back in, okay?”

You looked at him unsure, even though you knew he was worthy of your trust. You finally nodded before running back inside.

- “What took you so long?”

- “Oh, uh, I thought I saw something and got a little carried away.”

- “Mokay, I don’t like you being so close to the woods. We’ve still had a few complaints about some trekkers finding traces of big animals in the woods. I’d prefer you be careful, alright?” You held up a smile, thinking about your friend just outside.

- “Sure.”

You stayed in the middle of the living room, expecting, waiting to see Jacob’s next move. You expected something quick, but when ten minutes later, there were still no signs of him, you felt frustration rising again. Not sure what to do now, you sat next to your father, half paying attention to what was happening on the screen. If he just left you, he was going to pay for it. You needed him, and just like that, he was gone? Probably, got called away by Sam again. Maybe it wasn’t in his control? But if it was…

Knock. Knock.

You looked up, surprised. The door opened with a creaking sound.

- “Oh, Jacob. Hi, what are you doing here?”

- “Hi Charlie, I heard Y/n had a pretty bad day. Came to kidnap her, if that's okay?”

- “Bad day? That’s an understatement. I swear, at one point, I thought she was going to scream at me. I ate her last bowl of cereal this morning; the thing was disgusting, I only ate half of it. I don’t think that helped.” You heard your friend’s low chuckle. Your dad seemed to feel pretty guilty about his crime, which did make you feel a tad bit better. “But yeah sure. Y/n! You have a visitor.”

You walked to them, Jacob awkwardly fitting in your small house; he seemed so disproportionate with his imposing size. For once, he was wearing actual clothes, a shirt and a pair of jeans, a sign he wasn’t planning on having to transform tonight. A sign that he was planning on being entirely dedicated to you.

- “Ready to go? I’m kidnaping you.” He said that last part with a smirk, a hint to your previous request.

- “Sure.” You grabbed your coat, said goodbye to your dad, and left without waiting any longer.

First, he took you away to get some food in you. It wasn’t until your teeth were digging inside a delicious burger that you realized just how hungry you were. Jacob being the glutton that he is, ordered two cheeseburgers along with a pack of large fries. You went for a milkshake, the perfect dessert for a night like this, and took your victuals to the La Push beach. It was empty and peaceful; the sun was slowly going down, the wind just a whisper in the night. It wasn’t even that cold, but the excuse to snuggle into Jake’s wolfish warmth was too good to pass.

- “Feeling better?” he asked while wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

- “Yes. Thanks, Jake.”

- “Kidnapping mission was a success?”

- “Yes, it was.” You answered with a smile.

- “Alright.” He muttered under his breath, looking in the distance.

You stayed for a while in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the other’s presence.

- “So, what were you saying about me not being there today, like that made your day worst?”

His question took you by surprise. A look at his cocky expression was all it took you to punch him in the ribs as hard as you could.

- “You wish idiot.”

He laughed at your attack, he probably didn't even feel a thing but leveled his face with yours in all seriousness.

- “You can avoid this conversation for now since you had a shit day and all, but keep in mind, it’s not over.”

- “And you keep in mind that our discussion about you ordering werewolves to stay behind to protect me, is not over. You won’t get away easily with that one Black.”

He laughed again, visibly amused with your threat. You laughed too but were slightly less amused. These two conversations were important ones, although one you apprehended way more. You looked at Jacob's happy expression and felt a fuzzy feeling warming your body. No, right now was not the time for such serious topics.

All in good time, right?

...

Tagging my two gals because they know how nervous I was😭...@imjustdreamingig @gonzalezyon I did it gals🥺 I hope you'll like it, thank you so much for your support💕💕

#ilya writes ❤#jacob black #jacob black x f!reader #jacob black x reader #jacob black fic #twilight #taylor lautner #twilight saga #wolves #werewolves

201 notes · View notes

terrorhqs · 4 years ago

Photo

THE END OF THE HUNT

By the time the rescue party reaches the island, the runaways are scattered across the beach. Within the gloom that sticks to everyone’s bodies, only tendrils of lamplight, flashes of steel, and faraway shouts reach the crew. The distance is leveled, an uphill climb that skews the angle of vision, so that the few signs they can make out come to them as if from another realm.

Those who have been on patrol before make quick work of the clues: it’s an encouraging sight. So far, no one looks injured. Whatever roams this place seems to have been placated for now, and they count their blessings it will last long enough for the way back. The saviors gesture to the others to climb down. At first, it’s a stage of familiar motions—urgent, irritated, somewhat surprised that the trekkers have not moved further inland.

They hold in their sighs of relief.

Yet all is not as it should be. The reactions are delayed, sloughing, dragging on.

One pair on the island seems to be enveloped in conversation, bent as they are over a trail of running water. From this distance, there’s hardly a way for the others to know what they’re taken up with. It could be a scientific debate, some lover’s tiff, or a final plea to heed the rescue team’s call—and the call of reason. Their heads are bowed, and below, their fingers move quickly, parting out the silt. Every other second, they bring the water to their mouths. With fluid ease, they lather it over their heads.

They seem to be muttering something, but no one can make it out. The crewmen are not sure they want to.

From five feet apace, THE MARKED thinks she can see their hands bleeding. She wants to call out, but does not: the first warning shot is the Captain’s. She cannot speak against him. Her hand clutches in her pocket, around absence, around stolen tokens and blame.

THE SHADOW nods to something in the dark.

The military trifecta, SCION & IDOL & WILDCARD, exchange a glance. There is both fury and fierceness in it; there is the irritation of people who have grown too intimate with danger to tolerate these conspirator’s whims. But there is also panic, flailing about without coordination: the fear of people whose loved ones are channeling a storm. Of people whose loved ones have become lighting rods.

With a nod shared between them, the guards clamber from the plateau and onto the mainland. Their rifles are held at rest on their shoulders, and when they motion to THE CAPTAIN for permission to approach, Dowling gives a similar jerk of his head.

No one seems wiling to disturb the night—sound waves have fallen as dead as the ocean waves under their feet. For all appearances, this might as well be a hidden skirmish between two tribes, an ambush at play. It looks as though each had selected this island as a vantage point, and are now about to quarrel for its seizing. Only blades are not drawn, and muskets are not cocked. The sets of gimlet eyes, when they roam about, blink uneasily, concerned rather than calculated.

They are not only fretting for their own safety, but also the safety of those uphill.

Despite the bluster, despite the army formation, this is a climb to save these madmen, not remove them from their seat of power. Loyalties were forged. Affections, too; and who can tell which one is dangerous? Who can tell what’s the better incentive?

Those on the Promethean have only one thought in mind: to see the would-be hunters delivered back on deck. The punishment will come later, if at all. That is Dowling’s domain. For now, everyone encroaching on the island wants this to be over with. They all remember the way the Boatswain’s body has been caved out, his flesh scooped like melon rinds in the sun.

Anticipation frazzles in the air, louder than the crackle their boots give out. More poignant than the scent of explosives laid out in the ice, which THE ICE MASTER & THE APOSTATE are ready to set off at the first signal. Get a move up, we have to go, the crewmen want to cry. The urgency is betrayed through their steps, through their grope on the crags and the soil as they try to reach the hunters uphill. But the sand makes it difficult to gain headway, and the pelted night renders visibility treacherous. The rescuers advance uneasily along the slope.

The oldest of the bunch, the most weathered, being to realize they won’t be out of it as easy as they supposed. This bloody mess, this landlubber’s mess, the thought goes, unrestrained in the silence. THE WOLFHOUND is the first to cock his rifle. Other men, men with their heads on their shoulders and their paycheck stored away, are quick to follow. Their own fault if it comes to it, the meaning stands. But it is never spoken into being.

THE CAPTAIN gives a shout, an unwavering command. He bids the islanders to approach.

At once, the hunters straighten in unison. No—there’s not six of them, just five.

Somebody is missing; what they thought were pairs a few moments ago, is in fact a jagged pentagram. Was someone caught by the creature? Did a trekker mean to make it back to ship and got lost in the smog? They see it now, a frame on the edge of the circle. It’s collapsed in a heap, a furrow of dress and petticoat strewn around it. THE NOBLE, they catch it by the headdress of red curls, illuminated in a halo. The lantern has collapsed by her side. Is she dead, then? Did they sacrifice the lass? The crewmen shy back.

THE PURSER cries out to the islanders. His voice is authoritative, yet there’s a tremor to it when he asks about casualties. The words are bent over by the darkness, their consonants whittled.

Not one of the five answers back.

They stand to attention—only there is no sense of awareness to them.

It is almost as if their bones are latched together, packed with twine and tugged in the right directions. Aligned to a higher order, a louder call. Not one of them steps out of row. They are entranced; flexible to whatever molds them, whatever hand laid itself on the scruff of their necks. They respond to neither Dowling nor sense of danger. God help them, nothing else can be seen in the darkness, no one knows what still waits there, except this: they are under some sort of spell. Is it like THE LOVER’s song, then, which led her to the ice like a mother to a cradle?

THE IDOL’s shout rings out again. His foot draws a burrow in the sand, a yardstick of his own making. “Come towards us”, he calls out, “and approach slowly. When you get at this line, tell me my name. I’ll only say this once more before I fire.”

Five pairs of eyes rake over the guns. They stare down the iron and fire, and they do not blink.

The conversation has long stopped between the islanders. Only the crewmen begin to whisper their doubts. Had they really heard talking at all, when they were drawing near? Were the trekkers talking, or was that chanting instead? Were those human words at all?

THE MARKED snaps her arm to the side, a blockade in the path of those behind. It lands on THE ROMANTIC’s chest. “Don’t”, comes her warning. “Don’t move any closer.” The steward peers forward. His eyes are seeking something, as desperate as they are earnest, something that the night would not impart. He picks up on the absence. He picks up on far more besides. With the same gesture as hers, he stops those at his back from following.

The entire rescue team halts not ten feet away from those they meant to rescue.

They are close enough to spot the silhouettes, the heedless listeners, the blind voices. Yet they are too far to parse the details—their faces, but, worst of all, their eyes. They cannot predict whether they will be met by pitch black pupils, by empty sockets gaping back at them, like the horrid sight of that woman on deck. They cannot rule it out. Though perhaps they do not have to. The momentum shifts. The rifles change hands.

The saviours become judges. It is plain, is it not, that whoever is there on that island, it’s not the same people they dined, and laughed, and fought alongside in these last months.

It’s not the people they came here to save. Above all, it’s not the people they said they would die for, if need be. Who can vouch they even are people, now? Who can call out to the humanity in them, and still stick close enough to hear the answer?

Everyone awaits their Captain’s decision. Malachy Dowling looks to the sky. A quiet communion, a quiet reproach between a man and the Gods that left him. His throat is pale. The line of it trembles when he swallows. Then his head bows. His mouth opens to give the order, the rifles pitch up, triggers half-pulled, and .

THE DOCTOR steps forward.

Jonathan Bhavsar walks like a man who forgot to move. A man who forgot he was ever a man. He doesn’t stumble, no, but lurches through the night. His body angles backwards, careens forward, joint-less, boneless, as though carried by hidden currents. His muscles seem caught in pockets of air. Within less than a minute, a long and convulsive minute, he is down the slope of the island. He begins making his way through the crew ranks.

It’s instinct, the reason everyone parts for him. They call it instinct now. It could just as well be fear—what is cowardice but the rules of your own flesh against you? What is cowardice but the natural order? Those on the left flank stands out of his path, down to the last man.

At the back of the salvage team, a strange light flares. The night is no longer night. A gap, wide as an ellipse and twice the length of a man’s body, shimmers on the horizon. It looks like a mouth, a fish mouth’s on the cooking coals. It looks like a hole in a kitchen girl’s skirts. Red and white and putrid yellow. It looks like so many things, and all of them senseless, wordless—all of them struggling to put reality against reason, reason against reality, and failing short.

But THE DOCTOR still walks. From the chasm, a hand stretches out.

THE IDOL fires his musket, a jab of smoke, a jab of loud sulfur. It shoots past Jonathan, only an arrow of powder. It stains the night, burnt orange and useless, but does nothing against the darkness that began to boil. The mouth continues to stretch, gaping at the edges. A wineskin pulled askance by two adept fingers. And THE DOCTOR still walks. The hand grows a palm, and a flower sprouts from it, a stem of purple. The palm grows an eye.

It happens in a second. Time is dead, here, time is a thing carved from wood and light. It has no purpose in a place devoid of either.

THE IDOL gives a start, but THE WILDCARD’s rifle is quicker. The butt of it catches the Sergeant in the ribs. Private Yamatov uses this leverage, the momentary slip of pain and astonishment, to push his superior to the side. He mutters something, mutters two separate things. One of them to his right, so intent, so quiet it scarcely reaches anyone else. Sorry, a stark syllable, this one to the sergeant. This one everyone hears. The other one is lost. I serve you, some sailors will later recount. Though why he would say such a thing to the soldier in red, the soldier still standing, with his fingers pulling at Vladimir Yamatov’s wrist like a creature gone rabid, is not very clear to any of them. One of them can swear he heard: You saved me.

THE WILDCARD darts forward, a footfall against the frozen ground.

He runs, quicksilver, relentless, until he catches THE DOCTOR from behind. With a grip, he yanks Jonathan backwards. The smaller man tumbles, slumps like a puppet of sodden straws. Inertia keeps his body sliding across the ice for several feet, a wide and painful stretch that counts ten heartbeats too many, so that by the time he’s shaken awake—

��VLADIMIR!”

THE DOCTOR’S scream welds together with THE SCION’s. They warp together, drowning out the sounds that start to pour from the doorway. Inside it, the hand buckles into a fist. Its fingers of mist quiver, recoil. They sputter, with the rattling speed of a snake’s tongue, and lash out against flesh. They lick at the soldier’s hand, fog against skin, the nameless and the unspeakable.

“VLADIMIR!”

THE WILDCARD blinks. There’s a flash of something alive in his eyes, bristling animal panic, and then it’s gone. A smile—human and sad.

The mouth in the darkness gives a last shake. The soldier is pulled inwards.

There is a howl, an awful and harrowing burst of pain. It crashes against the silence that waits on the ocean. There is the smell of burnt, signed flesh. There is a whisper, but nobody can tell which side it came from if the hurt inside it belonged to this world or the next. Then there is nothing.

The living chasm, for all the flesh it lacks, folds into itself like a tongue. Its mouth closes.

Slowly, ever so tentative, the night begins to peel off. The darkness detaches from the sky, and hangs down like molten skins. The islanders shake out of their trance, all down to THE NOBLE, who is still unconscious. Some break into sobs. Some run to their saviours. The living become living once more. In these moments, where humanity pours back into them like a forge, like a forgery, the essence of it is betrayed. Friendship, infatuation, weakness. The best, the worst of it.

THE DOE-HEARTED rushes to THE SCION.

THE APOSTATE leaves his post to find THE SUNFLOWER.

THE MARKED surges ahead, just in time to catch THE ENIGMA from falling.

THE ARCANE lifts THE NOBLE’s form. Limping, he carries it downhill, away from the running water, away from the rivulets and the undergrowth. Wordlessly, THE ROMANTIC meets him halfway, and takes the body over.

At the end of all of this, most people look up, then down. The darkness has cleared.

The ice is thawing.

#thqadmin #thqevent #it's here & it's not okay lads + cryptids #SILENCIEUX APOLOGISTS WHERE ARE YOU AT NOW!

12 notes · View notes

watercolourferns · 5 years ago

Text

The Courtiers and Lucio as Cryptids - Modern AU Headcanons

Hello stranger! Welcome to Vesuvia and welcome to Mazelinka’s Extreme Advertures agency. What? The forest? Oh yes, it’s older than any of us, must be hundreds of years old... Trekking? Of course, be our guest, just please first listen to this pointers before we start planning your trekking trip for you as there’s a few things every new visitor needs to be wary of... 5 things to be exact. So here’s our little briefing on what to be wary about when trekking in our beautiful, old forest!

Volta

There’s talk about a tiny little creature with soft wings that skeeters around the Vesuvian forest at all hours of the day and night.

Those who have seen her have said she looks soft and cuddly and will come up at you with little begging paws, like a begging kitty.

But woe those who don’t heed and give her an offering because she will go completely rageful on them.

They say she always brings food to the lost trekkers and hikers.

But again, YOU MUST SHARE, unless you want 10 pounds of batshit craziness snarling and scurrying all over you while threatening you with their hugeass mouth of sharp teeth.

Once you give her food, though, she will calm down and happily sit next to you to munch on the snack.

... take this time to slowly back down and run for your life, this creature has fame of being very unstable, though generally shy...

But when food is involved... Yes, better run off leaving an offering behind... Alright, next!

Valdemar

If you happen to get lost too far into the forest, where there’s such a lack of sunlight that it’s cold enough to make you see your breath... please don’t heed the noises and try to return to the path and back to the agency.

Why, you ask? Because the further into the forest you go the more likely you are to encounter our most horrible... secret.

Lost trekkers who have survived describe them as a Eldritch horror.

They can’t go beyond that, really, because apparently this creature is so horrifying that the human brain can’t process them!

The trekkers have said they’ve seen long limbs, coming from a mass of shapeless void.

Eyes blinking in every direction, but suddenly not there anymore...

Then they start to hear the sound of something cutting into something tender, squelching noises filling the air.

They have also reported that once you see the teeth... it’s too late.

we think they are responsible for several unexplained disappearances throughout the agency’s life...

Oh, but don’t worry! As long as you keep on the path and heed our directions you don’t need fear... though forgetting your fear might not be wise... Let’s move on!

Vulgora

Let’s see... Oh, the date you want your trek is during a blood moon! Are you sure?

Again why? Well, Vesuvians tend to not venture into the forest during the blood moon. They say something haunts the place, no matter where you go, and a turned back is enough invitation for it to attack you...

There’s been reports of trees upturned, ripped with roots and all. Firmly rooted boulders crashing down hills without an explanation as to how. And footsteps echoing in the distance, the flash of red amongst the trees as the creatures moves about...

And at night, there’s the screams. Horrible, blood curdling screams of violent frustration.

They say this cryptid creature only wants to fight someone, because if you venture during the blood moon on your own, the moment you are vulenrable, you’ll be attacked by sticks, stones, leaves, dirt, even small animals are going to be thrown at you!

Mind you, they will be at intervals, as if waiting for your retaliate. If you do, the creature will double it’s efforts.

Only one person have successfully fought it back... Great great great ... great great great granddaughter of Baroness Devorak of Nevivon, Ms. Pasha, who founded the agency some years ago in honour of her late great great grandmother.

They say she took her great great grandmother’s favourite wooden spoon and chucked it with all her might between two trees where she had seen the flash of red. A cry was heard and during that blood moon nobody heard screams.

That was the most peaceful blood moon season we’ve ever had!

Why yes! Our logo is a spoon precisely in remembrance of that joyous event. Well, let’s carry on

Vlastomil

This creature... Nobody has really seen him...

Or at least nobody has admitted to seeing him, but we do know that when trekkers venture to close to his cave they run away screaming and immediately demand a shower, claiming that they have seen made them feel unclean and disgusting.

There have been others who have come out of the cave with red eyes. We suspect the cave has been harbouring some type of bacteria or allergic agent that makes people hallucinate, but usually after a full antibiotic and antihistamine course people end up fine and healthy. Albeit with an almost permanent case of the pink-eye.

We don’t really recommend going near the cave. It’s slippery in there, and your insurance could probably not cover the expensive cost of the antibiotics a fall.

We have tried to rope the cave several times, but the teenagers of the area have taken it up as a dare. A couple have lost their lives to the mysterious illness the cave harbours but...

So yes, let’s continue!

Lucio

And last but not least, our trademark attraction!!

This particular creature roams nearest the palace, now justice building and university, grounds mostly where the forest meets the gardens though sometimes one can see it nearer.

They say this creature has horns, glowing red eyes, and lacks an arm.

A few of Ms. Pasha’s friends have encountered him face to face and they say that their voice is horrendous, like a cross between a high pitched bleat, and a nasal whine.

If you stay too long in their presence he will start moaning in frustration, stomping his goat-like feet soundlessly, as if to try and demand something long forgotten.

Be ware, he might look fluffy and soft, but that’s just a deceiving appearance to get to get closer to him.

If you do however, whatever you do, don’t offer him your hand, specially if you’ve been hurt and there’s blood on it. Try not to offend him, and be as courteous as possible AND DON’T MENTION FIRE NOR BIRTHDAYS.

Compliment his beauty, the way his eyes glow so red, the softness of his fur... Offer him a pomegranate if you happen to have one of ours handy, that will please him.

But if you, by any reason, do offend him... Your best chance to run is to light something small with fire and throw it at his feet. He will be too scared of it to pursue you, so this will be your chance to run away.

We ask you to do this as your last resort, as it could start a fire in the forest...

There have been accounts of people encountering this creature, and never been seen again... then coming back. They generally come back richer than they left, happy as oysters, and a strong desire of going back.

We have no idea why this happens... but if they were in a relationship they usually end it saying things like “Oh, it’s just that you don’t pamper me like the Count does...” Yes, I’m speaking about you Yolanda, how could you do this to me, we were going to get ma- ehem!

He might not be as outwardly dangerous as the others, but not everything that glitters is fucking gold Yolanda, you little-

This concludes our briefing on the dangers of the ancient Vesuvian forest. But don’t worry! You are in very capable hands and we will ensure that you- What? Oh, your ankle started hurting? Oh dear... that’s not good, you need to be in optimal conditions for the trek... That’s such a shame. We can offer you coupons for The Chubby Chicken’s Bed’n’Breakfast with Cave Spa? Don’t worry, it’s a gift for taking the time to hear our talk! Yes, yes, it’s in the forest’s boundaries, you don’t have to go too far in, and it’s always, more or less, full of guests. If you don’t mind chickens that could be a nice place for you to recover from your ankle! Here, have a nice day at the Cave Spa!! Oh... shoot, what was that about the flower in the Cave...? Tsk, no matter I’m sure the witch will explain to them about that... ~~~~ This is for @kobresias, because I was chatting with her about this and she liked it so I expanded it. Thank you for your encouragement!! OwO

#the arcana #the arcana lucio #The Arcana Game #headcanons #modern au #cryptid au #the arcana portia #the courtiers #valdemar #valdemar headcanons #volta #volta headcanons #vulgora #vulgora headcanons #vlastomil #vlastomil headcanons #count lucio #lucio montag #lucio headcanons

149 notes · View notes

consavanarola · 4 years ago

Text

Beauty and the bigfoot

Across the north American continent span the great majestic Canadian Rocky mountains. A primordial structure that came from deep within our planet’s body. Imperial and proud yet largely untouched these mountains have been here from our planet’s beginning. It is precisely there that Stephanie chose to escape to for a two year break from life.

This life of: year in, year out, work work work, summer in – summer out, annual performance review, meetings, stress for bank accounts and an endless line of people she would – out of respect for the human race – prefer to not categorize. “Well paid plebs” is what she would call them. Day in – day out they followed orders from their manager-master and then go home to drink wine while once a week they had the chance to watch a bloody spectacle on the Colosseum Version 2019, known also as Netflix. The entire process subsidised by one of the central banks.

This life was not for her and rebellion needed to be much more than simply hunching a hoody and running around a park listening to rap music. Which of course she would never do as Stephanie was above all a well fashioned elegant life-perfectionist.

University had been a great time for Stephanie as it was then that she discovered music and her love for nature but that next step into the so called “corporate world” led her straight to the development of intellectual disgust for modern living. Her reaction was so natural that to her this was part of her thought structure. It started from her inability to adequately answer simple questions like “what is this all about?” or “why is this person on this planet?”

She wanted more. But the instructions manual didn’t have a section on “more”. It surely had 20 pages about “more wine” and 50 about “more work” but nothing about “more life”. Love, or at least what the terms & conditions of app called love, popped in every now and then but she never loved the person love proposed. She loved “love” as a verb and human activity and did believe truly in its greater purpose but the person, the man was never what she loved. Most men seemed to be the packaging of love and no matter how many layers she hurriedly unwrap, no matter how many weekends in Barcelona she’d spend with a man … she never found love. Stephanie was wholeheartedly in great need to both escape from this world and also to find greatness, two distinct needs with overlapping purpose.

An eye-catching Lufthansa magazine article during one of her business trips to Frankfurt, laced with German pragmatism, explained it all to her. The title was “Banff – escape inside the natural you” ‘their translation department needs some help’ she told herself. Capital of Alberta Canada, according to the article Banff was a paradise nested within the Canadian Rockies, a place of beauty, nature and free spirit. Before the air-waiters could serve those chemically grown jam filled plum cakes, Stephanie was already well into her feasibility analysis. ‘It’s either this or getting a large dog and naming it Lucifer, so it’s this, so Yes my dearest you can do this, do it’ she negotiated internally. Three months and a resignation letter later there she was in Banff Alberta Canada modern living’s latest self-exile.

She had a great set-up for this new life of hers. Work four days a week at the local Hilton as a restaurant connoisseur cause per local standards she knew everything about European wines and then for three days she was free to go on trekking trips. An endlessness of green and imposing natural structures all there for her mind and body to indulge in. She believed that, as for people, so also for trees there exists a sense of uniqueness. As if each tree somehow knows that it is one and different to the others, it was this concept that drove her at times to simply stand next to a tree and observe its every detail in search of what makes it different to the others. She spent full minutes standing next to trees comparing their dimensions versus her own body, moving in strange ways to better gauge the trunk’s diameter or form. She would whisper “spectacular” to herself at least three times a week and truly meaning it.

I was June, the greatest of all months for women and something inside Stephanie knew this. Was it Juno’s hand reaching down from Olympus or simply the army of wild flowers all cheerful to see her as chance would take her path by them? When close to nature many random events at a microbial level all accumulate and trigger the various biologies of our inner workings. Stephanie was unknowingly June’s hostage and one Friday, her yes day, she set off for her trek. Local fashion implied jean shorts, white knee socks, strong trekking boots and a red Abercrombie $15 t-shirt. She decided to leave the town from the side where the river passes nearest and where the caves are. Off she went.

At some point after one of her tree merging sessions she walked onto a wild flowered knoll with no shade where she heard a whistle. There a tuned whistle with detailed sonority stopped her. Startled she stood to observe and grasp what was happening ‘just another trekker’ she reassured herself but her answered did not suffice. ‘right here, right now? To me in these mountains? What are the odds that I hear such a strange tune?’ … she stood for 30 seconds and heard the tune take distance. ‘I came here for the mountains and the trees, not some whistle’ she shrugged this disruption away and disregard this intrusion. She was here for herself and for nature … no distractions. Her trek went on as planned.

Monday soon came and it was dinner time at the hotel restaurant where nothing out of the ordinary was happening until from the lobby came that whistle once again. This was her work place so Stephanie’s personal standards could take second stage, ‘disruption at work is a job issue’ she told herself and raced to see what had tickled her ear three days ago on that flowery hill. Through the disdain hotel lobby ornaments she safaried and pushed aside the Drömsk Ikea floor lamb to uncover the last thing she would ever expect to see in the Canadian mountains, a pirate. Not a real pirate on a ship in the Caribbean but a man who at first glanced could not be called anything but a pirate. His hair was scruffy brown and so was his skin which, beyond being mildly done by the sun, also had that veneer of adventurous dryness that prolonged exposure to the sun and sea salt leaves behind. Above all his eyes had a deep middle-eastern look with carbon powdered eyes. She kept her hand on the Drömsk and told herself to turn away as he was beginning to turn his head in her direction and a man was not this evening’s menu.

That was something unexpected she said to herself as she marched back to her post at the restaurant where customers sat expecting her to treat them with that safe and reliable Trustpilot verified Hilton love they paid $200 a night for. Stephanie naturally made people smile, it was part of her instinctive blueprint. She had short brown hair which defused any fear of aggression or over sexuality and this made everyone want to be her friend immediately. After 19 responsibly sourced rump steaks with farm grown fries things started to die down as it was nearly one hour to midnight. Suddenly the pirate came inside and went straight to the bar. Dark jeans and a light red turtle neck he walked slowly but with firm steps. ‘who wears a turtle neck in June?’ she perplexed.

“Hey Tom, could you go do a turn in the cellar for me, I’ll take over here” she told the bartender who with a half-smile and look went off. Manning the bar herself she was there standing face to face with this … cold mountain pirate. He was jittery and started fidgeting with the menu while examining the bottles behind Stephanie. One of his eyes was also looking at her body, mid height between the bottles and she was asking herself why? ‘I’m not on the menu mate’ she confirmed to herself. She took a glass and in pure bartender fashion started polishing it with a white cotton hand towel, to which he reacted by jumping five centimetres up and glimpsing at the bottles with overstatement then sat back down and sunk his nose back into the menu. She was formulating a plan to say something but before she could enact he spoke.

“you’re the bartender aren’t you? You’re here right?” he said with a fidgety tone.

“I am certainly here” she smiled back while inside she said ‘I know this man, he is lost, he came here to escape the world where he was successful but couldn’t find something truly worthwhile, now he is here at the edge of the world seeking refuge, yes, I know this man perfectly’

He looked at her directly, stopped moving about and smiled. He held the smile for a full three seconds then leaned deeply into the bar towards her saying “Are you a good bartender?”

“what?” she choked

“well you say you’re here and … well so am I but should we be here? I mean I know I’m a great customer but are you a good bartender?” he asked with a slow confident tone that she found basically inappropriate.

After two seconds of cold silence and a dry stare in his face she said, “What’ll it be partner?” trying to establish some ground rules and place this whole scenario where it belonged the standard saloon of a frontier outpost town where she was the boss.

He had failed at something, this was clear to her but she would never find out what. He stopped looking at her and went back into the menu, “I think every drink is perfect for the right occasion and I’m trying to figure out what this occasion is … I … I … I guess I’m kinda lost” …

Inside herself was triumph ‘I knew it, I know this man, he IS lost, weird, a bit too weird but weird with great eyes is actually great and … well either way I knew he was lost, I rock’ she declared.

… “What would you recommend?” he asked her.

“I’d say you’re a whiskey man, we’ve got some great Canadians, aged of course” She proudly sold.

“makes you fat” he snapped back.

‘he cares about his weight, I can’t tell what his body is like while he is sitting down but this is a good sign’ she debated internally as she smiled in agreement with his comment and found his eyes asking her to look a bit deeper. She wanted to of course and then nearly roused on herself with ‘wake up Stephanie, leave the eyes cause you are not falling for this guy. You came to Banff for you not some fidgety arrogant pirate’. She had to reply fast or else he’d notice something was going on and plus an answer would help her better manage the temptation to look at her eyes. What should she say? She opted for all-out attack, the only good defence:

“Hey, there’s a great wine bar two blocks down the road with a great collection of Bordeaux” she said firmly and with a simile of victory.

He looked at her and smiled, then looked out the window.

‘this guy’s good’ she thought.

He replied with “It’s never nice to drink far from home when you’re drinking alone, so I’ll stay here and … do what you tell me to” launching a deeper than manageable stare into her eyes.

Emotionally perilous music now sounded in her brain which was packing up and getting ready to check out for the evening. Yes, that’s what brains do, they leave you along just before midnight in outpost towns just after you meet a pirate with deep brown eyes. Juno wasn’t helping either as every time the lobby door opened the early summer night breeze sent aromas to her nose.

‘do your job’ she slapped herself and asked him “Whiskey it is then, on the rocks?”

“I thought you said it was good whiskey”,

“The best”,

“Then why would I dilute it with water? You see water is a universal constant of sorts, it turns everything back into the original essence of life, I want some whiskey, if it’s good then bring it to me straight up” he explained

‘a brain too’ she told herself feeling now that this was actually becoming a thing. ‘If he smiles to me one more time I’m leaving with Brain’ she promised herself as she prepared his drink. His New York accent was reassuring and added only to what she was finding great about this guy, eyes above all and now a brain. Yet still this man uncalled for in this exotic mountain paradise Stephanie had chosen to escape to. She was trying to condemn this act of piracy into her world but wanted more and more to keep the sails full canvased. She poured his 24 years old Canadian whiskey and tried to tell him she was not available with a simple and firm “Enjoy” as she looked away.

“Oh I’m enjoying it already, listen since we’re going to be friends you might as well tell me your name. I’m David, I’m from New Jersey. What’s your name?” he said with happiness and accomplishment in his voice.

‘to be a woman or not to be’ she asked herself and thus decided ‘ok, let’s see where these eyes will take me. Brain has left so there won’t be any witnesses tonight’.

“I’m Stephanie, I’m from London, here on a … kind of a gap year, pleased to meet you” she curtsied.

He sipped the whiskey with savour and went on “Gap year? That sounds great, so what? you work all day and then go mountain hiking or bear hunting or something?” laughing mildly to continue this connection.

Stephanie regrouped inside herself for an emergency all directors meeting: how can he know so much? Am I that obvious? Perhaps I am just that but then he is the lost one who needs my guidance not the other way around, didn’t this man get the e-mail?. Am I just here for his eyes and smart cracks? Oh my god I need to tell this guy to “f” off cause this is my place and out here I am not only the queen I’m the king, the bishop, the aristocracy and three witches hiding in the swamp. There are no more openings. Sure I will one day fall in love with my dream man but I haven’t started this project yet. I need to shut him up once and for all.

So she opted to change the topic from them to something neutral, and said “I guess you could say that but … Banff is very beautiful, and the weather this time is great, have you done any trekking?”

He showed irritation to her manoeuvre and she loved that. This stranger here in front of her at a bar was actually dictating terms on her emotions. On top of all that he was beautiful and in a way that only an ocean and the sun could be. With brain checked out she feared that soon her heartbeat would be out of her control. ‘this is supposed to be just another Monday’ she screamed to herself.

He sipped more of the whiskey and … suddenly Tom came back from the cellar, it felt to her like he had gone a month ago. Tom, who knew Stephanie well, looked at her. She looked back with a straight square and intent face and he smiled back and left. She did think for an eternity whether to send him off or have him take over at the bar thus allowing an escape from this captive pirate. An eternity for Stephanie lasts precisely one tenth of a second. ‘Leave us Tom, it’s late and well … David needs to drink some whiskey, I won’t tell you anything about it in the morning’ she told herself.

“Actually, I have a confession to make”, Davide replied and her heart winked upwards to where brain should have been, “I have been doing some trekking but not for the beauty of the mountains …”

“Oh?”

“… yeah well, and here comes the confession, I believe in bigfoot and well I’m here to see if I can find one, there now you think I’m crazy” ending with a small nod and smile as he looked sideward then stared right at her.

Stephanie sends out a square smile that initially wanted to pop and said “That’s … that’s the cutest thing I’ve heard anybody say in months” she said with positivity.

“You don’t think that sounds crazy? I mean too crazy?” David said like a six year-old.

“No!” she said with a triple o “I mean it, that’s super cute, I wish more people would follow their dreams and do what they really want every now and then. This is exactly what the world needs”

“You know I couldn’t agree more, the world is filled with people who are boring and that’s not the problem but the result, the problem is that they want to be boring. It’s over for 99% of them, just going from one step to the next, just like their parent said they would …”

“Yeah ... “ concurred Stephanie

“… I mean I get that there are some standard things we human beings simply must do like sell something to make money, eat, sleep although even sleeping isn’t as necessary as people think … but anyway … I mean in the end once every six months you need to go do something totally unexpected, something that only your heart would ever think of doing” David concluded.

They looked at each other with two smiles and two prolonged nods between them. “Yeah” said Stephanie to break the silence which wasn’t a problem but she just wanted to reaffirm her consent to his thesis one more time.

“I’m gonna –pause– get another whiskey here” said David. She paused too and looked at him on purpose for the 100th time in the last hour, now she looked at herself and asked: is this person in front of me part the wild and natural landscape I escaped to? Am I in control or not of what is going on here? Why is this man with these deep brown eyes confessing to me, why is he feeling like a schoolboy and showing it? What card have I picked up from the board game?

She had so many questions in her mind all of which could wait for this one mega question - “how long will he be staying in Banff?” A question of pivotal importance and probably the most difficult question ever but not because it’s hard to answer rather … because it’s impossible to ask.

She snapped out of it and ask him “Another whiskey? Sure. Where? Here you said? Of course sure, ha ha where else?”

David crossed his eyebrows as if he was thinking but all she could see was a new version of his dark smuggling eyes. This man was doing something to her no one had ever done before, he was creating questions about existence and self-nature for her to answer rather than overflow her with tangible constructions about the world she so easily left behind. She wanted some whiskey too but couldn’t drink there as she was on duty. She wanted to know this guy, she wanted to meet him, she wanted. It was worthwhile and this was her escape year. This could be one small step for her but one giant leap for her womanhood so she did it. She proposed to him.

“Hey I should be getting off here about now, it’s midnight and we’re actually closed, we could go to that wine bar down I told you about and get a last drink”

Wow, she has been upfront with men before but never when the man was so sober. This was it, her river card, her final bet, her last fig leaf. After tonight it would be a triumph and a series on Netflix about how cool she is or Stephanie would become the first person to escape to the mountains to then get so embarrassed that she needed to escape even further.

“Stephanie I’m just gonna say one thing: I like how you tick and I certainly like how you think. I’ll let you wrap up here and meet you there, alright?” He pronounced with a smile.

Wow again she thought to herself, he not only didn’t over indulge and invite me to his room he actually gave me some space and time to put some make up on. This guy is either good or he is god and only one “o” is going to make that difference. “Sure thing, see you there” she replied and started closing up the bar as he went off.

It was past midnight now and Banff was well asleep, even the wind was slumbering. Her plan was simple, close the bar, lock up the fridges then go to the hotel employee bathroom where, she had been told by one the female staff that the girls kept a “just in case” kit which should have everything a girl needs in an emergency like this. Stephanie was confident that she would find Gucci mascara, Dior eyeliners, a set of Victoria’s Secret lingerie – not too forthcoming but enough to make a bang – and of course the essential Channel Number 5. She opened it like the pit of a nuclear test site and was confronted by a “no means yes” red lipstick, an eyeliner gifted in some magazine and a six year old of pack of ribbed condoms. Hesitation didn’t stand a chance as the eyeliner was drier than death and the condoms had both expired a year ago and well, using ribbed in her mind was basically like saying “I’m gonna need all the help I can get” which was, luckily, the farthest from where she was. So she muttered “fcuk” then “great” and then picked up the lipstick as her contribution to one stand history. All this for this man she’d just met.

The longest walk ensued to the wine bar during which Stephanie successfully figured out everything about her life. Yes, it was all so simple, you see up until now everything was just a test to see if she could survive and endure it all, now was when real life actually starts. Now when she was destined to meet Davide. A man who like her was subconsciously seeking her out, sure she wasn’t bigfoot but she was definitely worthy of being called a mythical creature, so that is that. From now on everything was going to be about accomplishment, kids, a house and a summer house.

She arrived in 15 minutes and found him standing outside with a bottle in one hand two wine glasses in the other and his back leaning against the dark windows of the wine bar.

Only one thought was allowed into her mind as she saw him for the first time fully standing ‘now that is a body’.

He leaned forward after his eyes did and said “Great to see you”

“yeah, thanks, it’s closed” she replied.

“yeah when I got here a guy called Mario was locking up, said it was Monday and this is Banff” said David

“sounds about right” smiled Stephanie who was wondering if aliens could right about now come and abduct them both to their planet where they would subdue the two of them through some mating regime until they could breed the perfect human.

Davide jumped in “I tried to bribe him to stay open for another hour but no luck, I told him I met you and really wanted to get to know you better and … well I told him about you, in the end I thought I’d take a chance and buy a bottle … ”

They both smiled for 2 seconds, David continued “… and I got two great wine glasses cause good wine in the wrong glass is … unacceptable … anyway I thought I’d take the change to ask you to continue our evening somewhere … anywhere your place, my room …”

They both smiled again for 2 seconds, she looked upwards to the stars “… or even the hills out here, somewhere you know. I thought … if she says no at least I end up with a great bottle of red”

Stephanie knew she had to say something but she couldn’t stop feeling good about the fact that he had already spoken about her to other people, ‘he is already talking about me to people’ she kept telling herself. But what was to come next? Her house was out of the question cause a woman’s house is like the bat cave to Batman, Transylvania to Dracula and the Library of congress all rolled into one – there is only one way to get in and that’s with a one way ticket.

She walked closely to him, well in range of a kiss and paused. He didn’t, so she did the next best thing – while maintaining pornographic eye contact she slowly extended her hand to his waist and in her hands firmly grasped … the bottle to examine it.

“Chateau Gazin Pomerol 2011?” she whispered to this pirate who in the mountain night and summer breeze was nearly trembling in awe and emotion from her movements, “wow, this is a great wine you know?, way too great to let a whiskey man enjoy alone. – pause – ok David … let’s go to your room”

He laughed just to get out of the risk of a too early kiss or even worse some surprise erection and followed her lead as she smiled and turned away to walk back to the hotel.

‘why did he not take this chance to kiss me’ Stephanie pleaded to herself. ‘I was there, he was there, I had just told him I’d go to his room, I mean what does this guy need? An email from his boss? Com’on David, lips speak louder than eyes’

But for now that was fine as she knew that in reality so much progress had been made for the cause of love and in such little time. Stephanie knew she already deserved a medal or at least an honorary mention in the next romantic comedy to hit the screen. Now she had much bigger things to worry about like this high-risk long walk back to the room not to mention the imminent moment of truth to come – her denudation. That moment where every woman puts everything at risk, lights a fire in her hand, detonates the nuclear weapon in her brain and as Juno would say – transforms her physical body into a temple for fanatical and unpredictable religious practices.

‘Get your ass to his room before worrying about how it will get to Mars’ she boldly told herself and turned to follow Davide.

If sex is a crucifixion, and it is for the messiah inside all of us, then getting to the bedroom is the procession to Calvary. The short yet endless path through the holy city to where flesh is to be thrashed, sins forgiven and gods created. For Stephanie this was going to be here, through downtown Banff in the middle of the summer night.

Stephanie always believed that the way a man walks next to a woman is the most telling sign of his true feelings for her. All she could remember from “When Harry met Sally” was the walk scenes she would see and re-see over and over again, observing and interrupting each motion to see what it tells or tries to hide. Here she was walking with a man to a room.

She ensured that Davide was at least one metre ahead so she could look at his body from safety and while it seemed to work at first, slowly she noticed that he was not maintaining a stable speed. Perhaps he too wanted to check her out, as they say. They were competing for the view of each other.

‘Our first fight’ she smiled to herself, ‘game on, I’ll beat a pirate on a mountain any day’

“So tell me about bigfoot, I mean …” she started a fresh new conversation while discovering her competitive side and engaging in a prancing game. For ten seconds she would increase her speed and then miss a step in alternation. While keeping one eye and half a smile on him and other on his body when he was comfortably in front of her.

Davide laughed mechanically “it’s a thing, it’s a real thing. I mean I guess this has to do with who I am deep down, you see I don’t believe in anything except that believing in things is good. So I don’t believe in god but I want there to be a bigfoot … and a giant squid … and vampires too. Tell me when I’ve freaked you out enough”

“No no, please go on” – she was loving this so much. In her mind prancing in the Canadian Rockies whilst listening to a pirate she was planning to sleep with was talk about bigfoot was the epitome of her existence on this planet so far.

“you’re not making fun of me?” he asked

“Do you think I would make fun of a man holding a bottle of wine that was leading me to his hotel room?” she replied with indulging irony.

David didn’t know what she was doing but it was working like a witchcraft. The motility in her feet was driving him crazy and he want to it stop like an itch but couldn’t due to the fact that he was holding the wine and of course was still in the oat zone. Stephanie had defined oat zone as Only Accidentally Touching which she invented in a meeting once when a colleague of hers was trying to touch her using accidental trips and imaginary obstacles that would push his body briefly onto hers.

He went on “Well that it surely a logical explanation, but the fact that you’re still here is proof enough for me”

Feeling on top of everything she provoked with “maybe I’m just here for the wine”

“you’re not here for the wine” he said with a dry tone of conviction.

“I’m not? How do you know?”

“cause if you were you’d know enough about wine to know that this wine will need at least 5 hours to breath” he replied proudly.

“Whoa ! you know about wine now? I thought you were a whiskey man.” She had to snap back

“Do you wanna find out about bigfoot or do you want to talk about the wine we’re going to drink” he replied with calm.

She stopped herself and him, turned to him and put her hands on the sides of his shoulders. She looked at him straight and said “I want to hear so much about bigfoot that I’m seriously thinking of adopting one” and laughed. She did this for two main reasons firstly to steer clear from any confrontation but mainly to declare that touching is now officially an option.

‘when will he realise that we’ve left the oat zone?’ was now her question.

He laughed through retracting lips and said “I try to avoid absolute affirmations but can say something here to you?” he stopped and looked at her. She paused and gasped “sss- yeah”

“You are a special human being Stephanie from London … in several ways”

She wasn’t officially in love but the e-mail confirmation was by now surely in the server’s outbox. Should be in her inbox in a minute. She needed to hide this as much as possible but she couldn’t so instead she thought to transform it into something official. She looked at him again and simply said “That’s so nice, I really appreciate it.”

Smile from David.

Smile back and “Now tell me about bigfoot, com’on you’ve got less than 5 minutes, the hotel is on the next block”

He continues “well like I was saying I want to believe in things so I chose the things to believe in and I do it, I believe in them, bigfoot is one of my choices, that’s basically it”

Stephanie – “So you’ve never seen one or something it’s just a choice?”

“Yeah, I mean there is some science behind bigfoots that they are some primate that evolved on its own in high altitude environments around the world. It’s a highly plausible possibility, it’s not like unicorns or ..”

“Keep unicorns out this ok” she said with a childish seriousness

He laughed strongly “That’s so cute”

“No really I love unicorns and I won’t mess with your bigfoots if you don’t touch my unicorns” maintaining her tone to that of a concerned three year old girl at the zoo.

“ok ok hey that sounds fair to me” he went on “So that I mean I don’t so much about actually finding one cause if I did I may even contribute to their extinction, I don’t think society is capable of finding any hidden treasure and keeping it as such, we’d find it cage it and make an Instagram account for it. But the idea that it is there or … here in these mountains … is important to me, I need this idea I enjoy it, it makes me feel better” continued David.

Stephanie needed to touch him again so in her prance she skimmed her arm against his ‘wow, skin’ she thought to herself cautious only to not make him drop the wine. He glanced with surprise to her and their two smiles met once more. They were close to the hotel now and she knew it was time to start thinking about what was coming next. She put accidental touching aside for a moment to talk again.

“I like how you think David, I mean people generally should follow more of the dreams and beliefs, that’s why I came to Banff”

He joked in “to find bigfoot?” with a laugh.

“No I would never dream of steeling your glory” she joked back and went on “… I came to find … I don’t know what i came to find but I knew that it was missing and I knew that I would find it here”

“that’s deep” acclaimed David as they went through the side door of the lobby. The main revolving doors were switched off as it was one a.m. “That sounds like a bottle-of-wine conversation to me”

“Well that’s exactly what we have here isn’t it, what’s your floor?” she asked in front of the elevators. “6” he sparked and in they went … into that room called an elevator but for two people in their state leads straight down into the depths of hell.

Alone, a man with pirate eyes and a girl that escaped from London, in a confined room, with a bottle of French wine, both feeling the subtle upward thrust of the elevator which after the fourth floor can provoke a tingle in certain body parts and all around them … mirrors. They both fell into that devilish elevator trap of looking up in search of help to battle awkwardness instead they got … a ceiling mirror. The scripture was on their faces, blushing near their timid lips, they both knew that this was a love-test for them. Will they reach the sixth floor before they gasp out laughing and thus making a sexual confession unavoidable or not?

Ding, saved by the bell, they had made it.

David had taken a small room, not a suite, which Stephanie did notice. Of all the aspects of life Stephanie did not rank the concept of “enough money” as being number one in importance but she did firmly place it at number two, just after “more money”.

‘fine, he didn’t get the suite, so what? More money for all the gifts he is going to buy for me’ she told herself to shut up. But she did walk into the room to the tune of Material World sung by Madonna, original version of course cause well … it’s Madonna. She wanted to speed things up a bit it was already 1:30 and they hadn’t even kissed yet. They needed to kiss as soon as possible and with Victorian elegance.

David walked in and put the wine and glasses on the small coffee table. “Well here we are, there is a bathroom if you need there and a bed here … not if you need it I mean it’s just here as you can see … I better open the wine make yourself at home” he said clumsily.

‘He is funny’ she laughed inside and couldn’t restrain from saying “If I need the bed i can use it?” while laughing.

Davide laughed back and for now didn’t want to give too much breathing room to that chain of joking.

Stephanie placed her hand bag on the bed, this was her levee in case things flooded too soon. A woman in a hotel room with a man is better than a well-trained Mossad agent. She’ll put the condoms in the right place, order them as per favourite flavour, cork screw the wine, hide the man’s underwear, ensure he doesn’t steal hers and do the bed all in 10 minutes flat while the man hasn’t even found out how to unclip her bra.

She sat down and wanted some silence. It was time for him to go through his year 6 med-school advanced brain surgery exam … with no time to study. Easy, for the man that Stephanie was going to fall in love with. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table while watching him open the bottle and hopefully … set the perfect scene. David was walking around the room with the bottle.

“wow, this is luck!” proclaimed David with a whisper.

“what?”

“there is a cork screw in the room, they don’t always put them in the minibars”

‘A - Ha’ said Stephanie to herself ‘so, Mr pirate eyes, trying to find a corkscrew in hotel rooms is a common problem for you is it now? What am I, number 87? You just lost 10 points here brother and you haven’t even poured the wine ‘ she decreed.

“you do this often?” she bit while finishing her sentence in her mind with ‘if he doesn’t answer in 5 nanoseconds it means I caught him and then me, my cheap lipstick together with my bag and jogging underwear are out of here’

Luckily it was a false alarm as David did reply with sincerity and rapidly “well I travel a lot and I generally like good wine plus I like to work from my hotel room so I’ll often order dinner to my room, the common hotel room service guy will simply forget to bring the opener and I’ll have to call them back, in good hotels they remember or they have a corkscrew in the room”.

‘phew! you are back in the game, I really want you to win this, now I’m ready for you to score a touchdown on my 5 yard line’ She wanted to get physical.

Davide poured the wine and brought the glasses to the table, he set them down and began to sit but stopped half way. He bounced back up and looked around.

“What’s wrong” she said, ‘will you get with the program boy? Let’s get the wine on’ she thought.

He crossed his arms and scraped his chin while turning left and right observantly.

“the lighting is terrible in this room” pausing to think while turn eighteen times.

‘he’s thinking about how to make my working-girl body look like a Canova statue, I love this man’ thought Stephanie.

“Let me … prefect – verb if you allow – as much as I can” said David and set to the task of lighting. He tried multiple combinations of the infinite room light options. After five minutes of the cheapest lighting show in the history of light Stephanie was about to start biting her lips. “Hey, I think it’s ok David let’s try this wine” she commanded.

Blackout. Suddenly it was pitch dark as David had hit the master switch turning all the lights off.

‘What’s this?’ she squeaked inside when the bathroom light turned on giving the room the aura of a cloudy summer night with the last effect of dusk fighting to hold on. ‘perfect’ she thought as David emerged and finally sat down.

‘I made it through the wilderness, Somehow I made it through

Didn’t know how lost I was, until I found you’

Stephanie was now listening to “Like a Virgin”

He lifted his glass, closed his eyes and pushed his nose deep inside with fragile care taking a deep nose breathe.

“ahhhh this does smell great, it will be perfect in 6 to 7 hours but it’s great even now” said the pirate to his wine glass and his eyes came back into play. It was too dark outside while they were walking to see their full effect but now, here, in silence and under this perfect light it was open season on his eyes for Stephanie. She simply stopped controlling where she looked.

“Cheers” he said and lifted his glass to her.

“Cheers” she replied.

Crystals struck and their lips were wet at last. He took a second sip, swirled the glass and falling back into his chair smiling to her, he said “I’m going to ask your permission to give you a compliment right now, I have to, I need to, please let me tell you something that right now … I really need to say”

“I didn’t stop your bigfoot discourse how could I say no to this?” she said in the most bashful way. She did not want to stop him but at the same time didn’t what to give him full control at least not until they were horizontal.

“Well here goes, I … I think you’re beautiful”

Stephanie smiled with a “humph”

“no no … let me put it into perspective here for you” … takes another sip … Stephanie takes two … “This may sound strange but I have to tell all about it, hear me out, I was walking across the most majestic mountain range in the world the other day looking for my mythical being. I had shut the whole smoggy and high speed world out for the whole day. It was going to be about me and this dream, this myth, this thing I consciously choose to believe in. I was out there. Fully immersed and totally dedicated, nothing else was with me. At last I had achieved a life goal – to start a journey of discovery of something I believe in with all my heart. So there I was” … two sips for him and three for Stephanie who realised this wasn’t going to be another simple pick-up line … “So I’m going through a small forest patch and then I cross a river, and walk some more. I was loving every minute of this. So, I go on some more and then from atop a hill covered with wild flowers and the aroma of honey from a primordial habitat I saw not far away the outline of something standing” … he paused and looked at Stephanie. She was to overtaken by his nonstop narrative and his eyes that alternated focal point from glass to her and to her hair at times. Dazzled, she simply wanted to hear more. He paused for five seconds then said “… we need a wine break, our glasses are already empty, let me pour some more”

Stephanie showed relief with a shrugging shoulder movement and a deep smile “ha yeah I was so taken by your story I mean I can’t wait to hear about your bigfoot experience” she jokingly recessed from the captivating tension of the moment. David poured another third of the bottle into their wide slim necked glasses, took two sips and continued.

“so where was i? ah the first encounter. This figure I saw standing was drenched in the shadow of these ancient trembling aspens and was clearly a humanoid in my view. Even at that distance in the darkness of the forest shade I could tell it was no plant. I didn’t want to risk going closer at this point cause I was sure it hadn’t seen me while I had seen it, so I decided to stop and observe any intellectual should”

“and …?” asked Stephanie between three sips of the Pomerol which was choking much faster than it could breathe. Davide too was drinking.

“So I’m looking at what my heart was calling the being I’ve dreamt of finding all my life and what was it doing?”

“… what?” whispered Stephanie over the same uttering from Davide “what ? hehe there … you too ask what, I’ll tell you what, standing near a tree, standing and looking at the tree as if to see what the tree looked like … it … you were doing something with the tree … I can only guess you were comparing it to your body dimensions, at least that’s what I think” David said.

‘I’m going to cry’

Stephanie looked ready to cry

“don’t say anything yet at least, let me finish. What I saw you do, and I didn’t know who you are, was the most beautiful thing I’ve seen a person do on this planet so far in my life time”

Her eyes were ready to shed the first tear in her life that had this a mild temperature, neither cold from a tear of pain nor warm as tears from sorrow have. But she also wanted to laugh from joy as the cynical Stephanie knew that such a sight could be classified as simply silly.

David went on “I watched you for 10 full minutes Stephanie and I didn’t want to disturb the meditating state you were clearly in with nature, at some point you turned in my direction and I panicked. I started whistling in the other direction. I didn’t want you to think I was some mad man stalking women in the forest. So I left”

‘kill me now but only after making pure love to me please’ she begged inside but outside she had to find a practical solution to this emotional traffic jam.

She constructed a mild umfy laugh with lots of “he he” and said “wow, you saw me there? What a coincidence, I must have looked ridiculous”

“no … you looked and are … a myth” he whispered with full eye contact.

‘gulp’

“shhhh” he hushed.

David knew any hint or attempt at courtship in the conventional sense was now an option long gone for them. Their Titanic had made contact with the iceberg and there were no lifeboats for the last passengers. He proposed a toast again to her where crystals kissed this time and finished his wine as did she, he stood up and lowered his hands to her.

“give me your hands” he asked, she did and he pulled her up. Face to face he lifted their arms to the sky, Stephanie knew a kiss would be perfect right about now and David did deliver.

The lips had more to say than the eyes and what mattered most was also the more surprising, that this man knew the concept of acceleration. Taking every step with the right speed, not too slow to stop the flooding nor to fast to drown the princess.

Their union of lips lit chain fires and her bag went flying as he moved her body for her. His hair filled her fingers as his body filled her arms, both were playing the part they’d rehearsed for so many years. Now on centre stage. He was proving with heart, soul and above all his hands the existence of the mythical being he’d been seeking and known to be our Stephanie while she finally permitted full and total loss of control.

Who was this man? A pirate who has known me longer than I know him, a believer and a shy adventurer with taste for wine. Definitely not in the article she had read on that Lufthansa flight but … so very worth a book.

#banff #banffalberta #canada #mountains #love #short story #love story #romance #romance story #escape #pirate #creative #creative writing

1 note · View note

thecousinsdangereux · 6 years ago

Note

Not so much a prompt but I want to hear more about snowboarder Yang...

(this drabble is now a fic! It can be found here.)

“Alright, my dude, it’s go time! Just like we practiced.”

She lifts the bar, and the boy lets out the smallest of squeaks, muffled by the scarf wrapped around his mouth and throat. Even without the sound, there are a few not-so-subtle cues to clue her into his nervousness: he’s latched onto her arm with both hands, and even behind the goggles, Yang can see how wide his eyes are as he stares at the upcoming off ramp with no small amount of anxiety.

“Lift your board up a little — there you go. And turn — just like that.” She adjusts him as much as she’s able to from her own seat and disentangles her arm with all the gentleness she can manage. “I got you, bud. Get ready to stand. Put your foot over the stomp pad. And here we go!”

She slides off the chairlift with the practice of someone who’s done it a million times (because she has), focusing on her charge as he wobbles and, when he stands to tip backwards, grips the back of his jacket and forces him upright as they slide down the ramp. The movement causes a sharp pain to lace through her right arm, but she grunts and bears it, making sure the both of them glide smoothly down the ramp and towards the start of the next run.

“See? You killed it, man!” She bends down slightly and raises both hands, palms out, ready for the double high-five the kid delivers with enthusiasm… and no gloves. He realizes it at the same time she does, wide eyes of panic returning, and Yang pats him gently on the top of his helmet before he can get too far into his worry.

“No big deal. You probably just dropped them when we were getting off the lift.”

She twists, ready to start her search, but catches sight of a skier instead, sliding to a stop just in front of them with a grace that Yang can’t help but admire.

Not that that’s the only thing worthy of admiration.

The woman is stunning. Like, ‘can wear her hair loose under a helmet and still have it look gorgeous and curling all around her shoulders’, levels of stunning. Her goggles are up, showing off eyes that are almost gold, lightened by the sun in the same stupidly attractive way her brown skin is, and her gear is coordinated enough — bold cuts of black, purple, and white throughout — to add credence to the idea that this girl skis often and skis well.

Not for the first time, Yang wishes she could wear her own stuff rather than the garbage, all-blue Park City Mountain attire, which makes her look like a fucking smurf, even after she’d made her own slight modifications. Namely: ripping the sleeves off completely. On perfect days like this: all powder and sun, without a hint of a breeze, she prefers to leave her arms bare — just a t-shirt and a pair of thin trekker pole gloves — and it isn’t her fault that the PCM bigwigs are out-of-touch morons who think their instructors want to wear ugly, burly jackets all the time.

“I think you dropped something,” the woman says, and damn if her voice isn’t as good as the rest of her, full of the sort of amusement that’s kind rather than biting.

Oscar’s still looking a little shaky, so Yang grabs the gloves for him, which is all responsible snowboard instructor decision making. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the outrageous level of attractiveness that Yang is now leaning towards.

“Thanks,” Yang says, and then, because she can’t leave it at that, adds, “Skier/snowboarder solidarity, huh?”

“Oh.” The woman wrinkles her nose slightly. It’s fucking cute, and Yang knows she’s probably smiling like an idiot at the sight. “You’re one of those.”

“I said solidarity! That’s like, the opposite of one of those.”

“Mmhmm, sure.” She looks around at Oscar and gives him a wink. (It’s the first time Yang has thought about the kid at all for the past several seconds, so maybe the whole ‘responsible snowboard instructor’ thing had been a hard line of bullshit, but whatever.) “You know, if you ever want to give skiing a shot, you could always try the mountain over. Only fifteen minutes away.”

Yang nearly chokes on her disgust. “I know you’re not talking about Deer fucking Valley!”

The woman’s lips twitch, and she shoots a very pointed look at the ten year-old boy next to them, who Yang absolutely had not forgotten about (again).

“Okay,” she adds quickly, looking down at the kid. “Don’t tell your parents about that. Or, no, tell them about how Deer Valley is prejudiced and terrible, but not the bad word part.”

“Right, because it’s so much better here at PCM, where the level of professionalism is so high. You really get a sense of that from the caliber of their instructors.” Her mouth opens slightly in mock surprise, but the teasing glint in her eyes hardly abates. “I heard one of them starting shouting profanities at a random, blameless skier who was only trying to help.”

Yang gasps. “This is an attack! This is skier on snowboarder crime! Oscar! Start throwing snowballs at her!”

Oscar has enough spirit to actually try, and Yang vows to extend his lesson for an extra half hour as a reward, even if he nearly flops onto the ground (only stopped by Yang, once again, yanking him upwards by the back of his jacket) instead of landing any sort of attack.

“This isn’t helping your case.” One corner of the woman’s mouth lifts in a impish smile that goes straight to Yang’s core, a sensation that only worsens when the woman twists her hips, leans back, and starts skiing away. Backwards. “I’d say, ‘see you around’ but I’m usually at Deer Valley, so… bye, Yang.”

Yang’s mouth opens in surprise that’s entirely genuine, leaving her without any retort whatsoever as she watches the woman slide out of view.

“What the hell?” she whispers, mostly to herself. “I didn’t — ?”

“I think she saw your name tag,” Oscar points out.

It’d be helpful if he weren’t giggling.

“Oh okay, wise guy. Yeah, laugh it up. How well would you do if some random, super hot… ” She trails off, reconsidering. “You know what? Never mind. You’ll figure it out when you’re older. We’re boarding, so strap in, buddy. And since you’re having such a blast, no sitting down this time.”

Oscar groans, but leans down as directed, wobbling slightly, and Yang focuses on the task at hand, pushing thoughts of the skier from her mind.

#anonymous #bumbleby #rwby #Ski!AU #I *am* going to write more of this because I MUST #spoiler alert: Yang does NOT push thoughts of Blake from her mind #I love dumb niche AUs with my whole heart #Deer Valley is a skier-only resort in Utah fyi #I'm endlessly amused by the idea of Yang being furious about it #prompt madness!#writing

364 notes · View notes

survivalspecialist · 5 years ago

Text

A Moment’s Reprieve pt1

Leon-centric drabble I felt like writing because I need a little whump in my life. Will be continued in a part 2 maybe one day and cut for length.

Part Two Part Three

As usual, it was looking a whole lot like his claim that people were more dangerous than the undead was being verified.

At least the undead didn’t generally shoot at him (with some exceptions and then they weren’t exactly accurate).

Bullets hissed into the snow far too close for comfort or thudded into the trees around him as he fled through the snow, every step a risk taken against breaking his legs because there was no way of knowing how deep the mountain snow was.

It’d be beautiful in better circumstances. A soft, clean blanket of snow, evergreens standing tall and proud in the fresh air, the land sloping away down the mountain’s side. There were still signs of animals too, not that he had time to look for them.

Bark exploded across the side of his face as a bullet splintered the side of the tree he was passing and he let out a shout, turning his face away from it too late to do much to mitigate the damage. A couple of splinters were no big deal though and he didn’t drop his pace.

There were five of them left, down from the twelve that there had been in two squads of six. Two squads for one man? He was flattered.

Firing awkwardly behind him delayed them only a little and it would be a waste of bullets to blind-fire while he was running but if he stopped to take aim, he’d probably wind up dead.

A shouted curse and a howl of pain from somewhere behind him made him dart behind a tree to catch his breath and a quick glance revealed that one of the men had fallen and couldn’t get up. Probably one of the very broken bones that Leon was desperately hoping to avoid because it was impossible to see his footing in the snow.

The delay allowed him to put down another two men, leaving two for him to take care of but a bullet grazing his arm revealed that his cover wasn’t enough to protect him and so he ran again. He was just lucky they hadn’t brought dogs.

“Give it up already,” he muttered, his breath clouding the air. The exertion of running through snow meant that he was overheating in his thermals as well but running for his life had never exactly been comfortable.

One of the men seemed to have found some luck though as the agent heard more gunshots go off but then felt the sharp pain and lingering burn of a bullet slicing into the side of his neck. The abrupt pain and reflexive flinch away from it offset his balance, resulting in a misstep that twisted his ankle and sent him tumbling into the snow with a shout - a second bullet catching him in the arm as he went down and splashing the pristine white snow with stark crimson colour.

Thinking they had him, that they’d won, the remaining pair advanced on him, unaware of how Leon was waiting for them, laying deceptively prone in the snow. Even before they stepped into view, their steps were crunching loudly enough in the snow that Leon knew exactly where they were so even before they moved into sight, using his left hand because of his wounded right arm, he emptied the last of his clip into the two of them and listened to the ‘thump’ of the bodies toppling into the snow.

“’It’s abandoned’ they said. ‘No activity there’ they said,” he growled, grimacing as he carefully sat up, the snow already melting and soaking into his winter gear. Muttered curses coloured the air as he ignored the cold long enough to catalogue his injuries, teeth gritted as he carefully tested his ankle and prodded at his arm and checked for an exit wound. Thankfully there was one but the snow around him was splattered with his blood.

“Good thing I wore extra layers,” he said with a sigh, undoing his jacket so that he could rip a good length of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. Several precious minutes were spent wrapping the wound, breathing harshly through his nose as he bound it as best he could and eased his jacket back on over the top.

Once back on his feet, he took stock of the eerily quiet surroundings, with the gunfire and shouting no longer echoing across the mountainside and raised his good arm to touch his earpiece.

“Leon? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Hunnigan, no thanks to whoever gave us that intel-”

“I’ve already done some digging and it seems the contact has gone AWOL. I’ve contacted local authorities and an agent in the area - if the contact is still in the region, we’ll find them.”

“Okay, that’s great Hunnigan - look, you have my current position, how far is it to the cabin?

“Three-point-two klicks due West of your current position but an inclement weather forecast means that extraction is going to have to wait.”

Well that was just great. Shaking his head with a sigh, Leon gauged the direction by the sun.

“Thanks Hunnigan. Have the team contact me when they’re close and I’ll see you for debriefing when I’m back on home turf. Leon out.”

With his good arm, he reached for a low-hanging branch and broke it off, using it to cover his tracks at least somewhat as he left the scene of carnage behind him, making sure he wasn’t leaving a blood trail to negate his efforts. If there was a storm coming it’d discourage any more pursuers but if he didn’t make the extra effort, it’d be his luck that someone would manage to follow his trail.

“Just three klicks. A walk in the park. Nice clean air, not another soul in sight. Perfect, right?”

Only he didn’t want to lead any potential pursuers straight to the cabin so he headed south, down the mountain to lay something of a false trail in case someone did manage to pick it up.

A walk that would normally take him less than a half hour took him more than two after the detour and in the snow with his wounds but eventually the cabin came into sight and the exhausted, wounded agent hobbled inside.

With his tracks covered and a fair distance from the facility (he’d run a goddamn long way from it in the first place), if anyone saw the lit cabin, their first thought wouldn’t be that it sheltered a DSO agent. The cabin was little more than a waystation for hunters or trekkers and it looked a whole lot like it hadn’t been used in a while.

It was cold inside and getting dark with the sun beginning to set but it was shelter and a quick perusal of the cupboards revealed some tinned food, a small stock of firewood and the holy grail - a first aid kit.

But first, get a fire going because it was fucking freezing and the last thing he needed was his hands shaking as he patched himself up.

“At least something’s going in my favour now,” he muttered, carrying finally carrying the medkit through from the bathroom to the main room and taking a seat on the worn couch. By that point he was hobbling pretty badly on his twisted ankle and the bullet wounds had bled through his makeshift wrapping. It was well past time he sorted himself out or the extraction point was going to feel a whole lot further away than it was when the storm passed.

“Just figures that I’m on my own when I have to play ‘doctors and nurses’...”

#drabble #tw: blood #just a little bit

2 notes · View notes

thelifeofkaiblog · 5 years ago

Text

Jungle.... watch it!

•*•*• 6th January 2020 •*•*•

It’s based on the true Amazon survival story of Yossi Ghinsberg. It’s a bit long-winded, but it’s an insane story. The following WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS! Even with the spoilers, the film is worth the watch :) Excuse the mixed present and past tenses; it’s late :P

Yossi Ghinsberg is an Israeli adventurer. In 1981, in his early 20s, he went backpacking alone. In Bolivia, he met Marcus Stamm (a Swiss school teacher) and his friend Kevin Gale (American hiker and avid photographer). They’re staying in a hostel when an Austrian stranger called Karl Ruprechter sees Yossi alone in the market and asks him if he’s American. Yossi says no and Karl claims there’s an undiscovered tribe he can take Yossi to see. He says he knows the jungle and the tribe. Marcus and Kevin are reluctant to trust the stranger, but Yossi persuades them.

When the trio met up with Karl the next day, he was getting supplies and said they were going to pay for it. They hike into the jungle for several days and find the village Karl promised. They stay in the village overnight, then head back into the jungle. By this time, Marcus has got severe bloody sores on his feet and is struggling to walk. He is understandably complaining about the pain, but Yossi and Kevin are fed up of it because it’s slowing them down. Karl wants to leave them so he can get help, but Yossi and Kevin disagree with it. Kevin wants to build a raft and they outvote Karl.

They build the raft and head down the river, but hit rapids that they barely get through and float to shore. Karl gets angry with Kevin for taking control on the raft and tensions increase. He says he’s going hunting, but doesn’t come back immediately, so Yossi goes to find him and stop him from abandoning them. Kevin still wants to use the raft, but Karl refuses. Kevin thinks Karl can’t swim. Karl says they can all be fish food and he’ll hike for three days to the hostel they started at. Kevin doesn’t want to take Marcus, so Yossi uses reverse psychology to get Marcus to go with Karl, now that his feet are better, and Yossi will go with Kevin on the raft. They say their goodbyes and split up.

Kevin and Yossi carry on downriver until their raft gets stuck on a rock in rapids. Kevin swims to shore and asks Yossi to throw him the machete, promising he won’t leave Yossi; he’ll use the machete to create a way to save him. Yossi gets swept away and leaves Kevin behind.

Yossi has no real tools or survival knowledge, so he has to improvise shelter and forage for food. He started hallucinating, getting lost and losing hope. He’s been trekking for a couple of weeks, cutting a creature from a lump on his head and getting the same sores on his feet that Marcus had, apologising to Marcus (talking to himself) for not understanding how horrific the sores were.

He’d also got stuck in quicksand (mud), losing his grandfathers lucky book and the remainder of his backpack supplies. He made his way to the river, after deliberately getting bitten by multiple fire ants. He laid out logs in a Y shape, then collapsed behind some rocks.

Meanwhile, Kevin is found by villagers who take him to a Rurrenabaque, 120 miles from Coriplaya, Yossi’s location. He speaks to the authorities and insists that Yossi is still alive, but the authorities dismiss the chances of Yossi’s survival when they don’t find him after a plane flyover.

Kevin found a local boat owner who reluctantly agreed to help him look for Yossi, even though he was sure Yossi wouldn’t have survived 17 days on his own in the Amazon. The boat had a motor and they went upstream to try to find Yossi. They found the shore that Yossi was on, but didn’t see him. The man told Kevin that he’d done the best he could, but they had to leave now. They started leaving, not noticing the Y logs. Yossi heard them and woke up, crawling to the water just before they went out of sight. He stood up, but couldn’t shout loud enough. Luckily, Kevin spotted him just before it was too late and they came back to save him.

Karl and Marcus were never seen again. Karl was wanted by Interpol - it’s unknown why, but he’d been known to take other trekkers into the jungle and the “undiscovered tribe” were actually not undiscovered. There were red flags about him all throughout the movie and presumably the real experiences, but they needed him to guide them, so they may have overlooked the dangers. I truly feel sorry for Marcus; he trusted Karl, but some really terrible things are likely to have happened to him in that jungle. Maybe Karl murdered him. Maybe Karl abandoned him. Maybe he was killed by an animal and Karl didn’t protect him. It’s unknown, but Karl couldn’t be trusted. Karl may have died too, but he had the best survival chances of all of them. Did he escape before the search parties started looking? Did he create a new identity and blend into the rest of the world?

Ten years after he nearly died in Bolivia, Yossi built an eco-lodge in the area and lived there for three years to teach the locals how to maintain it. He married three times, had four children and became a tech-entrepreneur, humanitarian, author and motivational speaker. Kevin continued with his photography and had a family.

I really wish we knew what happened to Karl and Marcus, especially to honour Marcus’ life, by discovering what happened in his last few days. It’s likely impossible to ever know, though, unless Karl is found alive and honest, because disappearing in the Amazon (or any intense location, like Mt Everest) leaves little opportunity for an investigation - though Yossi and Kevin did spend weeks trying to find them before giving up and going home.

End of SPOILERS.... I’d have preferred an Israeli actor had portrayed Yossi Ghinsberg but, aside from that, I think Daniel Radcliffe did a really good job.

1 note · View note

meowloudly15 · 5 years ago

Text

Stranded: Day 8 - SPYENTIST

OKAY I AM REALLY SORRY THIS CHAPTER IS A LEGIT MONTH LATE [feel free to blame my beta but actually please don't because she's got her own things that she's got to do]

I assure you [stares pointedly but not acerbically at GTA] that chapters will come out a lot more quickly from now on. The story's written. It just needs to be polished.

As always, enjoy!

First | Previous | Next

That was a really weird dream.

Gwen hoisted herself upright, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. All she could think about was how bizarre her dream was. It had been some mashup of Star Voyage: Trekker and Guitar Villain, except everyone looked like Claire Foy. And her father was playing darts or something.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

She was jolted out of her thoughts by a short, painful spasm.

Based on the angle at which the light from the window landed on the floor, it was too early to be awake.

Gwen contemplated falling back asleep but ultimately decided that it would be better to remain awake. At the very least, she could rest. She flopped backwards onto her bed to think.

Her top priority right now was to find the other spiders. The question was, how?

SPYENTIST

Oh, for the love of… now her spider-sense was making terrible puns? Could it possibly get any less helpful?

YES

Gwen chuckled to herself. At least her spider-sense was making an effort, she supposed. It could be worse.

Hold on a second... Of course! Since the collider was located in Alchemax, the spider-people were almost guaranteed to go there and investigate it. She could go there to meet them. She still had the "borrowed" lab coat and glasses from two nights ago. She would blend right in and wait for the others to come along. Heck, they might even be there now. She had to hurry.

After a rushed breakfast, Gwen swung out of her dorm room window, wearing her disguise over her street clothes over her costume. She parenthetically wondered if the billowing white coat made her look even more ethereal. It didn't help her aerodynamics, but it would be worth it if she looked cool.

She reached Alchemax without incident and took shelter in a secluded niche on the rooftop terrace. She pulled off her mask and hood, tucking the latter under her shirt, and donned her spectacles. Despite it being Sunday, people were inside the building.

Gwen entered the building through the door on the rooftop terrace, unobtrusively passing through the cafeteria and nodding a silent hello to the security guard. A trace of paranoia lingered at the edge of her mind, a fear that someone, namely Dr. Octavius, would discover her presence. Nevertheless, she somehow managed to not freak out, and she passed through the stark white halls without incident.

Should she be here?

YES

Gwen smiled to herself. She was on the right track for once. Good.

However, if she was going to pretend to be a scientist, she also had to pretend to do a job of some sort. She didn't want to be deemed suspicious because of loitering. It probably wouldn't be easy to find some task that she could perform with her limited scientific knowledge, but…

"Hey, Miss! Ms. Osborn? C'mere!" A tall, gangly male scientist in his late thirties beckoned to her.

Gwen glanced at the name embroidered on the lab coat. "Yessir?"

"C'mere, I need your help with something."

That was fortuitous.

Gwen jogged after the man, who entered a smallish grey-walled room.

He proffered his hand for a handshake. "You're one of the new interns, right?"

Gwen decided to play along. "I, uh, yes, I am. Definitely. Uh, Gwen Osborn. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Rob Petrie. Pleasure to meet you as well. I need a bit of help with this experiment. Can you please bring me the little glass containers labeled 'Petrie's Dishes' from Room 4911? Put them on this tray so you can carry more, but don't stack them on top of one another."

Mr. Petrie handed Gwen a plastic cafeteria tray and ushered her out the door.

He seemed to be in a rush.

As Gwen navigated the maze of hallways, searching for Room 4911, she thought she heard something moving around in the ceiling. She was on the top floor. Was something, or someone, in the air vents?

It didn't matter. Time would tell. Right now, she had a job to do.

Room 4911 was on the opposite side of the building. It was near a room that she recognised as the one in which she had been held captive by Dr. Octavius. She could hear two or three people moving around and talking within it.

Gwen entered Room 4911 and found Petrie's dishes on a table located by the window. There were around twenty of them, and they all contained some amber substance that resembled Jello. She managed to fit them all in one layer on the tray.

She returned the tray of science Jello to Mr. Petrie. He placed it on a table next to a microscope and several glass jars of varying sizes. "Is that all of them?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, now, can you go back down and bring over my files? They're in three blue folders, same room, right next to where the dishes were."

"Sure thing."

There was a distant crash.

"Dang it, Spagna," Mr. Petrie muttered under his breath.

Gwen couldn't help but ask, "Spagna?"

"Guy in the org-chem department. Always ruining something. But he never seems to notice. Listen, he sees me trip over an ottoman one time, and I never live it… you know what, never mind. Just get those dishes."

Gwen nodded and walked out the door. It was clear from out in the hall that there hadn't been just one crash. There were sounds of fighting.

Was one of the other spiders here?

As Gwen walked towards Room 4911, the noises grew louder. Were they coming from Dr. Octavius' lab?

SOMETHING OLD SOMETHING NEW

...something borrowed, something blue? Gwen didn't recall being invited to any weddings as of late.

If only her spider-sense was a little less vague, she'd be able to get herself out of danger more easily. Her spider-sense was terrible at its job. Either that, or she needed to keep practicing.

She entered Room 4911 and fetched the files without a problem.

She walked quickly back through the hall, her head down, the files clutched tightly to her side. So far, everything seemed to be going smoothly, but as for how long that would last, she wasn't-

Smack.

Gwen tumbled to the floor. The files flew out of her hand, and the papers inside scattered across the tile.

What the-?

Somebody materialised in front of her. It was a guy about her age, wearing a cheap Spiderman costume and holding an entire computer. He sprinted down the hallway past her.

Was he one of the spider-people from the news?

Loud noises emanated from Dr. Octavius' office. Gwen heard two voices: that of Dr. Octavius, and that of a man whom she didn't recognise.

She abruptly saw the mystery man when he was shunted through the wall by one of Dr. Octavius' claws. He wore the same costume that Spider-Pete had worn, except for the sweatpants.

Was he another spider-person?

Gwen had to help these guys out. But first, she had files to deliver.

She picked up the scattered files and jogged back to Mr. Petrie, narrowly avoiding a stray pincer.

As Gwen placed the files on Mr. Petrie's lab bench and turned to leave, he called after her, "Hold on!"

Gwen paused. She heard laser fire and the yelling of scientists echo through the halls.

SECURITY CALL

Mr. Petrie handed Gwen a comically-oversized laser cannon. "Take this. There's been a security breach."

She took the cannon and hesitated for a moment. She switched it to stun and knocked Mr. Petrie into the workbench. Science Jello interspersed with glass fragments flopped onto the floor.

Gwen set down the gun and muttered to herself, "That's one foe taken care of."

She yawned. She felt inexplicably exhausted. It was probably just the effect of the disjunctions.

She ducked into a broom closet and changed into her Spiderwoman – no, her Ghost Spider costume. She could return for her street clothes later.

No, that was a bad idea. She'd take it with her and leave it somewhere else.

It didn't matter. She had to go. She could hear Mr. Petrie stirring.

Gwen came out of the closet and entered the halls. They were barren and strewn with glass shards. She followed the trail of destruction to the cafeteria. A gaggle of scientists (Herd? Gang? Flock?) milled about the cafeteria, toting laser blasters and looking towards the ones on the terrace. A couple of them turned and saw Gwen.

PERSONS TAKING NOTICE

Gwen dodged the first wave of blaster fire and made a mad dash for the cafeteria doors, webbing up nerds as she ran.

BREAD HINDRANCE

As Gwen burst through the doors onto the balcony, she tripped on a discarded bagel and fell flat on her face.

Fortunately, the bagel had sent her beneath the cannon fire. She attached a webline to the feet of one scientist and flung him into his coworkers. She stood up and hurried towards the edge of the terrace.

Two distant figures leaped through the woods, pursued by the unmistakable silhouette of Dr. Octavius. A platoon of white-coated people armed with laser blasters followed on foot. Gwen threw herself over the railing.

She swung through the snow-covered trees, observing the scene. She webbed a few of the ground troops up before they could hurt anybody and received laser fire for her efforts. She remained out of sight of Dr. Octavius, angling around her and heading to the spidermen.

The two spider-people swung side-by-side, holding onto the computer box. Gwen recognised it from Dr. Octavius' office. It must have held important data. She headed for them, hoping to expedite their getaway.

All of a sudden, the spider on the left glitched out and dropped the box. Both heroes plummeted to the ground. Gwen was too far away to do anything. She picked up the pace, hoping that they would right themselves in time.

Alas, they did not. Both spiders landed on a thin branch. The smaller one grabbed the cord of the computer console.

She started swinging as quickly as she could. Neither the branch nor the cord would hold for long. And Dr. Octavius was rapidly encroaching on them.

The cord gave way first. The console plummeted to the ground. Then the branch snapped, and the two spiders followed. Dr. Octavius caught the console before Gwen could react.

There was still time. She had to restrain the spiders before Dr. Octavius could pummel them into oblivion.

She darted through the forest, shooting weblines to string up the two spidermen. They exclaimed in surprise.

OCTAGONS

Dr. Octavius looked up and recognised Gwen instantly. Her face developed a wide, unsettling grin. She set off in pursuit.

Holy cuss word. She had SAWBLADES?

Gwen had to end this fight fast. Those blades had to be neutralised.

She changed direction and fired two webshots. Dr. Octavius' claws adhered to two nearby trees. The older lady abruptly stopped, gasping as her harness dug into her stomach. Gwen kneed her in the face.

One more hit should do the trick.

She leaped backward, then charged forward and slammed her foot into Dr. Octavius' solar plexus. The older lady dropped the console. Gwen webbed it to herself.

The ordeal was over in ten seconds. She wished her last encounter had gone so smoothly. Unfortunately, having recently been knocked out and sedated didn't help one's fighting tactics.

Gwen landed on a branch a short distance above the two spidermen, who were strung up like snared insects.

LIKE YOU

Could she trust these people? They might be spider-people like her, but they might not be good guys.

Then again, the enemy of her enemy was her friend.

She pulled off her mask and grinned.

"Hey, guys."

First | Previous | Next

#gwen stacy #spidergwen #spider gwen #ghost spider #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #writing #writers on tumblr #long post #violence #stranded #stranded fanfic #marvel

1 note · View note

travelsketchbymaitri · 6 years ago

Text

Prashar Lake- A Trek for non- Trekkers

About Prashar Lake-

The hypnotic beauty all around, in the lap of incredible mountains there lies a lake with astonishing history. It is named after a Sage Prashar who used to meditate there and built a temple next to it.

There is an island drifting in the lake. The water and land ratio of the lake is said to be the same as the earth has in between of water and land. Isn’t it amazing? What's more, you will feel enchanted with all the tales attached to this place. The island in the lake keeps moving, it's actually gliding in the lake. Intriguing fact is that no one has ever been able to discover the depth of Prashar Lake.

Next to it is an ancient temple which is said to be built by a 6 month old infant. Yes you heard me crystal clear, it was built by an infant till he reached the age of 18 years post which he vanished and was never found again.

Journey-

My friend and I, were two girls who planned this trip. All things considered, I majored planning the trip as planning excites me. There were a few choices to reach there yet we picked Volvo which was an overnight journey. We took the transport from ISBT- Delhi and got down at Mandi from where we took a cab till Bagi Village. We could have selected a flight to Kullu however the reality was low funds and a shoestring budget was the real criteria of my trip planning.

From Bagi, Prashar Lake is approx. 10 kms. We could have picked a taxi or bus till there, yet we needed to experience the adventure of the trek because it’s in the midst of the jungle. We wanted to experience the local feel so we returned via local bus, which took the adventure to the next level. One feels petrified when the bus needs to reverse every time it takes a turn on the hilly roads. However, the experience of the driver gave us some comfort and feeling of safety.

Key Points-

Most cost effective way to travel is Volvo bus- an over night journey.

From Mandi, take a cab till Bagi. Do specify Bagi from where Prashar Trek starts as there are 2 separate villages by the name- Bagi.

Stay-

The planning of the stay was exciting, filled with ups & down, excitement & anxiety. After all the research I did for places to stay at Prashar, I found the easiest way without taking much headache is camping. We booked through a travel agent way in advance. But you know, just a week prior to our departure, the agent informed me that the government has banned camping in the fencing area which protects the Lake area from wild animals. Though we felt helpless and demotivated at that moment as I had already booked bus tickets, but sometimes blessings comes in disguise.

I felt that the cancellation of camping was the best thing that happened because had we gone with the travelling group we wouldn’t have explored Prashar Lake the way we did now. Again the search started and after a couple of days I was finally able to book the PWD guest house. It has only four rooms and is about 1 km away from lake but was better option from the dharamshala which is just next to the lake.

Key Points-

Camping Via travel agent

PWD guest house which needs to be pre booked. You can connect Tel: 01905 222151. One may also book other guesthouse via Forest Department.

There is a Dharmshala adjacent to Prashar Lake. Please note washroom is common there.

Trek Log-

We started the trek early morning from Bagi. It is a bumpy path, all sort of stones in the way and the river gives proper serene picture what one can expect out of a hill station.

There were around 3 small food outlets or what we call as Dhaba where we had breakfast. The owner suggested that we pack some food for the trek as no other shop or outlet would be available till Prashar. He also warned us that we might get lost in the jungle as there is no specified path like other treks but we dared to start of our own and took his contact number, you know, just in case. So the instruction we had from him is that just move straight within the jungle no right no left and reach till you get to a plain area. Post that we needed to follow “bijli ka khamba” as in electricity poles. Once we reach the last pole that would be Prashar and exactly that’s where Prashar was.

After the exploratory trek with all the scary sounds, breeze and uphill path we reached there after 5 hrs because I am not the hard core trekker. I love the idea of being a trekker but I am not exactly one.

Magnificent view it was, exactly the landscape painting one would wish to copy on canvas and there stands our guesthouse all alone looking like a haunted house. We got our room and explored Prashar Lake which was around 1 Km away from the guesthouse. By the way, all the interesting stories related to Prashar were told to me by the local guesthouse keeper. Quite an amazing storyteller he was and a hard core believer of all the unbelievable stories he told us.

Key Points-

One can pick a cab or local bus till Lake in the event you don’t wish to trek.

Do carry snacks before beginning the trek at bagi, no other alternative for snacking in the middle.

Momos are a must at the dhaba in bagi.

We visited in March, the weather was quite chilly. Better to visit in Sep to Nov as you will get more greenery.

This trek will cost you less than 10 k if you are travelling from north India.

Route- Take a right when river path is over- Straight within the jungle till you reach the plain area- Follow the Bijli ka khamba post that- No further Bijli ka khamba you have reached Prashar Lake.

#my first post #memorable journey #suited for beginners

2 notes · View notes

seb-rideswrites-sos · 6 years ago

Text

Two Tragopans- Part 1

I was lying on my bed with my gaze fixed upon a mirror on the right side of the bedpost that evening. The window panes on the other side could be seen through the mirror; it allured me with crimson rays of the autumn evenfall, occasionally hidden by the fluttering curtains. Hopefully, my eyelids might get convinced to fool their twin companions for once, and I could have a sound sleep. The tranquil state of mind and the sluggish posture of the body in such habitual meditations of mine are not to be meddled with, or else, the wrath of the wounded knight shall befall you.

“No, not now!” I cursed myself while reaching out for the incoming call. The voice on the other end was familiar, the kind of voice that reverberates in your ears for a decade with all its variations; the gabble of that girl in preschool, the streaks of laughter that gulped down her words in a picnic, and a sob that smeared those words a moment before departure. A syllable spoken out of that voice gave the instant cue for recognition in my head.

“Remember that trek you never stopped talking about?”She started off a conversation out of the void.

“How will I forget something if I was so interested in it?”

“Because you said ‘was interested’ and as far as I know, you tend to forget things when you lose interest in them.” She said half in jest, took a brief pause and continued; “So, have you taken it yet?”

“Not yet.”My reply came off a bit abrupt than what it sounded like in my head.

“I have come home for a few weeks. If I take a flight to North-East and land somewhere between Imphal and Itanagar, will I be able to see you?” She asked monotonously; her last question almost drowning in the depths of a noisy crowd.

“If you are so keen to take that flight, drop in for a visit to Lilabari”.

The skies of Lilabari had already hailed the splendor of full moon. ‘Way to Dzouku ’, read the rusty signboard on the pebble-strewn foothills of Viswema. My fellow trekker was panting heavily as we had to cover half of the motorable road by foot owing to a taxi breakdown. The sunlight and the sweat drops that trickled down the forehead blurred my vision; making it almost impossible to see her reddened face.

“Still seems like a good idea?” I burst out laughing, trying to hide my exhaustion from it.

“Yes, still a good idea than spending a week in apathy down the south”, she asserted, dabbing her face with a towel. The baffling excitement in her voice aroused a bit of jealousy in me; it was something I had lost down the road.

“And who the hell carries an acoustic guitar of 7 pounds while bag packing for a trek?”I reproved her easygoing attitude about bag packing for a two-day trek. I have always had a delicate plan to make things work when it comes to trekking. To me, she looked like the worst bag packer ever.

“You will thank me later”, she said with unfettered confidence yet finding it hard to balance her bodyweight at the start of a steep cliff- climb.

Dzouku has always been a trekkers’ paradise and a journey to the seven sister states notched a top spot in my bucket-list during the college years. Years later, I ended up in a small town in Arunachal. What I have always dreamt of was much easier to accomplish by then. So I took frequent road trips throughout the North-East; Sela pass, Ziro valley, Majuli island, Tawang, Touphema village, Dawki, Nohkalikai falls and the list goes on. There were a few times I could have easily taken the trail to Dzouku valley. But each time a voice in my head convinced the adventurer in me to wait a little longer; to wait for the right time, ‘It is winter and it will be freezing cold’ or ‘Who else will take a trek in the summer when the valley has none of its mesmerizing flowers?’.When the lilies bloomed and the rhododendrons adorned the valley, the same voice screamed in my head; ‘It is raining cat and dogs and the trek can get treacherous.’ At last, it turned out to be a trek in the last week of a November, when it is neither autumn nor winter, with a long-lost friend who came to my life in an autumn 14 years back.

An unseasonal rain had blessed the mountains that morning. This made the trek a moderate to difficult one as the ground had become slippery.

“There will not be any lush green meadows when you reach the valley. And most of the flowers will have withered.”I never meant to discourage the girl indulged in a ferocious battle between the rock blocks and her bag pack. To give her a slight relief, I added; ”The steep climb is only for two kilometers. As far as I know, the rest of the trek is a cakewalk.”

“It is okay. It is just that I am tired. Let’s take a short break here, can we?”She jumped on to a boulder and stretched out her legs. She sighed at the creepy narrow ridges ahead and shot a glance at me.

“Mind having some water?”I took out one from the stash of water bottles on my back.

“No.” She caught the bottle leaning back like a flexible athlete. After a sip of water, she narrowed her eyebrows, looked straight into my eyes and asked a question that I have heard a lot in recent times, ”What happened to the job in that firm?”

“They made me quit. I was not disciplined enough for them.” The answer was honest, compared to the last couple of times when similar questions were asked by someone else.

“True they are.”She shook her head as if she completely agreed with my company officials. ”A footloose youngster who is disciplined only when it comes to motorcycling and bag packing”, she chuckled at her own sarcastic comments.

I smirked back at her, though her dreamy proposition about me was quite impressive. “Shall we climb the goddamn mountain before the sun sets in?”I got on my feet.

#story #part 1 #spilled words #writers on tumblr #writerscreed #my writing #nostalgia #travel #creative

16 notes · View notes

adorablesilkroute · 3 years ago

Text

A Wonderful Experience of Sandakphu Tour & Trek from Siliguri City

Many of you'll know me as a man who has never been a writer/blogger, and yet here you're, reading my first ever travel excerpt, and it’s only and only because I cannot comprehend my experience and keep it just to myself from my recent Trek to Sandakphu-Phalut. Sandakphu Trek is a very rare trek you’ve to examine, heard a few lots. I am sure you'll have also seen many pictures of the ‘Sleeping Buddha’ range as viewed from its summit. But let me tell you that one isn't prepared for the landscapes that lie ahead once you reach Sandakphu. The mighty Mt. Kanchenjunga towering right ahead of you, the trio of Mt. Makalu, Mt. Everest, and Mt. Lhotse lies to your left, and as you progress your gaze towards the proper, one can see the vast expanse of the mountain ranges of Tibet and Bhutan, including Mt. Gangkhar Puensum (the highest unclimbed mountain of Bhutan). As I did my best to soak within these views at 5:45 am from the terrace of my homestay in the bone freezing winds of approx. -8 degrees, my eyes turned moist, and that I was overwhelmed by the visuals, realizing how small and insignificant we all humans are. This is the story of 1 of the foremost beautiful Himalayan treks that I even have ever embarked upon.

If you’re still reading through this, it’s only because outdoor life may be a living, breathing aspiration for you. In June 2017, I had successfully summited the trek to Kudermukh and since then, I have looked for a mountain that would give me an identical altitude and therefore the adrenaline rush related to it. Sandakphu was nowhere near that altitude, nor it came within the challenging category trek, however, something about the trek had me hooked thereto. I read its description a few times, and therefore the incontrovertible fact that this trek had constant flirtations with the India-Nepal international border and its summit views included 4 of the 14 eight thousand meters peaks of the world, made me finalize it. This trek had tea house stays throughout its duration, and being an expensive trek, it had a pleasant ring thereto. So, on the morning of 13th Feb, I took a flight to Bagdogra, and after a gorgeous 4-hour drive through a road dotted by tea gardens on each side, our trek group received the bottom village of Kopidana. We were a gaggle of 6 trekkers (Lali, Sonu, Aditya, Suvo, and myself Shuvajit) all coming from the Kolkata city, and there was a moment bonding between us all. At Kopidana we were introduced to our trek lead, Devendra Bisht, and native guide Ram Ji who belonged to the border town of Maneybhanjang. After a quick round of introduction over a couple of cups of tea then browsing the itinerary over dinner, we were sent packing to sleep in our cozy beds and blankets by 9 pm.

The warning call came in at 6.30 am and that we all were up in a moment, very excited to start our 4-day trek. After a wholesome breakfast and packing our bags we were able to trek to Tumling, a little village in Nepal. We started our ascent by 8.30 am and reached the tiny hamlet of Chitrey by around 10.30 am for a few light snacks and tea. After an honest rest we began our journey forward, the route after Chitrey is more of a gradual ascent with ups and downs within the path, one can see a lot of SSB posts on the way and greet our jawans guarding them a resounding ‘Jai Hind’. At around 1 pm we reached our lunch campsite at Megma village. The lunch host was a particularly sweet old fashioned teacher, who had prepared a delicious spread consisting of some crisp french-fried potatoes, cabbage vegetable, fresh mint chutney, hot dal and rice, fried papads, and an area pickle. We all hogged on the food without making a sound then visited the local monastery, clicked a couple of pictures before proceeding back with our upward journey towards Tumling.

We reached Tumling by around 3.30 pm and immediately checked in to our local homestay called Satkar lodge. Tumling may be a small village consisting of around 15��20 local families, while the road adjacent to the village lies in India the village actually belongs to Nepal. Later in the evening, soaking within the warmth of the fireside within the area, sipping on our tea, and munching through piping hot ‘Kanda Bhajiyas’, Maggi, and omelets, we all narrated our stories of previous trek experiences to every other. Potato and rice being the staple food of the region, its presence is strongly felt within the food throughout the trek. Almost all vegetables prepared have their main ingredient as potato and therefore the sweet dish also generally revolves around rice pudding or on some occasions fresh custard. However, the food throughout the trek was homely, served hot, and very delicious.

The next morning, we all awakened at 5.30 am, except within the case of Wasim who was awake from 3.30 am and not taking any risk of missing the sunrise. This was getting to be our first glimpse of the ‘Sleeping Buddha’ range, however, thanks to low visibility and foggy conditions, we all were left a touch disappointed. At every homestay that we stayed, we might always awaken to the divine chants of ‘Om Mani Padme Hum’ the Tibetan prayer playing over the stereo each morning. And to awaken to the present, sipping predicament from the thermos and walking outside your room to enjoy the surrealistic views whilst shivering within the cold, was one hell of an experience that we all looked forward to each morning. After an honest scrumptious breakfast, we were able to make our push to a subsequent campsite at Kalapokhri village. The walk today began with an honest 2 hours of descent, making us lose all the peak gain which we had achieved the previous day. This meant just one thing that an honest steep ascent would soon be approaching us and lots of within the group were vary of this. As you cross a stone milestone with the word Nepal inscribed within the Devnagri script thereon you're suddenly ushered into a replacement country much to your amusement. The route today passes through the famous Red Panda wildlife sanctuary, the Singalila National Park, bamboo forests on both sides of the trail, and a completely downhill path that leads you to Garibas village, which acts as a layby before you began the steep ascent until Kalapokhri.

The walk today was just about 17 km and therefore the weather was extremely cold and foggy post-lunch. We could hardly see the team member walking ahead folks, but finally, after an extended tiring walk, we made our way into the tiny sleepy village of Kalapokhri at 4 pm which was entirely lost within the dense fog. ‘Losar’ the Tibetan New Year had recently been celebrated and at every homestay that we stayed in we got traditional sweets prepared by the locals. One thing which I observed at every village was that every Nepali house was decorated elegantly. Right from posters of superhit Bollywood films, mandala artworks, khukris, and artistic frames were hung around the living rooms. The exterior paint of their houses was bright and in contrasting combination which made them look far prettier. And almost every house had a fanatical garden which consisted of various flowering plants and veggies.

Over a span of half a decade of my trekking and traveling within the pahadi states of Uttarakhand and Himachal, I used to be always taken aback by the hospitality of the locals and this faith within the parade's has now been carved out on a stone after experiencing similar welcoming nature by the families residing near the Indo-Nepal border. Over a couple of games of cards, fresh popcorns, soup, and hot dinner (all prepared by an old but cute and fit Nepali lady, who everyone loving called as ‘amma’) we all chatted nonchalantly and when the temperatures started dropping to sub-zero levels, we all went in our rooms seeking the comfort and heat that our thick yet soft blankets had to offer. One convenient aspect of trekking during this region is that roads and electricity are out there right up to the summit. Though the electricity is erratic and therefore the roads in extremely bad shape, it does provide a way of comfort to all or any trekkers. Also, the availability of the Airtel network and Wi-Fi connection at every homestay keeps one connected with the surface world. After leisurely awakening at 8 within the morning subsequent day, we all braced ourselves for one final summit push of Sandakphu. The trek distance was merely a 6km ascent and with an eta of 1 pm set by our leaders, we reached the summit by noon itself much to our surprise. However, this joy was short-lived because the sky became full of dense clouds and a thick fog descended on the summit plateau. The temperature began to spiral downwards and that we had to cancel our sunset view walk of the evening. Spirits a touch dampened, we settled within the common area of our homestay and commenced playing cards, which now had been a ritual within the evenings. But because the night picked up so did the spirits of all the groups resting within the common area.

Nepali pop songs and Bollywood 90’s hits blared through the speaker systems and suddenly the living room resembled an area club with random strangers swaying and dancing to the beats. This energy and atmosphere at 12000ft within the summit camp were a fantastic experience itself. However, after a scrumptious dinner, we all were advised to travel to sleep early by our lead because the D-day awaited us the subsequent morning. I remember praying religiously to the Gods that night for a transparent sighting subsequent morning.Sandakphu may be a tiny village consisting of an SSB camp, a few wooden houses, and lodges that are travel by the local families. It's a flat plateau peak to which tourists and trekkers throng in numbers to experience the last word sunrise views each season which commences in November and runs right up to the onset of monsoons. A few trekkers also further trek to Phalut which is a bit lower in altitude and another 20 km from Sandakphu and is located a little more closer to the Kanchenjunga range. However, the proximity of those surrounding ranges even at Sandakphu is amazing.Three loud knocks at the door and therefore the yelling of Wasim had me on my feet at 5.40 am subsequent morning. It was extremely windy and cold and that I shivered as I made my answer of the homestay to succeed in the steps leading up to the terrace. As I used to be walking up, still a touch sleepy, i used to be unaware of the unbelievable sights that had opened behind my back.The Gods had been merciful and therefore the entire sky had cleared and right ahead folks lay the amazingly mighty ‘Sleeping Buddha’ range, all of its peaks crystal clear insight. The 8586m Mt.Kanchenjunga altogether its glory, its peak, however, lost to the encompassing clouds, stared at the 20–25 odd group of individuals who had braved the cold and had gathered on the terrace. As I scanned a touch westwards and bingo, the golden jackpot I could figure out Mt. Makalu, Mt. Lhotse, and the revered Mt. Everest. The entire range was so humongous and shut that it had been impossible to believe that I used to be seeing 4 of the world’s highest peaks at an equivalent time. As the sun rose and its rays made the snow on the peaks sparkle like gold, I thanked my stars that i used to be standing there at that moment to experience such a magical and luxurious moment ever to be visualized. The vast expense of the peaks of Tibet and Bhutan lay on the eastern side and behind us were the tiny hills and plains of the Indian states of Sikkim and West Bengal. It was a drop gorgeous view everywhere.The Gods were kind and therefore the famed 180-degree Sandakphu view was right ahead folks. Fighting back a couple of overwhelming tears, I fixed my gaze on the Mt. Kanchenjunga summit, thanked it, and prayed for the security of the climbers that were getting to push for its summit within the upcoming climbing season. After spending around another hour and soaking in those surreal views, it had been time for our breakfast then to pack our bag packs and get on the move towards the next camp at Sepi. The walk today was an extended tiring descent of 15 km. I quickly filmed a couple of review videos for TTH with the Sleeping Buddha home in my backdrop and by 8.30 we were on our way downhill.As a habit of collecting and bringing back natural mementos from every place I travel, I used to be lucky enough to seek out the bark of the Bhojpatra tree (found only above 10000ft) and little pine cones which I happily stuffed in my tiffin box for safekeeping. But the cherry on the cake was spotting a Rhododendron tree, the national flower of Nepal in its full bloom post our lunch break at the tiny village of Gurdum.

The blooming season of these world-famous flowers starts by march and lasts till the monsoons. A medicinal herbal juice prepared from the extract of the Rhododendron flowers is sort of a standard delicacy in these parts. After crossing a couple of wooden bridges over the Srikhola river (Khola stands for the river in Nepali), we reached Sepi by 4 pm and post the last body stretching session for the trek, I quickly took a bucket of predicament (Rs.50 per bucket, as bathing, is taken into account a luxury on treks) and had a soothing bath after 6 days.The trek for all 6 folks was a particularly successful one and after one last round of briefing conducted by Dev bhaiya and Ram Ji, we all were handed our trek completion certificates after sharing our experiences.TTH has been that one organization that has the specified capability, management, and technical skills of giving its client the foremost memorable trek experiences ever. Be it on the challenging 20000ft Stok summit or a comparatively luxurious Sandakphu trek, the services, the food, the local guides, the stays are just impeccable. As we partied and danced away our last night together until the wee hours at the basecamp, there was this one mutual feeling that we all had which was of gratefulness.Grateful for the guides and therefore the trek lead who encouraged us and kept our spirits high, grateful to the local families living within the hills to allow us to in their homes and sleep within the warm beds and served us piping hot food for the whole duration of the trek, grateful to mountain Gods for allowing us to summit and descend back safely.

See You Sandakphu

As I made my journey back to the Bagdogra airport subsequent day, I mentally was still on the terrace of my homestay at Sandakphu summit, watching the mighty ranges and realizing that those two hours on the morning of 17th Feb 2021 were far and away from the simplest views I could ever soak in.

For detail Sandakphu Phalut Tour Package please visit :

Adorable Silkroute First Floor, 123, Ashutosh Mukherjee Rd, Paddapukur, Bhowanipore Kolkata, West Bengal 700025 Contact No : 90381-79215 E-mail: [email protected] Web: https://www.adorablesilkroute.com Visit : https://www.adorablesilkroute.com/sandakphu-tour-and-trekking-package-from-manebhanjan/

#trek #SandakphuTourTrek #Sandakphu-Phalut-Tour #adventure #camping #kanchenjunga

0 notes

esandcasg · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 5 – River of Ice

The Godwin Antwi glacier spills down from the high range of the Karakoram mountains in the Himalaya. The snow and ice which flow from the mountainsides collect on the valley floor, forming a colossal, slow-moving river of ice, five miles wide at its widest point. By turns it is a cauldron of heat in the midday sun, reflecting light back upwards from its pure white colour; and relentlessly cold at night, a frozen wilderness. It was here, ten years ago, I had begun my slow trek home, shattered mentally and physically from my ordeal on Kangleong.

Ten years later than ten years ago, I never expected to be back here. Aside from Primark, it was the last place on earth I wanted to be. And yet, here I was, trekking poles in both hands, 120L bag over my shoulders, Step Into Christmas piped inappropriately into my ears via the rip-off Beats wireless earbuds I’d picked up in Nepal some years earlier.

Over a beer at the bar in Gerudo Town whose name I should look up in the last chapter but can’t be bothered, Adam and Ifan outlined the logistics of their plan. Their proposal was simple; find the missing section of the sixth route, the crux pitch, as we might have called it. The clear aim of destroying Kangleong was to prevent anyone from accessing the route, but Ifan and Adam had one advantage; they’d already found the Kangleong section anyway. The question was, where it went from there. In fact, you could even argue that there were two missing sections; one which led from Kangleong to the edge of the Himalaya and another which led into the Himalaya. But you can’t have two crux pitches so for the purposes of keeping my metaphor viable I’ll just pretend there was one missing section and deal with the other bit later somehow. Maybe you’ll forget it exists, or more likely I probably will.

Anyway, where was I? I was on the Godwin Antwi glacier, that’s where. But I was also delving back into the mists of time to that bar in Gerudo whose name I should look up.

I don’t know what was motivating me to follow Ifan and Adam on a trip that I fully expected to be dangerous or, even worse, uneventful. Maybe it was concern over Adam’s mental health; maybe it was a chance to help Ifan solve the mystery of Adam’s own disappearance. Maybe it was to help capture Sir Henry Craven, apparently known affectionately as ‘John’ by his family. Or maybe it was a chance to find something I’d lost.

But in truth I’d given up searching for my old iPod Nano years before. I had established a good life for myself in Nepal. My spartan wooden hut, one floor, two rooms and a roof, had provided me with the serenity that I did not know I needed. The balance with my environment was something I had only even found on climbs. Despite the various routes I had pioneered on rock, I hadn’t realised why I climbed, believing that, as I mentioned in a section of Vertical Summit definitely not stolen from the 2003 drama-documentary ‘Touching the Void’, I climbed because it was fun. In truth, I now knew I climbed to find some sort of balance with the world. That balance had only even become apparent when I moved to my Nepalese hut.

Shortly after they had laid out their plan, I returned to the hut. I knew it could be for the last time. As I went downstairs to my basement and opened the chest which contained my climbing gear, I had a flashback to wearing it on Kangleong. I could also swear I heard a voice saying “Andrew; these are your first steps”. Carefully I laid out all my gear, meticulously checking over each inch to ensure it was all in top condition. Methodically I began to pack my 150 litre backpack, slowly placing in each item of my inventory which it is probably wise not to itemise here in case I need to change it later on. Lastly I placed what I called my ‘Juju’ box in the small pocket of the bag’s lid. This was a metallic box containing things close to my heart; a rib, a layer of cholesterol and the 4k reissue of Leon/The Professional.

My bag packed, I sadly took one long last look at my home before switching on the alarm and locking the front door behind me. Generously I had turned over stewardship of my vegetable garden to the rest of the village; they would soon enjoy a bumper crop of patty pan squashes and kohlrabi, as well as cut and come again salad crops.

I’d agreed to meet Adam and Ifan in the centre of town, next to Tosche Station, where we’d begin the long journey to the Karakoram. I hopped onto my moped, donned my helmet, and looked back at the hut behind me. I just had the strangest feeling; like I wasn’t going to see it again. Reluctantly I turned my back on my home, switched on the moped, listening for a moment as the 120cc beast ticked over, before opening up the throttle and roaring away from the village at a breathless 17mph.

Eight hours later I had covered the twelve miles to Tosche Station; ironically it was somewhere I’d always intended to go to pick up some power converters. Adam and Ifan were waiting for me there.

“You’ll have to sell your moped,” said Adam.

“That’s okay,” I said, trying to project some enthusiasm that I didn’t feel. “I’m never coming back to this town again.”

The local cantina wasn’t too far away and it didn’t take me long to find a punter willing to part with hard cash or pastry goods for my moped. Given the amount of money I suspected we’d need I was horrified I couldn’t get a better price. I showed the paltry amount to the other two.

“He says it was the best he could do. Since the XP-38 came out, they're just not in demand.”

“It’ll be enough,” said Ifan. I noticed what seemed like some tension between the two of them, but decided against saying anything. There would be plenty of time for chat on what I knew would be a long and arduous journey.

The traditional well-trodden route to the Karakoram range was now a simple one. Would-be climbers and trekkers would fly into Kathmandu and then take a bus to Ja’hansell Skwair outside Gerudo Town. There, at the local airfield, they would normally charter a plane to take them on an hour’s flight before an easy parachute drop to Broad Peak base camp.

We would be doing things differently, however. Flights and bus journeys require manifests, passports, travel documentation; all would be logged on databases. Whilst Adam and Ifan would be able to use assumed names, it would be difficult to use assumed faces; therefore running the risk that someone, somewhere, would realise they weren’t dead and pull down the large statue to Ifan in Princes Risborough, as well as potentially letting Craven know. If he didn’t already.

So we would have to travel on foot; normally a thirty day journey across valleys and mountains, though we were hoping our high level of physical fitness would let us get it done in only twenty-nine. Each of us carried a 230lb backpack over our shoulders; we could not rely on Sherpa help for this, and were too snobbish to recruit High Altitude Porters as we’d only ever heard bad things about them on check-a-trader. It would be us, and us alone. Having gathered our things together, hoisted our bags onto our backs and had one last fry-up in the Saucy Sailor, we set off, away from the town and into the hills. In front of us was a magnificent vista, although this would soon give way to Windows 7. We could see a deep, lush green valley laid out in front of us, patches of smoke rising from smallholdings dotted about the hillside. Local yak herders tended their flocks. The Goraks, Himalayan ravens (as well as being the name of the covers band I had been in for the last two years), flew lazily above our heads. Lifting our eyes we looked beyond the valley and the hills to the horizon, where the edge of the Himalaya mountain range could be seen, rising majestically above the greenery, like field mushrooms behind baby spinach in my fridge’s salad drawer.

We headed north-west, towards a small group of hills I christened a small group of hills. We knew that on the other side was a less well-known pass into the mountains; one ignored by the trekkers due to the severity of the traverse, known locally as the traverse of the gods. The path would take us down into the valley, to a mere 3000ft above sea level; then back up another 4000ft; down a further 2000ft and then up to a dizzying 24000ft where we would encounter our final port of call before the Himalaya proper: Ha’ow Bazaar. As tradition would demand, we would make an offering at the Buddhist Temple and ask for a blessing, assuming someone was in.

Although we had a long journey ahead of us, and therefore plenty of time for classic bants, I again got the impression there was some sort of tension between Adam and Ifan. Adam was striding ahead, impatient to be at our initial destination as quickly as possible. This in fairness wasn’t new, but there was something unspoken about the way he had marched ahead without a word. I hung back a little, hoping to chat to Ifan, but he wasn’t in the mood either.

I walked on my own, a little distance from both of them, alone with my thoughts. It was easy to be consumed with the path ahead of me. And not just the metaphorical path, I had to be careful as it had rained recently and was muddy. But the metaphorical path was my main focus. Ever since I had returned to my hut there had been a melancholic finality about all my actions. In truth, I knew I was saying a long goodbye, though to what I didn’t know. Everything I was doing felt like it would be the last time. In a sense, I felt this journey was closing a door behind me. Whatever happened, I knew that I would no longer be able to return to the life I had.

I looked up at the distant, snow-covered peaks on the far horizon. For so long they had dominated my destiny. For a while I had resisted, pretending there was another life for me. But I knew that I had been fated to return. I knew that there was a circle I needed to close, a hole I needed to fill, a bathroom wall I needed to grout. Whatever answer I was missing, it would be there, in the Karakoram. I was drawn inexorably to these mountains, my destiny entwined with theirs. I started to realise what it was I had to do.

Suddenly I realised both Adam and Ifan had stopped in their tracks.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

And then I saw.

A vast plume of smoke was rising lazily above a hill ahead of us. The hill looked close – maybe six or seven miles away – but was probably further.

“Ha’ow Bazaar?”

“Ha’ow Bazaar.”

The temple was clearly aflame. We couldn’t be sure what had happened, but it was clear that in Adam and Ifan’s collective hive mind there was an obvious culprit. Craven. Without another word they turned and started heading upwards, to the west, away from the valley and the route we had planned to take.

“Does he know we’re coming?” I asked as I traipsed behind them.

“Don’t know,” came Ifan’s terse reply. “It may be a coincidence.” He looked at Adam; it was clear neither of them believed that.

We walked for an hour, heading steadily upwards, until we reached the top of the main ridge overlooking the valley. The night before, Adam had shown us the possible routes we could take towards the Karakoram and had listed potential places we could stop. We knew that at the top of this ridge there was a Subway, so we each got a footlong and sat underneath a rocky outcrop. From where we were seated we could see the plume of smoke even more clearly.

We sat in silence for a while, as Adam and Ifan ate unhurriedly and I caused myself unnecessary indigestion by wolfing my food down as soon as possible. Finally I broke the silence.

“What now?”

Ifan shook his head. “We can’t use the pass. That much is crystal clear. We can’t use anything known to anyone, it doesn’t matter how hipster and obscure it is.”

“What does that leave us with?”

Ifan shrugged his shoulders.

I took a swig of my bottle of Fanta Zero. “So what do we do now? Turn back?”

“Turn back!” scoffed Adam. “There’s no turning back. We’re through the looking glass now people. Black is white and white is black. We have to assume Craven knows we’re coming.”

“But how?”

“The first thing you should know about him is he has people everywhere,” explained Ifan. “The network is vast. This is someone who has been operating out of this part of the world for decades, provided employment for thousands. This is his back yard. There’s huge loyalty to him.”

“He clearly knows something is going on,” continued Adam. “He’s levelled Kangleong and now is trying to stop access to the Karakoram. Whether he knows we’re after him specifically is irrelevant, really. We’re going to have to find another way in.”

“But won’t he have got all the passes covered? If he’s got most of Nepal loyal to him like you said, it wouldn’t that difficult to have someone watching.”

Adam nodded, but there was a far-off look in his eyes that I remembered from ten years previously.

“The Gasherbrums.” He said, finally.

Ifan’s head turned sharply.

“What?”

“The Gasherbrum traverse.”

I felt a chill sweep over me. Suddenly, I realised I was only wearing a string vest and quickly took out my microfleece from my 260lb backpack before being able to contemplate what Adam had just said.

“The Gasherbrum traverse?” I repeated pointlessly.

Ifan shook his head ruefully. “That’s insane.”

Adam grimaced. “Can you think of another way?”

Like other keen students of mountaineering, I’d heard of Messner and Habeler’s famous traverse of Gasherbrum I and II in 1984. It was a huge feat of climbing prowess by two climbers at the top of their game. What I didn’t understand was how repeating this traverse would help us at all. These two mountains were nestled in the middle of the Karakoram range and wouldn’t afford us a way in.

“I’m all for a new challenge,” I said, “but how’s that going to get us into the mountains in the first place?”

“Not that traverse,” replied Ifan, still shaking his head. “Traversing the entire Gasherbrum range. Nine mountains. All above six thousand metres. It’s a knife edge ridge, running up and down for, I dunno, thirty miles? Think Crib Goch, but with worse parking.”

“Has it been done?”

“Never. No-one has even tried.”

“That’s why it’ll work,” said Adam. “It won’t even be considered a route. Or at least a safe one.”

“Well it’s not safe is it? There’s a reason it’s not even been tried. They’re not exactly easy peaks; maybe a couple of them are. The rest are technical climbs. Nine in a row? And, add to that, we know that someone working for Craven is able to send avalanches down at least one of the slopes of Gasherbrum Four.”

“Well if anyone has any better ideas, feel free.”

“There’s got to be another way in, surely?”

There was a moment of silence, before Ifan spoke again.

“There isn’t,” he said.

I felt the metallic taste of adrenaline in my mouth. Looking down, I realised I’d accidently bitten off the zip to my fleece. I spat it out, watching it tumble down the slope and inadvertently set off a mudslide which killed seventy farmers.

Was I really about to embark on another perilous mountaineering undertaking, one that had never been achieved previously, in the company of two sexy men who I didn’t even know I could trust? The deep sense of fatalism which had settled over me unsettled me, if that makes any sense. I still wasn’t convinced with either Adam or Ifan’s motives, but I was already getting Air B’n’B bookings for my hut now and didn’t want to forgo what looked like a tasty income stream. So I was all in.

I slotted a round into the chamber of my rifle and slammed the bolt home. “Let’s do this,” I said.

We packed up our items, making sure to separate our lunch waste into the appropriate rubbish bin, hoisted our 140L backpacks over our shoulders and set off. After three miles of walking along the top of the ridge, we stopped at The Drunken Clam for a cheeky pint, a wee, and to put on our crampons. Ahead of us was a turn to the north-west. We had reached the snowline.

I put on my belay jacket, overtrousers, double boots (plastic outer, foam lined inner) and all the rest of the crap I can’t be bothered to list here, and watched silently as Ifan and Adam did the same. I started to shiver, put on a woolly hat and then stopped shivering. But the shaky feeling remained. Within a short while we were dressed as we were ten years before.

Here I was again. Facing my demons on the snow and ice, though it was probably unfair to describe Ifan and Adam in that way. But facing them I was, as they were walking in front of me. The crampons of my right boot crunched into the snow. I stopped and looked up. I knew that the next step I took would be a point of no return. I knew I was following them into the abyss. I knew that I needed another metaphor to complete this paragraph.

But on I went anyway. Into the abyss.

#Vertical Summit 2

0 notes