#but it became a whole vat of soup

[matchstique]

Part 2 of 2

Brains and Brawn

Part 1

[excindrela]

If You Take a Demon to Thanksgiving... (18+)

Supernatural AU

Pairing: demon! Ayno (Noh YoonHo) VAV  x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff/ Humor and SMUT

Warnings: Explosions, Destruction, Unprotected sex (wrap it up people), foul language, use of the word “cock”

Word Count: 3277

AN: This is a continuation of Summoned so if you haven’t read that one, I recommend you read that one first! 

12 Days of Demon Ayno (Christmas) : Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9

Happy Thanksgiving!

In retrospect, taking the boyfriend you had only been with for a month to Thanksgiving probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had. The fact that said boyfriend was also a demon that had been summoned specifically to fulfill your sexual fantasies, and your family was dysfunctional at best made the idea really really bad.

As distasteful as the idea of actually being human was to him, Ayno made a concerted effort to pretend to be one – to the best of his ability. As a demon, he didn’t need to sleep or eat or shower…or anything…he was just available 24 hrs a day to fulfill your every desire…and the fact that he always knew exactly what you desired- be it a cupcake or his cock- the moment you desired it, sometimes made things a bit complicated. Especially when it involved anyone but the two of you.

You had spent the week leading up to Thanksgiving explaining the holiday to Ayno, and going over a rather detailed chart you drew up of the part of your family you’d be visiting. He memorized the chart and asked questions about your step-father with his need to baby the dog and unhealthy addiction to reality TV, your mother’s obsession with decorating the house via Pinterest and her perpetually drunk brother, and your worthless step-brother (in the process learning what a “misdemeanor” and a “felony” were)…but really he just wanted to watch “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” over and over.

You arrived promptly at 11 for a 2pm “dinner” with the promise to Ayno that you’d leave as soon as the dishes were done.

You barged through the door of your childhood home loudly calling “Hi Mom!” as you headed straight for the kitchen. “Hi honey! Oh! …and who’s this?” she asked glancing speculatively at the handsome stranger lurking over your shoulder. “Mom, this is Ayno. My…boyfriend. Ayno, this is my Mom.”  “Hi” he greeted. Sticking to the plan of keeping things simple and saying as little as possible. “Hello Ayno. Welcome.” Your mom replied before turning to you and saying pointedly “I wasn’t aware you were dating anyone…” You shrugged. “Surprise? I have a…boyfriend.” You said unapologetically. “I’m going to show Ayno around.” You said as you dragged him away from your mother before she could start asking questions.

In the den, you found your step-dad, milk-toast aunt and alcoholic uncle watching the football pregame while drinking beer and eating chips & dip. They barely acknowledged your presence, and if they were surprised to see you with a six foot Asian man following you around, they didn’t show it.

You poked your head into the dining room and checked out the table, already resplendent with a lace table cloth, battery powered pillar candles, and a giant turkey shaped tureen in the center – despite the fact that no soup was set to be served.

The living room, you explained as you crossed through it, was for looks only. Touching- or worse, sitting on-  your mother’s special furniture or disturbing her artistically arranged designer throw pillows was not tolerated.

Large sliding glass doors in the living room led to the patio and backyard. The patio had been swept and there was a stack of plastic chairs and tables to be set up. Your step father’s adored mutt, Patches, came running right up to Ayno, putting his paws up on his leg, demanding ear scratches which the soft demon happily supplied.  “What is that?” Ayno asked, pointing to a metal cylinder sitting in the middle of the yard. You walked over and examined it. “I think it’s a deep fryer.” You said suspiciously. “I think my step dad and uncle are going to try to deep fry the turkey.” You shook your head- this seemed like a bad idea. “At least my mom is making a ham, so something will be edible.”

“What is that?” Ayno asked again, this time pointing to the large oak tree in the corner of the yard. You laughed, “That is my treehouse! It was my favorite escape as a kid. C’mon, I’ll show you.” A moment later you had dragged Ayno across the yard and were climbing up the rickety ladder with him. You shoved hard, and the hatch opened to reveal the small space that had seemed so big in childhood. It was covered in dust, and the walls still had faded posters from your pre-teen years. “I spent hours up here. It was my happy place. I always envisioned it as being an escape and a private place during my teen years…but…that’s not how things worked out.” Sensing your wistfulness, Ayno bent his head and kissed you sweetly.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of a car door signaling the arrival of your step-brother and voices in the yard. “Oh good! Ayno! C’mere & give us a hand with this.” Your step dad called as you descended the ladder. Ayno squeezed your hand reassuringly and went to help them.

The rest of the day proceeded like most awkward family events. Inappropriate and embarrassing stories were told, too many snacks and too much alcohol was consumed. Ayno stuck by you working in the kitchen, happy to do whatever was asked of him, and content to let you deflect conversation and answer questions about him. Eventually he felt comfortable enough to go sit on the patio with everyone and listen to your family’s chatter. Everyone seemed to think he was nice, if not a little odd.

You had serious doubts about the sanctity of the meal when your drunk uncle announced it was time to do the turkey, and came into the kitchen where you were assembling more snacks and yanked the still frozen fowl from the freezer and headed for the backyard.

In the next 3 minutes of your life events occurred simultaneously in what felt like slow motion.

“Will ya all jist shut the hell up? I know what I’m doin’!” your uncle said as he lowered the ice block of bird toward the overfull deep fryer. He released the clip and the turkey dropped like a bomb splashing into the vat and sending boiling oil flying into the air and cascading over the edges of the deep fryer straight into the flame below it. As soon as the frozen meat hit the scalding oil, everything exploded into a giant fireball raining hot flaming oil and chunks of turkey all over the dead un-mowed backyard, causing the whole thing to burst into 3 foot high flames.

The sound of the deep fryer being blown apart startled your mother so badly that she dropped the pan with the ham in it that she had just pulled out of the oven. The chunk of pork bounced out and the pan landed upside down in the middle of the kitchen floor, bubbling ham juice running out and turning the white tile brown. Something brushed passed your leg, and you looked down just in time to see Patches run into the kitchen making a beeline for the downed ham. Your mother saw it too, and she tried to run and grab the meat before the dog made off with the only (mostly) surviving entrée, forgetting about the bourbon and brown sugar grease lake that now coated the floor. You watched helplessly as her feet hit the grease and slipped right out from under her and she landed face down in the gooey puddle with a thunk on her right arm.

A blur out of your opposite eye diverted your attention back to the yard where your step-father was beating your slightly- on- fire uncle with a dry crispy chamois from the garage yelling “Roll, Duke, roll!!” He was distracted and missed the moment it became obvious that your step-brother had flunked high school chemistry class, because he turned the hose on to the raging grease fire turning it into what would later be known in your family as The Turkey Inferno.

You stood there, stupidly, as the mayhem raged around you, with a useless crudité platter in one hand and your forgotten cell phone in the other. You heard sirens in the distance, and hoped they were heading your way. And then, another sound: laughter. You looked over to see Ayno, laughing so hard he was crying, huge smile and face lit up, so delighted he was slumped back in the plastic lawn chair clapping his hands and his feet. “It looks just like the Seven Pools of the Damned!” he cried excitedly.

*          *          *

Two hours later, you were a hot, sweaty, filthy mess. After the fire department had arrived and hosed down the back yard in some kind of foam, and the ambulance had taken your mom and uncle to the hospital; you got to work cleaning up the kitchen, which was not only a disaster from the whirlwind of cooking, but now included the ham lake and burned sweet potatoes that had been forgotten in the oven. Ayno had helpfully begun un-setting the table and cleaning up the back patio.

Patches, having feasted on a whole ham and who knew what else, began throwing up and having explosive diarrhea all over the house. It was while cleaning up the 5th pile of puke that you discovered your good for nothing step-brother was sitting in the den watching football leaving you to do all the work. You handed him the paper towels and cleaning solution and told him to get off his lazy ass and clean up after the dog…he elected to go to the hospital to “check in on everyone”.

That was it. You were done. Everyone but you and Ayno had gone to the hospital, you hadn’t seen him for a while, and you weren’t sure where he was, and at the moment you didn’t actually care. You had a splitting headache and you were not doing this by yourself. You walked into the guest room and fell face down onto the bed.

You had no idea how long you had slept, but it was dark when you felt Ayno gently shake you awake. “No? Wha-“was all you got out before Ayno gave a soft “Shhhh” and placed his finger to your lips. He looped your arms around his neck and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he stood up, yanking the quilt off the bed and wrapping it around you as he carried you through the dark house and across the still smoking backyard. He walked straight to the treehouse, and climbed the rickety ladder with you still wrapped around him like a baby koala.

Now you knew where he’d gotten to. He had cleaned up the tree house, and covered the entire floor in pillows that he’d swiped from the house. He’d even grabbed the battery powered candles from the dinner table, so the whole thing was bathed in soft fake candlelight. He set you down in the pile of pillows and closed the hatch.

Without a word he pulled you onto his lap and began kissing you. Softly at first, his hands on the sides of your face, but becoming harder and more needy by the second as his fingers threaded through your hair and his tongue plundered your mouth. He broke away long enough to pull your sweater off over your head, before returning his lips to your now exposed neck. His mouth worked its way from your jawline to your shoulder in a long trail of wet kisses punctuated by gentle sucking and bites that were just harsh enough you knew they would leave marks. You were so distracted by his mouth that you almost missed his hands unfastening your bra and tossing it to the side. The cold air coming in contact with your fully exposed breasts caused them to immediately flush and harden. You reached down and grabbed Ayno’s sweater and turtleneck and yanked them both off of him at the same time, desperate to press your cold skin against his unnatural warmth. He obliged you, taking the opportunity to begin marking up your shoulder as he hiked your skirt up over your thighs letting it pool around your waist. His hand slipped down to begin rubbing your throbbing clit through your silky underwear. You moaned softly and pressed your mound harder against his hand. Ayno lifted your hips slightly and re-settled you on his right thigh. “Ride it”, he whispered. You nodded and began rolling your hips against the rough fabric of his jeans, trying desperately to satisfy the ache he had created in your core. You gasped as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud, and then hollowing out his cheeks and sucking. You quickened your pace and trembled slightly at the friction. Breathy moans spilled from your lips as you felt your climax building and your thighs starting to shake. “Ayno…” you moaned, without slowing your pace, causing him to release your nipple with a lewd pop. “Ready to cum baby?” he asked rubbing your sides soothingly. You nodded and whined as your walls began clenching around nothing, feeling your wetness release and soak through Ayno’s pants to his skin. You dropped your head to his shoulder “Not enough, not enough…” you whined into his ear, “Fill me…please…” you begged. Ayno laid back into the pile of pillows unbuckling his belt so you could drag his pants to his ankles. You wasted no time pulling his boxer briefs down behind them, watching as his erect cock sprung free. You straddled his hips and he gently stroked himself a few times before holding it vertically so you could slide onto him. You moaned as you felt the tip of his length at your entrance, already so wet that you pushed him easily between your folds, until he was fully buried in you. Soft high pitched noises came from your mouth as you circled your hips feeling his slight movements deep within you as his fingers rubbed circles on your clit in time with your movements. Knowing you needed more, he lifted your hips up, and began jackhammering in and out of your sopping pussy from below. Every stroke the head of his cock pounded into your cervix, causing you to throw your head back and cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Oh fuck yes! Don’t stop…” you gritted out through clenched teeth as your vision got hazy and your second orgasm hit you and you could swear the whole room was moving. Ayno released his grip on you and let you slide back down his shaft while he rolled his hips to let you come down from the high, but you still felt like you couldn’t get enough. You put your hands on the top of his pecs, fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage as you began lifting your hips up and slamming back into his harshly. The whole treehouse creaked and moaned with every thrust. “Not enough baby?” he asked breathlessly. “Noooo…” you moaned, “I just…I need…you feel so good…” you whined.

You thrust down hard and suddenly there was a loud crack. Not your imagination this time, the whole floor jolted down and tilted to the left. You froze. “Ayno…I think we have a problem…” He opened his mouth to reply when there was a loud snap and the entire floor detached with you and Ayno riding it like an elevator to hell, and went crashing to the ground below, pillows flying everywhere. Unable to be harmed by something as trivial as a six foot drop, Ayno wrapped himself protectively around you, holding your head to his chest and covering you with his arms.

Suddenly the still of the evening was split by the sounds of voices you knew all too well. “Oh my God!!” “What the shit was that?!” “Oh hell! The patio cover didn’t collapse did it?!” as the backyard floodlights came on and your family, having returned from the hospital unnoticed by you; came running across the yard to find you and Ayno, mostly naked, obviously in the middle of copulation, laying in the middle of the destroyed treehouse. You stared at them. They stared at you. Then it seemed your mother gathered her wits and took in the situation, a look of horror crossing her face as she screamed “OH MY GOD!! ARE THOSE MY CHENILLE THROW PILLOWS??? THOSE ARE POTTERY BARN!!” Ayno burst out laughing.

*          *          *

An hour after you got home you were feeling much better having showered off the horrific events of the day and slipped into your PJs. You found Ayno lounging on the couch in flannel pants and an oversize sweatshirt…hair having suddenly turned platinum blonde but his eyes still a deep chocolate brown according to your whims. He sat up just enough to grab you and pull you down to lay on top of him, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a quick kiss in the process.

“I have enjoyed this ‘Thanksgiving’. We should definitely participate in this more often. When is the next one?” Ayno asked happily.

“Sorry sweetheart. Thanksgiving is a once a year thing. There won’t be another one until November of next year.” you informed him.

“Very well. Then I will look forward to it.” he said with a smile.

“Ayno? You do understand that I mean 365 days from now?” you clarified.

He nodded. “I understand your measurements of time.” he said matter-of-factly.

You laid there stunned for a moment. Ayno was talking about a year from now…still being here a year from now. This was the first mention of anything long term, of some kind of permanence to the situation.

Ever attuned to you, Ayno looked you straight in the eyes and asked softly “Am I really your boyfriend?”

“Do you know what a boyfriend is?” you countered.

“Yes! ‘A male that is close to your heart. He is the one you can't stand to go a day without seeing. He provides everything you need, including sex, love, protection, comfort and an escape from the world. A lover who admires you for who you are. Knowing him makes you a better person. And being with him makes you smile.’”

Well. That was a startlingly accurate description. “Ayno, where did you hear that?”

“Urban Dictionary.”

“…and did Urban Dictionary tell you what a girlfriend is?”

“Uh-huh. ‘A female who you love, admire, respect, and desire to be with; a girl who makes you laugh, smile and who brings out the best in you, the one person that you should value over every other thing. You must protect her for she is the most special thing that could ever happen to you. She’s someone that you want to hug and kiss all the time and make love to, and is also able to bleed for a week without dying.’” He paused. “I find this description to be accurate of my feelings toward you...but I do not know if I meet the boyfriend requirements.”

You smiled down at him. “You more than meet them. Do you want to really want to be my boyfriend Ayno?”

He grinned. “Yes! In over 800 years I have never had a ‘girlfriend’. I promise I will take good care of you.”

“You already do.” You said as you snuggled into him and laid your head on his chest.

“So since I must wait for Thanksgiving again, is there another holiday that…how did your mother put it? We can ‘ruin forever’?” he asked hopefully.

“There’s a whole calendar full babe”, you laughed ruefully, “A whole calendar full.”

[lets-talk-story]

Pied Piper of Hamelin

Hamelin town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The River Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity.

Rats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation -- shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sate in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain -- I'm sure my poor head aches again I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "What's that?" (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous.) "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!" -- the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red; And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in -- There was no guessing his kith and kin! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of selfsame cheque; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture, so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: And, as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!" -- was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling: Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives -- Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped, advancing, And step for step, they followed, dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished -- Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary: Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And the drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' -- I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!" -- when suddenly up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation, too. For council dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But, as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty: A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! I've promised to visit, by dinner-time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bait a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe to another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, -- Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo! as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, -- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than the peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!"

Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that heaven's Gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South To offer the Piper by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six;" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's Street -- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men -- especially pipers; And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

[vsplusonline]

Stories of extraordinary kindness at the times of unprecedented Covid-19 crises

New Post has been published on https://apzweb.com/stories-of-extraordinary-kindness-at-the-times-of-unprecedented-covid-19-crises/

Stories of extraordinary kindness at the times of unprecedented Covid-19 crises

Lunchtime at Khao San, a restaurant in Mumbai’s hip Khar neighbourhood, usually means a flurry of orders for Thai green curry, tom yum soup and other pan-Asian dishes. But these days, its kitchen is busy churning out large quantities of more humble staples such as dal-chawal, chole-chawal and rajmachawal.

The food is packed neatly into boxes and sent out to be distributed in the slums of Dharavi and to Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation employees like sanitation staff, who have to report for work but would be hard-pressed to find a meal, with most establishments closed.

“We had decided to freeze operations even before the lockdown was announced for the sake of everyone’s safety,” says Vanitaa Lalwani, chef and partner at Khao San. “That was when Pragya Kapoor, founder of Ek Saath-The Earth Foundation, suggested we keep our kitchen open to help those who were not getting food. We thought it was a fabulous idea.” The foundation provides the ration, bought with donations, while Khao San makes the meals. For over a week now, 2,000 packages are being sent out every day for lunch and dinner.

Since the lockdown brought all activities to a halt, there have been several horror stories: of people struggling to find even a morsel of food and of migrant workers left stranded, among others. Then there is the daily rise of Covid-19 cases and deaths and the discrimination being faced by people suspected to have caught the virus. Yet, as we physically distance ourselves from one another amid this avalanche of bad news, people have come together in the most extraordinary ways to go the extra mile and lend a hand. Across the country, instances abound of people trying to do what they can to help.

In Hyderabad, K Venkata Murali, MD of Kaligotla Technologies, is serving over 5,000 meals daily to the poor through his NGO, No Food Waste. This is double the number of meals the NGO distributed before the lockdown. In Chennai, Bibhuddatta Panda, a software executive, sets out on his bike every noon to distribute food packets to the poor on the road. He feeds about 50 on weekdays and double that number on weekends.

Panda, who has been living in Chennai for the last decade, runs an NGO, Let’s Feed The Needy. But he prefers to distribute the food packets himself, so as to reduce the risk to other members. The 34-year-old says it is hard to express the extent of hunger he sees. “You see people who are very needy, very hungry. Some people get their first meal of the day around 2 pm, when I reach them with food.”

Murali talks about how the migrant workers in Hyderabad have been abandoned by their employers. “The workers would not have money, their contractor would have switched off his phone and they would be too embarrassed to step out and ask for food.” He and his group recently helped feed 1,500 such workers from Uttar Pradesh and Jharkhand who were employed at a construction site in Bachupally.

“They teared up as they told us how tough it had been for them to find a single meal for the past four days,” he says. The group is now in the process of arranging ration packs of atta, rice, pulses and spices for the needy. The NGO, originally focused on feeding the poor, now also delivers essentials free of charge to senior citizens living by themselves.

The Goregaon Residents Welfare Association (GORWA) in Mumbai has also morphed from an organisation that helps apartment societies in solid waste management to one resolving the needs of the elderly and the poor. The association president, Nitesh Jadhav, says they began by helping daily wagers with food but they soon began getting calls about senior citizens living alone and unable to buy essentials. “We also provide home-cooked food twice a day to about 120 people who are too old to cook,” says Jadhav, a global consultant with Tech Mahindra. The association has tied up with trusted auto rickshaw and taxi drivers to ferry dialysis and cancer patients to hospitals for treatment as well.

The efforts to help the vulnerable are not limited to fellow human beings. Over 500 km from Khao San, Cohiba, a bar in Goa’s Sinquerim popular with tourists and locals alike, has also made changes to its menu, in a manner of speaking. With the restaurant closed for business, its staff are helping prepare vats of turmeric-infused rice cooked with meat stock and scraps. Volunteers pick up what has fondly been dubbed “doggie biriyani” and drop it off on the beach, from where lifeguards distribute it among 150-odd stray dogs, some of whom have now begun lining up in anticipation, tails wagging furiously.

The stray dogs, who used to feed on scraps from beach shacks, started becoming aggressive once these outlets closed due to the lockdown and they went hungry. “The dogs were hungry and dehydrated and would come charging at you. In our calls with lifeguards, this was brought up a few times and they said they had started carrying sticks for protection,” says Divya Sharma, head of culture and brand at Drishti Lifesaving, the company that provides lifeguard services for Goa’s beaches.

Sharma and her team realised they would have to act fast. To set up a community kitchen from where dogs could be fed regularly, they put out a call through their networks asking for help with vessels and ration.

“The most wonderful thing was how the community around us responded,” says Sharma, 39. Cohiba immediately offered the use of their premises, and help from staff. Other residents stepped forward with offers of ration and meat and money. “The whole thing became a community effort rather than an individual saying ‘I like dogs and want to feed them’,” says Sharma.

Others who have launched donation drives and helplines, too, talk about the heartening response they are receiving from volunteers and the community. Mahita Nagaraj, a Bengaluru-based digital marketing executive who launched Caremongers India in March, says the group grew to over 33,000 members in just a month. Nagaraj launched the Facebook group, where requests for help are matched with volunteers across the country, and a helpline after friends abroad sought her help for their aging parents. Today, she and the group field hundreds of calls and messages every day.

One such call recently was from a senior citizen who broke down on the phone. “He needed to get some alternative medicines for his wife, who has stage-4 cancer. Their doctor, who was stuck abroad, had arranged for the medicines but it was in Goregaon while the couple lived in Prabhadevi, over 20 km away,” says Nagaraj.

Thanks to the army of Caremongers, the medicines were delivered to his doorstep in four hours flat.

In another recent case, a senior citizen with blood cancer and a pelvic fracture needed red rice, one of the few things she was comfortable eating. But no shop in Mumbai had stock of the rice, which is common in Kerala.

One of the volunteers, who had some, delivered it to the senior citizen’s house but refused to take any money for it. “The lady and her daughter were so touched that they made him wait while they hand-painted a card and gave it to him with a thank-you note,” says Nagaraj. This, she says, is just one of the hundreds of examples that help her go to sleep with a big smile on her face.

Large-scale crises, whether the pandemic or a flood, do tend to inspire such outpourings of help, both in cash and in kind.

“Crises bring a sense of solidarity among the crowd. We saw it for the first time in the Chennai floods of 2015, and have seen the same for natural disasters in Kerala, Odisha and other states,” says Mayukh Choudhury, cofounder of crowdfunding platform Milaap, which has seen 1,100 fundraisers set up for Covid-19-related causes in less than a month. Together, the Covid-19 causes have raised around `75 crore.

American writer Rebecca Solnit has documented this phenomenon of the sense of solidarity and communities that rise from the ruins of disasters in her book A Paradise Built in Hell. “Disaster… drags us into emergencies that require we act, and act altruistically, bravely, and with initiatives in order to survive or save the neighbours, no matter how we vote or what we do for a living,” she wrote. The current pandemic, while not a natural disaster, has nevertheless seen many such instances, like the 82-year-old retired teacher in Kolkata who waved to catch the attention of the police, only so that he could hand over a cheque of `10,000.

Nagaraj says the flood of offers of help are inspired by the realisation that this has to be a community effort. “Yes, it is your individual efforts that matter but this is not something someone else can solve — it is something that can be won only with community power,” she says. The lockdown has also shown how dependent all of us are on each other. “While you cope with that reality, you tend to be more empathetic to others who are worse off.”

Drishti’s Sharma says everyone seems to have put aside some of their apathy. For instance, when they launched their effort to feed strays, she expected to face many questions about why she was choosing to feed animals at a time when people were starving.

“But till date, not a single person has asked me that.” There are, of course, the few bad apples. Murali says he got a request from a senior citizen to deliver groceries. When volunteers reached the house, they saw the couple lived with their children and grandchildren, all hale and hearty. Caremongers’ Nagaraj says about 30% of calls the helpline gets are from people who want to order pizza or those who shout when they are told volunteers can’t deliver meat and fish. But the majority of calls are from those who actually need help, she says.

“And think about this — the 33,000 people who have signed up are mostly folks I have never met, who want to help people they have never met.”

Will one of the many legacies Covid-19 bequeaths be a world that is a little kinder? Perhaps, if Khao San’s Lalwani is speaking for many more when she says “We are going to make sure we will go the extra mile to help others even after the pandemic ends. It does not stop here.”

if(geolocation && geolocation != 5 && (typeof skip == 'undefined' || typeof skip.fbevents == 'undefined')) !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '338698809636220'); fbq('track', 'PageView');

Source link

[toddlazarski]

Milwaukee’s Top Soup Destinations

Shepherd Express

Michael Pollan, author of The Botany of Desire, and king of foodie know-it-alls, suggests we’d do well to adopt the eating habits of our grandparents. Seeing the difficulty in maintaining social contact after so many liverwurst sandwiches and buttermilk, or the slippery slope nature of nightly Jim Beam with Virginia Slim Menthols, or the dance with the cholesterol test after adhering to daily scrambled eggs cooked with copious goops of sheeny Velveeta, sided by mounded bacon piles, rye toast with silver dollar dollops of shimmering Land o’ Lakes - all before the dessert donuts - for some of us, this advice is not so easy. Or wise.

But there are applicable, timeless, intergenerational universals: comforting coffee all day long, chicken wings and pizza with football viewing, and grandma’s answer for most of life’s calorie time quandaries: soup. Chicken noodle if you’re sick. Tomato if you’re pretending to be sick, playing hooky, and eating grilled cheese. Minestrone at the Italian place. Clam chowder before a fish fry. Any or all varietals if it’s cold outside, or rainy. But mostly, if you’re sick. Or were just sick. Or for strength to prevent becoming sick.     

Had grandma been viable and stirring in the age of Yelp, in the days of iPhone-emboldened food journey’s, that nagging search for hearty throat assuagement may have led to a more worldly bouillon. Pho, ramen, menudo - Generation Food Channel’s options are endless for the hoary notion of getting “something warm on your stomach.” So as we enter the final throes - maybe, hopefully, probably not but maybe - of cold weather, of flu season, of needing to bundle up, wear your hat and mittens, it may be time for a quick, summary rundown of the city’s best hot bowls of slurpable, sinus-clearing comfort. These are not exactly your grandmother’s bowl of soup, but any can offer a sipping spoonful act to make her proud.   

6. Red Light Ramen

In the days of Trump tax cuts, it can be tough to celebrate something so blatantly too rich. But that really seems to be the main pleasure point of the Milwaukee vanguard of the quite hip ramen movement.  Salty, luxuriant, egg-bobbing, noodle-swimming, with pork aplenty, ripe for both a spoon and chopstick forays, it is ancient Eastern exotic and yet as intrinsically comforting as Campbell’s. Whatever your selection of the multitude types, or whether you stand on the too much or just right camp, there’s no arguing that no bowl is a better preface for a long winter’s nap.

5. Pho Viet

Rick Bayless once suggested the best taquerias are the ones attached to Mexican grocery stores. Following that logic, the best pho in town should likely come from the little shop next to Pacific Produce, the gargantuan emporium of all foods Asian on South 27th Street. It’s hard to dispute the argument while getting a hearty tongue bath: from the dozen pho options, liquid-housing the daunting gamut between steak, flank, tripe, tendon, brisket, maybe shrimp, possibly chicken, of course meatballs; to the handful of egg noodle bowls, starring quail eggs or duck legs, it's hard to do anything but keep going, slurping greedily and noisily, splashing and basting buds with flavors fresh and deep and peculiar, rife with star anise and black cardamom, other such items you’ve likely lost to the nether regions of your spice cabinet. The proper application of Thai chili garlic sauce along the fresh, seedy jalapenoes, reminds that even grandma at her most overbearing was negligent about at least one thing - a soup can, maybe should, hurt a little bit. It’s a visceral cleansing if done right. Really though, there’s no greater testament than the bahn mi here - suspiciously cheap, fresh-bunned, overstuffed, peppery and porky - being relegated to afterthought.  

4. Soup Bros.

Soup Bros is actually much like a grandmother itself - the service has attitude, the home is filled with miscellany knicknacks and doodads, you call, get an automated voice telling you the mailbox hasn’t been set up, you instinctively wonder if she’s still alive. There’s no website. And there’s many soups. The cheddar and Bermuda onion seems the paradigm - extra sharp cheddar melting along fresh crushed black pepper and green onion pieces, the whole achieving that ideal creaminess to wade through toward stomach coaty contentment. Similarly pleasing is the red pepper bisque - a cold antidote and elixir properly sworn by the whole town over. The key with both seems to be that salty svelteness, a certain intangible that makes for the rare occasion of going out to lunch and feeling somehow rejuvenated after. A fresh baked bread hunk, served warm and crusty and seedy, certainly helps too. Owner Richard Regner, brusque, terse, isn’t exactly the soup Nazi, but, having said that, the place does embody the somehow idiosyncratic nature that comes with precise, artistic cooking approaches to big vats of nourishing, communal stuff. And if an armoire of his ever became available, one would be smart to scoop it up, rifle through the drawers.

3. Thai Bar-B-Que

It seems hard to go wrong with most any dish, any pho or soup, in Silver City. In fact the only fault we came away noting from an afternoon was pointed out by our waiter: “capitalism.” After hearing him bemoan the over-rushed pace of American life, we acquiesced, realized this is as good a place as any to sit and savor, soup being a dish to smell and breathe deep, as much to get down. The Thai BBQ pork noodle varietal, supposedly the only such dish in town, serves as an ideal for what they do best here. It’s a dangerously velvety, rich broth, with multitude sunken pork treasures in varying shape and cooking doneness. The pork balls are the prize, sponging flavor, buoying between onion hunks, green onion chocks, cilantro, and a Medusa nest of glassy noodles. But any meat and broth would do well when supplanted by the accompanying death panel: a four jar tray of pickled jalapenos, the ubiquitous Thai chili garlic sauce, crushed dried chili peppers cooked to a deep viscous brown in oil, and the same chili peppers, simply ground and ready for battle with sinus and lips. Even in moderation, it can feel like a concoction just barely, pleasantly this side of hell. It’s okay to drip a little sweat right into the bowl - it can count as the day’s exercise. Better yet, forget such energetic American worries, sit back, and enjoy the otherworld pleasure all about National and 30th.   

2. El Cabrito

The ‘little goat’ butters its bolillo by specializing in meats slow-cooked in sauces, blurring the line between stews and soft bits meant for stuffing into corn tortillas for makeshift juicy tacos. You can tell the specialty from what everybody is ordering, and from the neon sign shouting their wares rooted in the state of Jalisco - birria. It is celebratory, spicy, slow-cooked goat meat. It’s a tad gamey, and it’s game to go either way - slurp or fork. But it’s actually the heartening pozole that lands Cabrito here, as it leaves no doubt as to the spoon-forward nature. The stop sign-red broth comes with an oily sheen, equally salty and piquant, made more spicy by the dangerous ground arbol pepper canister placed on the table like a dare, one hard to turn away from. Floating below the surface are thumb-sized chunks of pork, al dente-texture hominy, both slow cooking as you focus on the broth, the meat getting speared and breaking up with each penetration, so that at the end you are left with shredded pig particles to spoon onto the accompanying tostadas, with chopped red onion and tomato for fresh bright balance, a squirt of the smoky chipotle table salsa to make sure every nook of the tongue is tended to. You’ll also likely be left fanning your mouth, dabbing sweat driblets from the forehead, and, given the bowl depth and deep provenance, wondering why you thought it was necessary to order an accompanying taco.  

1. Guadalajara

Of the many elixir qualities of a hot bowl of salty broth, hangover helper may be the most underrated. Like all chili-peppered Mexican fare, all Mexican soups do the trick - the aforementioned birria is renowned, but nothing eases day after pain like menudo. It’s a take it, leave it proposition, long bypassing ‘gamey’ labels, the beef tripe yielding an intestinal - literally - deep flavor of bloody earthiness. It’s an acquired taste, but one that can come to resemble a gastrointestinal restart button. Still, even if the palate leans understandably more gabacho, there are two types of head-clearing pozole: verde, with chicken, or the briny, salty rojo. The latter is the way to go, offering a steaming bath with tender fatty pork wedges, big soft hominy bits, ploppable diced onion, and, really, not too much else. The soothing saltiness is kept as the main star, everything satisfyingly elemental, unless you want to be heroic and scoop in some upon-request-only arbol salsa.     

It’s about halfway through any bowl, pleasantly sniffling, that you might realize, like most grandmotherly caloric pushes, it’s all too much - the bowl is comically overlarge, brimming with incalculable salt, sheeny fat, too much spice - again with the ground Arbol, even sugar - sure, yes, you will need another Jarritos to wash everything down. There’s even an undeserved, overabundant kindness about the shabby corner converted Walker’s Point abode. Maybe you can’t go home again, as they say, but from the taste of a bowl here, you can go to your, or a, Mexican grandma’s house.

[screechingobservationdeer-blog]

A Story I Guess.

I wrote this a while ago and thought I might as well put it here, maybe someone will enjoy it!

Not really based on any fandom, just my own brainchild!

I sloppily pushed my way through the crowd, heading over to the counter.  Moping and mumbling to myself as I pulled out one of the leather covered stools and plopped down.  I then practically collapsed over the counter, resting my chin on the polished wood.  I sat and let the fermenting maelstrom of self pity run wild in my head.  Harold spotted me from across the room through flocks of customers, and he detected what was going on instantly.

Harold was great, and still sharp as a nail after all those years.  I’ve known him all of his life.  He started out as an ornery little kid, and then transformed to valedictorian of his class at the Vvidderikt College.  After that he worked as an architect in the high end part of the Vvidderikt residential district.  He got married and became a father, he retired and became a grandfather, he opened a bar and was soon to be a great-grandfather.

But all of that was just part of why I was moping.  Harold was reaching the end of his days, but I could accept that.  That is just a natural part of life, and he will go to a better place with the gods that he worshiped.  I was sitting and moping because I knew that I would never get that chance.  After all, it was my two-hundred and fiftieth birthday.

That was just a number, a label of age that truly meant nothing to me.  My body hasn’t aged since I was twenty-two, no changes except for a few new scars.  That is just part of the pain of not dying.  I just have to sit and watch as those around me start to deteriorate, and there is nothing that I can do about it.  You can try to fight with bronze and steel, but old age can’t be killed with a blade.  You can’t shoot holes in disease with a bow, or block senility with a shield.  That is part of why I became a Temple Guard in the first place.  After the first few attacks by the marauders organized under Mr. Noir something became clear to me.  I didn’t want to fight with weapons, but instead I wanted to help people.  I had enough fighting foreign armies, I wanted to stay home and protect the people that mattered to me.  Unfortunately I had absolutely no medical experience, so the best I could do in terms of helping people was guard the temple.  Not that I weren’t grateful for the opportunity, after all becoming a Temple Guard was one of the highest achievements that one could receive.  That job meant that I could directly help the people I served while also protecting the temple, which was a place of healing for all within the city limits and beyond.  Of course none of that matters now.  All I am is a drifter with a good swinging arm.

Harold finally made his way over, his warm and kind eyes looking into your thoughts as usual.

“Hello Mr. Finch, long time no see,” I said in a low and wavering tone.  Of course Harold always got down to the point, so he skipped the formalities on his end.

“Whenever ye waddle in ‘ere mopin’ like this ye just end up drinkin’ n’ lookin’ sad in the corner.  ‘Fore I give ye any sort of drinks you are going to tell me what is going on inside that noggin’ of y’ers, eh miss?” He said, wiggling his eyebrows around with every syllable.

“It is the two-hundred and twenty fifth anniversary,” I said quietly while stealthily trying to reach for a mug.  Of course he saw me reaching and grabed the mug’s splintered old handle, tossing it across the room like one would skip a rock on a lake.

“Ain't people meant to get wize wit’ old age? If ye were wize I doubt ye would be mopin’ in ‘ere ‘stead of gettin’ out der an’ doin’ sometin’ worth while!  Why do ye drink anyway, not only can ye not get drunk but ye also never buy anythin’ that ye like! If ye ‘ave to sit in ‘ere and drink, least get somethin’ that ye like!”

“I’ll take an apple spice mead,” I said quietly, looking down at the counter.  Harold shook his head slowly, then walked off.  He was right about not being able to get drunk by the way, I don’t know why I get alcohol either.  I suppose it was more of a novelty after all these years, to try and make me feel normal.

Harold came back moments later with a dark colored, unquarked bottle.  The smell of cinnamon wafted up out and around me, both calming but also making me lose myself in thought.  I took a sip and slowly eased back onto the counter, suddenly feeling a bit of a headache.  This is when I went back.

~ 227 Years Ago ~

.oO 1348 AMC Oo.

The smell of cinnamon flowed through the breeze, being carried along with the pink cherry petals that slowly fell from every tree lining the market square.  The warm summer sun glowed down on the crowds that gathered around shops and tents set up by the caravans.  One of the tents sent smoke from incense and candles throughout the square, while another had fresh bakery bread whose smell drew in crowds from the surrounding streets.

On that day I had come to the market with my brother, the two of us were looking for something to commemorate my acceptance into the Temple Guard.  Of course he had scampered off to some other corner of the market, probably to buy some food or chase after a friend of his.  I slowly made my way through the market, occasionally stopping to look at some things that caught my eye.

The market was always beautiful at that time in summer.  Trade caravans from the east and the south would come with their jewels and fine silks and fill the square with tents.  All of the people that came from the east were incredibly interesting to me.  When they come to sell things in the city, no two objects are the same.  Each piece made by them was different, it had it’s own character and personality.  Not only that, but the people themselves were always quite the characters.  They spoke like the merchants they were, incredibly outgoing but not always the most… reliable.

Eventually I made my way to the far end of the square, near the canal.  It seemed like an opportune spot to wait while my older brother had his escapade in the maze of tents.  Every time I went to those spots I lost myself in thought, just thinking about the grandeur of the city in which I lived.  That was the way that anyone who lived the grand city thought, each one of us filled with an immense pride of where we lived.

Our great city was home to the strongest armies of the known world.  We were the peacekeepers between the North and the South.  Within our city walls, you would be safe from any pain of the outside world.  It was the only place that Northerners and Southerners were able to come in contact without trying to gut each other like hogs.  Not only that but it was the stronghold that was meant to repel any invasion, and it did that many times during the end of the second era.

The immortal legions stood always ready to defend against an invasion from our sister continent.  As far as we knew, the armies on Kahlvolken had been crushed long ago during the second era, but even during the third era people still uttered the name with fear.  Many of the legions and guard regiments of old were disbanded, and the ones that still stood were mainly for guarding the people of a non-existent fear.  There were others that became a sort of military police.  Many of the old regiments started to guard the city, and do the duties of normal law keepers.  There were only two listings that were never regarded as legions or regiments, that was the Royal Guard and the Temple Guard.

The Royal Guard served the obvious purpose of protecting the royal family, whom often found themselves in a number of sticky situations.  The guards used a variety of weapons but almost always carried a shield, and they sported the regal colours of red and gold.  The Royal Guards were considered to be an elite fighting force, rivaled by only one.

The Temple Guards served the purpose of guarding the temple, which would have been impossible to tell from the name alone.  They were made up of seven guards at a time.  The regiment was split into two groups which were each commanded by a watcher.  The group I was to be put in was the “Left Flank,” which was under the control of guard Halen.  The other was the “Right Flank,” under the control of guard Tem’ir.  Atop the whole merry band was the Grand Temple Guard, who was ironically the only one that no one actually knew.  He or she guarded the very inner sanctum of the temple, where all of the magical artifacts and ancient knowledge of our ancestors was kept.  This was the one place of the temple that no one was allowed to enter.  Not even the other guards.

Regardless, the canals were always a beautiful spot to stop and rest.  The sun lightly shone through the diaphanous leaves of the birches and blooming cherry trees.  The cool spring water was as clear as as air, allowing me to see hundreds of shimmering coins painting the bottom of the canal.  I took off my steel cuffed boots, and laid them to the side.  I then slowly dipped my feet in the river, the cool tingling helping me to relax and enjoy the scenery.

After about an hour my brother came back with a few different things from the market, mainly being food of course.  After a brief staring competition, the two of us decided to drop off the spoils back at the house, then go out to get something to eat.  About an hour later we found ourselves back in the market, but not to wonder about.

It was easily spotted among the other shops because of the gigantic red flag waving in the wind up above the tent.  As soon as I spotted it the smell hit me, the boiling vats of noodles, rice, and chicken broth.  Then the second wave of smells hit, the just out of the oven bread crust, the fresh vegetables, and finally the sweet smell of the honey basted beef.  Sha Vida’s soup stand was open for business.  As soon as me and my brother stopped drooling over the thought of what awaited, we looked into eachothers eyes for a moment.  It was a challenge, one we had done for so long that the words didn’t even need to be said.  Once our eyes locked, it was on.  Last one to Sha’s has to pay for both meals.

That was the tradition, ever since we were kids.  Our father always said we should become independent as soon as possible, so instead of feeding us he told us to get our own food with allowance money.  We would always save up so we could come to Sha’s, and since money was limited we made bets.  Whoever made it through the front of the tent first got their meal for free, at the expense of the other of course.

We were both of with a dash, giving everyone around us a bit of a startle.  The steel spikes on our boots failing to dig into the cobbled and uneven surface of the square.  We zoomed past countless numbers of pedestrians going about their day, some even dropping their baskets or drinks in fright.  As we came closer to the tent my brother began to stumble, crouching down and wildly flailing his arms while still shuffling forward.  The tent was only moments away.

As usual we both came in to the stand a little too hot, me tripping on a rope and my brother knocking over a stool.  But that was fine, because I won.  Sha was used to this, she had been putting up with it since we were little.  There were already a number of other patches and holes where I had run right through the cloth covering of the tent.  Without batting an eye, or really caring at all that I had fallen again, Sha began to pour two new bread bowls.  The usual order was a bread bowl with rice broth, broccoli, carrots, and honey beef.  The dish was also never complete without Sha’s special sauce, which she would always serve in a separate dish so that we could pick how much we wanted.  She only gave one dish between the two of us, so we always fought over the sauce.  Ever since I could talk I swore up and down that this food was made by a living god.

The two of us sat quietly and ate while Sha went of to deal with some other customers.  I didn’t feel like talking much, I were too nervous for tomorrow.  Then again it isn’t like I could have talked if I wanted too, I were too busy stuffing my face with liquid gold.  After I finished drinking down the rice broth I moved on to eating the bread bowl, the bowl’s suffering was over quickly.  After I finished, I sat and looked down at the table.  Brother looked over, and he knew exactly what I were feeling.  He had gone through a similar process two years ago, when he was taken into the Royal Guard.

Nobody in the city knew my face, but everyone knew my name.  I was the talk of the entire country, seeing as I had completed an incredible feat.  A new Temple Guard had not been chosen in almost sixty years, so it was a big deal.  By the end of tomorrow I would be one of the most well known people in the city of over two-hundred thousand.  That kind of pressure was immense, because tomorrow I would be ceremonially accepted into the Temple Guard.  I would have to stand in front of the crowd and impress over four-hundred thousand people.  Not only would the entire city be watching, but almost every province around would be packing the streets.

“You know, it really isn’t that bad,” my brother said in a calm voice, “you start out scared that you will let them down, but once you get there it changes.  What you expect to feel is the combined scrutiny of all of those people, but what you really get in the combined gratitude and respect.  You can feel them thanking you, after all you are devoting your life to protect the thing that every man, woman, and child in this country is wholeheartedly devoted too.”

This is when Sha tuned in, “He’s right you know.  The ceremony is meant to celebrate the new guard, and every year it is nothing but love towards the person in that shiny new armor.  Your brother does know what he is talking about, even if the Royal Guard ceremony is a bit… smaller.”

Brother gave a sideways glance at Sha before continuing, “You are right to think that you will be judged by the city to some regard, but if you were strong and sound enough to make it into the guards, then I doubt that anyone in that crowd will be able to find one thing wrong with you.”

“Thank you, Kal,” I said as I smiled up at my brother.

“Don’t worry little sis, if someone does find something bad to say I will always be here to smack them up a little,” he smirked at the thought, obviously joking about that last remark.  If he were caught doing something like that he would be discharged in a heartbeat.

It was obvious that he was trying to make me feel better, and I don’t think he lied, but it still seemed like he was playing down just how much of a klutz I am.  What he doesn’t understand is that I wasn’t scared that the crowd will not like my personality, in reality I was just scared of tripping or dropping my shield.

The two of us decided it was time to go home, I had to make sure that I got good sleep for the next day.  Seeing as he lost the race, Kal started grudgingly digging coins out of his pocket.  He flipped six coins onto the counter and started to thank Sha for her unending hospitality, but Sha refused the coins.

“You are going to need a good meal tonight if you want to function right during the ceremony,” she said, “this one is on the house, just think of it as a commemorative gift.”

I thank her, Kal scooped back his coins, and the two of us walked down the slowly darkening street.  By the time Kal and I got home, all of the street lamps had been lit, and the busy denizens of the afternoon had turned into snoring potato sacks.  Father had already gone to bed, so the two of us parted our ways and went to our rooms.  I changed out of my clothes to something more comfortable, and as soon as my head hit the pillow I had already fallen asleep.

~ The Next Day ~

.oO 1348 AMC Oo.

The next day was a blur.  I woke up, had some eggs that Kal got in the market the day before, polished my armour, and made my way to the banner complex.  The complex was at the footstep of the temple mountain, and was made easy to see by the fact that it spanned over four square miles and had towers over eighty yards tall.  Luckily for me most of this was filled with seating, and made it so that I didn’t have to walk very far to the center during the ceremony itself.  The actual point of the complex (when not in use as a gathering center for large events) was for artificial combat training.  The complex was meant to be large enough to wage all out wars in.

As I made my way down the main street there were hundreds of people lined up and down the pavement.  They may not have known what I looked like before, but now that I was sporting the armour on there was no mistaking.  I was the new Temple Guard, and everyone wanted to get a good look at me as I walked to the complex.  Most of the people on the street were those that would be unable to attend the main ceremony, or simply couldn’t get in because it was too crowded.

During the entire trip to the complex I could only think about one thing, the nerves that were slowly building within me.  Of course I had other curiosities as well, especially about what the job would be like after the ceremony was over.  I was nervous, but I was even more excited.

As I walked past the entrance where all of the watchers would be coming through I saw a familiar brightly coloured red flag sticking up through the mob.  Sha had set up her soup tent right at the entrance, and how she had gotten it there I will never know.  Not only was she selling soup at a rate I had never before seen, but she was selling signs for the members of the crowd to hold.  There were various signs, all of which had soup advertisements either hidden or in plain sight.  One blatantly read, “Come eat at Sha Vida’s soup tent! Where the Temple Guards go!”  I waved at her, and she tried to wave back.  The arm that she tried to wave with was holding a bunch of dirty dishes that she was cleaning, and their contents spilled on to the floor as she waved.  I smiled and pressed on.

Eventually I got to the gate of the complex, which had been barricaded to prevent more people from entering.  It was sporting the temple colours, the long and plain blue flags fluttering in the wind.  I approached the gate, which was being kept by the 31st Legion Guards.  One of the guards took a look over me and signaled to the other.  They parted their halberds to let me pass through.  As I first walked into the gate, I was still under the seating.  I could hear the creaking and moaning of the wood, being stressed by the thousands of people sitting above.  I made my way through the network of support beams and rope ties to the actual entrance to the grounds on which I would finally be a member of the Temple Guard.  Beyond that gate there were hoards of people awaiting me to walk through, and I was as nervous as ever.  I sat and waited for my name to be called.

I could hear talking on the other side of the gate, one of the other guards was giving a speech.  It was guard Halen, one of the older members.  He stood on a stage, with the crowd all around him and spoke.

“Today is a day of recognition, for the newest member of the Temple Guard, for Zheshi Umbranox.  She and her family have always had the blood of a guardian in them.  As far back as their family history has recorded, they have been protectors.  Their family tree has had members in the 212th, the 425th, the 41st, the 94th, and even have history in the original Temple Guards.  Not to forget that her brother, Khalizar Umbranox, was accepted into the Royal Guard.  It goes without further explanation that it is in her blood, but there is more than that.  She has a fire within her, a fire to help protect those that she loves, and even those that she doesn’t.  She is the kind of person to protect everyone in this city and beyond, from the worst to the best.  She has it within her to be a strong warrior, but even stronger in mind.  A protector of beliefs, a safekeeper of everything dear.  She stands not just to protect the temple, but also all of those that visit it, whether they are there at the time or not. A guardian of both body and mind.  Would Zheshi please enter the stage.”

After hearing that speech, I was even more nervous that I would not live up to the expectations of everyone that would be watching.  The gate which I was behind started to open.  It felt like it was moving slower than a snail, but that was probably just me.  I checked myself over again, just growing more and more nervous by the second.

The gate was open, and now I could see everything before me.  The complex had been made into a small area for the ceremony.  It had a covering carpet of fresh green grass, and had a ring of short hedges where the trees used to be (probably so the crowd could see over them).  The water supply from the temple ran through the ground in a number of channeled streams, making an elaborate design in the shallow rock.  Standing in the center of the water sigil was Halen, looking towards me, waiting.  I started to walk.

This was the moment when I realized that Kal was right, every bit of nervousness was gone.  I looked at the faces of those around me and realized that they were not judging my worthiness, but they were cheering me on.  As I walked down the path I looked around at the thousands gathered, and then looked to the front row.  There were three faces that stuck out.  My father was sitting and smiling, waving to me.  A little bit further over were Sha and Kal.  Sha was holding one of the “Where the Temple Guard eats!” signs.  Kal had made his own sign though, it read “Don’t trip and fall, little sis.” Pfft, typical.

I finally made it up to Halen, who smiled at me.  I remembered what he was like during my selection and training, and it was quite different than this.  He was always in the back corner, and never really talked to me.  I think he didn’t trust me, or just didn’t much like outsiders seeing the training area.  Now his tone had changed, it seemed that since I was officially a guard now, he could trust me.  He started to speak again in his low, brassy tone.

“I give you Zheshi, the newest of the guard.” He said the words softly as he opened a box on the marble and golden sandstone pedestal.  Inside the blue cloth covered box was a staff, which he handed to me.  As he placed it in my hands he whispered, “You are really one of the Temple Guard now, never forget what really matters, the people we serve.”

He gestured for me to stand at attention with the staff.  I pulled my feet together and smacked the butt end of the staff on the ground.  The crowd applauded, and then Halen spoke again, “This concludes the ceremony, thank you all.”  Short and sweet, never to opulent but enough that people can enjoy it.  That was how all temple related events were.

I made your way back through the gate, and down under the stands.  That is when I got tackled.  Kal had come out of nowhere, and gave me a massive bear hug.  In the background Sha was bouncing up and down on her heels.  After not being able to breath for about ten seconds too long, Kal let go.  He backed up, with his usual wild grin, and pulled a leather bag from around his back.  He opened it up, and reached his hand into the small pouch.  From the leather he pulled two necklaces, and held them in his hand.  They were matching, each inscribed with the Peregrine Falcon.  This was not only the city’s bird, but it happened to be the family bird as well.  He handed me one of them, the light silver chain dropping into my hand.  The falcon itself was carved from a luminescent blue crystal, and was surrounded by bone claw inlays.  The other necklace he still held was matching, and he began to speak.

“We are both protectors of the city now, which means that we may not be able to see each other much with the shifts. I got these at the market yesterday because they seemed like something that you would like, and I wanted to get something that we could both use to remind ourselves of each other.  I’m sorry for deserting you at the market yesterday, but I wanted these to be a surprise.  Just remember what this symbolizes, we may not be able to see each other much but we have to always be there for the other.”

“Thank you,” I said, starting to tear up a little.

“I love you sis,” he said while wrapping his arms around me and hugging me again.

~ Two Years Later ~

.oO 1350 AMC Oo.

It was the third day of the official winter season, and everything had been normal the day before.  There was an increasing frequency of Marauder attacks in the outer villages, and they were growing their forces.  People were becoming increasingly worried that they would make a drastic move, like trying to attack one of the larger cities on the outskirts of the country.  It was my shift as the gate guard for the temple.

It was cold outside, and the snow had just begun to fall.  Everyone was packing things into their homes in preparation for a massive blizzard that was supposedly coming.  I held my staff and watched to make sure that no weapons were being smuggled into the temple, but that was very rare.  There was a steady stream of the homeless who either just needed a place to stay or were suffering from frostbite.  Other than this the temple was mostly empty.

Everyone was awaiting the return of the 41st Elite attack battalion, who were supposed to be back almost a week ago.  Some said that they had just been held back by a storm, but others proposed that they had been killed by Noir’s troops.  That was something that everyone was scared of these days.  This city was one of the most secure places on the planet, but everyone was scared.  There were recent reports of Noir’s forces raiding one of the ocean citadels, which is said to have been blown to bits.  I didn’t really believe these reports, for two reasons.  One was that ocean citadels are meant to repel full scale naval invasions, and are built a mile off the coast almost entirely out of steel reinforced stone.  The second reason was that marauders get seasick.

It was getting increasingly cold by the minute, so I was glad that my armour had a fur lining.  The snow was drifting slowly down, and it was almost mesmerizing.  I started to stop and think to myself how Kal was doing.  I was fairly certain that it was his shift as palace guard that day.  Then again it is also possible that he was moved to gate guard, in which case he would probably be home late.  I really wanted him to get back home, because I needed to talk to him.

We had a massive argument the day before, and I needed to apologise.  He was trying to tell me that he was moving out of the house, and I tried to keep him with me at the family residence.  He had found a girlfriend and wanted to move in with her, but I was being selfish.  I knew that too, but at the time I was too angry to think.  I made a big show of how “apparently he didn’t love me anymore,” and “he never wanted a sibling.”  Both of these things were completely selfish, outrageous, and under the belt, I know that now.  At the end of it all I had taken my necklace and thrown it into the canal.

All day that was all I could think about during guard duty.  I wanted so bad to get home and see Kal so that I could apologize.  Right before my shift I even dove back down into the freezing canal water so that I could retrieve the necklace.  It was the worst thing I had done in a while, and I had to make up for it somehow.

Eventually I got off of my shift, and went into the market square.  I wanted to find some things for Kal, as part of the apology.  What I ended up finding was two well-cut steaks and a glove that was fitted with Damascus Steel.  He had been looking at that glove for a while.  It was only for the right hand, but had a beautiful pattern and was made for picking up hot materials.  Kal had been trying to get into smithing and jewelcrafting some lately.  He had made a few good things but not much that was worthwhile.  Now that he had this glove though it would be much easier for him to work with the hot metal.

Once I had packed up all of the loot I found, I walked past the messenger station just in time for them to start screaming.

“The 41st has just been spotted over the hill,” they started with, “they should be at the gates within the hour!”

That would probably mean that Kal would transfer to the gates even if  he was not already there.  That way he could help them enter, besides, lots of people were going to gather there to watch the 41st march in.  I would have probably gone anyway, but since Kal might have been there I had to go.  It would be a perfect time to give him what I had found.

I was about halfway to the gate when I felt it.  I could just feel that something was wrong.  I looked up through the snow and darkening clouds, and saw a column of smoke billowing up from the gate.  I broke into an all out sprint, dropping the steaks somewhere on the way.  As I sprinted I threw the glove over my head and into my bag, put on the necklace, and took out my staff.  As I got closer and closer I could hear the sounds of combat over the horizon.  Once I was almost over the hill, the snow started to pick up into an all out blizzard.  Then I finally crest the hill, expecting to see some sort of attack by the marauders.

What I saw shocked me.  The Royal Guards and the 31st were fighting against the 41st.  Then I started to notice all of the strange things about the 41st.  Not only were many of their uniforms torn, but so were the people inside them.  Many of them seemed to have injuries that should have killed them, even as far as exposed bones.  One particularly gruesome case had a missing rib cage all together.

That was when I saw the person that I despise to this day.  Noir was calmly striding through the back of the 41st ranks.  He was dressed in a heavy set of armor that was black as obsidian, it looked like oil was leaking from it.  The ground turned black wherever he stepped, and he scraped his blade through the snow as he dragged it along.  The blade was a khopesh, with a nasty and serrated curved blade.  The sword itself looked as if it was liquid, dropping thick blobs of a black viscous fluid wherever it went.

Eventually I saw Kal in the madness, he had grabbed the heads of two soldiers and was bashing them together.  I focused on my staff, and used it the way I best liked.  The staff separated into two blades, and I took one in each hand.  Each blade had an inscription on it, one read Talon, and the other read Claw.  I made my way spinning and slashing through the hordes of 41st until I got within yelling distance of Kal.  I shouted his name into the distance, while still hacking and stabbing at the various soldiers that tried to get near me.

Time froze during that fight.  It was like I was suspended in time, remembering every little detail.  The first thing I saw was the spear, black like the night and leaving an oily trail as it flew through the air.  It was curving down, the sharp point glinting in what little light there was, snowflakes sticking to it.  The next thing I saw was Kal, he locked eyes with me.  He was covered in frost and blood, with the snow swirling around him.  Every piece of his white gold and steel armour was glittering like crystals.

He looked at me, then looked down at the necklace I was wearing.  I could see him grinning through the helmet, but that only made it worse.  He didn’t see the spear sailing through the air.  I couldn’t scream, I had froze like the snow falling on my head.  Eventually he looked up to see it, only half a second before it hit him in the chest.

It was like the spear ignored his armour all together, just gliding right through.  He fell backwards and the spear with him, nailing him to the wall.  The falcon on his neck glided forward and onto the shaft of the spear, glinting in faint light and beginning to be covered with frost.  That is when my mouth finally opened, shouting silently into the frozen storm.  Tears started to stream from my eyes as a pool of crimson started to mix with the snow under him.

I stepped forward, every inch of my body tense.  Eventually I made my way through the crowd to where he was lying.  I no longer fought, just walked slowly through the combat, trapped in my own world.  There was blood seeping through the various cracks of his armour, slowly dripping down the front.  It left marks on the golden polished surface of his chestpiece, streaming down past his kilt into little puddles in the snow.

I slowly reached out and grabbed his weapon from the ground.  It shrunk in my hand, becoming a knife which I put my bag.  Then I reached out.  My hand started to rub against the cold silver chain of the necklace.  I closed my fingers around the blood covered surface of the amulet that dangled down from the shaft of the spear.  I couldn’t stop myself from sobbing.  I looked down at his crumpled body against the wall.

~ 250 Years Later ~

.oO 1670 AMC Oo.

“That was the moment that would scar me for the rest of my days.  When I saw him lying in the snow with a dead look in his eyes, defiled, it was a symbol.  It was like watching my patron, the falcon, bleed out.  It was someone I always thought to be invincible, and watching him bleed was unimaginable.  Then it happened, then I watched the falcon, my brother, Kal, die right there.  It was the worst pain I ever felt, or will ever feel for that matter.

The rest of that battle was a blur, I don’t remember anything.  All I can tell you is that more enemy troops came, and that the city was destroyed.  Noir was not someone who wanted fame, or money, he just wanted death.  Every citizen that was found, was subsequently slaughtered.  That was the end of my people, and the end of my life as someone who could feel joy.”

This is what I told Harold.  Everyone else had cleared out of the tavern, and the fire was crackling to a halt.  He poured me another drink, then poured one for himself.  His eyes were glazed over, and he was entranced in the story.  He really changed over the course of my speaking, at first he still seemed disappointed, but as I talked he gained a new understanding.

“I… I never really understood that, I’m sorry ab’oot what I said to ye.  But why hadn’t ye said anythin’ to me ab’oot this earlier?” Harold said in a light tone, with a sorrowed look on his face.

“Because, now I’ve made up my mind on what I am going to do next.”

“And what’ll that be lass?”

I locked eyes with him, the sadness in my mind being replaced with anger.  I clasped the two swords on my sides.  One of which was mine, the other Kal’s.

“I am going to hunt down Noir.  To my last breath.”

[nongmobro-blog]

The Kind Mum and the Beggar

Every day he was there, sitting on the street, smelling like onions and dirty clothing. Every morning Agatha passed the aged man who asked for change and every morning she told herself “If they want to run, they will have to prove they can keep up first!” an old saying her mother passed down to her, considering the homeless problem and their seeming inability to cope with the ‘Real World’ around them.

This night was like any other. The man sat there, looking downright haggard, asking for change and swaying like he was on death’s door waiting to be let in. He looked to Agatha and she turned her head, visibly telling him “NO.” with her expressive body language. He simply shrugged. The same reaction he would give each time she denied him. It pained Agatha to refuse the poor man any assistance.

As she entered her apartment complex, she denied taking the chunky old elevator up to her apartment and decided to walk the six flights of stairs, as usual. She wasn’t claustrophobic, she simply disliked the caged feeling of the old, rusted contraption. When she entered her well kept apartment, she made a cup of chamomile tea and sat down to relax. As she made herself comfortable and entered a mild trance, staring at the brick hearth her husband had built, her eyes gravitated towards his picture, staring at her. Her husband. He was a British war vet of WWII. The wounds he received while protecting his country eventually took his life upon his return, ten years later. Even still, the man came back to the UK with an upbeat attitude, attempting to enact great change on the streets that he cared for, so much. He had lost a majority of his friends and his brother to the war and yet he returned with an attitude that was truly marvelous. Some nights he would break down and become another person altogether, sobbing and shivering, muttering to himself and apologizing to thin air, seeming to be in a different place but, only Agatha saw that side of the brave man who birthed so much positive change on the streets of London that desperately needed the help.

That picture... that chiseled grin staring back at her like a taunting memory of the hero she had lost. It sometimes haunted her and made her feel ashamed of herself. Today was one of those days, thinking of the homeless man down the street, which inevitably lead Agatha to ponder the entirety of the homeless problem, which then lead to political contemplation, which eventually made her feel powerless. “What am I to do Tim?” she asked the painting. Of course there was no answer, as usual. Agatha began to weep. The room seemed so empty without old Tim there. It was raining outside and the cars driving by, splashing water and honking, elevated the feeling of emptiness in the home that used to be so lively. She sobbed herself to sleep in her favorite chair, staring at the picture of Tim.

Agatha woke the next day with a passion. She decided to go down and talk to the old man on the street. She took a shower and then ate her breakfast quickly while reading the paper. It seemed a blur. The next thing she knew she was down on the street looking for the man. After a moment, she found him. There was very little traffic, which was not usual, and she crossed the street to speak to the man who was sitting on an old rug that looked oddly familiar to her. 

“How can I help you?” she asked the man.

“Spare change love?” the man responded.

Agatha went to reach for her purse and stopped short, realizing she hadn’t brought it. “Half a moment dear, I have to go fetch my handbag... wait here?” she asked kindly.

“Aye.” the man responded, smiling.

Agatha crossed the street, entered her complex and retrieved her coin purse from her bag and then returned to the man. “Here we are, I have plenty of change to spare, hold out your hand or, do you have a cup?” she asked the man.

The man’s eyes glazed over and he seemed to go mute and look through her, not responding.

Agatha was put off for a moment. “Hello? Deary, can you hold out your hand or offer me a cup? I can give you a pound or two.” she offered, once again.

“Spare change love?” the man asked again, smiling.

Agatha’s face pinched and she assumed the man might be a bit off as a result of his predicament, and so she spoke louder. “I have five pounds I can give you dear, please hold out your hand.” she said loudly.

Once again, the man’s features went pale, with his mouth ajar and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“My lord, you poor thing. Can you understand me?” she questioned with genuine concern.

“Spare change love?” the man asked again, smiling warmly, looking completely natural and capable.

Agatha felt a pit in her stomach, she didn’t understand. “Yes dear, I have offered you five pounds. Will you take it? I am sure you can buy a loaf and a-” she stopped speaking as the man assumed the same face, once again. “You’re scaring me, why are you d-”

“Spare change love?” the man asked again, brighter than ever.

“I’ve offered you five pounds dear, what is the problem, do you not want th-”

“Spare change love?” asked the man, smiling warmly.

“Stop it! What are you about? Do you want my whole purse?! Here! Take it!” she said, offering the man her purse. The man looked dead, yet again. “Please stop this...” she begged.

“Spare change love?” the man asked, as if he had only just recognized Agatha, for the first time.

Agatha screamed for help, but the streets were completely unoccupied. She broke into a cold sweat and covered her eyes. “Please stop... Please stop...” she murmured through her hands, pressed to her face.

“Spare change love?”

“STOP! STOP!”

“Spare change love?”

“STOP IT! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!?”

“Spare change love?”

Agatha screamed as loud as she could. “GO AWAY!” she yelled. There was no answer. She slowly removed her hands from her face and opened her eyes. Her husbands face stared back at her, wearing that signature, chiseled grin, his eyes squinting lovingly at her.

“I love you Agatha...” he said.

Agatha screamed.

Agatha awoke in her apartment, soaked in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. It took her a moment to adjust, remembering the dream and what happened therein. She sat breathing for a moment, allowing her heart to beat normally again. She looked to the hearth, her husband’s picture stared at her just as it did in the dream. Agatha said nothing. She got up, walked to the picture and kissed it softly.

Agatha and Tim never had children and so she had plenty of money saved up in her bank account. Over the next few weeks she used a portion of the funds to purchase a variety of commercial grade kitchen appliances and utensils. She also hired her young niece, Sara, to assist her. She was aware that Sara knew her way around the kitchen and that the girl was in need of a solid job, and so they got to work. Agatha was an excellent chef and worked in a number of restaurants during the war while Tim was away, earning much praise from the patrons and from Tim upon his return. 

They began to create. Cakes. Pies. Soups. Pastries. Cookies. Candy. Muffins. Vats of home made ice tea. Lemonade. Parfaits. Ice Cream. Agatha turned the alley next to her apartment into a makeshift kitchen for the hungry. It became so popular the children from Regent High School became aware of her kindness and started a city wide petition to expand the process. With their help and a bit of her own money, they moved into a large warehouse. “Agatha’s Oasis” it was named and she became very popular, among the homeless, the hungry, the children and the community.

The man she had always passed on the street turned out to be an astounding artist. He painted murals and he joined up with some of the children from the high schools to paint many beautiful pieces on the side of buildings and businesses. When Agatha told him of her dream and the motivation thereafter, he simply laughed and hugged her. It was a running joke that he played, to come in and ask for change with his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Agatha always busted a gut laughing at the silly man.

When Agatha passed, years later, many people attended her funeral and the chorus from Regent High sang beautiful songs in honor of her memory. Fredrick, the old artist, painted a beautiful mural in Agatha’s memory as well, her image immortalized with her husband, which Fredrick painted using the picture from the hearth in Agatha’s apartment. Fredrick considered it to be his finest work he’d ever done.

Sara gladly took over after Agatha passed and enjoyed the work, assisting many good people and rehabilitating them, making many new friends and assisting the community as Agatha and Tim had taught her to, setting the heart warming example they had. Every Christmas a large feast is held in their name and children from many schools come to put on plays, play music, and entertain the people at Agatha’s Oasis.