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kakivino · 7 years ago

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Tasting: Great Wines of Italy 2016 Bangkok

When thirst meets wanderlust, wine will take you places. If, say, a Tuscan idyll seems implausible for the time being, sneaking a vinous agenda in your regional getaway might just be the next best thing.

Good for you if you’re already frequenting Hong Kong, Shanghai, Asia’s wine hubs high on the Grand Tasting destination list. And no, KL can’t get a look-in, if you have to ask.

The Great Wines of Italy in Bangkok fits the bill nicely (like we need an excuse for Thai break). Hosted by James Suckling—one of the foremost critics in the wine world—the marquee event is arguably the largest of its kind in Southeast Asia.

Better early than late

Now you don’t want to be late to the party or you’d be sorry staring at empty Bruno Giacosa not even halfway through. To four kiasu Malaysians, there’s simply nowhere better to be when the gate to wine heaven opened at the Grand Hyatt Erawan.

No prize for guessing which table I first hit. Both ’13 Barbaresco Rabajà and ’13 Barolo Falletto Vigna Le Rocche had me in a moment of sheer elation. Such incredible finesse, purity (nary a trace of wood) and classicism for such powerful nebbiolo, you just got to take your imaginary hat off to a living legend.

What I wouldn’t give for a taste of the famous red labels. That glass of gustatory orgasm.

A glorious start to the evening was followed by many outstanding baroli, though some more expressive than others. High-toned Ceretto ’09 Barolo Brunate for one caresses with über-fine suppleness. Befittingly La Morra, it’s already drinking marvellously. ’12 Barolo Bricco Rocche too offers genuine immediacy in an oh-so-effortless, gracious manner one associates with the modernista.

Speaking of which, Roberto Voerzio, one of the original “Barolo Boys”, holds a different proposition. Age hasn’t made the late-release ’05 Barolo Riserva 10 anni Fossati Case Nere any softer, yet. Seductive nose apart, it remains stubbornly reticent about what lies beneath its plush veneer. ’12 Barbera d’Alba Riserva Vigneto Pozzo dell'Annunziata must’ve been the most lavishly oaked, boldest barbera I ever tasted. High extraction, even higher prices.

The barbaresco and barolo of La Spinetta are styled along the same high-octane mould, they would sit right at home on a steakhouse table.

Then we had Aldo Conterno, whose aristocratic ’12 Barolo Cicala and ’12 Barolo Colonnello would command a great deal of patience. Tight tannins clench just as tar and roses draw you closer: formidable. Franco Conterno was on hand to let you in on their subtle nuances, reasoning clay-sand variation in Bussia render the former firmer, the latter more floral. Equally as potent nonetheless.

From arguably the most celebrated cru of them all, Guido Damilano showed off his rich and, both literally and figuratively, gripping ’12 Barolo Cannubi which exudes a delicate sense of proportion true to the site.

Sell-out success

As I was elbowing my way to some chianti, I couldn’t help but wonder the entire Bangkok’s wine circles, indeed expat community, had packed into the swanky grand ballroom. A record turnout of 1,300 spoke for the tasting’s sell-out success.

Back to where a poor Federico Manetti was swamped, you did have to maneuvre through a static crowd and stick your glass out for your prize. To decide between Fontodi’s voluminous ’13 Flaccianello della Pieve and ’13 Chianti Classico Gran Selezione Vigna del Sorbo was akin to splitting hairs. Seamless oak, velvety tannins, graphite and an amazing core of dark-skinned fruits appear rendered in technicolour clarity, animated by boundless inner energy. Cab-free now, it’s vividly clear why Antonio Galloni thinks the latter is coming into its own.

The tasting galore had also afforded a fascinating study of terroir-driven denominations. Fans of sangiovese would’ve no doubt found rich pickings, from the masculine, earthy Chianti Classico of Fèlsina in Castelnuovo Berardenga, to the metrosexual, polished Fonterutoli in Castellina, to say nothing of lesser-known incarnations like Le Pupille’s Morrelino di Scansano, ColleMassari’s Montecucco and Tenuta di Capezzana’s Carmignano. (It bugged me to see some of these rustic charmers unnecessarily smothered by exuberant new oak.)

Brunello bonanza

Needless to say, there’s no escaping brunello, sangiovese’s highest expression in all of Tuscany. The Montalcinesi had descended en masse to spoil you for choices.

Utterly elegant from start to finish, Livio Sassetti Pertimali ’12 Brunello di Montalcino simply blew me away. Stunning aromatics, nervy acidity, very Montosoli minerality. Winemaker Lorenzo Sassetti poured another winner ’10 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva that was likewise on song. A stylish Altesino ’11 Brunello di Montalcino Montosoli further reinforced that airy, minerally impression of this renowned ‘cru’.

Also stood out is Caprili ’12 Brunello di Montalcino, which best sums up a ripe, racy vintage better off with some bottle age. Something told me it wouldn’t be that long.

It’s a shame I caught Fuligni ’10 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva in a coy mood. Intense, youthfully austere with classically massive structure as imposing as the Montalcino fortress, it just wanted to shut up shop. Bearing similar profundity, Valdicava ’10 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva Madonna del Piano, the 100-pointer cult wine cut a more endearing figure thanks to better focus and persistence, at this stage no least.

What began as exhilaration would gradually simmer down to palatal exertion, such is the inevitability of mass tasting at where the pace is furious and decanting a luxury for younglings. When poise were increasingly scarce, you can count on the redoubtable Poggio di Sotto ’11 Brunello di Montalcino to hit the right spot. This Castelnuovo dell'Abate icon remains every bit as ravishing as when we last met. Pedigree.

Buoyed by renewed faith, I decided to leave Tuscany in search of fresher ‘pasture’, not before a real head-turner stopped me dead in my tracks: Petrolo ’14 Valdarno di Sopra Galatrona. A pure merlot so satiny and sensual, so gorgeous and gratifying it was no match for any super Tuscan or Bolgheri alike that evening.

Path less travelled

To seek refreshment, one only needs to follow the Italians to their summer retreats (hail local wisdom). I could imagine sipping Donnachiara ’15 Fiano di Avellino anywhere on the Amalfi coast, all day long. Brisk, balanced, very Alsatian in texture, with saline undertones hinting at influence of the Thyrrenian sea.

To my dismal, dammit, I left it too late for the last drops of Pieropan’s classic ’14 Soave Classico La Rocca and Kellerei Terlan’s Südtirol whites in the Northeast. Franz Haas ’14 Vigneti delle Dolomiti Manna showed exactly what I’d missed. Crisp, flavourful and complex, it’s one joy of a wine that proves versatile. Pristine Dolomites air has also breathed life into the understated, moreish Franz Haas ’14 Pinot Nero Alto Adige. All in all, the less taken path had definitely provided much welcomed respite.

If you need to cleanse your palate good, Bellavista ’10 Franciacorta Teatro La Scala is more than up for the task. This metodo classico fizz gives your C-word bubblies a serious run for their money, matching their sophistication with an Italian sensibility.

I made it a point to check out the meteoric rise of red hot nerello mascalese. That led to a most scintillating rendevouz with Pietradolce ’13 Etna Rosso Vigna Barbagalli and ’14 Etna Rosso Archineri. As lovely florals, orange zest, crunchy red fruits, exotic spice tease the senses, these soulful reds shine with mineral-laden, glycerol-textured vigour all of which unfurl from a lithe, burgundian even, frame.

Proprietor Michele Faro was eager to share the peculiarity of pre-phylloxera viticulture on the high-altitude, lava-blackened slopes of Mount Etna. He strongly recommended the read “Volcanic Wines” by John Szabo, to better understand how terroir and convictions of few winemakers pan out in a glass of Etna. Or two, as the same individualistic vein of characters flows in Tasca d'Almerita ’14 Sicilia Nerello Mascalese Tascante.

Drinkability conundrum

There you have it. Vino enthusiasts sure had a whale of a time luxuriating in the four-hour bacchanalia, all the while delighting in mind-boggling discoveries and merrymaking with total strangers.

But I was feeling oddly ambivalent after the curtains fell. Maybe it’s the wine talking. For all the promises of these indisputably first-rate wines, it’s still only potential that we sipped rather than the full-blown, glorious mouthfuls we crave (with few notable exceptions). Unless we cough up the premium, the reality is we owe it to ourselves to take up the waiting game.

Ultimately, it’s all a matter of perspective. Ask the right question [of these wines], you’ll be able to appreciate the Grand Tasting as it is: a glimpse of the big picture, a sort of anteprima largely to handpick on release brunello for your cellar. Looking past frustration, the experience was a rewarding one. As James and his posse of producers return to wow Bangkok next week for the fourth year running, I’m all game for another bout of sniff, sip, swallow. And repeat. — KY

*** This is a sponsored post *** James Suckling is internationally regarded as one of the world’s most influential wine critics. Launched in 2010, the JamesSuckling.com team draw on more than three decades of experience to bring to life the world of wine on an exclusive online platform. Visitors can access articles, high-definition videos, extensive tasting notes and reports which are trusted and relied upon by wineries and consumers all across the globe. Many thanks to the team at JamesSuckling.com for the wonderful soiree. Visit them at jamessuckling.com.

#wine #wine event #wine tasting #great wines of italy #james suckling #bangkok #italian wine

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the-uptake · 5 years ago

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The Uptake, The 704. 1|0|0|-. Book I, Chapter 1. Go to next. TW: Nonhuman degrees of pica disorder, graphic illness. Now that Tumblr’s lifted the 100-break rule to 250, I’m gonna take the opportunity to revise-tweak and put all of Ch1 back in one post.

Sitting against the living room baseboards strung with homemade construction paper papel picado garland, Galen picked at the inert Walkman in his hands. The seventeen-year-old Pinoy-American dug his fingernails into the seams between the case and where the buttons attached, and every so often he depressed or released the ‘play’ button. He turned it about in his hands. It lacked earbuds, and batteries, and even its battery compartment panel. With no music, he couldn’t quite detach enough to drown out the neighbors’ drunken singing down the hall, or the old movie his father and oldest brother watched.

Click. He looked to the clock in the corner of their large thin wall-mounted television. 20:47. Almost nine. The woman in the film played the piano. Click-click scrape. Something about knives? Blades, yeah. Time transpired around him like drifting fog, passing him, excluding him. Click- click- clickclick--

“I don’t know if it’s me, or Tyrell’s niece...”

Their father, Dolom, sat forward with a grunt and nabbed the remote off the coffee table. Torber, the eldest child, observed Dolom’s movements with semi-detachment, half-absorbed in the film.

“S’almost nine. Y’gonna get y’coats on or what?” Dolom wore a close-shorn horseshoe of hair from sideburn to sideburn. He leaned over the back of the couch with an authoritative glance for the three youngest of his children, who persisted in nonsense under the family’s small but intricately adorned Christmas tree. The set flickered off and Torber sat up straight with a stiff, tired sigh. “Set’s off. We goin’.”

“Come on!!” Orpi gesticulated dramatically in agreement with their dad.

The middle child at fourteen, he behaved as though denied dinner by his younger two siblings’ absorption in scrutinizing the wrapped packages already beneath the tree--and as though his curiosity in their meddling hadn’t made him complicit in the first place. Long since poised to leave, he already had on his purple-yoked white windbreaker.

The youngest at six, Ruti glared at Orpi in stern silence with arms crossed. Zipped up to his chin in a lavender plush down coat, and wearing thick gloves, clearly Orpi had directed his complaints mostly at the tactical mastermind: their sister.

“We heard Dad just fine, twip.” Vana rolled her eyes at Orpi as she squirmed into her magenta pea coat.

The nine year old girl ignored him and flipped her scarf around her neck a few times. In light grey overalls and a dark turtleneck, she was the only one of the children without some fashion of undercut, instead porting nothing but square-cut bangs that hung in pigtails in front of both ears.

Galen stood while the younger siblings bickered over culpability, and zipped up his dark grey jacket. Everyone retrieved their boots from beside the front door. He left the Walkman in the floor where he’d been sitting.

They all slipped on their cold weather gloves and headed out of the apartment building. Within blocks of the industrial buildings repurposed as complexes for the stalkers who worked the Tri-City Quarter, the entire ambiance changed from residential to commercial. Even the air tasted different, shifting from metallic to vaguely smoggy. Neon washes, from holiday-themed advertisements projected on the smooth uniform surfaces of concrete stores, painted the mixture of mostly stalker foot traffic with different bright colors from all angles. Two days until Epiphany! Interspersed with billboard-rented surfaces boasting all kinds of products, dozens of establishments broadcast that they stocked this year’s must-have gift: the Cube Neon, the latest update to multimedia formatting, and all the accessories conceivable for storing and customizing them. The ice slush leftover from the Christmas blizzard dampened the streets, and the drifts of icy gutter grime absorbed multiple rim lighting just as the pedestrians. Occasionally, the advertisements would dance festively to dazzle people’s attention, and would wish them a Happy Epiphany in a dozen languages. The higher the stacked skyscrapers loomed above them, the more uniform a pale green the glow became. No one could really see all the way to the top levels, and no one really tried.

The eldest brother Torber rounded back to slouch an arm across Galen’s shoulder while they walked. With his free hand, the goateed brother adjusted his knit green hat, not missing a step. As the children sped off about twenty yards ahead of them and Dolom, Torber slipped Galen his cell phone and whispered in his ear:

“Try textin’ her again.”

Galen flustered at the offer, but nodded and unfolded the device to peck out a short message with both thumbs. He’d lost his own cell in the accident, and had gone without it for over week now. He couldn’t tell if he’d lost all contact with his girlfriend, since she hadn’t once responded to texts from Torber’s number. He still couldn’t brave going to Ame in person after what happened. When he lost patience waiting for a response, he slipped the phone back in the side pocket of his elder brother’s jacket and slouched his hands into his own pockets.

“Y’all need t’quit it with the stuff under the tree,” Dolom told the children, who’d rounded back nearer them by then.

“Hey!” Ruti tugged at his father’s jacket with a frown. “We didn’t do nothin’!”

“Patience already. Can’t y’all wait two days?”

The father laughed warmly. Galen stretched his shoulders back in a strained yawn, and tucked his long undercut back out of his face before mumbling:

“...Vana always figures out what’s in it without even openin’ it anyway...”

“Hehe.” Vana marched proudly at hearing her genius acknowledged.

“Y’slowpokes! I’m starvin’!”

Orpi had run across the snow-clotted street and held the one restaurant’s door open to holler to his family with a cupped hand to his face. The two children sped across the street, and the two elder brothers and their father conceded to moving a bit faster. Once all six of them were inside, the hostess escorted them all back to a round side booth, and they piled in as she set out their menus and wrapped napkins.

It was Santo’s Diner again. Inexpensive and familiar. Dolom commonly brought his family to this same restaurant, just outside Quarter limits. The younger, pickier eaters seemed to like the food well enough. Though street food carts ran at all hours in the commercial district of Level One, many stalkers frequented 24-hour restaurants like Santo’s and The Lighthouse, if not just to have a place to sit indoors and eat.

Galen eyed his menu. Double bacon cheeseburger. Grilled chicken club. Deluxe chili fries. Spaghetti. Garden salad. Pancakes. To him, none of it looked or even sounded like food, and the presentation of the dishes’ photographs enticed him more than the dishes themselves. Bound in glossy laminate. Bright red heat-sealed vinyl edges. He shook his head of it. None of it really felt like it was food anymore. Not after what happened the day after Christmas.

“Earth t’Galen!” The remark startled Galen, and Orpi clicked his tongue at his brother and sneered with sarcastic eyebrows. “Slaggin’ space cadet.”

“I--”

“Orpi!” Torber snipped, pointing at him. “Check y’self, man. You’d be weird, too, if--”

The server returned to take orders, silencing contention briefly. She asked around the table. When it came to Galen, he let the menu’s design make his choice of dinner for him, settling on fries and a double cheeseburger.

Once the waiter retrieved the menus and walked away, Galen resigned to the gravity of the past week. A half-formed worry drowned him, that this dizzying half-conscious state would become permanent. His detached glance followed each member of his family in turn, and he wondered what they would do without his contributions to their collective income, if it came to it. Had his moment of rash stupidity doomed his family to an even more dire straits? What illnesses his symptoms might foreshadow did not concern him, only what ramifications threatened those dearest him. Dolom would undoubtedly ensure his children ate, even if that meant he ate less, and Torber would inevitably do the same. In his deadened state, he almost didn’t catch himself from uttering it, but he still thought it all the same.

Mom would know what to do.

The clatter of melamine on laminated pressboard snapped Galen from his stupor. His apathy for eating dulled him to the arrival of hot food. The whole family knew Galen hadn’t been quite right since the accident, but they all assumed the illness was mental not physical, even Galen. Even the doctor who’d seen him had assured the Miners that Galen suffered purely psychological symptoms, byproducts of post-traumatic stress. Dr. Bell had sworn Galen’s vitals came back normal. But then again, because he couldn’t convince himself the sureness of his memory, Galen hadn’t told any of them--the doctor, or his family--what he thought had actually happened. Besides, they already had enough on their plates.

Galen sat there a moment too long, vacant gaze upon his meal as he tried not to remember the day after Christmas. Orpi took the opportunity to jab at him again with a sneer, leaning in to whisper in Galen’s ear.

“That is what y’ordered, y’know, twerp.”

Galen ripped the cellophane-decorated toothpick out of the bun with a trembling hand and grimaced at his younger brother, then flicked it down to snatch up the burger and take a bite of it in his face.

“Shh-- ssh’up! I’m not a twerp.” He chewed a bit. “Twerp.”

“Knock it off an’ eat.” Dolom grumped sternly to quieten the two boys, fidgeting with his side salad. “Y’both twerps.”

“Yes Dad,” they both loused. The table returned to silence.

To quash the chances of his siblings making further mention of him, Galen finished his food quietly and too quickly, despite how it nauseated him to eat at all. The first to be done eating, his thoughts again beset him into isolation while his siblings and father picked at their food.

A vacant stare fell upon his flatware. Soon Galen noticed himself salivating at the way the utensils caught the fluorescent diner lighting. A lump formed in his throat, and he calmly folded the napkin over them to keep himself from looking at them. Instead, he focused on Vana and Ruti to his left, between him and Torber, who had split a rosca de reyes for dinner. The two children had taken huge slices of the king cake, intended to be split for dessert between at least four people, and Vana split into peals of laughter while Ruti mashed his apart looking for the tiny plastic baby.

Those chemicals had definitely done something to his brain. Blurred his definition of food. The night before, swallowing the batteries from the TV remote had calmed his mind. More than the batteries had beguiled his eye in the past few days. Taking notice of these different attractions to objects was like collecting pieces to a puzzle he didn’t want to finish. He considered these appetites his body’s way of quickening a slow death by poisoning and obstructed digestive tract. The line of thought wouldn’t quit him.

“Aight y’all, stop makin’ a mess.” Dolom reached across the table and nabbed the other half of the spiced twist-cake, to serve himself a slice. “An’ eat y’scrambled eggs.”

Torber requested a slice himself, and he nursed on it while he finished off his breakfast sampler. He noticed Ruti’s slice of cake had in fact produced the baby, and chuckled. No longer excited by the activity now that he’d found it, Ruti set the small plastic treasure by his drink, and ate his dinner as as instructed. No one noticed Galen staring at the small novelty choking hazard.

“Ha, Ruti.” Their dad grinned. “You found the baby. That means you’re king tonight!”

Ruti frowned a moment, then grinned even bigger.

“I say everybody gets more cake!”

Galen sneaked the king cake baby and fidgeted with it under the table. His eyes flicked side to side. Shakily, he popped it in his mouth and pressed it to the roof of his mouth. He waited until he could be confident no one saw it, and hid swallowing it. For a while, everything felt more calm, nearly normal.

After the meal, everyone got up to put their coats back on. Ruti climbed under the table and Vana crouched to investigate. Galen knew exactly the issue and used the distraction to pocket his folded-up flatware unnoticed.

“You lost baby Jesus?” Vana bumped his foot with her own. “Ya got two days to find him!!”

“Come on, y’all.” Torber stifled laughter in a smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It probably got knocked under the booth,” Dolom agreed. “Y’all were so rambunctious. Remind me not t’let y’all have sugar for dinner again.”

The two of them frowned wide-eyed and took to either side of him.

“Thank you, Dad,” they insisted in unison. He patted them both on the head with a smile, and took their hands in each of his on the way out.

The family ate late often, and as usual, everyone retired shortly after returning home. Everyone brushed their teeth and laid down. Once Galen could tell he was the last one still awake, he sat up on the floor mattress, and by the light of the single line of Christmas lights around the ceiling molding of the kids’ room, he fished what he’d stolen out of his pants on the floor beside the bedding. He unfolded the napkin and glared dully at the three objects in his hands, lost in the multicolored reflection of the pressed metal. Though the thought haunted him, of these things inside him, he could not shake the compulsion.

The spoon came first, he decided, likely do the least damage. The handle lingered on his tongue, the metal tang steeling his composure to follow through. He could not stomach the understanding that the shape and taste of such things granted a psychological comfort, and rather than locking himself in the act longer than necessary, he pushed onward. His throat straightened as his afflicted gaze hit the ceiling. He pushed the spoon down with a thumb, and he didn’t gag as he easily swallowed it, despite its awkward shape. He stifled a relieved sigh.

A moment imparted the reality of his actions, and he quickly moved on to the knife. It wasn’t a steak knife, but he didn’t let himself form relief of it, and simply swallowed it unassisted with two swallows sliding it down. It felt too natural, and the slight drag of the dull serration had given it a satisfying texture.

He put off the fork until last. With clenched teeth and a grimace, his stomach churned now. Hesitant, the prong end went to his mouth, and he sucked on it in an attempt to find comfort in the aesthetic of the utensil without having to ingest it. He could somehow in his mind excuse the knife and spoon to what he considered a mere psychological hunger, but he couldn’t push past the conviction that he needed to eat the fork. He traced it with his tongue. Four tines, bent slightly out of keen from a dozen too many times through a commercial dishwasher. He pulled his pursed lips over them and over. Eventually he pulled it away and turned it around, to swallow it handle-first.

He took in the aftermath in silence. His fingers twisted up in the fabric of his tank top. His insides frothed. Terror rang his ears. He thought for certain he’d be able to palpate the utensils inside him. He dug in with his fingertips in increasing panic. Upset breathing ran tandem behind him to his own, and he froze.

Either Torber hadn’t fallen asleep, or had been awakened by the feat. He couldn’t have not seen. The elder brother recoiled as though he’d caught Galen doing something no human should have seen.

“Wh-- what’re you doin’--?”

Galen moved to hush Torber, and grabbed him by the arm to drag him into the bathroom between the two bedrooms in the apartment. With the door locked and fan on, both understood to speak at a whisper.

“--Y’can’t tell anybody, ‘Nite.”

“I-- I won’t.” Torber could only stare in paranoia, backed up against the door. He still couldn’t convince himself Galen had had food.

“Promise me.”

A shaky nod.

“S. Ss. ‘Specially not Dad.”

Another nod, less shaky.

“S’not safe t’eat at home. Y’know that.”

A cold sweat ran down Galen’s nape, at hearing that had been Torber’s initial concern. The air quality made it unsafe to leave food out in the residential section of the Quarter, the risk of ingesting particulate matter too great. So, stalkers saved on groceries, home appliances, and cooking time, and ate in the commercial district instead. Deliberating the complications of honesty at length, he finally corrected Torber.

“Wasn’t food.”

“Then wh--”

“--My utensils from dinner.”

Torber couldn’t process the admission. The act served no logical purpose, without an audience for shock value.

“Th-- That the only thing y’eaten... like that? How... long?”

“Just since the drift collapsed on me. I, I mean it.”

“Y’need t’go back t’Bell, man. Th-- that stuff’s gonna rip up y’insides.”

“I... I, I, I, I’m fine--”

“No. No. Y’ain’t fine, Gale.” Torber gripped him by the shoulders and locked their gazes. “Y’just ate a knife, fork, an’ spoon. I seen it, an’ you confirmed I did. An’ y’just fessed y’eaten other things. It’s a wonder y’ain’t keeled over by now. S’been, what, six days since I found you buck naked an’ half-frozen in that lot, and we took ya t’the Clinic an’ brought y’home?” The look he gave Galen begged him to be all right.

“...Eaten thirteen batteries, a lightbulb, a pair a earbuds, an’ now a... a ss, set a flatware.” He hoped desperately that explicit frankness would spell out the severity for Torber, despite no overt symptoms of illness or complication otherwise. Taking his own rattling poorly, he instead joked: “Why they call ‘em bulbs anyway? Ain’t round.”

“Slaggit-- No wonder y’shamblin’ around like a zombie--! Y’poisonin’ y’self-- Why--”

“I... I can’t help it, Torb.” He couldn’t look at him. “I see somethin’, my brain fixates on it, won’t shut up about it. Not ‘til I eat it. But what my brain’s tellin’ me t’eat now ain’t the part scares me.” A certain panic built between them as Galen struggled to form the words. “My stomach’s... really dissolvin’ the things I swallow. ...Y’seen me eat those utensils. They already gone.” He stooped effortlessly to touch his feet to prove nothing stabbed him internally, and eye contact ensured Torber knew the demonstration's purpose. "The burger kinda gave me a stomachache, t’be honest...” If the line of conversation had especially disturbed Galen, he certainly didn’t show it until he’d blurted out that last part, and he began to shake.

Torber took a step back.

“What... what happened in that lot...?”

The elder brother didn’t realize Galen himself might not even know.

“Th, those drums wasn’t empty. The ones’t fell on me.” He eyed the toothbrush holder as his stomach churned afresh. “I think what was in ‘em... I think... I think I drowned, ‘Nite. All I remember’s bein’ trapped under all that stuff, an’ tryin’ t’get a breath but breathin’ in liquid instead. It... it was all gone by the time y’all dug me out, s’nobody knew. I couldn’t tell anybody. Couldn’t. Couldn’t talk about it.” He fought not to hyperventilate. “It did things to me, man. More'n just nightmares every night.”

Something broke in Galen in his struggle against recalling the hallucinations that came with the internment in deep-packed snow and toxic waste that lasted the longest four days of his life. His toothbrush vanished from the cup which held everyone’s, to the same fate as the utensils minutes prior. Then went the box of floss, tweezers, and a few pumps of waterless hand soap directly into his mouth.

“It’s... gettin’ worse. The hunger pains.”

A comb. The handle of a razor. The disposable blade-head, too. A bottle of prescription medication.

Torber seized him, unable to handle his brother falling apart like this.

“Stop!! Stop it--!”

Snapped out of his hunger attack, Galen choked up a little and patted his chest. A burp came shortly after, and the strong fume of plastic overwhelmed his nostrils.

“Slag. Can’t help myself!” A mad look possessed him, and he mirrored his brother’s grip on him. Why the fuck had he told him? Now he’d seen him eat in clear unmistakable light, right in front of him! “Promise me y’won’t tell anybody! Y-- y’can’t!”

“...You... Y’don’t look so good.”

Galen shook him, trembling, on the verge of tears.

“Promise! Me!!”

“I promise!”

Through tears, the both of them choked down their fear and nausea over the situation. Galen put down the the toilet cover to sit.

“I’m worried about you,” Torber said. “This cannot end well.”

“Don’t have t’tell me. S’all I been able t’think about since it started.”

Beyond uncomfortable, Torber tried to quash the conversation.

“It’s late, man. We should get some rest. One more day before ‘Piphany.”

Money. It always came down to money, didn’t it. Galen tried to smile a bit, and nodded.

“...Yeah, we should.”

As Torber unlocked the door, Galen grabbed his shoulder.

“One more thing, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

The remark cut an awkwardly long silence before the two returned to the mattress they shared in the cramped bedroom space. They both hoped the other three on the other side of the room had not noticed anything that had just happened.

In the morning, Galen tied up the bathroom before anyone else rose. Dolom knocked on the door, but had to speak over the volume of the ventilation fan.

“I gotta shave,” he reminded, as his way of ensuring everyone could get into the bathroom before they went their separate ways for the morning. “Y’gonna be much longer?”

“G, gimme a sec--”

Dolom stood firm outside the door in waiting. He heard a flush, then bottled water splashed at the sink. Galen eventually exited without a word, leaving on the fan in slouching shame. A skin-crawling snarl messed up Dolom’s face as he turned to watch his son walk off back to the kids’ bedroom.

“Slag did you eat?”

The question went unanswered.

A bit of clatter took place, and the house could hear Dolom mumbling to himself while searching for something.

“Anybody know what happened to my razor?”

Torber’s eyes shot wide at hearing confirmation he hadn’t dreamt last night’s events. He turned over and shot Galen a wild, concerned look from across the room, where the younger of the two dressed for the day. Galen could feel the stare and shrank even further in self-consciousness.

“I got no idea, Dad,” Torber fielded, uncomfortable with the one-sided conversation taking place. “Y’sure y--”

“--I was lookin’ for somethin’ for my stomach. I knocked it off the counter an’ it broke.” Fatigue stitched Galen’s voice as the compulsion to finally admit to it formed in response to someone trying to cover it up. “It broke in a way can’t be fixed. Chunked it.”

“Gale, those things are five creds,” came the conditioned chastise despite it explained away as an accident.

“I’ll buy you a new one. Sorry.”

Dolom had noticed other things missing in his search for the razor, but said nothing more.

What did you eat? though. The phrase ate Torber alive. He knew exactly what Galen had eaten. His bare feet hit the frosty low-pile carpet and he walked over to where Galen dressed, to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Did you?”

The Miners loitered at a street truck for breakfast, then the two youngest saw off the four eldest before returning to the apartment to watch themselves for the day. The four of them trekked off to the stalking yards for one last dive before the community’s true Christmas celebration: the Feast of the Epiphany. Orpi went to shadow Dolom, while Torber insisted on sticking with Galen for the day. Galen and Torber walked down further to a different lot, and Galen didn’t make eye contact as they put on their visor-goggles and respirators.

“Y’know y’don’t gotta keep an eye on me.”

“Abandon I don’t.”

Torber’s comment met an eye roll and a grunt.

“Whatever. Let’s just make a productive day of it, yeah?”

Mere hours before they arrived, dumping had laid out a fresh layer of e-waste discards in the particular yard they’d chosen to hit. Torber gave his brother space, insisting only on occasional supervision as each scaled a different drift to work. Other stalkers soon attended the yard as well, and the silicon grindstone sucked all noses flush. A few hours in, Torber had scrounged up a few heavy-solder circuit boards, and a dead car battery for drain and salvage. The elder brother checked in on Galen around noon. He found him crouched behind a large CRT TV with his respirator and visor-goggles off, shoving gloved handfuls of junk in his mouth. The instant Galen noticed he’d been found out, he froze and glared at his brother. Until that moment, Torber hadn’t paid much mind to the dark circles under his brother’s bloodshot eyes.

Torber’s knitted brow and slowly dropping jaw destroyed Galen.

“Sh’up.”

“You-- y’told me I didn’t hafta keep an eye on you.” Torber only received a sustained glare in response, and Galen resuming eating anyway. “D’y’even know what y’shovelin’?”

Galen turned the material in his mouth at the moment around with his tongue, and glanced upward thoughtfully.

“Mostly silicon, I’m guessin’. Lotta PVC, too. An’ I can taste copper-- wires-- an’... I think... some battery acid--”

“--Sh --knock it off.” Torber was shaking. “Admit this bothers you.”

Galen shoved another sarcastic mouthful of junk in his mouth, and spoke through the particulate.

“Course it bothers me. Got any bright ideas? I only got one, an’ I don’t like it.” Torber shook his head, slow and terrified. “What I thought.” Galen swallowed the mouthful. “What’d you find today, anyway? Anything good?”

“F-- found a car battery, an’ a few real old motherboards. The boards’re probably fifteen, twenty years old. Real thick circuits.” Torber welcomed the sudden subject change.

“Chouay. ...I, I dug out this ol’ clunkuva TV, an’... took a break. All the components’re still there. Cadre’ll have a heyday with it. Help me carry it down the drift s’we can start breakin’ it down t’haul off?” He coughed on something that had gone down the wrong way, and bits of debris flew from his mouth.

“...Sure.” Torber knew better than to comment on it.

The two brothers knocked off about four hours later. They packed up bags of components they’d collected and left behind the discarded shells of the technology they’d deconstructed. They had enough to justify renting a flatbed cart to lug it the few blocks down the way, to unload at the sorters’ cadre. Based on the age of the circuitry they’d harvested and the kinds of metals typically used in that decade, the day had been generous--especially with the TV screen old enough to have radioactive components. It relieved Torber to notice Galen had put back on his goggles and respirator as they worked on amassing their finds to haul off. He didn’t like approximating the respirator to a muzzle, and didn’t like to think Galen might have sneaked anything under it when he wasn’t looking, but at least they both could focus on a shared task through most of the afternoon. As they walked home, Torber couldn’t shake the question of just how much Galen might have eaten from their treasures.

Dolom and Orpi beat the family’s other two trufflers home, and were playing with the kids when they came in.

“Any luck?” the father asked them. “I mostly found casin’ an’ giftwrap garbage.”

Not waiting for tomorrow, Torber handed him a cred card in response.

“Aguinaldo. What we hauled to cadre today had five pounds’a alloy. Card’s worth thirty, Dad.”

The whole living room went silent in admiring awe.

“Y’can get a new razor.” Galen didn’t want to bring it up again, but still felt bad.

“Slag the razor. This means everybody can get some new clothes. Vana’s growin’ crazy like a weed, an’ I don’t remember last time anybody got new pants.” He looked squarely up at the boys from where he sat in the floor. “Y’did good today. Gonna be a damn chouay ‘Piphany.”

Dinner at The Lighthouse went by rather uneventfully. Galen even seemed to snap back to his old self, despite declining tamales and pozole. Instead, he ordered only a side of fries, and though no one else really took note of it, Torber saw through the attempt to disguise a lack of appetite.

After dinner, Galen was right back in the bathroom. Torber could overhear retching when he put an ear to the door. He wondered if what Galen had eaten in the yards that day had finally caught up with him, or if he was puking up the fries in particular. Considering how much of a recovery he appeared to have made up until dinner-- He couldn’t believe the train of thought he was on, and rejected it.

Everyone went to bed without getting to brush their teeth. Torber did his best to diffuse their father’s worry, by swearing Galen had been like this all day, and had probably just eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him. Such an explanation only raised more questions, though Dolom didn’t mention them and left it to his sons to sort out. Torber lurked at the bathroom door until Galen came back out, and he made sure Galen was comfortable in bed, with a bottle of water, before getting into bed himself.

Torber heard their father get up around midnight to sneak a few extra gifts under the tree, and he smiled to himself, finally drifting off. About two in the morning, Torber turned over to not find Galen. He checked and the bathroom was free. When he checked the living room, the Christmas tree was knocked over, unplugged, and missing half its ornaments, and the closet had been ransacked. The family had lined up their boots at the base of the tree rather than the front door, to receive trinkets. Galen’s were missing, as well as his backpack from the bedroom.

The eldest brother simply stood dumbstruck in the dark, pained at the thought Galen had run off, on Epiphany no less. He quickly convinced himself from the state of the tree, and the absence of toys in everyone’s shoes, that he’d just gone to... eat... and failed to reassure himself that he’d return by morning.

But, he didn’t.

Go to Next »»»

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #mutant #epiphany #the uptake #the 704 #one oh oh blank #galen miner #dolom miner #torber miner #orpi miner #vana miner #ruti miner

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hematitehearts · 7 years ago

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Quartz and Dolomite

Locality: Panasqueira Mine, Beira Baixa, Portugal

#Quartz #dolomiti #Portugal #whi #Minerals #Crystals #Gems #Gemstones #Science #Nature #Matrix #Geology #Natural Beauty #Hematitehearts #Mineralogy #Rockhound

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debaiser · 7 years ago

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pointless detail that is probably only hilarious to me: the miners were watching blade runner, but dolom turns it off during a scene that’s to my knowledge commonly considered one of the “best parts”

#disaffected by literally everything. yeah. that's the 'joke'#i am a+ funnyman

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studioeg · 7 years ago

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[BASILICATA, ITALY] Pietrapertosa is one of the highest countries in Basilicata, along with its neighboring territories, is part of the "Parco delle Dolomiti Lucane". Rock With Us and check also the post of @rossbenedetto for another point of view of Dolomiti! - - #studioeg #italia #landscape_lovers #trees #sunrise #skyporn #mountain #outdoors #hiking #hike #outdoor #camping #camp #trekking #outdoorlife #rocks #geology #minerals #rockhound #stones #basilicata #lucania #volgobasilicata #matera #paesaggi #campania #borghi #vicoli #awesomeplace #borghitalia (presso Basilicata)

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twelvebyseventyfive · 8 years ago

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Some fine wines at Ellory, with Texier, Stephan, Foradori, Le Soula, Bosman

Had some lovely wines last night with Angela Jordaan and Thor Gudmundsson at the fabulous Ellory (thoroughly recommended: really good small plates style menu and excellent wine list). Here are my notes.

Bosman Optenhorst Chenin Blanc 2014 Wellington, South Africa From vines planted in 1952, making this South Africa’s fourth oldest Chenin vineyard. Natural ferment, one-third in concrete, rest in older oak. There are some rich toast, peach and pear notes as well as some ripe apple, but there’s also lots of freshness. Fine spicy notes and a hint of raisin in the background, with mineral precision and some more floral characters, too. Just lovely. 95/100

Bosman Twijfeling Cinsault 2015 Wellington, South Africa From 15 year old bush vines. Lively and fresh with lovely redcurrant and red cherry fruit. Fresh and detailed with lovely fruit and a bit of spiciness. Supple with some grip. Juicy yet has seriousness to it as well as fun. 94/100

Domaine Macle Côtes de Jura 2011 France This is a blend of Chardonnay and Savaging, with some flor character. Complex, toasty and apply with savoury, sour salty notes and some fine spices. Tangy lemons, apples and pears with complexity and intensity. 94/100

Le Soula La Macération du Soula No 14 Vin de France| This is skin-contact Vermentino. Full orange colour with a hint of bronze. Lovely, pretty wine with a hint of white pepper and notes of lemons and spices, as well as some ripe apple. The palate is fine, fresh and spicy with a bit of grip. Dry but not drying, with lovely balance to the pear, apple and white peach fruit. Such balance and complexity. 95/100

City on a Hill 2015 Swartland, South Africa Mostly Chenin with 12% Roussanne and 2% Viognier. Made by Andre Bruins. Very fine and detailed with spice, citrus and pear, as well as a hint of apricot. Lovely delicacy to the fruit with a citrus edge and some spice. Really expressive. 94/100

Foradori Fontanasanta Manzoni Bianco 2015 Vigneti delle Dolomiti, Italy Very fresh and fine with a hint of reduction and lovely fine spiciness. Lemony and pure with some pear and tangerine. Real finesse and purity here. Just lovely. 93/100

JM Stephan Serine 2015 Vin de France From Condrieu, this has no added sulphites. Inky dark and intense with ripe, rich blackberry and black cherry fruit, with some grippy tannins. This is floral and exotic with real structure, and complex notes of roast meat, iodine, blood and black pepper. A remarkable wine. 95/100

Eric Texier Brézème 2014 Northern Rhône, France Supple, fresh and pure with lively black cherry and raspberry fruit. Supple and pure with real elegance. Very fine and pure with sleek black fruits. Smooth and fine with lovely focus. 93/100

Find these wines with wine-searcher.com

from jamie goode's wine blog http://www.wineanorak.com:/wineblog/uncategorized/some-fine-wines-at-ellory-with-texier-stephan-foradori-le-soula-bosman For Fine Wine Investment opportunities check out Twelve by Seventy Five: http://www.twelve-by-seventy-five.com/

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touristguidebuzz · 8 years ago

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Must See: An Underground Amusement Park in a Former Transylvanian Salt Mine

You probably know Transylvania for one thing: Dracula. But it’s always meant (a bit) more to me. My grandmother’s family hails from the region, so when a $414 upgradeable fare from Newark to Cluj-Napoca (via Munich) popped up a few months back, I booked a weekend trip to Transylvania’s (unofficial) capital city. And wow — what a special place!

In This Post

Getting to Cluj-Napoca (CLJ)

Back in December, United was offering upgradeable economy fares to very select destinations in Europe for roughly $400 round-trip. These “V-class” fares would normally run $1,000 and up, and given that there was instant upgrade availability to United Polaris on the long transatlantic legs, I didn’t hesitate to book this trip and redeem my Premier 1K Global Premier Upgrades to ride up front.

The Polaris flights were uneventful, operated by an older 767-300 aircraft. I managed to sleep most of the way over to Munich and a few hours on the flight home. I was especially impressed with my intra-Europe economy flights operated by Lufthansa subsidiary Air Dolomiti, though. The flight attendants were very friendly, and even though the flights were just over an hour long, I was offered a boxed lunch/breakfast and Prosecco. I found the Embraer E-195 to be very comfortable as well.

Somehow I think this might be my very first time on an E195. Very comfy regional jet! Next stop: CLJ. http://pic.twitter.com/t09z5gDMJu

— Zach Honig (@ZachHonig) February 24, 2017

Cluj Airport is definitely on the smaller side, and regular international flights that you can book with miles are only operated by LOT, Lufthansa (Air Dolomiti) and Turkish — so it’s Star Alliance or bust. If you’re flying United across the pond, you can redeem 57,500 miles each way to travel in business class — otherwise it’s 70,000 miles for business or 30,000 miles for coach, regardless of the UA partner you choose to fly.

I had a great time in Cluj, where I toured the city, ate some incredibly filling Romanian food and even spent a few hours exploring the haunted Hoia Baciu forest with a guide. But the highlight for me was the trip to Salina Turda, a salt-mine-turned-underground-amusement-park some 20 miles south of Cluj, which my airport Uber driver Sorin told me all about during our drive from CLJ to my hotel (Hampton by Hilton — 10,000 points per night) on Friday morning.

So, I called Sorin up and asked him to join me there on Sunday. It took about 40 minutes to drive from my hotel in Cluj to the entrance of the mine, but I asked Sorin to keep the app running all morning, so he would get paid for our time inside. That brought the cost from 90 lei ($21) to 129.01 ($30), a very reasonable sum for the drive and more than three hours of Sorin’s time. Uber takes a 25% cut in Romania, so I gave him cash (the full 90 lei) for the trip home, bringing transportation costs to just over $50.

After the trip, I asked Sorin if I could pass along his info to anyone interested in booking a similar trip and he was thrilled at the opportunity. So if you’re headed to Romania and you want to check out Salina Turda (or anything else in the Cluj area), feel free to email Sorin at [email protected].

Salina Turda Amusement Park

Salina Turda first opened to tourists in 1992, but its history dates back at least to the 13th century, with one document referencing the mine on May 1, 1271. Electricity wasn’t added until the early 20th century, so workers had to excavate table salt using other light sources for hundreds of years. Those miners came to mind throughout my visit — I kept wondering what they’d think of the Salina of today.

Admission for two to an amusement park 400 feet below the surface, a day of parking and a 20-minute boat rental — sounds like a pretty expensive outing, huh? But this is Romania… all in, I spent $18.75. Adult admission will run you $7, but kids are just $3.50, making this a very affordable family day trip.

There are two routes into the mine — one entrance (below) requires climbing down many flights of stairs, so be sure to keep that in mind.

While there are two elevators available, it’s impossible to get to the main area without walking down at least a few flights of sodium-encrusted stairs — if you’re like me, you’ll probably be taking pictures the whole way down.

After a steep descent, you’ll come upon the main room, which houses a variety of amenities. At more than 250 feet long and 160 feet wide, it’s really a sight to behold.

There’s a large ping pong area, with six tables, a mini ferris wheel, an amphitheater with 180 heated seats, mini-golf, a children’s playground and more.

You’ll also find billiards tables, bowling, badminton, a gift shop and other activities.

Then, there’s a balcony at the far end of the main room that overlooks an underground lake, another 13 stories below.

The lake has boats available for rent ($3.50 for 20 minutes) — each boat holds three people, and, as you’d expect, you’ll be floating on salt water.

The boating excursion was the highlight for me, so it’s worth the wait (if there is one at all). We visited on a Sunday and arrived just after the mine opened at 9:00am — by 11 it was starting to fill up, so be sure to arrive early if you can.

Here’s what you’ll see looking up from the lake — the first balcony is 13 stories up, while the second (the small orange sliver) is another 13 floors above.

While You’re in the Neighborhood…

2.5 hours and some 500 pictures later, it was time to resurface and stuff our faces with a local delicacy Sorin had described as “meat from the side of the pig.” I was a bit delirious on my 10-minute ride from the airport to the hotel Friday morning, so I was expecting some Romanian speciality, perhaps involving a stew with potatoes. Imagine my (pleasant) surprise when the waitress brought out two gigantic plates of ribs slathered with BBQ sauce, with a side of French fries accompanied ketchup and an incredible creamy garlic sauce.

My new buddy Sorin was telling me about this Romanian speciality… "meat from the side of… https://t.co/6zL6XTEOoL http://pic.twitter.com/JJIzEO6do0

— Zach Honig (@ZachHonig) February 26, 2017

These were the best ribs I’d ever had — and at $7 for a massive rack, they were also the cheapest. I also added one mititei, a typical local dish of grilled pork, beef and lamb (about 50 cents). After tip (it’s customary to tip 5-10% in Romania), our bill at my new favorite restaurant (Pensiunea Pusca si Cureaua Lata) came to about $19, including a local beer for me and a Coke for Sorin.

Bottom Line

At $50 for transportation and my guide, roughly $19 for parking, admission and the boat rid, and a $19 lunch for two, my private excursion from Cluj-Napoca to Turda cost just $89. Unbelievable! Hotels in Cluj are incredibly reasonable as well (my Hampton by Hilton stay cost just 10,000 Honors points per night, which we value at $50), but there’s no question that flying to Romania is a bit of a hassle — and it can be costly as well, given that the cheapest fares I’m seeing now are in the $650 range. Flights similar to those I took (operated by United and Lufthansa/Air Dolomiti) start at $762 round-trip, with fares on most dates pricing much higher than that.

Still, if you’re up for a unique adventure or you can work Cluj into a larger trip to Romania or Europe, it’s absolutely worth adding to your list. Salina Turda will eventually be undergoing an expansion, so I’m already thinking about one day going back.

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the-uptake · 6 years ago

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mantel piece

(galen’s about 15 here, so it was taken ~2 years before his accident)

#dimercaprol #beryl miner #dolom miner #torber miner #galen miner #orpi miner #vana miner #ruti miner

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the-uptake · 6 years ago

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The Uptake, The 704. 2|0|0|-. Book 1, Chapter Eleven. Part Two (Parts 1 & 3)

“What happened?” Dolom insisted, glaring at Galen’s disfigured features.

“Th, th’accident back at Christmas,” Galen replied, pulling his hood back over his head and trying to pull away from their eyes. “It, i--i--i-- it did stuff t’me. Nobody knew there was chemicals in the drums, but it’s. It’s-- It’s ‘cause they cleaned ‘emself up.” His ears rang, terrified. Why did he get himself into this? “It-- I, I, I, I ain’t human anymore.”

“What the slag does that mean?” Dolom continued, trying so hard to understand. He felt like he was being tormented by a corpse.

“I left ‘cause I, I, I-- ‘cause I started eatin’ stuff wasn’t food. I thought I was gonna die--” Galen looked up and met his father’s gaze. “Whatever that junk was, it’s makin’ me eat the yards, Dad. Regular food... makes me sick.”

“That’s sick,” Orpi snorted to feign being unimpressed somehow. “Y’tryin’ t’say y’eat garbage?”

“--Not exactly.” Galen’s stress got the best of him and he grabbed and swallowed one of Vana’s cars before he could help himself. The instant he realized what he’d done, his face twisted up and he pressed it against the wall, trying to calm himself down. “I--” He couldn’t form the words.

“He eats computer parts an’ metal,” Torber chimed in, speaking up for Galen as usual. “Batteries. Y’like batteries, yeah?”

“--Batteries are safe,” Galen agreed. “Soap.”

“--My car!” Vana couldn’t frown harder.

“S, ss, sorry.” He started trying to shove himself back in the closet, only for the three kids to grab the back of his hoodie to prevent him from shrinking further away from him. “--Ahhall I do is eat.”

“Y’make stuff,” Torber corrected with positive inflection. He held up his broken hand and started to unwrap the outer half of the bandaging to reveal the bizarre metallic brace beneath. “Y’still Gale. Y’stayed today ‘cause y’was worried about me.”

“How long y’known he was still alive?” Dolom asked pointedly, picking up on Torber’s narrative syntax that neither of them were telling the family everything.

“--I reached out t’Torb ‘bout two weeks ago. I been so scared, Dad.” He wished he could come out with the real reason he had been away for so long, but just his physical condition was upsetting enough. He hadn’t even told Torber yet. "I wish I could’a come back sooner.”

“Y’gonna stay?”

Galen could tell his father wasn’t scared of him yet, and looked up at him again.

“Yeah. If it’s ok--”

Orpi got up in Galen’s face and yanked the hood back again, looking him over.

“Y’look like ya took a bath in sulfuric acid,” he prodded, smirking.

“Knock it off, man,” Galen sputtered, kicking his feet at Orpi’s to get him out of his personal space. “What, ya wanna see?” Crinkling his nose, he unzipped and took off the jacket, exposing his pasty, cracked, bare arms. “It’s probably ‘cause a the sweat,” he started, snatching up the opportunity to push the conversation to something different. He removed his gloves with his teeth, and rubbed his hands together, trying to figure out something that would prove a good demonstration. Once he got his sweat running, he went with the first thing that came to mind, and he pinched and smoothed the metal in his hand until a figure was formed from it. With his gloves dangling absently in his teeth, Galen held up an army man made of copper, and offered it to Orpi, who took it. Thoughtlessly he wiped his hands off on his pants, only to grunt to himself in annoyance at the lapse of judgment.

“How did you DO that!” Ruti exclaimed, tugging Galen’s tank top and reaching for the toy Orpi had just taken. Orpi let him have it, still faking that he was unimpressed and not excited to have his brother home.

“Metal comes outta my skin now.” Galen started to put his gloves back on. “I dunno how it works.”

“Make me somethin’,” Vana pleaded. “Pleeease?”

“I, uh. ‘K.” After a moment of deliberating on it, he went back to work, producing a snail and holding it out for her.

“That is so cool!” She snatched it up and inspected it, bowled over with how cool her brother was. Sniffing the freshly crafted figure and making a face, she looked over at Torber’s injured hand. “Y’made that, too, didn’t ya.”

“Yeah, I know I smell.” Galen shifted in his place, glancing down at his gloves in his lap. “It’s ok if I stay, yeah?”

Dolom grabbed his ankle forcefully.

“Please don’t leave again. I don’t care how bad y’think y’gone scare us, how scared y’get. We y’family.”

“Yeah, I know.” Scarcely, Galen internalized, «Family. That’s the problem. Y’all ain’t even know what I’m so scared of.» And yet, “Y’eat yet, Dad?”

“--No, course not.”

“I could sure go for dinner,” Torber seconded, recognizing the diversion. “I think we all could. If that’s ok with you, Galen.”

The others couldn’t process why Torber would ask such a thing and with an expectant daze looked to Galen, who rubbed at his nape, self-conscious.

“I, bein’ ‘round normal food don’t bother me. Jus’ can’t eat it.”

“So y’comin’ with,” Torber continued, crouching down and handing Galen’s hoodie back to him from the closet floor. “It’s settled,” he smiled.

Galen laughed, smiling back, and he cracked the most light-hearted self-deprecating joke he could manage:

“What, y’think I was askin’, tryin’ t’duck out?”

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

The family ended up at Santo’s Diner as always that night. They came in the door and the six of them stood in the entryway. Torber absently removed his hat and tucked it in his back pocket. As they awaited the host to take them to a table, Galen got noticeably more fidgety, withdrawing into his hoodie.

“Y’ok?” Torber whispered to him.

Before Galen could form a response, the host came up.

“Six tonight?” The Miners were regulars, and she remembered this was a change in group number. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, Sir? I’m going t’have to ask you to remove your hood inside. City code and all that.”

“...Yeah.” Galen didn’t even argue with her, knowing full well why.

She tried her best to stifle her knee-jerk revulsion, but it still came out in a tic.

“It’s a stupid code,” Torber started: it was a comfort for his brother not to have to get stared at directly. “–He survived a yard accident–”

Galen grabbed him by the shoulder to shut him up. The look in his eyes pleaded him not to make a big deal out of it.

“I’m sorry,” the host tried, furrowing her lip and trying not to stare. “Really, I apologize. Didn’t mean any hurt by it. …Y’all want a corner booth tonight? If it makes things more amiable, y’can put it back on. Less likely t’draw attention in the corner. Bigger table, too,” she added with a welcoming little grin, suggesting her impression that Galen’s survivor status was why he’d been absent from the head count for all that time.

“That’d be great, Mimet,” Dolom replied, shepherding the kids to follow her.

Once the rest of them were enough steps away from them, Galen leaned into Torber’s shoulder.

“That law’s cause a me, ‘Nite,” he whispered in a hurt, feeling like explaining that much would quieten Torber’s protectiveness a bit. “I–”

“Don’t talk y’self down, man,” he interrupted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in to try to jostle the bad emotions out. “The city’s got weird, dumb rules. Y’know y’can’t take handheld Vees up past Level 14? How dumb’s that? What situation could that ha–”

“I, I ain’t exaggeratin’ Torb. I’m the Supermarket Geek.”

“S–”

“Gale, pile in man,” Dolom insisted. “Whatever y’all chewin’ on over there can fall out on the table with all the other catchin’ up we gotta do.”

“Ya, Torb, stop hoggin’ him,” Orpi jabbed, rolling his eyes with his gaze already boredly on a menu.

It took Torber a moment to snap out of staring at Galen as he tried to process what Galen had just confessed. He couldn’t make sense of whether he could grasp the correlation of the two details. He recalled again the code posting signs outside most establishments’ front doors. The ‘covered head code’ Tri-City had passed this year was because of the Supermarket Geek? And the Geek was his brother? He’d always heard justification that it had been so the hybrids had a harder time concealing their animalistic features, but... the stories he’d heard of the Geek eating right in the middle of the stores he plundered, the intimation of Galen’s face to that–

Galen took the welcome chance to change subjects and slipped in between all the kids, threading his arms out to either side of the back of the booth to pull them all closer. Orpi allowed it.

Torber swallowed hard, and with a knowing look shared between them the elder owed it to Galen not to further pry, especially not in present company. He joined them on the end of the booth and grabbed the last menu.

Mimet had waited patiently while everyone got in, then took their drink orders counter-clockwise starting with Torber. When Galen told her he didn’t want anything, she noted to bring him water.

“So where y’been holin’ up at?” Dolom started, adjusting his iced tea.

Galen fidgeted with the red vinyl menu with a screwed up look on his face.

“I don’t know why I didn’t give that back t’her,” he mumbled, pushing it away from himself. “Place under Bayonne. Ain’t much, but can’t expect much squattin’ an’ all.”

“Don’t sell it short man, y’got that queen size mattress y’found,” Torber chirped playfully over his menu.

Another reminder Torber had regained contact with Galen before the others. Dolom’s face tightened a bit. It hurt him in a big way that Galen had trusted his brother over his own father, but he refused to admit to it, and focused on his menu options.

Orpi nudged a spoon nearer Galen’s personal space on the table, trying to go unnoticed while the adults talked. Vana glanced to Orpi, not quite getting what he was doing. Ruti watched all three adults intently.

“Y’gone give up y’home away from home and move back in, or y’need the escape destination?” With a joking grin, the father added, “A queen size’s bigger’n what I got, man.”

The spoon vanished, and Orpi retained his poker face. Vana’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. Ruti caught on that his siblings were conspiring about something, and saw Galen vanish the fork Orpi nudged nearer to him, too. The youngest kept mum, understanding Orpi was trying to see how long this could go unnoticed.

“I, I could bring it home,” Galen offered, feeling guilty. “It’s kinda nasty, though. More from me sleepin’ on it than it bein’ wherever it was ‘fore I ran off with it.”

“Slag, where did my spoon go for my tea?” the father muttered, looking under his menu and napkin, then to his sides. “Torb, gimme yours.”

“–Sure thing.” He complied mechanically, half-forming the comprehension what was taking place. Glancing over at Galen caught him zoned out, likely thinking about the mattress. On a hunch Torber looked around at the napkin-wrapped utensils, to find most of the paper empty, and he couldn’t process the confirmation he’d been right. “–Gale–”

The meta’s face crumpled up deep blue when the youngest three burst out laughing, and he pulled his hood over his head in revulsion when he consciously tasted the steel on his breath.

“Y’all!” Torber started, glaring at each of them in a panicked desperation. “He ain’t a toy.”

“What–”

“–Orpi,” he wagged a finger at the culprit as he pieced it together, “been puttin’ everybody’s silverware under Galen’s nose while we was talkin’, Dad. Knock it off, twips. It ain’t funny–”

“S’fine, Torber,” Galen muttered, still gripping his hood with trembling hands. “They just… tryin’ t’get used to it.”

“Slag f’at ain’t weird,” Orpi uttered with a wide, toothy awe. “Y’ain’t even notice it, do ya.”

“Leave him alone,” Dolom grunted, staring squarely at Galen from the incidental demonstration. “…He… can’t help it…”

“Y’don’t even chew it up,” Vana marveled. “Y’just…” made the bottoms up gesture, “swallow it.” Her nose crinkled into her grin, disgusted but enamored.

Ruti offered one of the few remaining utensils up to Galen: a fork.

Galen simply stared at it for a moment, unable to wrap his head around the fact this was actually happening. The tension at the table cut when he snorted and smiled, reaching out to take it.

“Thanks, lil man,” he appreciated weakly, and resignedly swallowed it handle-first.

“That don’t hurt, does it?” the father asked with a vague absent gesturing at his own throat.

“Not in the slightest.” Galen laughed, hiding the hollow best he could.

Torber picked up on the flat tone and look on Galen’s face. Knew it was from the foodstuff being metallic, and bit his lip. He was about to say something, but Mimet came back.

“Are we ready t’order?” she wondered pleasantly.

“Yeah, let’s. Let’s do that,” Dolom agreed, handing her his menu. “Chicken club, extra horseradish. An’ a salad instead a fries, please.”

“Make that two,” Orpi followed. “’Cep he can have my horseradish.”

“I’d like the chili please,” Vana requested. “An’ Ruti says he wants the chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Cheeseburger please,” Torber chimed in detachedly, gathering everybody’s menus and handing them over to Mimet. "Extra onion and pickle, if y'could."

“And you?” she asked, gesturing to Galen–who, boiling in self-consciousness, tried to tune out that he’d been spoken to, but didn’t want to come off as rude.

“…I’m good.”

The children burst into another wave of laughter and Mimet blinked. Torber leaned nearer to her and motioned her to do the same, the fatigue of trying to mediate the evening finally beginning to wear him down.

“Could we… get another round a utensils, too. An’ don’t bring ‘em ‘til y’bring the food if y’could.”

“I, yeah, sure.”

Once Mimet left, Galen laughed off the kids making fun of him, taking his hood back off to try to prove he was no longer on edge.

“Really though, don’t do that with stuff ain’t yours. It is pretty funny, I guess. …But those wasn’t mine t’eat.”

"Yeah, y'all. Don't get 'im all strung out on his first night home again," Dolom agreed, still trying to understand what was even going on with his son. "He tells y'not t'do somethin', please if you can do one thing for me--don't do it."

No one ever offered any explanation as to why they'd needed more utensils, but Torber doubled up the tip their father had left Mimet to make up for any trouble it might have caused her. While everyone ate, Galen had surreptitiously removed one glove in his lap and left a penitent smear of iron under the table, not at all unlike the deposit of chewed gum.

««« Back to Part 1 || On to Part 3 »»»

#cyberpunk #biopunk #dystopian #body horror #the uptake #the 704 #704 #200 #two oh oh blank #galen miner #torber miner #orpi miner #vana miner #ruti miner #dolom miner

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the-uptake · 6 years ago

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The Uptake, The 704. 2|0|0|-. Book One, Chapter Eleven. Part 1 (Parts 2 & 3)

Tw: Limb injury.

A fresh yard site could provide a change of scenery to clear his head, right?

Every time he came home without Galen in tow, it became that much harder for Torber to keep from their family that he’d found Galen. For six months, the Miners believed Galen had left or died. For two weeks, Torber had known otherwise. Though he’d brought Galen a cake on his eighteenth birthday, Torber had not mentioned to him that the whole family had gone to the Pyre Block earlier that same day; in order to deliver the gift, Torber had cut out after their visitation under the guise of needing some time to himself. He wondered how much longer he could keep up what essentially amounted to a double life, how much longer he could keep lying to his family about something like this. But how could he explain to them what had happened, if he didn’t completely understand it himself?

The complex duplicity of his situation led to a lapse in concentration. A piece of rebar tumbled off the drift he was working. It slammed down on his hand. He failed to stifle hollering about it. A couple other stalkers called out to check on him. He called back an all-clear. He ignored the sharp, throbbing pain several minutes. But, his hand had begun to swell up, and he couldn’t move two of his fingers on that hand. He gnashed his teeth beneath his respirator, and mentally skirted the certainty that he’d broken it. He’d only been on site at that yard a few hours at best, but the pain was too much for him. Seeing Bell about it would cost more than it was worth. Clouded by spite he snatched up the rogue piece of rebar and headed home.

With his respirator and goggles pulled down around his neck, Torber ran down in his head what first aid he could toss together in the apartment. He struggled one-handed to lockpick his own front door, fumbling with his trifold to put the pick back in its place then return the wallet to his back pocket. Such a dexterous task was that much more difficult lacking the use of one’s dominant hand. Though he bee-lined it to the bathroom to dig in the medicine cabinet, briefly he reeled from the mental whiplash of momentarily perceiving the way his bed sheet had been wadded up to resemble Galen.

He flung the rebar down in the hall in a reverberating frustration that his stress was getting bad enough to be making him see things.

The medicine cabinet yielded a bottle of antiseptic to deal with the nasty grinding cut he’d gotten from the rebar, but he didn’t find anything bigger than bandaids, so he went to the nightstand drawer to locate an old shirt he could cannibalize for a bandage. As he dug absently in the drawer, he realized the bedding was neither the same color as what he’d seen in his peripheral nor in the same shape, and he instantly snapped to his feet at the sound of rustling in the living room. He caught Galen trying to sneak out the door unnoticed.

“--Hey” was all Torber could stutter out in startled objection.

Galen froze, relieved it had been Torber but still caught in the act.

“What ya doin’ home?” Galen asked sheepishly, pulling his hood down.

“Slag why I’m here--why YOU here!” Suddenly his hand didn’t hurt so much.

“I... I come by s, s, sometimes. Didn’t wanna fess it.”

“How long y’been comin’ around--?” Sooner than process the fact Galen was standing in their apartment right in front of him, Torber couldn’t help but catastrophize the train wreck of anybody else coming home to find Galen here, and he was fast to devising ways to hide him quickly.

“Jus, s,s usst a few times. I... I, maybe four times now.” Galen looked up at the door anxiously. “Can I go now?”

“Y’really wanna--” Torber trailed off, biting his tongue. Galen wasn’t ready to come home yet, but here he was coming home anyway. “Yeah, it’s fine. Y’stay much longer, y’likely t’run into the kids.”

Galen couldn’t help but feel guilty for being uncomfortable staying, and he lingered, eyes on Torber’s feet. He quickly noticed Torber’s hand.

“Ya dreg, I knew it was bad y’was home middle the day! What happened!”

“Ain’t nothin’, man. I’ll manage.”

“Nothin’ my ass. Lemme see.”

Torber hesitated, but held it up with a sorry look on his face.

“I was tryin’ t’find a bandage or somethin’ t’wrap it.”

“Gotta better idea. Do one better. ...Slag f’that don’t look broken.”

“I ain’t goin’ t’the Clinic, Gale.”

Galen’s internal speculations halted, whether his brother’s injury had been the byproduct of a negotiator fistfight, and his face tightened at the mere mention.

“Ain’t nobody goin’ back to the Clinic.”

Tone alone put the hairs on Torber’s neck on end; he knew better than to ask for clarification.

“What’s y’bright idea then?”

The metahuman discarded his chance to get out of the house and started digging in the still open drawer of the nightstand. He held up a tee-shirt.

“This one ok?”

“I don’t-- yeah, that’s fine.”

Torber watched passively as Galen helped him clean and wrap his dominant hand. Then Galen’s gloves came off and he wrapped his hands around Torber’s wrist. The pained concentration in Galen’s face left the elder brother speechlessly questioning what was wrong.

“Gotta work up a sweat,” Galen replied, reading Torber’s slack face. “Gonna make y’a cast.”

It didn’t take long before the metahuman managed to coax the stimulus to sweat, his forehead shining in a brassy high contrast to his pallor as liquid metal began to pour from his palms and saturate the torn fabric. The finesse with which Galen worked reminded Torber of someone sculpting very soft clay: Galen coated his wrist, hand, and index, middle, and ring fingers, but did so with an open, skeletal structure which allowed the skin to breathe. He stopped after he’d applied a solid layer, not more than a third of a centimeter, then held the arm out for it to dry. At first, the sensation had been cold, and now as it hardened Torber’s skin felt clammy. He shoved down the compulsion to comment on the sulfurous smell of the moisture evaporating from the layer of metal. As it dried, the metal took on a turquoise and white crust patina with sharp contrast flecks of a golden yellow.

Galen licked his hand clean, trying to compartmentalize the effect lapping up even those small smears of metal was having, to prevent himself from getting worked up over it; the thought process produced a detached demeanor to the instruction he gave next.

“Give it a couple more minutes t’set up nice, an’ we can wrap the other half of the shirt around it so it don’t look as weird.”

Torber turned his arm this way and that best he could, gawking admiringly at the makeshift cast as he adjusted his knit cap with his free hand.

“Dude I can see your fingerprints in it. This is so. Wow.”

“I didn’t figure I needed t’really smooth it out much.”

“--This’s copper, ain’t it.”

Galen choked up and withdrew from him, flushing deep blue in the face.

“I, I, I had t’leave mostuvit in the alley after, but. I. I. Yeah.”

Trying to diffuse the stupid question, Torber pulled him into a hug.

“Hey now, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. This is so chouay. Thanks.”

“I, I hope it helps.”

“It already feels a ton better, man.”

Galen looked up at the alarm clock in the bedroom, and reached into his pockets to retrieve his gloves with a resignation.

“It’s, like, not even fifteen minutes ‘til they get back from s, s, school.”

A long silence followed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gale, but I really don’t think y’should just be sittin’ here when they get here.”

“I’ll lea--”

“No, no, no.” Torber held onto him tighter to prevent him from squirming away. “I mean, I think I should talk to ‘em first. Give ‘em a little... context. The way y’came t’me, I figure it’d... Well, I don’t know how I’d set up some forewarnin’ or nothin’, but maybe not catch ‘em totally off guard any rate.”

“I, I, I, --I was real lost that night,” he apologized, swallowing hard at the reminder of how badly he’d screwed up the night he’d approached Torber. “Ss, still lost. Less, s lost now, but, s, still.”

“Bro, if I was still upset about it, y’think I’d a kept comin’ back t’see ya?” Torber laughed genuinely at his own pun: “Don’t sweat it.”

“That was bad.”

“Gotta smile outta ya, though.” He took Galen by the shoulder and started walking to the living room. “I think y’could hide out in the far end of the closet. ‘Til Dad gets home.”

“I, I dunno--”

“Y’can take a nap, maybe,” he continued, opening the left half of the folding accordion door and parting the hanging clothes. “It ain’t too cramped.”

Galen didn’t have any more time to object, panicking as he heard running footsteps bounding up the stairs and down the hall, and he shoved himself down into the corner as fast as possible. Torber practically slammed the door behind him.

Vana pushed the door open, holding it for her brothers as she continued her story.

“--an’ that’s why Jim is a jerk. I’m tellin’ ya, he won’t stop it even if y’tell Ms. Prendergast on him.”

“I’ll punch him for ya,” Orpi offered, tossing his backpack down against the closet door. “Oh, hey Torb. Y’sure are home early.”

“I, ah, yeah. Ha. I was a klutz and hurt my hand.”

“Is it broke?” The other two backpacks joined the pile.

“Nah. Got cut up pretty bad, though.”

“Y’don’t need stitches or nothin’?” Galen could see through the slats of the door that Vana was trying to get Torber to show them his hand, but he wouldn’t let them get very close. “What y’got on it? That’s real hard an’ it smells weird.”

“--I wrapped some yard junk on it. It’s clean, promise.”

“The door’s open.”

“I’m gonna be fine, Ruti.” Though accustomed to the phrase, Torber couldn’t not stare off at the closet door, and ultimately broke off to dig in the right side of the closet in the kids’ toys to diffuse his nerves. “Why don’t y’tell me what all y’did at school today? Vana, what’s your classmate doin’ that the teacher’s ignorin’?”

“She ain’t ignorin’ it. He ignorin’ her. He a jerk, Torber.” She dragged out her cars and loop-tracks, and started building a track while she talked. “He won’t lemme play with my other friends if they playin’ with him. Like, today. He told me he didn’t want a girl playin’ Space Force with ‘em. I wanted t’be Commander Gorsch! Dean an’ Patrick wasn’t bein’ mean about it, but the instant Jim says a word they clam up. An’ it’s always like that.” The sound of a car wreck punctuated her irritation.

“I told ya, I’ll punch ‘im if y’say so,” Orpi repeated, sitting at the folding table by the closet.

“I’ll punch him too,” Ruti seconded, sitting down on the floor next to him.

“Nobody’s punchin’ nobody,” Torber grunted, sitting in the other folding chair opposite Orpi. “Orpi, you especially. A teenager ain’t beatin’ up a slaggin’ eight year old, man. For shame.”

“He bein’ a dreg to my lil’ sis.”

Galen couldn’t handle hearing them all in such close proximity to him, not having heard their voices, seen their faces, in so long. He sank back against the back corner of the closet, as far back as he could, and buried himself in the hanging clothing again, trying to tune it all out while he mentally rehearsed for when he’d eventually reemerge. But, no amount of preparation felt adequate. He’d nearly drifted off, finally letting himself be comforted by the sounds of his family, to hear the front door swing open.

“Daddy!” Ruti ran up and latched onto his leg.

“Hey buddy,” Dolom smiled, patting him on the head and trailing off. “Torber, y’leave y’phone at home or somethin’? Been tryin’ t’raise y’all afternoon.”

“I, no-- Slag, I didn’t even realize y’texted me.” Torber shot up from the couch from where he’d been watching TV with the kids, and walked up to him. “I screwed up my hand earlier. Came home t’take care f’it. An’ there’s... somethin’ else, came up.”

“Are y’ok? I needed y’help with a deal, found a canister of Carbamex I need t’unload. Y’know how bad my nerve is, gettin’ ridda blacklist stuff.”

“--I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll help ya unload it first thing in the morning. But about that thing that came up... Y’should probably sit down.”

“What? What is it?”

“--I found Galen.”

A long, heavy silence. Suddenly the father understood why Torber had been so severed from reality not to notice his phone getting blown up. Dolom’s head whipped around in concern at the younger ears hearing any more details.

“We can finally put him t’rest, then. ...Y’sure it’s him?”

Torber screwed his face up and threw his hat on the coffee table, starting to pace.

“--No, I found him. Guess it’s more accurate t’say he found me.”

“What! He ok?”

“Told ya he flaked,” Orpi muttered under his breath. Vana punched him in the arm hard. “OW! What’s that for!”

“...Thank you. That, I approve of. Galen had every reason t’flake. He, he was scared. An’ it’s... understandable. He... don’t quite look like himself anymore. --But he’s still Galen. An’ for however scared he is, last thing he’s wanted was t’scare us. I was scared at first, t’be truthful. So yeah. I found him. An’... he’s here.”

“Since when!” Vana cried out, exasperated. “We been home for two hours! Just us here!”

Galen took it as as good a cue as any to open the closet door and scoot forward through the clothes, making certain his hood stayed pulled down as he slumped against the frame of the door. He looked up anxiously to see everybody piled over the back of the couch, staring in shock.

Ruti was the first to unfreeze, running up to Galen and cramming himself up in his lap. Recovering from the near-tackle, he got a death-grip on his youngest brother and gnashed his teeth, sniveling.

“The slag y’doin’ in the closet, twip!!” Orpi roared, doubling over laughing at him. “Y’been in there half a year or somethin’!?”

“Sh’up, twip--” Galen choked out.

“--Galen where y’even been--” Dolom couldn’t hold it back anymore and stood, his approach prompting everyone to pile into the floor around Galen.

Torber stood off from the rest, still struggling with directing conversation. Reunions weren’t exactly something negotiators typically handled. Besides, he’d already had his reunion with Galen, and didn’t want to interfere with theirs.

“EW! Y’need a bath.” Ruti groaned with a fake snarl, playfully pushing him away. The roughhousing knocked his hood back, and suddenly they were all back to staring at him again.

“I--”

“Told y’all it was gonna take some gettin’ used to,” Torber chirped flatly, uncertain how well things were going.

On to Part 2 »»» || On to Part 3 »»»

#cyberpunk #biopunk #dystopian #the uptake #the 704 #704 #two oh oh blank #200 #torber miner #galen miner #ruti miner #orpi miner #vana miner #dolom miner

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the-uptake · 6 years ago

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The Uptake, The 704. 3|0|0|-. Book 1, Chapter Eight, Part One. (Part 2)

Necrophilic incest and body horror tw’s.

“–Get y’own shirt, Orpi!”

Torber was still catching his breath fretting and snarling over a tangle of bed sheets, and scowled up at his younger brother from across the room. The youngest two were on the bed across the room putting on their socks and shoes.

“Hey, man. I like Nightswill, too.” Orpi pinched at the dark grey band tee with a halved peach design. “You wear his shit all the time. Don’t see why I can’t.”

“Language,” the elder snapped, beyond tired. He wasn’t about to admit that the shirt had been in his bed because he’d been sleeping with it. Orpi simply rolled his eyes and started to walk off, leaving Vana and Ruti gawking stock-still at the forming argument.

“Y’can’t just hoard all his stuff.” Orpi shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. “He ain’t comin’ back.”

“He’ll come back!” Ruti huffed, glowering at Orpi.

“We’re gonna find him.” Torber accused a pointed finger at him.

“It’s been half a year!” Incredulous, Orpi laughed and stepped back in. “Face it–if he ain’t dead, he flaked! He went loon as hell at the end! You saw how bad he slagged up the livin’ room on Epiphany. He ain’t worth fightin’ about.”

Torber’s features thinned in plaintive resignation. The likelihood Galen was indeed dead wounded Torber daily. He had kept the severity of Galen’s symptoms secret from them, to spare them the same worry it put on him. Knowing the compulsions his younger brother had been experiencing as a result of the accident only further served to haunt and torment him. How bad off Galen had been that last day, simply shoveling straight quarter drift into his mouth by the handful… Torber’s imagination could only take so much, knowing Galen had told him the urges had been mounting in severity. If it had just kept getting worse since that first week, and it had been nearly six months… It was unthinkable.

Sarcasm inscribed the middle child’s hazel eyes as he slinked up to Torber and leaned his arms across the elder’s sleeveless shoulders, feigning empathy.

“Look. I get it. He’s our brother, too. Was. But he’s gone. Even you stopped lookin’ for him every single day like you did at first.” Suddenly the scandalized look he gave his older brother suggested he knew why the shirt had been in the bed, suggested that that was exactly why he’d snatched upon drawing attention to it. “What would y’do if y’DID find him?”

“Gale’s. Fine.” Torber frowned and smoothed the front of his asymmetrical zippered vest, rejecting Orpi’s nettling with an even, unblinking glare. “I know it.”

Orpi scoffed and rolled his eyes again in annoyance, and reached up to pull the dark green sock hat down too far on Torber’s head. Then he walked off, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Torber readjusted the last birthday present their mother had given him, and his face soured vacantly.

“Stop scrappin’,” Dolom grunted in the living room. From the bedroom, the kids recognized the sound of their father flicking Orpi in the head. “It don’t matter if Gale’s dead or just gone. I mean, it’d be nice to know one way or another. Both his and y’mom’s birthdays comin’ up. We all dealin’ with the loss different. Y’all oughta share his stuff, not fight over it.”

The eldest child didn’t argue. But, he wasn’t about to draw attention to the various things of Galen’s that he’d already taken from his drawer of the nightstand they’d shared and put in his own, let alone relinquish them. He hoped everyone would just leave the rest as it was. Under his breath, he uttered aside, “Just… don’t wreck it in the yards today, dreg.”

After a long evening of negotiating with a sorters’ cadre to unload the family’s yard finds that day, Torber was last coming home that night. He found a note wedged in the handle-plate of the front door, addressed to him. With little care, he plucked it up and let himself in. Only once he had stepped inside did he unfold it to read it. His three siblings were rough-housing, Dolom vegetating to an old sci-fi movie on the couch. Torber half-expected he’d walk into the bedroom to find Orpi had vandalized his nightstand and strewn it everywhere. The note was on a to-go menu for Santo’s Diner, the handwriting scrawled and difficult.

||Hey ‘Nite. 94th and Bradley at 9. We gotta catch up.||

He swallowed hard. Exactly one person had ever called him that. Others’ terms of endearment for him had always been the truncation down to Torb, rather than the particle of their namesakes stalkers typically discarded when naming their children. Torber-Nite. A four year old tries to be clever with his knowledge as he gains it, and this part of their cultural history had been no different for the two kids. He remembered telling him, it’s Galen, like Ga-Le-Na, that’s why it’s not Ga-Len. His pulse raced ice, and he steadied himself.

“What’s that note anyway, kiddo?” Their father had noticed he’d finally come in, but didn’t look up from the screen.

“…Aah, ah. An old friend tryin’ t’get back in touch with me. H– hadn’t seen him in forever.” He swallowed his grief and put on a smile best he could. A brief sideglance to read Orpi yielded nothing. “He’s probably got some crazy get rich quick scheme to run by me or somethin’, knowin’ ‘at guy,” he faked. “You guys go on t’dinner without me. An’ don’t wait up.”

Dolom slouched harder with a grunt, turning off the set by remote.

“We can handle dinner without ya for a night, Torb. Go hang out. Y’never go out anymore. Enjoy y’self.”

Torber pocketed the note and patted his dad’s shoulder from behind the back of the couch, the unmistakably unsettled look in his eyes going unseen, then headed out without another word.

At a brisk pace, he made quick time down Bradley Street. In the summer night air his mind weighed on the plausibility someone was slagging hard with him. But who could have possibly known this exact way to get under his skin? He could only think of a single person who’d ever called him ‘Nite, and after all he’d seen, how could that one person not be dead? Why had he left a note, on paper, rather than call, or text? If he’d come in person to leave a physical note, why hadn’t he simply shown himself? As he stood beneath a streetlamp at the designated intersection, his mind flooded with all the possibilities of the imminent encounter, with no clue what to expect.

Only Galen had ever called him that before–and only at his most vulnerable, when he needed Torber most. Nights like this, his practice with a butterfly knife comforted him. If this wasn’t Galen… Hell, if it was– no, he couldn’t be that bad off, reaching out like this. Somehow, he had himself half-convinced he could stomach all this better if it were a prank after all. At least then, maybe he wouldn’t have to confront himself.

«I’m here, ‘Lena.»

With every minute that passed after Torber had arrived at the junction between Bradley and 94th, anxiety and dread dragged him further down. He began to pace, arms crossed. Ultimately, he leaned against the lamppost and stared off down the street, ignoring foot traffic when it didn’t look like it had made eye contact.

The weight of a weak but heavy, gloved hand laid upon his shoulder, carrying with it a voice thin with fatigue.

“Y’came, man. Y’actually came.”

Torber turned, startled, to find a figure standing behind him, face obscured within a grimy off-green hoodie. With a sliver of dark hair sticking out to one side, only his mouth, neck, and jaw were visible. The complexion was off, like bad quality grey Halloween makeup… but that mouth was unmistakable. The figure nervously slouched his weight into his hoodie pockets, as Torber continued to stare helplessly. The elder hesitated only a moment before tackling him in a trembling vicegrip, clutching the back of his head something fierce through the rank smelling fabric.

“I. I thought y’was dead.”

“Probably am.”

Galen writhed, realizing he’d made such a comment aloud. When Torber reached up to draw back the hood to get a better look at the brother he hadn’t seen in six months, Galen winced and pulled it back down. But, Torber still caught a fleeting glimpse of that clouded, jaundiced eye framed with scars.

“Nn, not here.”

Galen looked both ways nervously, repeatedly. Torber grabbed him by the shoulders and glared, horrified, into the shadow of a face cast by that streetlamp.

“–What HAPPENED t’you!”

It was as though tormented by a walking corpse, a mockery of the brother he once knew.

“I said not here.” Galen twisted out of the grip. His tone urged Torber to control his voice. “J, just needed someplace t’meet you. We gotta go someplace more private. Comon, we can go where I been stayin’. I’ll grab y’a bite t’eat on the way, too. Pretty sure y’not eaten yet.”

Taking it in, Torber consented shakily to following the ghoul, and the two slowly started the rest of the way down Bradley Street.

“Y’didn’t tell ‘em where y’was goin’, yeah?”

“Course not.” A shake of the head. “Just told ‘em t’go onto dinner without me.”

“Good.” A hard pause. “They can’t know, aight?”

“Don’t even know what I’d tell ‘em anyway.”

They approached the Burger Box on Bradley and 90th, only for Galen to slip Torber a small unmarked cred and stay outside while Torber got his food. Torber could tell Galen didn’t want to go inside because he didn’t want to take off the hood, but still he had to ask:

“Y’want me t’get you anything?”

Galen stared at him in a moment of tacit disappointment before stepping off to the side and reclining against the side of the establishment to wait for him.

Once on their way, they turned down 90th, went a ways, and stood at the broken curb of Hanbrook Road. Trembling visibly as he stepped up to the chain-link gate, Galen fished something out of his pocket which Torber assumed was a lockpick, the ghoul’s posture hiding the padlock as he held it to get it open. Galen opened the gate and ushered him in and set the chains and lock back in place behind them, and as they mounted the sloped driveway, Torber began to question whether it had been a key after all, since he hadn’t observed a wallet.

The copper cast of nearby street lights lit the site dimly. The unfinished building itself stood six stories tall, and had originally been destined to become low income housing in the sliver of real estate between the Quarter itself and what was considered true city limits. But, funding had run out before the insulation or walls had been filled in, the weathered and incomplete structure little more than support beams, roofing, and the beginnings of windows and stairways. The concrete turn-in ended abruptly, paving way to formless dirt. Sand was mounded up at random spots across the construction site, as well as some abandoned construction materials long-since rusted over. It had rained recently, the strong scent of river mud lingering in the entire place. It smelled of drowning.

«So this is where he’s been all this time,» Torber thought to himself.

Galen stopped about halfway up the shallow slope up to the building from the street, and drew back his hood to look to Torber. Once he had Torber’s attention, he worked up the nerve to fully unzip and pull off the outerwear completely. In a gesture of heartache, he flung his glove-clad hands out showfully, still clenching the hoodie in one hand. He wore ripped hybrid denim jeans, a stained white tank, calf-high work boots, and a broad, agonized grimace. All Torber could focus on was the cracked, peeling skin of the uncovered parts of Galen’s body. The rolled top of the paper bag crushed in his fist, his gut churning. There was no doubt this was his brother–or at least, had been once.

Torber very much wanted to wake up.

“It gets worse, believe it or not.”

The lyrical ache in Galen’s voice hung acrid in the humid May air as he turned back up to the building, arms falling to his sides.

On to Part 2 »»»

#cyberpunk #biopunk #dystopian #body horror #the uptake #the 704 #704 #torber miner #orpi miner #ruti miner #vana miner #dolom miner #galen miner #300 #three oh oh blank

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