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cavernovs · 4 years ago

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FLESH & BLOOD.

Impromptu Self-Para, ft. @ilbuia Jakoris & Scarlett Davenport Manor, Basement. Word Count: 2.5K + (Voluntary read)

Triggers: mutilation tw, violence tw, NSFW tw, blood and mild gore descriptions tw, toxicity tw.

Underneath flesh lies an infection; a virus formed of magic where dead cells suffer under its own insatiable desire to destroy. Endless it seems is the need where it demonstrates something more than an ordinary pestilence. Jakoris in chains; a method to disavow the spread of such a monster, stop it before it becomes all consuming and leaves only a shell of a beast; a creature that tears apart all in some prerequisite to devour. A virus that’s been reborn in a murderous form; reprograms the functions of the body to instead kill itself and behind it leaves more than apoptosis; a being that cannot be killed by the most mundane forms; The Ripper. The Davenport’s danger to himself and those around him, profound. He knows why he’s there, bound like an animal. The darkness doesn’t hide the man from his own histories, a basement a little too familiar, though, a voraciousness he’s never quite known before.

Never known before powerful magics invaded him at the hands of the High Sage. A replay of memories roll; it’s all he can do in such restrictions, think about his complete loss of control; consider the attack he posed upon his return; the ones he left in pieces on the streets, unrecognisable appendages discarded like rotten meat. It still hadn’t been enough, the nails that rake down his throat, leave ghostly punctures from within. If only there to encourage the Davenport to release all tendrils of whatever is left of him to retain.

The chains rattle when he shifts, a penetrating sound of the door creaking at the other end of the room. Leaves him with the aide-mémoire of why he has to be there; slumped like a lost warrior against the basement wall. Doesn’t stop the predatory eyes from finding the form that obscures the artificial light broken in from the open doorway. Streams in and causes the vampire to squint at the new presence.

SJ’s the last of all his figurations; he knows what he did to her, recalls that vicious attack as if it were only minutes ago. Understands that whilst he’s unforgiving in what he did; it’s a foolish move to send the little vamp in a room with him. Shadows from lack of light cast over the man and strange shapes made clear only by the way fangs glint of the new beams of light; faux and make evident the bloodstains that deface clothes. Soaked is the cotton on his torso, stained deep with a maroon where it’s dried and left him sticky; a discomfort that’s nothing in comparison to the urge that brings him to want to lunge at Scar. Binds the hinderance even an off-kilter man recognises wouldn’t break no matter how strong he thinks he is in that moment.

He doesn’t want her there. Prefers the solace of isolation, at least removes the temptation from being there just out of reach. Like dangling something sweet in front of him and refusing to let him have it, because even if Jack’s aware no matter what he chases he cannot stop the magic the High Sage has riddled deep into his core, she’s better than nothing at all.

It’s formed of desire that way Jakoris is on his feet again, teeth bared at the woman who’s made clear in teasing words that she’s there to play babysitter. An irony where she’s a child herself.

Well, I certainly never thought babysitting you would be on my list of duties.

“Then cross it off and get out,”

That’s how it started, rousing one another; venom so harsh that becomes a contradiction to itself. Jack’s mind doesn’t have the niggle that tells him, stop, the whisper in his mind that’s usually the level on his control, the one that wills him to remain in power. It’s hidden in everything he says, until she kept pushing. Maintains her distance against the man contained, stays aware where most might not – doesn’t let him take her so easily.

But she does let him, eventually.

One broken neck later and a darkening mind that can silver-tongue the manipulator.

She even changed his clothes whilst he slept.

“Enjoying the view now? How kind of you to leave me with some dignity,”

I much preferred the view without them, but I figured I’d play nice.

“Why’d you put them back on then?”

I shouldn’t have.

Words the weapons that clawed hands cannot be when steel grows tighter around Jack’s wrists; a captive in his own home, mercilessly taunted; teased by a woman he’s got no interest in. Only works to grind the cogs in his mind, she never gave him a shirt back in his impromptu defeat and the dark red smears that are sunken into his skin bury in the crevasses of his stomach discolour him like he might never get the crimson off. He deserves everything he gets. Even in the twisted mind of the Ripper, he wonders if she’s there because of what he did; an interest that’s formed of something primitive; an object of desire neither knew of. Jack’s tongue still picks up on the remnants of her blood; craves anything that might offer a reprise from the agony that the virulent parasite reaps on his body. Saps all the energy from him. Only knows to retrieve it from anything that teeth can bury in, that he can entomb himself in; she’s got all of that in front of him.

And he’s never considered Scarlett as that. But there’s a lot of firsts that come from a bitter witch’s spells.

There’s a game being played; chess the closest comparison to anything tangible. Every move they each make isn’t physical; nothing that lets Jack near her to let the beast play with the rules he’s prepared to break. She never listened to him coaxing her back out the room; almost lost beneath the warring of his mind split into two. But he’s not sure he wants her to leave anymore. A philosophical-like need to dig fangs into her once more, if only as a distraction; an excuse that isn’t the plummeting thoughts of how his body refuses to listen; to synchronise.

That’s how his mind begins to gutterball. There’s some rationality in the young vampire when she refuses to cave to his return provocations, forged truths that border a throwback to earlier that day.

“If you were afraid; if you never liked what I did to you, you’d have refused to come into this room, Scar.”

It’s a thought that’s spoken with such a victory that Jakoris’ pull on the restraints feel like they might break as though a code has been cracked. That from within the echoes of the dark they’re in, two sides of sanity – he figures, it’s a foul snarl of impatience almost, a captured vampire that balances on the threshold of his own thoughts. The younger version; potentially as broken as he is, tries to fix herself with something else even more broken.

So what, you think I’m back for more?

“I think you’re looking for something little vamp,”

The throwaway, bitten out through suppressed hunger when the walls feel like they’re closing in, that SJ’s the only thing left within them that matters in the grand scheme. Ideas of Evanora and Jessie out in the fray looking for answers to his affliction long crushed by the hiss of a man deteriorating; becoming heated by consistent taunts. It’s never been obvious to Jack until now that Scar’s as good at the game as Jack thought he was.

Only, she’s not got physical chains holding her back from acting on it.

Until, she suddenly does.

The Davenport never realised how much he missed the sensation of something else than hunger, Scar’s teeth in his throat like she’s finally decided to place his King in check leaves her in close enough proximity that a re-enactment of de ja vu flickers when he returns the favour and with a need he hates to admit is there, digs his own into her. It’s another bout of intimacy, stirs another kind of consciousness to the brink of overflowing. Lust forged from a blood exchange; the aphrodisiac that’s often addictive. Hardens muscles, incites Jack want to curl hands around her, touch her like she’s his if only for his own satisfaction – to balance the pain with the pleasure like he’s all too good at. If only for one evening; in a state of weakness.

Another thing he loathes about the room beyond the surface level of what it means, is how SJ irrevocably has the power over him by default. If he hadn’t been wrestled into chains, if being a word he can’t exactly enjoy in that moment. Not like how Scarlett crumbles to the one they’re playing and he can utilise the rage; the lack of control against someone who claims they can handle it.

The intimacy is broken when she retracts, lingers only in the way that her tongue leaves wet trails on his skin, laps up his blood where hers spills down his chin and leaves droplets on the concrete floor. Messy where he’s unable to govern the actions of the other. Jakoris’ head tips, dares her in a way that he’s not sure of the result, eyes flickering to the chain

“Unlock it Scar,” I fucking dare you. Offers the game with new stakes.

You know I can’t let you leave Jack…I never thought you’d taste so good, can I trust you, Jack?

Could she fuck.

“Probably not, but you really fucking want to,”

The way the tune changes on her side, the way she’s so confident to play the line of fire; dangle the victory flag and poke the viper until it bites. Jack sees that in the hues of her eyes; he’s not sure what lies hidden beyond, but the hands that fall on the chain is his own kind of conquest. And she releases him. A kind of dark chuckle that slips from his lips when she does, is fast enough to wrap around her throat and draw her to it. The consideration of how dangerous she wanted to play; with rules that have been crossed out and replaced with blood and flesh as the only notable pieces on the board, he squeezes her throat. It’s a fleeting image that passes his mind, the idea of just popping it off her spine, snapping it as some childish revenge to how she’d done it to him earlier; left him groaning and agonised as to make some lost point of valour.

Though she’s sacrificed her control and given it back to him; the Ripper that’s got next to none in that moment, but enough to at least choose distraction over the urge to simply tear the woman to pieces. He can do that after he’s done with her. Like her skin under his grip is a tease of its own, when he drags her forward, near makes his half naked body flush against her own, fangs raking down her lobe to follow the line of her chin, the urge to clench his jaw, puncture her like a snake almost wins against the desire that instead pulls him to her lips.

Then he draws blood, lower lip his where he finds an escape that isn’t the one that released him entirely from the prison he’s in; the room; his mind; the parts of his body that want something else completely.

“Take them off Scar,” A delay against her lips, a demand that’s primal. “Now,”

You’re not even gonna say please, Jack? What should I take off first?

Everything plays into his hand from then.

The hooded lids that find her face again, darkens when her hands ghost over his abdomen; run that theme of tease the monster that she’s been adamant to play all evening. And she’s probably still unaware what that leads to, the kind of thing that makes Jack stop understanding the word no and how Scarlett’s lost every opportunity she had to run out that door, because he’s not letting go.

“I’m going to ruin you, Scar.”

The kind of aptitude that drills deep; comes from the way she’s spent her duty as supervisor instead torturing him. The masochist who only feeds that fire with everything his mind allows.

I hope that’s a promise Jack.

If he cared to speak, to continue the toying, he’d have let the words: Oh you’ve no idea, baby, pass his lips when he drags his hand down her, lets her obey his order like submission is finally where she belongs. That she never quite understood the power she once had before she gave it away. On a fucking platter and let him reign over her body like she wants to be torn apart. Her antagonising implies as much, if not more.

Clothes are the first things to vanish, shredded by strong hands and there’s exposure between them both. A tension of bodies at war, one half free to play as the underdog of the battle; of lips, of skin of every time their teeth find a new unblemished spot on pale flesh. Stain it red as though the colour of their desire cannot be anything but. The same association as rage, cracking of bones where masochism hits its limitations; healed fast where fingers works rhythms in places that incite moans that in a vampire’s household, are probably heard if anyone’s fucking listening. And yet, the way blood spills onto the floor, decorates the basement like it’s paint on renovation is all that matters. Teeth on flesh, backs on hard floors, fucks in a way Jakoris could never with anyone mortal.

But Scar heals, and she knows it.

Jack doesn’t recover quite the same – because nothing he takes besides her body fuels him like it should, the weakening of joints that only enrage a ferality in him to go harder to compensate. The wounds she leaves on him, enjoyed in a sick way that leave him with a feeling that overpowers his hunger for nourishment; replaces it with a yearning for her that he can’t shake. And like hell does he care to understand it. The Davenport keeps his promise, leaves her in her own mess, by the third round; a hat trick, he’s beginning to notice the falter in both of them, that each other’s blood isn’t anything more than a turn-on, doesn’t satiate the vampire’s primordial needs to their core.

The rooms in disrepair, red more than grey; glows almost in the darkness of them, Scarlett’s skin shredded and healing, potentially to leave scars. Heavy rise and falls of chests that are heard between satisfied noises that are involuntary, still tight against each other when Jack’s last restriction allows; only imagines what could have been had he been completely free. Then comes the final plummet – after the rest of the countless comings, where Jakoris’ mind cannot process the pain with the pleasure and the hunger starts to viral it’s way back up his veins to pull the thick cords at his jaw. He can’t take anymore from her; he’ll kill her. That whisper of a voice screams at him, but it’s not loud enough.

The sound of footsteps outside the basement door, partnered with the final thrust given that near ceases the vampire fucking in some heated rage; a complicated partnership purely forged of magic and need; distractions and everything that systems the addiction of becoming caught up in a vampiric haze. Jakoris’ hands on Scar’s body, the marks left and the way they pant like animals loose; leaves everything but the carcasses all over the room, fluids that Jack’s likely to be left in when she goes.

Because she has to go and he knows that; the footsteps echo loud and like a desperate creature about to lose its prey, he digs his nails into her to stop her from running.

In their positions, she’s undoubtedly stronger, for once; the little vampire has a strength over the Ripper that can’t find satisfaction in feeding, no matter how hard he tries. And she does tear from him, stumbles where he notes how their legs near buckle under limbs exhausted and like it’s some loss for them all, Jack crashes to his knees, another crack resounds off the walls where Scar manages to catch herself before anything else breaks, a desperation in both their breaths where naked bodies dyed in each other’s blood; torn epithelium from one another’s teeth as they once hunted for that need.

It’s nothing in comparison in the way rabid eyes snap to the door when it moves with someone’s shadow casting a shape below it.

And Jack still wants blood.

#ilbuia #[muse] jakoris davenport #[ self para | flesh & blood ]#[ self para | jakoris ]

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feuilly-cakes · 5 years ago

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Night World by L.J.Smith - Review/Overview

So 2 weeks ago I began a journey to reread one of my most favourite series that I hadn’t read for upwards of 8 years. It was an emotional rollercoaster, between some truly emotional moments and WTF moments, huge plot twists and excited memories. I enjoyed the experience, but let me tell you my reading preferences have changed hugely since I was a preteen and I can no longer call it a favourite, because the entire series is based on insta-love and is written just like you would expect a teen vampire romance written in the 90s. Before scaring you off, let me tell you what it’s about. Every story is about unlikely soulmates, usually between a human and a Night World citizen. The Night World contains vampires, witches, werewolves, and shapeshifters, and it’s forbidden that humans know about it, and it’s forbidden that a Night World citizen falls in love with a human. Although set in the same world and characters appearing multiple times throughout, each book is a standalone and simply follows a formula. If you loved the vampire books of the past couple decades and also insta-love and soulmates, then please check out the series. I have an overview/review of each below.

We begin with SECRET VAMPIRE. Poppy has been diagnosed with cancer and is given only months to live. Her best friend, the mysterious James, says that he can save her, but at what cost? This is a particularly brutal start to a series, dealing with death and grief and huge life changing decisions, but it really serves to drag you into the story and make you care about the characters from the start. It’s very much written as a teen vampire romance though, with the convenient plot happenings and unnecessary drama. It sets the tone for the rest of the series so if you enjoy this you’ll probably love all the books.

Next is DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS, which follows Mary-Lynnette as she falls headfirst into a mystery of Night World Proportions. Just what were the new girls in town burying in their aunt’s garden? And where has the old woman gone? If you liked Ash in the first book, you’ll be happy to see him again here, this time intent on dragging his sisters back to the enclave from which they escaped. This one used to be my favourite, for the soulmate aspect and the big reveal (not as big or intense to 21 y/o me as 12 y/o me I must say) but somehow not the murder mystery plot, which I remembered nothing about and so was completely immersed in. I also realised around this point that insta-love doesn’t do it for me anymore, and I would have rathered it be a 400 page slow burn than a 200 page insta-love rushed kinda deal. The ending was very sweet so I forgave it for the time period it was written in.

Third in the series was ENCHANTRESS, a story about witchcraft and fighting over a boy. Thea has found her soulmate in a human, but her cousin Blaise has set her sights on him too. Thea must compete with Blaise to save her soulmate, because not only does Blaise play with boys until they break, but love between a human and a Night World citizen is punishable by death. I’m personally not a fan of these sorts of stories, but the sisterly bond between Thea and Blaise as well as the introduction of the witches was interesting enough to tide me through, and I was rewarded with a nice ending.

Volume 2 begins with DARK ANGEL. After Gillian drowns in the dead of winter, she is brought back by Angel, who promises to make her popular and help her get the guy. But who is Angel really, and what does he want from Gillian? As someone who adores flawed protagonists, the selfish, shallow, and hopelessly naive Gillian was a great one. She makes terrible decisions and ignores all the red flags that we as readers can see easily, which is frustrating and great to read about. I loved this witchy story far more than the last, and I really wanted more like it, with lost witches and how they find their way back.

THE CHOSEN is about vampire slave trafficking, so your mileage may vary. Rashel is a bitter and vengeful vampire hunter, sworn to kill them all after witnessing the deaths of her mother and best friend at just 5 years old. When girls start to go missing, Rachel must investigate and stop whoever is taking them, even if it means going up against the fearsome vampire Quinn. This book opens up with the double murder, and then Rachel being targeted for another, which definitely leaves her traumatised. That being said, she is 17 when the main story happens, and has some cringe moments (such as “this kitten has claws” which had me physically put the book down to cringe over it.) The insta love was getting tedious at this point (seriously they meet like 3 times and most of that is spent with her trying to kill him) so when the dramatic plot twist happened I was relieved for some real drama, and drama it was let me tell you. I once again had to put the book down and just gape in shock, for I had remembered none of it. A good read.

SOULMATE, meanwhile, had me in great emotional pain. We follow Hannah, who has been finding notes in her own handwriting telling her she will be dead before she is 17, that she must remembered something important, and that He is coming. Using hypnotherapy, she begins to unravel her past lives and the mystery that runs through all of them regarding her soulmate Thierry, a Lord of the Night World, who she is inexplicably afraid of in her memories. All I can comment here is the reincarnation, star crossed lovers, and soulmates, all mixed into one big story nearly did me in. Also, the characters from the previous books make an appearance, which is always exciting.

This is where we get an overarching plot that never got completed. All you need to know is that there’s a prophesy predicting the apocalypse and there are 4 Wild Powers who are fated to stop it but only if all 4 are together.

HUNTRESS kicks off with Jez Redfern discovering she is a vampire/human hybrid and leaving her vampire gang to go live with her human family. She joins Circle Daybreak and becomes a vampire hunter, but is called back into the Night World when her old second in command, Morgead, demands a position on the Council in exchange for the first Wild Power. She is tasked with uncovering the identity of the person before the Night World Council does, and bringing them into Circle Daybreak alive. The characters in this one aren’t very interesting, but it’s not a problem because the plot goes by super quickly and the mystery keeps the story afloat. If you love a big reveal then this is a good book for it.

BLACK DAWN is about slavery and socks. When Sylvia turns up in the dead of night with news that her boyfriend, Maggie’s brother, has gone missing in a climbing accident and is presumed dead, Maggie feels something isn’t quite right with the story, and in the process of trying to find out the truth she is taken by slavers. She must now survive the journey into the dark kingdom hidden in the mountains, and find the way out, told to her in a strange dream... I found the plot a bit convenient and a bit cliche at times, which is only to be expected from this series at this point. The only thing that truly surprised me was the “The Deliverer!” scene, which you will know immediately when you come to it. Genuinely I couldn’t quite grasp what was happening and so I had no reaction to it but looking back that was bizarre and made zero sense in the context of the book, which until that point was a survival story. An odd one, but not bad until that point.

The final book, but not the end of the story, is WITCHLIGHT. Keller is a shapeshifter tasked with protecting an unknowing Wild Power, delivering her to her bonding ceremony to the prince of shapeshifters, and therefore ensuring a treaty between the witches and the shapeshifters in the coming war. The catch is that the prince is Keller’s soulmate and Iliana, the Wild Power, refuses to accept that she is magical. This was a weird one for a different reason and that reason has scales. Keller seemed annoying at first and so did Iliana, but that was quickly overtaken by the DRAGON?! plotline. My notes on this were very sweary and confused. I liked the history lesson we get on the history of shapeshifters - it seems to be a parallel to colonialism and slavery, and the guilt we feel knowing our ancestors did that to people. On a less serious note, for someone so sharp and strategic, Keller sure is dumb when it comes to her feelings. She’s part of Circle Daybreak and yet doesn’t recognise the soulmate bond when it comes to her and I was frustrated. The fallout of her realising the truth was painful and real, very lovely but in a sad way. The showdown was super exciting and the ending I loved. There was a lot of character development too.

I highly recommend checking this series out. It’s not expensive to buy and is a fun and easy read.

#lj smith #books #book review #night world #vampires #books and literature #book recommendations

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doloresabernathysworld · 5 years ago

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His Dark Materials season 1 episode 2

I'm a little late this week, and I really haven't had the chance to rewatch the episode, but here is my review.

I have to warn you that I'll be discussing a lot of things from the books, so if you haven't read them you should probably skip this.

Again, I'm doing this on mobile, and I don't know how to add cuts - if anyone knows how to do it on mobile I'd be glad to learn, because I don't have a computer.

A lot of things happened in this episode, so instead of going by order of events, I'll talk about it by characters.

Starting with Roger and Billy. Their reunion was beautiful, and I'm in love with Roger's character. He's such a sweet boy, consoling Billy, even though he is frightened himself. And we are able to see the faith he has in Lyra early on. And his interaction with Mrs Coulter was fantastic, it was like he was saying "I'm on to you" without giving too much away.

Then we have the Gyptians. It was nice to see Ma Costa still on the fence about the expedition, and heartbreaking when Coram gave her Billy's vest. In the books, Ma Costa trusts John Faa, and now we see why. On that note, am I the only one picking up something more between them? And then there's Tony. Ma is afraid to lose another son, but given the evidence there's no way Tony will just stay put if there's a chance of rescuing his brother.

Now for the biggest surprise in the episode: Lord Boreal. I have to say I'm loving what they are doing with his character. Yes, I did picture him older and kind of slimy, but I don't mind at all this new take. Boreal is sophisticated, and threatening in a non obvious way, and that's what makes him so dangerous. The scene in Jordan was amazing, we got to see the authority the Master commands, and we see Boreal is sneaky, pretending to yield just so he can do his own bit of research.

And then he crossed to our world and my heart stopped! The window is so gorgeous, it was so nicely done, I was mesmerized by it. And the feel of our world, it was so subtle, it reminded me of the descriptions given from Will's and Mary's pov. I know some people are on the fence about this reveal, but as I see it, it makes sense showing us now what Boreal is doing and introducing Will's plot before he appears. I've always wondered how Boreal knew Will's identity, and I had to conclude it had to do with his father, but it's nice to see it explained.

As for Asriel, I don't think it'll take that much away from his storyline. Right now, Asriel wants to find a way out of his world, true, in order to find a place that the Magisterium doesn't control, only to discover that the Authority has control over multiple worlds. And now that it's confirmed that Asriel will feature in season 2, I think it really is important for the audience to know there are portals into other worlds, even if Asriel thinks he is the first to cross. Plus it doesn't take away any merit of Asriel's doings, because he's still the first one to cross worlds in the open.

About the scene with Adele, I gasped loudly when Boreal touched her dæmon, but for the people who don't know about the taboo it wasn't that shocking, just enough. I think it will have more impact upon rewatching, and if the experience with the books taught me anything is that going back to understand some things is bound to happen. It also shows us that Boreal has a mind set that tells him some rules don't apply to him because of his status, which is a big theme in His Dark Materials.

And now the main event: Lyra and Mrs Coulter. I think the dynamic of their relationship is spot on. We got to see Lyra being a child full of enthusiasm in the Artic Institute, then begin told she needed to act differently, and Marisa equates obedience with trust. The bath scene was done well enough, although I missed the part where Marisa stared at Pan until he behaved like the golden monkey. A thing that I liked was Marisa calling out Lyra for lying, and all her talk about letting Lyra be mold by her really was a red flag. Marisa wants a clone of her, a version of her with a more easy start than the one she got.

The parallel between Lyra and Pan afterwards and Marisa and the monkey really illustrates their differences. Lyra feels the need to be loved, and is interpreting being well treated with love and affection, so she goes along and that's sad. Even in the books it said that Lyra was happy but lonely, like she was missing something. As for Marisa, she's so secretive that she hides parts of her to her own dæmon, meaning her own self. Both Lyra and Marisa are lonely in their own way, but at least Lyra has Pan.

From here on, we see Lyra being molded by Marisa, but showing resistance too. At first is by trying to be charming, by showing she's smart with the talk of Dust. Then Lyra sees her away from her dæmon, and the protests are more feeble. Then mild protests about the dress, and then the bag.

Marisa, meanwhile, is dealing with Lyra the best she can in order to keep her facade longer. In the Dust conversation, Marisa is hurting her dæmon in order to steady herself, and him too. Then Lyra sees the monkey without her, and Marisa just lies in her face, gaslighting her, saying she's just sleepy. But when she's alone again, she hits her dæmon, and that tells us she is someone who deals with self-hatred, and doesn't tolerate failure.

It was nice to see the rivalry between the factions of the Magisterium, and to get Marisa and McPhail to interact this early to establish a pattern. That visit, more than anything else, makes Marisa very frustrated. Her charm is useless with McPhail, and she can't manipulate him easily. And when Lyra points out that she's upset and lost control, she takes that as an offense and starts a fight with Lyra, only to feel in control again.

The confrontation between the dæmons and the speech Marisa gave was done beautifully, and I liked the modification. I liked that Lyra wasn't complying, and the mention of Asriel makes Marisa lose control yet again and reveal that he's Lyra's father. And the monkey lets go of Pan and immediately turns to her, (I think anticipating the abuse he would endure), and the confrontation stops at once.

Now, I saw some posts about how Marisa was hurt by Asriel and still holds a grudge, but I have some thoughts about this matter. From what I can remember from the books, including La Belle Sauvage, Marisa was married and had an affair with Asriel. Asriel wasn't the one who abandoned her, she chose to continue married because that was more advantageous for her. She lied about baby Lyra, telling her husband the baby was dead and rejecting her completely. I'll probably write a meta about this whole thing later.

In my opinion, Marisa wanted Lyra to admire her the way she admires Asriel, so hearing Lyra invoque Asriel like a protector hurt. So of course she talks badly about him, so she can tarnish Asriel's imagine and isolate Lyra even further. She doesn't reveal her own identity because she wants Lyra to like her first. So she gives Lyra space.

Then Lyra finds out she's being spied, and breaks into Marisa's office only to discover some blueprints, and that discovery was the only iffy part of the episode for me, but we'll see how it'll play out.

Then we have two interesting moments. First, when the golden monkey caressed Pan. Marisa is trying to show good intentions to Lyra, she's trying to get back to good terms. And at first she seems to think she's succeeded. The second is the breakfast scene, when she mentions Roger and how he must've forgotten Lyra already. I loved how Lyra tells her, without raising her voice but full of defiance, that she's lying. Marisa gives her the same look before the confrontation and orders her to eat, and Lyra does, but her spite all visible.

I enjoyed the party scene, but I was hoping to see Lyra talk with Boreal. But I get it, now that he's so visible to us it would be dumb to have Lyra not recognise him. I also enjoyed the fact that she escaped from a window.

The kidnapping scene at the end was the perfect way to finish the episode, it created an urge to keep watching.

One final thought, in Northern Lights Lyra mentions once that the monkey was far away from Marisa in a disturbing way, but then nothing more is said in that regard. With all this new content they're showing us, I'm really curious about what we'll see regarding Mrs Coulter and her dæmon.

I loved this episode, I'm really happy with where this is going, and I'm happy I'm not only watching something I read, but also new things that make the plot and the world building richer. Let's hope next week's episode makes me feel the same way.

#his dark materials hbo #his dark materials bbc #his dark materials #his dark materials spoilers #His dark materials book spoilers #Hdm s01e02 #the idea of north

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onemilliongoldstars · 6 years ago

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a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 15

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

15/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Two: Chapter 2

White Harbour is a small, well ordered town to the south of Winterfell. They travel through the night, pausing only once at a tavern to exchange the horses for fresh ones, and allow the soldiers a chance to switch for those who have been resting in the wagon all day. Clarke stirs, but does not rouse properly until the morning light flickers in through the shutters on the carriage. She rubs at her eyes, red and sore from the tears shed into her furs, and swallows heavily. She is chilled to the bone, and the lantern has burned out, but she manages to pry open the shutters. She is greeted by the watery colours of the dawn sky, and the heavy smell of salt and fish in the air. White Harbour stretches out, well named with its white stone roads and small white houses. The roads are crowded with fishermen hauling in their morning catch and children selling muscles and prawns, but people part at the sight of the queen’s standard flying high over their caravan. When they finally stop, Clarke doesn’t wait for someone to open the carriage door for her and instead clambers out herself, breathing in the cold sea air and pushing back her hair to feel the morning sun on her face.

The harbour is bustling and busy, crowded with war ships and fishing boats and every vessel in between. Despite the fear and heartache that gnaws away at her, she feels a sense of wonder at seeing the ocean again. Winterfell is so far from the shore, the closest she has come to the sea in months is the reflecting pool in the godswood, but there is nothing quite like the smell of salt on the air and the caw of hungry sea birds above. She pulls in a breath, so deep it is as if she is trying to swallow the ocean whole, and only releases when the presence behind her clears her throat.

Octavia seems pale and ashy. “The ship will be ready the moment everything is loaded.”

Clarke nods, and she watches from her place on the docks, Octavia a few paces away but quiet, as the harbour bustles. Fishermen wake earlier than anyone she knows, will have been awake for hours before this to bring in the first fresh catch of the day, so the harbour is lively. Girls in skirts that brush their ankles and cropped capes sell cockles and mussels from their baskets, and boys run with heavy whitefish held in their hands. No one dares to approach her, with Octavia at her side, but after a few minutes a knight appears, bowing respectfully.

“My lady, the queen asked that this be given to you before you board the ship.”

“Thank you,” She watches as he opens the jewelled chest in his hands, revealing soft, plush velvet cradling a thin, wicked looking dagger. Clarke’s eyes widen, and she plucks up the piece of parchment that sits upon the dagger, peering at it curiously.

Be safe.

The words bring a thick lump to her throat and she has to glance away, for fear that her tears will once again begin to fall. Carefully, she exchanges the parchment for the dagger. It’s small and thin, light enough that she can wield it easily and conceal it beneath her cloak. The pommel is inlaid with gold and swirling roses, shining brightly in the watery sunlight, and Clarke places it gently within the chest again.

“Have it taken onto the ship with the rest of my personal effects.”

“Of course, my lady.” The knight glances back at the soldiers hauling chests and barrels onto the ship. “I think they’re almost ready to leave, if you’d like to board now.”

The ship is a towering vessel, not quite a war ship but rivalling it in size and grandeur. She knows very little about ships, but she can tell by the shine of the wood and the sails rising like clouds from the ocean, that this is a fine vessel. The Stark flag flies proudly from its masts and when she crosses the gangplank, the sailors wait in an orderly line to offer her bows of their heads. At their head stands the captain, dressed in a fine coat and broad rimmed hat, with a neatly trimmed black beard and locks tied at the nape of his neck to keep them away from the sea wind.

He bows in greeting to her, giving a sensible, serious smile as he introduces himself. “Good morning, m’lady. Captain Argas at your service.”

“Lady Clarke, of House Tyrell.” She glances about his sailors with a polite smile. “Thank you for assembling your sailors so quickly, Captain.”

He bows his head, acknowledging her gratitude, before gesturing for her. “I’ll show you to your cabin m’lady.” With Octavia at her back, she follows him through the maze of corridors to the small, opulent cabin waiting for her. She suspects it may be the captain’s cabin, with its wide windows and rich, mascluine furnishings. “The journey should take five days, if the winds stay favourable.” He tells her, and eyes her uncertainly. “Are you- eh- good on the sea, m’lady?”

“Yes,” Her lips twitch at his relieved smile. “I’ve sailed several times before.”

“Excellent,” He bows his head again. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your journey more comfortable.”

He leaves them alone, and Clarke turns once, examining the wide, soft bed and the desk pushed up in the corner. A few of her chests are stacked in the corner and Lexa’s gift sits upon the table, waiting for her. There are a few tapestries hung around the room, blue and green, and a dish of fruits upon the table. The boat shudders into motion beneath them both, a cacophony of shouting coming from above them and from the corner of her eye she sees Octavia grab the corner of the bed.

“Are you alright?” She turns to look at the soldier, and Octavia gives a weak nod.

“I don’t like the sea,” She confesses, as the boat heaves again, artfully slipping from the harbour. “It’s just… bad memories.”

Clarke frowns, curious, but before she can inquire any further, Octavia pushes herself away from the bed, and- looking distinctly green already- hastens to the door, mumbling her excuses. Slowly, she turns back to the table, eyeing the chest in which the dagger sits. The lid swings open easily and she runs her fingers carefully down the sharp blade, a shiver running through her.

—-

The captain’s estimations turn out to be right, and their journey takes them around five days of sailing day and night. They are fortunate; the wind favours them and the sea is calm, but still Octavia’s stomach is unsettled and her mood dark for the duration of their journey. She often finds the girl on the deck, staring up at the sky and struggling not to heave up what little she has managed to eat over the side of the ship. The journey finds Clarke acting more as nursemaid than lady, feeding Octavia water and thinly sliced bread in hopes of settling her stomach. Octavia doesn’t see fit to explain her dislike of sailing, and in her state, Clarke has no desire to push for an answer.

They are both relieved to see the towers of the Red Keep rise from the shore, towering upon the high cliffs of the Blackwater Rush, and strikingly red against the blue sky. Behind it, Kings Landing sprawls out. Though she has seen the capital city many times before, Clarke leans against the railings of the ship’s deck, eager to take in the sight. It seems even larger than it had when she left, the red and white buildings a stark contrast to the stone and wood of Winter Town. Kings Landing sits within the city’s walls, tanneries pressed against fish merchants, taverns crammed between smiths and weavers. In the centre of it all rises the rounded drum of the Great Sept, dwarfed only by the Red Keep, its seven towers reaching for the sky. On one of the three hills within the walls, Clarke can see the abandoned dome of the Dragon Pit, and at the foot of that hill, she knows the slums of Flea Bottom sit.

Beside her, Octavia draws in a low breath at the sight and Clarke glances over at her, watching the soldier’s fingers tighten against the railings. She cannot remember the first time she saw the southern capital, but she is sure it’s overwhelming for someone used to the quaint bustle of Winter Town.

The docks are crowded with ships and fishing boats, gathering against the many quays like birds around a carcass. People turn to stare at the mighty ship cruising past them, their eyes widening at the sight of the Stark flag flying high and point fingers, shouting to one another. On the shore, the children of the slums pick through the waste that washes up with the tide, and they look up from their task to shout and scream, running along the shore until the ship is out of sight. They round the corner, to the Red Keep’s private dock, and Clarke is ushered onto a smaller ship, Octavia staying stubbornly by her side, to be rowed past the towering cliffs, towards the small, private beach. Here the water is clearer and the sand is clean and golden in the sunlight. Along the single, stone quay stand a procession awaiting them, though she recognises none of their faces. Her stomach swoops anxiously, dread wriggling into her bones and making a home there, and she can see Octavia glancing at her from the corner of her eye, uncomfortable and unsure.

The boat is tied to the quay, a gangplank laid out and as she stands in the swaying ship, Clarke’s eyes find the waiting knights and lords. Lord Arthur Flowers, one of her father’s cousins, stands at the gangplank, and his ashy expression makes her catch her breath. Her fingers tremble when she takes his waiting hand, and is led onto the quay, and she opens her mouth to speak, but can’t seem to find the words.

“Lady Clarke,” The voice pulls her attention away, and she remembers those waiting on the quay for her arrival. Lord Pike of House Lannister is dressed in a fine red doublet, tall and well built, his skin shining in the sunlight. His mouth is set into a thin line and his eyes are grave and serious. Clarke’s fingers tighten around Lord Arthur’s fingers, and when she glances to her uncle, she finds that he is swallowing back tears of his own.

“My father��” Despite herself, her voice trembles on the edge of tears.

Lord Arthur bows his head, and there is a long silence. The words settle around them, like the winter snow in the north, but they do not feel real. Everything is far away, and strange, and Clarke lifts her chin, thinking of her mother and of Lexa, all of those who would want her to be strong now, and says, quietly.

“Take me to him.”

They do as she says without hesitation. She is shown to an ornate carriage, and her uncle slides into the seat beside her. Together, they journey through the streets of Kings Landing in silence; though Lord Arthur is one of her closest relatives, she barely knows the man. He had been in Highgarden frequently when she was young, but when the War of North and South broke out, he and his sons spent many years fighting in the Reach for control of the North. Several of her cousins had died in that war, and since then her uncle had preferred his own, smaller fief and rarely ventured into either Highgarden or Kings Landing.

Her eyes stay fixed to the passing streets, unseeing. Every rattle of the carriage, every passing house, every pair of staring eyes seem to drift away from her, as if she is wrapped in incense, heady and strange. She cannot think on where they are going, or why, and instead there is nothing, only white blankness.

The carriage comes to a halt outside the Great Sept, and she ignores her uncle’s offered hand when she clambers out. Brushing her hands down the front of her gown, she straightens her shoulders and squares her jaw, climbing the long set of steps. The Great Sept rises before her, towering, a window in the shape of the seven pointed star staring down at her. People pause to watch her go, guards hurrying to catch up with her, but she keeps her eyes fixed to that star, watching the way the sunlight catches against the coloured glass. By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, the star is out of view, but she can still feel it’s gaze upon her.

Inside, the Great Sept is cool and dark, and she pauses in the doorway to allow her eyes to adjust. Inside, the sept is a grandiose space, with a ceiling so high that she can hardly see the gilded gold and marble dome that rises between the roofs of Kings Landing. A raised walkway runs around the perimeter of the sept, from which chapels glow with candlelight for each of the Seven. The walkway surrounds the main sanctuary, a lowered area in which light spills in from the high, coloured windows. The marble floor is decorated with a seven pointed star, and each arm reaches out to the towering statues of the gods. They face inwards, so that when she walks down into the main sanctuary, she can feel their eyes upon her: the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger.

In the centre of the main sanctuary, upon a raised tomb, a body sits in state. Her feet hesitate, stilling where she stands, and for a moment she fears she will not be able to go any further, before she grits her teeth and forces herself closer. The sound of her feet against the marble echoes up through the high domed roof, and her steps are measured and careful, pausing when she is beside the dais.

Her father is dressed in a fine blue and gold doublet, a pin in the shape of a rose upon his chest. His face is pale and drawn, and two stones with painted eyes sit where he once would have. His hair is combed back neatly, and his hands are folded upon his chest, fingers closed around his longsword. She recognises the pommel, the golden rose that he used to polish until it shined, and it is that thought that makes her legs tremble beneath her, and her stomach roil with bile. The candlelight flickers into starbursts before her eyes, and it takes her a long time to realise that it’s because she is crying. Her tears slide silently down her cheeks, dripping onto her father’s body and staining the doublet. She puts a hand over his, and the cold of his skin startles a gasp from her. She will never feel this hand warm again, she realises slowly, will never hear his laugh or see his smile. His eyes will never light up with joy and warmth, and they will never sit over a game of cyvasse again. He will never see her marry, see her love, he will never meet her children.

There is a strange sound in the sept, grating and keening, and when she raises her eyes, blinking through her tears to find the source, she realises that the sound is coming from her.

It is some time before she is found, kneeling at her father’s side. Her knees ache against the harsh marble floor, and her head rests against the dais, so she doesn’t know she is no longer alone until the figure places a hand upon her shoulder. Slowly, she raises her head, and watches as King Thelonious sinks to his knees beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulder, letting her twist until her face is pressed into his chest and her tears soak into his doublet.

---

Her bed in the Red Keep is warm and plush, in a room filled with every luxury she could want. She keeps the curtains pulled around her bed, and the shutters on the windows tightly closed against the sun. After so long in Winterfell, the heat in the south is stifling, and she curls herself beneath thin blankets, and buries her head in her pillows. They don’t disturb her, but to bring her water and food. The meals are soft and light, meant to ease her grief, but she can’t think to touch them and instead only drinks the water brought in heavy clay jugs. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees her father’s face before them. She thinks of the last time she spoke to him, how long ago was it? Three months? Four? Five? Time in Winterfell had passed strangely, and his lack of contact had left her angry and confused, until she had stubbornly refused to write to him herself.

Now, she would give anything to send him a letter. She doesn’t pray, cannot think to at a time like this, and though her isolation is self-imposed, it is darkly lonely. Clarke aches for her father, for his smile and his arms around her, and though she has spent months hating her, she wishes her mother were here.

“Your mother is gone,” Thelonious had explained to her quietly, in the peace of the Great Sept. “She left a day or so after your father’s death, with no warning. We thought she may be with you.”

She leaves her room only for the funeral, at Octavia’s insistence, and it is a strange affair. With her mother absent, it is to her that every noble in Kings Landing offers their condolences, and she accepts their words with tight lips and the barest nods of her head. Everything feels so far away, even when she sees her father’s body again, it is as if it isn’t him at all, just a stranger with her father’s clothes. Her uncle stays at her side, casting her uncertain glances, and at one point King Thelonious pulls her away and places his hands on her shoulders, speaking earnestly to her. It is a relief to escape back to the darkness of her room, ignoring all requests for her company, but her restless silence is shattered by voices outside of her room, only a few days later.

“Lady Clarke must be told, it’s important.” A stranger insists, and Clarke pulls herself from the bed, her nightgown flowing around her feet, and pads silently to the door, pressing her ear against it to listen.

“Lady Clarke should have been told beforehand.” Octavia’s angry retort startles her a little.

“Well her ladyship wasn’t accepting any guests, Lord Arthur couldn’t wait any longer.” The stranger answers, sharply.

“A message would have done just as well,” Octavia snaps, “She should have been able to go with her uncle.”

“The streets are becoming too dangerous,” The stranger retorts, “He had to leave as soon as he could.”

Her fingers curl around the door handle before she can think any further, and she pulls it open with a yank. The two figures outside her door spin to face her, their eyes widening, and Octavia is the first to bow her head, glaring at the squire until he does the same. The corridor outside her room is bright, the sun shining in warmly through the arched windows, and Clarke squints a little, now so used to the darkness of her room.

“What’s going on?” She demands, but her voice wavers and scratches from so long unused.

“Lord Arthur has left the city, my lady,” Octavia scowls at the squire again, who levels her a glare in return. “Earlier this morning, and we have only just been informed.”

Her eyes widen and she feels a pang of loneliness again, now as familiar as an old friend. Though she and Lord Arthur had not been close, he was still her uncle. “Left?”

“His lordship had to see to his lands, my lady.” The squire excuses his lord, but when she turns her eyes on him he squirms uncomfortably and offers, weakly, “We thought you were grieving.”

“I am,” Her voice breaks over the word, and she blinks back her tears furiously. “Why did he leave with such haste?”

“The streets are becoming unruly, my lady.” The squire explains, in a nasal tone, “Since the prince left the city there has been a lot of unrest in the land. The people want the stability of an air, there are… rumours.”

“What rumours?”

“Ridiculous smallfolk gossip.” Octavia interrupts, her scowl only darkening. “He’s exaggerating, my lady.”

“Lord Flowers thought it best to leave as soon as possible.” The squire repeats, stubbornly and Clarke shakes her head, her fury rushing through her like a wave.

“My uncle thought only of himself and his own lands, as usual.” She waves a hand at him so violently that the squire flinches back. “Go! If you wish to catch my uncle before the streets are impassable, you must leave.”

She turns her back on him, marching into her room before he can answer. Her fury and frustration eats away at her, gnawing on her insides until she feels like she is consumed by them, an inferno shaking in her heart. For so long she has languished in her bed, hiding herself away in hopes of pretending the world didn’t exist, that this rush of fire leaves her feeling light headed and breathless in her ire. With her mother and uncle gone, she is alone in Kings Landing, left to pick up the pieces her father’s death without aid, and though she feels as though she could shatter to pieces, she knows that now her family’s name and reputation rest upon her shoulders.

“My lady,” Octavia hesitates in the doorway, and Clarke can’t bear to look at her. “My lady, I’m sorry that your uncle left, he should have taken you with him-”

“No.” The word falls from her lips, sharp and curt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But don’t you want to go home?” Octavia asks, earnestly, “Where you can mourn in peace?”

“There is no more time for mourning,” Her voice shakes, but she perseveres. “I am the only one left to ensure my family’s place in court, this is my responsibility.”

“You’re still grieving,” Behind her, Octavia steps closer into the room, her voice rising with her agitation. “That’s the most important thing, not… politics.”

“And what would you know of politics?” She whirls around, her breasts heaving with her fury, “What are you even still doing here? You got me to the south safely, now go.”

Octavia’s expression sets into anger and stubborn lines crease between her brows, her mouth tightening. “No. The queen told me to deliver you to your mother, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I don’t need to be delivered anywhere!” The words are like a crack of thunder, “I’m not some parcel to be traipsed from one place to another! No one else is here to protect my family name, so I have to do it!”

“Fine then!” Octavia shouts, “I’m staying, until you decide to go to your mother!”

“Do what you want!” Clarke retorts, “But I’m not going anywhere!”

“Neither am I!” With that, Octavia turns on her heel and slams the door shut behind her.

---

Clarke dines with the king that evening. She has known Thelonious Baratheon since she was a babe and considers him more family than king. He and her father had grown up together, spending long summers in each other’s company when the young prince had been training in Highgarden, and then cajoled each other into manhood when her grandfather had sent his son to Kings Landing in his teenage years. Though a few days ride, the journey from Highgarden to Kings Landing had never been a trial, and so Clarke had spent her childhood split between the capital and her own home, and her father’s role as Hand of the King had kept him in Kings Landing often, even in times of peace. She had learnt to walk in the Tower of the Hand, had ridden a horse for the first time in the Red Keep gardens, and had first kissed a handsome stable boy in rose gardens.

She still remembers Wells’ face when she ran back to him, giggling, and the thought makes an ache jolt through her heart as the king waves away his cup bearer. From his place across the small table in his solar, Clarke thinks that Thelonious seems tired and drawn. There are lines on his forehead that she doesn’t remember, and a sprinkling of salt in his dark hair. His eyes are sad and his shoulders are heavy, as if the golden crown he wears sits uncomfortably. Still, when he offers her a sad smile, it is the same kind face she remembers.

“I wish we could reunite in better circumstances, Clarke.” He pushes his venison around his plate, barely touching it, and when she glances down at her own untouched food she can’t help but think of lemon cakes and how Leanne would scold her if she saw this.

“And I,” The wine in her cup is her only saviour, and she finds that the more she drinks, the lighter the ache in her chest becomes. “Who could have imagined that when we saw each other again it would be like this… just the two of us.”

“I wish your mother had stayed,” Thelonious’s eyes pull with unhappiness and unease, “But she was so distressed, she couldn’t be reasoned with.”

“My mother rarely can,” She thinks she smiles at the words, but her lips barely cooperate. “If only Wells were here… he would know what to say.” The king flinches at her words and she swallows, placing her goblet down to look at him closely. “He didn’t tell me what he was going to do, you know. If he had I would have stopped him.”

“He was… unhappy here.” Thelonious can’t seem to meet her eyes, his tone troubled. “In a way he never has been before. Something changed in him, but he wouldn’t confide in me. He left during the night and when I went to Oldtown to reason with him, he would not see me.”

“His letters were almost illegible,” She shakes her head, “It was as if he wanted to tell me, but he couldn’t find the words.”

Thelonious’s jaw tightens and he stands quite suddenly, pacing to the wide windows that look down upon the city, his lips pursed in thought. “Regardless, he has left a mess behind him.” His words are tight.

“A squire said there was unrest in the streets.” Clarke rises, crossing the room to join him at the window, and she sees him sigh from the corner of her eye.

“More than unrest, it’s close to civil war. The people of Kings Landing want a secure lineage, and there are rumours about your father’s death and Wells’ departure.”

“What rumours?” Clarke turns to peer at him in the evening light, her brows furrowing as Thelonious lets out a sharp laugh.

“The sorts of rumours that keep the smallfolk entertained, plots and treachery.” He must see the concern in her gaze, because he gives her a reassuring smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Stuff of nonsense, Clarke, but it can catch like wildfire. I’ve sent the city guard out to quiet any rioters, but there are only three hundred Gold Cloaks and thousands of unhappy citizens in the city.”

“What will you do?” She asks quietly, and he lets out a weary sigh.

“Lord Pike is helping me to find a bride, another royal wedding should make the people happy, especially if it will lead to heirs.”

“If it does not, who will you name heir?”

Thelonious pushes himself away from the window to take up his goblet of wine again. “I have no brothers or sisters, no nephews or nieces to pass the throne onto. The closest would be Lord Finn, as my nephew by marriage.” He shakes his head, “But the boy cannot be king, he is too young and naïve. I will simply have to produce heirs.”

“I’m sorry,” Her soft voice draws his eyes up, “I’m sorry that Wells disappointed you.”

“I only wish I knew what drove him away,” He is silent for a moment, staring down into his wine as if it will give him the answers he so craves. “I am sorry for your father too. Jacob would know what to do at a time like this.”

She can only nod, and for a time they are both quiet, thinking on what they have lost, before Thelonious says, more seriously.

“You should go to the Vale, where your mother is. Take her back to Highgarden and grieve together.”

“You need me here,” Clarke argues, but Thelonious shakes his head.

“Finding a bride for a king is no real trial, Clarke. Thank you for delivering the Queen in the North’s letter to me, but you have done your duty now. It is time to rest and take stock of what you have lost. I will be fine.”

---

She is awoken by the tolling of the bells, long and doleful. Twisting in the bed, she peers around, momentarily disorientated. The room is still dark, the fire cold and the shutters fastened tightly over the windows, and she feels as if she has barely laid her head upon her pillow when she slides from the bed. Her feet have only just touched the cold stone floor, when a pounding comes to her door which makes her jump and her heart thump loudly in her chest. Thoughts of the assassin in Winterfell come to mind, the darkness in his eyes and the feel of his hands on her body, and she pulls a robe about her body as she stands, pausing by the chest by the table to pick up the dagger Lexa gifted her with. As she approaches the door, the pounding comes again and her breath catches in her throat as she hesitates beside the door. Pulling in a steadying breath, she puts her hand on the handle, the other holding the dagger tightly, before calling out.

“Who is it?”

“Lord Pike of House Lannister, my lady.” The voice is strange and deep, and she swallows heavily against her dry throat.

“My lord? Why are you outside my door at such an hour?” Her fingers tremble where they are pressed against the handle.

“There is a threat to the castle, my lady. You must come, and quickly!” Her eyes widen, and slowly, she pulls open the door, her grip still tight around the handle of her dagger.

Outside, the hallway is lit with torchlight, and she spies Pike’s pinched face peering in at her. Letting the door fall further open, she frowns at the armoured men around him.

“A threat, my lord?”

“I’m afraid so,” Pike is grave and serious, “Some of the peasant rebellions in the city have spiralled out of control, and they are attempting to storm the Red Keep!”

“What?” It’s unthinkable, but the shouts of men that flicker in from the courtyard bely her disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“They are many in number and caught us unprepared,” Pike gestures, and she finds herself stepping from her room, ushered by the non-too-gentle guards. “The Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard will soon have them subdued, but until then it’s best that you wait with the rest of the children and ladies in Maegor’s Holdfast.”

“The Kingsguard are fighting?” Clarke pulls her robe tighter around her body, shivering as they descend the steps and are hurried out into the courtyard. “Shouldn’t they be protecting the king?”

“The king is fighting with them.” Lord Pike sounds surprised, “As the brave solider that he is.” Underfoot, the ground turns from cold cobblestones to the wooden flats of the drawbridge, as they cross the dry moat that surrounds the Holdfast. Clarke knows that if the fighting takes a turn for the worst, the drawbridge will be drawn up to protect those left inside. They walk quickly to a heavily guarded door. Pike’s eyes flicker down to the dagger she still holds, and they widen. “Really my lady, such a weapon shouldn’t be in the hands of those who do not know how to wield it.” His tone is one of amusement and condescension, which makes Clarke prickle. He holds out his hand, expectant. “I will take care of it for you.”

“It was a gift.” She argues, weakly, but surrounded by Lannister soldiers, she feels she has little choice but to press the blade into his hand.

“No weapons are allowed in the Queen’s Ballroom at a time like this.” Lord Pike gives her a thin, shallow smile. “I’ll ensure it’s returned to you once all is safe again.”

With that, she is led into the Queen’s Ballroom, her bare feet slapping against the stone floor. It is a tall, elegant hall, smaller than the Great Hall, which holds the iron throne, but still large enough to comfortably hold a hundred. The chandeliers and delicate torches in the walls are lit and the room is stuffy and hot, filled as it is with the ladies and children who currently inhabit the castle. There are cots made up along the walls, and bedrolls for the handmaidens and servants that attend them. A young lady plays the lute in the corner, a slow, despondent melody, and several ladies sit in circles praying. Others cluck around near the table on which food is laid out, gossiping and creating hysterical stories, while yet more entertain children and attend to sewing and needlework. Almost everyone is in some state of undress, clearly being pulled from their beds in the middle of the night just as she was, and when Clarke peers around, she sees no sign of Octavia.

Slowly, she pads her way further into the room, feeling eyes turn upon her as she walks, and sits slowly upon an unclaimed cot. People cast glances her way, and she can tell from their lowered voices that they are speaking of her, but she pays it no heed. Instead, she straightens out her robe, glad she had the foresight to pull it on and not be caught in just her nightdress. Her hair sits in disarray around her face, and she unties the ribbon within it and begins combing her fingers through it as best she can.

A lady approaches after several minutes, hesitating a respectful pace away, and bobs half a curtsey. Clarke doesn’t recognise her, but she has a kind face and dark hair, her lips wide and her robe plain but pretty.

“My lady, I’m Lady Fern of House Waynwood.” The lady gives a smile, and Clarke bows her head in greeting, accepting the wine that Lady Fern holds out for her. “I thought you may be in need of refreshment.”

“Thank you,” Clarke gives her a polite smile, cradling the wine between her hands. “I’m very grateful.”

“I’m sure it was rather a shock, being woken at such an hour,” Lady Fern smiles, ruefully, “But one cannot manage when men choose to fight their battles.”

“One certainly cannot,” Clarke agrees, glancing about the ballroom, and then back at Lady Fern, who is wearing slippers and whose hair is neatly pinned back. “Though I must say you look far more presentable than the rest of us, Lady Fern.”

“I’m lucky,” She admits, with a slight smile, and gestures to a servant. “My handmaiden was sleeping in my chambers, she came with me. Here, she can help you. Margo, come here please.” At her request, a girl comes trotting over, hearty and cheerful, with freckles scattered across her nose. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen summers, but she sets to the task assigned to her with great vigour.

“Thank you,” Clarke pats the cot, “Would you like to join me?”

“I would,” Lady Fern sinks into her seat, smiling gratefully. “I have heard much about you, my lady. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“You are House Waynwood?” She asks, humming softly in understanding when the lady nods. “So, you are from the Vale, you know Lord Marcus Arryn. He is friends with my mother.”

“We have only met a few times,” Lady Fern corrects her, flushing a little. “I am a younger sister of House Waynwood, we are not often invited to the Eyrie, and besides I have been in the capital for almost a year. I actually know you from tales here at court.”

“At court?” Clarke’s brows rise, surprise twisting her features. “Forgive me if we met when I was in the capital…”

“Oh no,” Lady Fern flushes again, laughing a little self consciously as her handmaiden begins to carefully braid Clarke’s hair. “We didn’t, it’s only… many people have been speculating on your time in the north.”

“Oh.” Clarke blinks, and slowly the tired parts of her mind begin to put things together. “I see, of course, that makes sense.”

The Lady Fern opens her mouth to say something more, but they are disrupted by the arrival of two more ladies and their handmaiden. The first Clarke’s recognises, if dimly, Lady Myra Redwyne, a dark haired, firey young woman who sometimes accompanied her father on trips to Highgarden, to pay his due to his lord, Jacob Tyrell. Lady Myra has a sharp tongue and vast wit, and Clarke has seen her cut ladies with a gentler decorum down before her eyes. At her side stands an unfamiliar face, a pale, light haired woman, reasonably fair of face but otherwise unremarkable. The handmaiden who accompanies them is lithe, with tanned skin and long hair in complicated braids down her back.

Lady Myra offers her a wide smile, the sincerity of which Clarke struggles to discern, and curtseys, offering out her hands to clasp Clarke’s. “My lady! It is so good to have you returned to us!”

“Lady Myra,” Clarke gives her a slight smile, squeezing her fingers once before releasing. “I didn’t realise you were in the city.”

“I am, my lady, I have been for some time.” Lady Myra grimaces delicately. “I’m so sorry for your lord father, I was at the funeral.”

“Thank you,” The mention of her father startles her. “I didn’t see you there.”

“You were distracted,” Lady Myra offers another sympathetic smile, but swiftly turns to her friend. “This is my friend Lady Peasebury.” The pale girl’s eyes are wide, but she manages a trembling curtsey, and Clarke tries to set her at ease.

“Well met, Lady Peasebury.”

“We have been waiting and waiting for your return,” Lady Myra gestures imperiously, and the handmaiden fetches two velvet cushions for them to lounge upon, making themselves comfortable as they pick at the plates of food them have brought. “We were beginning to think you had been frozen to ice.” She gives a musical laugh and the other two ladies chuckle along weakly.

Clarke only hums, sipping on her wine quietly. “I was not.”

“I must say, it’s no surprise that that northern queen requested you as her guest,” Lady Myra continues, leaning across her cushions, “You are the most eligible noble woman in all of the south, many say, and your father’s closeness with the king…” She trails off, a self-satisfied smile upon her face, like nothing more needs to be said. Clarke isn’t quite sure how to respond, but fortunately the kindly Lady Fern steps in.

“How was the north, my lady?”

“It was…” She considers for a moment, struggling over her words. This is the first time anyone has asked her; King Thelonious had been more interested in the workings of the queen’s court, which she had honestly been able to tell him little of, and Lexa’s ambitions, than her time there. “Different,” She settles on, at last, and clearly it is unsatisfactory for the waiting ladies.

“What is the queen like?” Lady Myra presses, unforgiving.

“Yes, the queen!” Lady Peasebury pipes up, her eyes alight with excitement. “One hears so many stories.”

The words bring a smile to her lips and she quirks an eyebrow at them. “I’m sure that no stories can truly do her justice.”

“Is she a savage, as they say?” Lady Myra’s eyes glint with the prospect of gossip, but they darken at Clarke’s scoff.

“Not at all.”

“They say she can transform into a wolf,” Lady Peasebury tells them, her voice breathless, “My brother swears he saw it happen when he fought in the war.”

“No,” Clarke casts her a strange look, “Though she does have seven direwolves.”

“But they’re myth!” Lady Fern exclaims from beside her, “How on earth could she have conjured those…”

“The old northern magic,” Lady Peasebury glances around herself, as if afraid that the children of the forest would be lurking in this very room.

“I’ve heard she has connection across the sea, with the Iron Bank,” Lady Myra leans in, softening her voice conspiratorially. “They give her the use of the Faceless Men, that’s how she won the war.”

“The what?” Lady Peasebury’s brows furrow, confused, and her cheeks colour when Lady Myra rolls her eyes, viciously.

“Oh Alice, you’re so quaint. My handmaiden,” Here, she waves forward the dark haired girl from before, “Is from Bravosi and she’s told me all about them.”

“Tell us,” Lady Fern impeaches, as Clarke sips at her wine, her eyes focused on the Bravosi girl with interest.

The girl glances at her mistress uncertainly and then says, her voice slow and careful. “I cannot say much. They have people everywhere.”

“You must know that none of us are spies,” Lady Myra rolls her eyes again, gesturing dramatically.

The girl swallows, but continues, “They are assassins trained in Bravos. Many say they are under the control of the Iron Bank. They can… change their faces.”

“Like a disguise?” Lady Peasebury sounds breathless with terror.

“No,” Lady Myra takes over, obviously unhappy with her handmaiden’s cautious account. “They can actually take off their faces and don a new one.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lady Fern shakes her head sensibly, “Such a thing cannot be done.”

“So, you will accept direwolves in the north, but not man who can change their faces.” Lady Myra challenges, and Lady Fern huffs.

“The direwolves are animals, faceless men don’t make any sense at all.”

“I wouldn’t expect the queen would use such underhand tricks,” Clarke puts in, at last. “Assassins and spies… she is too noble for that.”

Lady Myra latches on to the words like a cat searches for food in the alleyways. “You sound as if you admire her.”

“I was her guest for many moons,” Clarke musters up the dignity to say, and hopes her voice is cool and detached. “She was kind to me, I came to know her in some way.”

“And you came to like her,” Lady Myra challenges, brazenly.

Clarke sets her with a narrowed eyed gaze, “We were companionable yes, Lady Myra.”

“I had heard that you were a close friend of the prince,” Lady Fern inputs, clearly hoping to steer the conversation back into safer territory, and Clarke turns to look at her, feeling a flush rising to her cheeks. Lady Fern looks at her with sympathy. “I’m sorry, it must have been hard to hear about his abdication.”

She pulls in a long breath, considering her words. “It was, Prince Wells was a dear friend.”

“We were all very shocked,” Lady Fern continues, kindly. “Many of us were thinking he was like to take a wife soon and then…”

“It has left the kingdom in some turmoil.” Lady Myra observes, seemingly regaining her manners, and together they are silent for a moment, listening to hear any of the disruption outside. As it is, there is little to hear above the chattering of the other ladies in the room.

“I expect that the king will be seeking a new wife soon, to provide him with an heir,” Lady Fern says, smiling at her handmaiden when the girl steps back from Clarke’s braided hair.

“Of course he will,” Lady Myra gestures regally for her handmaiden to bring another plate of sweetcakes. “If he does not the crown will pass to Lord Finn of House Swann.”

“How so?” Lady Peasebury appears puzzled, and Clarke watches Lady Myra pull in a breath to rebuke her, stepping in to speak before she can.

“Lord Finn’s father is brother to the late queen. He is next in line through marriage, though it has never really been a problem until now. Everyone assumed that Prince Wells would be the next king.”

“He is in the capital, my lady.” Lady Fern tells her, seriously. “He arrived last night, with the moon.”

“I would suppose the king wants to keep him close at hand until another heir is born.” Lady Myra says, slyly, and Clarke frowns, staring down at the dregs within her goblet.

“I didn’t realise he was here.” The revelation sits strangely in her stomach; not only is she unsure how she feels about seeing Lord Finn again, after so many months of unanswered letters, but something prickles at the edge of her consciousness when she considers his sudden arrival. She is quiet and uninviting for the rest of the conversation, wrapped up as she is in her own thoughts, and when Lady Fern is called away to see to her crying child, a little boy with curly dark hair, their group soon disbands.

Dawn is creeping through the windows when they are finally disturbed. The longer the fighting had gone on, the more anxious the room had become. Clarke kneels in prayer with some of the other ladies, but her mind is mostly empty, and the clasped hands around hers are more helpful in keeping away prying eyes than finding mercy from the gods. The thick oak doors, guarded heavily both inside and out, open with a tremendous crash that sends ladies startling away, and guards ripping their swords from their sheaths with a screech. Soldiers, bloody from battle, pile through the doors, and for a moment they are caught in fear, sure that the castle has been overcome, until someone shouts their victory. Women run sobbing to their husbands and sons, clasping them within their arms, and for a moment Clarke feels utterly stranded in the storm, a rock adrift the waning tide, until her eyes light upon familiar brown eyes, and dark hair pushed back from a handsome face.

Finn Swann crosses the room quickly once he sees her, and she is caught up in a tide of familiarity, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of her old friend. When he catches her about the waist, she can do little else but return his embrace, pressing her face into his shoulder when his urgent voice comes to her.

“Lady Clarke, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“And you, my lord,” She begins to say, but he tightens his grip on her, his breath coming fast and laboured.

“Clarke… the king is dead.”

---

#clexa #clexa gotau #clarke griffin #commander lexa #clexa fic #clexa fanfic

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kakuriyo-translations · 6 years ago

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Chapter 2: The Master Ogre God

Chapter 2: The Master Ogre God 25. "Aoi, do not let the Ayakashi scare you. You are special, so it is easy for them to kidnap you." "Is Aoi easy to kidnap?" "That's right, humans that can see Ayakashi are easily targeted. They're easy to eat and easy to use. Easy to like and easy to hate. It is easy to be loved and also easy to be hated. In short, you are a subject of ridiculous interest for them." My grandfather had a serious face back then as he took my hand, advising me through life. But my young self could not understand those words at all. "Aoi doesn't want to be eaten! Aoi doesn't want to leave grandpa." "Is that right? Well, grandpa doesn't want Aoi to leave or be taken either.... Aoi, be especially careful of ogres." "Ogres? Aoi has not seen an ogre." "They are tricky to find because they almost look the same as humans, perhaps that may be hard for you to understand."

26."Are they human?" "No, they are not people. They are incompatible with humans." My grandfather shook his head strongly in denial of my question. "They lead a cold and villainous path, doing anything they want in order to get what they want, they do not feel for others. That's why Aoi, do not let your guard down around ogres." My grandfather always told me to be careful around ogres. Ogres.

There was a feeling that I had fallen somewhere. "Ouch!" Hitting my head on something hard, I let out a dull shout. I had collapsed. When I open my eyes, I see a ceiling that I don't recognise. It was almost as if the ceiling was glittering, paintings of Ayakashi dancing was painted onto it, it intrigued me. I was in some strange hall. Why? It's so cold. I notice that my body is badly drenched in water.

27."Aoi." A low calm, disgusting voice called my name. I looked into his face for a moment, the one with the Ogre mask. I had met him at the shrine, I'd given him my lunchbox. What a shame that was. "Ah, you're from this morning!" Raising my voice with surprise, I stand holding my lower back. I check around me, only giving a glance. The room is mostly tatami mat and dimly lit, cold air drifts in occasionally. Straight away I understood that this was an expensive and gorgeous building. What's going on? It seems everyone who is peacefully sitting around the room quietly like figurines are Ayakashi. Everyone is wearing a kimono and different masks. I cannot see their expressions, they're only sitting and watching me peacefully. I can sense a murderous intent or hostility from the chills creeping up my skin. They seem unhappy and look at me almost as if aiming for their prey. I could sense a vicious disgust radiating from their bodies. I am surrounded by Ayakashis. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Even if you are used to seeing Ayakashi, this is my first time being surrounded by them.

28. In this place that I do not know, no one is on my side. As if I've been hit by a wave, a cold fear overcomes my body. Firmly trying to get a hold of myself, I turn my head towards the Ayakashi to the side of the Ogre in front of me. I think I may be able to say something, although, I only thought there was one Ayakashi at first. "Eh?" However, one of them cried out unexpectedly, slowly I turned to look over. My eyes widen. A pale face with human features and cool eyes. A breathtaking cold and beautiful appearance. A man with black hair. I narrow my eyes at his smiling face. If you look close enough there are sharply pointed horns sticking out from his head, his eyes are also red. He isn't human. This guy, this guy is an ogre. "How are you feeling my bride?" Eh.. ha??" Those were the surprising words of the ogre, I look around restlessly. Surely he's not talking about me?

29. "How are you feeling? I'm asking you, my bride. Are you listening to me? Aoi, I mean you. You are my bride." "To be honest, I don't understand the meaning of all this, it makes me feel unwell," I answered with a serious expression. The ogre in front of me remains calm, smiling. Bride? This ogre, what is he saying? Although he is beautiful, my grandfather warned me to be alarmed by them. This all seems too doubtful. My body is cold from being drenched. My dress has become transparent and tough from the water. My stockings are torn and hair is sticking to my face. Surely my makeup is in disarray. This appearance must be so embarrassing but at the moment I can not afford to care. Because of this unknown situation, my shame is equal to none. Perhaps even if my life is saved, I may not be able to go home safely. "Master, as you can see it would be better if you did not marry this human girl." Said a masked Ayakashi to the black haired ogre, they dismissed me with such hate in their voice. Red-bean coloured hair can be seen poking out from the edge of the mask, although, it isn't really human. "I can not allow my Master to marry such a filthy little girl."

30. At those words, all the other Ayakashi who seemed just like figurines started talking with hatred towards me at the same time. They hide their mouths with fans or sleeves. "Absolutely right!" "Such a filthy daughter of humans!" "She's plain!" "Incompetent!" "Seedy-looking!" Obviously, they like saying anything that comes to mind. However, it all seems to be something bad... But I do not care about such a silly thing. The desire to escape from here somehow starts to burn inside me. This place is a nest for Ayakashi. Right now, usual encounters with Ayakashi cannot compare to this. The ones here are not low class. I can only comprehend what's happening by watching it unfold. An exit can be seen on the side in a gap between the Shoji sliding door, what good timing. "Now!" Well, that was daring. "Ah, that girl!" Such a sound made the Ayakashi stand up all at once. Meanwhile, I do not hesitate and run out between the side from the gap of the Shoji sliding door. The edge is wet with no gripping, if possible I'd like to get somewhere else. That was my plan.

31. But that plan was soon undone. As a strange colourful landscape spread out from what I assumed to be the edge of the building. I was terribly surprised. I opened my eyes wide, stopping my feet from running. "Ehhh?" Right in front of me is a world I've never seen before. It seems that the wet edge I stand on is far above even the sky. Apparently, I'm at the top of an extremely tall building, the ground is a long way down. I can see buildings wrapped in lights of lanterns, I know this is obviously not a normal place in Japan. The boulevard below seems very busy, everyone here is an Ayakashi, I can understand that fact from here. Ogres, monsters, demons, persistently written flags, red lanterns hang around here and there. Buildings, not like a normal house or an apartment. It looked like it could be an old townscape reminiscent to traditional Japan. Whilst it seems to be an old-fashioned traditional town like Kyoto. However, the red-coloured risen building on the right reminds me of Ancient China. A little further away is a big temple surrounded by tall 5-storied pagoda buildings, from here you can see a couple of them. However, nothing in the real world could ever look like this. Somewhat unstable and heteromorphic, I could never remember seeing anything like this before.

32. Just like a labyrinth, complicated. Surely, this is an air I have never felt before. I understood that this place was much more busy than the Apparent Realm. "....." I couldn't blink as I looked out at the landscape before me. A Japanese ship was floating in the sky, passing over the clouds, although it was shocking I wasn't surprised too much. I do not know. I do not know such a world! A thing that crossed my mind at that moment was this 'Different World,' had entirely different characters. A cold wind briskly blew up from the bottom of the building causing my hair to get into a frenzy. Because of that, my legs froze on the spot. "Where am I?" "This is the Hidden Realm, Aoi." The ogre answered my question, whispering from behind. I pulled back my arm. "The Hidden realm?" That name seems familiar, surely I've heard it somewhere before. "It's dangerous here, so go inside." "This isn't the Apparent Realm."

33. Without taking my eyes off the strange world in front of me I asked him with a firm expression. I don't understand this. Why? Why was I brought to such a place? Contrary to my confusion, the black-haired ogre with a calm tone. "This is the world where Ayakashi lives. This is different from the world humans live in. However, the Apparent Realm and this world are coherent with each other and connected in many various places. These two places are similar yet totally different at the same time. This is a successful inn for Ayakashi, Tenjinya." "Tenjinya?" Finally, I was able to pin it to something. I knew that name, when I was cleaning grandfather's belongings, it was that black and white picture. My grandfather was in front of this inn, he was taking pictures with Ayakashi. I looked back slowly, looking at the black-haired man behind me. Although now there is a horn on his head, I could feel he was not a person from the coldness of those red eyes, looking at me chillingly. I could feel my body starting to get cold. "Who are you?" "I am the owner of this inn, they call me Ogre-god or Master." "An ogre?" "I am the ogre that will become your husband."

34. I distorted my expression whilst the ogre in front of me looked on pleasantly. I wanted to deny it, giving my head a small shake. "What? Why would an ogre want to become the husband of a human? You can't." "Although I am an ogre it doesn't matter, Shiro made such a promise to me, so you have no choice." As soon as he mentioned my grandfather's name I became stiff. "Let me explain Aoi, your grandfather Shiro-" "Surely it's a mistake!" I answered the Ayakashi as he stood in his place. The ogre laughed faintly narrowing his red eyes. "I doubt it. You see, I had a long relationship with Shiro, of whom had connections in many various places." "Connections?"

35. "Yes, you see Shiro could move back and forth between the Apparent Realm and this realm as he pleased, they said he was one of a kind. Shiro had very strong spiritual energy, enjoying all the fun things this world had to offer him, he was a free man. Then once upon a time, he decided to flutter around here at Tenjinya for three days and three nights, drinking and eating, enjoying every luxury at hand. Although, because of that towards the end of it he had brought himself into an amount of large debt that was impossible for him to pay. But I gave him a chance and refused to eat him." "....." It wasn't an unlikely story, so it immediately satisfied my curiosity. Although, it only makes me pale more. Grandpa, what a foolish thing to do to an Ayakashi. "But, I'm also running a business here. I asked Shiro if he'd pay, work here for life, or be eaten. Shiro, however, shook his head and told me something else. What do you think he said?" Pulling on my arm, the ogre came close to my face. I shook my head. "Because I love freedom, I cannot possibly stay in one place. It can't be helped that you want to eat me. So I will give you some money. However, that's it, if I can not repay all of my debt within my life I offer you my granddaughter to be your Ogre Bride. That's what he said. I couldn't believe it. Shiro was a ridiculous man. He truly was scum." "......" "Ah so in short Aoi, you are collateral for his debt." This ogre came to a conclusion on the matter in such a merciless way. It made me feel dizzy. However, I try to remain somehow mindful for a while, keeping myself in check.

36. "Is that what you meant after all? Is it not a mistake? Being my grandpa's granddaughter, I've already been surprised plenty." "Ah, of course. Because you are Shiro's granddaughter who can see the Ayakashi. You are the only one for me. Those who cannot see Ayakashi cannot even visit the Hidden Realm in the first place." The ogre explains this to me as if it is all an ordinary situation. However, his words did happen to seem strangely convincing. "Do you need me to say it again, Aoi? You and I have a promise to become married, we should get on to that. You must marry me." ".......Me marrying?...." From the side I saw the ogre pull out an object, it was a nice small box. Picking it up he opened it, grabbing a piece of paper from the inside. He shows it to me. "This is a pledge. As long as this is present, those promises must be fulfilled." On a fine piece of paper, it was written as such. 'I, Shiro Tsubaki am in debt to the Master of Tenjinya. Because I cannot repay it, in the meantime I will give you my granddaughter who has the most spiritual power. I swear it, Shiro Tsubaki-' Indeed from the last honest and miserable sentence, this letter definitely was written by my grandfather. I understand well that his signature is written firmly at the end and that this is a pledge. Somehow, as long as this was around I knew I could not run away.

37. What is marriage? Was my first thought. Heterosexuality is often present with couples, they then begin to talk and suddenly become family members. In short, it is to be a husband and wife. Impossible, I hardly know this guy. No, I only met him for the first time just before, this guy is not even a person, but an Ayakashi. Moreover, he is an ogre that told me to be most wary of my grandpa. My head hurts. I can't stop trembling. No, I can't stop trembling, it may be because my body is cold and wet but I'm not sure. The anger for my grandfather may have started to occupy my thoughts. Grandpa, grandpa... why? What a stupid thing of you to do. My favourite grandfather, he really did just let his granddaughter take on all his debt so easily, I felt uninhibited amnesia followed by despair. These swirling unbalanced thoughts and feelings travel through my head. The ogre looks at my trembling expression full of agony, trying to hold back laughter as he puts a sleeve over his mouth. He truly is an ogre. Devil. Demonic animal. Surely my miserable appearance is pleasant for him. The ogre grabbed onto my arm, pulling me up. He then takes me back to the room filled with many Ayakashi. His nail digs into my arms, causing a hot pain to rush through it. Why was all of this so wrong?

38. "Now, let's get ready for our marriage. Perhaps such a dress that you're wearing is not suitable for the occasion. Take a hot bath and change clothes." "No, I don't care." I refused. The surrounding Ayakashi start to make noise. But, I have to refuse, no matter what. "I definitely do not like or want to be an Ogre's Bride." ".....Definitely?" "Absolutely! I hate it." "......" Even in this situation, I will absolutely refuse as clearly as I can. This ogre's heart is closed with no desire nor despair. So I will continue to refuse him without mercy. "Even if you say I'm collateral for debt, I can not accept such a thing! So, return me to the Apparent Realm!" "That's no good." The ogre raised his face, whilst lowering his voice and said that. "This place is secluded, to open the entrance to this realm, a corresponding toll is required. You already have your grandfathers debt, so I doubt you can pay a toll."

39."Do not make a fool of me. You brought me here! So, take responsibility and pay the toll to return me to the other world! Or I'll sue for kidnapping." He swings his arm, trying to grip mine. I thrust my fingers back violently. Those were my words to him. However, the Ayakashi behind me spoke up, "How uneducated," they are almost trembling in anger. "You fool, you who is a meagre dirty human daughter is not even a substitute for debt! You should be thankful for the Masters kindness! Although it can not be forgiven, all you are is Shiro's granddaughter!!" Said the man with red-bean coloured hair wearing a mask. "I will eat up to the muscle of your bones!" He stood up, taking a breath, it seems he does not like my former family member. "Manager!" "Please do not act so savagely." It was as if he was a spider jumping about. A white thread like substance had filled up my surroundings. My feet became tangled in the whiplashing strings. "Kyaa!" Putting out a cute scream I fall down. My hip and back slowly hit the floor. No, this can't be happening. This damn Ayakashi is a spider. When things are caught in spider webs, they are normally eaten to the bone because they cannot escape.

40. But suddenly the face of the Ayakashi came close to the ogre. "Wait, Tsuchigomo." It was stopped. "Do not make a wrong move. You still have time to spare, so you'd better act like a gentleman." "Master you're being too kind! Such a little girl, I can see the pain in your eyes so I'll listen to what you say." He stops after hearing the ogres words, why? "Good." He nodded. What's good? Ogres are ogres, and yet he has a stubborn smile which is incomprehensible. "Are the Three Faceless Sisters here?" When the ogre snaps his fingers, the sliding doors open. Three people stood in the doorway, all being beautifully large, medium and small. However, they were faceless. The ogre gives instructions to them. "I think we should let my bride know where her position is here. Prepare the Torture in Hell treatment." "Eh?" "Now, go along. Do not stop even if she hates it. She needs to know where she stands." It takes a short amount of time for these faceless women to carry me off to another room without resistance. Ehhhhhhh? No way, I never thought it would be like this. Something could be broken. This is a physical punishment. I could be hurt.

41. They must be lying, even in this situation it would be better if it were to hurt only for a moment, this doesn't seem fun. "This is the boiling water torture." The smallest one said. She made a prefix written as,'pine.' Then spoke with the tiniest little voice even though she has no mouth. As she says this, I was stripped of my clothes, then immersed in lush warm water which glowed a warm red and glittered. Honestly, it's very relaxing and comfortable. The warmth of the water spreads through out my body. "This is the skinning torture." The medium faceless lady made a 'bamboo,' prefix. She scrubs and washes my body. I don't have to do anything. At the end, they paint a mysterious sweet smelling liquid on my body. My skin became so shiny it was almost blinding. "This is the binding torture." The biggest faceless lady made a 'plum,' prefix. I was dressed in an indignant blue yukata tightened by a yellow belt. Although it is cute with a lint pattern, when the belt is tightened- "Wow!" It is a bit uncomfortable.

42. "The torture is nearly done." The three faceless sisters each prepare my personal belongings. 'Pine,' dried my hair. My cat like hair finally became smooth. She also massaged my stiff shoulders.'Bamboo,' applied a thin layer of makeup, it was a light crimson red powder.'Plum,' paints my nails. She also applied cream to my hands that were rough and coarse. "The Torture in Hell treatment is complete." "No, it wasn't tortured though was it, it was a luxurious hot spring treatment at this inn." "Is it a torture?" "Right?" "Right?" Even though I tried, the Three Faceless Sisters did not say a word on it. They have no facial expressions and I can not read what's on their minds. "The Master is waiting for you." Then, they held me again taking me somewhere else. "Master, please reconsider not marrying a human daughter! If a human becomes an important lady in charge I am not convinced she could do her job as an employee, this could cause a conflict in Tenjin-ya! For the houses in the north! This fight which would take place in the corner of the Hidden Realm could soon turn into a conflict between the rest of us, it will be a fight for the future!"

43."Even if I do marry, I will not put her in charge so soon." "That's even more useless!" The three faceless sisters brought me to the other side of the sliding door, that was when I could hear such a conversation. The complaining voice is that of the spider that tried to make an enemy of me earlier. "This isn't useful, it's bad!" I opened the sliding door slickly. Towards the back of the sliding door are three Ayakashi. One is the Ogre-god, the other is probably the spider because of the mask. The other one has the mask of a white fox, this Ayakashi must have been hiding in the shadows earlier. Because I had suddenly been thrust into a room with these three Ayakashi the situation hardened a little bit. "Hmm, how was the torture? I take it you had more than just the hot spring. Has your body warmed up now?" My body is much warmer now and has settled, so has my liver apparently. I tighten my facial expression, while this is a stupid idea, I head over to the Ogre. "Aw, Aoi my bride, my yukata looks nice on you." "Thanks to you. This seems like a nice inn, the service here is wonderful."

44. "Do you understand your position now?" "Are you going to become a bride even though you're at such a low class?" "If you become my bride the services at this inn would be unlimited to you." "I will not take your hand. Please return me home quickly." "Keep it silent or else you'll be missing out!" The Tsuchigomo said concisely coming closer. I thought that I didn't have to keep silent after glaring at the ridiculous spider I continued. "It's natural, I'm only 20 years old, I'm still a college student. As a college student, I've never even thought of marrying someone. I'm really really sorry, Ayakashi." "Calm down, calm down. It's no use saying that since I'm not going to give up." "Wh-" Just like a child would do, the ogre admonished me with haste. Until a while ago I was burning up, but now, my body is going totally cold. Awful Ayakashi. They have an optimum existence filled with coldness. "Why don't we use the inner parlour?" The ogre could not see my agonizing expression, there were plum blossoms embedded in the wall behind the hallway, he opens the door to the inner parlour. "Do you have anything to offer?"

45. I asked the ogre. A man with a white fox mask shakes his tails once. Perhaps he is a fox ayakashi, I can see it."Well, prepare the bedding the Camelia room, my bride is tired." "As you wish." The ayakashi with the fox mask left the room. I heard the tsuchigomo say something, he gave off a steep look. I peek into the inner parlour. It is a small inner room, a tea set is placed in the middle of the hearth. The ogre sat on the side, beckoning to me who was standing near the sliding door. "Come here, sit down where you like, my bride." Whilst wary, I finally enter the room and sit down. At that time the Tsuchigomo dully closed the sliding door for the inner parlour. "Aaaaaa." I heard someone raise their voice. "Would you like some tea? My bride." The ogre mixed the contents of the tea kettle with a ladle, pouring it into a cup he hands it over to me. I drank it. It had a deep colour, being a lovely snack, and left a good aftertaste. "Now, is there anything you want to say? This place will soon be filled with lots of employees."

46. I grasped my knees and asked something straight away. "How much is my grandpa's debt?" The ogre gives me a demoralizing look before he finally answers stroking his chin in a quizzical manner. "It roughly translated into 100 million yen in Japanese currency I believe." "Ha, ha, say that one more time?" I held an intense stare. The tuition fee that my grandfather left behind and was collecting for me is not enough. That guy, he truly did make me collateral for debt, I guess I might have to marry this ogre. Grandpa, why did you even save for my tuition? To be funny? It was only contradicting! I wish I could question my grandpa about all of this, but, it's impossible now that he's gone. "Of course, none of this is your fault, but you must clean up after your Grandfather Shiro. Aside from that, being with an Ayakashi won't be too bad right? Even in the world that humans live in they must return borrowed money, correct? It isn't an uncommon story for daughters and granddaughters to be sold because of that, is it." "Why? This is so frustrating." "That would be the case." The ogre smiles, dropping his eyes towards his sleeve, mixing the hot water in the teapot. As for me, this entire situation just makes me angry and frustrated.

47. My grandfather, without permission, decided to make me a debtor and the future wife of an ogre. I loved my grandfather for a very long time, but I wonder. Aloof in this world of wonder, I can not even read the thoughts of this ogre. "Do you wish to not be my bride that much?" "If there was any human who would want to become the bride of an ogre they'd just suddenly met, I'd be concerned." "......." The master flutters his eyes towards mind and looks at my face. "Is that right." He looks somewhat lonesome, the ogre quickly returns his gaze to the hot water in the tea kettle and mixes it lightly. Strange. Besides, under any circumstances why would such a high-class ogre want to marry me? "Do you want to marry me that much?" "Of course." When I asked him this, the ogre nodded in such a beautiful and honest manner, he looked like a young man. "Why, it's strange. You already own such a fine inn. There must be plenty of people who want to be your wife! Also, a little while ago all those Ayakashi seemed angry because of this. They seem to hate humans a lot. "No, taking a human for your wife is quite honourable, for Ayakashi it raises their rank. Even in the old times, there were tales of kidnapping human girls for this reason."

48. "Really?" "Yes, and you are Shiro's granddaughter. You are one of few who knows about Ayakashi and their secluded lifestyle, that alone makes you valuable as Shiro is somewhat of a celebrity in the Hidden Realm." "Valuable?" "You'll come to understand it naturally." The ogre smiled and finally laughed. "In addition, human girls with high spiritual energy are really delicious for Ayakashi. You taste delicious, so that means you are dear to me. But because you are dear to me I cannot eat you. But since you are delicious I want to eat you even more. But, I cannot eat you. They say this conflict is similar to living in hell. So it is a superb pleasure, there are others that have said this to be true. That's why love with humans is so restricted."

49."What? That's meaningless and dangerous, it's contradictory above anything else." "No, there's nothing contradictory about it at all. In short, for a bored Ayakashi, human girls are unusual, which makes them extreme subjects of interest." The story that ogre told me had sounded like something my grandpa had said long ago. As you can imagine, the ogre raised his voice, "Do you like sweets?" he said, picking up a box behind him and fishing around in it. It was a sugary confectionery that imitated the shape of beautiful cherry blossoms. I was hungry, so I picked it up and ate it without hesitation. The sugar confectionery is not too sweet and has a cherry like a flavour, it tastes good, along with this it has a liquid-like centre. I ate it silently. I wonder what I should do now? At this moment, the strong feelings of disappointment in my grandfather emerge. I know the cause of this frustration and anger now. To know that my favourite grandfather would do something so disappointing and regrettable. What should I do? After a few moments of silence, I raise my face and look at the ogre's. I am afraid of those red eyes. "Hey, what if I just return my grandpa's debt, or is it useless?"

50. "What do you mean?" "I'll return the debt instead of marrying." The air in this place changes, it was the words that came out of my mouth that caused it to happen. It happened as soon as I proposed that question. The ogre adopted a serious expression in contrast to his normally cool one. "How will you return such a large amount of money?" "I'll work and earn the money, of course, besides, I'm sure this isn't the most ideal situation. If I am married to you the employees will not be happy right? You just need to give me some time to get the money." ".........." "My presence here only brought anger to the Ayakashi, one of them even threatened to eat me which I'm sure would leave a bad aftertaste." Gulping, I take a breath. The ogre keeps a calm atmosphere, glancing around the room with his cold red eyes. There was a small silence. I know, it was a reckless and foolish thing to say but, this is the only way. "I see, I see. Are you trying to bargain with me? Little girl." He drops a cigarette into the hearth.

51. The ogre who called me such a thing for the first time stood to his knees. He had a bad expression on his face with a nuisance like attitude. To be threatened by a spirit, what am I supposed to do? "Well, you can try. It'll be difficult but you can try and become an employee here. However, if you decide to work here at Tenjin-ya I will not treat you as my bride and you will have no protection. I will treat you like any other employee. So don't complain if you get eaten, alright?" "So you've shown your true nature, ogre!" "You wanted it this way." Said the ogre with a cold stormy tone. "You can find a job on your own. However, I'm not sure if you'll find one at this inn. After all, everyone is very busy and on top of that because of what Shiro's done in the past humans are hated terribly here." "....." "Well, goodluck." The ogre bent down, then stood up adjusting his coat. "Your bed is prepared, it's in an advanced suite, however, it's only for today. From tomorrow you will have to sleep in the rooms for the lowest ranked employee. Well, that's if you can find a job, you'll be homeless if you cannot find one."

52."I know that." "Is that so? Well, if you try and run away I will eat you straight away, no questions asked. But in saying that, if you become my bride I will gladly welcome you." The ogre had an ironic smile on his face. Returning this debt, it seems more than impossible. I was convinced that very soon I'd give up and have to be this ogre's bride. There is no question that this ogre is dominating. "I'm tired." After the demon left, my intentions to leave this inner room came out. The three faceless sisters were waiting for me, they guided me to my bed. The room was named 'Okamaki.' It's a lovely room. This guest room was on the upper floor and smelled of a sweet incense. The futons were already prepared. There were two pillows, I kick one to the far corner of the room and crawl into bed. As soon as I got in, tears started to overflow, I bite on my lips. Even if I try to stay strong this is all a big confusing puzzle. I just want to try. Now I'm worried about what to do and who to believe, there is only misery and loneliness.

53. All these doubts for my grandfather who I thought were family more than anything. As my grandfather's debtor, he just willingly turned me over to be the bride for an Ayakashi. This body is the only reason why, because I can see Ayakashi. However, it must have been convenient for him. My grandfather may not have loved me, although that is a lonely thought. Still, I can not hate my grandfather. This is so lonely.

I fell into my futon for a while as tears were running down my face. I was hungry, I was so hungry that I could not sleep. It's so miserable. I stood up and looked out through a large rounded glass window. In the dark night, the red light of a tower was flashing in the distance. This feels like the views of a city at night. The ships flying overhead had increased compared to before, it looked as if the aircraft were enough to light up this world. It's bright and noisy even though it's surely past midnight... When I thought about such things, a vague sound could be heard from the entrance to the room.

54. I tighten my facial expression thinking of what it could possibly be, something then opens the sliding door. There was a boy who looked about ten years old. He raised his voice surprised, "Woah." He fell down on the spot. He had bright blue eyes, like fireworks, and even in the dark, I noticed his white fluffy ears and tail. "Oh, that was unexpected." I thought that an Ayakashi had come to eat me, my heart was beating fast. The boy was looking up at me with big eyes, a tray in his hand. There was three sushi lining the tray. My stomach growled. "I thought that you might be hungry. So I brought a midnight snack. This is a secret from the Master. Don't worry, it's not poisoned so please eat at ease." Said the boy in a small hushed voice. I feel relieved from his appearance as he smiles and shakes his tails. "Thank you very much, what's your name?" "Oh, I'm a nine tails fox, my name is Ginji! I'm the Young Master here at Tenjinya." The boy with silver hair bowed his head deeply. "Oh, so you're the Young Master? Isn't that a very great position? Perhaps, you're the son of that ogre?"

55."No, that's not the case. The Master doesn't have any sons." The child explained to me almost as if I was blind. "Here at Tenjinya, the position is not hereditary. The title is easy enough to understand, so the right person is chosen for it. It can change depending on the circumstances. Even though I look like this, I'm nearly as old as the Master." "No way." "It's true!" If I can recall I believe that fox boys are not very reminiscent of their childhoods and have calm attitudes, his tone also sounds somewhat grown up. In the room that the ogre and I were in earlier... There it was, a revelation! I remember that another Ayakashi was wearing a fox mask. "Do you mean, Ginji-san you were in the room with the ogre earlier?" "Yeah, I see you've noticed, as expected of Shiro's granddaughter." Ginji-san had a very bright expression on his face. He brings the sleeve of his kimono to his face, confirming it. "Because I can use the art of shapeshifting I can use nine forms for the situation. I mainly use the form of an adult man but we often use the appearance of a child."

56."Why a child?" "Well, this is a pretty form is it not? Besides, I was afraid I'd scare you otherwise." Ginji-san smiled. "Is your stomach feeling better?" Ginji-san is then immersed in smoke. I could see a white kimono as the smoke retracted, as it disappeared a beautiful silver-haired woman appeared. She looks extremely beautiful. I touch the fluffy ears and tail. "Waaahh, amazing!" An unexpectedly adorable voice comes out. "No, no! Don't touch too much." "I'm impressed, you really look like a genuine girl!" Ginji-san who is somewhat shy is unexpectedly funny. I look around carefully before pulling Ginji-san into my room. "I'd like to hear various stories about this place, I was wondering if now would be a good time while I'm eating." "Of course, I'm sure there are many things you're uneasy about.

57. Ginji-san looked depressed. He changed into the figure of a white fox child and entered the room. "This is cute." "So fluffy! Too fluffy!" The fox rested his head on my knee, I drop my jaw and stroke its back and the tailcoat. These transformations are extraordinary. Even if he's an Ayakashi like the ogre or the spider just by being in this lovely appearance of a fox I can tell he's showing his true face. I feel like I can trust him. I grabbed a sushi with my other hand and took a bite. The sweetness of the modest vegetables, rice and sweet potatoes are really delicious. I like sushi with these ingredients in them, I also like simple butterfly sushi paired with noodles! The hunger in my stomach makes this taste irresistible. "Hey, why was everyone covering their faces in the room with the ogre earlier? It looked really suspicious." When I asked about the thing that was concerning me the most Ginji seemed shocked. "Eh?? I don't always cover my face, not around employees. Mostly only when dealing with external customers, it's corporate style, is it not?"

58."Before that was an employees meeting and a deal with an external customer." I felt he was not lying as he said this. "But as long as you wear your mask, people cannot see your expression, so they may think of the worst. It isn't very efficient and only raises suspicion which is already common for Ayakashi." "Us Ayakashi also think about efficiency you know!" I take another bite of the sushi whilst patting the small fox. "Hey, what type of person is that Ogre Master anyway?" Just what kind of person is that Ogre? Even now, I cannot forget those cold eyes from before. "The Master is a wonderful Ogre, cold, brutal and bold." "That's a bit contradictory don't you think?" Will these cold and brutal ties lead to something deeper? I thought whilst letting my eyes look into the distance. "No, no! The Master is truly a wonderful Ogre. He is a real Ogre. He is an Ogre God. The employees love him and he is also a member of Hachiyo in the Hidden Realm." "Hachiyo?" "Hachiyo is one country out of the eights land in the Hidden Realm. It shoulders a shrine that manages the land. In the middle, there is a temple where the Lords settle in the centre. These important lands are connected to different worlds in eight directions. One of them in Tenjinya which is located in the Northeastern area. So in short, the master is an amazing person even here in the Hidden Realm and Apparent Realm!"

59. "Hmmm." I did think there could be various lands for Ayakashi. Ginji-san seems a little shocked by my small reaction. "So this is the Northeastern land, is it not?" "Yes, you're right. Tenjinya even in the Hidden Realm is an inn located in the Northeast. When Ayakashi travel in and out of different realms they often stay here. That's why we are prospering." I thought that flourishing under the watch of an Ogre would be quite unique in the realm of Ayakashi. Whilst picking up the last sushi I ask Ginji-san a question. "What kind of inn is Tenjinya? What kind of Ayakashi are you?" "The Ogre Master is the owner of Tenjinya. I am a nine-tailed silver fox, the Young Master here. I'm mainly an assistant to the Master. We manage and handle the inn etc." "Hmmm." "Also, that Tsuchigomo from the meeting earlier in the executive front desk manager."

60. "Oh, that guy! He was being pretty bold back there." Whilst looking around the room I found that I was reminded of bad memories. That Tsuchigomo was bouncing off the spider thread and in the end, I was trapped in the elegant web. He said such unreasonable things back then. "I'm sorry, there's no excuse for that. The tsuchigomo is quite a young man and a little hot-headed. It's easy to anger him. Earlier, he was only looking out for the Master. He doesn't have the highest opinions of humans and since you are Shiro's granddaughter it only made it worse. He couldn't cope with the idea of marriage between a human girl." "Is grandpa hated by Ayakashi's here that much?" Judging from the attitude of that spider I could understand that much but decided to ask anyway. "Yep. Shiro Tsubaki was a human being with immense power. He liked to say and do fun things, it got to a point where it was too much to handle. For example, the debt crisis he caused, what made the debt so bulky was his extreme drinking habit and that he disappeared after half destroying the accommodation at the end of his stay." "What did grandpa half break?" "The damage at the front was especially serious, the urn of the Higashiyu cultural heritage was turned back to a tree. The front desk manager is considerably irritable when he is mentioned. At this inn, 80% of the employees despise and do not like Shiro Tsubaki whilst the other 20% might as well worship him."

61. "Yeah, that really sounds like grandpa." It seemed most of the world hated him and only he was loved by only a few. I did not witness the bad days nor the terrible things my grandfather did, but I have heard stories here and there. I understood most of them so I can imagine them all to be true. Because he was damned to see things others could not. But, I suppose there wasn't much harm in having friendships with Ayakashi to him. Ginji-san nodded. "Oh! There are also other executives such as 'The landlady,' the first one responsible for maintenance. She is in charge of the 'Young Female Hostess.' There is also a position called, 'Big lady hostess.' There's also 'Soba,' of Shirasawa and Dharma of, 'The Boards.' There's also Tanuki that takes care of the shoes and Itachi that manage the gardens. On top of that, there are lots of kappa and water sprites as well." "Woaaah, so many Youkai here have jobs." "Yes, that's true. This is an inn for Ayakashi after all. So naturally, we have a lot of residents here. There are also the three sisters who are in the middle of everything, as well as many choreographers." Not all Ayakashi can be drawn together but under the ogre, he has found a way for them all to gather. This is a truly fascinating world that even humans can find themselves in, although the chances of that are quite small. I finished eating my sushi and sighed.

62. "In such a place like this, I wonder if there's any work that I could do." "Since there's always a lack of hands here in our inn I'm sure you'd find work if there's a place willing to accept you. So I think it would be better for you to stay in a place close to here and become a waitress." "Well, that was my first choice." Of course, it's said that ladies with womanly bodies that work as waitresses are normally extremely comfortable, but they can not get out of being a waitress. "A lot of the girls here are waitresses. Many of them have a longing for the Master though. As a bride candidate, they'll naturally be jealous and act hostile towards you. It'll probably be more of the younger woman that will act in such a way towards you." "Oh, alright." I became pale unexpectedly. That sounded so unreasonable even though this is a situation where I'm refusing to become a bride. "Well, what about the kitchen then? Even though I'm young I can cook many dishes. There's nothing I can't use when in the kitchen." "The kitchen will be a lot more difficult, it's forbidden to women." "I see." I sunk back.

63. Surely, at restaurants that are old, it may not have been a strange custom. I've heard stories about a woman being forbidden from working in the kitchen. It's very disagreeable. Even if working in the kitchen is impossible surely there are other jobs. "I wish I had a job. I guess now I'm in the process of withdrawing into a certain business right now." "Withdrawing of a business?" Ginji-san answered ambiguously. "Ah, yeah." I was starting to feel droopy although I do not know the reason why. I don't know the reason why but it seems there are various things causing difficulties for Ginji-san even though he's the Young Master. I can hear festival music from somewhere. I lifted my face and turned it towards the rounded side of the glass window. "Although it's midnight Hiduyo is still lively." "Night is the best time for activity, is it not? Ayakashi don't need to sleep until dawn. Although the cycle may be different for humans. Normally we wake up at noon and prepare for the night. We ready ourselves for the sales." "Well, I'm staying up late tonight it seems." "I must go soon." Ginji-san panics and changes from the form of a small fox back to the silver-haired boy.

64.Even though it's a lovely figure the spine and muscles intertwining is unsettling. It is a sophisticated appearance. "If something happens please feel free to tell me, I'll be sure to help out!" "Thank you, if only all Ayakashi were kind like yourself." When I thanked him, Ginji-san smiled. I lowered my head. "Don't be scared." After that, he picked up the plate and left the room without a sound. "......" I remain sitting in the room, keeping silent and just vaguely listening. There was busy festival music in the distance, sounds of Ayakashi feasting and having a good time. Crossing the glass window is a gorgeous ship decorated with red lanterns. I turn around, there is a dark silence in the room.

#kakuriyo #kakuriyo bed and breakfast for spirits #kakuriyo no yadomeshi #kakuriyo bed and breakfast for spirits translations #translations #kakuriyonoyadomeshi #TsubakiAoi #aoitsubaki #ginji-san #oodanna

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belphegor1982 · 6 years ago

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New story! A little Don Camillo one-shot, set (roughly) between 1951 and 1957, my first foray into canon time for these guys. Hope you like!

Summary: Both Don Camillo and Peppone have a bone to pick with a trumpet player. Music has charms to soothe the savage beast, but what about the priest and the mayor? (on FFnet/on AO3)

THE TRUMPET OF CONTENTION

In the Lowlands, music, like a few other subjects, is something to be treated seriously.

Giuseppe Verdi is, of course, rightfully revered, and his name and works are one of the very few things that can make everyone – be they Red, Green, White, or Black – reach an agreement. It’s not even a matter of having culture or education: people pulled out of school as kids still know their Nabucco from their Trovatore. Folks will come by the music gene through blood, and you’ll find entire families passing down names like Radamès, Ofelia, Ernani, or Desdemona.

The Pedrettis were such a family. Iago Pedretti had a good voice for bel canto, his son Corrado played the bass drum, and when his daughter Leonora started to show interest for the trumpet, the little girl quite naturally found a place in the town band. She was singularly gifted, and before she was twelve years old, she could be found playing among the more experienced musicians on days of important events, wearing proudly her own bright white shirt and a cap that looked a little too big for her head.

The Pedrettis were so proud that, every time the band played, the whole family – grandfathers and grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins – went out en masse, all wearing their Sunday best, to see Leonora and her trumpet. They turned up for everything: town festivals, religious processions, political events, and so on and so forth. When Peppone was first re-elected as mayor, the band followed him and his staff on foot from the Communist headquarters to the town hall; as they crossed the main square, only a dozen metres from the church doors, the Pedrettis were first in line to applaud, even though every single one of them was a staunch anti-Communist and the band played Bandiera Rossa and L’internationale.

Don Camillo had watched the proceedings from the rectory door with his arms crossed, jaws clamped on his half-cigar, glowering at the blatant provocation. Afterwards, he went to the Pedrettis and protested to the paterfamilias.

“How can you let that little girl play for the Communists? Festivals and processions are fine, but not this Bolshevik propaganda!”

Pedretti was unperturbed.

“Reverend, musical talent is apolitical. As long as my little girl plays well, she can play whatever she likes within the limits of the law.”

Don Camillo bit his lip and left it at that. The day after he went to see Peppone in his workshop.

“Listen,” he said with a stormy glare, “the band aren’t half bad even though half of them are lunatics who still think Stalin is a decent person for some reason; they can parade in front of the church playing their nonsense as much as they like if they don’t mind having their bottoms kicked from here to Moscow if I catch them. But that little Leonora Pedretti is an innocent and I won’t let you recruit children for your Party.”

Peppone looked up from the motor he was working on and met Don Camillo’s eyes with a scowl of his own.

“I’m not recruiting anyone from the band. That kid is good with a trumpet, that’s it. Nobody’s making her wave a red flag around.”

“You’re right. She just plays the red flag song. Next time I’ll need music I’ll just hire the band from Molinetto. I hear they only play for funerals and processions.”

Peppone exploded. “Even you wouldn’t dare to do something so vile as that!” he shouted. “Just because you’re miffed I got re-elected –”

“Why on Earth this town picked you again knowing what you’re capable of is beyond me,” said Don Camillo huffily – especially as himself had, in what he considered a moment of weakness, voted for Peppone. “But no, your election in itself has nothing to do with it. The problem is that you and your henchmen are making a thirteen year old lass play music that could get her excommunicated, with her none the wiser!”

“If the Pope wants to set the Spanish Inquisition on people for playing music, that’s your problem, not mine! And I’m not the conductor, that’s old Gianelli’s job!”

“It’s the official town band! As the mayor and the boss of the region’s Communists, I’d say it’s your problem!”

They were nose to nose, sleeves rolled up, glaring daggers, and God only knows what would have happened if the sound of a lone trumpet, soon followed by a few other instruments, hadn’t reached them at that very moment.

It was rehearsal time for the town band and all windows were wide open to the cool evening air. Both men recognised the solemn tones of “Un dì, felice, eterea” from Il Trovatore. It worked surprisingly well, even without voices.

“Verdi will always be Verdi,” remarked Peppone quietly after a while.

“Yes he will,” said Don Camillo who had a lump in his throat.

They exchanged sheepish glances, feeling rather ridiculous now that the heat had died down. Then Don Camillo remembered exactly what had got him so worked up; but he shook his head.

“Look,” he said, “hear me out. We both know that the child has talent and Gianelli will soon be out of his depth because he only knows the basics of trumpet playing. She’ll need to study music seriously, in the city.”

Peppone nodded gravely. “I agree. Problem is, I know the Pedrettis. They’re poor as church mice. They couldn’t pay for music school even if they worked every second of every day for a hundred years.”

They stared at each other while the music drifted in on the breeze. Peppone put down the wrench he had been clutching and scratched the back of his head.

“I can have a whip-round around town,” he said eventually. “The Pedrettis aren’t very popular with my lads, but this is about making sure that a child of the people gets a decent education and a future. And we’ve all heard her play Verdi. Imagine what she’ll be capable of with a proper teacher!”

“I’ll convince the landowners to chip in,” said Don Camillo. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll wager they’ll listen to their parish priest. Besides, I can just point out the fact that she’d no longer have to play that garbage of yours.”

Peppone clenched his fists. But he breathed deeply and held out his hand.

“All right. Let’s see if the two highest authorities in the village can’t make this work,” he grumbled.

In the distance, the band struck up another song, faster and more spirited. Don Camillo shook Peppone’s hand heartily and walked away with a beaming smile while Peppone went back to his motor, humming along absently as he worked.

So it was that the town band lost a trumpet player, and little Leonora Pedretti went to the city to study music. An older cousin put her up; she paid for room and board by doing small odd jobs and delivering packages, and worked hard on both music theory and practice.

Leonora was not the first local child the village had helped on the way to higher spheres; it was rare, but not unheard of. The entire town contributed to the school fees: tenant farmers who barely had ten lire to rub together, die-hard Communist workers who called the Pedrettis ‘reactionaries’ and all kinds of unpleasant things, and even the rich farmers who found it easier to part with one of their limbs rather than money.

Such is the power of music. Politics often work their way through people’s heads; music always works through their hearts.

Years passed, bringing hot summers, hard winters, and one disastrous flood when heavy rains made the great river break its banks; people mostly waited till their houses were clean and dry before tearing each other apart over politics again. Elections came and went along with the years, and Peppone was re-elected mayor once more.

Through all that, the town folk cherished one of the real apolitical constants: the knowledge that their little trumpet player in training was doing a good job. The cousin she lived with wrote regular letters to her parents with news and the progress she made, until one day Leonora sent her own letters, because she had found a place she could live in by herself.

The few people who had the occasion to go to the city and hear her play all came back with reassuring words: the girl was good. Seeing her in the brass section in such deep concentration that she sometimes went cross-eyed justified all expenses and sacrifices. Her trumpet blended in perfectly with the rest of the orchestra, not a single note out of tune, which is the thankless fate of musicians without solos: to be essential, but easily overlooked threads in the big tapestry of orchestral music.

And then one day, as they combed through Leonora’s newest letter, Pedretti and his wife found a word that made them peer at the paper as though with a microscope. A word that was incongruous, fantastic, and truly and utterly foreign.

Jazz.

Their little girl wrote about learning to play jazz music.

The word was far from unfamiliar, of course. People listened to the radio, which often enough did feature music not composed by the classical masters. But in these parts, where land had history written in the blood of generations of farmers who lived and died on it not so differently than their parents had, and where the great river stretched out in the sun and in the mists, carrying hundreds of years of dreams, tears, and laughter with its mud and its pebbles, novelty and any of its potential contribution had to be weighed and studied before being allowed to become familiar.

Jazz was considered music, of course, but not ‘serious’ music. It was good enough for city people or foreigners – in other words, people who lived further along the country road – but not hard-working people who rose with the sun to feed the pigs, tilled the earth, or worked dairies, and then went to bed with their bones aching more every night.

The Pedrettis kept the letter and didn’t breathe a word to anyone, but soon enough, the word got out and ran throughout the village and its seven frazioni like an overexcited puppy. Unfortunately for the Pedrettis, it turned out that a lot of people had a lot to say on the subject, and much of what they had to say concerned young Leonora and the supposed lack of moral fibre in her upbringing. Nobody could agree on which would have been worse: the fact that a good, decent country girl, whom they’d known since she was little and who had received a proper Christian education had abandoned Verdi for the sirens of foreign music – or if that same girl had dyed her hair and gone around wearing make-up and short skirts.

Those whose opinion on the matter ranged from asking how bad it all could be anyway and not caring one bit what a person did as long as they were happy were sadly few and quickly drowned in the mass of gossip.

Chatter grew and grew until Leonora came back to her parents’ for a few days of holiday.

She had grown from a skinny child into a long, sprightly girl who walked with calm certainty and didn’t talk much. Her hair was intact, a little longer than it had been, and she wore no make-up at all. The folks who were still unsure about which of jazz or make-up was worse quickly made up their minds and decided on the former.

Leonora mostly stayed at the family farm for the first couple of days and to all intents and purposes remained blessedly unaware that she and her trumpet were all the village could talk about these days.

Since it was one of the few subjects which transcended politics, the more vehement critics soon referred to their own moral authority: the reactionaries and the little old ladies complained to Don Camillo, the Communists to Peppone in his capacity as the section’s secretary, and the others to Giuseppe Bottazzi in his capacity as mayor – which meant Peppone pulled a double shift. He was mightily annoyed about it all.

On one hand, it irritated him to no end that imperialist America had ruined yet another honest Italian girl, luring her with its newfangled ways and flashy… what exactly he hadn’t figured out yet, but knew he would have to if asked. And he couldn’t swallow the fact that a musician, after studying and playing masters like Verdi or Puccini – but mostly Verdi – could just move on to something so different as simply as that. It felt like a betrayal.

On the other, he had always had an argumentative streak, and seeing all those people finding fault in one girl bothered him a little. Leonora Pedretti wasn’t a political adversary and she hadn’t chosen to shoulder any kind of authority at all: she was only a trumpet player. And not even the kind to want to play Giovinezza or La Marcia Reale, either.

It was all very complicated, and Peppone didn’t like complicated.

In the end, he shoved his hat on his head one morning and went out to town.

It was market day on a fair, bright morning, and people flooded the main square. Peppone pushed through the crowd and the stands to get to the church parvis, where Don Camillo was sitting on his usual bench near the rectory door, reading a newspaper and smoking a half-cigar.

“Listen here,” he said, planting his fists on his hips, “what have you been telling your church biddies about that Pedretti girl?”

Don Camillo raised his head, looking curious.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been no end of whiners and complainers knocking on the People’s House and the town hall lately telling me I should do something about that blasted affair. The Communists I can handle, but some of the others were your crowd and I’ve had it up to here.”

“Comrade, you’ve chosen to run for mayor and somehow you got elected,” said Don Camillo, going back to his newspaper. “It’s only natural that people will look to you to sort things out, God help them.”

Peppone was beginning to see red.

“When the girl was in the town band, she played the people’s music and you couldn’t stomach it. Now she’s not in the town band anymore and she’s playing American propaganda garbage! How do you like that?”

Don Camillo folded up his newspaper and rose to his feet.

“And what’s it got to do with me?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

“You’re the one always defending ruddy America like it’s a bastion of decency against the big scary Reds,” shouted Peppone, “and meanwhile the same America turns our girls’ heads and corrupts them until they forsake Verdi for some so-called music nobody can understand unless they speak English!”

“Reds never scare me, big or little!” bellowed Don Camillo, and he gripped Peppone by the lapels of his jacket.

Peppone grabbed him by the front of his cassock and roared, “I’ll see about that!”

Blood boiled, the pressure was off the charts, and blows would probably have started raining any second from two pairs of hands as big as shovels, when a loud, discordant noise sounded all around the square.

It was a noise like a duck getting stomped on, and it was just absurd enough to make both men freeze.

The market stand owners and the people around them had left their shopping to watch something potentially more interesting, namely a brawl between the mayor and the priest; but they all froze, too, and turned to the point of origin of that awful sound.

Young Leonora Pedretti was standing in the middle of the square wearing her Sunday dress and a defiant scowl on her face. In her right hand was her trumpet.

She breathed deeply, raised the mouthpiece to her lips, and began to play.

Later on, when people could reflect on it calmly, they realised things were missing, like a clarinet, a piano, some percussions, and maybe a double bass. But it was of little importance.

Music rose out of that little trumpet, a melancholic melody, like someone determined to keep hope alive through tears. The music – thin, bordering on reedy – trembled and tensed but always landed on its feet. It was a sound that tore a piece of your heart while telling you you were allowed to cry over it. Then Leonora segued into another song, more cheerful, cheeky even, with little high notes that sounded like winks, if winks could be turned into sound. It wasn’t mocking, however, but rather invited you to share a joke. The number was short, and soon gave way to a third song.

This time the trumpet was gentle and warm, the notes ample and clear, and the melody flew into the blue sky to the great river shining under the sun. And the people on the square heard, in the silence between breaths and in the quiver that punctuated the notes, the voices of men, women and children not so different than they were, who played and sang about hope, freedom, loss, joy, grief, their faith in God and their own great river that flowed majestically to the sea, carrying hundreds of years of blood, tears, and dreams not so different than their own.

Leonora held the last note and slowly lowered the trumpet, her face crimson from neck to hairline. She cast a last long look at the square full of people and walked away without a word. Everything she meant to say had been said.

Peppone and Don Camillo had loosened their grip on each other during the impromptu concert without quite knowing when or how. They both kept staring at the spot Leonora had been half a minute after she left.

“…Well,” said Don Camillo eventually in a voice that shook ever so slightly, “that wasn’t Verdi.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Peppone ran a hand across his eyes and fumbled for his handkerchief.

They looked at each other, opened their mouths to add something, but both realised at the same time that they, too, had said everything they meant to say.

They both took off their hats to each other. Don Camillo returned to his bench, still looking dazed, while Peppone went back home the long way, along the road on the main dyke, where he could see his great river and watch the sun wink on the muddy waters.

After that memorable market day, when Don Camillo received a complaint about girls who were no better than they should be and played music they should not, he threw out his arms and said, “I don’t know if it’s the Devil’s music. All I know is what I heard, and what I heard was so beautiful that I don’t believe God would leave it to the Devil.” And the crucified Christ on the main altar smiled, because he was right.

When the same people went to Peppone, he crashed his enormous fist on his desk and shouted, “The next wretch who says anything against that bloody trumpet goes through the window and learns to fly. Do I make myself clear?”

“Daddy,” his youngest boy asked him that very evening as his father went to give him his good night kiss, “what did that lady play the other day, exactly?”

Peppone vaguely sensed that the question had some importance; he thought long and hard before answering in a tone of finality, “She played the trumpet, and she played it well.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

And, as it turned out, he was quite right.

THE END

Thank goodness for music. The world would be so much darker, colder, and poorer without it!

Translations/Notes:

Red, Green, White, and Black: respectively Communists, Republicans (anti-monarchist, anti-clerical, and anti-fascist party, which was still left of the political centre at the time), Christian Democrats, and Fascists.

Radamès is from Aida; Ernani is from the eponymous opera; Desdemona and Iago are from Otello; Corrado is from Il Corsaro; Leonora is from Il Trovatore and La forza del destino; Ofelia stands out, being from a lesser-known opera (based on Hamlet) and not from Verdi.

Don Camillo voting for Peppone in his first re-run as mayor is a reference to one of the short stories, "Ancora il fantasma del cappello verde" (the ghost with the green hat again). The "ghost" is Peppone, who sneaked into the church in the middle of the night to pray for re-election and inadvertently left his hat behind. At the very end of the campaign, when it looks like he's going to lose, he makes an honest speech, straight from the heart, in which he asks his citizens to treat the election as a verdict on how good a job he did… and wins by a landslide. Don Camillo later admits to the crucified Christ on the main altar that seeing Peppone like this, sad and lonely, moved him so much he voted for him – and he's confused and furious about it.

I must admit fumbled with the chronology a little bit. Peppone's first re-election was in summer 1951, and the terrible flood from the Po river (some of it depicted in the second Don Camillo film with actual news footage) happened in both the real world and the "Little World" a few months later, in November.

Giovinezza (Youth) was the official hymn of the Italian Fascist Party, regime, and army up until 1943; the Marcia Reale (Royal March) was the official hymn of the Kingdom of Italy from 1861 to 1946. Both were usually played with the other, and both were forbidden after World War 2.

(If you liked, please consider leaving a comment so I know I’m not just shouting in the desert - not that I mind, but it gets lonely without someone to share it with!)

#Don Camillo #fanfiction #my stuff

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piratethornton · 8 years ago

Text

Pirates of the Clawribbean

Chapter 2: Pirates!

Fandom: Zootopia

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10]

Sleek, dark wood, three masts, and a black flag with a canine paw outlined in white. It looked every part a classic pirate ship, and it was swiftly heading towards the Cloverleaf.

The cheetah and rabbit stared at it open mouthed as the lemmings hurried this way and that to prepare defences. If she hadn't been so distracted, Judy would have been amused as the once highly-organised crew scattered about the deck in panic. Then the cannons started.

Clawhauser was the first to wake up to reality. "Lady Judy! We need to get below deck!"

Judy was transfixed. The pirate ship glided closer and closer, puffs of smoke lining its side each accompanied with a loud BANG! The Cloverleaf jolted as it was hit again and again. The lemmings ran frantically in an attempt to dodge the debris. It was as if she were in the middle of one of Jack's stories. She could practically hear his voice narrating the chaos surrounding her. She was pulled out of her stupor when a paw grabbed her arm and dragged her below deck.

Just as Clawhauser shut the door behind them, the cannon fire mercifully stopped, though this was probably because the pirates were now close enough to board the merchant vessel. They placed wooden planks to bridge the two ships and charged across, swords flashing in the sun. One of them, a female honey badger with a single golden hoop earring and bright red hat, raised her weapon straight into the air and addressed the merchant crew.

"Listen up, you knaves! Surrender or die!"

The lemmings froze, looked at each other and as one raised their hands.

"Clawhauser! We can't just hide!" Judy struggled ferociously against the cheetah who was now carrying her towards the galley.

"We don't have a choice!" he replied, not stopping. "Those are pirates! Real pirates! With swords! All I can do is file paperwork and - no offence, but you don't really have much experience."

She managed to wriggle out of his grasp. "I have a weapon. It's in my cabin. I'll go get it -"

"Judy!"

"You have the box, right?"

Clawhauser patted his jacket. He made sure to have it on him at all times.

"Then go hide. I'll be back soon." She was off before he could argue.

She ran as fast as she could towards her cabin, trying not to grow anxious at the fact that it was now much quieter than a few moments ago. She had to focus on collecting her pistol and rejoining Clawhauser. Once she was at her destination, she quickly and silently opened the door and pulled out one of her suitcases stored underneath her bed. Just as she was about to open it, she saw a long piece of metal enter her vision and settle across her throat.

"Alright sweetheart, I'm sure you know the deal here. Do something I don't like, and I'll do something you really don't like."

Her entire body froze, except for her heart which pounded wildly against her chest. She was too terrified to even shake. She looked down and along the sword hovering an inch from her neck to see that it was being held by a dark red paw, and the body heat behind her told her that the mammal the voice belonged to was somewhat larger than her.

"Let's make this nice and simple. Where's the cheetah?"

Cheetah? Clawhauser! The box! Judy took a deep breath and summoned all her courage. She would not betray her friend and the Navy.

"Cheetah. You know...yellow, cat, covered with spots, wider than he is tall."

The insult made her stiffen her resolve further and she stood up straighter.

The stranger gave an annoyed sigh. "Fine. We'll do it the hard way."

His other paw grabbed her left arm and he led her out of the room, his sword still under her chin. Just before they left Judy caught a sight of her captor in the mirror.

A fox.

A red fox.

A red fox holding a sword and wearing a pirate's hat on his head.

Her father would be having a heart attack.

Panic quickly grew back inside her and her breathing became quick and shallow. If only she had gotten to the pistol in time. If only she had stayed with Clawhauser. And now she was in the clutches of a fox that could easily kill her, sword or no. She swallowed, hoping she wasn't drawing attention to herself.

The fox walked through the bowels of the ship, sniffing every so often, his eyes scanning every inch they passed. Judy prayed that her friend had found a good hiding spot, and she had a pretty good idea where that was.

It seemed the pirate had come to the same conclusion; when they reached the galley he stopped.

"Alright, Mister...Clawhauser, is it? I suggest you come out so we can have a little chat."

Silence.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt ya. This cute bunny on the other hand..."

There was rustling and clinking of jars. Between some shelves two cat's eyes shone through the gloom.

"OK, I see ya. Come on out. Don't be shy."

Slowly but surely, Clawhauser shuffled out of his hiding place, knocking over some plates as he did so. He was shaking like mad and had his paws curled into his chest. Judy tried to send him a silent apology with her eyes, but she couldn't be sure it got through.

The pirate smiled. "Let's cut to the chase. You got the map?"

"M-m-map?" Clawhauser stuttered.

"Don't play dumb," said the pirate, rolling his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about. Where is it?"

Clawhauser's eyes darted to Judy before he moved a shaking hand towards his pocket.

"Clawhauser! Don't -!" Judy's pleading stopped when she felt the sword press closer to her neck.

Eventually the box was withdrawn and held out so the pirate could see. "I give you the map, you let Judy go," said Clawhauser, managing to put some authority in his voice. "OK?"

"Actually..." the pirate replied, feigning embarrassment, "you're gonna have to come along, too."

The cheetah's eyes widened in horror. "What?" he asked in a small voice.

"Don't worry, you'll like my ship." The pirate gestured to the small chairs stacked in the corner. "It's furnished for mammals larger than rodents."

Clawhauser gaped at him, any bravery regained completely vanished. Judy could practically see his mind racing as he desperately tried to think of a way out, but he looked at her again and his face crumpled in defeat. He quickly gathered himself and stared down at the fox.

"Fine," he said, "but you have to let her go."

The pirate gracefully stepped aside, still holding Judy. "Lead on."

Clawhauser glared at the fox for a moment, ignoring Judy shaking her head frantically, then walked past them through the doorway, pocketing the box again. The pirate followed close behind.

Judy started struggling, though all this accomplished was the fox wrapping his arm around her body so that he was almost carrying her. Kicking his shins seemed to have no effect either. As they got closer to the deck they started to hear the rest of the pirates roaming the ship, clearing the cabins and cargo hold of anything they thought would be valuable. Outside the lemmings were ordered to the row boats, where they sat in neat little rows without so much as a squeak of complaint as they waited patiently for the boats to be lowered into the water. One of the pirates, a male kudu, then used a large pole to push them away from the ship.

The other pirates were loading their vessel with the goods they had found, supervised by the honey badger. A cougar caught Judy's eye as he walked along the makeshift bridge between the two ships carrying a couple of suitcases she recognised.

Clawhauser hesitated when he reached the edge of the Cloverleaf, but a quick poke from the fox's sword had him crossing over to the pirate ship. He threw several nervous glances to the fox and rabbit behind him as he was coerced to the belly of the vessel, and gave any other passing pirates a wide berth. The inside of this ship was much gloomier than the merchant vessel, though was still fairly clean, and as the fox promised the passageways were indeed larger so as to accommodate the large mammals that made up the crew. This offered little comfort as the rabbit and cheetah went further and further below until they reached the brig, the darkest and dankest room in the entire ship, lit by only one lamp swinging from the ceiling. The lone cell was marked by an old but sturdy metal barrier, and the only items within were a small wooden bench and bucket.

Clawhauser gave one more look to the pirate who gestured with his head towards the open cell door. The cheetah complied and then turned around.

"Now, if you could just slide the map over here, that'd be great," the fox said with a smile.

Dutifully the box was brought out and pushed out of the cell. The fox's smile grew. He then walked up to the door and roughly pushed Judy through, Clawhauser barely catching her in time.

"Hey! You said you'd let her go!" he said, angrily.

"I did let her go," replied the fox, closing the door and locking it. "Into the cell. You need to learn to be more specific, Spots." He leaned against the metal bars and smirked lazily at his prisoners. "Welcome aboard the Black Paw, the fastest ship on the sea. I am Captain Nick Wilde, and I hope you enjoy your stay, however short it may be." He turned around, picked up the box and walked away.

Judy's rage had reached a point where she felt she had to yell something at the fox's retreating back. "You won't get away with this!"

"Already have, Carrots," came the reply just before the fox was out of sight.

"Carrots?" exclaimed Judy, confused and insulted.

"Ohhh!" Clawhauser moaned, sinking to the floor, his head in his paws. "Bogo's gonna kill me!"

"It's going to be OK," reassured Judy, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"'Protect it with your life,' he said." Clawhauser was now rocking back and forth. "'It cannot fall into the wrong hands,' he said."

"We'll fix it," insisted Judy. "What was so special about that map anyway?"

Clawhauser sighed and leaned against the back wall, his hands falling limp at his sides. "I guess you may as well as know. It's a treasure map."

Judy's ears pricked and her eyes widened. "A treasure map?"

"Yeah," he replied, thoroughly depressed. "Apparently it was found in some ruins west of Bunnyburrow. They think it belonged to the pirate Captain Maul."

Judy took a sharp intake of breath. Captain Maul was a legendary pirate, thought to have ruled the seas for a great deal of time before disappearing about fifty years ago. Very little was known about him, as any vessel lucky enough to find him was quickly obliterated. Even Jack Savage had no personal encounter with him. It was said that he was pure evil, and had possessed some super natural powers that aided his exploits. Thanks to his success he amassed a great wealth that would rival all the kings in the world put together.

"They hoped it would lead to his treasure trove," Clawhauser continued. "It would be worth millions. Thing is, no one can read it. That's why I was taking it to Zootopia. To find a translator."

"It's in a foreign language?" asked Judy.

"I think so. There were all these weird markings."

"Do you remember what they looked like?"

Clawhauser reached over and used his finger to draw on the grimy floor, his brow furrowed as he tried to recall what he had seen on the map.

Judy studied the symbols below her, her mind running a mile a minute as a plan began to form in her head.

"I think I might have an idea."

"HEY!" shouted Judy again as Clawhauser hit the bucket against the bars. They had been doing this for several minutes.

"I know you're out there!" Judy called. "I can hear you shuffling around. Rabbit ears, remember? I demand to see the Captain!"

"SHUT UP!" The kudu pirate finally revealed himself. "You're not seeing the Captain until he wants to see you."

"As his guest I have a right to see him," said Judy firmly, folding her arms.

"You're not his guest, you're a prisoner!" replied the kudu. "You don't have rights!"

"I am currently residing on the vessel he is in charge of," stated Judy, primly, "and therefore he is responsible for my wellbeing. He needs to be aware of and respond to any problems I may have, and I have a problem."

"Uh - wha - huh?" The kudu gaped at her, then shook his head to right himself. "Tough! You're not seeing him!"

Judy narrowed her eyes slightly at the kudu, then turned her head and nodded to Clawhauser, who cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"Non voglio rinunciare, no, non voglio cedere!"

"Ah!" The kudu clapped his hoofs to his ears in a vain attempt to shut out the cheetah's screeching. "Make him stop!"

Judy simply smiled back as Clawhauser kept singing, his eyes closed and his body swaying to the aria.

"Please!" the kudu implored when Clawhauser reached a particularly high note. "OK! OK! I'll take you to him!"

Clawhauser's jaws snapped shut. Both he and Judy grinned in triumph. With a scowl on his face, the pirate opened the cell and stepped aside to let Judy out. Clawhauser sat down on the bench to wait, feeling more hopeful than he thought he would be having been kidnapped by pirates. He watched Judy follow the kudu out of the brig and sighed softly to himself.

"I knew Gazelle would save me someday."

The Captain's Cabin, like the rest of the ship, was lined with dark wood though was brightly illuminated thanks to its many windows and candelabras. The room was divided into two by a large red curtain, behind which lay the captain's living quarters. The other side was taken up by a long wooden dining table, though instead of food it was currently covered by several maps and navigational charts. Studying these were three pirates: the Captain, a fennec fox and a honey badger. Captain Maul's map lay straightened out in the middle, its box having been easily broken into, and was the primary focus of the pirates' attention.

The honey badger sighed. "Sorry, Cap. I haven't seen any of these markings before."

"You're supposed to be the expert on these things!" replied the frustrated Captain.

"I'm an expert on curses and legends, not codes," she argued back, putting her hands on her hips. "We all knew it was supposed to be difficult to read when we stole it."

"That's why we brought the cat, right?" The fennec fox gave a small gesture with his head towards the door.

"Yeah, maybe it's time to see what he knows." Captain Wilde made to get up but raised his head sharply when some knocking was heard.

"Err...Captain?"

Captain Wilde huffed in annoyance. "Kinda busy, Pronk."

"Bucky."

"Whatever. Can it wait?"

"...Not really."

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Alright. What is it?"

The door opened just enough for the kudu to poke his head through. "The - er - rabbit wanted to see you."

The fox blinked, confused. "What?"

"The rabbit," Bucky repeated. "She's very insistent. She wouldn't shut up about it."

"And you would know all about that," the honey badger muttered under her breath.

The Captain was sitting ramrod in his seat, thoroughly taken aback. He quickly relaxed in his chair and replaced his hat on his head. "Send her in."

The door widened further and Bucky stepped aside to let Judy through. She entered the room with her back straight, her head held high and her hands folded exactly the way her Aunt Margaret had taught her. She tried not to flinch when she heard the door close behind her, and she surveyed the three pirates before her. The small white fennec fox on the right had a brown hat squeezed between his huge ears and a scowl on his face, the honey badger on the left had her head tilted, making no effort to hide her confusion, and the Captain in the middle was leaning luxuriously in his chair, wearing a huge smirk.

"Good afternoon, Miss," he welcomed. "What brings you to my cabin this fine day?"

"I have something I wish to discuss with you," she answered, thankful that she managed to keep her voice level.

"Well, I'm very busy right now," he said, condescendingly. "I am Captain of an entire ship, you know. I'm sure whatever problem you have we can sort out later."

Judy narrowed her eyes and decided to jump straight to the point. "Having trouble reading that map?"

The Captain wrinkled his muzzle in response, his jovial manner disappearing. "I fail to see how that's any of your business."

"May I see it?"

He gave an exaggerated eye roll and lifted the map with one paw so she could see it. The map itself was made up of a few smaller maps, each containing different parts of the sea and covered with arrows and markings similar to those Clawhauser had drawn in the cell. Judy's eyes raked over them and she smiled.

"As I thought. Lapine."

"La-what?" asked the Captain, confused.

"Rabbit language," Judy explained. "It's very old, and not used much anymore, however my grandmother was insistent that we remember our heritage."

The badger's ears pricked in surprise, but the fox snorted. "Yes, a fearsome pirate would write his map in bunny."

"It is kind of ingenious," mused the badger. "No one would associate rabbits with pirates, and it's rarely used nowadays..."

"Ingenious," agreed the Captain, "and convenient. You're saying you can read this?" he asked Judy, dubiously.

The rabbit nodded, still smiling. "I look forward to you navigating U Zornhain. It's sounds like lots of fun."

The Captain stared at her, then at the map. He slowly turned back to Judy and put the map down.

"I assume you have some sort of deal in mind," he said, leaning back in his chair again.

Feeling much braver, she stepped closer to the table. "In return for reading the map, I want a share of the treasure."

The fox opened his mouth to argue, but she interrupted him before he could say anything. "Just enough to get me £100,000. Plus however much Mister Clawhauser would like. Don't worry, he's not greedy."

The Captain raised an eyebrow.

"Not when it comes to money," she reassured, sighing softly in exasperation. "It's a fraction compared to what the entire trove is worth. I also insist that while both Mister Clawhauser and I are on this ship, we are treated with respect and given proper meals and beds. And we'll more than willing to help out with the chores."

He studied her for a moment, still suspicious. "You want to join the crew?"

"Only temporarily," she answered. "Then you can drop us off on the coast near Bunnyburrow and enjoy your new found wealth in peace."

"Or...I could threaten to throw the cat overboard if you don't read the map right now."

Judy's breathing hitched. She forced herself to keep calm and thought fast.

"I could give you false information. By the time you find out the Navy will have caught up with you."

"Ooh, the Navy." The fox was smirking again. "I'm sure we'll run into them out on the big, wide sea."

Judy's anger flared. "I am Lady Judy Hopps, daughter of the Governor of Bunnyburrow and fiancée to the future Sir James Buckington, member of the Royal Court. They'll be looking for me. And the map."

"Oh, I apologise, milady," the Captain responded, tipping his hat. "I had no idea we were hosting for nobility. I'll be sure to notify the cook serve our finest gruel. Do you need us to curtsey?"

The badger and fennec fox beside him tried to stifle their giggles.

Judy was seething. "You need me."

"Are you the only rabbit who knows lapine? No, no you're not." He leaned forward and rested his head on his hands. "You should have given this a bit more thought, Carrots."

Fear had been completely replaced with rage, and Judy fought to keep her paws from shaking. She took a deep breath and tried to think. What was it her mother said? If you want something from a male, let him believe he is the smartest mammal in the room. But looking at his smug face, knowing he was the reason for her current situation and that he was flat out refusing to take her seriously, she couldn't do it. At least, not directly. Her eyes trailed to his scabbard.

"How about a challenge then?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow, confused. "Challenge?"

"Yes. If I win, then you accept my deal. If you win, then I'll read the map for you and you can dump us on the first rock you come across, or wherever you wish. How does that sound?"

The Captain thought for a moment. "What sort of challenge did you have in mind? Embroidery? Carrot farming?"

"Well, I - er - had a couple of fencing lessons when I was younger," she suggested, smiling weakly.

There was a roar of laughter from the three pirates. Nick pounded his fist against the table, and Honey wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. Judy barely managed to fight off a scowl. Calm down, she told herself. Play it naïve. Play it cute.

"Are - are you sure, Fluff?" asked Captain Wilde, still trying to recover.

"Yes, yes I am," she said pleasantly, with the air of a kit who didn't need help from their parents. "When shall we do it?"

"Right now if you're still serious," he replied, chuckling. "Just give me a moment and I'll meet you on deck."

"Very well." Judy held out her hand to the fox. He stared at it for a second, then smiled and shook it.

"Finnick, please escort the young lady out," he said, standing up. "Honey gather some swords. Nothing too heavy. Oh, and bring out Spots. He has a right to watch this."

Judy let the fennec fox lead her out of the cabin, glad that she didn't have to look at the Captain's smirk anymore. Though she held her head high and her expression was one of serenity, inside she was a bundle of nerves. Had she been too impulsive again? Would her plan work out? Did she really have a plan? She quickly went through all the sword fighting tips that Jack had told her, choosing which ones would be the most appropriate for her upcoming duel. Judy had only ever sparred with Captain Savage, and while he had been a strong opponent, she was now about to face someone much younger, fitter and a completely different build. She didn't know what Captain Wilde was like in a fight, and if she lost she and Ben would be worse for wear. Thinking of her friend, she stiffened her resolve and told herself that she would not fail.

She blinked several times when they arrived on the open deck. The afternoon sun was shining brightly and there was a strong breeze blowing in the black sails hanging from the tree masts. The timber seemed old but in very good condition, strong and sturdy. There were only two mammals on deck: the cougar Judy had spotted earlier and a gemsbok. They sent questioning looks as the fennec fox led the rabbit to side of the ship and leant against the railings, folding his arms and waiting. Judy was bemused by the tiny crew, but reminded herself she had more important things to worry about. She looked out to sea and was not surprised that they had sailed far enough for the Cloverleaf to be out of sight. The feeling of isolation only added to her nerves.

The door that led below deck opened and out came the honey badger, Pronk the kudu, Clawhauser and a polar bear that Judy couldn't help but feel she recognised. He was holding a chest which she presumed contained the swords for the duel.

Clawhauser was looking around, clearly nervous and confused, and soon his eyes landed on Judy.

"What's going on?" he mouthed to her from the other side of the ship.

She tried to give him a confident smile to reassure him, but unfortunately it came out as a grimace.

Every head turned as the door opened again to reveal Captain Wilde. He had left his hat and coat behind, wearing only his breeches and a white shirt opened at the collar. He was still smiling smugly, and confidently strode to the middle of the deck. The badger took the chest from the polar bear and made her way to join the Captain, who was looking expectantly at Judy.

She gulped. This is it. Back straight and head high, she walked over and stood next to the badger, opposite Captain Wilde. He grinned down at her.

"It's not too late to back out now," he told her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and turned to the badger, waiting for her to start proceedings.

"OK, everyone," the badger began, "I want a nice clean fight. This isn't one of those 'to the death' type of duels. First one to be incapacitated or surrender is the loser. The fight will be confined to the deck and you are not allowed outside help. Understood?" She looked to the fox and rabbit who both nodded. "Great. Choose your weapon." She opened the chest and inside were several swords of various sizes and types.

Captain Wilde gestured to the swords. "Ladies first."

Judy scanned the chest's contents and was pleased to see there were swords just her size. She chose a long narrow one, similar to those she had used when training with Captain Savage, and even though it was a good weight for her she put on a show of fumbling with it when she pulled it out, causing the pirates to chuckle. Captain Wilde picked a similar sword, slightly larger to suit his build.

"Face your opponent," ordered the badger, backing away.

The duellers positioned themselves accordingly and raised their swords.

"And... GO!"

Judy expected the Captain to attack immediately, however he remained in his starting position, smirking and quirking an eyebrow. He wanted her to make the first move. So she did.

Very soon the air was filled with the sounds of clashing steel as Judy and Captain Wilde swung their swords at each other. They moved across the entire deck as they dodged lunges and parried blows, neither one quite getting the upper hand. Captain Wilde had more power thanks to his weight, but Judy's speed and small size meant that he couldn't get a hit in. Even then, Judy could tell the Captain was holding back, and she started to panic. It didn't help that the kudu and gemsbok were hollering and offering a colourful commentary. She focused on Jack Savage and his teachings, and suddenly she could hear him as if it were another of their lessons.

Swinging your sword is all well and good for defence, but don't forget your attack. Otherwise you'll just run out of energy.

He's right, Judy thought, barely moving her ears before Captain Wilde's sword sliced them off. She needed to attack, to find an opening. She increased her ferocity and tried to get closer to the fox's body. She ducked under his sword again and made a wild swing towards his midriff. He easily dodged this by turning, which she anticipated and responded by spinning so she could reach his back. He turned around completely and used the added force to push Judy's sword away, with Judy along with it. She felt herself falling, so quickly turned her stumble into a roll and struck a defence pose, panting slightly.

Captain Wilde was looking down at her, sword poised to attack. "Do you want to surrender yet, sweetheart?"

"Do you?" she asked back, suddenly grinning.

Nick Wilde felt his clothes shift and looked down. His trousers had fallen to his ankles, the waistband having been cut by Judy's sword. He was too busy gaping at the material covering his feet that he failed to prevent his own sword twist out of his grip to land in Judy's free hand. She pointed both weapons at him, looking as if she had done this a million times before.

There was a long moment of silence.

"She hustled you."

Nick turned his head to Finnick who was walking towards him and laughing heartily. He reached up and grabbed Nick's shirt so he could shout in his face.

"She hustled you good!"

The small fox then made his way to Judy. "You're part of the crew now!" he told her. "You're gonna need one of these!" He took off his hat placed it upon the rabbit's head. He rejoined the crowd who had started laughing as well.

Scrunched up in irritation, Nick's face glared at his highly amused crew, before finally settling on to Judy. She was leaning on her sword, wearing a smirk that he had only seen when he looked in a mirror.

"So, about that map?" she asked, expectantly.

Nick's scowl deepened even further. He pulled up his trousers and turned on his heel, heading towards his cabin with his snout in the air.

"Right this way, milady," he replied, lightly.

As a smug Judy followed him, Ben cheered loudly, "Woo! You go girl!"

#Zootopia #zootropolis #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #PotC #fanfic #chapter #pirates au

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92technology-blog · 7 years ago

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WEBSITE DESIGN NECESSITIES EVERY RFP REACTION MUST CONSIST OF

I’ve lately been speaking loads approximately website design necessities, proposals, and contracts. I’ve executed so because i recognize a successful website design launch is extra than software development code, text, and photographs.

WEBSITE DESIGN SUCCESS IS AN IMMEDIATE RESULT OF A DEPENDENT MANNER AND STRONG DOCUMENTATION.

Executing a success website design undertaking starts offevolved and ends with a stable documentation. This documentation can be a suggestion, contract, or statement of labor. The name of the document is less crucial than the information contained inside the file.

Whether or not you’re a small enterprise or a massive organization, documentation is the key aspect to executing a website venture this is on-project, on-time, and on-price range.

The greater you file in the sales technique, the greater easily the manner will cross for every person worried.

In a previous weblog publish i mentioned the advent of a website RFP . Now that the advent of an RFP record is whole, i’d like to talk about reviewing and comparing RFP responses.

COMPARING RFP RESPONSES

Reviewing rfp responses sounds clean right? Well in all honesty, it sounds easier than it surely is in practice.

If the undertaking group solicited fees from a massive variety layout companies, the task of reviewing website design proposals can experience overwhelming. Okay no longer just feel – it can be overwhelming.

The extra the variety of RFP injuries, the larger the response pool and variations inside the ones proposals. With any luck a quick listing of website designer become made previous to sending out the RFP , so that it will maintain the number of proposals restrained and make the review process a chunk less difficult.

As web sites proposals arrive, it's miles important to invite your self some primary inquiries to get started out. Those encompass:

Was the rfp response furnished in the allowed timeframe?

Become the rfp reaction supplied in a expert way?

Is the rfp reaction nicely written?

Does the RFP response address all website design requirements?

Is the web site idea inside the venture’s finances constraints?

Does the website design suggestion offer within the mission’s timeline?

The above questions are excessive degree questions design to assist take away any web design firm who is truly not a match. A past due, unprofessional, or incomplete RFP reaction must be a red flag approximately capacity developers. A RFP reaction that is priced at twice your budget, or a third of your price range, ought to additionally be a situation.

Now that you’ve obtained your responses and also you’ve removed out any pink flag providers, it is time to thoroughly evaluate every rfp reaction to examine responses in a greater apples to apples way.

WEBSITE DESIGN NECESSITIES TO SEARCH FOR IN EVERY RFP REACTION

An RFP reaction can be of diverse lengths. So i won’t consciousness on extent of text or the quantity of pages. What subjects is the content material and the solution supplied.

Whilst reviewing RFP responses, make certain each response covers some middle elements of any website mission. Those web site design necessities consist of, but are not limited to, the subsequent information:

Venture plan – this must consist of a high-level listing of venture duties. Whilst this received’t be as unique as the actual assignment plan itself, there have to be enough info if you want to recognize the waft of discovery, layout, development, and build.

Undertaking management gear – the web design organization ought to listing their challenge management tool-set. This will vary by way of company, as there are plenty of first rate options available. The important factor is to confirm there is a shape to the venture control technique and that responsibilities, proprietors, and dates can be well documented.

Team individuals – one-of-a-kind website design organizations could have one-of-a-kind systems for their teams. The bigger the employer, the bigger the challenge crew. It's miles crucial for you, the buyer, to recognize who will work to your crew and to what capacity of labor they may offer. You don’t want complete resumes of each player, however you need to understand who’ll you be operating with in the coming months.

Content control device and baseline technology – if your website RFP did no longer specify a favored CMS answer, this will be an vital detail of your proposal. Ensure your RFP responses list out the CMS of choice and any additional technology so one can be utilized in coding and deploying your new websites. Take special be aware to something proprietary. A proprietary CMS package should be a red flag, as it locks you into that developer for the life of the website.

Deliverable – a deliverable list is essential because it validates what is going to be introduced at the factor of move-live. This will encompass number of web design templates, extent of content material migration, plugins utilized, and so on.

Functionality listing – the functionality listing may be very vital if the web site is extra than a easy brochure web site. The extra complex the website design, them extra detailed this listing of functionality need to be.

Content migration – in case your website challenge will consist of content material migration, take into account to file how a good deal content might be migrated over to the brand new website. This could include pages, posts, merchandise, occasions, users, attachments, and so forth. No longer defining the nature of the content migration and the quantity of content material will reason scope creep and extra costs for you or the web design corporation.

Photo usage – it is vital to understand ownership and task of the snap shots used inside the website design task. Who is accountable for photograph choice, buy, modifying, and location? This may vary by means of undertaking so definitely define this early on inside the manner.

Search engine optimization – don’t forget approximately search engine optimization! This consists of keyword studies, keyword to page mapping, on-page optimization, meta definition, and 301 redirects. If you depend on organic search engine optimization, shield this traffic source all through your remodel. The easiest way to do this it to ensure this topic is front and middle all through the undertaking scoping and inspiration procedure.

Cellular responsiveness – cellular responsiveness must be part of any modern-day day website design mission. The handiest exception to this rule is huge websites who've a separate cell web sites or apps. In case you do now not have a separate mobile web site, ensure your inspiration consists of language for managing show adapted to phones and drugs.

Exclusions – even as i do not list exclusions in each idea, i do listing them each time the consumer and i mentioned an item that isn't always going into the website venture. This facilitates protect me later within the technique, however also clarifies our deliverable for the patron.

Third party integration and/or APIs– mid-market and employer corporations commonly have a mess of structures & software development applications in company. Those systems need to speak with the brand new website through pulling, pushing, or syncing data. If integration or APIs need to be used, ensure the proposal defines the third-party device, facts factors, statistics switch, and accountable party.

Milestones – milestones can assist make sure the undertaking group hits goal at each stage of the website design procedure earlier than transferring to the next step in the method. Regular milestones consist of discovery, information architecture, graphic layout, subject coding, content migration, beta launch and/or trying out, and cross-stay.

Schedule – each website idea web response should include a time table that corresponds to venture milestones. This can help you understand how much time is allotted to each milestone and if the overall venture will align on your personal timetable.

Delays – assignment delays can be a end result of both the client and the web developer. It's miles crucial to recognize how these delays can be handled and how they'll regulate the general assignment finances and timeline.

Payment terms– smaller website initiatives will have a tendency to have a 50% charge to begin and 50% charge at crowning glory. Larger web site initiatives may have smaller bills based on milestones or set timing. Make sure this is without a doubt defined inside the concept.

Prices – fees ought to consist of travel, area expenses, website hosting fees, plugin licenses, and/or inventory pictures. Make certain the RFP response details out the objects anticipated and the birthday party answerable for price.

User schooling – in case your customers will be new to the cms, web developer would possibly want to set up a few pointers for written training documentation, on-line training tools, and/or interactive training sessions. Make certain the training technique matches that of your consumer base.

Warranty period – a website assurance covers the correction of software insects within the web site. It is usually hooked up for a fixed duration of days and stated in the thought or settlement. This type of guarantee could cover coding through your website developer, however no longer 0.33-party plugins or extensions.

Ongoing preservation – renovation is regularly pressured with warranty duration, however they are very one-of-a-kind. A renovation agreement is paid for on a month-to-month or annual basis and it might be used to offer web &software developer updates to the software development over time. For WordPress websites this would consist of the update of the WordPress middle software program and any plugins mounted on the website designing. Maintenance also can include safety, monitoring, backups, reporting, and one-on-one assistance while wished.

As wished submit-live guide – now not each organisation will want or want a upkeep agreement. In lieu of a preservation retainer, a few businesses will opt for on-demand submit-stay help. This is normally billed on an hourly basis and managed through a price tag or aid machine.

NEXT STEPS WITHIN THE WEBSITE RFP TECHNIQUE

Once you’ve reviewed your rfp responses and narrowed down on your selected provider, the subsequent step must be focused on negotiating contracts and very last info.

At the same time as web is full of advice on settlement negotiations, don’t get caught up in the method minutia. It’s crucial to recollect this venture is the ultimate step earlier than getting into an extended partnership with the selected website developer.

The negotiations should focus on resolving any open questions or issues, with a purpose to in turn provide a stable basis to begin the design and execution technique. Move into agreement negotiations targeted on resolving any open problems and clarifying any points of confusion.

If the task crew has completed a solid task with undertaking scoping and they decided on the right website developer, the negotiations must be no extra than a signature. If the crew has selected the wrong design organisation, the undertaking may also prove enough to pressure the group to go back to the range company

#web developer #web designer #website design company #seo #web development

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