#but it's nowhere to be seen now so something happened in the interim

[cultivating-wildflowers]

901 looks really good for this early in the season! (from Katmai's Brooks Lodge fb page)

[zilabee]

"I wasn't there because ahead of the Quarry Men's evening performance I'd gone home for a bite to eat. I only lived a ten minute walk away and hadn't eaten since breakfast, so after coming off the church field and putting my kit in place ready for the evening's performance I'd nipped home for my tea and in the process I missed that historic audition."

- - - Colin Hanton

"I must have nipped out to the toilet because I have no memory of the greatest meeting in rock n roll history."

- - - Rod Davis

"I noticed Paul while we were playing. He was standing with Ivan... but I don't remember him carrying a guitar."

- - - Eric Griffiths

Pre:Fab! - by Hanton and Hall.

-

History quietly shifting itself into place, while half the quarry men are looking the other way.

I just I love that some people are out there writing meaningful fantastic remembrances about Paul's eyelashes and electricity in the air, and then others are like 'I don't know, maybe he was there..?'

Colin Hanton (quarry man) consistently claims that Paul met John before the Quarry Men went on to play in the afternoon. Colin was in the scout hut, playing his drums with one of the scouts, getting ready for the afternoon performance:

"At the far end of the hut, I noticed John had returned by himself. [...] He was standing talking to another scout. It was at this moment that Ivan Vaughan walked in accompanied by this dark-haired lad whom I'd never seen before. I carried on jamming while the three of them stood talking. This carried on for about five or ten minutes, after which John, Ivy, and the stranger left the scout hut together."

Sounds completely like what a constructed memory of that event would seem like, but also sounds completely like something that might have happened too, and we'll never know.

Eric, meanwhile, believes that he was there for the 'historic meeting' in the church, but that Paul never played guitar for them at that point, no matter what Paul, John, Pete, Len and Ivan have to say. He thinks John first heard Paul play a few days later when John and Eric went round to Forthlin Road specially for the 'audition'. That's where he thinks Paul played Twenty Flight Rock for the first time.

Beatles fandom is an incredible study in the vagaries of memory. I love it. It's fantastic how little we will ever know.

As Colin Hall (biographer) writes:

Like most bands, they met a lot of new people every time they were booked to play. Often there'd be a lot of people hanging out with them before or after a performance. No wonder that, in the interim, exact memories faded, details disappeared. It would be many years after the event that the Quarry Men would be asked to describe this day in the forensic detail people now want from them. [...] They were not all present in the same places for some of the key moments. At the time it was a fun day, but of no great significance to most of them beyond the moment of their performance.

He also points out that an article published just one week after the fete, ("All the Fun of the Fair at Woolton" in the Liverpool Weekly News) which is an eye-witness report written while everything was still fresh... claimed that Colin wasn't there, and the Quarry Men played without a drummer. Something easily disproved by any photograph of the day.

Give up, surrender! Beatles reporting has been pure fiction from day nought. Nothing is knowable. Everything is mist. You can keep trying, you will get nowhere. Honestly it's all an imagination, so imagine wonderful things.

[mane--attraction]

You are a servant, hired to clean the mayor’s office. Today is a tiring one, and you decide to take a nap. When you wake, you accidently hear something you shouldn’t.

A/N: This is technically supposed to be part of a larger piece, but since it can easily stand on its own (and I’m not entirely certain how soon the rest of it is going to be written), I’ll just post this for now. If anything, it would be part of chapter one. Also, the larger piece would likely be female reader because of the time period (maids and all that), but this portion is more gender neutral.

Word count: 1450

Rating: M (kinda smutty, but no sex and not super explicit)

* * *

You can barely keep your eyes open and your body upright as you dust, yawning what feels like every other minute. Last night was terrible; tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning, it seemed like you had just closed your eyes and it was time to wake up. Frankly, you’re almost unsure how you made it to work unscathed.

Your eyes water as you yawn again, glancing over at the sofa in the room. The thought of just sitting down and resting a moment is very tempting, especially since you’re not sure you can finish your work without it. The furniture is practically begging for you to take a break, it feels like; or maybe that’s just the sleep still in your bones. Either way, you plop down onto the sofa and let out a long sigh, leaning your duster against it. It’s not exactly meant to be the height of luxury, but the cushions still feel very nice. So nice, in fact, that you lean against the back of the couch and shut your eyes. The mayor won’t be in for a bit longer, so just a few minutes rest should be fine, right? He won’t mind; you’ll be up and finished on time. He’ll be none the wiser. You mentally pat yourself on the back and settle yourself.

...but when you come to, you find yourself laying on your side, facing the back of the sofa, very unsure how much time has passed. You go to sit up, but you’ve barely made the motions before you hear some noise behind you. You shift like you’re adjusting but still asleep, and it stops for a moment, then resumes soon after. Despite feeling very much awake, listening closely, it takes your ears some extra time to “wake up,” so to speak, and identify what you’re hearing. It sounds like...huffing. Panting? A man, that much is certain from the quiet curses that float over to you. There’s another sound too; less identifiable, yet repetitive. It stumps you for a while, long enough that in the interim, it dawns on you that it sounds like the mayor. And then the realization of what you might be hearing is enough to metaphorically bowl you over.

Is the mayor...is he actually masturbating? Right now?

No, of course not, you tell yourself at first; the mayor is a respectable gentleman, he would never do such a thing at his office, let alone with someone sleeping in the room. But the longer you lie there, the less convinced you are: the way he hisses out his words, the focused noises, they all scream “Mayor Damien,” and it very much sounds like he’s getting himself off. Yet, you still doubt your senses. Until you hear your name.

You freeze, the heat rising in your cheeks. There’s no way.

But then you hear it again, and you can’t deny that those syllables are your own, nor that it sounds rather enticing to hear them fall from his lips like this—

You mentally smack yourself. He’s your employer! It won’t do to think about these things. Not when it can never go anywhere. And yet your accidental eavesdropping is making that very difficult as the heat you feel increases in other areas as well, and you have to keep yourself from squirming more. He doesn’t seem to notice you move, this time, and you bite your lip as your fingers twitch. It won’t do to imagine what he looks like right now; is he curled over at his desk, pretending to work on anything but himself? Is his face flushed? Is there hair out of place? Is there sweat on his brow? You try and sweep these thoughts away, but more raunchy ones rush in to replace them.

How would he react if you went over there and sweetly asked if he needed any help? How would he feel? How would he taste? Damn it—

You swear you hear a moan, and it takes half a second for you to be reassured that one didn’t unthinkingly slip from you, the sound too deep to be yours. From the way he’s puffing, it sounds like he’s close.

Would he let you finish him off, throwing his head back with a groan? Or would he take control, holding onto you and using your mouth—

His sounds stutter, and then he lets out a very low, long moan, the noise making something deep within you flutter. Fuck, how you wish it was you causing that sound—

You nearly have to yell at yourself to stop the train of thought there before it goes any further, wrangle back your own breathing before it ticks up any more. Behind you, the mayor’s panting levels off, and the sound of him touching himself slows until it’s barely audible. The telltale sound of a zipper traveling up its tracks follows relatively soon after.

The quiet seems to last an eternity before he sighs and his chair scrapes against the floor. His footsteps come up behind you, and while your heartbeat is practically in your ears, you shut your eyes again and try to breathe exactly as if you were asleep. It seems to fool him, from what you can tell, since he doesn’t say anything when he stops by the sofa. He stands there longer than you expect, and you’re not entirely sure what he’s doing. After a time, he says your name; this time, it’s soft, gentle. The desire lacing it before is nowhere to be heard; instead, it’s said like one would when rousing someone from slumber. He says it again, paired with a hesitant hand brushing against your arm. You can’t stop the thought that shoots rapid fire from your mind about—

He says it a third time, and you figure now is as good a time as any to pretend to wake up. You shift and stretch slightly, making a sleepy-sounding noise for effect. He pulls his hand away quickly, something that has you a little disappointed. You lay still for a few moments, acting as if his attempts hadn’t quite worked. His hand returns, and so does him saying your name. This time, you yawn lazily, stretching properly and blinking slowly. Again, his hand is gone in an instant. You furrow your brow, acting confused, then slowly turn your face towards the mayor’s.

“Good morning,” he jokes good-naturedly. “Someone sure was tired.”

His smile is soft, and it makes your heart flutter. That being said, if you weren’t blushing already, being caught sleeping on the job would have you flushed with embarrassment. “M-mayor Damien!” You sit up quickly. “I’m so sorry—”

He chuckles quietly. “It’s quite alright, you don’t need to apologize. Just an unexpected surprise to find the help sleeping on my sofa, that’s all.”

You glance away, contrite. “I-I meant to only rest for a little while, then finish my work. It won’t happen again.”

He waves his hand as if dismissing it. “It wasn’t a problem. I don’t mind if you need some extra rest while you’re here. You’re very hardworking, and you deserve it.”

You blink up at him. You’ve never had an employer say things like this before. “Thank you, sir.”

“It’s no problem at all.” He looks over at the clock. “You’re free to leave, if you’d like. Your shift usually ends around this time, yes?”

Your eyes follow his, widening when you see the time. You practically jump up, grabbing blindly for your duster, suddenly remembering every task you have remaining. “Y-yes, but I haven’t finished—”

“It’s fine.” His tone is still gentle, but there’s an undercurrent of authority that makes you stop. “The next shift can take care of it. My office hardly gets as dusty and dirty to need such constant cleaning.”

Your mind is wandering again to places it shouldn’t. You glance around the room, both to clear your thoughts and also to take in the state of it. He is right; it’s quite clean today. “Alright. Thank you, sir.”

“You are welcome, my dear.” You swear you see a flash in his eyes, something similar to the day you first met him. “Take care.”

“Th-thank you, sir.” You bow your head and walk to the door. Your gaze catches on the trash bin. It was empty earlier. Now there’s—

You snap your attention in front of you, turning the handle perhaps a mite too fast. You chance a look when you shut the door; and while his expression changes in an instant, you catch an unmistakable glimpse of something...almost hungry, completely uncharacteristic from what you’ve seen from him. Something only barely seen in those flashes. You quickly leave without another word.

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I don’t play WoW but I used to play Overwatch and Diablo and this touches on just the general issues that are inside of Activision Blizzard right now regarding the major decline of World of Warcraft and how they’re losing to Final Fantasy XIV, how if the latest WoW expansion or Overwatch 2 flop as they’re projected to do then Blizzard’s most definitely going to pivot almost entirely to mobile games, and how the differences in age demographics are actually dividing the company into multiple camps.

It’s important to note two things: 1) this could be fake but also 2) the link came from Grummz, a former team lead on WoW and producer on Diablo II and Starcraft. It still could be fake despite this, but if he’s sharing it then I feel like there’s at least some measure of truth in this.

Transcription below in case this gets deleted and/or you don’t wanna click the link. Warning, it’s fairly long.

“I’m dropping this here after getting chewed out for three hours over shit the chewee did at work so fuck it. Assume larp and let me vent.”

>Shadowlands is a shitshow. Critical response, Player drop off and just about every engagement metric outside of cash shop have been catastrophic. No higher up expected this because of their “we are too big to fail, if we built it they will come” mentality. They refuse to accept their focus on the world being a begrudged mechanic to funnel players to raiding is not appealing to the player base at large because it appeals to them. They have spent the last 4 months trying to course correct but there is no solid direction and the response to 9.1 has only made things worse.

>Sylvanas is planned to replace the Arbiter despite so many people in the company and god knows how many online saying this would be a total replication of Kerrigans storyline in Starcraft 2 that killed none competitive interest in the brand entirely and you can only go “no, no they WILL like it eventually” for so many real world years before its time to change course. Thus far that has not happened.

>The elephant in the room is FFXIV. To the people in charge they are acting like this came out of nowhere and don’t even seem to understand why its drawing players away in their tens of thousands. We have all tried to highlight things it is doing that are clearly appealing to an mmo audience and not, in my opinion, focussing more on mobile game style retention traps to keep MAU users and habit forming personalities logging in. Its not that they don’t care. They just seem so pig headed and digging their heels in with their fingers in their ears thinking all the problems will go away because WoW is “too big to fail”, there will never be real competition and “they will keep coming back”. But they aren’t coming back anymore. Not in the numbers they used to.

>The people making the spending choices know this. The new model for WoW is market the hell out of a expansion pack for a huge quarter then use 6 month lock ins to pad numbers for the quarters after that. Even if corona had not happened 9.1 still would have been dropping after the initial 6 month subs expired to “keep the chain holding”.

>The mood in the company is tense but also very much “its just a rough transition period”. Activision has been pushing hard for Blizzard to release more regular product and to generate more income per user. As far as i know this is going to be a transition over the next 5 years to a much larger mobile/tablet gaming focus. By all accounts not just WoW but Overwatch was intended to be the moneymaker in the interim but once again someone had the bright idea to kill a game casual players loved on the alter of e-sports hoping for another Brood War. From what i hear the “told you so’s” were loud and a lot of people walked beyond Kaplan.

>The sentiment that was shared quietly in private but being spoken more often is simply that the leadership at Blizzard are not bad people, nor incompetent people but people who had to fill seats left when the old guard jumped ship wether they were suited for it or not. Brack is a genuinely good man out of his depth, Ion is a fantastic raid designer put in charge of designing a virtual world he has no interest or real ideas for and so on. They have been taking form the roles they excel at to be put in positions where they get to do far less of that purely because there is nobody left with the experience to do so and the trickle down is a lack of concrete direction, ambition and focus.

>2021 has seen the playerbase, media and gaming at large “turn” on WoW to a degree i don’t think the leads in their “positivity dojo” bubble considered possible. Its gone from people going “This is how Blizz needs to fix WoW!” to “WoW is no longer salvageable, time for greener pastures” and i think on some level this was never considered as a possibility so there have never been any major plans beyond the usual “try and minimise player drop off by arranging releases around competitors launching updates/products”. The official forums being filled with talk of FFXIV and worse “why do we actually pay a sub?” hasn’t helped.

>There have been some testing the waters lately from certain higher ups if we can remove the line “No King Rules Forever”. Read into that what you will.

>There are still arguments going on about the Kael’thas Voice actor shitshow. I don’t know much about it but i know its heated, wouldn’t be the first time a knee jerk reaction only seemed to generate bad press. We lost a noticeable amount of pvp engagement after the Swifty thing.

>The Preach interview was treated as a disaster and there was talk of more strongly vetting interviewers for “bad actors” and only engaging with a list of questions Blizzard provides. Some pointed out that could just be used to create some form of Fireside Chat akin to the FFXIV “Live letters” but that fell on deaf ears.

>The two sentiments right now among the team are either “we really need a win” or “theres a dedicated cabal of internet trolls out to kill WoW”. Right now we are crunching hard to get 9.2 ready to wrap up the jailors storyline so we can get an expansion out early 2022. If that doesn’t happen there are talks of major shakeups coming down from Activision that have been threatened for a few  years now. Its an all hands on deck feeling thats been around to some degree since the “Is this an out of season April Fools Joke” Blizzcon. A make or break deadline is coming closer and things like Diablo 4 were not planned before then. Blizzard needs a significant win not just in initial profit but consumer goodwill. Nobody likes working at what the public now seems to see as “the bad guy” of the mmo industry.

>This has also made new hires decline. Not significantly but the “you WANT Blizzard on your resume” line doesn’t seem to have the appeal it used to. This has lead to more hiring via friend of a friend, to some rumblings about nepotism, and people severely lacking in experience “because they get great twitter optics”.

>On the topic of Twitter we are not being told to “disengage” from it. Multiple employees like Nervig and Holisky publicly attacking paying customers because they got too heated and couldn’t keep quiet is bad press that could have been avoided. A email reminder has gone around more than once lately stating “if you are not customer relations you should not be representing the company to customers, especially if you cannot remain professional”.

>Lastly the biggest elephant in the room is “yo’ boy” Asmongold. The newer hires cannot stand him. They have used terms like “toxic masculinity” and “dogwhistles to dangerous males” while some of the oldest crowd still remaining have called him “based” or “telling it like it is” which has lead to friction to put it mildly. People are told not to talk about him and the recent FFXIV stuff only made it all worse. The idea that an outside element can have such an effect on the product genuinely upsets people. Like Zach is engaging in some malicious act of cyberwarfare. Many of us have point out the now famous quotes by Naoki Yoshida about understanding that players will drift and we need to make something worth coming back to because they want to but some people for lack of a better word see out customers -or “consumers” as they refer to them nowadays- as some kind of antagonistic relationship where the goal is not being an entertainer putting on a show for a crowd but some kind of game hunter trying to trap a large, profitable kill. I wish i could blame Activision but this is a sentiment from more of the younger crowd than the “tech boomers”. Which personal opinion is probably why so many folks like Metzen and Morheim left.

>Before you ask, yes the topic of “wokeness” has shown up in group talks. Its not all some grand sjw conspiracy, people really do want to feel welcome and represented. However the “we need everything veto’ed by people not working on it to see if its inoffensive and bland enough” rubs some of us the wrong way. Like anything in life you can take something too far and lose sight of the core ideals and with everything gone on since Blitzchung it feels like people are forming little factions to pull people in different directions to decide “What Blizzards identity is now” and how to appeal to new players. There has been some drop offs with “go woke go broke” as the only answer in the survey when unsubbing but honestly we are losing subs in unforseen numbers anyway and still making more money than ever through cash shop “heavy users” so it honestly doesn’t make an impact.

>All in all things are rough right now. Blizzard doesn’t have the love of the customers anymore, is no longer treated as an industry giant and while D4,D2R and Immortal aren’t going to kill Diablo even if they fail the sentiment for World of Warcraft and Overwatch 2 are a lot more tense and stressful. The phrase “it might be good to brush up on your mobile development portfolio if we get another underperformer” has been doing the rounds a lot. If Shadowlands continues its stark decline and Overwatch 2 is looking to underperform like its current projections suggest i think the Blizzard of a few years from now will be imitating King a lot more than trying to learn any lessons from Square Enix’s mmo division.

[another-snape-story]

Halloween

Chapter XIV

“Are you all right?” Snape asked, peering intently into your face. It lost its usual liveliness, and your thoughts seemed to dwell far away from the festively decorated Hall you anticipated to see so much, from overall excitement, from him.

“Yes,” you gave him the same forced smile as earlier this morning, and Snape’s heart sank. Something happened in a couple of hours he hasn’t seen you during the day. That damned envelope he himself passed into your hands should be the reason, he thought. This was the only possible explanation. He didn’t expect you’d open up to him, but it would be a lie if he said he didn’t cherish a tiny bit of hope.

Eyes full of concern, he desperately tried to find right words to express his readiness to help you whatever has happened, to assure you were not alone, but at the same time – surrounded by your other colleagues – not to make this matter public, moreover he had no idea what it was all about.

“Why aren’t you helping yourself?” deprived of opportunity to sit beside, Aurora Sinistra spoke to you from the other side of the table. “These profiteroles are delicious!”

Annoyed with unfavorable intrusion, Snape leaned back on his chair, fists clenched.

“I’ll try some,” you answered politely and reluctantly reached out for the dish to put one on your plate. Snape watched you with increasing anxiety.

“Where’s Quirrell?” you questioned, hoping to divert his attention.  Estranging yourself from the man you were thankful to come into your life felt so terribly wrong, but you were not ready to tell what bothered you – neither him, nor anyone else.

This very moment Professor Quirrell appeared in the doorway and rushed through the Hall right to Headmaster’s chair.

“Troll! Troll in the dungeons!” he gasped short of breath and – unconscious – swooned to the floor.

Astounded, you turned to Snape. Deep in thought, his eyes wandered the room. Meanwhile, Headmaster Dumbledore called agitated students for order. Prefects started gathering children of their Houses to escort them back to the dormitories. Professor Sprout was trying to bring Quirinus to his senses.

“The stone!” you startled up.

“Stay here!” Snape ordered heading for the exit.

“No!” you followed him.

He grabbed your shoulders. “Stay here! And please – be careful!”

“And you? What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he stole the last glance from you, and what he saw made his heart leap. You truly worried about him! Merlin, how could this be? The corners of his mouth formed a barely perceptible smile. “Be careful…”

He left you standing in the middle of the throng, lost and confused. You shouldn’t have let him go alone. What he was up to? You felt uncomfortable not knowing if he was all right. With this came realization he was the only one here you really cared for.

“The troll’s heading upstairs!” you heard someone’s desperate scream.

Holding your wand ready, with a resolute step you set off to catch that stupid mountain of flesh. Professor McGonagall ran after you.

Muted hammering sounds got more audible the closer you approached the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, and disgusting smell proved you were going in the right direction.

“Snape’s going to miss everything.” Once this thought crossed your mind, a tall black figure streaked from around the corner, causing a powerful wash of relief sweep over your body, giving you strength and determination to move further. Snape lined up with you and joined you on your way. It wasn’t the best time for questions. The troll raged; his chilling roar echoed through the corridor. You heard a loud bang and silence fell all at once. Stopped in your tracks – so strange and unexpected it was – you and Snape exchanged anxious glances and hurried as fast as you could, praying none of the students was hurt.

Professor McGonagall managed to outstrip you. She was the first to burst into the room. Snape protectively held you back, shielding you from whatever might’ve been inside. Suddenly, Quirrell, who vanished again as soon as all this bustle started, emerged out of nowhere, pushing his course through the doorway. Why he followed suit remained a mystery – the man looked like fainting again.

A huge stinky mass of the troll lay on the floor, motionless. It didn’t seem to bear any kind of danger anymore. Snape bent over the troll to make sure. The way he moved set you alert. Hard to say, what exactly drew your attention, but something certainly was different.

In the interim, Professor McGonagall blasted three young Gryffindors, who – to your surprise and terror – happened to be Harry Potter himself and his friends: showing little effort in studying Ron Weasley and nosy know-it-all Hermione Granger. How could these first-years expect to defeat a troll without having neither defensive nor fighting spells in store of their knowledge? It was pure luck they weren’t injured!

“You said you had a special gift with trolls, Quirinus?” you addressed him coldly.

The man flinched at the sound of his name.

“Why didn’t you stop him right there – in the dungeons?”

“I – j-just –” words seemed to stuck in his throat.

“And what were you doing there?”

Snape approached you, supposing you’d step back, but driven by anger and resentment you had no intention to stop this conversation. Snape on the other hand was determined to put an end to it. He made another step towards you, and another one – until his chest was pressed against your shoulder. Blocking your view with his tall figure, Snape almost pushed you out in the corridor.

Before leaving the room, he threw a condemning glance at your suspicious colleague.

“What the – ” you frowned. “I had more questions to this scoundrel!”

“I know,” he hushed you. “Not now.”

“When then?” you croaked.

“And not you,” he stated firmly.

“Am I suspended?” his words outraged you. “Why not me?”

If Quirrell was implicated in the Dark Lord’s matters, Snape had to keep you away from this. Quirrell should see not a slightest hint of danger in your words or actions, moreover – consider you his enemy.

“Just trust me, okay?” he stopped, and you turned to face him – it felt natural to do so. These eyes never betrayed you. You nodded, given in, and sighed:

“Okay…”

You continued your way in silence.

“Are you limping?” coming around after this chaotic evening, you finally noticed your fellow Professor fall heavily on the right leg.

“I’m fine. Stumbled on the stairs,” he explained indifferently.

Now it was your turn to stop.

“What?” Snape spun around to see the reason of your sudden holdup.

Arms crossed on your chest, you stood still, your lips pursed in a disapproving curve.

“How can I trust you, if you don’t find it necessary to tell me what happened in that short time you were absent! Where have you been, huh?”

“Neither do you want to tell me about the letter you received this morning and why it bothers you so much!” he spat back. “Correct me – if – I’m – wrong.”  

His words stroke you dumb. Chasing the troll, you forgot about your troubles for a while; to be reminded of them in such a rude, offhanded manner was heartbreaking. You couldn’t say what hurt you more – revived awareness of the news you received, or cold demeanor of the man you needed to be beside in this distressing moment. You felt a lump rise up to your throat and swallowed hard.

“This letter is a private issue and therefore concerns only me,” your voice creaked. “But recent events have to do with the whole school.” Holding back tears, you made a pause to pull yourself together and stung him with his own words. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Snape got used to you to that extent he started considering you a part of his reality so indefeasible, completely neglecting the fact you had your own reality, where his place might be of much lesser importance. Clearly, you didn’t owe him a thing, and could keep your secrets to yourself. He should’ve realized it. Of course, he should. Blaming you for that was inacceptable and tremendously selfish. Constant strain of nerve costed Snape the loss of self-control. Being too protective of you, he violated the boundaries and severely regretted it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but there was nothing he could say to atone his fault.

You shook your head in downright disappointment and shoot past him in the darkness of the passage.

“Wait!” Snape jolted, “I didn’t mean to –” He limped a few steps after you, but – his leg searing with pain each time he moved – couldn’t catch up with your speed. “Ugh, damn it!” he stretched out his hand to lean against the wall. He had to do something with this first.

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[mythandlaur]

A Change in the Weather

[AO3]

Fandom: Terraria Pairing: Guide/Dryad Rating: Gen WC: 2945

Description: Another cycle has come and gone, but in the interim, a friend appears to offer comfort and show the Guide something that may indicate change is near. (References to 1.4 spoilers.)

With a twang of his bowstring, another flying fish fell from the sky, its remains quickly absorbed back into the earth leaving nothing but a few scattered coins behind.

A brief scan of the sky revealed no more of the creatures in the immediate vicinity, and the Guide turned to continue walking down the hill, not bothering to retrieve his arrow--he’d always have more when he needed them, anyway. One of the few perks.

It was times like these that he wished he had something more to do in the cycle’s dull periods than idle target practice. He didn’t mind the aimless wandering, of course, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it after all this time, but he tended to get restless after a cycle’s end, especially an end like this one. He couldn’t ever be sure how much of that restlessness was his.

The rain was beginning to come down harder, now, the wind picking up, forcing Guide to take refuge under a tree. Perhaps not the best idea, if the thunder in the distance was any indication, but the worst that could happen would be him getting fried by lightning, which would be more of a nice change of pace than anything else. His shirt clung to his skin, his drenched hair fell in his face, and he had no doubt that the pitiful ring of flowers on his head was rapidly disintegrating--but even so, the rain didn’t bother him. It was a bit of a comfort, even.

Things didn’t burn as easily in the rain.

And besides, Guide was quite used to being out in the thick of it without a refuge, whether that was due to his own wanderings or a particularly mean-spirited hero who would either never give him anywhere to live or fill his entire living quarters with a thin layer of lava (really, he knew--or at least hoped--it was a coincidence, but it was one he’d prefer not to deal with more than he already had to, given the apparent love of hackey-sack he could only assume by now that most demons possessed.)

He let himself slide down the trunk of the tree until he was sitting in the mud, casting his bow off beside him and pulling off his glasses in a pitiful attempt to clean them on his soaked shirt. While the rain wasn’t a problem, the thunder in the distance and the growing wind was a bit of a concern--he hadn’t seen it storming like this in quite some time. He could try and head back the way he came, towards the little village he’d just departed, but he wasn’t certain if getting caught in a thunderstorm was better or worse than the looks he’d get and the amount of questions he’d have to give half-baked answers to.

No, on second thought, the thunderstorm was by far the better option.

Guide closed his eyes and prepared to settle in for the afternoon--not to sleep, of course, but to enjoy the sound of the rain from the refuge of the tree, the moisture under his hands, the sweet smell of life in the air. There was a comforting familiarity to it that brought to mind fonder memories, and he idly reached up a hand, almost afraid to touch the garland that sat there for fear it had dissolved.

To his surprise, not only was the garland still there, but as he touched it, the stem of one of the flowers messily sticking out from it spontaneously curled around his finger.

Guide blinked his eyes open, squinting through the rain and standing up, one hand still on the garland. A rustling sounded from above him, and his gaze turned upwards, though the top of the tree was just an indistinct blob of green with his wet glasses still in his other hand.

“If you’re gonna attack me, be my guest,” he said to the leaves, opening his arms to his sides with a bemused smirk.

More rustling, and then--a mass of lighter green seemed to practically melt out of the leaves, forming a humanoid figure that landed in a crouch on the earth with the grace of a cat. Guide slipped his glasses back on as the figure stood, and even through the raindrop trails on the lenses, he could see green hair and clothes of leaves and vines.

Most dryads looked the same, but the even brighter green eyes of this one and the style of her hair and clothes left her unmistakable.

A wry smile replaced the smirk, and he held out his arms wider. “Offer’s still open, you know.”

Alalia scoffed, though a smile as light as a spring breeze touched the corners of her lips as she shook her head. “No, no. We’ve already been through that, remember?”

“Listen, I’ve got a lot of things on my mind. You expect me to remember one dryad trying to kill me--oh, wait.” A hand went playfully to his chin, and Alalia laughed. As soft as it was, the sound alone seemed to cause all the weight and tension to drop out of his shoulders, and he couldn’t help but laugh in turn.

“Should you be out in this weather?” Alalia asked, once she’d collected herself. A tone of amusement still sang under her words. “I spoke to my sister from your hero’s village--she said you were faring well. Shouldn’t you…”

She trailed off, likely noticing all of the mirth fall off of his face. “Yeah, about that…” Guide’s gaze pointedly dropped to the ground, and he could see Alalia cringe out of the corner of his eye. He let out a heavy sigh. “Last night. Even managed to warn this one, but, you know...summoners.” The unspoken truth hung in the air for a few moments, even the sound of the rain gaining a more solemn edge. Guide glanced up and tried to force a signature smirk. “Couldn’t have waited a few more hours, huh? Inconsiderate.”

Alalia’s brows knit in concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess.” At her reproachful gaze, he relented. “Been better. This one died quick, at least.”

“Yes...at least…”

She trailed off. The thick, humid air between them was suddenly much less comforting, seeming to collect in his mouth to choke him as he avoided her gaze. He hated this. He hated having to keep telling her this. He hated having to go through cycle after cycle with nothing changing, always ending the same way, and him always stupidly having some spark of hope that things would be different this time around.

Honestly, he was surprised that it hadn’t squashed all the hope and humanity he had left out of him yet.

Alalia’s gentle touch to his wrist brought him out of his spiraling thoughts, and Guide looked up. Her eyes were full of concern. “Do you want to stay out here in the rain?”

Guide opened his mouth to wave off her concerns, probably with a cheeky quip, but a flicker of lightning and the low rumble of thunder immediately after made him reconsider. “...You know what, actually, nah, I’d rather not go back to being dead so fast.”

“Good.” The tight edges of her expression softened ever so slightly as her hand gripped his. “I had something to show you, anyway. You will be interested.”

The little cave entrance was as good a shelter as any, and truthfully, Guide felt a lot safer with a spirit of Terraria itself guarding him from whatever wayward creatures might appear at the opening. He sat with his back against the wall, Alalia beside him, the flickering light of a torch he’d affixed to the dirt above illuminating their refuge even as the clouds outside made it nearly dark as night.

“...Can’t remember the last time it stormed this bad,” Guide observed, still trying ineffectively to dry off his glasses. “I mean, can’t say I pay a whole lot of attention to the rain, anymore, but…”

“No, you’re right.” Alalia was turned away from him, knees curled up to her chest as she stared intently out of the cave. For a while, she didn’t elaborate, letting her statement be punctuated only by the now near-constant grumble of the sky. “...There has been a change.”

“A change?” Guide puts his glasses back on and sits up straighter. “I--we would’ve noticed something.”

“Not a large one. Not one that would have affected...it, much less you. But the world is always shifting, however slightly.” Alalia turns back to him. “Or perhaps this shift did affect it. I wanted you to take a look at something.”

“Looking at things is, quite literally, my job.”

She gave a quiet snort, and pulled out, seemingly from nowhere, a small glass jar, holding it out towards him without another word. He leaned in for a better look at the contents, squinting through the raindrops still stubbornly resting on his glasses. A leaf from a jungle tree, still budding with moisture, had been placed carefully on the bottom of the jar. On top of that was sprinkled a few blades of what he recognized as wilted Hallowed grass, and on top of that…He didn’t immediately recognize the creature. It would be easy to mistake for a common butterfly, were it not for the brilliant, vivid colors that still shone along its body and pearlescent wings, seeming to glow with a multicolored light of its own even though the creature was clearly dead.

Alalia nudged the jar closer to him, and he reached out to rest a hand against it. His eyebrows shot up as the world’s knowledge flowed through him. “A prismatic lacewing…”

“As I thought.” Alalia gave the jar and the creature within a sad smile. “The fae queen’s favorite.”

“But how?” Guide took his hand from the jar, turning his gaze back to Alalia. “No one’s seen one of these things in...well.”

“One of my sisters told me. A very small patch of Hallow reappeared at the edge of one of the jungles, clearly trying to regrow. We are not sure why. Errant souls, perhaps?” She closed her eyes and sighed. “It...did not last long, of course. It was only a few pixies and this poor creature. It died when the Hallow faded. I wanted you to see it before I returned it to the earth, since…”

She trailed off, but the implication was a heavy weight in the air. If the Hallow were to ever exist again, it would be in a world where he was well and truly dead.

“...It’s beautiful,” he managed. “I wish I could’ve seen it alive.”

“I do, too.”

Alalia offered him the jar again, and he took it in both hands, setting it in his lap and peering down at it. There was a certain roiling that grew in the pit of his stomach upon looking at a Hallowed creature, something he desperately swallowed down because he knew the feeling wasn’t his. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, made a concerted effort to relax and force the feeling back down his throat.

The creature was beautiful, regardless of its origins. He would stand by that. It was his opinion, and his alone that mattered.

Guide opened his eyes again, only to see Alalia staring at the ground with an air of melancholy about her. He glanced over in her direction, waiting for her to say something. If she wanted to, she would.

“...Do you know anything about the fae queen,” she asked, eventually. “I was very young when the Hallow vanished.”

“The Empress.” He pursed his lips, wracking his brain. “...You know I don’t remember a whole lot about...before.” Before the seal. Before the cycles. Before his role. Before it. Even his name from back then had been long lost. Perhaps that was for the best. “But I have read some things. They say she was a tyrant…”

“You know how they speak of all things Hallowed.”

“It wasn’t good, Layli. I mean--it was good. But it was too much.” His shoulders slumped, and his gaze dropped back to the butterfly. “You know about the things in the dark, but...too much light can blind a person. There’s gotta be balance.”

“I know. I just...suppose I wish that were not the way of things, at times.”

“I wish I could pretend sometimes, too. I’d be over the moon--” A brief grimace of pain crossed his face. “--okay, poor choice of words. I’d be thrilled if the world didn’t have any dark in it. Of course I would. But…”

“...it is not something someone in your position can choose to ignore,” Alalia finished.

Guide nodded. “I don’t know why they did it. Sealed the whole thing away. But...I’ve gotta believe there was a reason. I can’t not believe there was a reason.”

Alalia bit her lip, crossing her legs under her. Guide just watched the butterfly, as if it would start moving again if he stared at it long enough. They were quickly swallowed by the sound of the rain and thunder, seeming to wrap around them in a thick blanket.

“...Do you think she is...alive? The Empress? That she has not been...consumed?”

“I don’t want to ask.”

“Then don’t ask.” She watched him with a sudden, acute intensity that never failed to bring a warmth to his face. “What do you think?”

“...I think…” It took him a moment. “...I think if it couldn’t get rid of the dark souls, it couldn’t get rid of the light ones, either. From what I know, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Maybe you’ll see her again.” And hopefully you won’t regret it.

“Yes, perhaps…” There was a slight sadness to her tone that eluded him, and she turned to stare out the cave entrance again. Another silence. Another slow, languid roll of thunder. And then; “Since when did you make flower crowns?”

Guide jolted, a bit taken aback as his hand flew to his head. He’d nearly forgotten about that. “I--uh--there’ve been a lot more flowers around lately. I needed something to do, and it, uh…” He ducked his head, suddenly unable to look directly at her. “...it made me feel better. About the whole thing.” Because it made me think of you.

When he dared to glance up, she was smiling gently at him, though there was a look in her eyes all the knowledge of the world can’t help him place. “It is a mess,” she chuckled.

“Not all of us can just grow them,” he pouted.

She reached over and plucked the garland off his head, ignoring his whine of protest and setting it down on the ground in front of them. It did look rough, now that he could see it. “I will help you make another once the storm is through.”

“I’d like that.”

They lapsed into silence once more. The thunder was growing more distant, the rain less intense, though the sky was still dark, and truthfully, Guide didn’t particularly feel like getting up and heading back out there. Even if he’d just come back to life, he was still utterly exhausted, and the gentler sound of the rain was soothing. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the dirt wall. He’d gotten very good at just drifting without actually sleeping. Sleeping was too dangerous. But it was so tempting…

It took him a moment to realize he’d rolled his head to the side so it was resting on Alalia’s shoulder. Guide abruptly sat up straight, scooting away from the dryad down the wall. She immediately turned to stare at him in puzzlement as his face heated up again.

“Guide.” Her voice was stern. “When was the last time you slept.”

“Last night. I was dead.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“You know how it is.” The lord of eternal nightmares was no easy curse to bear. Truthfully, he’d slept a few nights ago, unable to resist the call of a bed this hero had generously given him--and apparently, he’d gotten up in his sleep, walked out the front door, and started mowing down zombies with hellfire arrows, which was concerning on a number of levels. He hadn’t known it could do that.

It was getting stronger. Or perhaps he was finally getting weaker. It had taken long enough, he supposed.

Alalia reached out her arm towards him, the look on her face leaving no room for argument. Face still burning, he moved over to her--and as soon as he was within her reach, she wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him in so his head was resting on her shoulder. She smelled of flowers and earth and the world after rain. He thought he might drown in it.

“Rest,” she insisted, reaching up to pluck his glasses off his face. “You are safe.”

They both knew that wasn’t true. But he appreciated the sentiment.

He closed his eyes and relaxed against her, still clutching the lacewing jar in his hands. His body felt like it weighed a ton, and even though he was reluctant, the pull of sleep was too strong.

His dreams were the same as ever; flickers of fire and rage and screaming, blurry flashes of things that were wrong and awful and not meant for his waking mind to know. But even when primal fear gripped him, its hold and the images that came with it always quickly melted away, into the sound of pattering rain and the smell of petrichor.

[prairiesongserial]

11.5

No sooner had Rhea left Cody on the ferry than a courier was whisking him off it again, leading him down a long wooden dock and to the front doors of the Bellamy Mansion. It was a large place, easily as large as La Salle Rouge or the Waters mansion had been, but nowhere near as sleek. The mansion’s facade was made of crumbling black stone and infested with fuzzy vines that crept up along its sides like the veins of a living thing. Two statues made of copper green with age flanked its entrance; humanoid, but missing heads and arms. Cody spared them a look as he passed - they were submerged in water nearly to the knees, but he could tell that they were identical sculptures of a woman. Maybe Rhea, though there was no way to tell for sure.

The inside of the mansion smelled like must and swamp water. It was just as humid inside as it was everywhere else in Everglades City, and Cody could feel himself already sweating through his clothes. The carpet of the mansion’s main hall made squelching sounds underfoot as Cody trudged inside, and he was barely surprised to find that it was waterlogged, at least around the entryway. The water outside came right up to the bottom of the front door, lapping at the entrance as though begging to be let in. The foundation of the house, Cody assumed, had been underwater for a long time.

The heavy front door slammed behind him. Cody looked around to see that the Bellamy courier who had brought him there had already run off to some other errand, their crisp white shirt and red vest vanishing around a corner. He was alone in the entryway.

“You,” a gruff voice said from above him, immediately proving him wrong. “You’re the new courier?”

Cody looked up, startled, his eyes darting about for the source of the voice. Eventually, his gaze landed on a woman leaning over the railing of a second-floor landing, at the top of the grand staircase at the far end of the main hall. She was tall and lean - but muscular, Cody noted, as he began to walk towards the staircase. She held herself tensely, in a way that reminded Cody of Sailor, and she had unruly hair that fell around her face in waves. It was distinctly silvery, though she looked too young to have already gone gray. Maybe a mutation.

“I asked you a question,” the woman said, eyeing Cody with sharp, dark eyes as he neared the stairs. She shifted in place, her suit jacket pulling back to reveal a gun holstered at her hip.

“Yeah, I’m the new courier,” Cody said, hastily. “Cody Allison. I was sent here to meet, uh...Madeline?”

The woman nodded, her expression and posture unchanging as Cody climbed the stairs to join her on the second floor landing. She regarded him with her piercing gaze, so intense that Cody almost flinched away from it, then stiffly offered him her hand.

“Fleetwood Mercer,” she said. “Madeline’s bodyguard.”

“Charmed,” Cody said flatly, and shook Fleetwood’s hand. It was rough with callouses, and her grip was strong, almost too strong.

“Madeline will want you in better clothes,” Fleetwood said, beginning to walk the instant she’d dropped Cody’s hand. Cody had to struggle to keep pace with her - she took long-legged, purposeful strides, and seemed to know exactly where she was going, leading him deep into the dimly-lit halls of the Bellamy mansion. The hallways twisted and turned, leaving Cody with the impression that they were walking in circles, but Fleetwood never faltered for an instant.

“As her interim courier, you’ll be expected to shadow Madeline and deliver any messages she needs sent,” she continued, never once pausing for breath. “You’ll be treated as a representative of the Bellamy family. Anything you do reflects on Madeline and her mother. Do you understand?”

Cody nodded. He knew a threat when he heard one. Even if Rhea had said she wouldn’t turn him or his friends in to Hemisphere, the promise of a wealthy businesswoman didn’t mean much. She could make his life very hard. Still, it wouldn’t be a problem. Cody wanted to get through this day without incident just as badly as he suspected the Bellamys did.

“Sure,” he said, getting the idea it was better to agree. At least being around Fleetwood was marginally better than being around Rhea - Fleetwood didn’t mince words, and she didn’t wear a Hemisphere insignia anywhere on her person. Not that Cody could see, anyway. “How big is this place, anyway? It’s like a maze.”

“It’s not that big,” Fleetwood said. The assertion was almost comical, as they turned down another hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. The floorboards of the second-floor hallways were mostly bare, and creaked underfoot, some protesting so loudly that Cody was afraid they might snap and send him plummeting to the first floor landing.

“What happened to your hand?” Fleetwood asked, after a prolonged silence.

“My - oh,” Cody said, reflexively curling the fingers of the hand in question. He had grown surprisingly used to his two missing fingers in the past months. The stumps still hurt with a phantom pain sometimes, but they’d healed nicely, with no sign of infection. He had adapted to new ways of holding things, to hanging onto his motorbike’s handlebars tighter and shifting his grip on his gun so it wouldn’t slip out of his hand.

“I owed money to a gang,” he said, boiling the story down to as few words as possible. “Their leader cut my fingers off when I didn’t pay him back fast enough.”

Fleetwood hummed thoughtfully. “Did you ever pay him back?”

“No,” Cody said, finally uncurling his fingers. “I killed him, actually.”

Fleetwood paused in her tracks, looking to Cody and sizing him up again. Her gaze was more intense than it had been before, her lips pursed in a tight line. Then, finally, she nodded and began to walk again.

“Good for you,” she said.

Several more hallways and another flight of stairs later, they arrived at what appeared to be Madeline Bellamy’s room. From what Cody could tell, it was more of a small apartment nestled into the third floor of the mansion. The door opened into a small lounge area, which opened up into a small kitchenette and a hall that led back to - Cody assumed - Madeline’s actual bedroom.

“Wait here,” Fleetwood told him, pointing at one of the couches in the lounge. Once Cody sat down on it, she nodded approvingly and disappeared down the hall.

Cody crossed one leg over the other where he sat, bouncing his foot and idly considering snooping around. It didn’t seem like he would find anything worthwhile in the apartment. Besides, the chattering voices down the hall, now muted by Madeline’s bedroom door, threatened to rejoin Cody at any moment. They did so shortly, Fleetwood and Madelines’s approach announced by the sound of footsteps.

“So you’re the new courier,” a woman who only could have been Madeline Bellamy said, smiling brightly at Cody as she entered the lounge. She was surprisingly young - Cody guessed she was his age, if not slightly younger - and wore her dark hair pinned tightly to the back of her head, to create the illusion of a slightly wavy pixie cut. She was outfitted in a bright yellow dress, with a blue-and-white striped kerchief tied at a jaunty angle around her neck.

“His name’s Cody,” Fleetwood supplied, looming just behind Madeline.

“Oh, I know,” Madeline said, brightly. “I’ve seen his wanted poster. But he’s much more handsome in person, don’t you think?”

Fleetwood made a noncommittal noise, as Cody stood awkwardly from the couch. Surprisingly, he was feeling less out of his depth than he had before. Madeline’s style of dress and the flighty way she spoke reminded him eerily of Marc, and gave him sudden confidence that he could handle this. Hopefully Madeline wasn’t as adept at getting into firefights as Marc had been.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” he offered, giving Madeline as much of a smile as he could manage, and offering her his hand. She stared at it for a moment as though unsure of what to do with it, then finally shook it limply, smiling with such enthusiasm that it almost made up for what had to be the worst handshake Cody had ever received.

“Enchanté, Cody,” she said, at last releasing his hand. “Fleetwood, would you be a dear and see if you can find a courier’s uniform in his size? There should be some spares downstairs, in the costume shop.”

“I’m not your butler,” Fleetwood said, with a tone that indicated they’d had this discussion many times before.

“And I’m not saying that you are,” Madeline said. “But Cody and I will go and feed the guard dogs while you’re gone, and this way you won’t have to come with us. We’ll meet you at the costume shop afterwards.”

She batted her eyelashes at Fleetwood - who, Cody noticed, had grimaced at the mention of the guard dogs. Having only just recently met a dog for the first time himself, he supposed he could understand being afraid of them, if you didn’t have much experience.

“Fine,” Fleetwood said. “But be careful.”

“We’ll be fine,” Madeline said with a tittering little laugh. She linked her arm with Cody’s, fairly abruptly, and began tugging him towards the door. “Come on, Cody, let’s go and feed the dogs. I’m sure they’re famished. I’m famished, actually. Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Cody said, wondering if this was what John felt like all the time. Did he talk this much?

“Well, I haven’t. And it will be lunchtime by the time we’re done finding you a uniform, so we may as well plan on having lunch after that,” Madeline said. She was leading him back down the hall, towards an odd set of double doors Cody didn’t remember passing before. She stopped in front of them, and pressed a button set into a brass panel in the wall, tapping her foot against the floorboards as she waited for something - Cody didn’t know what - to happen.

Finally, the double doors slid open on their own, the sound of screeching metal making Cody’s skin crawl. The doors revealed some kind of empty closet - or a bare, box-shaped room. Madeline dragged Cody inside, and pressed another button on the inside wall, jamming it impatiently with a manicured finger.

“What are we -” Cody began, but never had the chance to finish, because the double doors were sliding shut, and suddenly the closet was moving.

Cody could feel the closet sinking towards the ground, the whole thing wobbling ever so slightly as it did so, and decided instantly that he hated it. There were muffled sounds of metal creaking and groaning all around him, and Cody would have been convinced that they were about to plummet through the foundation of the estate and plunge into the swamp to drown if Madeline hadn’t been so obviously nonchalant about the entire thing.

“You’ve never been on an elevator before!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she turned to him and saw whatever expression Cody must have been wearing.

“Is that what it is?” Cody asked, feeling vaguely seasick. He resolved to ask Enis more about elevators, when he finally got back to the circus. Enis would probably know how they worked. He had known about the special cameras, anyway.

“Yes!” Madeline said, with a laugh. “It goes between floors of the mansion. We’re going to the basement, and it’s much quicker than going down all those stairs. Isn’t it a wonderful contraption?”

“No,” Cody said bluntly, and almost felt a sense of satisfaction when he managed to startle another laugh out of Madeline. It wasn’t enough to distract from the churning in his stomach, though - he was sure they had to be below the water level around the mansion by now, but the elevator was still going down.

At last, the elevator shuddered to a halt and its doors opened again, onto a dark, cavernous room filled with the sound and smell of water. Cody stepped out hesitantly - he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find in the basement, but he was sure now that it was at least partially underwater. He couldn’t hear the sound of animals moving around in the dark anywhere. Only Madeline flitting about, presumably to find the light switch.

“You keep your guard dogs all the way down here?” he asked, sticking close to the elevator, not wanting to step in any water. In the dark, there was no way to tell where it was, or how deep.

“Well, they’re not really dogs,” Madeline said, sounding a little apologetic. “That’s just my nickname for them. Oh, hang on - there it is -”

There was a grating, metal-on-metal noise of a heavy switch being pulled, and overhead lights slowly began to flicker on in the basement. As they did so, gradually lighting up the room, Cody’s breath caught in his throat.

He had been right that the basement would have to be partially underwater, but he saw now that what Madeline had called a basement was more of a cave. The stone under his feet sloped gradually down, forming a sort of shore where the water had lapped up against it and worn it away over the years. Half of the room was taken up by swamp water, large rocks jutting out of it here and there. The lights didn’t reach to the other end of the basement, and it was hard to tell exactly how big it was - or if it simply went on underwater for miles. Cody didn’t really want to know.

“I know it’s not much, but it’s where they know to come and get fed,” Madeline said. She’d disappeared behind a privacy screen in one corner of the room - Cody could just vaguely see her silhouette, and was about to ask her what in the world she was doing, when something moved in his peripheral vision.

Cody snapped his head back towards the water. A lumpy form poking out from the surface that he’d initially thought was a rock was now gliding through the water. It was only when it clambered up onto a rock that he realized it was an animal - a big animal, longer than he was tall and covered in lumpy scales. Some kind of lizard, he realized. He’d seen lizards before, but never one this big. Never one with a snout the length of his arm, with sharp teeth that jutted out of it at all angles.

“What the fuck -” Cody managed, as Madeline reemerged from behind the privacy curtain, wearing a sleek, black wetsuit, her hair still neatly pinned in place. She gave him an odd look, crossing to the other corner of the room, where a few large storage containers were stacked.

“I thought the circus would’ve warned you,” she said, opening one of the containers and filling the room with the metallic smell of raw meat. “You’ve never seen a gator before?”

11.4 || 11.6

[pkmn-r-us]

Second Chances and A New Beginning

[[ The first true piece on this blog! I hope you all enjoy this! ]]

Summary: With Team Rocket gone and with nowhere to go, you can’t help but keep finding your way back to the old underground base. Reminiscing on this and that when a sudden, familiar voice calls your name.

It was to be expected, Team Rocket was in shambles by the time they put out the radio call for the leader to return. Alas, he did not come. Interim Archer had predicted it and conceded defeat, accepting their fate and simply disbanding the organization for good.

For some this was a blessing of freedom, for others they ran off to join other groups, a few here and there didn't waste time in integrating themselves back within society with proper jobs and a change of heart. The executives, too, had taken it rather well and went on their separate ways. Well, all but one.

Left with nothing else and nowhere to go with Rocket and everyone now gone for good, you would often come back to the underground building in Goldenrod. It was a habit, you were quiet and often shy, you were probably one of few who truly did enjoy Team Rocket. There were places to hide and no one really bothered you outside of some notices of

The friends and family you had made within its confines through the years. It was like leaving home for a second time, that same sense of sadness and uncertainty of being off on your own. You weren't bad with battling and being a trainer, but you weren't really the one for such competition to seek out that sort of lifestyle. Instead, you were rather happy when Team Rocket had offered you a little job, it was free of registration and offered all that a mere office job would provide, but with additional benefits like housing and clothes and plenty of meals.. Who could really say ‘no’ to that?

Even despite your prior knowledge of the organization and the dastardly deeds they would often commit.. you still joined, telling yourself that as long as you had the job of running papers back and forth that you were perfectly fine. You didn't.. really do anything terrible there.. like the others. You were just an errand grunt, after all!

But, now..

That sort of thinking was reaching its limit, weighing heavy on your shoulders, doing nothing to ease your conscience and mind. It had only been a couple of months by now, but to you it felt like far too long since you smelled the coffee and smoke of Rocket HQ halls.. The underground was still under reconstruction by the city board

You never really bothered to think of what you'd wanted to do with yourself or your life, just going along with the flow of things. Drifting around until you got to where you were.. and then now here. It never registered in your mind that there would ever be a time that Team rocket would truly be gone, but..

It became all too much, remembering overwhelmed you and soon you began to cry. Quietly tears began to stream down your face and the world became a smudge colorful mess around you with sunset hues of the evening sky. You were blind to the world in this moment of sorrow, unable to take notice of your surroundings nor really care of the occasional passerby.

Then a voice came.

At first you didn’t hear it through your crying, but as it got closer you lifted your head to look around. You wiped your eyes and blinked  to clear them of the tears enough to make out proper shapes and not just swirling colors. Then you realized.. that voice was familiar. You couldn’t mistake it-- couldn’t believe it!

Whipping around you were startled by the sudden close presence, stepping back a few with a gasp. This seemed to alarm the person in question as they reflexively held out their hands in a catching manner.

“Wh-whoa--! Sorry ‘bout that-- I-- um... H-hey.”

The hands he held out now back to his own, one to his neck and the other his hip. He was adverting his gaze now, that wasn’t an intended reaction. He should have known after all, you used to be friends. Friends despite the gap in rank and status.. He was your superior, and you his grunt, but neither of you cared much for that. After all, Petrel has always been rather laid back.

“Ah-- H-hey--!”

Concern returned and he stepped closer. He expected more tears, but got much more than that instead as you collided into him. Burying your face into his chest as the tears began again, this time, though, they were happy. Never did you think you would see him again, yet here he was.

You stayed like this for a moment, only lifting your head to peek up at him when you heard him chuckle at your reaction.

“Y'missed me that much, huh?”

His voice and words were soft and gentle, placing a kind hand to your back with a sweet smile. He still looked a bit worried for you, which was understandable, after all you were crying your eyes out just a moment ago.

“Ah.. S.. S-sorry..” You wanted say yes, but instead shuffled away awkwardly, taking your hands back to your own sides. Eyes darting to the ground as you struggled to find words to say. It had been so long since you’d spoken to, much less seen your executive last even if he wasn’t an executive anymore.

“I miss the team..” you started quietly, “I miss everyone.. I don’t.. I-I got nothin’ without them..” you were trying hard not to cry again as you spoke, choking the urge back down as you continued, “I don’t know what to do or where to go anymore.. Team Rocket was.. all I had.”

As you spoke Petrel’s expression softened, walking up to and hugging you this time around. His warm hands caressed your back and your head to comfort you. When he felt you had calmed enough he knelt down to your level and took your hands in his and said, “How ‘bout we go sit down over there fer a bit.”

You nodded in agreement and followed after. There was a tangible hesitation between you both, a hesitation to take each others hand, but that little moment of hesitation did not last long, though, before you both were heading toward the underground building. Resting against the wall on the smooth concrete below, you took a deep breath to calm yourself even further, wiping your face as you did. Petrel, all the while, sat down with a little grunt and hum when he was comfortable. He stared up at the nearby trees and the clouds above in the setting sky.

For awhile he was silent, asking no questions and simply waiting until you were settled down and ready.

"So," he began with a soft tone, "Lemme get this right; You got nowhere t'go and yer at a loss?" playfully scratching at his little purple goatee he left out a huff. It was something akin to a sigh and a laugh. You quirked your head just slightly at this and affirmed his query.

"Well.. Team Rocket ain't ever been good, was bound to happen eventually. The fall and disband, I mean."

As he spoke you turned your head up to the stars, watching as some Pidgey and Hoothoot flew by across the freckling sunset sky.

"I ain't much of a therapist or counselor so I don't really know much about this, but.. Just cuz this part of yer life has ended doesn't mean it's all over for ya yet."

That sounded so cheesy, you thought and smiled. It was really like him to say something like that... It cheered you up a little.

"You'll be able to find a new occupation, yer a strong kid. I know you can do it. And..." He started going quiet. Bringing a hand to his neck as his eyes darted in the opposite direction of you. You were curious now, and for some reason you started feeling bashful, too.

"If.... If y'got.. Nowhere else to go.. I got a little flat not too far from here... It's still got some room for one more party member... If yer interested. I understand if yer not or if yer put off by the Koffing--"

He was stuttering a little now, something you've noted before when he was flustered or embarrassed about something. And you were shocked by what he was offering. To let you stay with him? For real? You almost felt your heart jump then. Gawking like a Magikarp at him, now.

Catching glimpse of your reaction he did a double take. Shaking his hands and turning red.

"N-Not in any weird way, though! I-I mean--! Only if y'wanna... R-room with me.... I'd..... I'd be honored t'have ya and to help.. whenever y’needed it.."

You both were as red as a a Charmeleon now.

Petrel scrambled to his feet and paced with a hand at his hip and the other at his neck. You couldn't see his face for he had his back turned to you. You didn't mind, though, it gave you a bit of confidence to give your answer.

"I-I'd... I-I'd be honored, too... Petrel. Thanks.."

He froze in place for a moment, processing your response. Then, he turned around slowly, shyly, it was kind of cute. You really couldn't help but smile a bit at the sight.

All in one swift moment, though, his face burned as red as the sun as it faded beyond the horizon. And a Gengar grin grew on his reddened features. He was relieved to hear that. Nervous before that you might have rejected him and his offer. However, he quickly realized how goofy he looked and cleared his throat, changing his demeanor almost as quickly as he had reacted.

"That's great! Oh, the Koffing will love ya!" he wanted to say, it was written on his face as he came close again. Holding out a hand to help you to your feet again. He was thrilled, thrilled! You could see it in his eyes as you went up from the hard cement ground. His face was all lit up and it made your heart thump.

“I’d love the Koffing, too.” you said with a smile, your tears all dried and gone away with your worries from before. It was remarkable. How Petrel, lighthearted and funny ex-executive Petrel, could cheer you up. He was always good at that, making people smile and feel better when they were feeling down. You knew this from experience.

After all.. he was your executive.. and now it was just you and him and the Koffing to boot. This was a new life you never thought you’d have.

But now, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

[keyofjetwolf]

Elisabeth: The Cheerful Apocalypse

With a name like that, you know it’s got to be good. Indeed, it’s pleasantly upbeat, a slightly less rowdy bar song. There’s a push to it, as well, like a driving, consistent march that gives the whole thing a feeling of inevitability that serves it extremely well, even as that’s part of the song’s dark humour: for a song about and urging movement, nobody ever leaves the fucking cafe.

But for all that it works in the Essen version, it really doesn’t in the Takarazuka. It’s been dramatically shifted, to the point where the only real consistencies are gossiping and coffee shops. AND THOSE ARE GREAT CONSISTENCIES. It’s a fantastic method of moving time and setting up significant plot points happening in the interim.

Only, interestingly, the Takarazuka version wants this to be more. Alongside the general gossiping and proto-TMZ coverage, we have a budding group of revolutionaries, led by the unfortunately named “Zeps”.

Now I’ve seen me some Les Miserables, and I tell you friends, I am here for a group of cafe-dwelling idealistic doomed young students. Unfortunately, I think the Takarazuka was just as enamoured of the idea, and had about as much success wedging them in. I expected big things from this storyline (HOW COULD YOU EXPECT ANYTHING LESS FROM SOMEONE NAMED ZEPS), to the point where I’m spinning this web of interconnected possibilities with Lucheni, and the inherent class bias in the students that they’re unable to overcome, and possibilities lost and recaptured, I WAS FULL ON MY SHIT FRIENDS. All to find out that these guys (INCLUDING SIR ZEPS THE HAMFISTED) only appear one more time, briefly, somewhere in Act 2, trying to persuade the adult son whose birth is announced in this very scene to join their revolution.

We won’t dwell much on how it’s like twenty-five years later and this revolution consists of the same four dudes in the same fucking coffee shop, like, I admire your devotion, but maybe expand your hobbies to include hiking or dominoes. The crux is that the Takarazuka version changed this song to include these guys to set up a straightforward plot point that won’t happen for over forty minutes (musical time)/two decades (storyline time).

It’s such a bizarre choice that I’ve spent nearly an hour now trying to puzzle it out, and the best answer I can come up with is this:

MORE DEATH WE NEED MORE DEATH

Sincerely, though. This version of “The Cheerful Apocalypse” places the focus on the revolutionaries to give an “in” to Death. It continues with the idea that all this is -- if not caused then facilitated -- by Death, to the point where he demonstrably joins the movement.

They even devote multiple rewritten lines to suggesting that Death has met with and talked to the students before, furthering the implication that this is all happening according to keikaku. A plot point, I must again note, doesn’t ever actually GO anywhere.

The end result for this song in the Takarazuka version is strange mishmash. We have the apathy of the easily distracted patrons as the backing vocals for the voice of change that even the story itself never hears. It winds up giving way more credit to the people than the Essen version and, in a weird twist, that’s to the song’s detriment.

Once again, the tone difference in the Essen version is immediately apparent. I SHOULD NOTE BY THE WAY, “The Cheerful Apocalypse” comes immediately after the scene where Elisabeth and Franz Joseph are mourning the death of their first child. This is missing entirely from the Takarazuka version, I’m guessing after someone decided infant death and grieving parents was a giant fucking downer. GIANT FUCKING DOWNERS IS NOT TAKARAZUKA

So while here’s Lucheni at the start of this number being beautiful and amazing in Takarazuka

And here he is at the start of Essen

“Ma che cazzo vuoi!”, for those of you who don’t speak Italian (LIKE ME) translates into “What the fuck do you want!” and is spat out after Lucheni’s dramatic bout of fake crying. The royals lost a child, yes yes, very sad, happens every fucking day for the poor, who’s crying for them? Essen Lucheni has such a delightful rage that he carries with him throughout the musical, so that even when we’re moved to feel particularly charitable, or the story has wrapped us in the glamour and tragedy of the Hapsburgs, Lucheni yanks us back down. That grounding is, I think, one of the things that makes the musical so so good, and RELEVANT, even as it’s about events over 150  years ago.

As I mentioned, this song in the Essen version doesn’t have any particular focus. We have students, professors, and journalists among the patrons, all talking about the royal family and soup and politics and war and card games with the same degree of intense interest and detached resignation. The guy who wants someone to play skat with him calls out as passionately as the teacher reflecting on Austria’s political isolation after the Crimean War who is equally matched by the bohemian who just wants another beer for the love of god. Through it all, the stage rotates, the tables and patrons spinning on this carousel that goes nowhere and never ends. And the chorus of the whole thing is just *kisses fingers*

Unlike the Takarazuka version, with its knot of revolutionaries, the cafe in the Essen version is filled with informed people. SMART people, who could any one of them stand up and do something to try to change all this, if they could just maybe give a damn. But they don’t. They DON’T, and that’s the point. Even at the end, as Lucheni starts firing them up with foreshadowing visions of Rudolf-led revolution, even as they seem to be getting into it

in the end, everyone just sits back down at a table and goes back to reading the newspaper.

I just adore the way the Essen version handles this, from music to lyrics to set and presentation. It’s a beautiful melding of so many ways to communicate something that isn’t what Elisabeth is about, BUT ALSO IS, in a way that I think is masterfully understated.

Between the two, it might be a harder call if the Takarazuka were more tightly plotted and followed through better on some of what it brought to the song, but alas. Full points to Essen on this one, absolutely loved it.

[imagine-loki]

Beauty and the Beast

TITLE: Beauty and the Beast CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 10/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki is under a spell that will return him to his Aesir one if he learns to accept himself for who he is RATING: T (so far)  NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 here

Loki wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulders, keeping her close where he knew she’d be safe as his battle armor shimmered into place.  Anything that wanted to hurt his beloved mother would have to get through him first.  

And that wasn’t going to happen.  No mater what it took.

“We need to get to somewhere safe,” Loki told her.  Frigga nodded and summoned the long dagger Morgan had seen in her vision as armor shimmered into place over her dress.  Loki couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his mother with a blade. His brows furrowed in concern, forgetting for a moment that it was she who had taught him how to fight all those centuries ago.  He had fallen into the trap of thinking of her only as the gentle healer.  “Where did you get that?” he asked stupidly.

Frigga gave him a look.  “A lady of Asgard does not go unarmed when there’s danger.  Just because I am usually a simple healer does not mean I do not know how to defend myself,” she reminded him.  

He sighed and gave her a small smile.  “Apologies, mother.  It is just strange to see you armed.  Of course you know how to defend yourself, as any lady of Asgard should,” he told her warmly and she couldn’t help smiling at him as well.  Whatever happened, they were both prepared and would be able to get through it together.  “We should get to my chambers. I have it warded just for this kind of situation,” Loki told her.  Frigga agreed easily, trusting her son’s strategic abilities.

Before they could leave the throne room, they were confronted by three frost giants.  Loki stepped forward to defend Frigga, taking point in the upcoming battle.  Frigga wouldn’t deny him that.  He growled at the frost giants.  “Step away or die,” he warned them.  He shouldn’t have bothered warning them, but Frigga had beaten into him over the centuries that sentient beings had to be given an opportunity to withdraw from the battle before he rushed in on the attack.  

The had to thoroughly earn their deaths.  

Behind him, Frigga shifted her dagger into position, a bolt of magic appearing in her other hand.  

Then one of the frost giants said something that had them both changing their strategies at the same moment. “Good.  You have the queen.  Let’s get off this realm,” the giant told Loki, addressing him directly.  Loki’s hand was still on Frigga’s arm.  

Loki and Frigga saw what they had thought in an instant. They thought that Loki, who was stuck in Jotun form, had arrived at the throne room before them and captured the queen himself.  They thought he just wanted credit for the capture for himself. Frigga vanished her bolt of magic and hid her blade behind her.  /It appears these frost giants are confused/ Loki told Frigga.

/So it appears/ Frigga replies as she tries to think of a way out of this without fighting the frost giants outnumbered.  

“Come.  The interim king will make the little warm queen tell us where the lost prince is,” the frost giant said, he towered over Frigga and was much taller than Loki as well.  It was clear these were dumb foot-soldiers, sent to die on this suicide mission to steal Frigga.  

However, it was their comment about the lost prince that made Loki realize that none of them could return to Jotunheim.  They would realize that hewas the lost prince. They couldn’t leave Asgard with even the hint of that knowledge.

Loki glared at them.  “I am going nowhere with you.  Neither is the queen,” he snarled at them. 

The frost giants finally seemed to realize that Loki wasn’t one of them.  No one ever prided the frost giants on their intelligence as a race. They rushed in to attack Loki, to steal his beloved mama.  That wasn’t going to happen.  Loki and Frigga fought back and it was clear that Frigga was a skilled fighter.  Their blades blurred and magic flew as they fought down the giants.  

The frost giants were doomed.  They were no match for the whirl of blades and their blood spilled as Loki killed them viciously.  Frigga was just as violent, but was kinder in the death she delivered.  

Between the pair of them, they had the frost giants dead at their feet before Odin and Thor returned.

Odin and Thor did return as Loki wrapped his arm back around Frigga’s shoulders to escort her to safety.  They both looked relieved to see the giants dead.  Odin rushed to Frigga and pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair.  “Frigga, you’re safe,” he said, relieved that she was alright, uninjured, and more importantly, not kidnapped.  

Loki vanished his dagger, knowing that Odin and Thor wouldn’t have relaxed if there was still danger.  “I know what they’re after,” he told Odin, since he had to. He had to warn them. 

Frigga nodded and looked over at Loki.  “They are after you, my son,” she said softly, horrified that the frost giants would be looking for Loki and wondering why they possibly could be. 

Loki inclined his head.  “They attacked Asgard and planned to take mother in order to get her to tell them where their lost prince is. They were looking for me,” he confirmed.

Odin nodded his understanding and still held Frigga to him.  There wasn’t much in the nine realms that Odin truly loved.  Frigga was highest on his list.  And no one in the nine realms dared question that he loved her.  Most would never think of the suicidal action that taking her would be.   “Heimdall has found the portal they came through and the mages and einherjar are sealing it now.  These were the only ones who slipped through.  The realm, and you, are safe.  You’re safe my wife,” he kissed the top of Frigga’s head again and turned to Loki. “As are you, my son,”

Loki was frozen in shock at Odin’s words.  At being addressed as a son.  At Odin actually caring about him.  He literally couldn’t comprehend that.  Not after everything that had happened.  Not while he was stuck in Jotun form.  Not after being lied to his entire life.

And yet, Odin actually cared that Loki was safe.  Not that his secret was safe.  No.  That Loki was actually safe.

Frigga leaned up and kissed Odin’s cheek.  “I’m fine, darling,” she reassured him and the boys couldn’t help smiling at the fond gesture from their mother.  “We owe Lady Morgana a great debt for her warning,” Frigga told Odin.  

Loki nodded his agreement.  “Without her warning, we would not have returned home until it was too late.  We would not have been here to stop this attack,” he explained.  He knew how much they owed Morgan and he would impress upon Odin that they really weren’t just exaggerating.  

Frigga and Thor both nodded their agreement.  They had seen how close the frost giants had gotten even with Morgan’s warning.  They had made it all the way to the throne room.  Arguably the most secure room in the palace.  Odin’s arms tightened around Frigga, concerned for his wife, afraid at how close he had come to losing her.  

Loki hesitated a moment before he said. ”Mother is alright now, Father.  The danger has passed,” 

They all looked shocked at Loki’s term of address.

Loki hadn’t called Odin ‘father’ since the day he had fallen from the Bifrost.

Not until this day.  

Not until Loki could finally feel, even if only for a moment, that Odin cared about both of his sons and not just Thor.  

Something shifted inside him, some broken piece of his soul healed, settled back into place, leaving a feeling of peace in its wakwak

[stylesmyth]

FLOURISHED SUN

I take the marble staircase two steps at a time with Brandon on my heels. He begs for me to slow down, but with my father’s office doors in sight, I refuse. Without knocking, I barge in, using such a force that sends the large doors slamming into the walls they hinge on. It startles my father, who jerks his head towards me.

          “A curfew?!” I cry out.

          Brandon, just now catching up, nearly rams into me as he enters the room with momentum. “Miss Burrell,” he says formally. “Your father has asked to not be disturbed.”

          “It’s all right, Brandon,” my father assures, voice impeccably calm.

          I start again. “I mean, shutting down schools, I can understand! Not telling me there were twenty-three other deaths, I can excuse because it’s confidential. But a curfew? Really?!”

           He stands from his desk. “Yes, Delaney, really. Until everyone is medicated properly, I have to make sure there is as little contact as possible between the contagious and healthy.” He walks to me, words growing more heated by the second. “And as for the little stunt you pulled tonight. Leaving the house without permission? What were you thinking?!”

           “For Christ’s sake, I had Brandon there for protection!”

           “And I’m sure he agrees that, regardless, you were too close to that boy that you know damn well is sick.”

           My jaw tightens. “You told him about Ernie?” I ask, turning to Brandon.

           Father answers, “He called me from the diner before the speech, as he should have. And because you tricked him, and disobeyed my wishes, I’m putting you under house arrest.”

           “What?!”

           “The guard at the front gate has been informed of this decision, and Brandon is to stay here, around the clock until further notice, to ensure you pull no funny business like you did tonight.”

           I throw my arms up. “What is so wrong with wanting to see him one la—”

           “Delaney!” he raises his voice. “We will not be discussing this any further in the company of a guest!”

           At those words, I peer over my father’s shoulder. Sure enough, a man that looks vaguely familiar—perhaps I’ve seen him at dinner parties or public events—sits in one of the two chairs placed in front of the desk, watching the whole ordeal.

           The man rises from his chair. “Please, Samuel, do not stop on my account. The work day is technically over, and family matters must be...attended to, nonetheless,” he says in a deliberate tone. “But, if I may introduce myself, I am Zachary Masters—”

           I interrupt him, now knowing how I recognize him. “Parliament member, and the man who will be appointed Interim Leader if anything were to...happen to my father.”

           We’ve been at several occasions, in many of the same rooms, but I’ve never been formally introduced to him—if one could even call this a formal introduction. He was always with other government officials, whilst I grouped with several other daughters and sons of those officials. From far away, he looked kind, his greying hair gave him a grandfatherly vibe. Now as we stand with closer proximity, and I can feel the full force of his dark eyes upon me, I almost want to coward away, even if his gaze isn’t intentional. But this isn’t about him, and I can’t lose what spite I have towards my father so easily.

           The room grows strangely quiet in the vocalisation of my words. Zachary takes to looking at his shoes as I turn to my father, who avoids my gaze. It lasts for a moment, before a ring of a telephone on my father’s desk sounds. He’s sighs, glancing at Zachary before turning to attend to the phone call.

           Father attempts to answer the call in a hushed tone as I focus once more on Zachary.

           “So, what are you doing here?” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Is there something he’s not telling me?”

           Zachary senses the hesitation in my question. “Oh, no, no! There is nothing wrong with your father, I can assure you. No, I am simply here to assist Samuel in some work.”

          “What kind of work?”

          He pauses, and I can see the debate with himself to answer or avoid me. “Well, we’ve been in contact with America—their labs, the embassy, Congress, even the President—pretty much nonstop for the last day. We’re are trying to find the origins of the virus, and what the best way to distribute the medicine is. Basically, just where to go from here, with what we know.”

          “And what do you know?” I ask.

          He grins. “I’m sure you understand why I cannot disclose that information, Miss Burrell.”

***

           friday night

Delaney: brandon told my dad i saw you tonight

              he put me on house arrest

 Ernie: wtf

            Why would he do that?

 Delaney: i didn’t tell Brandon that you were gonna be at the diner

 Ernie: why not?

 Delaney: I’m not technically supposed to see you whilst you’re still sick

 Ernie: Delaney!

 Delaney: what?! I wanted to see you and just have a nice night

 Ernie: but something could’ve happened

            u could be sick

 Delaney: i could be sick regardless

                I’ll just get the medication like everyone else on Monday and everything will be fine

 Ernie: can I call you, or facetime?

 Delaney: not unless you want brandon to hear everything we say

                He’s “posted” outside my room and my door “must remain open unless I’m changing”

 Ernie: sigh

            I guess i won’t be able to see your pretty face for a while then, huh

 Delaney: you’re a dork

                but sadly no

 Ernie: you like this dork

 Delaney: hmmmmm

                Perhaps

 saturday

 Delaney: i feel like i might go stir crazy if i have to sit in my room for the rest of the weekend

              Avoiding food>getting another lecture

Ernie: [imaged attached]

           you could look at this instead :*

 monday

 Ernie: [imaged attached]

          Look at this queue outside of Boots

            We’ll be here for hours

 Delaney: is there nowhere else a little less crowded?

 Ernie: nope all the same

            A lot more people than i thought need this stuff too

 Delaney: well let me know when you get towards the front

 Ernie: hopefully it won’t take too long

           I’m not feeling very well and Ty is noticing

 Delaney: please stay safe <3 keep me updated

 tuesday

 Delaney: hey

                I hate being that girlfriend that keeps tabs on you

   But you didn’t text me back yesterday

                Is everything okay? Are you feeling better?

 Ernie: hey, sorry about that

            It was a long da y

            did u get the meds???

 Delaney: yeah, dad brought home some of the pills instead of the injections

                But are you sure you’re okay?

                We never use text slang with each other

 Ernie: i cant starw at the scrreen to long

           I think a symptom of gettn the shot is migrains

 wednesday

Delaney: how are you feeling today?                              

Delaney: You might still have a migraine so maybe that’s why you aren’t answering

                If you get a chance to read this, though, just let me know you’re okay

 Delaney: please answer my texts, Ernie

               It’s worrying me sick to not hear from you

 thursday

 Ernie: delaney

 Delaney: thank God you finally answered

                I’ve been pacing around all day

                Are you okay

                Is everything alright

 Ernie: the medicine isn’t working

           Ty didn’t make it

          And I don’t feel so good

 ***

          I will for the words on the screen to change. Maybe if I stare at them long enough, the letters will shift, and he’ll be telling me that all is well. The medicine is working. Everyone is healthy. Ty is not dead.

          Ty is not dead.

          He can’t be. He was feeling better last week. If Ty was feeling better, that means everyone else sick would feel better, too. They have to feel better. They can’t die.

          Ernie can’t die.

          When I was old enough ask my dad about my mum, I also asked why he didn’t remarry. He told me that, after her death, he was in a state of shock, and then grief struck, followed by a period of depression. He said it was the worst time of his life. He knew, that even after losing my mum, he couldn’t remarry. His grief was as large as love, and he knew he’d never love someone else that same way.

          I understand the first feeling of shock now.

          The difference between him and me, though, is that I have a warning. My shock comes before any loss, and it’s crippling.

          But there’s one thing on my mind: I am getting out of here.

          No tears have formed, but when I call, “Brandon,” there’s a notable shake in my voice.

          Through what little open space there is in my door, he responds, “Yes, Miss Burrell?”

          “Could you please shut the door, I’m going to change. And then, I’ll go to bed.”

          It’s fairly dark outside, so I know Brandon will believe my lie, thinking that I’m getting ready for bed. I wait just a few seconds to run on tiptoes to my window. My bedroom is on the first floor, overlooking the road to the house’s front door, where Brandon would always drop me off. Where the reporters once stood across the street. As I push up the window, I see no one on the street at all.

          Thankfully, on the ground floor, below my bedroom, there is an alcove that juts out from the house, allowing a small roof just outside my window. I do not bother shutting my window as I step outside. Brandon won’t check my room for the rest of the night, thinking I’m asleep, so I keep it open to sneak back in the morning.

          The distance from the ledge to the ground isn’t far. I sit down with my legs over the edge, and then slowly twist around, so my front is against the blue bricks as I hang on with what very little upper body strength I have. Then I let go.

          With bent knees, my feet hit the green ground quickly. I catch myself from falling over into the damp grass, but waste no time in surveying the area once more. The easiest way to get to Mayfair, where Ernie lives, is the back streets. Last I saw, and heard from Dad, there’s only one guard on the perimeter, and he’s at the gates in the front.

          I start to run in the opposite direction.

***

           Ernie’s mum answers the door after three rounds of persistent knocking. She’s wearing a bathrobe, likely never having changed from it this morning, and her brown hair looks unkempt. In one hand is a box of tissues, and in the other, a balled-up tissue that she raises to her reddening nose before speaking.

           “Delaney, what are you doing here?” she asks, mouth hanging open at the sight of me.

           Tears that were kept back as I ran appear suddenly, clouding my vision.  “I heard about Ty.” My voice trembles. “Ernie told me. And I am so sorry, I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. But can I please see him? I need to see Ernie, please.”

           She looks hesitant at first. We both know what allowing me inside means; the medicine doesn’t work, and anyone who steps across the threshold is going to be, at the very least, exposed. But after studying my pleading eyes and dejected form, how desperately I need to see Ernie regardless of the consequences, her elbow nudges the door open. I thank her profusely, stepping by her to get inside, ready to dash to Ernie’s room. The low sound of Mrs. Winland calling my name again stops me.

           When I turn towards her, she nods and says, “Make it count.”

           She walks into a different room, leaving me with her vague instructions. It’s not hard to connect the dots, though.

           With Ernie.

           Make it count with Ernie.

           With that, I start down the hallway to his room. Family portraits and school photos, even Ty’s drawings, hang along the walls, but I don’t look at them. I can’t bare the think that the little boy will only remain in the photographs and the art he created, forever immortalised behind a piece of glass and four cornered frames. I can’t even bring myself to think about looking at the older boy in the pictures, so I keep my head down until I reach his door and push through without delay.

           He doesn’t hear me come in. He also doesn’t hear the small click the door makes as it closes behind me. I begin to wonder if he’s asleep, but as I move around his bed, wading between the piles of clothes on the floor which were never there before, I see his eyes are open and looking out the window next on the parallel wall.

           “Ernie?”

           He suddenly snaps to attention. When he sent me a cheeky selfie last Saturday, I thought he looked a little worse for wear than he did the previous night I saw him. But, as I watch him now, I can see the sheen of sweat covering his sinking facial features. His skin is paler, which is saying a lot for someone who lives in a city that receives very little sun to begin with. Even from my distance, I can see a notable change in his irises; a few off-white spots have appeared close to the edge of them, standing out against the brown colour.

           I lose all words. I’m not even sure if I had any coming in.

           He shifts under his pile of blankets, no doubt the source of his sweating, but I can also make out the slight shivering to his body. “De...What are you doing here?” he asks with a hoarse voice.

           I sob.

           “I had to come see you,” I force out. “I’m not going to let you be alone when you said you weren’t feeling well.”

           He frowns. “I-I said that?”

           Ernie poses the question more for himself than me. I walk closer, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here now, and I’ll be here. With you.”

           “No…” He starts to shake his head. “No, but you shouldn’t be here. Y-you could get sick. No, no, no.”

           As if to prove it, he begins to cough.

           “I don’t care anymore,” I stress. “I could already be sick and just not know! But I do know that I am going to stay beside you, regardless of any virus, or parents, or the fucking rapture!”

           He looks over my shoulder, eyes going out of focus like he’s daydreaming. When he glances at me again, he asks, “Why are you crying?”

           It only makes me cry more. “Because I love you, damn it.”

           These words aren’t a revelation. We said them for the first time a few months ago, but only sparingly since then. For the special occasions or moments when we were caught up in each other. We never take the words lightly, and always cherish them greatly.

           Make it count.

           Ernie’s frown grows in confusion. “You shouldn’t be crying because you love me.”

           “My grief is as great as my love,” I whisper. “And I haven’t even lost you yet.”

           He doesn’t seem to have heard my words, his attention is back to the window. I stare at it with him, willing myself to calm down at least a little. There’s nothing outside of his window except the view of another building, but having something to focus on helps for the moment. Ernie coughs at times, and at one point, I feel him shift until his hand is free from the confiding blankets, reaching for mine. It’s a small comfort to know that, whilst it seems his mind is somewhere else completely, he’s still present in some form.

           Eventually, he speaks again. “Do you want to lay down?”

           Make it count.

           “I want to kiss you.”

           I don’t think it’s what he expected me to say from the look on his face, a look reminds me of the healthy Ernie. He says with a small smirk, “We could do both.”

           I laugh. I am actually able to laugh in such a moment, after a week of feeling like I’d never laugh again.

           So, caution is completely stranded on the side of the road as I lay down on his right side, on top of his mounds of blankets. And I set an alarm for five in the morning, early enough to run back home before anyone else wakes up. And I kiss Ernie, because I want to make everything count.

           And I wait for morning, praying it will never come.

[kalico-to-the-letter]

REVIEW // RWBY | 6.13 | “OUR WAY”

AKA the welcome home.

Welcome in to my review of the thirteenth chapter, and the finale, of RWBY’s sixth volume, entitled, “Our Way”.

In this episode: Light reigns. Greetings are extended. Darkness gathers.

Rise.

TELL THEM – I CAME THE LONG WAY ROUND.

I’ve praised the overall efficiency of this season of RWBY; for the most part, and particularly in the second half of the season, the episode times have been spent wisely, hitting plot points without sacrificing too much build up or leaving us feeling too shortchanged when it’s truly mattered.

But that want to tell expansive, multi-character stories within these kinds of thinned-out structures is always like playing with fire, because one inevitably risks running into one of two things: not doing as much as it can, or trying to do far too much.

And this has been the story of RWBY for all of this season. They nailed that balance, in my opinion, for the first half of the season, by anchoring the story to Team RWBY’s struggles and smartly dotting other teases around the perimeter. But introducing Argus meant introducing a new setting, new side characters, and a new sub-antagonist, all while needing to marry with those established setups – creating a readjustment period which the show then struggled to leverage into anything truly remarkable – and somehow running into both of the above problems.

Question: Do we particularly like Argus, after all this? It’s a nice enough town, with fairly chill people, and that was definitely a breath of fresh air after the darkness of Haven last season, and traipsing through the snowy woods in the first half of this season. But beyond it being the home of the Cotta-Arc family, and providing a truly heartfelt moment remembering Pyrrha, I can’t see that it’s left much of an impact. All the action happened outside of the town itself, and ultimately, it was just another pit stop on the way to Atlas.

There are two principle reasons for that. First is the antagonist – despite the actual mechanics of her character arc working really well, Caroline Cordovin has done very little for me. Sure, she plays a big part in the story, and is ultimately somewhat redeemed by taking down the Leviathan, but when you sit back and look at the wider context of the season, and realise that she, this gatekeeper figure, was the season’s most prominent character antagaonist, it’s a bit unimpressive. Adam played his part, but that part was to essentially appear out of nowhere and die, while the series’ biggest antagonists were kept to the sidelines, even after a number of promising teases.

The second reason Argus has struggled is the lack of a meaningful mooring point. The most appealing characters Argus gave us, in Saphron and Terra Cotta-Arc, were introduced immediately, as well as given an interesting potential subplot thread. Unfortunately, nothing came of it, and their role in the story was quickly reduced to shepherding the protagonists out of town, with a minimum of callback to that tease. If the protagonists’ escape had been more strongly linked to a local subplot, then the experience would have felt more important than it does now, which is really a bit of a blip.

It adds up to a story which didn’t do as much as it could have in defining the basics, and then tried to do a bit too much. A difficult situation, to say the least, and the way it wraps up in this finale doesn’t fix or really even attempt to justify some of the season’s recent creative directions.

Say, if the Argus story we’d had drip-fed to us had ended with a Grimm fight at least matching the intensity of Blake and Yang vs Adam or Gang vs Cordovin, then sure, I wouldn’t be so irritated by how this Leviathan element was executed. But in this finale, there was no epic battle, no time for any drama to build. The big moment just kind of … happened, and then we moved on.

It was a great moment, don’t get me wrong. Seeing Ruby facing off solo against this huge monster was a big deal, and I got quite emotional at seeing all the flashes of her memories as she tried to summon her Silver Eyes. I liked the swell of that moment, and how it finished with Cordovin remembering her purpose and using the mecha suit for the thing for which it was designed.

But this “battle” did not justify how the Leviathan was so clumsily inserted into the story at the end of the previous episode – the creature’s presence hammered in the consequences of the Gang vs Cordovin fight, but really it just existed as a plot device to redeem Cordovin and give Ruby a reason to try her Silver Eyes in earnest.

And ultimately, that was the clear, main objective of this now “in the interim” season, to take Ruby and properly work on her character to the point that someone like myself, who was always just “ok” with her, is now very positive about her and her position in this story, going into the series’ likely final phase.

So here we finally are. In Atlas. Where a lot of things will surely come to a head, and in time, this transitional season will not be remembered as being too difficult of an experience – just a necessary step to get to the big stuff. But right now, in this moment, having spent the past fourteen weeks thinking about the ways that this season’s story was developing, I can’t help but be a little bit flat about it all. Especially when it promised so damn much in the early going.

OBSERVATIONS

Keep in mind that when I talk about the antagonists, obviously I’m putting the Grimm in a separate category – they don’t have characters, after all.

Do I even have to say that I loved the post-fight interactions between Blake, Weiss and Yang? You know I did. As weird as this show has been to follow at times, the best part of it has always been its characters, and these days I can definitely admit my attachment to these three girls, and Ruby now as well.

I believe that’s the first time we’ve seen Neo’s semblance in action – materialisation, seemingly hologram-based in nature.

So, Ozpin helped Oscar safely crash the airship previously, then disappeared again. All right then.

I almost screamed when I saw Summer Rose’s face reveal, I will not lie. The whole animatic was very emotional, especially seeing its progression, and how just the thought of Pyrrha caused Ruby to lose control of her positive energy.

I noticed a couple of spots where the animation seemed to lose or skip some frames – Cordovin leaping at the Leviathan and when Salem shrouds herself in darkness to cut the episode to black.

I like that the main parameters for Volume 7 are already being laid down – everyone is going to Atlas, and things are going to burn.

It seems like the overarching story is proceeding into its end phase, and there is probably a larger discussion to be had about how the rest of the series will unfold on a structural level. RT seem to be scaling back focus on this show as they move onto other projects. I suppose it makes sense – this series is well past the point of having “potential”, and has probably already peaked at a commercial level, so all that’s left to do is manage what remains. It will be interesting to see what happens going forward in terms of production and output for RWBY.

GRADE: C+

As a finale, “Our Way” is a very appropriate encapsulation of season six’s latter half – charged with very good psychology and enough baked-in character work to carry its stories, but also guilty of not doing the best it can with some of its ideas. This was the moment to pay off the season’s recent efficiency with something epic or escalated, but instead it rushes through a number of its important story beats and moves on without batting much of an eyelid. Even though big things are being set up for future stories, the lack of depth in the overall Argus storyline hurts this finale’s attempts to serve as a definitive, grand closer. However, it does complete the season-long ascension of the Main Heroine with emotional aplomb, and leans on its strong characters to the point that it becomes … fine.

Volume 6 of RWBY is a strange beast, stranger than Volume 5’s up-and-down swings, or Volume 4’s all-consuming melancholia. What makes this the case is that it opened by serving up six episodes of consistent, quality storytelling, only to run into roadblocks of its own creation in the latter seven episodes. Some of the worst parts of this season? The meandering in Argus, dropping the “tension within Team RWBY” angle as soon as they’d reached Argus, and the meagre, in hindsight, teases of the antagonists “making moves” but not really doing that much. Some of the best parts of this season? The constant focus on character, the attention paid to the fight psychology, the reestablishment of Team RWBY as a unit, the focus put on Blake and Yang, and the unwavering effort to solidify Ruby Rose as the primary heroine. – KALLIE

[killian-whump]

Just a little Hooked Queen tale, based on the looks exchanged during the coronation and the fact that anything could’ve happened in the “Some Time Later...” interim and none of you can tell me this didn’t happen... ;)

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Purple,” Regina answered. This certainly wasn’t the kind of pillow talk she generally expected from her version of Hook. “You should know that.”

“Aye, I do, but what sort of purple? Light purple? Dark purple...?”

“You’re sure full of questions tonight. What gives?”

“Can’t a man be interested in the woman he fancies?”

There was the flirtatious pirate she was used to seeing after sex. “Ah, so you ‘fancy’ me now, is that it?”

“Always have,” he said simply, and the confession gave her butterflies in her stomach. “And you do realize I’m far too old - in experience, mind you, no longer in appearance - to bother with pithy flings, don’t you?”

“I’d suspected as much,” Regina said honestly. “But it’s nice to hear it, anyway.”

Hook’s lower jaw jutted out a little, and his eyebrows took on that playful lilt she’d come to learn was his way of deflecting his insecurity with humor. “And, ah... what about yourself, your majesty?”

She grinned. “I’m not a queen anymore, Killian. You don’t have to call me that.” She said this to him at least three times a week, but it never stopped him from calling her that.

“Ahh. Right. Well...” Perhaps the other Hook would’ve been scratching behind his ear at this point, revealing his discomfort, but little more. Her Hook, however, wore his heart on his sleeve - and she could clearly see his disappointment at what he took as a purposeful evasion of his question.

“Hey,” she said. “This isn’t a fling for me, either.”

And like the sun coming out after a summer rain storm, his face lit up right before her very eyes, his smile infectiously bringing a matching one to Regina’s own face.

“You know,” she commented. “I used to like dark purple. It was intense, deep... mysterious. But I find I’ve started liking brighter things now. Lighter things. They’re more transparent, more honest. Pure.”

“So... Light purple, then?”

“Yeah. Light purple.”

“I cannot believe the sheer size of the engagement ring Alice has picked out. It’s a wonder she’s able to lift her hand at all, I tell you.”

“Some women like big stones,” Regina said with a shrug. “Some don’t.”

“Do you prefer large stones?” Hook asked. “Or smaller ones?”

“I like a nice mix of the two,” she answered. “Big and small, so long as they’re tasteful. Why the sudden interest? You’ve seen my jewelry collection.”

“Aye, but don’t the larger stones get heavy sometimes? The tiaras some royals wear are insane. I’d think they’d give you a headache.”

“Surprisingly, they’re not that heavy - and for ceremonial crowns, the weight doesn’t really matter, since they’re only worn at formal events. And believe me, for those, you want to go all out on the bling.” She smirked. “And you should know all about that, Captain.”

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean, your majesty.”

“Oh, only that you’ve probably got hoards of treasure all over the realms.”

Hook feigned offense. “You make me sound like a dragon, love.”

Regina lifted an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you’re not one?”

“Quite sure, though my prowess between the sheets has certainly confused quite a few lovely lasses, I must say...”

“It better not be confusing anyone besides me these days,” Regina threatened.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love. You’re all the woman I could handle.”

She smacked him playfully. “You’re supposed to tell me I’m all the woman you could want.”

“That goes without saying, but there’s only so many fireballs a man can dodge at once, so the other point seems to be the more pertinent one to make.”

“You should move in,” Regina stated. It wasn’t at all how she’d planned to ask him. She’d planned on something more eloquent, more dignified. But words had a funny way of spilling out when they were all that was on one’s mind.

“I should what?”

“Move in. Here. With me. It’s a big enough place - a little too big, really, with Henry not here. You could have your own room, if you wanted. And then you wouldn’t have to be living on the other you’s boat... and let’s be honest, you’re here almost every night as it is.”

“It’s a ship, love.”

“I don’t care if it’s the Jolly friggin’ Roger, it’s still a boat and it doesn’t stay still for one second.” Really, she didn’t like going on it one bit, especially in heels - and she owned hardly anything else.

“It is the Jolly friggin’ Roger,” Hook reminded her.

“Whatever. You should still have a home on land, pirate.”

“With you?”

“Yes. With me.”

“Sold.”

“And just where are you off to so early this morning?”

Hook froze in the middle of pulling his pants on, giving her a comical view of him standing on one leg with his ass pointed at her and his boxer briefs on full display. “Ahh... Nowhere in particular. Breakfast with Alice. And Robin. No one else.” Finally, he stepped into the pants he was holding.

For a sneaky pirate with centuries of experience, he wasn’t very good at sneaking. Still, Regina trusted him. If whatever he was hiding was important, he wouldn’t be hiding it. “No one else, huh?” she asked, unable to resist teasing him a little.

“Well, I’m certain there will be other patrons at Granny’s...”

“Maybe I should join you.”

“Ah, no. You’ve only just awoken, and I’m already running late. I’d hate to keep them waiting...”

Yeah, he was definitely up to something. Usually, he never minded making people wait if it meant her joining him somewhere. “You’re right,” she said, deciding to let him off the hook for now. “Besides, it’s godawfully early. Must be something in her pirate blood for Alice to even agree to meet you this early.” She stretched and rolled over in the bed. “Have fun, and try to come back before your side of the bed gets too cold.”

“Aye, your majesty,” he said fondly.

“I keep telling you, I’m not a queen any more...”

He surprised her by appearing on her side of the bed and leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Aye, my love... but you’ll always be a queen to me.”

“Did you get it, lad?” Hook asked excitedly as Henry rode up on his horse.

Alice and Robin looked up from their breakfast platters, not quite as invested in Henry’s mission as Hook was, but still curious.

“Yeah. Diamonds and pale amethysts, large and small stones, lots of glitz and glamour, but light on weight, just like you specified.” He pulled the crown out of the box he held and showed it to the trio. “Pretty nice, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s beautiful!” Alice exclaimed, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her taste in engagement rings had left no question about the fact that she enjoyed a nice big glittery stone or two. Or three. Or more.

“Settle down there, Tower Girl,” Robin said with a laugh. “There’s no way I could afford one of those in a million years.”

“Think she’ll like it?” Henry asked Hook.

Hook nodded. “I think she’ll love it.”

“What’s the suit for?”

Hook looked up from the book he was reading in their bed and tried to put an innocent look on his face. “What suit?”

“The new suit hanging in the closet.”

“There’s a new suit in the closet?”

Regina had to laugh. “Alright, Wise Guy. I know you’re up to something, you know. It’s only a matter of time before I figure out what it is.”

“Aye, but I dearly wish you wouldn’t, love.”

“You know, a lot of people have been ordering custom dresses and suits lately...”

Now he looked at her in surprise. “How the bloody hell do you know that?”

Regina shrugged. “City commerce is important to me. I pay attention to consumer trends and business outlooks.”

Hook grinned in amusement. “Of course you do, love.”

Regina sighed and climbed into the bed they shared. “Is it something I should be worried about?”

“Of course not,” he said seriously. “I would never keep it from you if it were.”

“I know that,” Regina admitted. “I just... I’m not used to not knowing what’s going on in my town. I mean, not that it’s still my town, but it was once, and...”

“I understand,” Hook assured her. “And you’ll know soon enough. I promise. Although in the meantime, you might want to make sure you have a nice dress on hand. Maybe something silver and spectacular? Maybe the slightest blush of lilac?”

“Did you know Snow begged me to go to a custom dress fitting tomorrow?”

“I had no idea, love. Pirate’s honor. Sounds like a fun girls’ day out.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Obviously, you’ve never been to a custom fitting before. It’s a lot of standing around, getting prodded by a stranger, and occasionally being poked with pins.”

“Sounds like the suit fitting I went to for that suit in the closet.”

She stared at him for a moment, then walloped him with her pillow.

She knew, of course, the whole time Zelena had bullied her into the dress Snow had cajoled her into buying and then Henry arrived to drag her all the way to the castle’s ballroom, that this was it. Whatever it was, this was what Hook had been keeping from her for the past few weeks.

As frustrating as it was not knowing what was going on, she knew he’d told her it was nothing to worry about. And she trusted him. She trusted her sons, as well, and her sister. She trusted her step-daughter and her husband. She trusted her family, all of it... and her town.

So she knew, walking into the ballroom and seeing all those people gathered there for whatever-this-was, that it would be okay. Good, even. And when she saw Hook in the crowd, looking handsome in his new suit and wearing a proud smile, she knew he’d told her the truth. He would’ve never hidden it if it had been worrisome. It would never be happening if it wasn’t something good.

And when David opened the box and she saw the beautiful crown nestled inside of it, she immediately knew. The pale purple stones, the tasteful arrangement combining gems of different sizes, all the drama and glamour one could ever want in a ceremonial crown such as this, but still tasteful. She knew the decision to make her queen had been a joint one, but that crown...

She knew who had designed the crown.

Regina turned and looked at him, still a little unsure of this whole thing, of taking on this responsibility, of setting herself up for the judgement and potential vilification this could all lead to. What if it all went wrong, as it had done before? What if-

But he just smiled that knowing smile of his and nodded slightly. She could do it. He knew she could do it. He believed in her, just as all the others did, and she would always be a queen in his eyes.

She knew he was right, of course. She could do it.

And so... she did.

[rhetoricandlogic]

Present Tense: The Sudden Appearance of Hope by Claire North

Niall Alexander

Thu May 19, 2016 3:00pm

Life is complicated—not least because it’s so frickin’ unpredictable. But there are a few things you can be sure of. One day, you and I will die; come what may, there’ll be plenty of taxes to pay along the way; and, as Isaac Newton concluded, for every action, an equal and opposite reaction will happen.

In real terms, that means that what we do dictates what is done to us. Hurt someone and you can expect to be hurt in turn. Make someone happy and perhaps they’ll pay that happiness back. This behavioural balance relies on our ability to remember, however. Without that… well, what would you do if you knew the world would forget you?

You’d let loose, wouldn’t you?

Hope Arden, for her part, does exactly that in Catherine Webb’s third novel as Claire North, which, like Touch and The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August before it, is an engrossing, globe-trotting interrogation of identity that sits comfortably between Bourne and Buffy.

For a while after I’d been forgotten, I toyed with becoming a hitman. I pictured myself in leather jump suits, taking down my targets with a sniper rifle, my dark hair billowing in the wind. No cop could catch me; no one would know my name. I was sixteen years old, and had peculiar ideas about ‘cool.’

Peculiar, to be sure, but so is Hope’s very particular predicament.

You’d be forgiven for forgetting someone you see on the street; even someone you speak to, briefly. But neglect to remember your best mate and that relationship’s in dire straits. Fail to recognise your son or your daughter and you’ve got a problem with a capital P. North’s poor protagonist has had to deal with that every day since she came of age, in her every interaction with everyone she’s ever met. Never mind the network of people she’d need to know her if she had a hope in hell of holding down a normal job: she’s a complete stranger to her parents, and her closest friends look at her like an interloper.

It’s a credit to her character, then, that Hope—”having no one else to know me, having no one to catch me or lift me up, tell me if I’m right or wrong, having no one to define the limits of me”—still holds the sanctity of human life in high regard. So scratch that career as an assassin.

Instead, she uses her inimitable anonymity to steal. Merely to make ends meet, in the beginning; to pay her way in a world that won’t notice in any case. But before long, she starts five-fingering bigger things—mayhap to make more of a mark. And she does… if only on paper. As of the offing of North’s new novel, an inspector with Interpol has been hot on Hope’s heels for years. He’s even caught her on occasion. Alas for Luca Evard, “a good man” by any measure, even he has forgotten that fact.

That said, there’s hope for him yet, because one day, his quarry does something… unusually stupid. In the process of planning her next theft, she meets Reina bint Badr al Mustakfi, and in her, sees someone sweet and sad and overshadowed. Someone like Hope herself, in short. Someone whose sudden suicide makes all that follows intensely personal as opposed to professional.

Had Hope spent a little longer looking into the organisation she holds responsible for Reina’s unfortunate fate—the all-powerful owners and operators of a pervasive program called Perfection, which functions like a lifestyle-based Facebook—she’d surely have realised what she was up against and stayed a ways away, but nothing’s going to stop her now. As planned, she nabs a necklace of diamonds from a party of Perfection’s finest in Dubai, but when she comes to sell her prize on the black market, she finds herself in the line of fire of a man who goes by Gauguin and has none of Inspector Evard’s integrity.

Hope barely escapes the subsequent confrontation, but rather than running from the fire, she strides straight back into it when someone with a similarly vested interest in tearing Perfection apart pays her to purloin the software at its centre:

It wasn’t merely the £1.2 million that Byron promised upon completion of the job that gave me a sense of ease; it was the job itself.

I was going to Tokyo to crack open the little piece of software that seemed to obsess both Byron and Gauguin, whose name had haunted me around my travels between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. I was going to steal Perfection, and it was good.

On the surface, The Sudden Appearance of Hope is the story of that job, and though there’s a touch too much table-setting, it’s a tense and twisting thing when it gets going, complete with regular reversals and revelations that raise the stakes at the same time as changing the goals of the dangerous game our tragic protagonist is playing.

The emotional focal point of the fiction is Hope, of course, and her attempts to understand what’s wrong with her, in order to either correct it, or accept it. Initially, she wants nothing more than to make herself memorable—not a problem for North, I’d note—and for all the repellent tenets it represents, Perfection offers her that possibility… but at what cost? What is she willing to sacrifice simply to stand a chance of being known by her mother or a lover? And if she was known, would she be wanted? These are questions Hope wrestles with repeatedly, and they ground her comprehensively conflicted character marvellously.

The precarious situations she gets herself into in the interim, and somehow has to get herself out of again, would be more than enough to sustain most stories of this sort. But remember, readers dear: this is a Claire North novel. Claire North novels are shiny and exciting on the surface, sure, but they’re also progressive and introspective—as chilling, invariably, as they are thrilling—and The Sudden Appearance of Hope is no exception in that respect.

Not only does it underscore the superficial nature of the age we exist in, it also explores the notion of knowledge, sets its sights on the effects of hysteria, and—in extricating the present from the fug of the future by way of a perspective that lives only in the moment, a woman who is effectively “dead in all but deed”—exposes the absolute necessity of now.

I exist in this physical world as sure as stone, but in the world of men—in that world that is collective memory, in the dream-world where people find meaning, feeling, importance—I am a ghost. Only in the present tense am I real.

The Sudden Appearance of Hope is North’s longest novel, if I’m not very much mistaken, and I suppose some of the seams between its many sections show. Most notably, the first third is thick with plot, and other than Hope herself, the narrative’s other characters are nowhere to be seen until the second act starts.

That’s going to be too much for some, and not enough for others, but rest assured: North addresses both of these problems well before winningly bringing “all things [back] to where we had begun, back to Dubai, back to Reina, the summer sun and a bunch of stolen diamonds,” and in every other significant sense, The Sudden Appearance of Hope is effectively unforgettable.

[teecohenc]

this is real .

WHO: Tina Cohen-Chang, Deputy Shuester, mentions of Rachel Berry and others.  WHAT: It’s Tina’s turn to be questioned.  WHERE: Double C Diner.  WHEN: Friday afternoon.  WARNINGS: None. 

The hectic hustle and bustle of Double C Diner’s lunch rush had just started to die down when, from her space back in the kitchens, Tina heard one of her hostess’ call out for her.  

“Tina? Phone!”

Cheeks and hair dusted with flour, she neatly ( albeit a bit reluctantly ) put aside the assortment of ingredients she’d intended to make a few pies with in the interim, wiped her hands off on her apron, and hurried to make her way out to the floor of the restaurant.  

“Thanks Etta,” she replied with a gentle smile as she settled herself behind the polished wood of the front desk, and took the waiting phone from her friend’s outstretched hand. “Hello? This is Tina. How can I help you?”

“Ms. Cohen-Chang? This is Deputy Shuester of the Castleport Police Department. I’m sorry to call you during work hours, but I was wondering if you had a spare moment to answer a few questions in regard to the disappearance of Rachel Berry?”

Instantly, Tina felt her insides go ice cold — a horrible feeling of dread enveloping her as she processed the detective’s words. If they were calling to talk about Rachel — get information — then she’d been right. Rachel’s disappearance wasn’t another one of her overboard dramatic acts like they’d all thought. It was real. She was missing. Heart thundering hard against her ribs, she nodded her head in the affirmative to being questioned before realizing that there was no way the officer could see it.  

“Y-yeah — of course, just . . . give me a minute, please,” and with that, without answering a confused Etta, Tina quickly put the call on hold and practically sped off toward her family’s side office while simultaneously attempting to collect her spiraling thoughts.

Why were they calling her of all people? Yeah, she and Rachel had gone to school together, but that was 10 years ago, and they’d hardly kept up conversation after graduation. What had been said or found that’d put her into the mix like this; as though she had any idea of where Rachel could be, or how she could help her? Letting out a low, somewhat frantic curse, Tina distractedly waved off the following concerned looks of her employees and, in a burst of quick thinking, grabbed for an unused waitress notepad to jot down the questions that were to be asked. She’d seen more than enough crime shows to know to always be careful with these kinds of situations, and a wariness of cops in general, all that aside. Once she was inside the privacy of her office’s walls, she made sure to lock the door behind her and sat on her desk chair with a heavy sigh before reaching out for the phone to press the line 1 button with a shaking hand.

“Okay. I’m back. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem, Ms. Cohen-Chang. This won’t take long. Now, to start, would you say your interest in Ms. Berry’s disappearance was more than the usual casual concern?”

That made her pause — somewhat confused as to why that, of all things, was a question at all, or how it would help find Rachel. But still, she made to answer to the best of her abilities given the current circumstances.

“I’m worried about her, yeah. How could I not be? This whole thing has been insane. Have you heard anything new? Or found anything?” It was nowhere near as eloquent of a response as she’d hoped for, but it was honest ( she was too freaked out to be anything but ). Whether or not that was detectable over the phone was a whole other can of worms entirely. The brief silence on the other end of the call definitely didn’t help matters, either. What was he thinking? What was he doing? Was he documenting what she was saying? Was she a person of interest? The unknown of it all had Tina’s stomach twisted in tight knots from the overwhelming nervousness she felt searing through her veins.

“That cannot be discussed at current, I’m afraid. But do know that we’re doing all we can to find her, I assure you. But on that note, how close would you say you were to Ms. Berry? How would you describe your relationship? Was she easy to get along with?”

Shit. That was not at all an inquiry that warranted a quick or simple answer in the slightest. Her pencil tapped a jarring, uneven rhythm against the scant notes she’d scribbled down as memories of her time back in school flew through her head unprompted — of her standing by in the halls or in class, watching as Rachel got a good brunt of bullying from Santana, Quinn, and even her own boyfriend. There were a few times where she’d been tempted to step in and just say enough was enough, but at the same time, as awful as it was for her to admit, there were way more times where Tina thought it was somewhat deserved, with the way Rachel behaved. Did she regret it now? Absolutely, but there was nothing she could do about it — you can’t change the past.  

“. . . I wouldn’t consider us all that close, no, despite sharing a mutual best friend. I mean, yeah, we were in Glee Club together and ran in the same social circles, but that was about it.” Tina worried at her bottom lip as she struggled to come up with an answer to the second part of the question that didn’t sound so nasty. “Honestly, most of the time I found her rather difficult to deal with. Our personalities didn’t mesh well, and, more often than not, I tried to keep my distance from her as best I could.” Rachel Berry had always been far too much for her tastes; too rude, too loud, and far too conceited to be bearable, despite her talent. But Tina would gladly take all that in spades if it meant that she was found and this entire, horrible mess was over with.  

“I see. Well, I just have one more question for you, Ms. Cohen-Chang and then I’ll let you get back. Were you aware of any tension between the people you were close to, and Rachel? Any history of negative feelings, like say, towards Hunter Clarington?”

“Wait. What?” Tina blurted out, a sharp, incredulous noise tumbling from her lips as the last part of detective’s question resounded like a huge, warning gong in her head. “Why are you singling Hunter out?” It was not smart, she knew, snapping at a cop, but the underlying implications of that seemingly innocent implement of her ex-boyfriend’s name made fear rip and tear at her chest – shock clogging at her throat as she struggled to draw in air. “You don’t actually think that he had something to do with this, do you?”

“Ms. Cohen-Chang, we’ve found evidence of animosity between Mr. Clarington and Ms. Berry — we’re just looking for some kind of clarification for this case.”

“That was back in high school — a decade ago — and he wasn’t the only one who had an issue with Rachel either! She wasn’t exactly a favorite amongst most of her classmates.” Yes, Hunter and Rachel had their problems, that was obvious, and he could be a huge ass at the worst of times, but Tina knew him far beyond all that. He would never do something like this. He wasn’t evil, and she would be damned if this detective or anyone else said otherwise, especially with what was so clearly at stake.  

“Ms. Cohen-Chang, please. We’re not implicating anyone. This is standard procedure in getting answers in this case.”

Standard, huh? Then why the mention of Hunter’s name at all? There was something off about all of this that didn’t sit right with Tina one bit.

“Like I said, Rachel had a lot of issues with a lot of people, but no one I know or am close to would ever do something like this.” That, she was utmost confident about.

There was another long pause over the line that made Tina’s pulse jump. What in the hell was going on?  

“I understand. Thank you for your time and cooperation, Ms. Cohen-Chang. We’ll be sure to keep in touch. Have a nice day,”

It was an obvious dismissal if she’d ever heard one and it left a sour taste in her mouth.  

“Yeah. . . you too.”

With that, the call ended with a loud ‘ click, ’ and no sooner had it done so did Tina grab for her cell phone to text Hunter. Yes, they were in a weird ass place at the moment, but this preceded everything. He needed to know what’d just happened, and shit, the rest of her friends did too. 

[exkernal]

Silly Little Distractions

Sometimes Tyrell needed a distraction.

Work was such a sterile environment, such an everything-by-the-book environment. He thrived in that kind of environment, but even he had to admit that it could grow depressingly dull sometimes. The same little details, the same boring people day in and out could get so…monotonous. That didn’t bother him, not really, because he knew it was necessary for his plans, but a little distraction now and then could help him get through the day.

Elliot Alderson was a distraction.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he signaled Elliot out on that first day. It was a whim, really, something that caught his eye when he first spotted the young Allsafe employee hunched over his desk. Maybe it had something to do with Elliot’s attitude, which screamed so loudly that he didn’t belong. It practically radiated off of him: the way he hunched his shoulders, the way he kept his desk free of any family pictures or useless knickknacks, and the way his gray eyes shone so intensely. Maybe he just wanted to talk tech with someone who looked like they’d understand—if he had to listen to any more of Colby’s illiterate babbling, he was going to shoot someone.

Maybe, just maybe, he saw a little of himself in the younger man, or at least, a little of the old Tyrell. The Tyrell he’d almost forgotten about, the one who pretended he wasn’t intimidated by the New York streets and hid his accent and started at the lowest level of E Corp.

So he struck up a conversation. Elliot stared at him the whole time like the mere act of talking to him broke some unspoken social code. Most people would’ve got the hint, but not Tyrell. If anything, it made Tyrell want to talk to him more, to find out what he’d do or say. Yes, Elliot was a distraction, and an intriguing one.

He would forget about Elliot eventually. That’s how it always went with these silly, momentary distractions. Before long, he’d be the CTO of one of the most powerful corporations in the world, with a beautiful wife and perfect nuclear family. Everything in his life was building up to that. Distractions helped him get through the day, but he never lost sight of the bigger picture.

And then the hack happened. He would never say this out loud, of course (he wasn’t stupid), but that hack was the best thing that ever happen to him. It took down that idiot Colby in one fell swoop, and left Tyrell to become the youngest CTO E Corp had ever seen. It was interim CTO, but still, he was on his way.

He had Elliot to thank for that. That Allsafe tech was behind it—and hadn’t he been right to focus on him? The first sign was at that meeting, the one at Allsafe. Colby preened and puffed out his chest like a strutting rooster, dressing down that blonde just because it suited his fancy. The morons in the room focused all of their attention on that, but Tyrell wasn’t watching what’s-her-name; his eyes were on Elliot, or rather, what Elliot was watching. He alone saw that cold look come over Elliot’s eyes, and then saw him switch the folders.

“Once you decrypt it, you’ll know where the hack came from.”

Tyrell didn’t know what to make of it at the time, but he knew it meant something. He was immensely curious about what was in that folder. He wondered if Colby would show him.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. Colby was arrested for his involvement with that fscoiety group. Ha! Anyone who sat in the same room as Colby should know how ridiculous that was, but everyone lapped it up, or pretended to. He knew then that Elliot framed Colby. The question was why.

Elliot Alderson was a ghost—at least online. No Facebook, Twitter, or Linked-In. No online presence whatsoever. Almost like he didn’t exist.

He couldn’t find anything about Elliot, but he did find a connection between Alderson and E Corp, after a while. There was an obituary for an Edward Alderson from Washington Township, who died in 1995 and was survived by a wife and two children, Elliot and Darlene. Washington Township, 1995. He knew what that meant—you didn’t get as high up as he was without knowing what that meant—and once he checked the database he could prove it. This was Elliot’s motive.

He knew that he needed Elliot to work for him. It was an impulsive decision, but he knew it was the right one. He wanted this person close to him. It wasn’t out of gratitude, though Tyrell knew damn well that he owed Elliot for his current good luck. It was something more. Something felt but not easily articulated.

It troubled him, but only for a moment before he pushed it away. Why shouldn’t he want such a brilliant person to work for him? He would be an asset, especially if he was as submissive as Tyrell thought. No need for him to second guess himself.

It stung when Elliot rejected him. He’d been so sure that Elliot would jump at the offer; any sane person would. Not that it mattered, since it wasn’t like he needed Elliot. He was just a distraction, and amusement, something to help him get by when things got excruciatingly boring. Fine then. He’d put Elliot out of his mind completely.

That would be so much easier to do if he didn’t keep bumping into Elliot, and always at the weirdest times. Like Steel Mountain. Elliot disarmed him with just one sentence: “you eat here?” Anger and humiliation whirled up in him, and he never even stopped to ask himself why it bothered himself so much, he just whisked Elliot off to the executive lounge. That might be why he followed him to the bathroom, to get back at him. “I know you framed Colby,” he said, just so he could watch Elliot squirm and stutter, and Tyrell felt smug satisfaction that yes, you don’t have power over me, I have power over you. He felt way too pleased about that exchange.

Love was a funny thing. Tyrell used to consider it a trivial thing that only saps waxed poetic about. That was before he met Joanna. Joanna was beyond compare: beautiful, intelligent, cunning. She was someone worthy of love, someone who helped him become better just by being around. For the longest time, he thought that Joanna was the only being he could truly love.

He didn’t love Elliot. He couldn’t. He was attracted to him, yes, but what was the point denying that? Elliot was certainly beautiful, if in an unconventional way. Beautiful and fascinating. That was all. He needed to stop thinking about him.

Then things went straight to hell. In retrospect, Tyrell should have seen the signs, but at the time it came out of nowhere. Scott Knowles was CTO. Sharon Knowles was dead. Joanna was telling him to fix this, but he couldn’t see how. His perfect life had inverted, becoming a twisted parody of itself. He lost everything, just when it seemed to be coming together.

Well, maybe not everything. Elliot was the one constant in the chaos. Brilliant, deceptive Elliot, who Tyrell was starting to suspect was planning something big with fsociety. Hell, Elliot probably was fsociety. He needed to know what he was planning, and if it could be the salvation he needed.

It was a very different Elliot who got into his car on Coney Island. Gone was the awkward, submissive Elliot. The person in his car slouched without a care in the world and spoke with the authority of a prophet. He barely even looked at him, as if Tyrell wasn’t worthy of Elliot’s notice. It broke something in Tyrell. He panicked at the sight of Elliot leaving the car. He couldn’t let him go like that—couldn’t let Elliot leave thinking that Tyrell wasn’t worthy.

Tyrell was always meant to discover Elliot. He could see that now. He had thought he was destined to become CTO, but now he could see how wrong he was. His old life, his time at E Corp, only mattered for one very simple reason: it brought him to Elliot. If only he could make Elliot see that. It was what propelled him out of the car and after Elliot’s retreating form, in one last desperate chance to make him see—to make him understand—that they belonged together.

“You’re only seeing what’s in front of you,” Elliot told him. “You’re not seeing what’s above you.”

And with that, he was gone. He had his purpose in life, he had his love, and he would follow Elliot wherever it lead him.