#can you believe bailey even suggested we turn on the big light

[stardust-static]

Happy Valentine's Day 🌹❤️

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

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[resilientdolan]

Drown (G.D)- part 4

A/N: IM SO SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE FKSJSJS IVE BEEN BUSY AS HELL WITH WORK AND DEALING WITH MY SEPTOPLASTY SHIT BUT IM HERE AND FEELING BETTER!

Word-count: 1.5k

Summary: You went out to get some coffee with Ethan, which led you to find out that he knows about your crush towards Grayson. And later on, you discover something else that you don’t even want to know.

T/W: Angst

Tags: @bingexdolan aka my loyal ass reader, thanks for bearing with my ugly writing bye <3

———————————————————————

“Is he mad at me?,” Bianca mumbles before she takes a small sip of her iced latte, with her eyes locked with Ethan’s.

It’s one fine afternoon, and Bianca decided to spend some time with Ethan to catch up with him. He’s usually pretty busy, but apparently today’s her lucky day that he agreed to get some coffee with her. So here she is, with Ethan sitting in front of her. But just him, Grayson’s not coming.

Ethan tilts his head aside for a bit, with his brows scrunched. “It’s not like he’s mad... Maybe more like upset because you chose Declan,” he shrugs.

A soft sigh escapes her as she sets her plastic cup of iced latte down on the table. “But why? He knows Declan. Okay, what if— he’s no longer a douche?,” She replies.

Ethan shakes his head as he shifts his gaze from her, to the view outside the window. “You know, the point is, he doesn’t like Declan. Douche Declan, or Nice Declan, still no from him,” Ethan says.

“True, though,” She replies lazily. “Anyways, where is he?,” Again, she shifts her gaze back to Ethan.

His shoulders rise and fall into a shrug as he speaks. “It’s August 1st. Grayson and Isla’s second anniversary.”

Oh. She can feel her heart shattered into pieces as soon as he mentions that girl’s name, followed with the word ‘anniversary’.

“So they’re going out?”

Jesus, Bianca, why are you so nosy—

“Hmm, I don’t know. He mentioned about having a dinner with Isla to celebrate their anniversary, but also he’s been watching a lot of cooking shows on TV. Maybe he’s chefin’ up?,” Ethan guesses.

He’s willing to cook for his girl? God, if only that lucky girl was her.

“Such a gentleman...,” Bianca mumbles to herself. Ethan chuckles.

“So... they’re probably at your place?,” Again, she asks.

“No, I think they’re going to celebrate it at Isla’s. Mom doesn’t really like Isla and her bitchy attitude,”

“Wait, does Grayson know?,”

“He knows. Mom told him about it like few weeks ago. She told him that Isla’s vibe is just a big no, and I agree,” Ethan explains.

And he’s still keeping her? Such a gentleman, right?

Yes, but not hers.

“Anyways, thanks for helping me with the Biology last night. I finished my test real quick, thanks to you,” Ethan out of nowhere decides to change the topic.

Bianca just gives him a slight nod. “You’re welcome, I’ll try to help you as long as I can,” She shrugs.

Ethan gently taps his fingers against the cold surface of the table lying between them for a while before he finally says something that she has never expected.

“Why would Grayson choose Isla when he got you, Bi?”

Ethan—

“What do you mean?,” Bianca furrows her brows.

“Like... You’re beautiful, you’re nice, and he has known you for years, so why did he have to choose Isla over you?”

She keeps her mouth shut.

“And you’re smart. Like, you can be his tutor slash girlfriend but he ended up dating a seeking attention whore like Isla? God,” Ethan grumbles.

“Ethan—“

“Bianca, he’s dumb! He should’ve picked you instead of Isla,” he mutters.

Bianca shakes her head as she arches her brow. “What if... I’m not into your brother?”

Ethan quickly shifts his gaze back to her the moment she says it. A sarcastic chuckle comes out of his lips, followed with another unexpected thing.

“Don’t be silly, Bianca. You’ve been crushing on him all this time.”

She remains silent, shaking her head. “I told you that I’ve been talking to De—“

“My ass.” Ethan cuts her off real quick. “Yeah, like lately, but how about years ago, Bi?” he attacks her.

Silence.

“Everybody knows that you’re into Grayson. It’s not that I’m mad at you for crushing on him, but the fact that he’s acting all blind makes me sick,” Ethan doesn’t even give her a chance to defend herself.

“E...”

“Tell me I’m right,” he demands.

He knew it all. And there’s nothing she can do to cover it up anymore. Her crush towards Grayson is no longer a secret.

Bianca nods her head slowly as she brings her hand up to run her fingers through her dark locks. “Maybe we’re not meant to be, Ethan,” she mumbles.

“What if you’re actually meant to be with him?,” Again, another strike back from Ethan.

“I—I don’t know...” she mumbles. She can feel her cheek burning red and her eyes start to water.

Don’t cry, Bi.

“I believe so, but my brother’s just dumb,”

She loses it.

She brings the back of her hand up to her face to wipe the tears away, trying her best to act that Grayson and Isla ain’t shit to her, but she just can’t.

“Ethan, I want no one but him...” she sniffles. “But maybe the wait is over, I gotta move on. If he’s happy with Isla, then I deserve my happiness too,” she adds.

Ethan lets out a soft sigh as he reaches his hand out to tuck a strand of hair to the back of her ear. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he coos softly. “But, you know... I got your back. If you feel it’s the time to let go, then do it, Bi. I want nothing but the best for you,” he adds once again, this time, with a small smile in his face.

“We’ll see, I just hope talking to Declan can help me to move on, you know? Starting fresh...”

“I understand,” he nods.

That’s when exactly Ethan’s phone beeps. He quickly checks the latest notification popping into his phone. Turns out it’s from Lisa.

“Hey, I know a way to brighten up your mood,” he grins.

“Huh?,”

“Don’t you miss... this?,” Ethan hands his phone to her, showing a picture sent by Lisa.

Her home made cinnamon rolls. Bianca’s favorite.

“I’ll drive you home later, but right now, let’s get you some of your all time favorite one, Dolan’s home-baked cinnamon rolls,” he chuckles as he gets up from his seat.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe some cinnamon rolls can help.

———————————————————————

“Thanks, Auntie Lisa,” Bianca speaks once she finish her second roll. Lisa gives her a quick nod as she sits on the couch in the living room, joining Bianca and Ethan.

“Hey, no need to thank me. You’re just in luck,” Lisa replies, taking a small sip of her hot chamomile tea.

“Well, I think I need to thank Ethan for dragging me here, then,” Bianca nudges Ethan’s rib playfully as he leans against his seat.

“I know you love Mom’s cinnamon rolls, soo,” Ethan replies quickly.

“Anyway, Ethan, where’s Grayson?,” Lisa asks.

“At Isla’s, I think?,” the twin brother replies lazily. “It’s their anniversary, so I think they’re celebrating it there, maybe?,” he adds.

“He didn’t tell me about that,” Lisa sighs.

“Because we all don’t give a damn about him and Isla. So he thinks he has nothing to tell about when it comes to their relationship,” Ethan rolls his eyes in annoyance.

Bianca’s just there, sitting in complete silence as she tries to process the fact that Grayson keeping his relationship private from his family, all because they dislike Isla.

“He’ll come home soon, Ma. No worries. If you’re tired, get some rest, I’ll wait for him,” Ethan suggests.

“How about Bianca?,”

“Easy, I’ll drive her home later,” Ethan convinces her once again.

“Ah, alright. Let me get some rest, it’s been a tiring day,” Lisa stands up from her seat as she gives Bianca another smile. “Thanks for coming, dear,” she adds.

Bianca gives her a thumb up and a smile as she watches her heading upstairs to her room.

“Relax and have another roll if you want, Bi,” Ethan points at the last cinnamon roll on the plate. Bianca lazily shakes her head as she lean against the seat.

Her mind wanders. Thinking about him.

Grayson.

And that’s when the door opens, and she can hear the sound of a light jog.

It’s him, he’s home.

“I’m home!,” Grayson’s voice echoes.

“You didn’t tell Mom about your anniversary plan?,” Ethan replies.

Bianca chooses to remain silent, to observe his reaction at the fact she’s there post the argument night. He walks into the room and sits on the vacant spot next to Ethan, all smile.

God, there he is. Making her weak with his smile, though she doesn’t even know the reason why.

“Oh, hi, Bi!,” he finally greets her, with a cheeky grin across his lips.

“Are you on drugs or what, Bro?,” Ethan frowns.

“Why?”

“Being all happy like this? Kinda weird...,” Ethan hums.

“Just, excited about the anniversary” he replies.

Oh, one knife thrown to her chest by Grayson Bailey Dolan.

“Mhm, dinner?,” Ethan asks.

“Yeah, yeah, we cooked, and had dinner together. And I gave Isla a necklace, the one that I showed you few weeks ago, remember?,” Grayson continues.

“I do remember,” Ethan nods.

He gave her a necklace? Second knife.

“And... you know... we did it,” he lowers his voice that it nearly sounds like a whisper.

“Did what?,” Ethan’s brows furrow.

“That...” Grayson rolls his eyes, getting annoyed at Ethan being lame.

“You and Isla...,” Ethan mumbles.

“No worries, protection, bro,” Grayson replies.

Protection?

“Wait, you and Isla had...” Ethan turns his gaze to Grayson, then back to Bianca.

“Yes, Ethan. We did it,” Grayson exclaims proudly.

Third knife to her chest.

[doof-doofblog]

"I'm Your Father, Love!"

Tuesday 18th May 2021

Hello again everyone! Hope you're all doing okay, I'm back with another post and tonight I'll be reviewing Tuesday's post episode. However before we get started I have a little bit of news to share, which I'm sure the majority of you might've heard by now. Adam Woodyatt has announced that he's not going to be returning to Albert Square until at least 2022! So of course, for me, that raises the question - What has Ian been doing all of this time? Where did he go when he wondered off into the night? I know that there's going to be some major questions to be asked. We all last saw Ian leave the Square after he realised that his new wife, Sharon was poisoning him after she found out about his involvement in her son, Dennis's death. I hope Ian's return will be a big one, considering the way he left - with no money, no phone - just the clothes on his back, I'm eager to see where he has been and what he's been doing. What do you guys think?

Anyway, focusing on the episode at hand, firstly I'm going to begin with Katy and Frankie. Considering that Monday's episode ended with Katy returning to the Square, it wasn't going to be long until she crossed someone's path. Unfortunately for Frankie, it turns out her Mum has come back to the Square to see her. As Frankie is sat quietly in the club, she's startled as she looks up to see her Mum standing over her. Katy tries to plead with her to have one last drink with her before she gets locked up, but Frankie is having none of it. Although when she escapes from her Mum arrives back at the Vic, she realises that Mick's victim statement is all placed in an envelope and ready to be read out loud in court. 

To me it seems that Frankie was struggling whether to go and see her Mum or not, because at the end of the day, she is her Mum. Eventually Frankie agrees to meet with her Mum in the park, without anyone else around. At first it looks as if they're bonding as Katy recalls about the time she took her daughter to the beach around Christmas time. It looks as if Katy is still holding onto the hope that she can be seen as a good person in her daughter's eyes. Eventually it becomes perfectly clear what Katy is wanting from her daughter, she questions whether Frankie will give her a character reference so the court can see what kind of person she can be. But Frankie realises that once again she's being used by her Mum, she walks away completely ignoring her Mother. I do feel for Frankie as she is kind of in the middle of all of this, but she needs to realise that she has no blame in any of it, all the blame leads directly to Katy. 

Returning to the Vic, Frankie confides in Shirley, informing her of her Mother's request but she makes it known that she completely refused, much to Shirley's delight. Shirley claims she's proud of Frankie for doing the right thing and how she always knew she was on their side. I think as much as Frankie is wanting to stand by her Dad and help him through this ordeal, I guess a part of her is also thinking that she's also losing her Mum in all of this. I think I do feel for Frankie right now, but I am really intrigued to see the court scenes when they air. Will Mick be able to read his statement in court with Katy sat right there in the room?!

--

Elsewhere on the Square, Sharon is prepping herself for the launch of her new gym, however she's getting very little help from Zack. As she voices her ideas to him, he's insulting every single suggestion. He informs her that she needs to think bigger and advertise on social media and consider that people are going to be wanting to join the gym, so she should have some fresh smoothies made etc etc. 

As Zack tries to, once again, show off, Martin and Ruby happen to be walking with Lily across the Square. Is it me, or does this Zack think that he's God's gift to women? Showing off and flirting with anything that moves, but it seems his eyes are focused on Ruby at the moment - and Martin is really noticing which is making him incredibly jealous and possibly even cautious. Only did you guys happen to see the look on Lily's face? Do you think she has sussed out that her Dad may be jealous of Zack? 

Later as Zack is trying out a new cocktail, I'm not 100% sure whether it was something new for the club or something he was working on for the gym launch, but regardless he gets Ruby to be his guinea pig. However, lurking in the corner, sitting and watching everything unfold in front of her, is Lily. Ruby happens to notice her step-daughter and questions why she's not in school. Lily makes up an excuse and instantly asks her step-mum whether she has a crush on Zack, which of course Ruby firmly denies and informs her not to get involved in "Adult Business!" 

However, it looks as if the cogs are turning in Lily's mind. I'm assuming she still really doesn't look Ruby and will do anything to make her life a misery, maybe even split her and her Dad up. As she returns him and is sat watching TV with her Dad, Martin asks about what she's been doing whilst he's been away. It's then that Lily spins a web of lies, telling her Dad that Ruby wasn't around much and she was hanging around with Zack a lot, even mentioning that Zack had stayed over. Knowing full well how this would make her Dad feel, I think it's simply to do with Lily getting back at Ruby, purely for her Mum's sake. Is there anything Lily won't do to ruin Martin and Ruby's marriage?!

--

Another thing I have to mention is Bernie! Now Bailey has returned home, the Taylor family are slowly getting back to normal and having the family together again. Even though the family are terrified to let Bailey out of their sight. Bailey overhears Karen shouting for her in a blind panic, but once Karen realises that she's still safe and sound in the apartment, Bailey realises how worried her family were about it, claiming that she's seen all the online posts about her online. Does Bailey now feel guilty for running out on her family? Did she really believe that her family would be better off without her? The poor kid! 

But it seems that Karen isn't the only one who's concerned about Bailey's whereabouts, it looks as if Keegan is eager to keep a close eye on her also. He mentions to Tiffany that he and Bernie will be taking Bailey out for some lunch. Later as they all gather at McKlunky's, Keegan asks his sister about this "bonus" she'll be getting from Kheerat. But Bernie reassures her brother that he doesn't have to match her money, and he doesn't have to pay her back either. As a sweet and joking gesture, she informs him that as soon he has made his first million, that he can pay her back! 

However, the previous episode, Rainie informed Bernadette that she and Stuart are going to be finding another surrogate, so if Bernie is eager to make some quick cash for her family then she needs to act fast! Desperately she approaches Rainie begging her to give her a chance, to the point where she pushes herself to inform Rainie that she can lose the weight within a month! Rainie realises that Bernie is deeply serious about her surrogate and agrees to give her the one month deadline for her to lose weight so she can be their surrogate and carry a baby safely. 

Now I fear that this is where Bernie's eating disorder is going to come in, I know what it's like to lose weight, it can be a long and hard process - weight does not simply drop off you within a month! I fear that Bernie may make some drastic and hard decisions when it comes to her eating now. Will she perhaps start making herself sick? Or will she not eat at all and eventually go light headed and pass out? There could so many different and dark roads this storyline will take, I just hope there will be no lasting damage to both Bernadette, and the soon to be baby she'll be carrying - if it ever gets to that point! What do you guys think of this current storyline? I'm really interested in hearing your thoughts on this one! 

--

The final thing I have to mention is Sonia! Oh poor Sonia! After overhearing Dotty and Tiffany taking the mick out of her and calling her horrendous names, it looks as if Sonia is feeling as if she's aged since leaving the Square. Almost to the point where she feels it's time for her to change her look, she approaches Denise in the salon and asks her to give her a new do - from what we gather, something along the lines of what Dua Lipa has! 

Now Denise questions Sonia's decision and can see that maybe Sonia is having some kind of breakdown. She swiftly talks her into having a drink with her at the Vic. I have to say though, this scene between Sonia and Denise I absolutely loved. We don't get to see these two women socialise enough, it was just so lovely to see Denise reassure Sonia that she's not as "Boring" as some people think she is! She is a very important part of the community and mentions rightly how much Sonia has had to cope with over the last year, being a nurse and regards to the pandemic. It made it feel quite realistic for me, everyone knows how much we have needed the NHS this last year or so and how hard every single NHS employee has worked to keep us all safe! Even though the pandemic is real and Sonia is a fictional character, it was just nice for someone to reassure her that she is important and she is deeply loved within the community. I also have to say how much I love Denise also - I don't think Diane Parish gets the recognition she deserves! 

However as the drinks begin to flow, Denise and Sonia begin talking about Dotty. Denise informs her that she shouldn't listen to anything Dotty has to say, but unfortunately lets slip that Dotty has been performing as a hostess at the club. Learning this news, Sonia storms right over to the club and instructs Dotty to stop doing what she's doing, flaunting herself over middle aged men for money! However, she happens to insult a man standing by the bar, calling him a pervert! Dotty is left absolutely humiliated, but personally - it felt good to see Dotty be told straight! Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike Dotty, but I think becoming a hostess and dragging Tiffany in to doing it also, just doesn't seem right. I don't think she's no where near as bad as her Father, but I think she'll always have a rebel side to her! 

Oh so finally Brian Connelly has made his first appearance on the Square as Terry Cant. His first encounter was accidently bumping into Rainie. But as he continued to wonder Walford, he found himself in Ruby's club, working up an audience telling them a really interesting story, from what I could make out! However, he happened to be the one who was caught up in Sonia's confrontation with Dotty, being the one called a pervert. 

As Sonia returned back to the Square and began chatting once again with Denise and Tiffany, she was horrified to see that the "Pervert Man" had followed her back to the Vic. As she makes herself scarce by hiding underneath the table, Terry begins to ask for Sonia Fowler. But as Denise questions what he wants her for and whether she's done anything wrong, Terry informs them that she in fact hasn't done anything wrong, but called her Dad a pervert! Yep, that's right! Terry Cant is Sonia's Dad!!!! Where has he been all this time? How will Sonia react to her Father rolling up on the Square?

I know that Thursday's episode has already aired, but I'm looking forward to reviewing that episode tomorrow! Do you hope that Terry will become a permanent member of the cast? What else will bring him to Walford other than reconnecting with his daughter? I have to be honest, I'm looking forward to seeing what Brian Connelly will bring to the Square. I know he's well known for his comedy, but I'll be interested to see if they bring a more serious and maybe dark side to his character. I just think it'll give Brian Connelly that chance to shine and prove he can be a brilliant actor as well as a brilliant comedian! What do you guys think?? 

Thank you all for reading, it truly means the world! Please feel free to leave me a comment or leave me a message regarding anything currently happening in EastEnders right now. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts, opinions and theories! Love you all xXx

[four-loose-screws]

FE4 Suzuki Novelization Translation - Chapter 7 Part 3

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations - Ko-fi

T/N: Chapter 7′s title completely spoils one of the big events of the chapter, so I won’t be putting it in my tumblr posts like I usually do. You can check out the Google Doc, where I could hide it. Highlight the Table of Contents page to see it. In the event that this is your first experience with FE4′s plot, read the title after Chapter 7 Part 3. Those who have played FE4, it is of course nothing you don’t already know.

———————————

Chapter 7

Part 3

Brigid was the daughter of the previous head captain of the Orgahill Pirates.

When the head captain passed away, she’d inherited the crew, but that did not mean that her power was absolute. Even before she took over, whenever her father gave an order, each individual ship captain was free to decide whether or not their ship obeyed.

When the other two ship captains, Dobarl and Pizarl, learned that Augustria was going to war again, they went to Orgahill Castle and suggested to Brigid that they pillage the coastal towns.

“Captain, the Madinoian soldiers are all out fighting! They wouldn’t stop us! Now’s our chance! Let’s ransack the villages and take all their treasure for ourselves!”

“Dobarl, have you forgotten what I’ve always told you!? It is our duty as pirates to maintain the safety of the seas. Whenever a group of bandits pillages, they soon find that they’ve made an enemy of the countries whose land they assaulted. So we should watch silently upon what happens on land, shouldn’t we? What you are proposing is nothing more than robbery. What do you think would happen if we did that? Surely you know that it would be inviting someone to attack us. I will not allow it.”

“That’s exactly the point, Captain! Dobarl was thinking that pillaging the villages would only be the beginning, then in the end, we’d take Madino for ourselves…”

“Yeah! We’d slowly take over all of Augustria, and that would make you the queen of Augustria one day!”

“Silence, Dobarl! Leave the land to the bandits! How many times do I have to repeat myself!?” She shouted at them.

The two sulked out of Orgahill Castle.

While walking back to the coast, Dobarl asked, “So what should we do now?”

“Do it ourselves, of course! ...Wait just a minute, I’ve got an idea!” Pizarl exclaimed.

“What is it? Tell me!?”

“Let’s go mess with her ship’s crew, and take ‘em with us! It’ll be like pluckin’ her wings off her! Then we’ll laugh at her for it when we get home!”

“I love it! ...But I wonder if they’ll wanna go with us…”

“Just leave it to me.”

The two paddled a rowboat up to Brigid’s ship, The Nora, and climbed aboard.

Pizarl stood atop the ship’s stern, and shouted, “Ahoy, maties! Gather ‘round!” Everyone did so, then he explained his plan. “Right now, we can do whatever we want, and the captain doesn’t want to take advantage of that! But I betcha’ll think differently. Well, dont’cha? ...Anyway, we thought we’d tell you a little somethin’ interestin’. Brigid ain’t really the head captain’s daughter! He found her on a washed up boat when she was little, and took her in! But she doesn’t know that, and thinks she can order us around! ‘Don’t harass those women!’ ‘You can’t go around pillaging!’ You’ve heard it all before! ...What does she think we are, a bunch of priests!?”

Several members of the crew snickered.

“We’re pirates! If we pass this chance up, we’ll be the laughing stock of the pirate spirit! Ya’ll wouldn’t let that happen, would ya? Just think of all the treasure and women you’d miss out on! You agree with me, don’t ya?”

Everyone was silent, except for one man. “I don’t!”

The moment he heard those words, Dobarl pointed at the man who said them.

“Did you just say you don’t like my plan!?” Pizarl asked.

“U-Um, yes…”

“Then come on up here and tell us your opinion! We listen to everyone’s opinions. That’s one of our best traits as pirates.”

The man stood atop the stern, in front of Dobarl and Pizarl.

“We might be able to do whatever we want right now… but when I remember all the things Captain Brigid has said… I think I might agree with her…”

When the man was done, Dobarl raised his axe and swung it so fast it looked like a flash of light.

The man’s head fell on the deck and his neck spurted blood everywhere.

“And that’s my opinion. Anyone else got their own!?” Dobarl glared at all of them.

The crew was frozen in place, and uttered not a word.

“The first mate of this ship is Sheldon, ain’t he? Hey Sheldon, yer the new captain. Get on up here, cap’n!”

Sheldon rushed up to the stern in a panic.

“Now pick out a new first mate.”

Sheldon nodded and appointed his choice.

“Excellent! Everything’s settled! We set sail in thirty minutes. All the treasure and women in the world will fall before your very eyes! Are ya ready!?”

Everyone let out a loud cheer.

Thirty minutes later, they rose the anchor, and set sail.

Once they were moving, they heard a loud splash come from the direction of the stern.

“What happened? Did someone fall overboard?” Sheldon called out.

“No, Bailey jumped ship.”

Sheldon walked over to the stern and looked down at the water.

By the time Bailey’s head surfaced, he was already very far from the ship.

“What should we do?” Someone asked.

“Just leave ‘im there. Losing one man won’t hurt us.” Sheldon answered.

-

The moment she heard that all the ships had set sail, Brigid rushed out of the castle.

‘Even The Nora…? Why…?’ She wondered as she watched the three boats sail further and further away.

“Someone’s coming this way!” One of her remaining men, returning from shore, reported.

Both she and Bailey reached the beach at the same time.

He stepped out of the rowboat and told her about what happened aboard The Nora.

She was shocked to hear the news that not only did most everyone cheer for Pizarl and Dobarl, but also that she was not really the previous head captain’s daughter.

When they returned to the castle, Brigid began to think about what she should do next.

Dobarl and Pizarl had made it clear that they were now her enemies.

‘I have no choice but to think of everyone aboard The Nora as enemies as well. When they get back…’ 

There was no way they’d ever treat her the same way ever again. 

‘Should I fight them? Should I run?’

There were too few crew members left at the fort for her to fight back. And she couldn’t trust even a single member of her crew anymore. She wouldn’t mind dying in battle, but she loathed the idea of becoming their prisoner.

And she had no urge to kill herself.

‘My only choice is to run away.’

That night, she and Bailey left the castle.

-

Chagall took command of the unit attacking from the north, but the moment he heard all their allies had been taken out, he hid in the forest.

He threw off his armor to avoid being easy to spot, and headed towards Silvali Castle.

He knew that if he returned to Madino, he’d have no chance of winning. If he wanted to tip the scales, he had no choice but to rely on Eldigan’s Mystletainn and the Cross Knights.

Since everyone in Sigurd’s army was busy fighting, he was able to make it safely to Silvali Castle.

When Eldigan came to greet him, Chagall immediately started yelling at him.

“What are you doing, Eldigan!? My army is being destroyed, and you’re up her lounging around!”

“I’m only following your orders, aren’t I, Your Majesty? The Grannvalian Army will withdraw soon, so please be patient…”

“Who really believes that!? Are you plotting with the enemy to bring about the destruction of your own country!?”

“Your Majesty… do you really believe that?”

“What, you don’t like what I said!? Have you forgotten your oath to my father, abandoned your duties as a knight, and turned to a life of idleness?”

“It doesn’t matter what I say to you anymore.” Eldigan’s expression hardened. “I understand, Your Majesty. We will follow your orders and deploy. I am a proud Crusader of Augustria. If my country is to die, then I want to fight and die with it. I only ask that you please find a path to peace when you receive news that I died. Consider that my final wish… No, my final act of loyalty.”

Eldigan gathered the Cross Knights and ordered them to line up for battle. “We are going to fight now! This is our final chance to showcase our loyalty to our country. Show them the glory of the Cross Knights!”

-

Erinys had been surveilling the castle, and when she saw the Cross Knights deploy, she immediately returned to Augusty Castle and sent a smoke signal.

The sight of it shocked Sigurd.

‘Why are you fighting, Eldigan? I don’t want to do this…’

However, they were at the point of no return.

Sigurd left a small defense unit to guard the newly seized Madino Castle, and ordered the rest of his army to return to Augusty.

He took the lead, and as Farron galloped along, Sigurd’s thoughts continued to run wild.

‘Is there really no way to avoid fighting?’

-

Lachesis was part of the Augusty defense unit, but when she heard that the Cross Knights had deployed, she left the castle.

‘I have to do something to stop Eldie…!’

By the time she arrived, the Cross Knights were already fighting Sigurd’s army. 

However, Eldigan wasn’t fighting, and instead searching for Sigurd. “I am Eldigan! Do not get in my way! Where is Sigurd!?” He yelled. 

No one dared challenge him.

Eldigan continued traveling alone, until he finally saw Sigurd.

“Eldigan, please! Put away your sword!” Sigurd called out to him.

“I don’t want to fight you! I’d give my life to keep my promise to return Augusty to you! Please, just wait a little longer! Trust me!”

“Sigurd, I’m sorry. But don’t speak another word. My only option left is to fight bravely as a knight of Augustria. So come at me, Sigurd! My Demon Sword Mystletainn will destroy you!”

When Eldigan began to charge, someone flew in-between them.

It was Lachesis.

“Brother! It’s me! Lachesis!” She screamed as loudly as she could.

Eldigan froze.

“Please stop fighting these pointless battles! Are you really going to break your promise to Sigurd!? Is betraying your friends really the way of a knight!?”

“...”

“Brother, trust in Sigurd, and please wait just a little longer!”

“Lachesis… Don’t cry. There’s no other options anymore.” He said, feeling that he’d lost the pride he’d thought he would die on.

“Yes, there are! If you withdraw your soldiers, then Prince Sigurd won’t keep fighting with you! Please, I beg of you!”

‘If I die, I’ll have no choice but to entrust Sigurd to take care of Lachesis. But if Sigurd is the one to kill me, then she won’t feel like she can stay with his army, and there’ll be no one to protect her.’

“King Chagall’s army has already been defeated. The only soldiers left are your Cross Knights. He can’t just ignore you anymore!”

‘I lived for Augustria and Lachesis. If I die a shameful death, then what will that do to her?’

“Please, Brother.”

“You’re right.” Eldigan sheathed Mystletainn. “I’ll try to change the king’s mind one last time. If I’m going to risk my life, then I’d rather be fighting for my own beliefs, than fighting a battle I am unwilling to fight. That is the way of a knight.” Eldigan removed his sword from his belt and gave it to Lachesis.

“Please take this, Lachesis.”

“But this is Mystletainn! ...Brother, you can’t…!”

“You can keep it as a memento of me, in case anything happens to me. And if someone appears with my Holy Mark, then give it to them. Stay alive, Lachesis.” Eldigan said, then turned his horse around, and galloped off.

“Ah! Wait, Eldie!”

He didn’t look back. ‘Be happy, Lachesis.’ He said to himself over and over again. He urged his horse to move as quickly as possible, as if they were being pursued by something.

He only stopped beside the Cross Knights to say, “Sigurd and I have agreed to a cease-fire! Everyone, lay down your weapons!”

-

When Eldigan reached Silvali Castle, he thanked his confused horse. “You’ve done well. This is our final goodbye. I pray your next owner treats you well.”

His horse seemed to have understood what Eldigan said, as when Eldigan started to walk away, he let out a loud neigh.

When Chagall heard from a guard that Eldigan had returned, he walked out to the courtyard.

“Your Majesty, it would be pointless to continue fighting. Please vow to establish peace. Augusty will be returned to you one day.”

“Eldigan, is that what you call a victory!? I knew it! You really were conspiring with the enemy! Someone, seize this traitor! Cut off his head, and make a laughingstock of him!”

No one moved.

“I said, seize him!”

Again, no one moved.

Chagall lost his temper, grabbed a sword from one of his soldiers, and stood in front of Eldigan.

“Then I will be the one to punish you. Kneel down!”

Eldigan did as he was told.

“Hmph. So you’ve accepted your fate. You fool!”

‘Lachesis…’

Chagall swung the sword, and cut off Eldigan’s head.

Those who witnessed this event, knew that it meant the end of The Dominion of Augustria.

[aliencowboyqueen]

FIC: The Rules of Accidental Dating (12)

Pairing: Alex/Kyle

Summary: In which Kyle and Alex accidentally pretend-date their way to love.

Rating: Teen+

Find Chapter 1 here. | Find previous chapter here. | Fic Masterlist.

Chapter 12

"What's that?" Rosa asks.

Oddly, she isn't talking about the Kevlar vest Kyle is wearing under his shirt. It's uncomfortable, but it makes him feel better about Alex's brothers' existence.

Rosa is talking about the item he's just handed to her. It lies in her palm, shiny and new. A little basic. He should have gotten her a keychain to go with it.

"A key. I know for a fact these were around in the late Noughties." Kyle shrugs. "I thought if something happened to me, you could water my cactus." Unnervingly, it's much more likely than he'd like to think. He could very easily end up lying in a hospital bed right next to Jesse Manes.

"Do you own a cactus?"

"No, but I'm thinking of getting one."

Rosa shakes her head. She holds the key as if it was a toad sitting in her palm. "What is this really about? Don't you have a mother? A boyfriend? Maybe even a friendly neighbor. I'm sure there's someone who can water your imaginary plants."

"We're family," Kyle says. He takes Rosa's hand and closes her fingers around the key. "I thought I'd make that, I don't know, more tangible." It sounds silly now and he is trying to repress the embarrassment. It's the last thing he needs Rosa to see.

"Maybe I'll sneak in and remodel the place," Rosa suggests. "Does Alex have a key?"

ooo ooo ooo

Kyle's life has definitely changed. He has a spread of desserts sitting on his coffee table and in the middle of it all, a key on a tray hidden under a lid.

He doesn't start wondering if it's too much until it's too late to change his mind.

But Alex deserves… He deserves. Romance. Someone going all out for him. Something sweet and light-hearted.

Even if it's just pretend.

And Kyle isn't sure if his dinner of desserts is romantic and it might be too out there to be light-hearted but it's definitely sweet.

His heart jumps when the doorbell rings.

Alex's eyes grow huge at the sight. "Are you expecting company?" he asks. He glances at Bailey at the end of her leash as if he is wondering whether she won't get in the way of Kyle's dessert party.

"Just you," Kyle assures him. "And this girl." He bends down to scratch behind Bailey's ears.

His words don't seem to lessen the concern in Alex's gaze at all. "So why all this?" he asks. He keeps Bailey leashed even as he takes a seat on the sofa where he's used to sleep before they figured out sharing a bed was easier.

"You can let her go. Just make sure she doesn't get into the chocolate ones," Kyle says. "I'll get her water."

He picks up the bowl he's brought for her, proudly.

Alex watches him with disbelief.

"I wanted to do something nice for you, alright?" Kyle says. "And you didn't get to try the mousse and I wanted to try some desserts myself and I wasn't sure what would be best for Bailey."

"So you got everything?" Alex is clearly stunned but a brief hint of a smile crosses his face. "Did you leave the restaurant anything to serve?"

"The ice cream," Kyle replies. He bites the tip of his tongue before he can stick it out at Alex. "And the crème brulee, because they want to flambé that on your table in front of you. The ones on the edge are Bailey-friendly. But maybe don't let her grab anything herself."

Kyle makes himself comfortable next to Alex while Alex unleashes Bailey. As expected, the dog examines the offer on the table enthusiastically. She obeys Alex, however. He feeds her from her fingers but doesn't let her near the desserts on her own.

For long minutes, Alex is quiet, his expression still stunned. Even while Kyle nudges the chocolate mousse towards him.

"Did I… Have I done the wrong thing?" Kyle asks when he can't stand the silence anymore.

Alex blinks and shakes his head rapidly. "What? No." He is staring at his chocolate mousse, a little spoon in one hand as his free one pats Bailey's body. "It's just… No one has ever done something like this for me," he explains in a rush of hushed words.

Oh. Kyle shouldn't be surprised. It makes sense. Of course, Alex has never had something like this done for him – he's admitted it himself before that he's never dated much. There hasn't been much opportunity for gestures like this for him. He's had other things – epic, life-altering experiences involving aliens and near-death experiences – but not someone simply trying to spoil him.

It makes Kyle's heart ache.

Alex deserves experiences like this to be real.

Except… This is real. Their relationship might not be what everyone thinks, but this gesture is genuine. There's no one to see. This is just for the two of them.

"I'm not usually this over the top," Kyle says and ignores the disbelieving glance Alex rewards him with. He picks up a plate of chocolate cake. "No, really. Can you imagine how much time I'd have to spend in the gym if I did this regularly? I thought we could both use something like this. I thought, go big or go home. And I wanted to see your expression when you saw it." Normally, Kyle Valenti needs no one's approval. He is confident in who he is and in his choices; he knows he makes the best decisions when he doesn't dwell on what anyone might thing. Trying to fit into other people's – and the wrong people's, on top of that – expectations was what made his teenage self an asshole.

Yet, all he wants in this moment is for Alex to let him know that he did well. That he made the right choice. And more than that, he wants Alex to have a good time.

When Alex smiles at him and digs into his dessert, Kyle grins back. It's been a long time since he was truly happy, but this moment comes close to it.

They get through one dessert each with relative ease. They chat about light topics – changes to the Crashdown menu and upcoming movies and Roswell event schedule – and Kyle is glad to have an evening with Alex that's not about aliens or their families.

"You know we're never going to get through all of this," Alex says when he gives up halfway through a pie. Even Bailey has reached her limits and is asleep under the table.

"We'll have to play Tetris with the fridge. Or feed the homeless. Or invite all over friends and force them to eat," Kyle suggests. Not that he really wants to deal with any of that, though. He's comfortably on the edge of a food coma and he has settled himself in the corner of the sofa; he doesn't want to move.

"Hmm. What's this?" Alex asks and reaches for the lid that's hiding the key.

"Oh." Kyle instantly sits up straighter. "That's the main course I guess."

Alex gives him a curious look. Then he lifts the lid and freezes for a split second. "That's not what I expected," he says when he begins to move again. He takes the key and puts the lid back.

"You gave me yours," Kyle points out. Desperately, he hopes his returning nerves don't show. "I cleaned out a drawer for you, too."

"You're ridiculous," Alex says. Fondly. He stares at the key for a moment longer before he pockets it in one decisive motion and turns fully towards Kyle.

"You like it," Kyle states. He hopes more than believes his words are true.

"Do I?" Alex tilts his head. A corner of his lips quirks up.

"Yup." He is more certain of it with every passing second. He knows when Alex is upset and this is not that.

"Jury's still out," Alex says. He leans his shoulder against the backrest. There's a lot of distance between them, but their eyes are locked and it feels intimate and comfortable regardless.

Kyle feels lightheaded, though he didn't drink even a single glass of alcohol.

Maybe he should have.

It'd definitely prepared him better for Alex's hand reaching for his face.

Alex's index finger curls under Kyle's chin and his thumb brushes the corner of Kyle's lips. Kyle's breath catches in his throat. Kissing! flashes a neon light inside his mind. He hasn't planned for that, but suddenly he's sure that's what's happening. It makes perfect sense. He wishes he'd had an opportunity to check his breath. His gaze wanders down to Alex's mouth. He'd thought before, briefly, about kissing Alex, but never in detail. He's never fantasized about the taste of Alex's lips or the feeling of his stubble. And yet suddenly, he wants to know.

He lets his body lean forward.

Alex's hand drops away from his face.

"Sorry," Alex chuckles. His cheeks appear pinker than usual. "Chocolate." He grabs a napkin and wipes away the chocolate he's brushed away from Kyle's skin.

Kyle's tongue darts to the corner of his mouth. He can taste the chocolate cake. He can't taste Alex's touch.

His heart is hammering.

↳ Next Chapter

[princessamericachavez]

Fjorester in Episode 43

I watched this ep live which means it was 4-7am to me and I might have missed stuff, but here’s what I remember

When Jester wants to start a bar fight and Fjord knows she’s going for it, so his first comment about it, before she even says she wants to fight is “No killing, Jester.”

And then the others keep trying to talk her out of it but the only opinion she asks is Fjord’s saying “Tusktooth?”

But, like, Fjord (as I’ve yelled about so many times before) enjoys Jester’s shenanigans even when he pretends to be frustrated by them, so instead of talking her out of it, he pretends to be chugging on his ale, which Jester correctly takes as a “go ahead”.

heart eyeeeees

“One gold on the blue one!” Awesome callback to their fight in the Gentleman’s speakeasy, further proof that Fjord is just a chaotic prankster at heart and a reminder that he’s constantly in awe by how badass Jester is.

Fjord’s soft-ass smile after the fight when Jester excitedly declares “Hey, I made a friend!” “Yeah, you kept all your teeth!”

When they are talking about the Divers Grave and they are discussing what kind of monster might be in there and then Jester says “It’s an underwater banshee, for sure.” 

“Is that a thing?” 

“Yeah.”

*knowing full well he’s being fucked with* “Hmmmm.”

I don’t know why that exchange feels so flirty to me, and like the fact that they keep zeroing in on each other during group conversations like they live in their own little bubble, kills me.

The Caleb and Jester talk!!!!!!!!

(I will make a whole separate post dissecting this conversation later)

“Really, none of us like it here but Fjord” “I don’t even know if he likes it a lot” 

Yes! Give me Jester picking up on Fjord’s general discomfort with the situation and how stressed and uneasy he is with how everything’s gone down!

For real though, if I have to see one more post talking about how Jester doesn’t actually care about the real Fjord or how he feels about this whole situation, this talk is one of the very many scenes imma shove on their faces passive-aggressively. 

“Well, there’s parts of it that he likes.” “Like Avantika” “I don’t know”

Rip my heart out, Laura Bailey, why don’t you!

“You’re sweet on him, ja?” “I don’t know...” “Yeah.” “It feels funny.” “How do you mean?”

THIS WHOLE THING WAS SUCH CALL BACK TO VEX AND VAX TALKING ABOUT PERCY THO

“Well, you know when you really like somebody but then you start to know them and you go ‘do I like them, or do I like what I thought they were’? And you don’t know.”

Mfking laura bailey giving us that character growth arc with sheltered naive Jester who believes in love at first sight and the romance all her books talked about and is now beginning to realize that real deep feelings are much stronger and complicated than all of that.

Like the way she says it “feels funny” really says so much.

And I know some people might take this as “oh so she never liked him for real” but I think that would mean taking this conversation entirely out of context. 

This whole arc, Fjord and Jester have had some very big moments together, and I think Jester’s confusion does not stem from being disillusioned with Fjord...

I think the fact is that she’s feeling more than she expected, she’s discovering she likes Fjord in a way she has no words for, in a way that makes her hurt when he talks to Avantika, that makes her confused about their interactions, second guessing his intentions and whether he’s fliriting back with her or not, overanalyzing what his gestures mean, like the kiss...

Jester is in Love with capital L and none of her mother’s teachings and experience have prepared her to handle it.

What I want to talk about here, though, is not about Jester’s confusion per se but how Travis and Matt react to this. Since if anyone is aware of what Fjord feels about this it would be the two of them.

“Do I like them or do I like what I thought they were?”

This is the face of a man who just realized his wife is taking her funny character’s crush and turning it into real feelings and he’s going to be fucked.

WHAT IS THAT LOOK YOU TWO. I CAN SEE YOU. WHAT DO YOU KNOW.

That is the face of a DM who is ready to take the most advantage of this situation in the future.

Bonus: Taliesin “I’ve been in the receiving end of this” Jaffe is enjoying this too much. He is just shaming Travis/Fjord for his bad choices.

“And then you think they are flirting with you but then you find out they probably weren’t, you know?”

Travis’s blush just tells me that there was flirting (which was pretty obvious, and Laura knows it)

“And you feel kinda sad about it and maybe a little stupid?”

LOOK AT THOSE FACES

Travis after that talk contemplating his life choices.

But for real, what kills me about that talk is how familiar it feels, and how confused Jester seems by Fjord’s hot and cold attitude, but she’s not ever blaming him for not liking her, or not living up to her fantasy standards, not even for leading her on,  instead, she’s blaming herself and feeling stupid for not comprehending right away all of these complicated emotions.

Caleb: “Tomorrow we get sorted out, we help Fjord figure out his shit.”

Jester: “Yeah, that’s important to him.”

TELL ME SHE DOESN’T CARE YOU DEMONS I’M WAITING

Also, thank god that Jester talked to Caleb about this because he’s the one person who gave her some sensible advice: let’s focus on surviving and once back on main land you can take your time to figure your feelings out.

He also brings up that this is important for Fjord, which she agrees on. So no matter what, feelings or not, they will support him through this as best as they can.

Which brings us to Caduceus’s an and Fjord’s talk.

I love this conversation in light of what Tal’s said about Caduceus’ point of view during last weeks Talks: he’s aware of how Fjord’s decision to sleep will Avantika will create friction within the group, especially with Jester.

C: “I think this place is dangerous. She is dangerous.” F: “That she is.” 

And Fjord tries to avoid the subject, but now that they are there, you can see Caduceus scrunch his face and take a stab at the subject:

C: “Fjord, you know why everybody is doing this, why we’re all here, right?”

And Fjord sighs heavily because, to a degree, I don’t think he understand the answer is “because we care about you and want to help you”. To Fjord, the answer is: “this is your fault, your responsibility”

F: “Yeah. I mean, I think.” C: “I think you know. I just wanna point it out ‘cause that woman, she doesn’t care what any of us want. I’m sure she’d be interested, but it’s way low in her priorities and I don’t trust anybody who keeps other people’s needs that low in the list. You should keep in mind all that, while you’re getting in bed with her, so to speak.”

Fjord: *panics*

Fjord: *desperately tries to convince Caduceus to keep this knowledge to himself*

And I think, Caduceus with his high AF perception, can tell why Fjord cares so much that this is kept from the others. It’s not like it’s something bad, it’s actually beneficial for their group as a whole (as iffy as that makes me because of the unequal power dynamic), and it has been suggested multiple times.... so what reason does Fjord have to keep it so fiercely in the down-low? 

Friction. 

“I think I get it. I’m not gonna talk out of term. I trust your intentions, so...”

And here’s a good part:

C: “You’re asking if I can tell that you’re conflicted?”

F: “No, I think that’s pretty clear.”

C: “You would be amazed, but alright.”

Because Caduceus knows that not everyone in the M9 —cough, Jester, cough— is convinced that this is all just a play on his part. 

Fjord goes on to reaffirm that he’s trying to keep Avantika close for the party’s good. 

okokokokok

MOVING ON

LET’S TALK ABOUT VERA’S TALK GO JESTER

LET’S TALK ABOUT VERA AFTER KNOWING THEM FOR LIKE 2 WEEKS SINGLING OUT JESTER AS THE PERSON WHO LOOKS AFTER FJORD

LET’S TALK ABOUT VERA TELLING JESTER TO LOOK AFTER FJORD BECAUSE AVANTIKA WILL HURT HIM

“He would not be the first she’s left in ruin. He would not be the last. I would take care of him, if he cannot.”

i am so frustrated that Laura/Jester seemed to misinterpret Vera’s warning help me god someone please bring it up on Talks or something because it will bother me forever

When they are planning: 

Caleb: What if Fjord keeps Avantika busy... 

Beau: Do we need to have him distract Avantika? Can’t we just go now?

...

Beau: And we can have [Caleb] make sure that [Fjord and Avantika] are busy. If you [Fjord] are comfortable with that. You don’t have a lot of a choice. 

FJORD

JESTER

*Nott keeps planning*

JESTER

J: Well, Caduceus is very perceptive. 

F *having flashbacks of Jester going down in the jungle*: THE TWO CLERICS ARE NOT GOING ON THE MISSION TOGETHER.

J: So we all wait until Fjord starts boning....

Fjord’s face journey tho

he is so confused help him

when your crush who was jealous is suddenly ok with u sleeping with someone else

wait i thought she liked me

Fjord’s worried overprotective mode ON as soon as Caduceus casually mentions that two guards stabbed each other and probably everything is pandemonium 

Jester saying they should frame Vera was clearly rooted on her misunderstanding Vera’s warning, but I really like that as soon as she thought someone was a direct threat to Fjord she was like “nope gotta get rid of them”.

Avantika’s notes talk about her having dreams about people who were close to her “chaining her back” and how she had to get rid of them...

...and we’ve seen hints of that with Vandrin and Sabien in Fjord’s dream the other time....

...but I’m calling it that we’ll eventually see Uk’otoa try to pit him against the M9 and the one he’s closest to is Jester by far and I’m sure we’re gonna get some dramatic moment out of it I can’t waiiiit

*After reading the journal*

J: Fjord, as you as crazy as she is? Because holy shit.

Fjord:

I LOVE THEM GOOFING AROUND PLS MAKE EACH OTHER SMILE IN THIS TRYING TIMES

and likek

thanks i love them

anyway

in two weeks

if they don’t die

tune in to see me keep screaming about this two, and cross your fingers for a one on one talk if they manage to get a breather away from Avantika

[zig-a-zow]

Too little, too late [Ajay/MC, Rory/MC]

Summary: Ajay has decided that the time has come for him to apologize to Bailey. Things don't go as planned, however, and he gets more than he bargained for.

Pairing(s): Ajay/MC, Rory/MC

Word count: 1477

Warnings: Angsty angst cause we love suffering 😄

Song: This town - Niall Horan

Just a little heads up: I have two HSS MCs, Grace and Callie. Callie is the one that broke her leg. Bailey is Grace's aunt. Keep that in mind as you read. Now let's jump right in!

----------------------------------

The party was winding down, and although Ajay had more fun than he had expected, he still felt a bit uneasy.

Ever since Danielle accused Bailey of intentionally causing Callie to break her leg, he had been on edge. The possibility that Bailey, sweet dorky Bailey, could be capable of doing something so vile was ridiculous to him. She wouldn't even hurt a fly, as cliché as that sounded.

But he had to remain "neutral", he said. He couldn't let himself be led by his feelings instead of his mind. So he did something that made his stomach twist with guilt the very moment it happened.

He suggested that maybe, perhaps, Bailey could have done it.

It all went downhill from there.

The hurt in her chocolate eyes when he said that made his heart ache, but he couldn't take it back. Instead, he chose to distance himself from her to avoid the guilt. A selfish decision, he knew.

After Danielle admitted being guilty, Ajay felt relieved but only for a fleeting moment. He immediately remembered the look in Bailey's eyes, and right there, right then, he decided he had to apologize to her as soon as possible.

As soon as possible turned out to be the very night after the play premiered.

He meant to do it earlier, but the moment was never right. Or so he told himself. He actually procrastinated and avoided that talk until he couldn't do it anymore without feeling the weight of guilt bringing him to his knees.

So there he was, fiddling with his car keys, going over what he was going to say to her. He had everything planned out, including Bailey's possible responses. He was ready for almost anything.

When he decided he was done going over his words for the fifth time in a row, he looked around for her, only to find that only a few guests remained, lost of them helping the Ashtons to clean up.

He made the rounds, asking the few people in the room if they knew of her whereabouts. Casey, her twin brother, said he'd text her to ask her and did so but didn't get a response, before returning to cleaning duty.

After asking everyone to no avail, he was growing impatient. With a sigh, he decided to approach the one person he was avoiding to ask.

"Grace."

She didn't reply, and he realized she had her earphones on. He tapped her shoulder instead.

The girl looked up from the plastic cups she was stacking together for just a second before looking away, taking off one of her earphones with a sigh.

"What do you want?"

Ajay sighed heavily. He didn't like Grace at all. She was loud and obnoxious, always the center of attention, a mess and proud of it. Sometimes he couldn't believe Bailey was actually related to her.

Grace didn't like him either, that much he knew. But he honestly didn't care, so he ignored her dry tone before speaking.

"I was wondering if you knew where I can find Bailey."

"What for?"

"That is none of your business."

Grace nodded once before putting her earphone on again, continuing with her task. Ajay gave her a long, exasperated sigh before tapping her shoulder again.

"Fine. I need to talk to her. Apologize about what happened."

"You mean accusing her of breaking Callie's leg on purpose?"

"I didn't--" he stopped short, took a deep breath to calm down and nodded. "Yes. That. Can you tell me where she is or not?"

Grace gave him a long look, as if she were considering if she was going to share the information with him or not. She finally made a decision.

"She's outside, with Rory. The treehouse behind his house."

Ajay nodded and immediately turned toward the door, but Grace grabbed his arm to stop him.

"I wouldn't go there if I were you" she said, a knowing glint in her eyes before she released his arm with a shrug. "But you do you, man. Suit yourself."

Grace returned to her music and kept working, leaving him standing there, awkwardly, for a few seconds.

He headed for the door once again, but slower this time. Every step he took, was an opportunity to think and decide his next move.

Ajay soon found himself standing in the Silva's yard, looking up to a tall tree where a quite big treehouse was built. It's interior was illuminated by a dim light, and he could hear muffled laughter coming from up there.

Should he go up there and interrupt whatever they were doing, or take the high road and postpone his apology again? No. He couldn't do that. It was now or never.

Plus, they couldn't be doing anything important up there, right?

With that thought in mind, he proceeded to climb the ladder slowly, carefully avoiding splinters. As he climbed, he could hear their voices clearly as they talked.

"... the first person to see it for me was Casey" Bailey giggled softly after saying that, and after a silent pause, she spoke again. "So... what happens now that we've admitted we like each other?"

Ajay froze in place at that, just a step away from climbing high enough to make himself visible to them. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment.

He could hear Rory chuckle under his breath, before taking a step forward.

"Well, I think this is the part where we kiss..."

He didn't need to keep going to know what the silence following those words meant.

Without making a sound, he slowly climbed down the ladder until he was standing on the ground again. After a second he turned around and headed for his car without looking back.

Once he reached it, he leaned against it and took off his glasses, pressing the bridge of his nose with his eyes firmly closed.

He could hear steps approaching, but didn't bother to look up until the person spoke.

"You went there, didn't you?"

Ajay gave a long, drawn-out sigh before putting his glasses back on and looking at Grace, as she stood in front of him, arms crossed.

He didn't reply, but simply shrugged and averted his gaze. He might have looked as miserable as he was feeling, because Grace groaned loudly, rolling her eyes.

"Damn it."

"I feel like I should be the one to say that."

"It's just... I actually feel bad for you. And I hate it" she muttered bitterly, looking more annoyed than anything, glaring daggers at him. "Because you brought this upon yourself. You had your chance and you blew it, over and over again. And now you're here, feeling sorry for yourself."

She paused for a moment, as if she were expecting him to defend himself somehow, but he didn't. Instead, he just nodded along.

"You're right. And I hate it too" Ajay ran his fingers through his dark hair, looking away. He had a pensive expression. "It's funny in a tragic way, though. I like to present myself as someone that has everything figured out... but really, I'm just a mess."

After another moment of silence, Grace repeated, under her breath.

"Damn it."

Just then, they both turned around to the sound of Aiden's steps as he approached the car, a curious expression in his face.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked his girlfriend, holding her jacket for her.

She sighed and allowed herself to smile, letting him help her to put her jacket on before briefly pecking his cheek as she took his hand, nodding.

She turned to Ajay once more, as if she didn't know what else to say, but he beat her to it.

"Good night, you two" he said, voice as neutral as possible as he fished his car keys out of his pocket, giving them a nod. "I'll see you both around."

He turned around and climbed inside his car without a second glance at them. He could see them through the rear view mirror walking hand in hand toward Grace's car, and when they were out of sight, he relaxed on his seat behind the wheel.

He startled when his phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he pulled it out, he grimaced.

"sorry i just now checked my phone

casey says you needed me? 🤔

what's wrong??? where are you??"

Ajay stared at his phone long enough for the screen to go black for a few seconds before lighting up with a new message.

"ajay?? 😟"

With a sigh, he tapped the screen.

"Everything is fine.

Don't worry about it.

I'll see you around.

Good night, Bailey."

He tossed his phone to the backseat without a second thought and started the car. After one last glance at the Ashton's residence, he drove away into the night.

----------------------------------

Author notes: I'm feeling angsty today, in case you couldn't tell. Is this self indulgent? Hell yes, a lot. Sometimes you just gotta do what you wanna do, you know 🤷‍♀️ Despite that, I hope you enjoyed reading this, I sure enjoyed writing it. Thanks for reading!

PS: I'll be trying to add a Read more from mobile, but in case it doesn't work, you can block the tag "zig writes". Thanks for your patience.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Dwarven Warden

Sitting in the small cottage, Darin pushed away a black cat that seemed intent on sitting on his lap. Grandmother Meredydd seemed to care for any animal she could get her hands on, cats, dogs, birds, and even a large tortoise crowded her tiny cabin at the edge of the city. They had followed her to the ivy-covered cottage and she had served them tea. Now she walked about her home, watering the thousands of different plants she had in pots around her home.

A silence had fallen after Meredydd had told them of Bailey and Ian’s escape, of the king’s curse, and of Pepper’s passage through Dun Eald. Darin sat feeling remorseful. Meredydd had been unable to say when Pepper had passed through Dun Eald, but he was guessing it had been weeks at least. How far she had gotten since then he could only imagine, as well as what the other kingdoms were like.

“I gave my word to Duke Glas that I would speak with the king,” Donar said at last looking up at Meredydd as she watered her plants. Some were dead yet she watered them all the same, seeming unaware life had left the plants. “Can you get me into the keep to see him?”

“Nowt, ifn he ken I be a witch he’d have me burned,” Meredydd answered. “Ifn ye present yerself at the keep the Grand Sect may just lock ye up afore ye even get ta see the king.”

“What do you suggest we do then?” Darin asked. “You can see into the future as you said.”

“I can see many things but that baint mean I should tell ye,” Meredydd answered. “N sometimes it be best I leave things be, ye’ll find a way on yer own without mine aid.”

“What’s the point of foresight if you don’t use it?” Hakk asked sourly. Meredydd didn’t seem to hear him, continuing her watering unconcerned. Darin racked his brain for means of entry into the keep without risk of capture. Donar had given his word that he would speak to the king, and Darin knew he would not leave until the king was convinced that he needed to gather his armies.

“What of the queen?” Donar said. “The king’s mother Epona, we heard she was reliable.”

“Aye she be, but she be in the keep n rarely leaves at her age,” Meredydd answered. “But ifn ye spoke ta her first she would be sure ye gain audience with the king.”

“So, we still have the problem of getting into the keep without being caught,” Donar said.

“What day is it?” Ronan asked Meredydd who laughed.

“Boy I hardly ken what year it be,” Meredydd answered. “Ye be lucky I be lucid enough ta come n get ye afore ye had gone inta the palace.”

As she said this she poured water into a pair of boots by the door. Darin guessed looking into the future all the time had its draw backs.

“It should be near Isra’s night right?” Ronan asked and continued without an answer. “Isra’s night is a grand celebration all over the kingdoms. It was once called Talamh in Daun, kenned as the night of the dead. To hide from spirits and the vengeful dead we wear masks.”

“Masks?” Donar said interested and Ronan nodded.

“There’ll be a great feast,” Ronan said. “With masks I bet I can sneak us into the keep as performers, no one will look twice at all of you with masks and costumes.”

“What kind of performers?” Darin asked. “We aren’t very musical.”

“Baint worry bout that,” Ronan said with a grin that made Darin worry very much.

They left Ronan to gather what he needed, staying in Meredydd’s cottage for little over a week as they waited for Isra’s night. They soon saw the cost of premonition on Meredydd. One day Darin saw Meredydd sweeping the yard of leaves, going around in circles just spreading the leaves around. There was a big oak tree in the yard, which had shed all its leaves covering the ground in a colorful blanket.

“Meredydd, do you need help with cleaning the yard?” Darin asked and she turned to him. She leaned on her broomstick looking at him as if she could barely see him.

“Who be ye?” she asked as she blinked.

“Darin, you know me,” he answered puzzled. She blinked again and then sighed.

“I baint ken ye,” she said shaking her head and sweeping the leaves. “Why are there so many leaves?”

“Because it is autumn,” Darin answered.

“It were the Little Sleeper yesterday,” Meredydd answered with a huff. “Raining with a hint o wind. Now look at all these leaves.”

“Let me help you with this,” Darin said reaching for the broom. “You go in and rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” Meredydd said crisply. “Why are there so many leaves?”

She continued to sweep and mutter to herself about leaves, and Darin decided to leave her to it. As he turned away he saw a boy coming down the path towards them carrying a basket. The boy stood surprised to see Darin but walked up and nodded to him. He was mid-teens, as tall as Darin, with a wild crop of red hair and freckled brown skin.

“Mornin,” the boy said. “Ye be a friend o Meredydd’s?”

“Yes, me and my kin are staying with her for a time,” Darin answered not sure what to say to the boy. Meredydd continued to walk around in circles sweeping the leaves around. “Do you know what is wrong with her?”

“Oh it be just un o her mild days,” the boy said. “Ye should see her when she be deep in a vision, terrible.”

“You mean she is seeing things right now?” Darin asked.

“Nowt, she just baint ken what day it be, confusin her whens n all,” the boy answered. “Ah, I be Loam.”

“Darin, you take care of Meredydd?”

“Mine ma has me come down n check on her time ta time. We baint be kin, but ma said Meredydd delivered me n mine ma n da, sos I owe her much she says. Best leave her be when she be like this, won’t hurt herself wanderin round the yard like now.”

He started off to the cottage and Darin followed.

“You’ve lived in Dun Eald your whole life?” Darin asked.

“Aye,” Loam answered as he set his basket down by the door.

“Could you maybe show me around?” Darin asked, deciding he wanted to see the city of Dun Eald some more.

“Aye, sounds like fun,” Loam said with a grin showing he was missing a few teeth with new ones growing in. “Just ye?”

“Yes, best keep a low profile,” Darin answered, deciding too many dwarves would draw attention to them. “Lead the way.”

“Right-o,” Loam said as he turned and lead the way back up the lane. “First thing ya gotta see be the Holly King.”

“I saw that on my way into the city,” Darin said. “Were you there when it happened?”

“Nowt, mine ma n da baint let me er mine sibs see it,” Loam answered. “See, down south they make children go ta burnins n executions like, but here in Daun we ken it be cruel ta children sos they baint ever go.”

“Burnings?” Darin said.

“Aye, the witches were gonna burn only instead they turned the flames inta the Holly King,” Loam answered, his green eyes bright. “I would’ve given mine left arm ta have seen that.”

Meredydd had told them a bit of what had happened of course, but Darin felt some details had been missing. What he hadn’t understood was the part about burning witches.

“So why were the witches going to burn?” Darin asked.

“Baint ken,” Loam answered. “Cause they were witches I guess.”

“And that is against the law?” Darin asked.

“It be against the gods,” Loam answered. “Sos the Sect says. The Phay baint be real n doin witchery just brings people away from the truth o the gods.”

“Do you believe that?” Darin asked.

“I believe any un who can turn fire n air inta a green growin tree be amazin n it be wrong ta destroy somewhat amazin like that,” Loam answered. “Sides which the mages have magic n baint be against the gods so why witches be so bad?”

“Mages?” Darin asked having remembered Glas mentioning them. “What are mages?”

“Bone people sos I’ve heard,” Loam answered. “They live ta the east o here in Dridia. They have great magic that can make carpets fly in the sky n magic mirrors n all sorts of stuff. They be all white, their hair n skin, n their eyes be red like fire. They be very powerful sos I’ve heard, n it baint be wise ta cross em.”

Darin had nothing to say to this, more because he wasn’t sure what to make of the possibility of another race of power. Worst what would this race make of the Phay? He knew so little of the Elder Magic so he wasn’t sure what another magical race would mean for the Phay. He decided to discuss it later with Donar, though he doubted Donar could shed any light on the situation either.

They had walked from Meredydd’s cottage through a small wood and back into the wide streets of Dun Eald. The houses all had sizable yards with chickens, goats, and sheep roaming them. Trees and bushes were in plenty, and Darin saw many gardens between the houses. The people were all going about their business in a calm but determined manor. No one seemed to be in a rush, but at the same time the energy wasn’t lagging.

Soon they were passing shops rather than homes, signs and open patios welcoming customers to the stores. The crowds thickened but the wide streets made sure there were no traffic jams. Loam led the way out into the main square where once again they could see the Holly King. Here people stopped to stare up at the great tree, but the guards still kept them from approaching the tree.

“Why do they guard it?” Darin asked.

“The Grand Sect says it be cursed,” Loam answered. “Yet I ken those what touched it when it first appeared said they felt all their pain go away. Healed any ail they had.”

“That is why everyone stops here to see it?” Darin asked. “They hope to touch it?”

“We stop cause it be beautiful,” Loam answered. “Doubt the magic still works after all this time. It be hard nowt ta stare at it.”

Darin nodded, but he knew he saw more in the tree than the people. He could see the wild kin in the branches when they could not. He heard a babe crying and turned to see a woman walking up from a side street carrying a child in her arms with two more clinging to her skirts. As soon as they got near the tree the child stopped crying. The mother stood with her children staring up at the tree, a sense of peace settling over them. Darin saw there were many like them, old folks, children, or even grown men just standing bathing in the peace coming from the Holly King.

Even the guards who stood between the crowd seemed at peace, Darin noting a few suppressed yawns. Darin wondered what it would be like if the people had been permitted to rest under the tree, the square would become a place of peace for the city.

Darin felt a change in the crowd, people shifting and stirring as if woken and he turned to see the cause of the disturbance. Walking through the crowd was a group of men. One wore full armor that Darin guessed to be made of ceramic plates. The other was one of the blonde man Darin remembered as a Regarian. And the last was a Daunish man wearing a circlet of silver. They were walking up to the Holly King, pushing their way through the crowd.

Darin pushed his way through as well trying to get closer to see the king of Daun. They arrived at the blockade and the guards let them past. Darin stood near a tall Daunish man, almost hiding behind him as he watched the king approach the tree. He could tell the Regarian was saying something to the king, but could hear nothing from this distance. They stopped at the foot of the tree and the king stared up at the branches.

He seemed torn standing there, as if he wanted to find something, but could not. He sighed heavily and then leaned against the tree. For a moment Darin saw the tree quiver and the wild kin within the braches all stopped and looked down at the king. Then the Regarian shouted and pulled the king away from the tree, shaking him and shouting in the trade tongue.

“…dangerous and cursed!” the Regarian said as his voice rose loud enough for Darin to hear. “You should not go near it!”

“I am already cursed!” the king shouted back at him. “The gods have abandoned me!”

“They have not majesty,” the Regarian said putting his arm over the king’s shoulders and started to lead him away. He lowered his voice again so Darin could not hear, leading the king away from the Holly King and back towards the keep. The knight stayed behind, staring up at the tree. Darin risked stepping forward a bit past the guards, but one saw him.

“You there,” the guard said drawing the attention of the knight. “Step back.”

Darin saw the knight frown as he looked at him and he turned and fled. He heard footsteps, but no one shouted. When he was free of the crowd he saw that the knight had tried to run after him, but had not called an alarm. The knight stood at the edge of the barricade scanning the crowd looking for Darin and talking to the guard. When he did not see his prey he sighed and turned away back to the keep. Darin realized then that he had looked almost disappointed. Maybe it was not only Epona that could help them speak to the king.

Darin had lost Loam in the crowd and so walked back to Meredydd’s cabin alone. He told Donar of the King and knight and once again got an agreement.

The day of the celebration arrived and Ronan came bearing their costumes. He carried in a large box and dumped it out onto the kitchen table. The masks were the first thing Darin noticed. Made of ceramics they were animal like in their shape and appearance. There was a cow, an elk, a wolf, and a bear. The masks were very earthy, the details crude and clay unglazed. The costumes all appeared to be made of the respected animal’s pelt, cow’s horns and deer antlers added to the hoods of the cow and elk’s costumes.  

“Animals?” Donar said puzzled.

“Animals are a very common costume,” Ronan answered. “And most masks are like these. We baint be all fancy with our masks, probably because we actually make most of the masks they do in the south. We make them plain and then ship em off south to be painted. Done that weeks ago of course. But with ours we do simple masks to be like animals. Said here in Daun we like to get in touch with our beast nature during Isra’s night.”

“So these will get us into the keep?” Darin asked, seeing Ronan grin at them.

“It’ll do that for sure,” Ronan answered. “I ken a performer in the keep that’ll get us in, these disguise you enough that you’ll pass as short men.”

“We aren’t much of performers,” Donar said skeptically.

“Baint worry, you won’t have to perform,” Ronan answered. “It’s just a cover to get in.”

“Where is yours Ronan?” Bgrim asked. Ronan answered by taking out another mask, this one made of clay as well. This mask was a lynx, the detail a bit more elaborate formed of a knotted pattern.

“This was my mask last year,” Ronan answered. “Be a bit finer than those there. I already have my costume too. You’ll want to start getting ready; it’ll take a while to get into the keep.”

They nodded and started to sort through the costumes trying to decide on the animal each wanted to wear. Donar ended up being the wolf, Darin the elk, Hakk the bear, and Bgrim the cow. They put the furs on over their clothes, keeping their mail on under their tunics but sadly that had to leave their swords and weapons behind.

Meredydd walked in after they changed wearing her own costume. She wore a wool dress and a sheep skin cloak, her mask a sheep’s face with intricate detail of a knotted pattern. She leaned on a shepherd’s crook, the wood intricately carved with a knotted pattern as well.

“I see ye be ready,” Meredydd said sounding sober for once.

“You ken where you be Meredydd?” Ronan asked.

“Aye, mine sight always be clear on this night,” Meredydd said. “I baint be going with ye ta the keep though, I’ve other duties this night.”

“What?” Darin asked.

“Ye’ll see,” Meredydd said. “Good luck.”

She walked out of the cottage and they followed out through the city. It was much changed from before. Darkness seemed to permeate the city now, shadows dancing as they walked through the streets. Only candles burned, no fires or torches lit the city. The people walked through this darkness clad in their skins and masks, silent without conversation or music.

“Why is it so dark?” Darin asked.

“Because the king baint lit the fire yet,” Ronan answered. Darin was about to ask what fire when they arrived at the main square where the Holly King stood. There a great crowd gathered looking up at the keep. Darin looked up as well but could see little from the darkness around them. Then from the top most tower of the keep a great fire blazed to life, lighting the night. In answer another bon fire lit the square and the people cheered.

Darin looked out into the night and saw beacons were lit on every hill top of the city and the people cheered. Now the mood had changed from the silent darkness to one of festivity. Soon music was being played, harps and lutes along with drums and flutes. Darin watched from the sides as dancing began, and saw what Daunish dancing could really be like. The crowds of people moved around in a great flow of dancing, the country jigs carrying them around the square in great groups. Darin had never seen anything like it, and was afraid to join in the confusing tide of people as they clapped and stomped their feet. He could see their feet moving in complicated steps as they danced around, moving swift but sure over the cobbles.

Meredydd wandered off into the crowds without a word, Darin daring not to ask where she was going. He noticed though she was making her way over to the Holly King which had more guards around it than before.

“We light fires to keep the dead at bay, and to honor those that be gone,” Ronan said.

“How can you honor them if you want to keep them at bay?” Darin asked.

“This night is a night when the dead are said to wander,” Ronan answered. “We light the night to keep them away aye, but the fires honor the dead by letting them ken we still remember them. We love those gone from us but we baint want em ta return ta life, then the dead n living would be together and that be against nature.”

He led the way up the hill where many torches were burning now. They passed knights, all wearing armor and helms like masks, armed with glaives. They walked up the hill and when they got to the gates several guards stopped them.

“What business do you have here?” the gatekeeper asked.

“Performers,” Ronan answered. “Maybe you’ve heard of us, the Dwarves of Emir. Grand old fun we have, great cracks and all. Played in Dun Glas nowt too long ago.”

“Never heard of you,” the gatekeeper answered frowning.

“I’m Molly’s friend,” Ronan said.

“Every man be a friend o Molly’s,” the gatekeeper answered. “You should shove off if…”

“Ronan!” They turned to see a man walking down from the keep, a Daunish man with a red beard and balding head. “Bout time ye go here Ronan.”

“You ken them Daley?” the gatekeeper asked.

“Oh aye, I asked Ronan ta bring in some fresh talent ta entertain the king,” the man Daley answered. “What with the feast n all I kenned it be best ta liven things up a bit. That be alright baint it?”

“Aye but tell me next time,” the gatekeeper said crossly. “Makes it harder on me.”

“Sorry,” Daley answered. “Come along, we’ve got a lot ta do.”

They followed the man through the gate and towards the keep, Darin looking around at the fortifications. They were lacking to say the least, and of course all the guards stood at their posts bored, they were here only to keep drunken revelers out of the keep not any actual threat. The keep itself looked to have been built without defense in mind, or what someone thought a keep should look like. The stone work while well done, wasn’t built to repel any siege towers or battering rams. The keep wasn’t militant, it was more ornamental.

They went up a set of stairs where the big double doors were thrown wide. Light poured out of the doors along with song and voices. Inside was warm; candles, torches, lamps, and fires lit the hall n bright dancing shadows. Yet even this light did not illuminate the ceiling far above like the night sky. The three fire pits burned brightly and the large table in the center of the room was full of food and wine.

The masks of the nobles were much different than those of the common folk. They were ceramic as well, but of a finer quality. Some were like Ronan’s, a knotted pattern covering the face and making the features of an animal. Others though were plainer and were a human face, painted or glazed with the features of the person. Those that wore animal masks wore furs over their clothes, while those that wore a human mask wore human clothes. There seemed a divide between those wearing old masks and those wearing new masks.

Music played, the harp dominating the music here. Darin was surprised to see not a servant or musician playing the harp, but a noble lady. She wore a fine mask of a doe, a fawn seeming by the shape of youthfulness to the mask. She played the harp with exquisite skill, her hands plucking the strings with long delicate fingers. She wore a fine velvet blue dress, a dark fur cloak covering her shoulders. Darin watched her amazed by her skill and realized by the slant of her head and the way she stared off at nothing that she was blind.

“Come, the Queen is over here,” Ronan said pointing towards the center of the room snapping Darin out of his contemplation of the woman. The center of the room was dominated by a great circular table which was now piled high with a feast. The lords and ladies sitting at the table were chatting and talking, while they watched the king warily. The king sat with his knight to his right and the Regarian to his left. Further down the table Darin saw the Queen sat with her own contingent of ladies in waiting.

“Who is the harpist?” Darin asked lowly as they moved through the crowds of servants and lesser lords. Other tables had been set up around the king’s table for the lesser lords and servants, plenty of food and cider going around.

“That is the Lady Bree of Dun Wiell,” Ronan said wistfully as he glanced at the harpist. “She is the finest harpist in Daun; she’s been blind since birth but still learned to play the harp. She is the only daughter to the Count Wiell and be the apple of his eye.”

He glanced at the noble lady longingly, like a man that knew all too well he gazed at a lady far above his reach. Darin felt sad at the signs of a tragic love and at the same time hoped that Ronan would not have his luck with women.

They made their way over to the Queen careful not to draw attention to themselves as they wound their way through the crowds. Darin was tempted to filch some food from the tables they passed, fine breads, pies, roast lamb, and potatoes tempted him with their smell. He kept his hands to himself though, fearing drawing attention. The others weren’t so disciplined, nicking a few morsels as they walked past the tables, except Donar who only had eyes for their goal.

Before they could reach the Queen however, the lady finished her song. An applause went up and the Lady Bree stood and took a bow. Darin saw Ronan had stopped to applaud as well, his face hidden by his mask.

“Very good Lady Bree,” the king said once the applause had died. His words were slurred a bit and Darin noticed he held a wine goblet in one hand. “It is a shame that you wear a mask milady, your beauty is rumored to rival Dione’s. Not that you would know this of course.”

He laughed but no one else did, the queen breaking the silence.

“That was rude of you son,” Queen Epona said. She was probably glaring, but it was impossible to see behind her mask. She wore a mask in the old design of knotted patterns, hers depicting a horse and a mane of horse hair around her head and shoulders. “You should apologize to the Lady Bree.”

“I meant it as a compliment mother,” King Dylan answered as he set his cup down. He stood a bit unsteady and the knight at his side stood to help him. Dylan shook him off and went over to the Lady Bree. He took her hand and leaned in to kiss it only to have his mask get in the way. “Sorry milady, I forgot about my mask.”

The Lady Bree pulled her hand away, her arms folded over her chest as she shied away from the king. He didn’t seem to notice and reached out to her again. Before he could touch her, her father stepped between the two.

“I am sorry majesty,” the Count Wiell said with a bow but his voice held steel. He wore a mask of a stag, horns crowning his head. “My daughter be a bit shy.”

“Of course,” the King said withdrawing, but Darin sensed he hid something under his mask. “Let the music continue. Perhaps a fiddle now.”

“Shit,” Ronan said as Daley waved him over. “I’ve gotta go. You just stay back out of the way.”

He took his crwth and joined some of the other musicians. As he walked over he passed the Lady Bree, and his hand brushed hers. She turned, but he had already passed her and had his own music to perform. As the music started again, Ronan playing a lively tune on his crwth, Darin saw Queen Epona stand and leave the hall.

“Darin come with me, the rest of you stay here,” Donar ordered as he went to follow the queen. Darin followed, going out of the bright hall and into the darker hallways. The keep was cool and damp, but after a few quick turns following the candle the queen carried they came out into a garden. The garden was wild and overgrown, holly and elm trees bent under the weight of ivy and moss.

The queen had stopped before an overgrown statue, her candle a small light in the darkness of the garden. She didn’t turn as they walked up to her, though Darin was sure she had heard their approach. Donar waited a moment, Darin unsure of what she was doing. She didn’t seem to be praying, she only stared up at the statue forlornly.

“We had it carven after he died in battle,” Epona said at last. “I wanted my son to know the face of his father. Doesn’t look a thing like him. This was once my private garden, as you can see I’ve let it fall into disrepair, like I have my son.”

She turned to them then, her eyes behind her mask bright.

“So the crow’s prediction is true, the men of the mountains have come down. War is to come to our lands.”

“I’m afraid so milady,” Donar said. “I am Donar Chief of the Emir clan and this is my captain Darin. I need to speak to your son.”

“He won’t listen,” Epona answered. “He has been warned already of the war, seeing you will make no difference. After my husband died in the king’s wars I had to keep the kingdom together, especially with the Sect building over the land. I put my duty to the kingdom before my duty to my son and this is the result. My son is lost to me.”

“We put duty before our love for our family because we must,” Darin said, feeling empathy for Epona. “To turn our backs on our duty would destroy us and those we love. Would things have been better if you had let the kingdom fall?”

“No I suppose not,” Epona said. “But as a mother I weep to know I have failed my son.”

“Have you?” Donar said and Epona seemed startled. “This curse of his, I think it was the doe’s attempt to set him upon the right path. After all, someone that is lost can still find their way again can’t they?”

“There is hope,” Epona said standing still a moment, her face hidden by her mask. “Very well, I will take you to see the king.”

“First I think we should speak with the knight who is always at his side,” Darin said.

“Sir Conor?” Epona said surprised. “Yes you are right; if we convince him we can convince my son. Come.”

Epona led the way out of the garden and they followed her back to the hall. In the hall dancing had begun, the hall full of people dancing around in a confusing array.

“How are we going to find Sir Conor in this?” Darin muttered. Epona didn’t seem to hear him because she continued to walk through the crowd of dancers. Donar and Darin followed her as best they could and eventually they were free of the dancers once more. Epona led them to a table where a man was sitting slumped over a mug of cider. It was the knight, he wore a half mask of ceramic finely crafted and decorated. It had no character to it or animal aspect so Darin guessed this was a mask of southern fashion.

“Sir Conor,” Epona said in a firm voice, not shouting but she was easily heard. The man raised his head, his eyes behind his mask blurry and unfocused. “Sir Conor, this is a most disrespectful state for a knight of Daun.”

“Tis Isra’s Night,” Conor grumbled. “I can drink as I please.”

“Where is the King?” Epona asked through clenched teeth.

“His rooms I believe,” Conor answered. “Why?”

“We need to speak to him,” Epona said.

“We?” Conor said looking at Darin and Donar puzzled. He seemed to stare at them a moment before his eyes widened and he leapt to his feet reaching for his sword. Darin reacted first, lunging forward he grabbed Conor’s sword just as he did. Darin shoved the sword back in the sheath as Conor tried to draw it, holding the other man’s fist over the hilt. Darin glared up at the man, he was a full head and shoulders taller than Darin, but he glared him down all the same.

“Do not abandon reason and listen!” Darin said angrily. Either his tone or the fact he still held the man’s sword seemed to make Conor pause. “You have heard the warning; you know what our coming portends. Daun needs you more than ever, your King needs you. You must see reason!”

Conor’s eyes rolled under his mask and he shook his head.

“A trick,” he muttered. “This is a trick of some kind…”

“If you truly believed that you would not have listened!” Darin said. “Look around you, these people are your own. Your king is guardian to them and bears that burden. A burden that will crush him if he does not find his way and he will fail them. You can help him, you know it.”

Darin felt Conor’s fist under his loosen its grip on the hilt of his sword.

“You know how he has lost his way,” Darin persisted gently. “And you know how the curse can be broken.”

Darin felt all the tension drain from Conor in a moment and the man collapsed back into his chair. Darin let him go as Conor pulled off his mask to cover his eyes; if he was weeping Darin couldn’t tell.

“Where is Dylan Conor?” Epona asked after a moment, her tone softening now. Conor though leapt to his feet, his face gone ashen suddenly.

“We have to hurry,” Conor said and Darin felt his blood run cold at his tone. Conor hurried off before he explained and all they could do was follow. Conor headed straight for a set of stairs which he had been sitting by, Darin realized as a guard. They hurried up the stairs, Conor taking them two at a time with his longer legs. Epona lagged behind hindered by her skirt, but Darin and Donar managed to keep up with Conor.

Conor ran out of the stairwell and down a hallway, past several doors until he reached the end where a large set of double doors stood. Without knocking he burst into the room, Darin and Donar hot on his heels. Darin took in the scene in one glance. Dylan and the cleric stood by the fire, Dylan wearing nothing but a robe his mask discarded. They had been discussing something, but stopped startled by Conor’s intrusion.

“Conor?” Dylan said frowning. The king had dark bags under his eyes and looked thin and weary. “What are you doing? I asked you to guard the stairs so my mother didn’t find me.”

Conor didn’t answer, he wasn’t even looking at the king but at the large four posted bed on the other side of the room. Darin followed his gaze and saw a figure huddled on the bed. A woman lay there weeping, her sobs muffled by the blanket she was wrapped in.

“You didn’t…” Conor whispered.

“Elisha assures me he can send her away to a nunnery in the south,” Dylan said with a grim smile as he patted the cleric on the shoulder. “No need to marry her after a night in my bed. No one will miss Lady Bree.”

Darin felt his hair stand on end in understanding; the king had raped a blind woman. Conor’s face went ashen, his hands shaking. Seeing his distress Dylan hurried over to him, grasping him by the shoulder.

“Come Conor you know it has to be this way!” Dylan said forcefully. “No one wants a blind woman for a queen.”

Conor’s face went from gray to red and he shook free of Dylan’s grasp.

“You are not my king!” Conor shouted. “To do this to one of your people, you never deserved the crown you wear. You will never be the king your father was!”

Darin saw each hurtful word strike home and Dylan’s face went gray. Before he could say anything Epona finally caught up with them, panting heavily. She had taken off her mask at last, her lined face red from exertion. Her cheeks drained of color as she looked around, and then she raced for the bed. She sat next to Lady Bree and took her into her arms, looking back at her son as if she did not know him. Dylan could not meet her gaze or that of Conor’s, his head hanging low.

“You do your king an injustice Sir Conor,” Elisha said scathingly. “Had you not agreed to watch the stairs while Dylan took his pleasure with the girl? You knew this was all harmless fun.”

“Harmless!” Epona shouted from the bed. “Rape is harmless! The Count Weill will not stand for this and he will see to it other lords will turn against the crown! And he has every right to! What will you do about this Grand Sect?”

“Send the girl south before she can tell her tale,” Elisha answered. “Any child that may come of the paring must be disposed of as well so it cannot threaten the stability of the kingdom.”

“Snake!” Epona hissed wrapping her arms around the weeping Lady Bree. “I will not keep quiet about this! The lords will hear of this travesty.”

“Are you saying you would overthrow your own son milady?” Elisha said. Epona glared back at him defiantly, her eyes saying she would. “Majesty I fear age has gotten the better of your mother. I think it best we send her away with the Lady Bree to the south.”

Dylan wasn’t listening; his eyes were on Conor again.

“You don’t mean what you said Conor,” Dylan said. “You and me, we were always like brothers.”

Conor answered this by turning his back on Dylan and going to the bed.

“Does she need a healer milady?” Conor asked.

“Conor!” Dylan shouted. “Don’t turn your back on me!”

“We should send Sir Conor to accompany them,” Elisha said grimly. “It seems his loyalty can no longer be trusted.”

Dylan stood looking like he might collapse at any moment, his eyes dead and lost.

“Majesty,” Donar said, stepping forward and removing his mask. Everyone turned to him and Darin reached up to remove his own mask. “My name is Donar Chief of the Emir clan and this is my Captain Darin. You know who we are.”

“The men of the mountains,” Dylan said amazed. “Dwarves.”

“Majesty these men are frauds,” Elisha said angrily. “There is no such thing as the Phay. They are simply men born with some disfigurement come here to trick you into wasting money and time on a fruitless war. Some of my clerics from Dun Glas brought word of them to me. What proof do they have that the witch’s words are true?”

“I have none,” Donar answered. “Any proof I could bring would only be discounted as a trick would it not?”

“So you would ask us to follow you by blind faith?” Elisha asked.

“Ironic you a Sect speaking of blind faith,” Epona said acidly and Elisha glared at her.

“I am not speaking to you cleric but to the king,” Donar said. “It is his decision not yours. King Dylan, you are the king of Daun; that does not mean you rule the people and kingdom as you please! You are their protector, their guide, their leader when they feel lost, afraid, hurt. Dark times are coming and I come here to warn you not for your benefit, but for the benefit of the people of Daun. The army that comes will not have mercy on the weak or innocent, they will take pleasure in destroying every last man down to the babes in their mother’s arms.

“So I bring this warning to you for you to heed. Take up arms to defend Daun or those you have sworn to protect will fall.”

Darin watched the king’s face as he struggled to swallow Donar’s words. Dylan looked away from Donar and back at the three by the bed. Conor still would not look at him, Epona still glared at Elisha, but the Lady Bree had stopped weeping. It was her Darin realized the king was looking at, but the blind woman could not return his gaze. Dylan stood perfectly still and Darin started to see a change.

He saw a film of light around Dylan, like a haze that blurred the eyes coming off snow. The cloud rested on Dylan for a moment before dissolving, lifting free of the king’s shoulders. No longer bent under the weight of that cloud Dylan seemed to stand taller now, his eyes clear of the fevered light that seemed to shine in them. He walked over to the bed and put a hand on Conor’s shoulder.

“I am sorry my friend for doubting your words,” Dylan said and then he reached for his mother who turned to him surprised. “I am sorry mother for all the sorrow I have caused you.” He turned to the Lady Bree last and reached out to her, lifting her up into a sitting position. “And to you Lady Bree I have harmed in the worst manor, I cannot apologize or seek forgiveness for such a crime to you. Whatever you ask of me I will give you if only it would ease your pain, though I know it will not.”

Bree didn’t answer her face unreadable as her blank eyes.

“Majesty what is your decision?” Elisha asked puzzled and Dylan turned to him. He stood to face the cleric, his entire demeanor had changed.

“My decision is that we shall go to war,” Dylan answered. Elisha’s round face was one of astonishment at first before it darkened to rage.

“I will not stand by this majesty!” Elisha said looking about to explode but Dylan spoke first.

“I do not expect you to,” Dylan said calmly and Elisha’s eyes bulged. “You are hereby banished from Daun, and all those who follow you.”

“You cannot expel the Sect from the Kingdom!” Elisha roared. He took a threatening step towards the king but Conor suddenly stood between them, his hand on his sword.

“Allow me to dispatch this cur my king,” Conor said lowly.

“No, he will carry the message south,” Dylan said. “We will see what the High King will make of this.”

“You know what he will do Rawn,” Elisha growled. “War.”

“War has come to Daun anyways,” Dylan answered. “And we will face it. Leave my sight, I expect you gone by the time Eos touches Empyria with her colors.”

Red in the face Elisha turned on his heel and left. He passed Donar and Darin on his way out, glaring at them and Darin saw murder in those blue eyes.

“See that he and his Sects leave Conor,” Dylan commanded. “Gather the guard, those that are sober enough for duty.”

“Yes majesty,” Dylan said with a smart bow and he too hurried from the room. He nodded to Darin and Donar in thanks as he passed them and Darin nodded back to him. Darin looked back at the bed and saw Dylan looking down at the Lady Bree.

“You should go,” Epona said breaking into her son’s thoughts. “I will see to the Lady Bree and get a healer.”

Dylan hesitated, his hand reaching out to the Lady Bree, but stopping midair. She had stopped weeping and seemed to be listening, but she did not raise her head as she leaned against the queen.

“Lady Bree, I offer you marriage if you would have me,” Dylan said softly. Lady Bree’s reaction was covered by Epona’s who took a sharp intake of breath.

“You would ask her to marry the man that raped her?” Epona said with reproach. “Go Dylan, we will discuss this matter when hearts are less raw.”

Dylan withdrew looking guilty. He walked over to Donar and Darin by the door seeming weary.

“We have much to discuss,” Dylan said.

“I think first you should dress,” Donar said. “And don your mask again.”

Dylan nodded and went away behind a screen to change. Darin turned back to see Epona had drawn the curtains closed over the bed, hiding the Lady Bree. Dylan came out shortly, wearing a fine woolen tunic and trews, a fur draped over his shoulders. He wore not a southern mask like he had before but a ram’s mask, the ceramic thick with knotted patterns. Ram horns curled around his head as a crown.

“Come, we should see if Conor has gathered the guard,” Dylan said as he walked from the room, sparing one last glance for the curtained bed. “Will she forgive me?” he asked as they walked down the hall.

“Hatred is burden that only sours the soul,” Donar said, Darin knowing he spoke from experience. “For her sake I hope she does, you must do everything you can for her.”

“I will,” Dylan said nodding, “Though I doubt my mother will forgive me.”

“Mothers always forgive their sons,” Darin said. “Though they never let their sons know that.”

Dylan almost laughed; the sound he made was more like a dry chuckle. They left back down to the main hall where the feast was still in full swing, no one aware of the happenings in the King’s chambers. Hakk and Bgrim joined them as they walked through the crowd of people.

Dylan led the way out of the hall and into the courtyard where a contingent of Daunish knights stood ready. Darin could judge a warrior well and at last he saw skill in arms in the men here. Many were the grizzled aged veterans rather than the strong youth or middling year old men. They all wore ceramic helms, the face guards drawn over their faces as masks.

“King Dylan,” one of the older men said sounding for a moment like he was totally relieved. He saluted and the rest of the men followed suit.  

“Sir Owen,” Dylan answered. “Are these the only sober men?”

“Sober enough majesty,” Owen answered.

“Sect Elisha left already to the Sect majesty,” Conor said.

“Sir Owen take five men to the Sect and make sure Elisha leaves with only his robes,” Dylan said. “I’ll not have him take anything from Daun. Though make sure he is supplied with horses and food.”

“Yes majesty,” Owen said and signaled to five of the other men. They were about to leave when the gate guard gave a shout. Everyone turned to see a boy running past the gate guard and towards them.

“Wait!” Dylan shouted in such a commanding tone that the guard that had drawn a bow stopped and dropped his arrow. The boy ran up to them and though he wore a mask of a fox and a fox pelt, Darin recognized Loam. He stopped before them and bowed quickly.

“Grand… Grandmother Meredydd told me ta fetch the king,” he said panting for breath. “She said he would be willing ta listen now. Ye have ta see this!”

“See what?” Dylan asked. “Who is Grandmother Meredydd?”

“A green witch,” Darin answered. “We should follow.”

Nervous, obviously his last encounter with witches had not been as pleasant, Dylan nodded. Surrounded by the knights they left the keep, Loam leading the way. Darin looked around amazed at all the lights that burned throughout the city, and even over the countryside. They entered the crowds again and Darin marked the change in the crowds immediately. An energy permeated the people and air, everyone talking in excited tones.

They fell silent as the king walked among them and the energy grew as they watched their king walk through the crowds. Some were nervous, but others seemed to sense the change and now watched them pass in anticipation. Loam was leading them to the Holly King. The guards were gone from around the tree and now the people gathered under the twisted branches of the tree.

At the foot of the tree a space was cleared and a line had formed as people came one by one before the tree. They entered the clearing and saw Meredydd sitting under the holly tree, a basket on her lap full of holly leaves. A man in the line stepped forward and Meredydd passed him a leaf before he moved off to let the one behind him get one.

“Ah, so the King has come,” Meredydd said as she nodded to them and stood, balancing the basket on her hip.

“What are you doing?” Dylan asked, sounding puzzled rather than displeased. “Why give out the leaves?”

“They are a talisman,” Meredydd answered. Darin noticed all those with leaves had pinned them on their tunics, and some women wore them in their hair. “Those who wear these leaves this night will be protected in the times to come.”

“Why not give out the berries to eat?” Darin asked.

“Holly berries be poisonous, they cause nausea and diarrhea,” Meredydd answered. “Even those o the Holly King. The leaves will last longer as well. For ye majesty.”

She held out a leaf and Dylan took it and Meredydd handed out leaves to the knights and dwarves. She bowed to them all and they bowed in turn.

“Now I must go,” Meredydd said. “There are more leaves I must hand out.”

“Wait,” Dylan said. “When you are done I would like to make you a member of my council, your guidance will be needed in the time to come.”

“I would aid ye as I could majesty but sadly it is not that way,” Meredydd answered. “I fear my sight will not be clear for a long time.”

“You’ve foreseen this?” Darin asked and Meredydd smiled sadly. She did not answer, simply walked off into the crowd handing out her leaves.

“She can see into the future?” Dylan said amazed.

“The sight costs the seer their sanity,” Donar answered. “They begin to lose sight of the present and never know what time they are in. I think that Meredydd has a limited time now in which she will be sane.”

Darin heard Loam sigh sadly and then hurry off after Meredydd, the boy going to help her hand out the holly leaves. Darin looked to the sky and gave a start. Rippling in the wind of the sky They of the Aria danced between the stars and lit by the embers of fires across the moors. Necks craned back and the people of Daun stared up at the northern lights, a sign of the changing times.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Eleanor discovers she doesn't need to pay

Author: BlackBubbleTea

Year: 2010

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Old Gregg/Eleanor

“Bailey’s, if you please, sir.” He never would have thought it was capable to feel this miserable in such a beautiful dress. Poor dress. It had never been made to see such sorrow. It was a dress for happy days, for kisses and champagne and rice thrown by well-wishers. But no, not anymore. Not for Gregg. Might as well just throw these old rags away. The watercolors, too. He didn’t fancy coming home to those tiny eyes looking at him, not one bit. Once so full of chocolatey love and funky soul just waiting to be let out – nurtured, like a tiny jazzy butterfly. Now they would just pierce into him, down through to the core of his slippery little soul, saying, “No, I don’t love you. I’ll never love you.” The nice man at the counter passed him a glass of creamy consolation, and when he sipped it, it was good and it was familiar. It was the home he never should have left. Why ever had he thought that here, up here with the dry people and the air breathers, that he would ever have found a place? This wasn’t for him. He belonged down in his waters. That was the safe place; the good place. Once he made it back, he would never leave again. Even if it would be dreadful lonely without The Funk to keep him company. Used him, that weedy little bastard had. Used him for his funk-juice and all the opportunities it offered. That was all he had wanted. Not love. And why should he? He could already get plenty of that from pretty, pretty Miss Blue Eyes. How was he supposed to compete with that? All that poofy black hair and everything that had ever sparkled stuck onto that lithe little body. He was just a rusty old bucket of fish in comparison. He sighed and took another long sip of his drink. Creamy. A beautiful light brown. Serene. And then the red stain of his lipstick interrupting it along the rim of the glass. Hardly any point in that anymore. Who cared how beautiful he looked, if it wasn’t going to be enough anyways? Then there was another sigh, except it hadn’t come from him. When he turned to look there was a lady, and even though there was an empty seat between him they might have been sitting in just the same place, sad as she looked. Pretty lady, all done up nice with a fancy coat and a scarf round her head. Cigarette in one of those long holders, and her eyes under the makeup were like the tight blue jeans Slash used to wear. But he couldn’t think about that right now, he’d be liable to turn himself inside out with sad. She was lonely too, just like him. He could tell. The way she rested her chin in her hand, heavy, heavy, with a thousand pounds of potent disappointment. And maybe it wasn’t so nice, but he felt a little less bad, knowing that he wasn’t the only person in the world with the sadness weighing them down. But still lonely, so lonely, and he thought that one lonely person ought to talk to another, so he did a maneuver and then he was in the seat next to her and he could smell her perfume. Sweet and made of old flowers that had been in the sun too long. “Men?” he ventured. But it always was. It always was men. Even when you weren’t in love with them – it always was men. She looked up at him from her drink. Pretty, pink drink. Like lipsticks dissolved in seltzer. “Oh honey, you don’t even know the half of it.” “I’d wager I do, miss. I’d wager I know...at least three-fourths of it.” Because no matter who you were, wasn’t it always the same? Watching your heart go skittering about in little pieces on the floor. And those damn tiny eyes. Uncaring. Unforgiving. Just leaving Gregg out in the cold, just like that. “You had your heart broken too, huh sugarlips?” He liked that. He liked that she made nicknames. “I- I did. I did, sir. Ma’am. Very much so. H-he stomped on it. Many times.” “Oh, men! Why are they such scum?” she lamented. “I offered him everything! I’ve got money. I could provide! He would never have had to do anything, just be my luscious little love muffin! It would have been enough!”

He shook his head. “Not for some. Some just...they don’t see what they got.” But he said that to make her feel better. He didn’t know the circumstances. In his case, Howard had seen what he’d got. He’d seen it was either a pretty little lady, or a moldy old lake monster. Couldn’t nobody blame him for his decision. Anybody would have made it. He steadied himself. Wouldn’t do no good to cry. Not now. He took another sip of his drink. One thing that was nice. Nice and creamy. Never figure how they made it so good. “I just...” She followed suit, lifting her pretty pink drink and slurping it up. Nails were long. Painted. He could have painted his nails. Painted them red, would have matched the lipstick. He never thought of these things. Maybe if he had...maybe things would be different. Maybe Gregg would have been the prettiest. “It’s worse than that, though! You hardly understand.” The way her voice said things, it really made you believe them. He believed her. He wanted to listen. “What happened?” “I paid him! I paid him! And certainly, yes, he was in the business, but I thought...I just thought…we had such chemistry! I can’t even express it. I’d never seen anyone fondle balls with such fervency. I thought that it had to be love!” He thought about her words. She gave a man money to touch her. He didn’t even have to do that. Though he didn’t have any money in the first place. Still, he thought it wasn’t fair. Why should a pretty lady, why should she have to pay a man? She was prettier than Old Gregg. Yes, he would admit that. He wasn’t so vain. She was glamorous, like a movie star. Even a movie star lady would have to give a man dollars for love? He couldn’t believe it. Who was even allowed to have love, these days? “Well. Miss. I- I think that...whatever man that was, must’ve been a damn fool.” “Oh, sweetheart.” Her thin eyebrows made funny curves. “That is so wonderful of you to say. But oh God, is it also a lie.” “It isn’t. It isn’t, it’s true.” Her blue jean eyes looked him up and down and east and west. “I wish everyone had a heart like yours,” she said, and he knew that it was really the thing that she thought, as well. “But no.” And she shook her head, pretty shiny brown hair bouncing back and forth and back and forth. He had to touch it. So shiny. It ate all the light inside the little bar. It ate it all up and said, “This is mine now, and I’ll show it off however I like!” And when his fingers, webbed and coarse and not the right kind to touch such pretty hair, met with it, it was like a silky explosion. It crashed over him in waves, and oh how he wished he could have that thin, soft, rollercoaster of follicle paradise instead of a briny tangle of seaweed. “Your hair is made of magic,” he managed. “Oh,” she replied, with a soft smile. “Leave-in conditioner. Does wonders.” He smiled back. “I think – I think we should be friends.” Or any sort of association, really. Just please, teach me how to be so beautiful. She put her chin in her delicate, artfully sculpted hand once again, but he wasn’t afraid anymore of her arm breaking under the weight of her mind. “I’m game if you are.” The statement held promises; suggestions. It scared him at the same time that it thrilled him. “Oh, oh yes, ma’am. I’m Old Gregg.” “They call me Eleanor. Pleased to meet you.” He marveled at how all the words her mouth said sounded like anyone ought to feel lucky for them to visit their ears. But since the man at the bar was playing around with the bottles further down, no one else was hearing them. How were they only for Gregg? Did she really think he was good enough for them? He was smiling again, and it felt like his mouth hadn’t had that much exercise in a thousand years. He’d had so many smiles for Howard, his Howard, but he wouldn’t take any of them. Only looking back with those tiny eyes – dead, unfeeling. Indifferent. But this Eleanor, she smiled back. The expressions he gave to her, they were reflected back. And then he realized that he hadn’t talked in a while, only looked. The dry people, they didn’t like it when all you did was look, but just as he was about to say something else, she cut back in and let him keep his silence.

“Do you know what I think we need to do?” she asked. “No, ma’am. What do we need to do?” He was ready to take any direction from her. She had seen the world. She knew the things. Maybe men would still break her heart, but he felt like she would know what to do. “We need...to get seriously messed-up.” “Oh. Okay.” “No. I mean messed-up,” she reiterated, and again she was using her magical powers of making things sound so, so important, so he knew that they must be. “Messed-up like...just a big, huge, pile of mess.” “I can do that,” he replied, and to prove it, he finished off his glass of Bailey’s. All of that beautiful brown, drained away. Down inside of him. But the nice man behind the bar would come back over once he realized that it was gone, along with the glass of dissolved lipstick. They had gone and escaped together, and left their owners back at the bar. “Honey,” she said to the man, “we need some refills, and quick.” Soon, there was more Bailey’s in his glass. Amazing, how she could make that happen. He usually waited for centuries. Excuse me, sir, good sir, won’t you please – oh, never mind, I see you’re serving other customers, I’ll just wait a moment, yes... No, none of that. Not when you were with Eleanor. Eleanor. He repeated it in his head. It sounded like red velvet cake. “That’s, ah...a pretty name you’ve got...Miss.” Mustn’t forget the formalities. Another smile, and so radiant, like the sun filtering down through the waves. So strong that it would make its way through no matter what pollution had gotten into the lake. “I named myself after Ms. Roosevelt, you know. Such a...such a straightforward woman.” “Yes. Exactly.” He had no idea who Ms. Roosevelt was. He took another long, long sip of his drink. Beautiful. Rich. A bit like her. He supposed that was why he liked her. Creamy. Skin like... “Oh, dear!” she cried, and she was holding onto him with her arms, and he realized that he had been touching her again. “This world!” she proclaimed. “It’s like a hard, unrelenting fuck! So indulgently perfect when it’s happening, but then! Oh, then...where, Gregg, where do women like us fit?” “I don’t...I don’t rightly know, sir. Ma’am,” he replied. And he didn’t. Still, he put his hand on her shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort. Soft shoulder, underneath silk fabric. They drank their drinks in tandem, soothing liquid down into throats that needed it. Nice colors, drained through lipsticked mouths. It would help her, he thought. It helped him. But then she looked at him again and even if he’d had all the bottles of Bailey’s they’d ever made (blessed “they,” whoever had manufactured each and every tiny fragment of heaven all packaged up in nice little brown bottles) it wouldn’t have made her eyes any less blue. Blue like the sound your heart makes when tiny eyes burst it into a million pieces, and blue like the waves that wash over you and blue like the sky as it moves through the clouds, drifting but still the same sky, saying, “Hello, Gregg. Here I am. I’m the sky, and I’m still here.” Still here. He didn’t think the sky should have to know all that sadness. So he didn’t think, he just pushed his lips forward and felt the damp and the heat. She made a soft noise and it was good, good like Bailey’s and good like the gentle flow of water. He didn’t care if she wasn’t Howard. She was here, and she was precious, and that was the thing that he cared about right now. Her lips met his with the same sticky passion for fighting, and once they touched they started to wrestle like they were angry. Her tongue was hot and slick and it forced its way into his mouth, and by the time it had made its way there he didn’t ever want it ever to leave. Her hands snaked around him, with their red talons, and they were strong and pushed him forward into her. He felt that they belonged there, on his back. They dodged all the sharp points of the lures stuck in throughout the years and only saw the shininess, the beauty. They gripped him like they would never let him go, and he succumbed. He did not want her to let go. But she did, eventually. “Sweet transvestite Jesus!” she exclaimed. And then, a bit more shyly: “You’re a pretty good kisser.”

He bit his lower lip, still slick with her spit. “I might say the same for you.” She didn’t waste any time after that confirmation, but darted right back into the fray. The nice man at the bar was giving them looks. He could see it, in the corner of his eye. Jealous. He didn’t have Miss Movie Star kissing him, did he? No sir. Still, another glass of Bailey’s, luxuriant liquid filling it full and then sliding across the wood of the bar towards him. Nice man knew what he liked. Would get a pretty penny at the end of the night, yes sir. But he couldn’t think about that right now. So soft, the lips against his. Insistent. Not Howard’s. No love in them, but a kind of want. More than he had ever had, at least. Hands on his body. How did one make it to his thigh? Sliding up, now. Making its way through the lace and silk. Feeling, fondling. Soon it would know all about the mix-up. He waited for the hand to take offense. Holding his breath, air inside the sacks of flesh that were supposed to have water inside of them. They were angry at him, demanding: where’s our food? Why’d you take us from our moist little world? He couldn’t give them any real answer. But he could tell her. “I’ve got a mangina.” “Oh,” she said, and for a moment he knew that was the end. Except that then, she grabbed his wrist, palm warm around his rickety bones, and pulled his hand into her. It was warm and lumpy and strange. “Y-you’ve...” was all he could manage. “Yes,” she said in passionate assent, and the nice man at the bar didn’t look so nice now that they had their hands in each other’s secret places. He looked at him. He looked back at her. “I think,” he said, “I think we ought to leave.” “Oh, yes,” she said again, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand. But his legs had faith in him. “We’ve come this far, Gregg,” they said. “We’ll not fail you now.” And it renewed his confidence, and he pulled a shiny new coin out of his red patent leather purse to tip the nice man, whether or not he understood the politics of downstairs mix-ups. Then he took her hand, beautiful and dainty, pale with the red nail polish shot through it, gleaming and fantastic. It sparkled like her eyes and it fit so nice into his, even with the soft spread of webbing between his fingers. “M’lady?” he offered. He could hardly believe that the words were coming out of his mouth, but there they were, floating around in the atmosphere. She caught them and devoured them with the utmost pleasure, then gave him a satiated smile. “Your place or mine, honeylumps?”

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Paris Fashion Week Is a Real Slog When You’re As Important As I Am

http://fashion-trendin.com/paris-fashion-week-is-a-real-slog-when-youre-as-important-as-i-am/

Paris Fashion Week Is a Real Slog When You’re As Important As I Am

I have been to several Paris Fashion Weeks and have reported on my experience as a novice. Now, as a seasoned veteran, I worry the viewfinder I held aloft was rose-colored, indeed. What was once a mythical fairyland of swirling scarves, perfectly puffed pastries and glitzy dinner parties twinkling on past midnight has withered to a nightmarish hellscape: desperate vendors cramming their shoes onto my feet, upstart bloggers screaming for me, paparazzi flashbulbs scarring my pupils.

In the midst of such a cacophony, I find myself wondering: When in my meteoric rise to the dizzying heights of the fashion world will the sun finally burn too hot? I long for the day I may lose my feathers like Icarus, free-fall back to Earth and walk down the street with a beret and baguette unbothered.

As I prepare to leave for the airport, I notice my puffy coat is leaking little tufted feathers out of a hole near my wrist. Recognizing the heavy-handed symbolism, I become terrified and apply a dollop of Gorilla Glue to the hole, effectively stopping the insulation exodus.

Wednesday, February 28th

Shortly after arriving in Paris, my stylist a.k.a. girlfriend a.k.a. editor-in-chief of InStyle asks about the bird shit on my arm. I patiently explain the tear, the leak, the solution. She sends me off to get a new coat.

A breezy expenditure of $80 at Uniqlo will get you this gender-neutral, puffy hooded coat that offers a pleasing assortment of pockets.

For sustenance, I order poulet paillard, which is French for “chicken that looks like a chicken.”

This poor hen stepped sideways into the path of a guillotine. Haughty, but delicious. Afterward, I can feel my grip on reality slipping, so I take a nap and wake up just in time for dinner, which I eat and then go back to bed.

Thursday, March 1st

I am no longer 26 years old and my body does not spring forward into new time zones as spryly as it once did. I wake up at 1 p.m., just in time to bathe and head off to see the Dries Van Noten collection. After being jostled through security and beginning to wonder if maybe I should just go drink a bottle of wine on a Seine tourist cruise, my spirits lift considerably upon finding a familiar face:

Harper’s Bazaar’s Glenda Bailey, a fearless woman who makes her own way and makes me feel like I can too.

Then the lights go up, the chatter dies down and for seven minutes I forget myself and remember why I do what I do. You need only do a minor amount of research to find professional runway photographs of these looks, but what those images fail to capture — and what mine communicate brilliantly — is how little time one has to look at each outfit as the models march by. I’ve highlighted a few of my favorites:

The solid color of the below-left top matches the hue of the detail on the skirt, mirroring the layered duality of the mind-body relationship.

Note how the fabric does not cling tightly but dangles and dances with a motion of its own — suggesting that our own identities are not hewn from stone and shackled to our shoulders but hover all around, knowable only for a moment before shifting once more.

The above-right one looks like Morpheus from The Matrix. Because we’re probably living in a simulation.

I liked this below-left one because of the soft colors…

…and because the model demonstrates why this accessory is called a clutch.

The feathered boa above-right offers one possibility for how the dinosaurs actually looked. I always had a hunch the stegosaurus was a flashy bugger, not that drab, gray-brown galumph my textbooks force-fed me.

Technically, this is a bag.

But it would be more accurate to call it a sack. No Wookiees were harmed in the making of this sack.

Bravo, Dries! Glenda and I bid a fond farewell to each other after I tell her “I liked the feathery bits,” then I head to an appointment with Aquazzura.

The brilliant minds there had these boots made for me, but I know I have no spare room in my suitcase and that they’d render me clumsy in the TSA line, so I have to say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

In hindsight, I guess I could have chucked a pair of sweatpants to make room. Oh well.

I wind up ordering poulet paillard again for a late lunch (too tired to make a new decision) and, whether or not you think the man is an effective President, you cannot deny:

Garçon, there’s a hairpiece on my food.

Friday, March 2nd

The next day, I take a break from the shows to peruse the Louvre. I greatly enjoy — nay, require as though ‘tis oxygen — being amongst the art. While I wander its labyrinthine halls, the throngs of tourists fade to static and I feel like I am actively communing with some of the great minds humankind has produced throughout the ages. I listen to what they have to say, then use my smartphone to capture the old masters’ stories as they resonate today.

Expending this level of psychic energy is uniquely exhausting, and when I’m at my weakest, I always crave the same thing: a burger. When I sit down at a restaurant and find that the beef tartare, which is far fancier than a burger, is the same price, I order that instead:

I do not know who the pervert in the kitchen is or why he or she interrupted the sacred ritual of a caperberry attempting to fertilize a hen egg. Later, I realize the only difference between beef tartare and a burger is that tartare is not cooked, so truthfully it should have been cheaper than the burger. I make a note to send a letter requesting a partial refund.

Saturday, March 3rd

Back on the fashion grind: I have an appointment with Aurélie Bidermann, who of course wants to adorn me with her wares. I turn down the gifts, as I confess I do not enjoy possessing jewelry. I find its value far too tempting to thieving rascals and terrifyingly concentrated relative to its size (and, therefore, lose-ability). All possessions are of course burdensome and the nature of “possession” illusory in itself, but jewelry crystallizes this notion. For me, looking is enough.

First of all: How much better is the French version of the word “jewelry”?

It makes the Anglo “jewelry” look like it means “toe fungus.”

And look at this ruby- and emerald-inlaid shell pendant.

I’m only sharing this one picture because most of the ones I took were inadequate/marred by glare. But I believe Aurélie’s joaillerie should be strapped to a rocket and launched into orbit so that in the event of humanity’s self-immolation, it will survive, and when aliens discover our planet, they will first discover these items orbiting above our charred and grown-over remains and they will know that there was beauty here.

Next, I go to the Altuzarra show, which is taking place in the celebrated Parisian restaurant La Coupole and is uniquely visible to the curious public assembled out on the street.

My photography once again captures how quickly the models pass by and how little time I had to form an opinion about each outfit, even though my expert mind of course generates such opinions at lightning speed.

Look at how the evening gown below swishes to and fro as the model makes her turn. This one left a lasting impression on the judges for sure.

Another one is purple and has a slit, which exposes the leg.

The shoes are also purple. I liked the earrings, which you can’t really see clearly, but they looked like a bit like that viral video from a while back of a guy using molten metal to make a mold of an ant colony.

After, I feel spent and also a bit ill, so I lay low for the rest of the day in preparation for my big fashion finale: Valentino.

Sunday, March 4th

I don’t want to risk fainting during the show, so I make sure to eat a balanced breakfast.

(I stood on the bed in my underpants to take this and almost fell on top of the table. Honestly, the things I risk for you guys.)

Valentino has built a structure near L’Hôtel des Invalides specifically for the show. When Anna Wintour sees me, she rushes over and gives me a huge hug and we gossip for a bit, but unfortunately we don’t take a picture together as we normally do. I snapped the one above a bit later just to give you a taste.

Can’t wait for our tennis date, Anna!

This row of girls across from me keeps looking over at me, giggling and pointing and blushing. Sorry, ladies, this is a business trip.

But seriously, there was an actual humming sound coming from their collective social media following.

Then the show started. Below are some of my favorites, but really the collection as a whole was my favorite.

…as Karlie looks on, poised as ever.

The above-right one is just layered so beautifully.

The man in front of me was involved in planning the show and got very upset when somebody nearby leaned out to take pictures. Not me, somebody else.

The human peony:

The green one is good luck should you find it while prancing through a field of clover.

This show transported me and reawakened in me a hope — a hope that we are all beings awaiting some form of pollination, capable of transformation, of one day entering a mode of existence beyond our current understanding.

I try to make a surreptitious exit but once again the photographers call for me to stop and pose. The ladies below leapt in front in a somewhat embarrassing attempt to get themselves plastered on Getty Images. NICE TRY, DESPERADOS.

Afterward, my favorite thing: breakfast for lunch.

Café Saint-Régis, you have my heart.

Au revoir, Paris! Thank you for rekindling my passion for fashion.

Photos via Brandon Borror-Chappell.

[oselatra]

Martin does it again

I don't believe this! Mark Martin released the info of every Arkansas voter not just once, but twice? Is he really that eager to grovel at the feet of Herr Trump?

Martin does it again

I don't believe this! Mark Martin released the info of every Arkansas voter not just once, but twice? Is he really that eager to grovel at the feet of Herr Trump?

I don't know which is worse, Martin's amazing stupidity or Kris Kobach's evil intentions.

Setting up a hotline after the voter info has already been released is about as useful as teats on a boar hog. The damage is already done.

Get used to it, folks. This is life in a full-blown corporate oligarchy. Big Brother is watching you now.

Martin has betrayed the people of this state. He should be fired.

Brad Bailey Fayetteville

Rights

For decades now, Democrats have believed that all people are entitled to certain benefits. Even the U.S. Declaration of Independence lists life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as inalienable rights and that the government is designed to secure these rights. Republicans, on the other hand, want government out of everyone's rights and business. Democratic President Franklin Roosevelt offered his Second Bill of Rights, which guaranteed employment, farmers' rights, housing, medical care, Social Security, education and freedom from monopolies. Republicans want the free market to handle all these things. In 1965, President Johnson and his Democrats gave us Medicare and Medicaid. Today, Democrats agree that Americans are entitled to Medicaid, Medicare, Social Security, unemployment and welfare programs. Republicans are trying to unravel and privatize those programs.

Here in Arkansas, Governor Hutchinson and his Republicans practically kicked 60,000 Arkansans off Medicaid. Hutchinson says these poor Arkansans will buy health insurance on the Obamacare market, which Republicans are trying to destroy. Meanwhile, health providers across Arkansas have lost 60,000 customers. To make matters worse, Hutchinson also signed a punitive act to remove a tax exemption on unemployment benefits. Newly unemployed health professionals will be less likely to exist on unemployment income. Republicans will not allow these people to live, be free and pursue happiness.

Gene Mason

Jacksonville

Cycling good for Central Arkansas

I was glad to see the Pulaski County Quorum Court pass the resolution to accept FLAP funding for the Southwest Trail. I did appreciate the opposition voicing concern for the single mom in Wrightsville holding down two jobs and how funding for the Southwest Trail might impact her. I am, however, unsure of the necessity of the attack on the cycling community by hoping we eventually leave the Big Dam Bridge for the Southwest Trail for the safety of himself and his children.

I ride with a lot of passionate Republicans and Democrats. I ride with believers and nonbelievers, with professionals and blue-collar workers. All these differences are nullified on the bike. We all have a common goal of cycling for fun. I'm a member of two Central Arkansas cycling clubs and have ridden with most others. I sit on a bicycle advocacy board that represents a cross section of cyclists who use their bikes to commute, ride off-road and ride for exercise or competition. There are thousands and thousands of voters cycling in Central Arkansas. And as the court saw in letters and phone calls and then in person, we make up a passionate bloc of voters.

We are a force economically. Allied Cycle Works has brought in some of the industry's best minds to Little Rock to create the only large-scale production carbon bike facility in North America. It is receiving international accolades for this effort. Meanwhile, there are a dozen bike shops in Central Arkansas, selling thousands of bikes and providing ongoing mechanical service and support to this large community. In addition, Bobby's Bikes rents thousands more bikes each year to tourists and residents, and Little Rock will soon launch its own bike share program.

And most cyclists aren't pedaling $5,000-$10,000 bikes as was suggested by another opponent of this measure. Though the comment was an attempt to paint us as out-of-touch elitists, spending on bikes is a positive economic issue. Still, most average biking citizens who benefit from the bike lanes and trails don't spend near that on their bikes.

Our community involvement runs deep. Recycled Bikes for Kids provides bicycles, helmets and safety training to an underserved community, including the single mom in Wrightsville holding two jobs. We want her children to know the joy and freedom of riding, as well.

In September, many of us will again ride to fund multiple sclerosis research as a small part of the national Bike MS program. Each year, cyclists in Central Arkansas raise roughly $100,000 by requesting donations and then traversing the hills of the Ouachita Mountains to Hot Springs Village. Then, we'll turn around and come back the same way the next day.

Safety is a big concern out there on roads, and we spend much of our time talking about it. We talk about considerate riding, sharing the road, and how better to protect ourselves with onboard cameras, lights and safe riding skills. We've lost fellow riders to distracted drivers. Every year, in the middle of July, over 600 cyclists and volunteers meet in Scott to participate in a memorial ride to honor Marilyn Fulper by doing what she loved. This is a ride of which few noncycling citizens are aware. Funds are primarily used for improvements on the Arkansas River Trail.

But the real return on investment is to our broken health care system. When I took up cycling six years ago, I was overweight, already on blood pressure meds and being encouraged to add another for cholesterol control. In six months, I lost 15 percent of my body weight, improved all my cholesterol numbers and stopped taking blood pressure medication.

I am extending my life by riding — physically and mentally. A friend recently told me she and her husband have taken up cycling and lost over 60 pounds in just two months. Another friend recently lost 60 pounds, and he, too, no longer needs any cholesterol or blood pressure medicine. In a state with one of the highest obesity rates in a country with one of the highest rates among developed countries, I'd say the lower cost of health care is an adequate economic benefit in and of itself.

Randall Hula Little Rock

From the web

In response to a July 31 blog item about the firing of White House Communications Director Anthony Scaramucci 10 days into his job:

I just hope I'm around long enough to read the all Trump administration tell-all books that will come out in the future. Of course, that's assuming the fool doesn't do something so monumentally stupid that none of us will have much of a future.

Sigh.

In response to the July 27 Arkansas Blog item "County approves bike trail":

All cyclists and/or bicycles should be taxed or licensed to help pay for this expenditure. There is no good reason why this elitist group, who may afford expensive cycles and equipment, should not contribute rather than receive a free ride on the backs of their neighbors.

Baker

Everybody pays taxes, baker. The vast majority of people who ride bikes are also car owners who drive just as much as everyone else. Regional paths like the proposed Southwest Trail have been proven to benefit the communities along them and the counties around them, so this is an investment in everyone's future, more than just a giveaway to your neighbors who ride bikes. Or, simply think of it as a linear public park. That being said, I do like your logic when applied to things that don't have a clear benefit to the community at large. Let's repeal the general sales taxes that go to highway widening and replace that funding stream with tolls. Are you with me?

Timbo

In response to the July 28 Arkansas Blog item "Senate defeats Obamacare":

I heard McConnell was crying on the Senate floor.

I hope so.

Maybe somehow he can find a little empathy for the millions upon millions whose health care he keeps putting into jeopardy.

He lost a vote. Many of them will lose their lives if he ever gets his way.

Perplexed

We live in one of poorest states that relies on all of the money we can get. Cotton and Boozman just voted against our best interests. Will those that voted for them choose another candidate? Nope! Blind pride and loyalty is the game and ignorance is their game.

Yapperjohn

I pray that was McCain's last hurrah.

71909er

There's nothing to worry about. We had the highest health care in the world before, and we'll have the highest health care in the world after. A for-profit system will always deliver a high-priced product or service than a nonprofit.

Screwing around with health insurance is just a useful distraction from the corporations making the real money.

Ivan the Republican

Martin does it again