#drunkard does make wise remarks

[lars-canyon]

GGST – 08-24-24 – Fennel (I-No) vs slamDuncan [Giovanna]

Ride the Fire! on the Council of Three Drunkard Does Make Wise Remarks on "A Happy Family?"

< from Dust Up!! 18 >

[frailgun]

ive seen a ton of people this week get super into bridget's new theme but newcomers to guilty gear may not be aware that her old themes are two of the best tracks in the series

both of these can be unlocked in strive in case u want to give bridget something new to dance to

[imdifferentshadesofpurple]

from the Anchors & Arrows series A Siren’s Agreement : Part 1

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader Genre: pirate!au; sea faring!au; fantasy au 

Royalty was always meant for royalty.  Water or land, it did not matter.

Those that wore the crown were destined for each other. 

That’s what you tell Mark on the deck of his ship. You try to convince him that once there was peace. 

Loyalty and love.

The look on his face as the sun bore down on him and his men was not the face of someone who believed. 

And why would he? He was raised to kill creatures like you. And now one comes to him and says everything he’s ever known is a lie?

You wouldn’t believe either.

Which is why you’re now 50 feet under water, staring into the cold eyes of the Sea Queen.

You mother.

It’s no surprise she came to find you. The waters were not always safe and your people were extra cautious when they knew the Milo was out at sea.

“Please tell me,” your mother growled, “you did not dare do what I think you did.”

Silence.

If possible, her eyes glowed an even stronger red as she neared you.

“If you want him to keep his tongue, you’ll answer me child.”

Even though tied up in the strongest seaweed, Mark looked regal and haughty, as if he wasn’t being held prisoner at the bottom of the ocean.

“It had to be done. I apologize for my rash behavior but it was the only way and you are well aware of the circumstances Your Majesty.”

The hand on your cheek and the slap that follows surprises the Prince, you see it in his eyes as your head jolts violently to the side from the action. It stings, merfolk are not immune to pain, but it’s the flaring embarrassment that momentarily colors your pale cheeks.

Be strong.

You steel yourself fir what’s next, holding your ground as you face her once more. 

Your mother’s anger is boiling, water around her hot as she tries to reign her temper in. It’s just the three of you out in open water, the Milo unmoving above you as its crew members remain frozen in time.

When she had found you, she had sensed the magic and had come alone.  Unorthodox for a Queen but you know why, the reasoning behind the that decision. 

No one truly knew just how cruel she could be. How cruel she was.

Yes, she was an able ruler, one that thought of her people before even her own family. But beneath the strength and her ever wise decisions, there was a mermaid that burned like the sun with a heart filled with bitterness.

You were not her only daughter but you were the only one that would even dare to pull a stunt like this.

“I should chop off that tail of yours and leave you in the weed with your beloved prince,” she hissed. Pulling your face tightly between two fingers, she scowled and whispered, “You know critical times are right now Y/N. How could you even think about exposing your magic to a ship full of pyrates?”

The pain burned through you but you held your ground, held her gaze, until she let go.

“People are dying mother. Humans and merfolk alike. You know there must be a union. The magic must be passed in order for both species to survive. You’re sitting your throne just waiting for us to finally go extinct!”

She looked offended, backing away momentarily. “Waiting? Waiting? You stupid girl, I’m trying to fix our problem. I’m trying to save us without having to shackle ourselves to them!” She points at Mark, eyes wild. 

“You hate humans but we are destined mother. We cannot survive without them, and they us. We are running out of time.”

“So your idea was a Siren’s Agreement? Blood mixed with blood, a bond only broken in death. You give up your tail, your magic, and become a bride of a royal from the Empire for a year? That’s your freedom Y/N, the ocean.”

You turn to Mark and you watch him absorb the information your mother just disclosed. 

“A year does not compare to death.”

Your mother’s voice was sad. “Sometimes the year is death.”

Time is still frozen when your feet hit the deck. Mark’s crew remained unmoving, staring at the spot you both stood before disappearing. You take tentative steps forward as he examines his now suddenly dry garments. Your mother’s voice echoes around in your head until his breaks through.

“Explain to me what just happened.” You chuckle bitterly, “What, it wasn’t self explaining?”

“That was the Queen. Ruler if the ocean. And your mother.”

Your silence is all the confirmation he needs so he presses on. “You asked me, before she whisked us away, if I knew what a Siren’s Agreement was. Everything she said, was it true? The agreement includes you living on land as a human? A bride for whatever royal is willing to marry you?”

You wince at the way he says it but nod nonetheless. Your eyes meet his and your gaze hardens, “It would be a sacrifice I’d be willing to make for my people”

“And mine. Considering I’d be the royal in that little sentence.”

A beat passes. 

“Your mother is lovely princess.” “She is bitter,” you bite back, ”with good reason.”

“We are not meant to be friends, let alone spouses,” he replies, “my job is to kill you. You couldn’t possibly believe I’d accept a marriage proposal.”

You turn on him, “I know very well what your job is. But the magic gained in the union between our kind ad yours brings peace. It guarantees life. And loyalty.”

“Humans have peace.”

Time was starting to move, your mother’s magic ending. His first mate Eunwoo was freed first and his eyes widened at the sight of both of you. He moved quickly down the steps of the bridge, the rest of the crew reanimating. Your own magic moves through you as you inch nearer to the ship’s bow. Mark jolts forward as if to follow you into the depths, catching himself at the last moment.

“Humans have peace,” he repeats, just as Eunwoo reaches for his elbow. Your smile holds the same sadness your mother’s voice did, wind picking up and your legs returning to its shimmering tail.

“...then you’re not paying enough attention dear prince.”

And then you jumped, lost to the sea spray as the main deck comes alive again.

You don’t return home, can’t return and face her. Your plan most likely did not work and now you didn’t know what to do.

For now, you retreated to your sanctuary, a hidden spot in the outskirts of Ered you discovered when adventuring as a child. As the years passed and you grew older, you found yourself there more and more, the silence better than the self loathing at home. 

It held small trinkets of your youth, things collected from your time away from your family. It’s not like your own quarters in the palace but you feel relief when you settle on the ground, tucked away from your failures in the quiet beating of your own heart. 

You don’t know what your next step is, unsure if there even is a next step. You don’t even know if you can go home. Your siblings will have already heard of your treachery, no doubt exaggerated by your mother.

No, for now you catch your breath. Because as you lie in your hideaway, you realize whether or not your plan worked, you did the one things forbidden of you.

You gave a human more knowledge than any should hold. You told a human of magic.

The Milo reached Khotia quicker than planned, much to Mark’s dismay.

“At least there’s no fanfare,” Eunwoo grinned, stretching his long arms over his head. “If there was another parade, you would’ve sulked all through the feast.”

Mark would’ve replied with some crude remark but chose to only growl instead, shoving past him as he made his way down the dock.

He was back on land. And back to being a prince.

“Where are you going Your Majesty,” Eunwoo yells from behind him.

To Zemër.

Zemër, a tavern settled off the docks, was a pyrate’s favorite place to unwind once their feet hit solid ground. Run by Kiraz, a former Queen’s Guard, the four walls echoed with laughter, foul words and plenty of secrets.

The only reason it was still standing, besides the fact it kept the kingdom's unsavory in one place, was because Kiraz saved Mark’s sister one.

Sacrificed her sight but had the royal family forever in her debt.

It was too early for any real noise so when Mark entered, he was unsurprised to find her standing at the bar cleaning glasses. A waft of lavender and spices hit his senses as she turned towards him, snow white hair flying up with the movement. Her crimson lips curled into a grin as he sat himself in front of her.

“You are really early Your Highness,” she teased. Roux, her right hand man and in house giant passes just then, boxes piled high in his arms and a single nod sent his way.

“You know the Milo is quick,” he says, sending his own nod back tot he man as he disappeared around the corner. She tsks, shaking her head, enticing more of that scent his way. “Now you and I both know news of that siren has already reached shore.”

He clenched his jaw in irritation, “How far up shore exactly?” She shrugs, “Not far enough but it’s only a matter of time. The Mermaid Killer let a creature go free. Was she at least pretty?”

He thought back tot he encounter, back to your face as your mother’s hand collided with your cheek.

Yes, he thought. “No,” he said aloud.

“Learn to lie better Mark,” she replied, “I’m blind but your hesitation reads a mile away. I hope you can do better than that when returning home. Having feelings for a mermaid won’t sit well with your parents.”

“There are no feelings Kiraz, by the heavens. She’s a siren.” “...exactly.”

There’s silence, aside from the grumbling of a few leftover drunkards. And then, “You’re here for information.” He never came for anything else. He was only a pyrate out on the water. He slides his prepared payment her way, “I need to know the history of a mermaid’s magic.”

Kiraz inhales sharply, dropping the glass she held, the noise of it shattering bouncing against the inside of the tavern. Mark is surprised, she’s usually so terrifyingly calm, even more so when she grabs his sleeve and hisses to the back quickly, vanishing behind the curtain. 

When he emerges on the other side, she immediately turns on him, “She showed you her magic?”

He nods, cautious. “Not that willingly. It was in desperation. She wanted to know if I knew what a Siren’s Agreement was.”

“...you don’t. Or you wouldn’t be here.” “Kiraz, do not forget who you’re speaking with. We’ve done this dance plenty of times.”

She chuckles, bowing at the waist, “Of course Prince Mark. A Siren’s Agreement. Blood mixed with blood. And a year spent on land.”

Mark remembers the Sea Queen’s words. Sometimes the year is death.

“Why don’t I know about a mermaid’s magic?” Kiraz moves off to the side, cutting tape off inventory boxes. ‘Most likely hidden. There hasn’t been a union in years.”

“A union between a royal, mermaid and human.” “...yes. Long ago, a mermaid’s magic kept the land and sea prosperous. Trade was common, as was merfolk on land.”

He remembered your transformation, your legs.

“From your silence, I assume that’s how the creature caught your attention.” He didn’t answer so she continued, “It used to be harmonious. We thrived together. Royals from land and sea, joined in together and united in old, powerful magic.”

“Until?” She sighed, “A misunderstanding. Although, it depends on who you ask. Some not as kind as I consider it traitorous.”

“Traitorous.” “The Queen Aylin, wife of the great King Asriel. I assume you remember what your tutors taught you.”

He did. “It was a time of great peace. Their union brought the Empire together. It was said that the Queen’s kindness balanced, and tamed, the King’s temper.”

“And?” “And she bore six children before passing. The king was devastated.”

Her smile was discouraging.

“History lied. She passed, yes. But a mermaid’s magic is tied to the sea. And to the love they’ve chosen on land. Queen Aylin wished to return to the ocean to strengthen her magic. And she wished to take the children. She promised to return, for she loved her husband and her life in the Kingdom of Muiria, but she grew weak on legs and needed to grow strong.”

Laced with confusion, Mark asked, “But you said merfolk on land was common.”

“Ah, but she was royal. And Asriel was afraid she’d disappear, steal his heirs and the magic away into the sea spray. He grew paranoid, his council feeding his fears like a hungry beast.”

He knew in his heart what happened next. Murder. He killed her.

“...the magic didn’t pass onto the children?” When her magic died, so did theirs.

“The princess, the siren that appeared in front of me, she said I wasn’t paying enough attention when I told her humans had peace.”

“She’s smart, that creature. You can’t see past the bow of the Milo. The land is dying. The Empire is afraid. And you honestly haven’t noticed the receding water?

He hadn’t.

“Kiraz,” he said, determination coloring his tone. She grinned, “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“How do I summon a siren?”

You feel the summons, deep within your bones, as the water shifts around you. 

The magic calling to you is strong and for a moment, you think it’s your mother beckoning you home. When feet hit solid ground and the foam dissipates, you’re surprised to see Prince Mark and a woman you don’t recognize off to his right.

“Your Majesty,” you say calmly, honestly too tired to be on alert. You could only hope you hadn’t just been summoned to the sit of your own murder. 

“Princess. Kiraz told me you merfolk can only be summoned to a place if you accept the magic. So I’m a little...”

You sigh, “In all honesty prince, I thought you were my mother demanding I come home.”

He frowns, “You...she banished you?” “My mother is cruel but she’d never risk losing another child. So no, not banished. I simply have yet to return.”

“So she was pretty.” Your attention shifts to the unfamiliar female. Her stark white hair was free against her shoulders, past the small of her back. She was dressed in military style clothing, trousers tucked into long black boots and a form fitting but loose white tunic buttoned all the way up to her neck. Her fingers were adorned in all gold jewelry, rings of all sizes. Her red lips were curled into a smile and her eyes...

“I could be hideous,” you casually say.

Her laugh was loud, “I don’t need to see you to know you’re beautiful princess,” she bows, “Kiraz. Welcome to my establishment.

That name.

“Kiraz Brum. Famed warrior of the Queen’s Guard. You know, you’re a story we tell children to frighten them.”

Kiraz grins, “What an honor. I hope my name served its purpose.” “Children stay away from the borders of Khotia so...yes. I’d say it works quite efficiently. Now, if I could? Why have you summoned me? And how? How did you know the ritual?”

She shrugs, moving backwards to sit on a nearby crate. “The why is his department. The how? Let’s just say I picked up that little tidbit when I was still employed by the royals.”

You mirrored her action, sitting on whatever was nearest, which also happened to be a crate. “A story for another time. Well, Your Majesty? Twice in 24 hours is unique to say the least. What do you want?”

Mark, silent up until now, crossed his arms. “The last union between our kind was Queen Aylin and her human husband, the great King Asriel.”

You mood suddenly soured. “Great would be too kind an adjective.” “Would murderer work better?”

“Ah, I see. Kiraz has opened those eyes of yours. Yes. Your great King Asriel, deep within his own madness and paranoid, killed his queen. You see, a Siren’s Agreement is a partnership. Blood mixed with blood. To keep the peace, for the land and sea to prosper, a mermaid’s magic must remain strong. And to feed that strength, the time spent on solid ground must match the time in Ered. Each royal pair understood the terms of the agreement and continued to honor them until your great Asriel made it impossible for the merfolk to trust humans again.”

“The council convinced him she was a traitor taking his children and the magic he considered his,” Mark whispered.

He couldn’t believe it, not really. Everything he’s been told, been taught, to what end? Why hide history?

“Why not learn from those mistakes,” he asks out loud, “why enter into a war that they know will never end?

You watch him process the truth, watch his safe walls crumble around him. And for a moment, you mourn the last bit of his innocence that was slipping away.

“Not everyone enjoyed sharing solid land with the merfolk,” Kiraz reveals, “when Aylin died, the Empire saw it as a chance to return them to the Ered for good.”

Mark meets your eyes, “But something is happening now, that’s why you came to find me.” 

You nod, “The last of the  magic is disappearing. Both land and sea are suffering and will be beyond saving if you don’t join in the agreement with me.”

He frowns, “Why me? There are at least two princes in every kingdom.” Kiraz snorts, “But how many of those princes masquerade as pyrates six months out of every year since he turned 20?”

He glares and you can’t help but laugh, caching them both off guard.

“She has a point,” you hastily reply, “you know the water, thrive on it. Out of every prince of the Empire, I thought you’d be the best option to shackle myself to for a year.”

“Such flattery princess, what kind words.” “I do not want magic to disappear,” your tone growing serious, “merfolk and humans aside, the very foundations of our homes depend on it. I do not know about you dear prince, but I want peace. For everyone.”

The captain whistles, “Do it Mark, she’d be a better diplomat than you.”

Mark doesn’t reply back, just stares at you. Weighing his options before jumping into your crazy scheme. 

“The Empire would never allow it. You mother would never allow it.” “Then we skip the formalities. If you agree, right here in the storage room of a tavern, Kiraz can be the ritual’s witness.”

It’s madness and they’re both floored at the suggestion of a hastily done ceremony in the back room of Zemër but Kiraz speaks first.

“How do you know I know the ritual?” You shrugged, “I assumed. And I assumed correctly, yes?” “...I should stop underestimating you princess.” “A wise choice Captain Brum. Now dear prince, will you refuse my offer a second time?”

It’s all too quick, too hasty of a decision to be made without guidance. Mark knows what his family will do, what the council and people of Khotia would say. Things are not done this way.

But union to a siren, royal or not, was not done at all.

Not to mention his freedom as captain of the Milo. Was he really ready for a year of life on land?

“How do I know this isn’t a trick,” he challenged. “Oh by the heavens,” Kiraz started.

“No, you’re right. For a moment, I forgot our people are enemies. The outer fields of Khotia, just north of the small village of Dimelor. You’ll find the proof you’re searching for in order to believe me. It’s less than a day’s ride for two horses if the captain here wishes to join you. Once you’ve seen, you know how to summon me again.”

Mark’s jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “And if you’re lying?”

You magic moves around you, shifting you back to your original form. The air smells of sea spray and before you’re deposited back into the Ered, you answer his last question.

“Then dear prince, you can have a princess’ tail.”

Dimelor rests nestled in the mountains, surrounded by green fields and humble homes. The smallest village in the kingdom, it grows produce which is shipped in bulk to the citizens of the main city.

Mark’s mother, the Queen Elinia, spent springs visiting the workers and their families, ensuring not only the health of the fields but the health of their caretakers. Sometimes, she’d bring Mark and he’d play, getting lost in the tall grass. The outer fields were large, housing the bigger vegetables and the man in charge, Lucien Elidior, always snuck treats to him as a boy.

They hug when Mark dismounts his horse Nova.

“You look well my prince, welcome.” Mark smiles gently at the aging man before him. “As do you Lucien. It’s good to see you. You know my associate, Kiraz Brum.”

“Captain,” Lucien replies, bowing slightly. Kiraz grins in return, bending slightly at the waist as well.

“Now what brings you all the way out here?” Mark starts his walk down tot he fields themselves. “I need to see the fields. Shipment is soon as I recall.”

Lucien’s demeanor changes suddenly, his cheery disposition becoming nervous. Mark senses the change right away, noting Kiraz does as well.

“Something wrong Lucien?” The caretaker seems distracted, eyes darting every so often to the bend around the corner.

“Lucien?” His attention snaps back suddenly, “The shipment was early my prince! There’s no produce to oversee. I’m sorry you and the captain came all this way for nothing.”

“I’m blind but even I know you’re lying Lucien,” Kiraz relies smoothly, tucking her hands into her coat as she steps around them both. Lucien tries to intervene but Mark catches his wrist, “Whatever you’re hiding, as your future king, you must tell me.”

The older man looks guilty but nods, following close behind the two. Kiraz is quick on her feet, rounding the bend and getting full view of the fields. When Mark hears her frantically call his name, he picks up his speed before stopping completely in his tracks.

“By the heavens,” he whispers, astonished.

The once lush green fields were barren, weeds in place of towering grass and patches of dry land where fresh produce once grew dotting the area as far as he could see. He couldn’t believe his eye. He remembered what it once was, the beauty that stood before him every time he came to visit. 

“It’s gone Kiraz, she was right,” he turned towards Lucien, “how is this happening? My parents...”

“They are aware Your Majesty,” he replied. “It started a week ago, slow decay from the northwest corner of the fields. We sent a report and your mother ordered us to harvest whatever we could and quickly.”

“Do we know why this is happening,” Kiraz wonders, even though she’s well aware of the magic and its steady disappearance. 

“We are unsure captain. The early morning workers noticed dying vegetables and before we knew it, we were losing almost half of our usual harvest.”

“The other villages,” Mark inquired, worried about the response. “Unaffected for now.”

Thank the heavens.

“My prince,” Lucien slowly began, “you should know. You were never meant to see this. Your mother made it clear you were not to be told.”

“Just me or all her children?” “...you alone.”

Curious.

“Kiraz, head back to Zemër.” “And you?”

“I need to have a word with the Queen.” 

He loved the palace growing up.

While others saw it as a soaring epicenter of power, to Mark it was home. 

Safety. Family. 

But as his 20th birthday approached, he found his home stifling, as if someone had sucked out all its air. The pressure was immense, especially being the eldest boy. His sisters were safe from the responsibilities of slaying mermaids. 

He lived and breathed it.

After his first kill, after returning home a murderous hero, the four walls he had come to love felt like they were slowly closing in. He spent time training off site, missing meals to sweat out his frustrations instead. Alongside Eunwoo, childhood friend turned right hand pyrate, he became at home on the waters of the Ered. His parents never questioned it, his mother’s only complaint besides his safety was how often he found himself away. 

Walking up to them now, regal on their thrones, he wondered what they’d say. He wondered if they’d defend themselves. 

“My boy! We heard you docked early and was curious to know when you’d show your face.”

His father King Laith was a strong man, not necessarily in stature but in every other way. Graying hair didn’t dim his bright smile, nor did it stop the charisma from overflowing. A deadly combination during negotiations. Mark smiled, letting himself get wrapped up in a hug. He threw his arms around the King’s shoulders, spying his mother still atop the dais. From her calm demeanor and calculated smile, he knew she was aware of his quick trip to Dimelor. His suspicions were further confirmed upon seeing Atlas, her peregrine falcon and spy, land on a nearby ledge.

When the two men broke apart, she comes forward, seeping motherly love.

“There he is, safe and sound.”

He lets himself be embraced once more, taking in her scent of lilies and orchids, eyes closing for just a moment.

“Hello Mother.” She smiles, this time a true mother’s smile, kissing his cheek. “It’s good to have you home. Your absence was felt, your brother would much rather spar with you than his aging father.” They laugh at the King’s expense and in moments like this, Mark feels like he’s home again.

The way home once was.

“I miss the Ered already but I cannot wait for my bed. The rest of our overbearing family?”

“Your sisters took a trip to Liaven and should return within the week. And the youngest is off in Muria for two more days overseeing the newly commissioned weapons for our army. We’ll be reunited soon.”

Mark nods and before he knows it, the King is whisked away to meet with the Council and he’s left with his mother and her damn bird.

“You’ve seen the fields.” It wasn’t a question.

Right to the point then.

“Why hide that from me?” “Who’s hiding? You’ve been at sea for almost a year. Getting messages to you is difficult. Plus, agriculture is not your concern.”

“When I am King it will be. And I’ve made aware you gave the orders to purposely keep it away from me. So I’ll ask again. Why?”

Her eyes are cold as they turn towards him. “If we’re in the habit of answering questions, you’ll answer mine first. You’ve never, in 7 years, let a siren go. And now one roams free instead of being spear headed to the deck of the Milo.”

“That wasn’t a question mother.” “Do not test me.”

He’d answer her, truly, if he only he himself knew the answer. Why didn’t he kill you?

“Feelings for a siren will get you killed.” “So will hunger if our fields remain barren.”

A servant arrived then, reporting that the Queen was needed. Good, he had grown tired of this conversation. 

“The crops will be taken care of. You’ll be back on the water soon enough so don’t let yourself get worked up over it. And as for the other issue. Find it. Kill it. Do not be weak now.”

Disappearing around the corner, Mark released a pent up sigh, shutting his eyes to try and stop a growing migraine. “Useless,” he said, the word echoing in the emptiness around him. His mother knew something but would sooner sacrifice Atlas than tell him. He knew it had to do with the magic and it wouldn’t surprise him if his mother knew all the deep dark secrets of the past.

But there was one that would tell him. The Queen would be furious but things were becoming more urgent the longer he was home.

“Mother is livid,” your sister says when she finds you wandering around. 

You had returned home after meeting with the Prince and Kiraz, avoiding places your family could corner you. You forgot that your youngest sister was annoying enough to find you anyway.

“I’m sure she is.. .And I’m sure she’s told you tall tales of  my adventures. But I’m too tired to answer all your burning questions Cathia.”

“Only one question. Was he handsome? They say he is, for a murderer.”

That stop you in your tracks, water growing silent around you. 

Was he? Handsome? It’s not like you were really paying attention. You were preoccupied with more pressing matters. Thinking back, you dig into your memories, pulling a visual of the Prince forward.

Strong build. Dark hair. Striking eyes. He didn’t smile in your presence but you assumed it wouldn’t be all that terrible.

“You could say that,” you casually reply, swimming forward. Your sister follows, looking utterly pleased, “Oh my, very handsome then. You’re blushing Y/N!”

You frown, palm against your cheek, “That is absolutely ridiculous Cathia. He is the Mermaid Killer. I did what I did to save our people, to save magic. Without a union, everything as we know it will die.”

“Wait. A union? What in the great Ered are you talking about?”

Surprise colors Cathia’s features as she pulls you to a stop to face her. “Mother said nothing about a union to that murderer!”

I guess she didn’t tell them everything.

“You have nothing to worry about, Mother stopped anything from progressing. And he shot it down anyway, I am a siren after all.”

You hoped that was enough to appease your little sister but you should’ve known better. Her expression turned irate, “You make it sound as if you simply proposed a union to a random individual and not the human responsible for most of our people’s deaths. The magic might be disappearing but I’d rather disappear into the mist than have you shackled to him.”

“I’d rather live. Mother also disagrees but alas, I made my move. There’s no reason for everyone, everything, to die. A year on land is a sacrifice I can make. If he had accepted.”

Cathia is about to strike back with a rebuttal when your blood runs warm, ceasing any words in your throat. You feel it, a steady thrum in time with the beat of your heart.

I’m being summoned.

Your sister couldn’t here once the ritual was complete, whisking her to wherever the Prince was. You became momentarily frantic as you felt the pull under your skin.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you quickly say, “just leave me be for now, I beg you.”

You can plainly see in her eyes she has more to say, biting her lip apprehensively. You’re hoping she drops it, almost shouting in relief when she agrees and makes you promise to return home safely. 

“And don’t you dare do anything rash,” she scolds. You could almost laugh.

“I promise. Now go on, I’ll be fine.”

It’s when she’s finally out of sight that the thrum is at its strongest, taking you away in the current and out of the Ered.

Mark’s grandmother, the former Queen Freya, lived high up in the Thelorian Mountains, away from the main court and the royal family.

He could still remember cllimbing the very same steps he was now, small legs trying to keep up with her as she ascended quickly. Freya was the only royal that supported the idea of siren equality, living in peace with other species. Her beliefs were considered radical, whispers in court starting up behind her back. Soon she retired to the mountains, commissioning a home away from judgement in and out of the palace.

Being out on the sea kept him from her much more than he would like, the journey to see her even father than the outer fields of Dimelor. 

“If you mother discovers you’re here, she’ll have headaches for days,” his grandmother yells, hands on her hips as she stands at the top of the stairs.

He grins, sprinting up the last few steps and into her embrace. “You’re not as in shape as I thought you’d be Yien,” she teased.

“We both know you’re in much better shape than all of us combined năinai.”

She pinches his cheek, “Flattery will get you nowhere boy. Tell me why you’ve come to see an old woman up in the mountains.”

She takes his hand, grasping tightly as they walk the path to the main house. Built under the cover titanic wisteria trees, Freya’s estate spanned most of the upper hills, the flattest parts stable enough to build upon. It was created to ensure the former Queen’s safety and comfort, away from the citizens that didn’t share the same views.

Tea was waiting when they arrived, liquid steaming as his grandmother beckoned him to sit. “So. Something has happened. What’s going on?”

“Năinai, what do you know about Siren Agreements? About a union between our kind and theirs, a joining of magic?”

Freya eyes her grandson. “You finally know about the fields.” Mark’s eyes widened, “You know about that?”

She laughed, “I might live up here like a recluse but I was once Queen. And many still follow me. Of course I know things. The question is, what do you know?”

“I know things have been hidden from me. And I know taking a siren wife may save our dying land.”

“...marriage? My dear boy, a union doesn’t need to be matrimony.”

What?

Freya sits back in her chair disregarding her tea. “A union between a siren and a human is a Siren’s Agreement, yes. Blood mixed with blood, a joining of magic. The siren must spend the minimum of a year on land in order for both lands to prosper.”

“But Queen Aylin and King Asriel had children.” “ Yes, six. But not all unions result in children. Aylin, after her year, realized she had fallen in love, and vice versa. Hence, a wedding. If you’re to join in such an agreement, it doesn’t mean gold rings on your fingers.”

Which means I can still be out at sea. I can still captain the Milo.

“How is it you know so much?” She chuckles, “A Queen must be aware Yien. Just because I’m up here and everyone down there has forgotten what sirens have done for us, doesn’t meant I have to as well.”

“Forgotten? What do you  mean?”

With a sigh, she crosses her legs. “Your tutors taught you nothing then. Truly. The real history they kept hidden so people would hate a species that were once our allies. Listen closely dear. Sirens are strong and yes, they can be dangerous. But once, a very long time ago, we lived peacefully. The land and the sea were thriving in harmony. When one needed help, the other came to their aid. A partnership. Love. Friendship.”

Birds chirped overhead, filling the silence between them both. Freya watched her grandson filter through the overload of information, a pensive look on his face paired with a frown set between his brows. 

“Sweetheart, why are you here? Or rather, how are you here? How did you come to be aware of all this? You, the famed Mermaid Killer.”

He scoffed with a hint of a smile, “It’s a bit of a long story. Which I think I’ll just show you to save some time.”

Her brows rose in surprise, “Now you’ve got my interest piqued. What do you need me to do?”

You’re high up in the mountains once the smell of the Ered dissipates. The sun is bright and warm against your skin as your tail transforms into legs. You squint, hand coming up to shield your ace as an astonished voice rings out behind you.

“By the heavens. Mark, she actually appeared.” You rise, on alert even in front of a familiar face. You’re hesitant, keeping a bit of distance.

“It’s alright princess. We won’t hurt you. May I present, the Queen Dowager Freya.”

The elderly woman next to him bows, “Welcome to the Thelorian Mountains Your Majesty.”

You bow as well. “Queen Dowager. I’m aware of your efforts towards peace with our kind. It is truly appreciated.”

She smiles, “You look like your grandfather.” Shocked, your heart skips. “Y-you knew him?” “Mmmhmm. He was a brave siren. And loved you deeply. His death was...hard.” “Yes, I dear say it was.”

You shake away painful memories and address the Prince. “You summoned me again which means you’re either going to kill me or...”

“The Dimelor fields, how did you know,” he asks, halting you mid-sentence.  “Magic. Always magic. You saw it then, your crops dying.”

He nods gravelly, “Yes. Barren fields where there was once lush green. It was unfathomable to comprehend.”

“You understand then, the severity of the situation.” “I’m beginning to understand everything. Which brings me to my next point: why did you tell me a Siren’s Agreement was marriage?”

You smile knowingly, “Why dear Prince, I never said anything of the sort. You assumed it was a marriage. Has it become appealing to you, marrying me?”

His cheeks color and his grandmother can’t help but let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous princess, I made an assumption, that’s all. Like your mother said, being ‘shackled’ to me would be hell.”

“You’ve met the Sea Queen.” “Unfortunately,” he mumbled. turning to her.

She addressed you, “Is she still surly and stubborn?” “When was she not?”

The Queen Dowager laughs. “Minthe always believed the sirens were better off on their own. Her hatred of humans runs as deep as their hatred of her.”

“She has a valid reason.” “Yes, sadly she does.”

Your walls fall a bit, there’s something about the former Queen you feel you can trust. She senses it as well and smiles warmly. “My grandson called you here to accept your proposal.”

That takes you aback and your head swivels towards him, “The union? You’re agreeing?”

He reaches and scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “There’s things to discuss but...yes. For the good of our people.”

“I thought what you cared about most was captaining the Milo.” “My ship isn’t more important than my people, no matter how much I love the sea.”

“You said there were things to discuss.” He straightens in a very prince like manner. “Yes. If we are joined, even if it isn’t a marriage, I will treat it as such. And what’s mine will be yours. You will be safe on land for the year you are there. I know not of the ways things once were. But I accept your guidance in the things I must learn, if you accept mine.”

You blink once. And then a few times more. “That’s very mature of you, Your Grace.”

“I can be...when the occasion calls for it. Do you agree? Or have anything to add?”

“Not really. I’m just waiting for the part where you tell me how we’re going to tell our families. I assume they’ll be present for the joining.”

He doesn’t reply, exchanging a simple look with his grandmother that speaks a thousand words. You know what it means, you share similar looks with your siblings when your mother isn’t paying attention.

“We have no plans of telling our families. Your grandmother will be our only witness and my first appearance in front of the royal family of Khotia will be on legs.”

“I have a beautiful Khotian gown you can wear,” the Queen Dowager adds. “This is rash. Insane. Crazy. Unprecedented.” 

Mark laughs. “More rash, insane, crazy and unprecedented than showing yourself to a ship full of pyrates?”

Ugh, he does have a point.

You purse your lips but say nothing, instead turning to a more authoritative figure. But as if she read your mind, Freya simply throws her hands up. “I have no objection. I’d be happy to be your witness. And I will personally be there to hold your hand as you present yourself to Khotia.”  

“And might I remind you,” the Prince butts in, “you were just fine with the idea of hastily done ritual in the back room of Zemër, with Kiraz as the witness.”

“That was before you actually accepted. I didn’t think the great Prince of Khotia would join in a union without his family’s knowledge or presence.”

His grin is smug, “I am unexpected princess.” “Which means I should expect more of the unexpected.” "Exactly. So?”

You weighed your options. Just like your idea to board the Milo, this was a bad idea. There were too many obstacles and yes all this started because of you. You, who wants to save the sea and land, even with everything stacked against you. Now, you had a prince willing.

Now, something can be done. And both worlds don’t have to burn.

You meet the prince’s eyes, the question lingering there in his irises.

“So...a union then?”

It wasn’t a grand affair. Not that either of you thought it’d be.

The ritual was simple, albeit with a bit more blood than you remembered it needing. The Queen Dowager had tears in her eyes as she blessed the union, hugging you both at the end.

There was no kiss, no stares of affection, simply a handshake between you both. There was an understanding in Mark, a new look that washed over his face when his blood mixed with the magic. He was made of it now, his soul linked to the sea in a deeper way than being a captain.

He had wondered aloud, without even realizing it, “Does it always feel like this?” “Always,” you had replied, your own magic thrumming warm within your cold siren veins.

Freya offered a meal, the first on you had on land, and discussed what happened next.

“The transformation is quick, 24 hours until I trade my tail for legs.” “What of your family,” Mark asked in between bites of his food.

“I’ll say my goodbyes. They can’t know about the union before I step on land. My mother is strong. She can undo the union with her own magic and it will painful.”

“...painful?”

His grandmother chimes in, “You are joined now my boy. Blood mixed with blood remember? Undoing that will be like ripping apart your very soul.”

He swallowed, “Sounds like something we’d like to avoid then.” You had laughed, surprising everyone, before you quickly recovered and told them you’d be back the next morning.

Your  goodbyes were quick, but not as hasty, as to avoid suspicion. You didn’t know whether or not to be upset about the fact your siblings couldn’t feel the urgency in your hugs, as if you’d be back that night. Your mother wasn’t around, attending to matters of the sea. A part of you wanted to wait but you could feel that thrum of magic, scales prickling like human skin.

You were back on land before the 24 hours were up, holding tight to a bundle to clothes and towels as Freya led you to a room in her massive home.

“It will be an adjustment but I am here if you need anything. Do not hesitate to call for me.”

“Mother believed in handling things on your own.” Her smile was gentle, “There is nothing wrong with asking for help, Your Grace. We are family.”

Family.

“Thank you Queen Dowager, I will do my best to remember that.” “Oh my dear girl, I told you. Family. Queen Dowager is too formal. Năinai will do just fine.”

Your heart started to beat strongly for a moment. “...năinai?” “Grandmother. Now get some sleep my darling. Tomorrow, you shall be introduced to the world.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything shall change.

“You’re nervous.” “Sweaty palms is a symptom of being nervous?”

Mark chuckles, adjusting the collar of his very prince like gold studded military jacket. “Yes. Sweaty anything is a symptom.”

“Then yes, I’m nervous. And I don’t enjoy sweating either. Human reactions are odd and frankly, disgusting.”

He’s grinning at you as your fingers fumble and you feel the crushing weight of the gown Freya loaned you. He’s surprised that you’re nervous, if he’s being honest. He’s only ever seen you stoic and strong, rarely letting any other emotions overtake you, a side effect no doubt of being raised by the Sea Queen.

The young woman sitting next to him was different, as if time on land was slowly transforming her.

Or she’s becoming more comfortable?

He decides to do something a little rash, taking your clammy hands in his. You’re alone in the back of the carriage carrying you to the palace, unmarked as to keep attention away, so he doesn’t worry too much about the gesture. You freeze for a moment but allow the comfort, taking a deep breath as your eyes follow the scenery outside the window. The ride seems an eternity and the silence between you both is adding to the nerves already threatening to overtake your whole self.

“Tell me about your family. What should I expect?”

He started running his thumb against yours absentmindedly, like his own mind was suddenly a million miles away. “They’re regal and serious when the occasion calls for it. My father is charismatic, kind. Mother is stern, protective. She will be the hardest to win over. My younger brother is adventurous. Full of mischief. My two older sisters are funny. Gentle. But cautious. A curse of being the eldest and female. I love them dearly.”

“The deck of the Milo would tell a different story.”

He smiles a bit, “I love them dearly. It’s the crushing responsibility that takes me away to the sea. I’m the oldest male.”

“And now shackled to a siren.” He’s still smiling. “Ah, yes. And you’re shackled to the land.” “Only for a year. Remember, the magic must remain strong.”

“Do I get to throw you back in the ocean like a goldfish? We should make a ceremony out of it, invite the whole kingdom out to the docks.”

You narrow your eyes, lifting your joined hands and bringing them back down against his thigh roughly, hitting him with the underside of his own hand.

“You throw me like a goldfish, I’ll drown the Milo.”

His scandalized look causes an eruption of chaotic giggles within the carriage before it rolls to a stop and there’s a knock at the door. The nerves hit you at full force and your mouth shuts, killing all noise.

“We’ve arrived, Your Majesty,” a voice rings out. “Oh by the heavens,” you whisper.

His hand is still in yours, giving it one more squeeze. “You’re going to be fine, don’t fall apart on me now. You’re royalty too. Breathe and let’s do this.”

There was a surge of confidence running through you as Mark rapped on the door, swinging open a moment later.

To your surprise, Freya appeared at your side. You knew she’d keep her promise to come but the relief at seeing her came at a bit of a shock.

“Are you ready, my dear?” Her smile was comforting, her finger entwined with yours calming your racing heart.

“No,” Mark suddenly said, adjusting his sleeves with a smirk. “She’s sweaty.”

You shove him before Freya pulls you both along to the side entrance of the palace. Servants start to stare and the walls echo with their whispers. The Queen Dowager leads the trio, your arm around Mark’s. Every step brings you closer in and you want to appreciate the four walls of the towering Khotian palace but suddenly, someone calls Mark’s name and you are faced with the entirety of the royal family.

You’ve been by your mother’s side atop a dais as she commanded her subjects. She was intimidating so you can clearly remember the looks your people would wear as they approached her.

You’re sure you’re making that same face at this moment.

The members of Mark’s family all wear identical looks of both curiosity and mild amusement. Except for his mother. The Queen of Khotia’s gaze alone could cause water to boil. Your grip tightens, wrinkling the fabric of Mark’s jacket. His fingers clasping over yours is an odd relief, balanced you as you made your approach.

“Mother?” The King’s voice was laced with confusion and what you’d later recognize as fear. Fear of his mother or wife, you’d never know.

“Hello, my darling. It’s been some time since I’ve graced these halls. Elinia, as radiant as ever.”

The Queen’s smile did not reach her eyes.

“Mark, this is unexpected. Who is...who is this lovely young woman?” Your breath catches. She wasted no time zeroing in on you. Mark seems completely calm next to you, ginning as if everything isn’t about to change.

“Unexpected indeed by joyous nonetheless! Mother, father and my dearest siblings...may I present Y/N...”

You brace yourself.

“...princess of the Ered. Daughter of the Sea Queen.”

The throne room seems to grow cold as ice as his words are processed by those in front of you. His grandmother seems amused but you’re waiting for the explosion.

“What in the heavens did you just say?”

Ah, there it is.

A/N: oof this one was a monster. It would’ve been longer but I figured, I don’t know, maybe ending it here would be a bit of fun. I have the very last line of this thing written on a sticky note in the notebook I wrote all of this down in. I wanted to go all the way but I realized I had other parts of this collab to write. So now I can leave it up to your imagination. And once this gets posted, I’ll post that last line and it can add to your thoughts of how it would’ve played out. She’s lengthy but I hope you enjoyed. Onto the next one. xx

[psychosistr]

The Stars of the Stage- Chapter 1

Summary:  Jonathan Joestar is an accomplished playwright currently working on his next big production: Phantom Blood. During the auditions for the lead actors, though, a certain blond Englishman catches his eye.

Notes:  So, this story was inspired by this piece of art by @corgi-shorts that I saw back when I did one of the Jonawagon weeks where Jonathan was a playwright and Speedwagon was an actor. I felt a HUGE need to write this as it was such a cute idea x3

In the midst of the already bustling heart of New York, a large theater within the appropriately named Theater District is packed with several hopeful actors currently reading over and practicing lines from sample scripts. Some are seasoned veterans of the theater while others are hopeful new-comers. Despite their level of skill and experience, each one seems eager to land a part in the production.

Through the chattering crowds and lines of people waiting to enter the main theater for their audition, an extraordinarily tall and muscular man with dark hair carefully weaves his way through the crowd, throwing out a “pardon me” or “oh, excuse me” every now and then to be polite as bumping into people in such a crowd is unavoidable given his size.

He reaches the theater doors and turns to the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard properly. “If I may have your attention, please!” The chatter of the crowd slowly dies down as the actors turn to look at him curiously. Once he knows he has their attention, he smiles and gives a quick bow of his head. “Thank you all so much for coming out. My name is Jonathan Joestar- I am the writer and co-director of this production. In a moment we will begin the auditions, so please give it your best. I will be looking forward to seeing what all of you can do!” He finishes with an encouraging smile. He opens the doors long enough to walk in and close them behind himself, nodding to the two men standing behind the door to take the actors’ resumes and headshots. “Dire, Straights, afternoon. Ready to start?”

“Just waiting on William at this point.” Dire says with a nod of greeting. “I think he’s taking care of the lighting or something.”

“More like finishing off his pre-audition glass of wine.” Straights comments indifferently while glancing away. “Though I can’t say I blame him. This is always such a hassle..”

“Necessary evil of the industry, my friend.” A voice greets the group and the trio of men turn to see a man in a white suit and checkerboard top-hat. He offers them a smile and a tip of his hat in greeting. “Ready to summon the horde, gentlemen?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be, William.” Jonathan says with a grin as he walks with the older man down towards the table waiting in front of the stage with two seats for the pair.

________________________________________________________________

The theater is packed, the auditioning actors having taken up the seats in the order in which they’d come into the room. Quite a few of the seats are already empty, as some of the actors had to leave after their auditions while others have opted to stay and scope out the competition.

The process has been long and grueling, but it is necessary for casting the right people for the parts. Jonathan was glad, though, that he was working with William as the director- the older man often listened to his input regarding casting more than other directors did. As he often said, “Who knows a character better than the man who wrote them?”

Jonathan looks down at the piles of resumes and headshots in front of them. He has kept them organized into a few basic groups: People who had not gone yet were on the far left, closest to himself. The “wouldn’t call them back in a hundred years” pile, as William secretly called it, was beside the first one in the middle. The maybe/later consideration pile was next to that one and closer to William. The last pile on the far right was the smallest of all, reserved for the ones the two had agreed would definitely get the part they’d auditioned for.

Jonathan takes the next resume off of the pile on the far left and calls out the number pinned to it. “Number 157!” He looks at the headshots that accompany the resume, noting that every picture seemed to be taken from the right side of the actor’s face.

As the man in question approaches the stage, he can see why: There was a scar across the left side of his face. Not to say that that was a problem in anyway- the man was still quite handsome (from a purely aesthetical perspective, Jonathan tried to remind his wandering thoughts) and besides, that’s what cosmetics were for. Still, he knew how tough some directors could be and how they tended to avoid actors with visible marks as they couldn’t always visualize a way around it.

“ ‘ello.” The man says with a quick bow of his head once he is in place on the stage and looking down at Jonathan and William. “The name’s Robert Speedwagon, an’ I’ll be readin’ for the part o’ Sir Haste Dray.”

Jonathan is a bit surprised by the man’s accent. He’s clearly British like Jonathan himself, though with a cockney dialect rather than Jonathan’s own aristocratic manner of speaking.

While Jonathan is more surprised by the accent, he can hear others making quiet, hushed, snide remarks about it.

“He does know that’s one of the main characters, right?”

“Talking like that, he’d be a better pick for one of the extras..”

“This outta be good for a laugh.”

Jonathan ignored the comments, curious to see how the actor would do with his own eyes. “Very well then, Mr.Speedwagon. Which section will you be using for your audition?”

The blonde haired man lifted his own copy of the script that had already been opened and turned to the part he wanted to use. “Page 57, line 8. Can I get a read-in?”

“Of course.” Jonathan turned the copy of the script in front of himself to the aforementioned page and cleared his throat before reading the line. “This battle shall be a dangerous one, my friend. I fear we may not escape with our lives. If you wish to turn back, now is the time. I would bear you no ill-will for such a decision.”

Speedwagon closed his eyes for a moment. “I know..yet this decision is beyond me alone.” The earlier chatter and snide laughter was dead in an instant. “It is a decision that must be made by every man, woman, and child of this plane of existence. Unless I were to have every single being upon this world in attendance to answer, then the decision is not truly mine to make.” The man opened his eyes again, looking out in front of him as if speaking to the target of the monologue and only taking brief glances down to see his lines. “Since they cannot be here to tell me not to do so, then I shall take it upon myself to fight on their behalf. After all, if we were to stand by and not do a thing, then who would be left to protect the innocent, unknowing lives of this realm?” Without the earlier accent, his voice held a calm seriousness that perfectly captured the tension of the scene. “I am afraid this daunting task is for us alone to face, lest the evil that hides itself within the darkness of both the world and the hearts of mankind be free to unleash its reign of death upon us all.” The serious expression on his face softened ever so slightly, almost turning into a sad smile that tugged on Jonathan’s heart strings. “Still, even without the threat to all we hold dear in this world, do you truly think that I, of all people, would turn from you at the eve your greatest struggle? Whom do you take me for, old friend? A coward? A fool?” He gave a short laugh, more of a broken chuckle born of melancholy and sadness rather than joy. “Well…perhaps I am both these things. I do admit to fearing the fate that lies before us, yet it is not myself I fear for- rather, it is you. I fear what would become of you if I allowed you to so gallantly face these forces on your own. As for the fool..” His expression softened again, the smile on his face beautiful and sad and full of love and adoration conveyed in a simple quirk of his lips and the gaze in his eyes. “I suppose I have been a fool since we met that one cold, dark winters’ night. With but a touch of your hand, you shattered the reality which I built so flawlessly for myself. I thought myself strong, yet in your presence I am weak. I thought myself a king, yet to you I would gladly play the role of vassal. I thought myself wise, yet the very sight of you fills me with confusion that renders me as foolish as a drunkard lying on the streets. Still, I do not wish for these beliefs to be returned to me. For, in their place, I have gained far more than I ever dared to dream before: Inner-peace. Conviction. Loyalty. And love.” He closed his eyes again, the tragically beautiful smile still on his face. “So, yes, I may be a coward and a fool..but..I am the cowardly fool who will follow you to the ends of the earth and down into the depths of hell itself without fear..for, without you, there would be no point in fighting for this world at all. Above all else, you shall survive. I shall see to it, even if it costs me my very soul- the devil may have it, so long as your radiance remains to shine the light of hope upon this undeserving world.”

Everyone in the room was stunned by the performance, not saying a word as the man opened his eyes once more and gave an elegant bow.

Jonathan, who had been staring at him with stars in his eyes, was the first to react. He quickly stood from his seat, placed his hands upon the table in front of himself, and excitedly declared. “The part is yours!”

William yanked his sleeve hard and pulled him back down into his seat, whispering harshly to him. “You do not say that aloud in front of everyone else here, Jojo. I thought I taught you better than that.”

Jonathan’s face flushed at the realization of his blunder, his voice hushed to the same level as his mentor’s. “Oh..my apologies, William..it’s just..that was perfect! The delivery, the execution, the emotion- I felt as if I was looking at Sir Dray in the flesh!”

“I agree, but there is still a certain etiquette one must follow in these matters.” He chastised the taller man before turning his attention back to the man on the stage. “My apologies for my associate, he became a touch too excited. That being said, that was an exceptional performance. We have a few more auditions to go through and discussions to be had before final casting, but we will certainly be in touch.”

Speedwagon offered them a polite smile. “I’s quite alright, sir. I’m glad ‘e liked it. Be seein’ y’, then.” He tipped his hat politely before walking off stage and back out through the doors leaving the theater.

Jonathan watched the man leave, his heart still thrumming from the effect the blonde actor’s performance had on him. He’d never been so taken by a mere reading before.

Without even looking back to the table, he grabbed Speedwagon’s resume and moved it to the “definite” pile, ignoring the look he was sure to be receiving from William for reaching over him so rudely to do so.

Next Chapter->

End Notes: Speedwagon: *shows up, introduces himself, reveals his accent*

Everyone else: *laughs and mocks him*

Speedwagon: *delivers a flawless read that lands him the part instantly*

Everyone else: *jaws on the floor*

Jonathan: *instantly in love*

[retentionsx]

YO. EVERYONE. THANK YOU FOR FOLLOWING.

100 FOLLOWERS IS A HUUUUGE MILESTONE FOR ME.

This is a shout-out, a little story, and words of wisdom. 

Sadly there wasn’t enough questions to do a Q+A section, but to answer you ofichinose, yes. I do cosplay. I want to do a Yato cosplay soon. x3 

WARNING: MY VOICE... ALSO MY LITTLE BROTHER RAGING OVER MINECRAFT IN THE BACKGROUND.

@gurenlover | @snipec | @kuroheishi | @ofichinose | @neutral-half | @laneeyatheredroyal | @warbiitch | @scornedfire | @pxnchfire | @fortesinfide | @selfxloathingxvamp | @licnelle 

Song: Drunkard Does Make Wise Remarks - Guilty Gear Isuka

[un-nmd]

Recent listening—

John Zorn, Naked City (1989) Reserve judgement till after you’ve heard the likes of “A Shot In The Dark” or “You Will Be Shot” (detect a theme?) for in these Lynchian juxtapositions of the mundane and the visceral, Zorn and co-conspirators laugh in all the faces of the jazz purists, art music graduates, avant-garde cultists—compartmentalisers or cataloguers or labellers, basically. The madness was always there. Zorn was only woke enough to listen to the wind and precipitate what she betrayed of her lover’s broken heart, or hearts: New York, L.A., Chicago, either/or, doesn’t matter, once past a critical mass all tend to the same limit, the wind’s seen ‘em all and they’re all the same. Naked City’s a portrait of order gone to anarchy. Whatever identity the “Latin Quarter” once had is here presented as a frenetic collage of whims; predatory, music liable to combust at any given moment. Likewise “Siagon Pickup” for an oriental equivalent. But sometimes the omens are bad enough that you can anticipate the storm, and even enjoy it, revel in it when it comes. Like on “Reanimator” where Zorn’s freakout heralds some insane climax that’s euphoric for the awakened. And please don’t miss that it’s all awfully hilarious to them as they feel and know that these stoic truths are lost on those yet to accept that all’s gone to shit, yes, even in your ivory towers, your vaults and penthouses and corporation headquarters; there its only letting itself take a bit longer to be known, but chaos’ll come, so you might as well wise up and enjoy it.

Death Grips, The Money Store (2012) Rather a lot to take in upon first hearing. Immediately plainly a refinement of the aesthetic put forth on Exmilitary but now with an entire studio to run around in these kids have wrought havoc on Mr. and Mrs. White’s 8-track ideal—couldn’t come up with a more fitting antithesis to De Stijl (and Mondrian’s, too) if you let the industry wallow another decade. So why’s this defunct Detroit duo in the mind?—cos where are the guitars, man? Every beat’s packed to near bursting with all manner of production craftsmanships (or gimmickries if you see it that way), MC Ride’s tripping bars overlaid—too much matter, really, to be dealt with on the first wave. But you appreciate the covenant this sonic assault bespeaks—this hip-hop New Complexity has room only to deepen from here. So steep in it, and by about round 3 or 4 (depending on how acute your lobes are) you’ll have undergone some sort of desensitisation to this violence in noise—and now you’re in a place to prophesy. Despite Ride’s barely discernible delivery (except on the eponymous hooks to nearly all 13) the ‘point’ of it all somehow gets itself across—it is, unlike the music itself, not very complex, and mainly involves embarrassing amounts of non-specifically directed anger. Dare I say it, there’s no filler on this, it’s a wild enjoyable ride and a happy side-effect to the maximalist production is there’ll always be something to tickle the ear. And when the hooks do come its a righteous clarifying of the chaos that would eventually get old if it stood alone. Plus, theorists can invoke an unholy marriage by ascribing some mutant Bartókian arch form: “Get Got” and “Hacker” as symmetrical sandwiching allegros, “Double Helix” as Nachtmusik? 

Ornette Coleman, The Shape of Jazz to Come (1959) If you’re hearing these albums in the same order I did you’ll get the same shock upon flicking on what you expect to be Coleman’s near-incomprehensible emancipated bebop and instead hearing a tune that’s actually perfectly singable, and moreover, one that you actually know—how’s that? Must be covering some standard which has somehow osmosed itself into your consciousness but—look it up, in fact its a Coleman original! And so where have you heard it before? Ah: Zorn. It seems then that those slurring drunkard articulations on the head to “Lonely Woman” embodied one of the few Coleman melodies (if not the only) that stuck itself to the underbelly of the hard bop canon—shape of jazz to come, indeed. But it wasn’t so much the heads that would (or were, at least, intended to) mould future generations—rather what lay in between: the emancipation of melody, yes, forget keys, forget harmonic structure, and while you’re at it throw your modal jazz out the window. I’ve always felt ‘harmolodics’ to be a poor term because really it ought to be just melody, that element of music which Coleman raised to the highest pedestal; melody alone, melody a priori. But as a pseudo-theoretic buzzword it does just fine.

John Coltrane, Offering: Live at Temple University (1966) First thing you notice is Coltrane’s uncomfortably, blatantly in the fore. There’s a need to turn it up so you can make out the other activity and by the time you’ve done so Trane’s tenor’ll be blaring out so loud it’s like he’s right by you. But the mixing seems to get more favourable as the numbers progress—or maybe you just adjust. Yes, revisiting, he’s up in your grill but not to intimidate. He’s there to send a very personal message. This was, after all, his penultimate live recording before he quit the grid in July of ‘67. He was getting close to something, and to tell it, he’s gotta get close to you. In the old quartet he might’ve had trouble getting so spiritual. You get the feeling that the mystic tendencies were more at home in this more familial second ensemble. There’s a communion of sorts. And technically they’re equally fine: Alice takes up right where McCoy Tyner left off and actually on her solos she’s more in line with her husband’s ‘sheets’ than her predecessor, part of the reason why the closer on this has replaced what used to be my favourite “My Favorite Things”: Belgium ‘65, check it here. And this is no mean feat as Tyner’s comping/the extended solo on that one’s where quartal harmony came of age, or at least in my experience. The opening to the Offering take’s also a real rarity: double bass goes at taut catgut like anything but cool. We’ve heard with what’s now alarming regularity the rhythm section’s other two rip loose free-form and its high time the other essential’s had a stake in the fun. But now let’s discuss what assures Live at Temple a place in legend. Drop in somewhere about halfway through “Leo”. Trane’s just finished up screaming outta his tenor. Rashied Ali’s going at it now, wild thing on the kit like a hurricane, whirling, whirling, an Almighty gnashing of teeth on calf hide for six or so minutes when all a sudden Trane comes—or is it Pharaoh?—some fella a-moanin’ like a lunatic at the rapture; Obeah Man, elder. Some sole black voice monophonic, like plainchant only infinitely more ancient. What, or whom, are they invoking? Seems they’re their own demons—that, or they’re oracles, come to preach the word in sonic semiotic, purveyors of the sound and the fury.

Food For Animals, Belly (2008) These D.C. fellas put out a remarkably consistent aesthetic and with more personality than you might expect from hip-hop in the industrial vein. That is, what you might expect is: An incoherent, arbitrary mish-mash of overvolted sawtooths, saturated found noise, and other cheap effects; at heart no more than a glorified dubstep. That’s where Christgau was coming from with Death Grips as “Skrillex-as-Unabomber or Skrillex-sans-fun”. But this, like Hill’s trio, is undeserving of such scoffing critique. Any incoherence (and sure, there’s plenty) is but part of a higher level narrative that itself is coherent. Hear it like timbre composition—argument between textures drives the musical conflict. Timbre variation dictates form. And sure, the jargon’s a little dry so let’s talk application: lyrically “Belly Kids” retells the ubiquitous suburbian nostalgia that we also found on the Arcade Fire’s Grammy laureate. As words cast mind’s eye far back, music evokes some sort of youth decay in reverse; the same motion but in sonic terms. The opening’s the hardest the beats ever get on this. Only one direction to go from there. So we ease up and ease up, harshness tempering at each fresh verse, vector very clear, then arrival at the final lines, delivered nude, final lines and the final element: the word. And you know them because they’re self-same to those that were spoken in the apocalyptic beginning. Brahms would be proud. A similar clarification but more on the scale of the Tristan resolution occurs between “Maryland Slang” and “Tween Fantasy” in which the former’s verse is resurrected (Mahler would be proud) before the latter’s velvet shimmering manifold, a thousand tiny chimes in a gentle breeze. And there are many more gems to be found in this urban gizzard (hints: “Shhhy” sample, preprise/main event) but I’ve written enough already.

[ultrachoppedpenguinbouquet]

Alcohol in the Bible

Alcohol in the Bible In general, we can say that the Bible neither condemns drinking per se nor promotes it. Drinking alcoholic beverages is one of those grey areas that is a matter of one’s personal conscience. But there is more in scripture than just this individualistic approach.Isn’t it Really Grape Juice?Some take the words for wine to mean ‘grape juice.’ If this were so, then why would there be prohibitions against drunkenness? One cannot get drunk on grape juice. Further, Jesus’ first miracle was changing the water into wine at the wedding of Cana in Galilee. He made between 120 and 180 gallons of wine! Even if this had been grape juice, it would soon turn to wine because the fermentation process would immediately begin. But it most certainly was not grape juice: the head waiter in John 2:10 said, “Every man sets out the good wine first, then after the guests have drunk freely, the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.” The verb translated ‘drunk freely’ is almost always used of getting drunk (and is so translated in the NRSV here). In the least, the people at this wedding feast, if not drunk, would certainly be drinking alcohol fairly freely (if not, this verb means something here that is nowhere else attested4). And this makes perfect sense in the context: The reason why a man brings out the poorer wine later is because the good wine has numbed the senses a bit. Grape juice would hardly mask anything. Note also Acts 2:13—”they are full of sweet wine”—an inaccurate comment made about the apostles when they began speaking in tongues, as though this explained their unusual behavior. The point is: If they were full of grape juice would this comment even have made any sense at all? That would be like saying, “Well, they’re all acting strange and silly because they have had too much orange juice this morning!”There are other references to alcoholic beverages in the Bible: Several times in the first books of the Bible, wine, and strong drink are prohibited to those who take a Nazarite vow (cf. Num 6, Judges 13). Even grape juice and fresh and dried grapes (i.e., raisins, as the NIV renders the word) are prohibited to the Nazarite (Numbers 6:3)!5  But that restriction is only for those who make this vow. If someone today wants to claim that believers do not have the right to drink alcohol on the analogy of a Nazarite vow (as some today are fond of doing), they also should say that believers ought not to eat Raisin Bran!Negative Statements about Wine Indicate that it is not Grape JuiceFurther, the Bible at times speaks very harshly about becoming enslaved to drink or allowing it to control a person, especially to the point of drunkenness. Proverbs 20:1—“Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, And whoever is intoxicated by it is not wise” (NASB). Cf. also Prov 21:17 (where heavy drinking and gluttony are equally condemned); 1 Sam 1:14; Isa 5:11, 22; 28:1 (drunkenness is condemned); 28:7; 29:9; 56:12; Jer 23:9; 51:7; Joel 3:3. In the New Testament notice: Eph 5:18 (“do not get drunk with wine”); 1 Tim 3:3, 8; Titus 1:7 ([elders and deacons ought not be] “addicted to wine or strong drink”); Titus 2:3 (older women, who would serve as role models to the younger ones, must not be addicted to wine). As well, numerous passages use wine or drunkenness in an analogy about God’s wrath, immorality, etc. (cf. Rev. 14:8, 10; 16:19; 17:2; 18:3).The significance of these negative statements is just this: If this were only grape juice, why would excess in drinking it be condemned? If this were only grape juice, why are certain mental effects attributed to it (cf., e.g., Psalm 60:3)? One can’t have it both ways. You can’t say that wine is always grape juice, for then the negative statements in scripture make no sense; those who say that it is only grape juice tend to focus just on the neutral and positive passages, conveniently allowing them to condemn the drinking of real wine at all times. But even this position is not logical: If the Bible only speaks of grape juice, then it makes no comment about alcoholic wine. And if so, then it does not directly prohibit it. And if we are going to prohibit something that the Bible does not address, why stop at wine? Why don’t we include the ballet, opera, football games, country-western music (actually, I might be in favor of banning this one!), saltwater fishing, zippers on clothes, etc. Once legalism infests the soul it doesn’t know where to quit.In sum, is wine the same as grape juice? No, for if it were, the Bible would hardly condemn the abuse of such. Those who argue that the two are identical simply cannot handle the passages that speak about excess.Neutral and Positive References to Alcoholic Beverages in the Bible At the same time, there are several neutral, almost casual references to alcoholic beverages. Genesis 14:18 refers to Melchizedek, a type of Christ, as offering wine to Abram; Nehemiah 2:1 refers to the king drinking wine (Nehemiah was required to taste it first to make sure it was not poisoned); Esther 5:6; 7:1-2 speaks of wine that Esther (the godly Jewess) drank with the king; Job 1:13 refers to righteous Job’s family drinking wine; Daniel 10:3 speaks of drinking wine as a blessing after a time of fasting. Some of Jesus’ parables are about wine, wineskins, vineyards (cf. Matt 9:17; 21:33; even John 15 speaks of God the Father as the vinedresser!). Paul tells Timothy to drink some wine for his stomach’s sake and not just water (1 Tim 5:23). The same Greek and Hebrew terms that were used to speak of the abuses of wine are used in these passages. One cannot argue, therefore, that alcoholic beverages are in themselves proscribed, while grape juice is permitted. The lexical data cannot be so twisted.There are, as well, positive statements about alcoholic beverages: Deut 14:26 implies that it is a good thing to drink wine and strong drink to the Lord: “And you may spend the money for whatever your heart desires, for oxen, or sheep, or wine, or strong drink, or whatever your heart desires; and there you shall eat in the presence of the LORD your God and rejoice, you and your household” (NASB). Psalm 4:7 compares joy in the Lord to the abundance of wine; Psalm 104:14-15 credits God as the creator of wine that “makes a man’s heart glad” (cf. also Hos 2:8); honoring the Lord with one’s wealth is rewarded with the blessings of abundant stores of wine (Prov 3:10);  love is compared to wine repeatedly in the Song of Songs, as though good wine were similarly sweet (1:2, 4; 4:10; 7:9). The Lord prepares a banquet with “well-aged wines... and fine, well-aged wines” for his people (Isa 25:6) [obviously this cannot be grape juice, for aging does nothing but ferment it!].The lack of wine is viewed as a judgment from God (Jer 48:33; Lam 2:12; Hos 2:9; Joel 1:10; Hag 2:16); and, conversely, its provision is viewed as a blessing from the Lord (cf. Gen 27:28; Deut 7:13; 11:14; Joel 2:19, 24; 3:18; Amos 9:13-14). Cf. also Isa 55:1; Jer 31:12; Zech 9:17.Indeed, there was even the Passover tradition that went beyond the biblical teaching: by the time of the first century, every adult was obliged to have four glasses of wine during the Passover celebration. Jesus and his disciples did this in the Last Supper.6 The fact that the wine of the Passover was a symbol the Lord used for his blood and for the new covenant implicitly shows that our Lord’s view of wine was quite different from that of many modern Christians.What is truly remarkable here are the many positive statements made about wine and alcoholic beverages in the Bible.7 Wine is so often connected with the blessings of God that we are hard-pressed to figure out why so many modern Christians view drink as the worst of all evils. Why, if one didn’t know better, he might think that God actually wanted us to enjoy life! Unfortunately, the only Bible most of our pagan friends will read is the one written on our lives and spoken from our lips. The Bible they know is a book of ‘Thou shalt nots,’ and the God they know is a cosmic killjoy.I think the best balance on this issue can be see in Luke 7:33-34: John the Baptist abstained from drinking wine; Jesus did not abstain [indeed, people called him a drunkard! Although certainly not true, it would be difficult for this charge to have been made had Jesus only drunk grape juice]. Both respected one another and both recognized that their individual lifestyles were not universal principles. One man may choose not to drink; another may choose to drink. We ought not condemn another servant of the Lord for his choice.As well, Romans 14 is a key passage for gleaning principles about how we ought to conduct ourselves in relation to one another on this issue: weaker brothers ought not to judge those whose freedom in Christ allows them to enjoy alcoholic beverages; stronger brothers ought not to disdain weaker brothers for their stance. Whether we drink or not, let us do all things to the glory of God.

[lars-canyon]

GGST – 04 01 23 – Fennel [I-No] vs ZettaSlow (Faust)

Drunkard Does Make Wise Remarks on "A Happy Family"

[lars-canyon]

GGST – 04-16-23 – Fennel (I-No) vs Venks [Ramlethal]

Drunkard Does Make Wise Remarks on "A Happy Family"