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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 14 - Primal Scene

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

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Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |8 | 9 | 10 |11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54

CH 14: Vi makes plans. So does Silco.

Cw: for rough sex with multiple partners in Silco's PoV. There are also brief mentions of underage sex in Vi's PoV. Nothing is graphic, and the activity takes place with a peer, but if such content offends you, please be warned!

Separate tw: for bloodplay, dubious consent, biting, mistreatment of sex workers, and violence/bloodshed. On top of that, another tw: for mentions of mental illness, panic attacks, PTSD and abandonment issues.

Step inside my heart, broken up Show you what it's like, only for the night

~ "Empty Love" – Tech Thieves

"It adds up," Vi says.

The drumroll of rain is swallowed up by her flat's old architecture. It is a two-story townhouse at Sapphilite Row: all folio-colored stucco walls and faded blue windows, calligraphed with marks of age. The place is simply furnished: a tiny livingroom, and an equally tiny bedroom. A colonial-style doorway leads to a balcony, its eaves dripping rain down into the cozy bakery below, where bready scents waft deliciously.

There is an earthiness to the neighborhood that appeals to Vi. Downtown is the curated surface of Piltover: glitzy and modern. But these districts hold a gritty pulsebeat similar to the Undercity. Generations of families living in the same block since the mercantile era.

Inside, the lights are off. A luminous streak glows through the bathroom's half-open door. In the clawfoot tub, Vi lays in the steaming water. Her hair clings wetly to her scalp. Her body, all taut muscle and whorling gearwork tattoos, feels pummeled from top to toe.

Thank Janna for Piltover’s water.

Clean, hot, unspoiled water.

In the past, baths were never Vi’s thing. Give her a hot blast under a shower any day. At the Drop, they'd had no bathtub. Just a rusty spray-hose with no pressure, and yet she and Powder had to jockey with Mylo and Claggor for its use anyway.

But in winters, Vander let the girls haul down the giant metal tub into the basement. They'd boil water and carry it downstairs in big pots. Then she and Powder would lock the door, strip right there on the cold tiles, and slither inside with happy shrieks. Vi still remembers Powder's blue hair plastered to her skull and crowned with bubbles. Her sister loved the sounds they'd make, tiny planets popping in her ears.

Buoyed by the water, her small body would float into Vi's lap. She'd let Vi check her hair for lice, then wash it and wring it out until it squeaked. Sometimes, Vi would sing to her—old ballads half-remembered from childhood. Powder was especially fond of The Wave-Soaked Maiden. Her eyes would go round and shiny, and she’d barely breathe for fear of missing her favorite lyric:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive.”

Each time Vi hit that part, her sister would kick her feet through the suds, squealing.

Powder was happiest in water.

Vi's eyes burn.

Caitlyn sits at the tub's lip. She is in a linen robe of the palest blue, the fabric sticking heavily to her skin in the bathroom's swelter. Her hair is twisted up off her neck; wisps float around her face. Earlier, she'd helped Vi to disinfect and re-bandage the cut on her cheekbone. It is minor, only three stitches necessary. Vi was told the scars will fade in time.

Caitlyn's fingertips trace the bandage on Vi's cheek. Her eyes are troubled. More than that—sorrowful. And that sorrow is hard for Vi to bear.

Six months without bloodshed. What a sweet six months they were.

"The whole thing felt preplanned," Vi says. "The Council greenlighting my visit to the Lanes. Silco agreeing to let me see Powder. I figured it was a trap to draw me out and start trouble. Then Silco sent his blackguards after me, and I lured myself out. I gave him the trouble he wanted." She scrubs the back of her head. "Silco knew I'd take the bait, too. He was ready. The blackguards, the rotties, the spiel. Everything."

Caitlyn's bitten lip telegraphs concern. "Now he's using your sister as leverage?"

"Leverage for something bigger."

"Three jobs, he said?"

Vi grimaces. "Vander always said bad things come in threes."

No way to determine what the jobs are. Vi doubts they consist of anything pleasant. She wishes she'd pressed for details. But getting brained with a tray did a number on a girl's conversational skills. No concussion. But the throb is her skull is like the mother of all hangovers.

She feels drunk. Worse than drunk. Stoned. Too full of thoughts she cannot digest.

Not all of them are hers.

After Vi was transferred from Silco's chopper to Piltover's yacht, she'd had a short exchange with the Councilor on board. Medarda. Even growing up in the cesspit of poverty, Vi knows that family name. The woman herself was polished in every sense: skin, hair, accent. Not beautiful like Caitlyn; she had the fascination of a piece of art. Stylized—that was the word.

Like all Piltovans, she'd made Vi feel like an unwashed monster.

You're safe now, she'd said, in affectedly soothing tones. In a spot of trouble—but safe.

My sister isn't safe! Vi snapped. I need help her!

You feel she is in danger?

I know so!

Without quite meaning to, Vi ended up giving the older woman the low-down on everything she'd seen. She'd told her about Powder. How her sister was stolen and warped by Silco. How the warping went beyond war or weapons.

Medarda's expression stayed inscrutable as a Sphynx.

I will see what can be done, she'd said.

That was the last Vi saw of her.

They'd remained docked at Zaun for an hour. Vi wonders what negotiations took place abovedeck. She imagines Silco and Medarda in a dialogue like a dance, each one jockeying for the upper-hand. Vi doesn't trust Silco. But she has no reason to trust the Councilors either. They are birds of a feather: all glittering masks to conceal their sharp-edged manipulations, and unless you learn to master their doublespeak, they'll slice you to ribbons.

The Pilties are just like Silco. Under their suave veneers, there is nothing but selfish spite.

Except Caitlyn.

Sweet Caitlyn. Straight-shooting as a rifle.

Since Stillwater, Vi thought of herself, in a ferociously single-minded way, as never needing anybody. She'd never, in her twenty-three years, had much trouble getting out of whatever trouble she'd gotten into. But with Caitlyn, there is no trouble.

Only a profound sense of sanctuary.

When the yacht docked back in Piltover, Caitlyn was waiting at the gangplank. She'd looked as ragged as Vi felt. They hadn't touched. But Vi felt something light her up softly from inside. The late hours of stress dropped away, the muscles locked into tightness loosened, and she felt himself melding back into the living world.

When they were alone, Caitlyn snatched her up in a hug that just about crushed the life out of Vi.

Or shocked it back into her.

Later in bed, they’d made love: slow, syrupy, breathless. But it was a struggle for Vi to stay present. Her pleasure was a clammy shiver, skimming her surface so she barely felt it, so intent was she on not thinking of everything else. Caitlyn held her close and smoothed her hair, whispering comfort. But Vi couldn't hear anything except the nauseous beating of her own heart.

That's when the shakes began. Her palms sweating. Her heart thumping in her chest. Figments of the past tapped Vi on the shoulder, clouding her mind with memories of Stillwater. Not even seventeen years old, chains clanking on her wrists, her feet marching in single file, disembodied voices dictating when to sleep, when to shit, when to shower. And the screams, too many to count. Screams from the midnight assaults, when inmates cornered each other in the shadows to settle a score or satisfy an itch. Screams from before that. The cannery doused in flames. Vander a slab of motionless meat on the pavement. Blood on Powder's elbows and knees. Powder's blood on Vi's knuckles, and the distress in her sister's cries—please Vi please don't go I need you!

She'd started hyperventilating in Caitlyn's arms. Had to wrench herself away and slam into the bathroom. She'd not realized she was going to be sick until the puke boiled out to splatter the toilet. Shivering, she'd knelt there, and begun to cry, one palm pressed to her mouth.

She didn't want Caitlyn to hear her. She didn't want Powder to think she wasn't strong enough. She didn't want Silco to know how thoroughly he'd rattled her.

Ironic.

Powder and Silco weren't there. She was all alone.

In the morning, headsore and heartsick, she couldn't meet Caitlyn's eyes. Instead, she'd asked about the Council. Were they angry? Was Vi going to lose her job as Peacekeeper? Or get tossed out of Piltover altogether?

Caitlyn informed Vi that they'd both been placed on formal three-month suspension. There would be an inquest into the blackguard’s death. Charges could follow if the investigation proved Vi had acted with malice aforethought. If found guilty, she faced termination from her position. If innocent, she'd return to work.

All told, Vi had expected worse. A boot to the rear rather than a slap on the wrist.

Yet beneath her relief sat an unease.

The Council should've been angrier with her for jeopardizing the Peace Treaty. Unless they'd anticipated this outcome. Planned for it.

Just like Silco.

At the Kiramman estate, Caitlyn's mother was furious. She'd called Vi a ruinous influence. She tried to talk Caitlyn into breaking it off with Vi.

It hadn't gone down well. Bypassing a number of smaller spats between the mother and daughter, it had escalated into a championship match, plenty of ammo on both sides. The mansion's elegant halls echoed with screeching female voices. Some of the words would've made a Demacian dowager drop dead in a swoon.

Vi stood frozen halfway up the stairs, with Mister Kiramman paralyzed at the bottom. Their glances narrowly swerved off each other like a car crash.

In the end, Caitlyn had left the estate hand-in-hand with Vi, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was heavier than her typical overnighter. An unquestionable symbol of moving out of one home and into another. Just her and Vi—a fact that had sent Councilor Kiramman into a secondary meltdown. It was disgraceful—Caitlyn was aristocracy—they weren't married—she should be focusing on her career and not playing around with a Fissure-bred girl.

Yet the more they had argued about it, the more Violet realized that Caitlyn had been building up to this move for weeks. The fight was just the well-timed shove out the door. And Mister Kiramman was surprisingly supportive; between the two of them, the Councilor had to pipe down.

Vi should've felt guilty. She'd never meant to wedge herself between Caitlyn and her family. But she was mostly grateful.

She'd wanted to ask Caitlyn to move in for a while. She'd just never plucked up the courage.

She could face down opponents twice her size. But how did you ask the sweetest girl in Topside to abandon her deluxe digs and cohabit with you in a one-bedroom flat? She could only interiorize it with a soapy, tongue-in-cheek narration. Share my creaky mattress and my messed-up life, Cupcake. Forget the riches. I'll take care of you.

Each time, she'd snorted it off as insanity.

Now, Vi glances at Caitlyn. Beautiful, kind Caitlyn. What if her mother is right? What if Vi is a ruinous influence? What if she's dragged her into something shady—again? What if she's safer far away from Vi, back in the comfort of her mother's home, and her lifestyle of immaculately tidy order?

Questions with no answer. Plenty of guilt, though. The familiar stew that nourishes Vi's deepest insecurities.

Her worst self.

"What are we going to do?" Caitlyn whispers.

Vi's guilt curdles into shame.

We.

Already, Caitlyn is making Vi's problem hers.

She whispers back, "If I do the jobs, I see Powder. That's the short and long of it."

"It's a lot of short, and not enough long, Vi. Silco is probably—"

"Lying?" Vi exhales. "I know. It's what he's good at."

"It's not just that." Her fingertips retrace Vi's bandaged cheekbone. "He might have worse plans than blackmail."

Vi’s jaw hardens. "I know. But I need to know if the Council is in on it too."

Caitlyn's fingertips go still. "You think they'd go that far?"

"They had no issues using me as bait." A rottweiler set loose, as Silco described her. "They've got their own agenda. Same as Silco."

Caitlyn doesn't argue. But her voice is halting. "I don't think Jayce would condone it. Not to the point of Silco harming you as part of a larger bargain."

"It might not be Pretty Boy pulling the strings."

"The others, then?"

"The fancy one. The Noxian princess."

"Councilor Medarda?" A gentle smile tugs at Caitlyn's mouth. "She's not a princess, silly. Her family are warrior class. Nobility."

"Whichever."

Vi lolls back against the curved tub. Beads of moisture roll down her jaw.

"My point is," she says, "I don't buy her story about collecting me for cross-border security. Her yacht was anchored in Zaun for a full hour. I saw Silco's chopper through the porthole. Before Medarda saw Silco off, they shook hands. I'm positive they've made some sort of deal."

"You think you're a pawn in it?"

"Or Powder is."

Caitlyn falls silent. Her soft hands curve over Vi’s shoulders, fingers kneading, heels strong. There are knots the size of marbles buried there. The rest of Vi feels the same: a giant knot of tension.

In her mind's eye, dream-shocked, she can still see Powder's curled-up shape in the burning alleyway. Silco's silhouette looming over her with a knife. Then the scene recoalesces, not fire and filth, but liquid luxury. The skyscraper suite. The blue pool. Powder perched on the diving board, swinging a pair of doll-legs. Then diving into the water and climbing out, artfully gleaming, right into Silco's arms.

Her smile for Silco's safekeeping. Her needlework on Silco's handkerchief. Her art decorating his butterfly knife.

All wrong.

In Silco's tent, Vi was ready to kill him. For touching Powder. For taking her away. Taking Vi away from her, and locking her up in Stillwater. Her rage had filled the air. A haze that was nearly alcoholic—or its opposite. Alcoholics needed treatment for their binges. Vi needed to put a monster like Silco behind bars.

Or—if worst came to worst—put him in the ground.

She tries to dispel the thought. She isn't ready to go there.

Not yet.

Deliberately, she puts out her hand and squeezes Caitlyn's kneecap. The furor in her mind softens, a cleansing sort of calm. She relaxes beneath the waterline and Caitlyn's kneading hands. Her eyelids droop, growing heavier as the seconds tick by…

Caitlyn says, "Would it be better if—?"

"Huh?"

"Wouldn't it be better if you refused Silco?"

"It would."

"But you're not going to?"

"I'm not abandoning Powder again," Vi says sharply. "That's why I need to gather my own information. Find out if I can get close to Powder. Get her away from Silco. There's no other way she's coming out of this with her mind intact."

Caitlyn's mouth compresses. "You saw her at his headquarters?"

"In a pool."

"How did she look?"

Vi's gut aches in remembrance. "Like the usual."

"The usual? Violent? Manic?"

Vi shakes her head. "No, she—" She catches herself with a frown. "She looked more like Powder than Jinx. Older, but somehow... younger too."

"You're convinced Silco is hurting her."

For a shuddery second, Vi shuts her eyes.

"He has to be," she says. "He hurts everyone around him."

"He's kept your sister since she was a child." Caitlyn's voice is perturbed. "If that was... the nature of their relationship... surely our investigations would have turned up evidence of abuse?"

Vi opens her burning eyes.

"Same way the investigations turned up evidence he was a Shimmer-baron?" she retorts. "Silco has sneaky down to a science."

Caitlyn considers this. Then—"Have you considered a different possibility?"

"What?"

"That she and Silco see each other as family?"

A chill runs down Vi's spine.

Family.

Like Vander. Like Mylo and Claggor.

"He's going to great lengths to keep her close. It might be an ego thing. A way to assert control. Or it could be—in his own mind—justified. Jayce told me, during the parley, Silco seemed ready to yield to Piltover's demands. Then Jayce asked for Jinx, and he refused point-black. A week later, the Fissures declared war." A beat. "Maybe Silco believes she belongs with him."

Repulsed, Vi shudders. "A matched pair, huh?"

Caitlyn shakes her head. "Just... complicated. This whole mess started when you were children, didn't it? When she set off a bomb to save you all?"

Vi nods.

The memory of that night slices through her chest. Its mere mention is a minefield. She's shielded Caitlyn from all but the barest shrapnel of details. Caitlyn, in turn, has kept a strategic distance: part-concern, part-consideration.

Now she says something unexpected: "Maybe Silco sees himself as her rescuer?"

Vi recoils. "You mean kidnapper!"

"What matters is what he thinks," Caitlyn says, "not what you or I believe." Her palms curve over Vi's shoulders. "You know, when I was a girl, my family would go up to our summer home in the countryside. For me, it was bliss. I'd spend hours outdoors with my rifle, practicing on the posts around the grounds. By evening, I'd stumble back indoors, happy and absolutely filthy. My mother would lock me in the bath, and warn I'd not be allowed downstairs until I'd washed off every speck of dirt."

"A hard-knock life," Vi says, having a halfhearted go.

"One afternoon," Caitlyn goes on, undeterred, "I stumbled on the groundskeeper in the forest. I'd known him for years. We were like family." Her tone tempers. "He was... rogering one of the maids. They'd slipped out by the hothouses for more privacy. A countryside pastime, or so I gathered when older. Back then, I'd no idea what I was seeing. I was absolutely horrified." She sighs. "The Psychickers call it The Primal Scene."

Vi wavers a short laugh. "That's a Friday night in the Lanes."

"What?"

"Privacy's not a thing belowground. We grow up watching plenty of um. Primal Scenes."

Caitlyn is taken aback. It happens sometimes. She'll share an anecdote from her gilded girlhood, with the shyness of a child offering a glimpse into a box of trinkets. In return, Vi will offer anecdotes of her own: heavy as a block of lead clapped in her palm.

But not in retrospect.

Miserable as life in the Undercity was, Vi's times with her family still hold a rosy hue. Maybe because the way things ended was so much worse?

She still remembers being thirteen and vaulting rooftops back to the Drop with Mylo and Claggor and Powder, carried on a flying carpet of adrenaline. She remembers the first time she'd spotted two silhouettes in the ginnel near their home—Vander with one of the barflies. She remembers staring, bewildered, before her mind connected their shadowy movements to the act of sex.

She remembers recoiling, not in shock, but because Powder might glimpse something she shouldn't see.

Casually, she'd chivvied her sister and the boys away from the spot. They'd gotten cherry sodas and gone to the arcade. Later that evening, she'd been unable to look Vander in the eye, nearly to the point where he began to suspect she'd done something awful, and was terrified of spilling the beans. Of course, Vander being Vander, it wasn't long before he'd cornered her and forced out a confession.

They'd had The Talk soon after.

Not that Vi needed it. Most sumpsnipes picked up the facts of life early in the streets. By age eleven, Vi already knew all about fucking. All the ways to do it. How to make it good, how to fake it if you couldn't pull it off. But Vander's advice, imparted with a matter-of-fact intimacy, was different. He'd educated her, not about sex, but its consequence.

To this day, his words linger:

Never touch someone unless they've given permission. Otherwise, you're stealing their dignity. Never string someone along or play 'em for a fool. Always tell 'em straight. And most important: if you're going at it with a lad, always pay the Protection Racket. If he's not keen on paying, then he's not worth messing around with. You don't owe anyone your body. About the only thing you owe is the truth.

His parting shot was ambiguous: Be smarter than I was, yeah?

Vi had barely, at that stage, traded more than a few gropes with the girls in the neighborhood. But Vander's advice proved sound. She'd put it to use, two years later, when sneaking out of the Drop in the heat-shimmer of summertime, to meet Nao, an older cat-eyed girl with a lithe stride and a slow smile. She was a dancer at Babette’s. Spoke barely any Standard, but her coy aloofness made her wildly popular with the clientele.

To Vi, though, she was just plain sweet. In the evenings, she'd take up to her attic by the Old Hungry: a workshop full of sawdust and the slanting red rays from a neon signboard. She'd taught Vi all about kissing; how to coax the lips apart, how to tease with tongues. They’d practice and practice until the very air between them turned electric with sighs.

Two months in, they’d traded a whole lot more than kisses.

Vi remembers how she’d lost her virginity in that attic. Only it hadn't felt like losing anything. It had tasted sweet as candy and shocky as a thousand volts, but afterward somehow lonely too, like the world had gotten bigger and Vi's own place in it full of riskier twists.

Consequences.

Afterward, though she'd stayed sweet, Nao made it plain she wasn't looking for anything serious. She had plans to move to Bilgewater. Sooner rather than later. The Undercity's brothels were a dying breed. The tarts, even the most talented, had a short shelf life. Stop tricking and they'd be swallowed by the grime. But dare to dream big, and the gangs would come knocking.

Nao had ambitions, and a survivor's streak. As far as she was concerned, Vi was only a fun fling. Love was never even a question.

Keeping Vander’s advice in mind, Vi had played their parting cool. But her heart had felt like a bruised slab in her chest. She'd wept afterwards, alone in bed, having learned since childhood to do so in silence. Then she'd felt Powder's small body burrowing under the sheets, her big blue eyes seeing Vi's distress and understanding none of it—though now Vi thinks Powder might've understood more than she realized.

"Did you go someplace scary?" she'd whispered.

"No, Pow. Not scary."

"So why're you crying?"

"Just... missing mom and dad."

It wasn't remotely true. But it wasn't a lie, either.

Powder went quiet. Her small arms passed around Vi's ribcage, squeezing. "I'll always love you, Vi. Even if stuff gets scary."

Another wave of tears surfaced. Vi swallowed them. "Me too, Pow."

"To the moon and back."

Vi gathered Powder closer. "'Cause you're my little star."

Powder nestled her cheek on Vi's shoulder. "And this is our safe spot."

They fell asleep cozied together. And the world still felt too big, full of the twists and tumbles. Full of consequence.

But Vi had Powder.

Someone she could always hide under the blankets with. Someone whose love never had to leave town. Someone who she'd protect at all costs.

Her Safe Spot.

Caitlyn's fingers skim along Vi's jaw. "Perhaps you'll tell me sometime?"

The reminiscing must've shown on her face. Vi blinks. “About what?”

“Growing up in the Lanes.”

"You mean with the drunks rutting in the alleys?" Vi rears away in mock-alarm. "Dirty cupcake! No wonder you got locked up in the bath!"

"Ha ha."

She tickles Vi’s doubled-up right knee—a secret weak-spot. Vi ripples and torques away. Caitlyn’s impish fingers become a caress. Her thumb traces the birthmark there; a red splotch that Powder used to call a Bunny Mark, because it resembled the rabbit on the moon.

"Back to what I was saying..." Caitlyn says.

"Your sex-fiend groundskeeper."

"I certainly thought so. I ran to my father's study. I usually went to him first with trouble. My mother was always busy with social engagements. And she could be rather... reactive… if she felt I was in danger."

Vi tactfully says nothing.

"I'm not sure what I told my father. But he got the gist. He questioned the maid on whether foul play had occurred. She swore it was purely consensual. Afterward, my father requested she and the groundskeeper confine their extracurriculars to the staff quarters. I couldn't understand why he hadn't dismissed the man. I thought—he'd been attacking the maid. Hurting her. Afterward, I saw them laughing together. Like they'd been playing a game."

Vi makes a thoughtful noise.

"'Don't judge, Cait,' my father said. 'Grown-ups are complicated.' True enough, though it wasn't much comfort to me. Anyway, the groundskeeper retired soon after. My modesty was spared further outrage."

There is a beat.

Vi asks, "How's this relate to Silco?"

Caitlyn hesitates. "What I'm trying to say is... I grew up in a bubble of ignorance. You grew up surrounded by adults doing grown-up things. It's natural for both of us to fall back on what we know. To assume we understand who people are. Or why they do what they do."

Vi grunts.

"I'm not denying Silco is a terrible influence on your sister." Caitlyn takes a breath. "But if he does have genuine affection for her... you're in twice the danger."

"He'll do everything possible to keep her," Vi says. "And get rid of me."

"But you're still going after him?"

"Yes."

Silence drips between them.

Caitlyn swallows. "I don't want to see you hurt, Vi."

Vi scrubs a hand across her cheeks. They are tearless, but she feels the burn of chagrin.

"Look," she whispers, "I know it's a risky deal. Even if I get to see Powder, she might not want to see me. Or she might attack me. Janna knows, she's killed plenty of people. I know that. But I can't leave her, Caitlyn. She's—"

Caitlyn squeezes Vi's shoulder. "She's your sister."

Vi cranes her neck to stare. There is a gravity in Caitlyn's voice that matches the twist of her brows. Like she is acknowledging something she'd not fully come to grips with before, a deeper truth emerging out of the cracked shell of the old. Something beyond Piltover's and Zaun's binaries of good and bad, but belonging to a gray-zone of hellish difficulty.

Vi whispers, "My sister."

Caitlyn rubs her fingers together. They are already tired from massaging Vi's tension-packed muscles. She looks tired too. But her downturned eyes suggest more than the stress of last night's hide-and-seek, or the dressing-down from the Council, or the blow-up with her mother. The sight makes something tighten in Vi's chest.

Gently, she gathers Caitlyn's hands in hers.

"I'm sorry," she says. "This wasn't in the cards."

"'This'?"

"You moving in with me." Vi inhales in the clouded air. "I wanted to celebrate if it ever happened. Go someplace nice. Us together."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "I'm here because I'm glad to be, Vi. No celebrations needed."

Vi forces down a reflexive lump of stubbornness. "You deserve them."

"So do you."

She is still holding Caitlyn's hands. Now the delicate bones twist out of her grip, so Caitlyn is clasping Vi's. Her eyes are lit with a fevery glow.

"You deserve to have your family," she says. "Same way you deserved safety, and shelter, and a childhood."

Her voice seems to come from far-off, waterlogged and wavery. It echoes the sensation sluicing in Vi's chest.

"I'm so sorry," Caitlyn says. "I'm sorry for everything you went through. I'm sorry for everything you're going through now. It just… scares me when you keep it all bottled up. I understand there are parts of your life that you don't want to talk about. Parts of you that you're reticent about sharing. But I do feel they're the most important parts." She squeezes Vi's hands. "Your sister is tied up in all that. Or better put? She's the most important tie of all."

Vi's eyes sting. Twisting around, droplets skittering down her spine, she meets Caitlyn face-to-face. Precludes her own messy outpouring, or more of Caitlyn's gentle words, by pulling her close. The familiar smell of jasmine clings to Caitlyn's skin. Vi breathes it in, her heart throbbing in its cage.

Caitlyn's fingers brush the soft hairs at the base of Vi's neck. "I meant to ask you..."

Vi shivers. "Yeah?"

"The blackguard." Caitlyn falters. "You don't honestly believe—?"

"I killed him."

"You're not a killer, Vi."

Now the tears spill. Vi squeezes her eyes shut, cheek resting on Caitlyn's shoulder.

"I don't know what to think," she rasps. "I don't know who to believe. I know there's always accidents in a brawl. Hell, no one knows that better than me. But I also know Silco is a liar. He always has a line of shit." Her throat is a knot. "If he's lying about the—the blackguard—then it's just to knock me off-balance. And if he's telling the truth—" A gust of emotion shakes through her. "I need to take him down, Caitlyn. For everyone he's hurt with his games. Me. Vander. Benzo. Ekko. Especially Powder. I need to get her away from him."

Caitlyn startles her by slipping off her robe and into the tub. Water sloshes the tiles. Her bare arms enfold Vi, and their foreheads touch. Every time she does this, with that look of pure love on her face, Vi's doubts fade into the background.

"We'll find a way," Caitlyn says.

Vi nods, their heads together.

"Whatever Silco is planning against you…"

"I won't let it get that far." Resolve makes a bludgeon of Vi's voice. "I'm going to get Powder first."

"I'll help you."

"Help…?"

"I'll talk to Jayce. See if he can learn more about the blackguard's death. See if Silco is hiding anything."

"You don't need to—"

"Yes, I do," Caitlyn cuts in. "You don't deserve this on your conscience. Not after everything else. Let me help, Vi. However I can."

"You always do, Cupcake. I'm thankful—and so fucking sorry."

"Sssh."

Caitlyn tips her head down and kisses Vi. Her lips are pure warmth and her breath envelops Vi with a sigh that makes her dizzy with the sweetness of it, her whole body attuned to Caitlyn and nothing else.

Twilight glows through the rain-speckled window. Dust motes float around their twined bodies.

All those years Vi had never dwelt on comfort for herself. She was better at giving it to others. Reassuring Powder. Reaming Mylo and Claggor's asses. Rallying behind Vander. She never considered asking for the same, not from her family, not from any of her girlfriends. Not since she'd been a little girl, encircled by her mother's arms.

Home.

Shivering, Vi holds on to Caitlyn as long as she can.

It's where she's happiest, in the end.

***

Of all the nooks in his headquarters, Silco has taken a fancy to the Laguna Lounge.

It is on the twelfth floor: a cantilevered section that angles out from the skyscraper, all chrome and double-glazed glass. It is fitted with aluminum oxynitride. Sleeker and less heavyweight than traditional bulletproof glass, but twice as effective at preventing explosives.

The rest of the rooms on the floor are too barren. Too different from the neon-lit secrecy of the Last Drop. Only this chamber, with its glazed twilit eeriness, feels tolerable.

It is spacious: a lounge, a bar, a bedroom. The interior is an Art Noveau wonderland—ribbons of wallpaper in faded gold-on-blue damask, wooden floors glowing beneath a crystalline chandelier, and intricately carved furniture of black-and-gilt. Like most architecture in the Undercity, it's antique: installed around the turn of the century, and never upgraded since. But it's a good place to hold a private meeting, to fix a solitary drink, or to catch a cat-nap.

He's especially partial to the bath: a vast chamber that holds a seashell's inner-echo, all pearlescent green ceramic and bronze fittings. There is a glassed-in rainfall shower at one end, and a huge sunken-in tub at the other.

And, of course, water.

Clean, hot, unspoiled water.

After a long week, it's Silco's habit to decompress here. He's from a time when running water was a luxury. Now he indulges as he pleases. The steam makes a satisfied haze of his thoughts. The hot soak loosens his muscles. Under his breath, he hums The Wave-Soaked Maiden, his voice a languid glide:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive."

Silco is happiest in water.

In boyhood, he and Vander sometimes slipped off to the oxbow near the mines. Together, they'd climb the creaky train-ties of the broken trestle, and plunge in feet-first. They'd dunk each other with hooting glee, racing from one end of the shore to the other. Afterward, Vander would drift along the shallows, with broad strokes of his arms and legs. Silco would arrow gracefully to the deep end, transfixed by the psychedelic shapes at the bottom.

Take care, Blut, Vander would tease. Mermaids might snatch ya!

Silco nearly smiles.

Memory tightens like a chokehold around his neck. Vi's fist explodes across his retinas before it distorts into Vander's, the scarred ridge of knuckles wrapping around Silco's neck.

Except Vander is dead.

Vi will follow—once she's served her use.

Idly, Silco traces the mottling of bruises on his chest. His expression doesn't change as he contemplates his plans—or Medarda's attempt to blockade them. She's proven quite the chess-queen. In her natural milieu, she’s doubtless a social mastermind; plucking other’s desires like harpstrings.

Doubtless, too, she imagines their blood bargain the same. She’ll play Silco, not as a partner, but a proxy from the shadows. A cipher to keep her family matter from catalyzing a war. If there’s a screw-up, Silco will take a fall; if it goes smoothly, she’ll terminate their arrangement. In the first instance, she keeps her impunity; in the second, she severs the connection.

Silco is ready to play. Not play ball—play along. Her means will serve his ends. For Zaun, and its coffers.

But the real jackpot is Medarda.

On the yacht, he'd seen past her armature of glossy poise into a nucleus of raw neuroses. All the world's wealth at her fingertips, and yet her conflict is base. Mother versus motherland. Silco has known his share of outcasts. One of their most enduring pathologies is the breakage of identity, as war breaks a map.

At Piltover's zenith politically, Medarda is still, at her core, the daughter discarded. So much of her choices stem from proving her mother wrong. On being everything her mother is, and is not. That's why she backed Talis' Hex-tech; that's why she took the boy as a protégé. The Hex-Gates have transcended barriers. They have reshaped history. They have lent Piltover a touch of immortality.

Power in the guise of progress.

But power, on its own, is an incomplete identity. Negation of the inner-wound fills the true void.

Silco’s good eye narrows. He’s glimpsed the wound. He’ll trace it painstakingly to its root. Then all he needs is an opening. Something to slice through decades of emotional callus, so he can access the human beneath. And all humans are fallible.

Unlike monsters.

Shaking out a cigarette from the silver cigar case at the tub's edge, Silco lights up. His body in the fogged-up mirror is utilitarian. Taut and tapered, sinews visible under scarred flesh. A pared-down body, he thinks of it—everything superfluous sliced away. From time to time, he misses the spryness of his youth. But this is the cost of survival, and Silco wears it like a badge of honor.

Like the shrapnel wounds from the Day of Ash. Like the razor cuts from a Stillwater ambush. Like the chemical splatters from the mines.

Like the black-pitted ruin of his left eye.

From behind the half-open bedroom door, low sobbing ebbs. Silco's vantagepoint offers him a narrow vignette of crisp white sheets. Two bodies occupy his bed. One half is dark skin and sultry curves. A young woman; fast asleep. The other half is sun-freckled muscle and red curlicues of hair. A young man; weeping facedown in the pillows.

Both are Silco's regulars.

Not from the brothels, but his own network.

The Undercity is a hotbed of prostitution. In the mercantile era, the illicit trade thrived on the backs of boys and girls trafficked into slavery. Then came the Void Wars, and a never-ending crawl of bodies seeking sanctuary from the horrors of sorcery. Piltover became a magnet for well-to-do emigres. Their social shadows, the refugees, circled down the drain into the Fissures. In time, they became their own social strata: perpetual outsiders caught in a continuum of servitude.

Most fell back on the oldest profession of all.

By Vander's heyday, most Trenchers were hardened to the sight of naked bodies on display in the neon glare of brothel lanterns. For some, it was an attractive career choice—an alternative to the drudgery of factorywork or menial labor. For others, it was an escape hatch from the misery of living hand-to-mouth. They dressed the service up with pretty euphemisms: pleasure parlors, love menageries, botanical gardens.

The bottom line was human bondage.

By the time the Hex-Gates opened, the Undercity's sex industry had begun cooking itself down under the pressures of breakneck progress. Bodies were pushed beyond any semblance of desirability into the walking equivalent of meat-suits. In the clubs, girls ejected pingpong balls from their cunts, and boys shot high-velocity jism down their throats. In the street-corners, they descended on lone strollers like mosquitoes, a desensualized horde of high-heeled boots and leather-studded jackets whipped open to flaunt wares decked in piercings, needle marks and scars.

There was commerce but no carnal desire. Only the perversity of market forces; the insatiable appetite of capital. Nobody was getting off, but everyone was hustling to get ahead, get paid, get out.

There was no way out.

As the Hex-Gates yawned wide, the Undercity's future shrank, choking on Topside's hubris. By the time Silco took control of the Lanes, the sex trade had reached saturation point. If not for his commandeering of the criminal underbelly, the brothels would've gone belly up. Instead, through foreign business-deals and local back-alley bargains, Silco leveraged his influence to transform them into exclusive enterprises.

Today, every tart—whether lounging in the high-end saloons at the Promenade or plying trade in the slush-filled alleyways of Factorywood—belongs to a particular house. They are of varying quality, but each one has been remodeled from a den of insalubrious sleaze into a boutique establishment catering to a different niche.

From ale-house beer to vintage wine, as the Undercity saying goes.

There is Babette's, the oldest brothel in town, whose madam maintains cordial ties with every crime syndicate. There is The Vyx, the luxurious pleasure-house run by Margot, where local chem-royalty rub shoulders with foreign potentates. There is The Cream, which caters to tastes on the farthest edge of forbidden, its workers as talented as they are transgressive.

Each house has a unique flavor—like a slice of pie. Some offer only the tenderest morsels. Others serve a variety of platters. The dishes go by names that tie them to each establishment. Babette's workers have monikers like Sweetmeat or Angel Puff. The Vyx prefers tongue-in-cheek designations like Chastity and Prudence. The Cream has no names, only numbers—Six, Ten, Twenty.

There are many flavors of tart—but few who are truly exceptional. Those rarities are from Silco's own ranks.

The Eye of Zaun owns a share in every brothel, and a piece of every vice imaginable. And yet, he solicits no services from the establishments themselves. No pets or playmates. Not even rumors of a mistress.

Predictability leads to patterns. Men with patterns are targets.

Rather, Silco prefers a totem pole of trophies. None are locals. His talent is imported from Ionia or the allied continents. At the bottom are his Tarts on a Tea Tray. Floozies, flunkies and flings. Higher up, his Fleeting Fancies. Boys and girls game for a dirty weekend or two. Directly above are his Assets. Promising individuals groomed to serve his needs—businesswise and in the bedroom.

He runs them like his factory foremen. Staying apprised on their performances, paying their expenses, cultivating their skills—then dispatching them for special jobs. Some employ their talents in blackmail. Others infiltrate rival gangs. The cleverest spy on foreign powers. They pry political tidbits from Piltovan lips, glean shipping intel from Ionian diplomats, finesse battle strategies from Noxian warmasons.

For their loyalty, Silco grants protection.

And, for the right cost?

Freedom.

His latest Asset goes by The Maven. A former tart from Babette's, she'd left for Bilgewater’s brighter shores. There, she'd been a pirate lord's paramour for seven years, until he'd jettisoned her. She'd ended up back in Zaun: plying her trade as a lowly barmaid under the Vyx’s indenture.

Sevika had pointed her out to Silco at one of Margot's bashes. She had a good eye for pretty girls. She knew what Silco liked. She also knew how he operated. In the guise of kindness, Sevika offered to pay off the girl's debt. She'd been too ecstatic to question whose pockets were deep enough to cover the cost.

Until Sevika introduced her to Silco.

The girl had been petrified. But Silco was faultlessly polite—unlike most chem-barons who were content to win favors by force. The first week, he took her out to the Blue Note for drinks. She'd been braced for sexual demands, but he treated her as any woman whose company he was enjoying. The following week, he invited her to an exhibition of deadly orchids at Chross' hothouse. By the third date, she'd met half the Undercity's chem-royalty. By the fourth, she'd been gifted jewelry: an old-fashioned clasp necklace that stored vials of poison. By the fifth, she'd discreetly dispatched a shipping tycoon who was holding up Silco's Shimmer-cargo.

By the month's end, she'd moved into a penthouse suite near the Skylight Commercia.

On Silco's payroll full-time.

Tonight, she lolls splendidly nude in his bed. A siren's body: breasts to kill for, legs to die for. Long black hair and smooth skin have always done a number on Silco. No piercings: his distaste for body-art is well known. No tattoos, either; he reserves those for his war-dogs in the trenches.

The only marks on her skin are red crescents from Silco’s teeth.

Next to her, the boy sports the same marks. A brazen thing. He'd been a farmhand from the azure fields of Navori. After crossing a feudal lord in a rigged game of cards, he’d fled to Zaun. Silco had taken a shine to him right off. Big strapping hulks are always worth the taming.

He’d put the lad in charge of running errands for favored clientele. Before long, he was working security at the Vyx, and reporting directly to Silco on its goings-on. But a year of the good life spoiled him. He'd developed a habit of dipping into Silco’s coffers for petty cash. Silco had hoped he might be smarter. He keeps hoping one of them will possess a modicum of loyalty.

But no. He’s like the rest—and must pay the cost.

Now the boy sprawls facedown in bed. Sweat glistens down the undulant gradation of his spine and gleams off the curve of his reddened buttocks. His thighs and biceps are stamped with oozing red half-moons. Wounded pride is writ large across his features. He'd fought Silco every inch of the way, defiant and smart-mouthed—right until his mouth was too full of anything but cries and cock.

A tall silhouette appears in the bathroom door.

"In a mood, sir?"

Silco takes a drag from the cigarette, smoke pouring insinuatingly from his lips. "Past tense."

"Never past tense with you."

Sevika leans against the doorjamb. The carpet behind her is a war-path of debauchery: curls of used condoms, the butt of a half-smoked cigarillo, the gleaming curvature of a strap-on. Folded into a white robe, she resembles nothing so much as a goddess in a hellscape.

There is nothing holy about Sevika’s eyes. Only a gleam of half-lidded menace.

She dons the same look during the games with his whores. She goes at them without mercy—a dragon on a leash. That is part of the game too. Once Silco is done playing master-of-ceremonies, she retreats to the background, watching him savage his prey. Sharper teeth than hers; a more slowly savored cruelty. Yet all throughout, she keeps her distance, and her silence.

Only in the aftermath does she transition from one absolute to the other.

Sevika's eyes trace the bruises on his chest. Her expression shades a degree. "Hurts?"

Silco shrugs.

"I know goading Vi into an attack was the plan. But did you need to play it that close?"

"Best way to determine if she's worth the investment."

"Ever heard of keeping a mad dog on a short leash?"

Silco's smile is a flash of jagged bone. "What good's a dog that can't bite?"

A private joke; no joke at all.

Sevika smiles back, but her shadows don't dispel. Last night with Vi, he'd cut it close. Now, with Medarda, he's skating dangerously thin. Sevika is no stranger to his schemes. She also knows that in the act of laying each piece on the gameboard, he can veer from ruthless pragmatism to reckless ambition, so focused on success that he can overlook anything extraneous to the long-term goal.

Part of Sevika's duty as XO is to keep him grounded. Physical stimuli worked best once: a fight, a suckjob, a fuck. It did the trick years ago, when he was just Sil from the Lanes. Sensation had kept him steady; no time to think. Afterwards, played out, he'd actually sleep through the night.

But Sil is long dead, and with him the stupid simplicity of the mind-body dichotomy. Silco has resurfaced with different appetites entirely. Sensation lends no sense of splitting. More a depthless hollow space, that can never be filled. That space being his mind.

It's taken Sevika time to understand what’s returned wearing half Sil's face—and to suit his desires accordingly.

Flesh isn't enough. He needs to taste blood.

"If it were me in that tent—" she warns.

"You'd have tried killing me straight off," Silco finishes. "Fortunately, we've passed that stage."

"And Vi?"

"She's passed too." A shadow-smile. "With flying colors."

One-handed, he beckons. An old shorthand: Time for business.

Cued, Sevika perches on the tub's edge. Her robe is half-open. He can see the curve of one breast, the groove of muscle down her stomach. Unlike the whores, her skin is unmarked by bites. But he knows exactly where the scars sit on smooth bronze skin.

Ownership has different modes. So do secrets.

He and Sevika don't speak. They sign. In mixed company, the Eye of Zaun prefers his language clean. Not in the sense of no profanity, but in the sense of direct orders. Everything is subtext; everything is between the lines.

All the better to strangle loose ends with.

Sevika warns, You're taking a lot of risks.

Playing nursemaid again?

Just reminding you of limits.

Silco draws on his cigarette. The ember flares in the steam like his bad eye.

Limits are a byword for denial, he signs back. Zaun's had its fill of that.

Zaun's had its fill of corpses too.

He nixes this with a jet of smoke. The blackguard’s death was unfortunate. But consider the payout. His family will receive lifelong compensation from Topside. Meanwhile, we now have the Council's ear—and our demands squarely addressed. The next step is securing the means to make them stick.

Through this bargain with Medarda.

And Vi. Silco lolls back in the tub, watching her through the glitter of mismatched eyes. She will remain in Piltover for three months. The administrative suspension will keep her out of Zaun's borders.

What if she stirs up trouble off-duty?

The Council will hold an inquest into the blackguard's death. The runaround will keep her busy.

And the Noxian warmason?

Three months will give our Maven enough time to learn his patterns. She'll pass his progress on to Lock. But I need you to keep her focused. This man and his cadre are a brutal bunch. If she falters, they will kill her without hesitation.

Sevika's jaw grits.

Silco knows she would prefer a simpler problem set. Something more straightforward than a tangled network of intrigue. There are too many variables when spinning a circle dance.

But that's the price with a nation stake.

Sevika signs, You think Vi will be useful?

She's the right resource. Unattached. Neither ours, nor truly the Council's. Swain is clever. If we use our own men to pick his agents off, he will notice a pattern. A wild card like Vi will keep him guessing. We want him focused on what's happening on their side—while we work to obscure what's happening on ours.

Lots of costs to consider.

If we play this right, so are the rewards.

He proffers his cigarette. Sevika accepts a drag. She smells of him, in his robe, and underneath she smells of sex. But her stare is devoid of the usual post-fuck glow. Only wariness inhabits the darkness. His XO can go months on an even keel. But all the while that streak of stubborn good sense simmers away.

No choleric displays, but if she's got a point to make, then she'll be hell-bent on making it.

She's dangerous, she signs, You realize that, right?

She's reckless. She has so much rage, she can't control it. Even if it's in her best interests.

I mean Medarda.

Silco crooks one eyebrow.

That's twice she's trapped you into doing what she wants. Now she's even drawn you into this business with Swain.

Their business benefits Zaun.

But do you need her alliance more, or does she need yours?

The cigarette dangles from Silco's fingers, smoke spindling in the steam. What are you implying?

Sevika is quiet for a moment. They’ve shared all the flavors of hell together. But their roles remain ironclad. Her territory is the brass tacks, and he seldom encroaches it. Likewise the big picture remains shadowy, even to her.

That is Silco's sole domain.

Sevika's eyes consult his face; she takes the gamble. You've made a killing out of getting people to work for you. But the Medardas are in a league of their own. They've finessed deals between nations while we were struggling with gang warfare. They don't kill for real things like territory or survival, either. They kill for status. I'm not saying you can't handle her. But it's worth considering whether you should.

You think I'll lose my grip?

Try your head.

Silco takes a lungful of smoke, and with the same hand reaches over Sevika's left shoulder—the cigarette’s ember sings perilously close to her temple—and balances it on the ashtray by the sink. Their eyes meet. Sevika's body-language speaks sparingly. But her frown is always frank. She's frowned a lot these last six months.

Gratitude is not in Silco's vocabulary. Everything comes down to cost and reward. But Sevika deserves a modicum all the same.

His palm aligns with her jaw. She meets his stare steadily. But he feels the kick of her pulse. It's a soft touch; an IOU for acts and words not soft at all.

"The day I give them a chance to take my head," he says, "is the day you make Zaun's bed in the next fresh grave."

"I hope that's not the end-game, sir."

"It's a starting point."

"Meaning?"

"Means what it means."

His thumb strokes her mouth, copping a feel. Sevika's sigh becomes a hum. Her own shorthand: Yes.

They don't kiss. Still balanced on the tub, Sevika leans in. Her black locks disentwine from her top-knot. Damp tangles unravel around Silco's face, doused with the aroma of smoke and sweat and brightleaf. She presents her breasts. Her nipples are tight rosettes. The left shows a faint calligraphy of Shimmer-veins, luminous in the half-light.

Silco cups the breast in his hand, feeling its soft heat. Takes the nipple between his teeth. She shudders as his tongue whorls along its pebbled surface. She likes it rough, but only if he lets her choose how hard. In that, she has nothing in common with his whores. Her body doesn't cater to his tastes. Her desires aren't tailored to his.

Right now, that's what Silco needs.

With the other wet spidering hand, he traces the inside of her thigh. His palm grasps her cunt—a tender pooch hidden in dark fleece. She is burning-hot and sopping-wet. The sensation startles him every time. She is everywhere scarred and solid. But between her thighs is a dirtysweet secret of purest silk.

Sevika's lips part; she expels a low hoarse moan. Her breath comes with small catches, like beads through a string. Watching her come is always intriguing. It starts with the same brute intensity as when she is slamming down foes. It ends with the softest rippling tremors, like when she is falling asleep. The sharp topography of her face melts. Her eyes go half-lidded: from ready to fight to dreaming of sunlight.

And when she turns her head six degrees to the right, she becomes almost beautiful. Full of tiny tells of truth in a business of its opposite.

Right now, Silco needs that, too.

Sevika gives a sharp cry as she convulses, thighs clamping around his rigid hand; her second cry is softer, her body unraveling into relaxation.

Silco withdraws his fingers. They are dripping wet.

"Better?"

Snorting, she shakes her head.

"Still?"

"Gets this way before the curse hits," she says. "Every nut makes it worse."

“Poor you.”

"Or them."

In the bedroom, the boy and girl lay curled together. The disturbed silence in the bathroom has roused them.

Sevika signs, Time to send 'em off?

A not-quite-smile twists Silco's lips.

He nods.

Sevika cracks a sharp whistle. The whores jerk. The Maven sits up, pushing the dark hair out of her face. Her drowsy demeanor morphs into an enchanting smile.

In Va-Nox, she calls out, "War das genug oder willst du mehr?"

Lazily, Silco crooks a finger.

She obeys. Her long legs sashay-stagger toward the bath. She kneels by the tub, hands in her lap, demure as a pussycat. Between her breasts, a pendant gleams. Silco’s gift; bearing the Eye’s insignia. She is seldom without it except when undercover. In the lamplight, it becomes a sly erotic adornment.

"Du hast mir so gut getan," she purrs, "dass ich Monatelang krumm herumlaufen wird."

Whore-bluff, but she says it with such sincerity. Silco’s lessons have worked wonders.

Playing along, he tips his chin toward Sevika. "Wer ist besser," he asks, "sie oder ich?"

"Wenn ich mich für einen entscheide," Maven rejoins smoothly, "verliere ich den anderen."

Silco's notched lip curls. A good answer.

That's why he keeps her around.

Gracefully, Maven joins Sevika on the tub's edge. Her hands span the breadth of Silco’s shoulders, expertly kneading. She knows well enough to avoid his neck. In a wrong mood, he can invert from stillness to savagery. But not here. Here, no inch of Silco's skin counts as a vulnerable spot.

These nights are about a different need entirely.

In Standard, Maven asks: "Shall you have my report?"

Silco nods.

She is a polyglot both off and on her feet. Fluent in the arts of Demacian, Shuriman and Piltovan—i.e. in the cunt, up the arse, down the throat. The latter two are Silco's favorites of long-standing: less mess, and more peace of mind. But Maven speaks real languages too. Her Va-Nox is impeccable. So is her Efric.

It's a convenience for Silco: pleasure and practice in one place. It also makes her a useful scenery prop during meetings with foreign envoys. Her pretty ears stay pricked for exchanges in the background.

"Our Noxian warmason," Silco says. "Is he enjoying the scenery?"

She nods. "He visit the Vyx. I service him with another girl."

"Serviced. Anything of interest to share?"

"He write a letter."

"To?"

"His wife. To tell her he will be… be away."

"Why to his wife of all people?"

"She is... she is... Wie sagt man schwanger?"

"Pregnant."

"She is pregnant. He will be a father. Five years."

"Months."

"Month bedeutet Monat?"

"Hm."

"Oh, das ist leicht zu merken." She smiles a little. "He will be a father. Five months. So he write a letter in Efric. He write second letter in Va-Nox, with address to Piltover."

"Where in Piltover?"

"Bluewind Court."

"Their diplomatic quarters?" Silco muses. "Interesting."

"I made copy of both letters. I already gave to Lock."

Satisfied, Silco nods. The plan is in motion. The variables are volatile, but their motivations are predictable. In that predictability, Silco can employ safeguards.

And for the rest?

Wildcards.

Coyly, Maven whispers, "Soll ich den Jungen wecken?"

Silco glances back at the doorway. The boy lays still, framed by the oblong glow from the bedroom lanterns.

Silco's smile shows the barest bite.

"Noch lebt?" he calls out.

The boy shudders. His eye, red-rimmed, peeps out from a disorder of curls. Silco brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, but never removes his own his eye off the boy's. Watches the flush creep up his face, a rising tide of adrenaline.

He's always relished the effect his mismatched stare has. How it can turn a burly swain into a jellified mannequin.

Hoarsely, the boy says, "What—what d'you want?"

"You. At my own time."

The boy is too petrified to move. None of the Eye of Zaun's playthings are under illusions of his compassionate nature. But they are paid to take him as he is—a monster with a penchant for pain.

Silco snaps his fingers. Reflexively, the boy jerks to his feet.

He crosses over, with an inebriated side-to side that echoes the Maven's stagger. Silco smiles grimly. He's had them both every way to Sunday, but his body's no musket. He's got a spare round left. Blame a three-week deficit paired with the side-effects of the new Shimmer-strain.

He'll reload, discharge, and get back to work.

That's another reason the Laguna Lounge is convenient. His toys are delivered ribbon-wrapped to his doorstep. His crew stand guard outside. They escort the guests in and out at a moment's notice.

No imposters stealing in. No assassins sneaking out.

His office at the Last Drop was less ideal for assignations. Especially with Jinx skulking in the rafters. Or hiding under his desk. Or stealing into his closet.

His child was naturally gifted at spy games. Silco's lessons had perfected the rest. The problem was that once Jinx became adept at spying, she weaponized it for her own ends. During wharfside negotiations with rival gangs, she'd creep along the rooftops to eavesdrop. During his meetings with Marcus, she'd hang from the rafters. During her Night Stalker phases, she'd even pounce on unsuspecting guests in the VIP lounges.

It could be quite inconvenient, as when someone would lean in to speak with Silco—only to leap away in a shrieking apoplexy when sludge dripped from the vents to splatter their heads, while a disembodied voice boomed—"Keep your cooties to yourself!"

Sevika branded Jinx a possessive freak. Silco begs to differ.

Deep down, his child is a sensitive little body. Vi's abandonment left her fearful of a reprise. In the early days, Silco had to finesse his way around Jinx's moods before even contemplating a block of uninterrupted adult-time. He still remembers the first—and only—time she'd caught him in bed with one of his whores. Eleven years old and honing her skills at sneaking about (the girl crept like a phantom!) to pop up at his door with a cry of "Boo!"

When she realized what she'd stumbled upon, her face cycled through a dozen shades of scarlet.

The Psychickers call it The Primal Scene.

Silco calls it a bloody nuisance.

Girding his hips with a sheet, he'd primly escorted Jinx to her own room. In the morning, he'd found her cross-legged with a pile of trinkets. She'd X'd out all of their eyes with tape, and refused to meet Silco's own. It was mystifying. She wasn't an ignoramus—by eleven most sumpsnipes knew all about the bats and bees.

So why was she so silent?

Later, Silco heard that someone had dumped a bucket of corrosive chemicals on the whore. The boy leapt out of the way—barely. His hair was badly scalded. On the rooftop, the perpetrator had left a calling card. A monkey-face spray-painted in neon green.

Jinx never hid her handiwork.

Sevika told Silco to punish the brat by lopping her hair off. She needed to be taught that actions had consequences. Except there seemed no bigger consequence than Jinx herself. Later that day, Silco found her in their quarters, gripped by a fit. That was the only way to describe it—a fit. Mother had them from time to time. Her eyes would darken into black-noise. She'd start throwing books and glasses and candles. She wouldn't speak except in garbled shrieks.

In those moments, she was a stranger. Nobody Silco knew at all.

Jinx's fit was different. A dirge of despair so pure it couldn't survive except as rage. A rage so familiar it was like a cracked mirror. A reflection of all Silco’s old cuts. She didn't respond when he called her name. She threw toys and trinkets helter-skelter. She thrashed and snarled when he grabbed her. Her sharp little teeth sank into his wrist.

Flesh wasn't enough. She'd needed to taste blood.

It took hours to calm her down. She'd wept and babbled and wept, before subsiding into exhaustion. In the morning, Silco opted to stay at their quarters. He'd made Jinx's favorite confetti-sprinkled waffles. Handled her gently, using soothing tones. At last, between cheerless bites of breakfast, Jinx had at first evaded, then equivocated, then yielded the truth.

Was she frightened by what she'd walked in on last night? Nope. Upset? Ummm... maybe. Why? 'Cause Vander never had anyone over. Correction, child. Vander had plenty of boys and girls over. They just handled their business in the ginnel. Well—why do you have boys over? Grown-ups have needs. I'll be grown up soon. So you will. So you won't need more friends, right? My lovely, you misunderstand... Will you leave me? Why would I do that? 'Cause he slept there. Slept where? My Safe Spot.

Jinx's Safe Spot.

The three-quarters of mattress Silco had allotted for her nightmares.

Oh, Silco realized.

She'd had a bad dream, and he wasn't there. She'd wanted comfort, and he'd shut her out. An unfamiliar emotion—remorse?—curdled his gut.

Under a gentle palm, Silco smoothed her hair.

That spot is yours, he said. For as long as you want it.

And you—?

Me? A bittersweet smile touched his lips. Always.

Jinx pounced tearfully into his arms. But he still remembers the look on her face. The dread that he'd turn her away. Abandon her altogether. To Silco it verged on unthinkable. Yet it was also a reminder of Jinx's fragility. Like all fragilities, it must be handled with care.

Afterward, he'd never allowed a stranger into his and Jinx's quarters again.

So: yes.

The Laguna Lounge is convenient.

Nearly as convenient as the tub, large enough for four heat-slicked bodies. Nearly as convenient as the buoyancy of mass in water; effortlessly malleable. Nearly as convenient as the soundproofed tiles, absorbing the reverberations of the boy's and girl's cries.

Water sloshes everywhere. Their shapes are joined in a twisting chimera. The boy is trapped between Silco and Sevika. Two dark bookends with his body like a pale parenthesis in between. Silco grips him back-to-front, shoving slowly up the boy's ass. It's a doddle: a lubricated sheath, and he is already nicely loosened up.

Silco isn't particularly gentle about it. Just steady. The boy begs and bleats through every inch of it. His spasming shoulderblades cut into Silco's chest. Hips jerking forward, grinding back, again and again. Meanwhile, the Maven guides the boy's pretty wrapped prick between Sevika's splayed thighs. It's only sporting. All evening Silco left it untouched, even as it stood stiffly upright against its owner's belly. Twice, it had splattered the sheets with spunk from everything Silco was subjecting him to—ever the bridesmaid; never the bride.

Now its patience has paid off.

Silco feels the moment Sevika takes the boy in—a subvocal tremor through his chest and out of her mouth. Bracing her strong elbows against his shoulders, she rolls her hips, a hypnotic sway. She knows exactly how to move, how to match the changing rhythm. A born fighter; just one syllable short of a natural dancer. Meanwhile the Maven displays her specialty, slithering frictionlessly in between bodies, soft fingers here, softer tongue there. Everything she does is slow, deliberate, exquisite. Eager to earn her tip.

That's another reason Silco keeps her around.

Lazily, he withdraws, all that hot flesh slipsliding, only the flared head clutched by the taut ring of muscle. The boy makes a begging sound, swaying backwards instead of forwards—and Silco knows he has him. He slams back in, a snapping swivel that makes the poor bastard shudder all over, mouth loosing delirious croons.

The rhythm is all Silco's now. He rides into the boy from behind with rapid, brutal, merciless thrusts—every upstroke shoving the boy's cock deeper into Sevika, knocking sharp cries from both their throats, a jittery tenor to a jarred contralto. They are each in a zone of single-minded greed now. The boy scrabbles frantically at the tub's surface, bracing himself. Sevika grinds back against him without mercy, taking what she needs. She is rigid from top to toe, a dark flush blotching her skin, hands clutching at the boy's shoulders, before reaching across to reflexively pluck at Silco's.

Silco shoves in deeper—the boy howls—and reels Sevika in by a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck. Again, they don’t kiss. He bites her throat, gnaws the humid crook where her pulse throbs. Between them, the boy is already starting to spend, with breathy helpless sounds like a virgin overcome.

Not that Silco gives a toss either way. He redoubles his thrusts. Slick skin on skin, the boy's crucified body just a proxy now. A meat puppet dragged along for the ride. Grunting with frustration, Sevika rocks against the softening heft of the boy’s cock. He’s finished, Silco is nearly there, but her own body is lagging behind. On a rare impulse of generosity, Silco reaches around the boy's torso and wedges a hand between her thighs. Her clit pulses between his pinching fingers. Her thighs spasm; she comes with a sharp oversensitized snarl.

A moment later Silco yanks the Maven in, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She shrieks, the boy sobs—and Silco seizes up and spills.

Afterward, the whores lay sprawled like corpses in the tub. Their pretty faces are glassy-eyed; pretty bodies splay-limbed. The bite-marks turn the bathwater a delicate pink. Neither one is good as dead. But they are no longer good for much.

Idly, Silco gestures for a towel. Sevika obeys. Climbing out, he dries off, the water streaming off him. His movements are insouciant despite his nudity. Snipers in the shadows; assassins in the corners—these are seldom his preoccupations.

The deadliest killers lurk in plain sight.

Humming, Sevika comes out behind him. Devil’s Got the Blues. She still has license to touch him—but she won't. Once the games are done, they both expect permission for such things, unspoken but stark.

Instead, she relights his half-smoked cigarette, passing it over. Taking a lungful, Silco exhales a satisfied stream.

"Well done."

It's shorthand for: Get them out.

Fully-dressed, Sevika oversees the whores' departure. She rarely considers these tasks any different from patrolling the streets. Something done for the maintenance of order. Part of her role as XO. If she harbors any further complexity of judgement, Silco has never witnessed it.

And Silco, who has entirely too much complexity in his life, approves.

The Maven is seen off with an affectionate pat to the arse. Giggling, she kisses Sevika's cheek, then imparts a more respectful nod to Silco. His crew will keep him apprised on her progress with the warmasons.

Before the boy can follow her out, Sevika stops him.

"What now?" he asks, almost a whine.

Sevika replies, "The Boss wanted to tip you extra."

A glint of greed enters the boy's stare. Even without past misadventure to disqualify him, this barefaced show of self-interest is enough to pass the sentence.

In the corner, Silco snaps his fingers.

On Pavlovian reflex, the boy turns. The moment he does, Sevika seizes his arm, yanks it taut, and snaps. Howling, the boy drops to his knees.

Silco, calmly dressing, and preoccupied with locating a missing cufflink, spares the barest glance.

"Remind me," he says to Sevika, "what spoils a good fuck?"

"Dying," Sevika replies.

"And what's the reward for disloyalty."

"Dying," Sevika repeats, and gives the boy's arm a vicious twist.

He screams, a high keening wail.

Silco crooks a finger. Sevika desists.

Half-dressed—red shirt, black trousers—Silco threads gold cufflinks through the buttonholes. There is no anger in his movements, but that means nothing. The monster has stirred awake. It inhabits every lineament of Silco’s frame. It is in his body-language; slow, measured, precise. In his voice; the smoothness abraded down to a slither. In his eyes; with their dark gleam of ruminant bloodlust.

As he said—flesh isn't enough. He needs to taste blood.

"You," Silco says, "were skulking at the outpost near my suite yesterday."

"I-I was just—"

"Spying for someone. Your camera obscura is in our custody."

The boy's breath hitches. The exact sound he makes whenever Silco grips him by the bollocks.

"Can you say it?" Silco’s voice holds the softness of bloodstained velvet. "Can you give the name of the one who bribed you?"

“I—”

“Because I think you should say her name first. It makes matters simpler. Don’t you agree?"

Defeated, the boy says, "M-Margot."

“Dear Margot. What’s got her so curious about my private affairs?"

The boy swallows. His eyes pass over Silco's face, like fingertips tracing for seams in an impenetrable mask. There are none.

He dares, "Jinx."

The silence stretches tight as a noose.

Hastily, the boy says, "Margot and the—the chem-barons want to know her whereabouts. So do folks on the streets. They say—"

"Hm?"

A tiny vein beats at the side of the boy's neck. "They say she's dead. You hid her bones."

"To pick my teeth with?"

"In exchange for—for the Hex-gem."

Silco trades a glance with Sevika. Her expression shows disgust but no shock. Caught up in these infernal games with Piltover, Silco’s attention toward his inner-circle has been remiss. Now they're creeping in from the corners, eager for gaps in his armor. That's the trouble with politics. Every moment one faces a forked road; a choice between two theoretical extremes of risk.

Meanwhile, the real nuisances are closest to home.

In the mirror, Silco arranges his hair, slicking it back with pomade before shaping it with a comb. The routine task is a backdrop for black plans. When he's done, he resembles any well-heeled Topsider ready for a night out in town. Not that a Topsider could so much as knot his own cravat, let alone dress in a half-minute without a manservant's assistance.

Silco is no Topsider. Not even a pale imitation.

Zaun plays by different rules.

One-handed, Silco gestures. Sevika's blade juts out from her prosthetic arm, a glowing-hot flash. Before the boy can react, it cuts a lightning arc across his throat. There is a sound not unlike butter on a hot skillet. A gaping slash appears across the boy's throat. The torn edges sizzle.

His eyes widen in shock. Then they glaze over, and he slumps. Blood oozes from the gash. Not much. Sevika's blade was so superheated it cauterized the wound. She knows Silco's distaste for messes.

Pity the chem-barons missed the memo.

Sevika grabs a handful of tissues from a box on the sink. Kneeling, she wads them into the boy's seeping throat. Then she seizes him under the armpits and drags him away. Outside, Lock is waiting with a body-bag. The corpse will be delivered back to the Vyx—and straight to Margot's doorstep.

No shorthand necessary. The chem-barons will get the message.

Stay away from Jinx.

Jinx—who is asleep in Silco’s suite.

Nestled under the blanket, she is radiant in repose, girlish and soft-looking. In the old days, lamplit, she used to put Silco in mind of the Celestials from old myth. Real flesh; warm and living. And yet somehow otherworldly too.

Without sound, Silco glides past the bed and lays his silver smoking case on the dresser. He snaps it open, clicks the hidden compartment, and stares spellbound. Blue fractals of light suffuse the ambient dark. The Hex-gem glows like a stolen comet.

Glows like Jinx.

She's won him a nation—and this gem was merely a means to that end. The prism to channel the mad colors of Jinx's pure rage, and set Piltover ablaze. As if Jinx herself is the spark of magic; the gem only amplifies her power.

Power.

The word is Zaun's lifeblood, and Silco possesses it. Destruction incarnate. Beauty inviolate.

He holds it in his palms. And it thrills him.

Terrifies him.

Because when absolute power manifests, there are no ifs or Buts. It is all or nothing. That's why Piltover is eyeing up his affairs, while the chem-barons sniff after his secrets. That's why Noxus is angling for alliances in the guise of conquest. Same as Bilgewater. Same as Ionia. Same as every other bastard vying for a piece of the pie.

With two fingers, Silco rubs the skin at his left temple. His bad eye burns like fire.

Like rage.

A kingpin's throne isn't won with mercy. It is seized with savagery—in deed and reputation. For years, Silco has fed both with fresh blood. He is adept at playing his enemies, and preying on what they hold dear. In the Promenade, jukebox musicals play Mack the Knife to allude to his ruthless rise to the top. In the Sumps, they don't sing at all; they whisper from firsthand accounts.

He's never concerned himself with going too far. The essence of power is going further than anyone else dares.

Politics is different. One's sway must be more diffuse. For that, it's critical to keep a finger on the delicate pulse of his city. Silco's cadre of spies—tarts, pickpockets, hustlers—play a vital role.

But they aren't the crux of his success.

That is Jinx.

To Piltover, she is the catalyst of carnage. To Silco's network, a tool for chaos. But for Silco, she's been a prophetmaker. The girl who broke his empire, then resurrected it. Whose genius cracked the code of magic; whose artistry unlocked the secret of warfare.

She'd made the Eye of Zaun as much as he'd made her.

Same way she'd remade Zaun—from a slag-heap into a metropolis. Once, the Undercity’s social psyche was one of self-defeatist apathy. Chem-barons ruled the roost while Enforcers wielded the bullet, leaving the ordinary Fissurefolk in the cold. Their homes were cramped, their lives short. They scraped together enough coin to buy themselves a bell or two of relief each night. Some sold tools and trinkets. Others sold themselves. But each one coveted the rarest commodity of all: change.

Jinx is change.

For the commoners, she embodies decades of pent-up emotion run rampant. With every bomb, she knocked Piltover's pride down a peg. She unleashed hell above, and they cheered her to high heaven below. In the taverns, chem-punks even composed Get Jinxed with all the pathos of an anthem.

Jinx wasn't a hero so much as a daredevil. And they adored her for it.

Now Zaun is free.

And Jinx has vanished.

Silco has no right to mourn with the masses. And yet he does. Because Jinx isn't gone—and yet she remains so altered in herself, so discombobulated by everything she's endured. Almost six months, and Silco still isn't certain whether she is floating towards recovery, or going deeper around the bend.

Since Zaun's birth, she's gone from loose cannon to loose end in a single agonizing blast.

He stares at himself in the dresser mirror. His good eye is a black hole, the bad one a red pit glowing balefully. She's won him a nation—and broken herself in the bargain. Now Silco must keep his own end. Keep her safe. Safe from Vi, from Piltover, from the threats looming and the nuisances swarming.

Safe from herself?

"Silco?"

When he turns, Jinx has shifted up on one elbow. Neon beams slant from the blinds. Her heavy-lidded eyes hold a feline gloss. A pang goes through Silco. A night spent scheming, and yet the moment he enters the suite, his senses are so full of Jinx that he filters out almost everything else. As if the world, inside and outside, goes mute.

Sanctuary in the eye of chaos.

"Sssh," he soothes. "Go back to sleep."

Her gaze flickers from the smoking case to him. "Where’ve ya been?"

It is as if she knows.

(The Bilgewater dogfight to threaten Vi.)

(The Piltover yacht to bargain with Medarda.)

(The Laguna Lounge to sodomize a pair of whores.)

"Nowhere in particular."

"You smell like a cathouse."

As if she truly knows.

Except—no. It's just Jinx being Jinx. Irreverent, brash, bratty: a collection of volatile impulses distilled down into a fierce purity of heart. She's never, Silco thinks, known a moment's vice in her entire life. Even with blood on her hands. Her every desire is hers, and burns purer than any magic.

Whereas Silco is all vice. All secrets, shadows, scars.

All for her.

He smiles, barely. "How, child, are you so familiar with Eau de Cathouse?"

"Pffft. Like I've never been hit over the head with a fancy cologne bottle." She stares for another second, scrubbing the hair back from her slit-eyed face. Then as if she's flipped a switch, suddenly she is leaning forward, holding her arms out, hands starfished.

"Stay?" she whispers.

Silco hesitates. He is too wired to lay down. Dawn is creeping against a skyline whose contours shimmer. Zaun beckons. So much business left undone. Scores in need of settling and ledgers in need of balancing.

But Jinx...

She needs only him.

Without quite meaning to, Silco removes his coat and stretches out slowly on the bed next to her. Sighing, Jinx nestles closer. Foreheads together; fingers entwined. Her warmth spills like water into the parched dryness of his body. In the mattress's declivity, their shapes meld together.

"Stay," Jinx whispers.

"Always," he whispers back.

By degrees, Jinx drowses off. Her arm holds him in place; her breath makes a moist hot patch across the curve of his throat. On his feet, a touch that triggers nothing but a violent reflex. Here, it’s the most soothing sensation he's yet known. The only one he needs.

His and Jinx's Safe Spot.

Home.

It’s where he’s happiest in the end.

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hasufin · 1 year

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Wind and claws

We just got back from the ER. Nothing major, fortunately. Very fortunately - this all could have been much worse. But all we needed was some antibiotics for my spouse.

The underlying problems were, we need a new door and I wanted windchimes. And that’s why one of our cats scratched my spouse’s face.

So, as I posted last week, we picked up a bell which is set up to be a windchime. I figured I’d mount it on the eave of the shed - nice and high up, gets plenty of wind as befits a heavy bell.

Now, we’ve got a lot of wind coming in over the next couple of days, so I figured I’d get the bell up there ASAP. Nothing too complicated, just two screws for the hook and then I hand the bell on it. Which, okay, was Not Fun, on account of being something like 20′ in the air. But, easy enough. Mind, it was getting pretty windy, and this is important.

Now, the other part is, we need new doors. We’ve known since we moved in, we need new doors. The doors we have are basic wood doors, not security doors, not well-insulated, and the back door does not latch. We keep it locked, and it doesn’t just pop open, but it does not latch.

You may see where this is going. I got the bell up, I head back to the house... and the back door is hanging wide open. I shake the treats, and no cats show up. They NEVER ignore the treats.

My spouse and I panic. The cats obviously saw the back door hanging open, and went out to investigate. We’re out there with flashlights (it’s now dark, of course) and are looking for them. Fortunately they didn’t get far: they were hiding under the deck. Well, Shiro was hiding under the deck, wasn’t sure about Romeo. I cannot fit under the deck, but my spouse might. They were about to try to squirm down there and grab Shiro, when I saw Romeo come back up on top of the deck.

I’m trying to entice him to get close so I can grab him when my spouse came around beside us and scruffed him. Note, my spouse is far less comfortable grabbing cats, but adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

They take said feline inside. Hearing the door open, Shiro comes up from under the deck and makes toward the door. My spouse sees him and lets him inside as well. And so, I am pleased to report, both cats are safe.

Unfortunately, Romeo in his squirming at being scruffed managed to claw my spouse right in the face. Not deep, but there was a lot of blood. Looking at it, my opinion was it wasn’t serious but might need stitches to prevent scarring. If it weren’t right in the face I’d not worry, but it was.

This was, of course, right after the prompt care clinic down the street closed. And so we went to the ER. We were first accosted by a security guard who told us to “sit in line”. But could not answer “Do we need to sign in or register?”. It turned out the registration person was away from their desk and would take care of us when they got back, but the guard was not able to tell us that.

Eventually they did arrive, we signed in. In spite of there being no bite, the ER nurses then embarked on getting us to fill out an animal bite report, which we did not intend to do both because animal bite laws are often needlessly draconian: last time I had to deal with that, it was because an idiot vet tech managed to get bit by virtue of sticking his finger in my cat’s mouth; but of course also because the report clearly said “bite” and... no one had been bit.

Eventually my spouse was seen by the ER doctor, the determination was made that stitches are not needed, and no bite report was filed. If animal control calls, no, we did not file a bite report and no one was bitten, I’m sorry officer but I cannot explain why anyone filed such a report.

And on Monday we have someone coming out to make an estimate on the doors.

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vgrc-llc · 7 months

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Gutter Gossip: What Leaves Talk About Before the Cleaning Crew Arrives with VGRC

In the shadowy eaves of Spokane County, WA, an untold drama unfolds daily. It's a world seldom seen by the human eye, where whispers and rustles fill the air. This is the realm of gutters, a bustling metropolis for leaves, twigs, and debris. But what do these leaves talk about as they lounge in the gutter, unaware of the impending visit from the heroes at Veracity Gutter And Roof Cleaning, LLC (VGRC)? Let's dive into the leafy whispers and find out, all while sharing a chuckle or two.

The Calm Before the Storm

"Did you hear? The VGRC crew is coming," murmurs an old oak leaf to a cluster of maple comrades. The news spreads like wildfire, rustling through the gutter's denizens with a mix of dread and excitement. "I've heard stories," whispers a pine needle. "They say VGRC can FLAT LINE THE GUNK like no other."

Indeed, the reputation of VGRC precedes them. With their LICENSE #VERACGC770LW they are not just any cleaning crew. They are the licensed and insured heroes of Spokane County, known far and wide for their gutter cleaning, roof blow-offs, roof washing, and house washing prowess.

A Leaf's Lament

"It's been a good run," sighs a crimson leaf, reminiscing about the sunny days spent fluttering in the breeze before ending up in this shaded gutter. "But I suppose it's time to move on. I've heard the VGRC team is gentle yet effective. They even assist those at risk of falls with their motto, 'DON'T RISK FALLS, GIVE US A CALL!'

A nearby twig chimes in, "Yes, they're all about ensuring no risk while bringing back the shine to our home. They understand the importance of a happy, clean gutter."

The Whispers of Change

As the day of cleaning draws near, the gutter residents share stories of past encounters with the VGRC crew. "They come with their tools, like knights in shining armor, ready to battle the gunk and grime," a seasoned leaf explains. "And they're not just about cleaning; they're about preserving the beauty and functionality of our abode."

The younger leaves listen with awe, imagining the transformation about to take place. "Will we see the sky again?" asks a small, soggy leaf, its voice tinged with hope.

"Indeed, you will," assures an acorn cap. "And not just the sky. The VGRC crew ensures that water flows freely, protecting the kingdom below from the dreaded water damage."

The Day of Reckoning

Finally, the day arrives. The VGRC crew, with their expertise and high-tech equipment, ascends like guardians of cleanliness. They work meticulously, ensuring every leaf, twig, and bit of debris is carefully assisted out of their gutter homes.

As the leaves embark on their journey to the ground below, they can't help but admire the professionalism and efficiency of the VGRC team. "Look at them go, WE FLAT LINE THE GUNK!" they whisper in admiration.

A New Beginning

With the gutters clean and the water flowing freely, the VGRC crew departs, leaving behind a sense of renewal. The leaves, now on the ground, look up at their former home, gleaming in the sunlight, free from the gunk and debris.

And as the VGRC team moves on to their next mission, the leaves can't help but crack a joke, a final nod to their cleaning heroes: "Why did the leaf go to the doctor? Because it was feeling a bit guttered!"

In Spokane County, WA, VGRC continues to make homes happier and safer, one gutter at a time. Remember, when the leaves start talking, it's time to call VGRC. Don't risk the falls or the clogged gutters; give VGRC a call, and let them WE FLAT LINE THE GUNK! for a no-risk, all-shine experience.

: VGRCLLC.com

: 509-530-1330

: twitter.com/vgrcllc

: instagram.com/vgrcllc

: linkedin.com/in/vgrcllc

: facebook.com/VGRCLLC

#VGRCByeByeMoss #VGRCHouseWashing #SoftWashingVGRC #VGRC #CleanGuttersVGRC #PressureWashing #SPOKANE #SoftWashing #HappyHome #NoRiskAllShine #VeracityGutterAndRoofCleaningLLC

#gutter cleaning #gutter maintenance #house washing #roof washing #soft pressure washing #roof blow offs

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texas-electricity-ratings · 8 months

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Best Energy Savers of CES 2024

Which Were the Best Energy Savers from CES 2024?

Some dazzling cutting-edge technology was unveiled at CES 2024 last week. We dig into our favorites for energy saving and convenience.

In the dazzling realm of cutting-edge technology, CES 2024 has once again taken center stage, showcasing a myriad of innovations that redefine the boundaries of what's possible. Amidst the sea of mind-boggling advancements, we've sifted through the tech extravaganza to bring you the best energy savers of CES 2024. So, here we have a collection of awe-inspiring solutions to make you go, "Wow, that's cool!"

Nanoleaf Matter-Enabled Lights

Imagine never untangling a string of Christmas lights ever again. No more climbing a ladder, and no more placing the lights just as you had them the year before and climbing down to find you’ve blown a fuse. Back up the ladder again! Not with Nanoleaf's matter-enabled lights which come in a variety of kits. These lights permanently install under your home’s eaves. Once there, you choose from 16 million shades of colors and a few varieties of white to arrange your perfect holiday light display. Choose from their preset lighting scenes, or use their app to create your own light show. You can even control them using Google Home or Apple’s Siri.

They also help you save on your Texas electric bill. Plus, you’ll spend less physical exertion on making your home festive for any season.

Bosch IDS Ultra Heat Pump

No matter how good your Texas electricity rates are, heating your home in the winter is a major expense. And if your HVAC system can’t keep up, you’re using energy without getting the most benefit for your utility dollar. The Bosch IDS Ultra heat pump keeps up with the cold when other systems can’t. It keeps your home warm even when the temperature outside is 5 degrees, and it keeps working down to -13 degrees.

For nearly all Texans, this performance is beyond what’s needed. However, it provides peace of mind when Texas sees unseasonably low temps.

Ambient Photonics Solar Cells

Do you turn your house upside down whenever a television remote, kid’s toy, or smoke detector runs out of batteries? That old calculator in your kitchen’s junk drawer never needs batteries. It has small solar cells, and those tiny cells give all the energy needed. With that in mind, Ambient Photonics introduced solar cells to power more of your home’s small devices. Their CES booth showed smart home sensors, computer mice, keyboards, and other items powered by solar cells. Unless you’re the Energizer Bunny, these solar cells would be great for your home!

Kohler Smart Bidet

Sometimes tech goes a little too far. Engineers and designers sometimes forget to ask themselves, “Should we?” That’s the case with the Kohler PureWash E930, a voice-activated smart bidet. Japanese toilets have had arrays of features for many years. Consequently, Kohler wants to bring that functionality to the Western market. But with a price of $2,149, few Texans are likely to say, “Alexa, rinse my tushy.”

The Best of CES 2024

There you have it! The best energy savers of CES 2024. Thinking about how they'll fit into your home? Whether they will or they won’t, you still need the right Texas power plan for your home. Shop rates at http://www.texaselectricityratings.com, and you’ll have the energy you need for your fancy new tech.

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rolltechaustralia · 8 months

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Unravelling the Mysteries of Roof Flashing Installation Costs: A Masterclass by Roll Tech Australia

Embarking on this enlightening journey, we are here to unpack the enigma of roof flashing installation costs. We offer expert roof flashing installation services on the Sunshine Coast. Let's dive deep into the essence of roof flashing, its critical role in your roofing system, and the dynamics influencing its price.

This guide is a treasure trove of insights, whether you're a first-time homeowner or a seasoned renovator. I'm here to arm you with the know-how to navigate this decision with confidence, protecting your most prized asset — your home.

The Indispensability of Roof Flashing

Roof flashing stands as a guard, keeping water at bay from your roof's vulnerable spots - joints, valleys, and areas surrounding chimneys and skylights. Lack of proper flashing? You're looking at potential water damage, costly fixes, and compromised structural integrity.

Beyond protection, good flashing regulates indoor temperatures, curtailing drafts and heat loss — a boon for your energy bills. Plus, the right flashing material can beautifully complement your home's design, boosting curb appeal and overall value.

Exploring Roof Flashing Types

All roofs are differently shaped and sized and have different requirements. As each roof is differently shaped, each section of the roof needs a different type of flashing. Here are some types of flashing and when they should be used:

Base Flashing: Shields roof protrusions like chimneys and skylights from water damage.

Step Flashing: A step-like pattern for where roofs meet vertical walls.

Counter Flashing: Seals base or step flashing into masonry or walls, adding an extra water barrier.

Chimney Flashing: Combines multiple elements for a watertight chimney seal.

Drip Edge Flashing: Positioned at eaves and rakes to guide water to gutters, protecting fascia.

Headwall Flashing: Used where roofs meet vertical walls at the top.

Valley Flashing: Sits in roof section angles, channeling water to gutters.

Gutter Apron Flashing: Directs water from roof to gutters, preventing back-splash.

Selecting the Perfect Material

Choosing the right material is vital for a cost-effective, efficient installation. Copper is top-tier in durability but pricey. Aluminium is lighter and cheaper but prone to oxidation. Galvanised steel is common but less durable over time. The best choice balances your home's style, local climate, and budget. Consult a certified roofing contractor for tailored advice.

Things that Affect the Installation Costs

Each roof flashing installation costs different due to the many factors that come into play.

Roof Size: The size greatly influences the costs of the installation. Larger roofs = more materials and labour = higher costs.

Material Type: Copper's longevity comes with a higher price tag compared to aluminium or steel.

Labor Complexity: Complex roofs with valleys, angles, or protrusions need specialized skills, raising labor costs.

Additional Repairs: Fixing leaks or replacing shingles before flashing adds to the bill.

Geographic Location: Higher living costs translate to pricier materials and labor.

Seasonal Timing: Winter installations might cost more due to limited labor and potential delays.

Permits and Inspections: Local building codes may necessitate permits and inspections, adding administrative expenses.

Making a Well-Informed Decision

Choosing your roof flashing isn't just about understanding types and costs. Seek out certified roofing contractors for personalised guidance. Don't rush; compare multiple quotes and delve into customer reviews, focusing on service quality and contractor professionalism. This approach guarantees a sound decision for your roof's longevity and functionality.

What's the Next Step?

Now that you have read the guide about roof flashing costs, you can go ahead and proceed with the next step. Start with a professional roof inspection to understand your roof's current state and ideal flashing type. Request a no-obligation quote and voice any concerns or questions. Remember, it's not just about installing flashing — it's about making a smart, long-lasting investment in your home's protection.

#Roofing Materials #Rainwater Solutions #Roofing Components #Accessories

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modernarchitecturefirminla · 2 years

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Architectural Design Styles

The Dean Larkin Design team has a great deal of experience with both historical and modern or contemporary architectural design and the designs created utilize features that make the best use of the homes’ surroundings and natural light. This article explores characteristics of modernism, as well as some features of different styles of contemporary architecture.

Modernism 1900-1940

Modern architecture design style came about in two phases, emerging in the early 1900s and generally emphasizing simplicity, functionality, and minimalism. The first phase, Early Modern, modernized exterior features to remove historical connections. During this time low pitched roofs and wide overhangs were popular, as well as asymmetrical facades. The second phase occurred after World War II. In this phase, standardization of the house’s parts was emphasized, and any external ornamentation that was not also functional was removed.

Architectural features common to modernistic homes from 1905-1930

Low-pitched roofs

Wide eaves

Exposed roof rafters

Porches with roofs

Architectural features common to modernistic homes from 1920-1940

Vertical structures with strong horizontal lines

Use of glass and steel

Flat or low-pitched roofs

Use of concrete and steel-frame construction

Lack of adornment on facades

Smooth wall surfaces

Asymmetrical

Contemporary Architecture

Contemporary architecture is a broad term that refers to a style of architecture that features new materials and building techniques that are often used in modern buildings. The style is characterized by simple shapes and open spaces. Contemporary architecture often includes natural materials for construction.

Contemporary design focuses on the interior and how the interior spaces relate to the outdoor spaces. The interior design of a contemporary building often features open floor plans, and architects who work in contemporary styles today often utilize natural light sources such as skylights or large windows to create dramatic effects within their designs. This technique has become increasingly popular in recent years due to its ability to create spacious environments with unique interiors, its impact on heating and cooling in a home, and its positive effect on a home’s inhabitants. Dean Larkin Design is a great proponent of using light in architectural projects.

Contemporary architecture encompasses multiple styles including Postmodernism and Deconstructivism. Postmodernism combines elements of past architectural styles with contemporary designs in a playful way. Deconstructivism focuses on an aesthetic that emphasizes the idea of deconstructing buildings into their basic geometric shapes. High-tech architecture uses state-of-the-art technology in creating futuristic looking structures with unique features.

Postmodernism 1960s – present

Postmodernism was a movement that developed in the late 1960s s as a response to Modernism, often characterized by its incorporation of historical styles and elements into large-scale urban designs, such as high-rise buildings with Classical columns or elaborate friezes. Postmodernism is also known for its use of irony and humor in architecture.

Deconstructivism 1980s – present

Deconstructivism is a postmodern architecture style that combined elements of Brutalism and Expressionism, with a more decorative quality in its use of materials. The name comes from the tendency to deconstruct and distort classic architectural form, focusing on the individual parts rather than the whole. Deconstructivism was developed by architects who were inspired by the work of Le Corbusier, Mies van der Rohe, Frank Lloyd Wright and Louis Kahn. Some of its proponents included Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid.

Features of deconstructivism included:

Curved surfaces

Walls and floors that joined each other at different angles

Redefinition of shapes and forms

Indistinct transitions between surfaces

Contact Dean Larkin for Exceptional Contemporary Design in California

Dean Larkin Design was established in Los Angeles in 1999 and this modern architecture firm maximizes the intrinsic potential of a location, including its available natural light sources and views. Dean Larkin is very familiar with both historical and contemporary architectural design styles in the Los Angeles area, and the firm endeavors to achieve a complexity that is multi-layered with an effortless elegance. For a design that is modern and innovative, unlocks your location’s innate potential by making specific use of light, views and more, and uniquely designed for the way you live, contact Dean Larkin for a consultation.

Blog is originally published at: https://deanlarkindesign.com/architectural-design-styles/

It is republished with the permission from the author.

#Architectural Design Styles #Architectural features #Contemporary Architecture #Los Angeles architect

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rlxtechoff · 2 years

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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captainkirkk · 2 years

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

Danny Phantom

Danien by artistfingers (NOTE: Technically a comic, but so cute!!)

Part 1 of Undercover Phantom AU

Vlad’s newest bit of tech revokes Danny’s ability to shift out of ghost mode, and he subsequently makes some new friends.

(Otherwise known as, “I heard you like hidden identities, so I gave your hidden identity a hidden identity”)

Undercover Phantom AU: a No One Knows AU featuring lots of silliness and maybe sometimes a little angst, focusing primarily on the newfound friendship between Phantom, Tucker, Sam… and Fenton. An ongoing webcomic, originally posted on tumblr!

TGCF

The Bride Selection by trufflehargau

Xie Lian held up the flyer, and squinted at it through the eye-holes of his mask. Beneath the words ‘Join the Selection! Be the Ghost King’s Bride!’ the sweeping eaves rendered in wobbly black ink matched the silhouette of the building in the distance. Paradise Manor. The Ghost King’s home.

(The Princess and the Pea retelling? Set before the events of the novel. The Ghost King of Paradise Manor is selecting a bride. Xie Lian doesn't really know what he's doing there.)

To see the next part of the dream by goodbye_blue

“I’m sorry Gege, I’m just a bit surprised. Let me make sure I am understanding this correctly,” he said, taking half a step forward. “You are real and also asleep. I am also real, and not a figment of your imagination. We are both real, and asleep, and dreaming the same dream right now.”

Xie Lian shrugged. “It looks like it.”

(When Xie Lian gets hit by a curse, he winds up sharing his dreams with a certain ghost king who would very much like to know where he is in real life.)

SVSSS

open my lungs to let you in by ghostybreads

Shen Qingqiu had a secret. So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before he was hit by a truth serum wife plot. (“How are you?” “Horny. Kind of want Binghe to rail me, I guess. But it’s manageable.” Liu Qingge’s hand on his forehead froze, and he was close enough that Shen Qingqiu could hear his breathing stop. He stared back expressionlessly, the mortification distantly crawling up the back of his neck. Honest One-Horned– The frustrated scream that he usually vented in his head, came out straight from mouth. “aaAAAAAHHHH GODDAMNIT AIRPLANE–”)

Keeping Secrets a.k.a HOT CULTIVATOR IMBIBES TRUTH POLLEN AND DIES (of mortification) (not clickbait) by cinnamonsnaps

"I bet you would beg," Shen Qingqiu said with a snort, letting his eye slide shut. The following silence was somehow remarkably loud. He cracked his eye open again. Luo Binghe was staring at him, face flushed red, hands frozen on Shen Qingqiu's ankle. "... shizun?" (Shen Qingqiu gets forced to tell the truth about a lot of things, unfortunately.)

Star Wars

All the Shadows We Bestow by ShyOwl (NOTE: While I love some dark SW content, I know a lot of people don't. This tone might put some people off)

Luke was born with a shadow over his soul. He was not simply the Chosen One, but a child of a prophecy who is doomed to soil the hearts of those who love him; a harbinger of a new Dark order and authority. He has done everything he can to keep people from becoming poisoned, to avoid his role as this blight, but there is no escaping destiny…and there is no escaping the love Luke has sparked in the galaxy. No matter how desperate or hard he tries.

Clone Wars

a soul that's born in cold and rain/knows sunlight by Killbothtwins

Part 2 of the massive machinery of hope

Obi-Wan Kenobi, time traveler, finds trouble once again when he and Qui-Gon are called to Mandalore— but not THAT Mandalore mission. This one involves still pretending to see the future, babies, a slavery ring, and bothering even more people into becoming his friend. As usual, Obi-Wan drags everyone else along for the ride, including some interesting allies.

#happy weekend everyone #weekly fic round up #my posts #fic recs #svsss recs #tgcf recs #sw recs #i'm thinking about myself as the Big Lizard #atop my pile of dirt #damnit anon

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siren-virus · 3 years

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You know what? Just because you’d be able to talk my ears off with LuckyBoy!AU, I’m gonna keep asking you about it with long asks so I can get long answers (I love reading long answers since they give out so much info and speculation, while leaving room for discussion as well). So let's have a chat through asks so neither of us have anxiety(?) while talking to each other in messages.

Who would be some of the regulars when Ben is working at the cooffe shop? (I also love this au XD) Would Cooper, Rook, Gwen, Max and/or anyone else go at the same time as a group and have a casual conversation with the barista? Would Ben accidently gain confidential information about the Plumbers this way? I wonder if he would be famous between the aliens and humans near Undertown as one of the few humans that's actually chill with every alien regardless of appearances thanks to knowing Gwen with the Omnitrix from before?

I feel like Ben purposefully avoiding Cooper as his vigilante persona would start as a measure to avoid his identity being exposed (I belive it was Cooper who exposed him in UAF, right?), but later would develop into a troll play, waiting for him to finally find him and play a prank there.

Would Ben play pranks on Will Harangue for giving him bad publicity to the humans? I mean, it's not like he can just appear in front of a camera and tell his side of the story, he would be captured instantly, or interrupted at the very least; and he having his own social media wouldn't work too well since he isn't a tech genius and the Plumbers could track him down.

Also, what has Gwen done that they think they need Ben to protect them from her? Like yeah, in OV there's a lot of property damage, but they don't believe they need protection from him (at least I don't think so), so she must've done something big in order for that to happen.

And now an ask that isn't directly related to Ben XD Who would be some of the people leading an investigation against the vigilante, trying to discover his identity as well as species? Like I imagine Rook would be more of an addon to said investigation, being on the lookout but not actively investigating everything that Ben has been involved with, and Gwen has a lot on her plate, so let's not let her join said investigation.

Oh oh oh, I just thought about it, if Ben could be considered an Anodite in this AU, what happened when Verdona appeared in that one episode of AF? Did she manage to find Ben in the first place and almost but not quite take him away? Does the rest of the family know he's an Anodite and what are their thoughts about it? If they don't then how would Ben explain some of the magic things that he does and someone witness?

Ohohoh, buttering me up are ya? Well you're in for a brain dump.

Ok, first I gotta say: The alien cafe is separate to the plumbers (the plumbers have their on cafeteria, but like to indulge in other food sometimes, and non-instant coffee.)

So I was thinking, one of Ben's regular coworkers is Alan Albright. Reason for this is because Alan is not allowed to go on missions often. He's too young. I mean I know they definitely have child soldiers in OS- buuuut Max's influence has put a stop to that. He's seen how it affected Gwen. So, Alan is put on easy patrols in low crime area, in the city.

Alan, however wants in on the action, so Max had suggested the cafe. Ben and Alan have a very brotherly bond, and Ben (outside of his vigilante life) has been swaying Alan's opinion on both, the plumbers and his alter ego.

Manny, Alan, Helen and Cooper- When not busying himself with the tech lounge- (sorry, Pierce is still dead in this), will often come by the cafe, they sit in a booth and discuss things. Most occasions Ben is invited to sit with them.

When Gwen pops by their interactions are brief, Ben would try to tease her about anything and everything under the sun. "See Kevin lately?" "Oh, got beat by the walking glow stick again, huh?" "Geez, another jail break? 3rd time this week!"

Normally he gets a fiery reaction and a nasty retort.

Of course Ben would take every opportunity he can to get info. At first it wasn't intentional, he'd just eaves drop on a few conversations that interested him. As time goes by though, he's found that a lot of people, plumber, criminal and just outer space travelers, are more than happy to unload some gossip. Ben is very much delighted by that.

He's not exactly famous, he's well known for being a friendly person, yes. But not all throughout Undertown.

ain't cooper the blond dude with some kinda telekenetic power that ended up turning into an almost Kevin duplicate? (i'll fix that) NGL I forgot he grew up in UAF.

Pretty sure the one that exposed Ben was the nerd who was voiced by the VA of Robin (TeenTitans/Go). Now that you bring it up though, that guy... Jimmy, is someone to be avoided, cause he's a snoopy guy. Who also hangs out at the cafe a lot to get details. Always ends up harassing Ben cause he knows Ben has all the juicy gossip.

And yeah Ben would totally take advantage of it to mess with the poor kid.

Definitely. Ben would mess with Will Harangue as much as possible. Especially when he goes live. Ben won't confront him personally, or do anything that could possibly reveal his indentity. He's got a lot of unique mannerisms that his family could quickly pick up on, there's also his voice, although muffled by the mask, if it's recorded enough- it's another identifier.

So that leaves Ben with his sticker trail. They're very bright, almost blinding, so Ben's stickers are an annoying inconvenience. He could also use a weak spell that causes it's victims to yawn/sneeze. Maybe he'll hang in the background briefly and wave. Just some of things he does to get under Harangue's skin basically.

Gwen:

So, you picked up on what I've hinted at. Good.

Before I go into Gwen, I'll say this: The plumbers are stationed on Earth to protect humanity. That means the aliens who have immigrated are less of a priority. That doesn't mean that they're completely unsafe, the plumbers still patrol Undertown and look after the people- just less so.

Aliens that leave Undertown especially- Normally they're ushered back by a few Plumbers standing guard- those that pose a threat or seem to pose a threat are dealt with by the plumbers. Which isn't too bad, just a slap on the back, a fine, maybe jail time.

Unless you run into Gwen. Who is much more intimidating, much more brutish, she won't exactly hold back. So- she hasn't got the best rep with Undertown. She's still a hero. Known throughout the universe. Just not a kind one.

On several occassions, Ben(vigilante) has had to step in to get her to back down from dealing with criminals.

The plumbers don't have a lot to go on with the investigating. Ben doesn't leave any DNA trails, cause anodites have no DNA. No hair strands, no finger prints, no blood. Even his stickers. They got nothing, nada.

That doesn't mean it's completely hopeless. A clean hit to Ben has on more than one occasion shocked him out of his anodite form, reverting him back to human (which is why he has the glasses and face mask, as a just incase scenario.) Sometimes even spooking/shocking him can make him human again. If his focus is messed with he's human, kinda deal.

So the plumbers are aware of this. They do their best to be as violent and destructive when they see Ben. They're attempts usually fail unless they have someone competent enough with them, Ie; Gwen, Rook.

Villains are also aware of this. So risky buiz am I right?

In regards to Verdona; honestly, I feel like having her know about Ben's existence as an anodite would kinda nerf this whole thing completely. Verdona, I bet, would be a massive gossip. Although her contact with Max is limited, he'd hear about it eventually. Game over. There's also Sunny, who would take advantage of this information and spread it across the universe.

So instead maybe Verdona pays a visit later rather than now.

She'd also be less inclined to take Ben back home, I like how Verdona is indifferent to Ben but loves Gwen, I wanna keep that aspect.

To explain any magic happenings that his family or friends have spotted, he just says he's practicing to be an illusionist. Or he broke a glow stick, or his has glitter in his pocket. (He always has something retaining to magenta hidden up his sleeve.)

Hopefully that got all your questions answered for now!

#ben 10 #lucky boy! au #answer

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

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Chapter 4 — The Price of Gold

Summary: In which our heroine learns the value of history

“A whisper in the darkness

In the quiet it’ll grow

You can try to hide it in the farthest place

But everybody knows”

-Something in the Shadows, Amy Stroup

While she wasn’t up at her usual early hour, Emma considered the fact that she didn’t sleep away the entire morning as an improvement over the day before. The tranquil view from Killian’s cottage drew her out to the large covered porch to enjoy a cup of coffee and piece of toast while she pondered her options. Her host hadn’t returned from the hospital yet, which she took as a good sign because it probably meant Liam was awake and able to visit with him. If she truly wanted to sell the whole girlfriend cover, she should join them but her heart wasn’t in it. Better to keep the situation as ambiguous as possible, that way no one could accuse her of lying later on and maybe those same people wouldn’t look at her in disgust when the truth inevitably came out.

The waves crashed with enough violence to carry on the salty breeze and the sound almost lulled her back to sleep. She thought it might affect Killian the same way by the presence of a rope hammock hanging from the eaves on one side of the space. Resisting the urge to try it out, she decided it would be best if she actually started working on the case that had brought her to this odd little town. They were behind where she had hoped to be due to the wreck and she didn’t look forward to discussing the lack of progress with Liam once he was completely off the meds and able to have a lucid conversation. Her visit last evening had been entertaining, Liam occasionally waking up to grumble about the food or the bed or his displeasure about life in general, causing her and Killian to trade amused glances that always lasted a touch longer than they should.

Her initial impression of his place was proven true after she had given herself a little tour when he dropped her off last night. For a man who tended to favor dark colors and leather for his personal attire, his furniture and decor were decidedly soothing. It hinted at oceanic themes without being overtly beachy and while there was no doubt a masculine leaning in the straight lines and sharp angles, the overall effect was one of a comfortable, lived in home.

If she was pleased that there wasn’t any hint of a feminine presence, no candid photos stuck to the fridge or extra toothbrushes on the counter in the bathroom, she would deny it until her dying breath.

She took care to clean up after herself, removing any hint that she had stayed the night. She had immediately noticed that Killian seemed to keep his place scrupulously tidy. She already felt like she was doing him dirty so the least she could do was make sure she didn’t leave dishes in the sink.

Satisfied that he would find nothing out of place upon his return, she changed into shorts and paired them with a long-sleeved tech tee as a concession to the brisk morning. The weather was perfect for a run and since she didn’t have a car, she thought she could use the exercise as an excuse to surveil some of the town and hopefully start to work out some of the soreness that was lingering in her side.

Realizing that she didn’t have Killian’s number to check in, she jotted down a quick note to let him know where she was, adding her phone number at the bottom as an afterthought, and headed out. The first several minutes were torture, the crisp air felt like it was burning her chest and her side throbbed with each footfall. Gradually, her body relaxed into the motion and she was able to keep an easy pace that had her on Main Street within fifteen minutes.

Trying to remember cross streets from the map she had studied back in Boston, she meandered her way through the heart of town attempting to connect addresses with the events she was looking into. The wide roads and sidewalks of what one could jokingly refer to as the Storybrooke business district eventually gave way to narrower, tree-lined lanes. The houses in this area of town were large and set a pleasant distance off the street, their lawns a vibrant shade of green and bordered by perfectly pruned landscaping that hinted that the owners of said houses were probably not the ones taking care of the yard work.

She was fairly confident that the stately white mansion she was approaching was one she recognized from the Mills file. Formerly the home of the first mayor of the town after its incorporation in 1983, the property had passed on to his wife, Cora, whose daughter Regina was one of the missing person cases she hoped to look into. Keeping up her pace, she didn’t pause or show undue interest in the house as several people were already tracking her path with inquisitive eyes from their open windows and garages. She did however make a mental note to find the library and start combing public records for who currently resided in the home.

Leaving the swanky section of town, Emma picked up her pace until she was safely across Main and started exploring the neighborhoods on the west side of town. If a town as small as this one could be said to have a ‘wrong side of the tracks’ she guessed this must be it. The houses, while well-maintained, lacked the grandeur and pristine veneers of their counterparts on the other side. The further she went, the smaller and more distressed the homes appeared until finally giving way to vast tracks of undeveloped land.

Taking a dirt road named Apple Alley that she remembered from her research as being home to the Nolans, she calculated she was about a mile outside of town and running parallel to Main. Within a minute she had arrived at Robert Nolan’s old farmstead. As if two puzzle pieces just clicked in her mind, she registered that it was highly likely that Deputy David Nolan was the missing man’s relative, perhaps his son, and made another note to confirm the relationship.

Reaching the other end of the dirt lane, she headed back in the direction of town. Starting to feel the strain of her exertion and having passed the seven mile mark, she stopped long enough to cue up her music app and play some classic rock in an attempt to muster enough energy to finish strong. Focusing on the beat of the song, she tried to control her breathing which had become more of a struggle since she changed directions and the wind was now gusting toward her, adding resistance, instead of pushing her along. She was completely unaware of the motorcycle approaching from behind until it was almost on top of her.

Startled, she drifted quickly to the right in an attempt to move further off the road and nearly lost her footing on the grassy shoulder that was still slick with dew. She heard the engine cut off a second later and watched warily as the rider lowered the kickstand and removed his helmet. He was clad in the requisite leather jacket that seemed so popular with the men in Storybrooke for the cool summer nights and early mornings that were the norm in Maine. When he turned to face her, she noticed he was also sporting the requisite three day stubble.

He was handsome, his blue eyes twinkling at her even from a distance, and if she hadn’t already developed an affinity for a different dark haired, blue-eyed man, she would probably be more interested in returning his wolfish grin. For now, she thought it a better use of her time to dig out the key from her pocket and cautiously place it between her fingers. He looked harmless enough but that didn’t mean she could ignore decades of city living that had conditioned her flight-or-fight instincts.

“That’s a great song,” he said by way of greeting, smile becoming impossibly bigger as he gave her a good once over.

Forcing herself to loosen her stance, she moved closer, cutting the distance between them in half and stopping in the middle of the deserted road. She kept one eye on him as she silenced her music. He looked familiar, his face tantalizing something on the outer edges of her consciousness. Covertly releasing the key back into her pocket, she truly relaxed for the first time since he had surprised her. “That’s a nice motorcycle. I’m Emma Swan.”

“I know,” he chuckled and she got the impression that he felt like he knew something she didn’t. “August Booth.”

“I thought you might be,” she parroted back in the same wryly amused tone he used, trying to buy time to decide on the best approach. She hadn’t had a chance to look him up before she left Boston. Luckily, Liam had the bare bones of a dossier already compiled. Included in the file had been a long list of awards for Booth’s investigative journalism and notes about how he had leveraged his reporting into a career of writing prize-winning books. One review had stated that Booth revealed and sought to understand the depths of the human condition and no bookshelf was complete without all of his novels.

She had considered seeking him out in a few days to see if he would be willing to discuss his latest project, which was the catalyst for her journey to Storybrooke or at least responsible for the timing of it. The way he was staring at her, however, made her think he might have been seeking her out.

“Ah, you remember me, then?”

His comment caused her to rock back on her heels and take a closer look at him. There was something about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. Shaking her head in frustration, she entreated, “Maybe a little hint?”

“Phoenix, 2001.”

Her smile faded and she forced herself to stand still instead of retreating. Mind racing, she wondered how in the world she was going to make it back to town when her legs had turned to jelly. Of all the places in the world, this man who was witness to some of her darkest days had to be here. Now. Smiling at her as if they were long lost friends.

Noticing her distress, he moved closer even as she took another step away. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not here to cause you any trouble.”

Before she could think through her words, she whispered, “Did you follow me here?”

“To Storybrooke? No, I’ve been here for weeks. But I will confess to following you out here,” he said softly as if trying to calm a skittish animal. “You ran past where I’m staying about half an hour ago and I figured it was worth taking a chance.”

She needed to get a grip. While a ghost from her past showing up was a crazy coincidence, if she kept blurting out whatever came into her mind, it would lead to problems. Even though the circumstances of their acquaintance were something she would rather forget, she didn’t think she had anything to fear from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first,” she admitted with a shy look. It didn’t help that she knew him as Wayne and he had been about twenty pounds lighter, a baby face in a tie. “I’m not ashamed of that part of my life but I don’t spend a lot of time reminiscing about it either.”

“I’m happy to see you again, Emma,” he told her and she knew he was telling the truth. His voice rang with sincerity and his gaze held fondness. “Honestly, I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, wondering how it all turned out...”

She knew what he wanted to ask and because of all the kindness he had shown her during a difficult time, she was more open than she normally would have been. “I kept the baby. His name is Henry and he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“That’s good,” he breathed out and continued to smile at her as if they met like this often. As if the last time she had talked with him she hadn’t be in prison, eight months pregnant. As if he wasn’t going by a new name and sporting a new look and following her out to the middle of nowhere. Jarring her out of her thoughts, he continued, “Do you want to grab a drink later and talk? I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been up to these past few years.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Her phone buzzed on her arm and she pulled it out of the sports band, shooting him a apologetic glance. Checking the screen, she saw a message from an unknown number. She opened it to see it was from Killian, telling her that Liam was being discharged that afternoon and asking if she was still in town and wanted to meet for a late breakfast at Granny’s Diner. Texting a quick reply that she would meet him in about twenty minutes, she put it away and turned her attention back to her companion.

“It’s been great seeing you, really, but I need to meet someone in town in a few minutes so I should get going. Does seven tonight work?” She asked, wanting to escape and have a few minutes to herself to process this twist of fate.

“Sure, I’ll pick you up.”

“You don’t know where I’m staying,” she pointed out. “I’ll meet you somewhere, just tell me the place.”

“I think I can figure out the mystery of your lodgings with a whole day at my disposal.” She knew he was right, even without his knack for getting information, it seemed the townspeople had nothing better to do than speculate on her arrival and actions. Knowing it wasn’t worth an argument and eager to meet Killian, she nodded absently and gestured to the road ahead in what passed for a goodbye.

She didn’t make it two steps. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride back? It’s the least I can do for ambushing you.”

She imagined that riding into town on the back of his motorcycle would set tongues wagging even more than they already were. On the other hand, she was worn out and her side was starting to hurt again so she wasn’t really feeling the mile or so trek back to the diner. Checking out his bike with a doubtful expression, she was on the verge of declining when he winked at her and said, “C’mon. I’ll even let you wear the cool helmet.”

—

Minutes later, they were pulling in front of the diner. Any hope of her arrival going unnoticed was foiled when he revved the engine loudly before parking straight out from the door.

“Thanks for the lift,” Emma murmured, pulling the helmet off and placing it on the seat she just vacated. She avoided checking out her reflection in the window, fearing that between the workout and the helmet, her hair was a sweaty mass of tangles. “See you tonight.”

“I’ll walk in with you,” he offered, his demeanor showed he knew she was trying to get rid of him and was highly amused by it.

“I’m pretty sure I can find the way by myself.”

“It’s not always about you, Emma,” he chuckled. “I’m staying at the Bed ‘n Breakfast. Granny’s has the best onion rings in the state.”

“Right.” Well, she tried. Short of pushing him into the street and running inside before he could recover, she knew she was stuck. Not that she didn’t consider it briefly.

Entering the restaurant, she was immediately assaulted by the scent of greasy food and coffee. It smelled like heaven. Trying to ignore the way people were watching them, one pair of eyes paying particularly keen attention, she made her way over to the booth Killian had taken, right in the middle of the place. To her extreme discomfort, her ride followed her as she weaved through the tables.

When she collapsed onto the vinyl bench opposite him, Killian took in her disheveled clothes and glum bearing before turning to scrutinize her companion, who for his part seemed to be having a great time. As if sensing the underlying hostility from her seat mate and the curiosity of everyone else, August called out cheerfully, “See you at seven,” before making his way toward the back hallway and disappearing from sight.

She watched as Killian showed signs of shifting through various thoughts. When he spoke, it was only to ask with a hint of playful censure, “Have you been making friends, Swan?”

“What can I say? I’m a people person,” she replied, quickly grabbing a menu and using it as a shield. Feigning more interest in the plastic-coated paper than the standard diner menu warranted, she changed the subject. “How’s my favorite invalid doing?”

She snuck a peek over the top of her self-made barrier and his exasperated look told her that he knew exactly what she was doing but he would let it slide. For now. The barely coiled energy he emitted around her always gave the impression that he was impatiently waiting for the opportune moment to drop some more truth bombs. “He’s having a grand time. He yelled at the doctor, refused to eat the oatmeal they brought him, claimed he would have to swim back to England for a good cup of tea broken arm or no, and told everyone within a two mile radius that he didn’t need to be mollycoddled.”

“So pretty much back to normal then,” she observed still not meeting his frank gaze. The dull hum of conversation had started back up around them and she wondered if maybe she had dreamed the complete silence of a moment ago.

“If you stare at that menu any harder you’re going to burn a hole through it, love,” Killian teased and she knew if she looked up, she would see one eyebrow raised in that provoking manner of his. She wished she didn’t find him so attractive. He made her want to explain things, to tell him stuff that she had no business telling anyone and not only about why she was meeting another man later that day. Things about her past, dark things best whispered in the night. When she didn’t respond, he smirked at her and remarked, “If you’ll permit me, I recommend the pancakes.”

Making a noncommittal sound, she tossed down the menu as a striking brunette waitress brought over a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon and a sandwich bag full of ice. The woman fluttered her lashes at Killian before she dropped the order on the table.

Surprised, Emma looked at Killian and said, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” he informed her tightly, a frown replacing the normally cocky look on his face.

The waitress, whose name tag read Ruby, announced loudly, “From Mr. Booth. He said you would know what to do with it.”

She felt herself blushing but couldn’t deny that she was pleased with the offering. That was the man she remembered, thoughtful and warm, and she guessed this was his way of telling her he remembered too. The bag of ice was probably to signal that he knew of her current circumstances as well although she was less sure of that analysis. Regardless of what he might have meant by it, she took the makeshift cold pack and gingerly pressed it to her side before ordering the tall stack of pancakes for them both.

Killian’s frown shifted from annoyed to concerned as he watched her carefully lean back against the booth. “Are you having trouble? Should you have it looked at again? Maybe they missed something.”

“It’s probably from my run. I got carried away and pushed harder than I should have,” she acknowledged. “Nothing a little rest and relaxation won’t take care of.”

“Perhaps you should cancel your plans tonight and take it easy. Liam will be home and we can order in,” he suggested, watching her closely. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to spend some time with you and I can make myself scarce if you would prefer.”

There was something very wrong about hearing Killian hint that she and Liam would like some quality time. She would have lost her appetite if the pancakes that were being delivered to their table didn’t look like fluffy perfection. Worried she might start drooling if she had to wait a second longer, she suddenly realized that they were sorely lacking in silverware.

With a groan, she launched herself out of the seat, ignoring Killian’s distressed, “Sit down, Swan, I’ll grab some for us.”

Tossing him a flippant look over her shoulder, she made her way to the end of the extended counter and waited for someone to come her way. Finally, Ruby gave her a brief nod and shortly thereafter was standing across from her. “How can I help you, Emma Swan?”

She wasn’t even surprised that the other woman knew her name. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she knew her birthday, measurements, and favorite color at this rate. “We need a couple of forks when you get a chance.”

Moving with a restless animation that was almost overwhelming, Ruby swiftly produced two sets of tableware, each neatly wrapped in a printed napkin. When Emma reached out to take them, she moved them out of arm’s reach. “Hold on a second! We need to have a heart to heart first.”

Laughing at the waitress’s antics, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking but my pancakes are getting cold, so lay it on me.”

“While I can certainly understand your appeal, it’s not fair to the rest of us ladies for you to hog all the delicious male specimens in Storybrooke. Especially the new, rich ones like Mr. Booth.”

“That is not what is going on here,” Emma said hastily, feeling as if she had been attacked. Except Ruby wasn’t being belligerent or hateful, if anything she was teasing. Still, she wasn’t quite sure how to take her or respond for that matter.

“All I’m saying is that it’s polite to leave with the man who brought you,” Ruby explained. Or tried to explain because she was confused now if the woman was talking about August, who dropped her off, or Liam, who technically brought her to town. As if sensing her confusion, Ruby continued, “If it makes you feel more amenable, I can assure you that I haven’t had the pleasure of Jones’s company.”

“It’s none of my business what Killian does,” she told the waitress heatedly. She looked over her shoulder at the man in question, who had turned in his seat and was talking to a couple in the next booth. Shuddering at the image that floated through her mind of him and Ruby twisted up together, she grabbed the forks from the woman while the brunette was busy staring at Killian with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ruby confessed throatily, “it will be epic when all those pent up urges finally explode through that wall of British propriety. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, Killian Jones remains impenetrable.”

A feeling she was reluctant to name coursed through her, a feeling suspiciously like relief, and she started backing up towards her table. Then Ruby refocused her gaze with a smirk and said, “But I was talking about your man, Liam. Tell me, do sweet nothings sound better when they’re whispered in that accent?”

“Right, well, this has been a very interesting conversation but my breakfast is waiting.”

“Of course,” the young woman responded brightly. “Maybe we can hang out while you are in town. It gets old seeing the same faces day after day.”

“Maybe,” Emma answered, nearly tripping over a chair in her rush to get away.

“Finally,” Killian complained. Snatching one of the bundles from her hand, he tore away the napkin and nearly shoved a whole pancake in his mouth. Swallowing with a satisfied sound, he asked, “What in blue blazes did Ruby need to say that couldn’t have waited until after we ate?”

“Nothing important.”

“Really? Because my rapidly cooling pancakes beg to differ,” he groused, sounding a lot like his brother all of the sudden.

She was out of sorts and irritated with life and ready to take it out on him. “I was trying to spare your delicate sensibilities but if you must know, Ruby was filling me in on your sexual history and your brother’s as well.”

“Bloody hell!” His fork clattered to his plate and he gaped at her in embarrassment. “Can’t even get a meal without someone nosing in...”

With delight dancing across her face, she took the first bite of buttery, syrupy goodness. “I think you need to watch out for that one, Jones. She might be planning to eat you alive.”

“I need to watch out for all of them.”

The words would have sounded like a boast if not for the hint of sadness that touched his features. It seemed like Liam wasn’t the only one with difficult circumstances. Content to finish breakfast without additional commentary, she sat across from him and enjoyed her pancakes while listening to him curse under his breath.

—

Deep, male laughter drifted through the cottage that evening as Liam and Killian discussed sports, sailing, and the general state of the world. From her place in front of the bathroom mirror, she chuckled when she heard Killian object loudly to whatever Liam had said to him before another round of good natured ribbing broke out.

Their genuine affection for each other caused a sweet ache to form in her chest, a longing for something she had never had. Whatever their individual rough edges were, when the brothers were together they smoothed each other out somehow. She could tell that the bond they shared transcended their disagreements and disappointments and she wondered how her life might have been different if she had experienced that kind of unconditional support when she was growing up.

Dragging herself out of her maudlin thoughts, she checked her reflection to make sure she looked presentable. The black tank dress and heeled sandals were simple, dressy enough for a night out but more comfortable than her normal honey trap ensembles. She left her hair gently curling down her back as she didn’t see much point in fixing it if it was simply going to be messed up during the ride to town. Throwing her red leather jacket over her outfit and putting her keys and phone into her pocket, she scanned the counter to make sure that the bathroom was as neat as it was when she entered.

She followed the sound of their voices out to the porch and smiled when she saw them both nursing water bottles, Killian forgoing a drink in solidarity with his brother’s current medical restrictions. A part of her wished she could join them instead of leaving. However, the gleam in Liam’s eyes when Killian had mentioned her plans for the night had made it clear that far from objecting, he was practically pushing her out the door.

Stepping into the golden glow of the patio string lights that were roped with casual elegance back and forth across the ceiling, she twirled around and fished for compliments for the first time in her life. “Well, what do you guys think?”

“You clean up nicely,” Liam joked, the line of fresh stitches barely noticeable in the soft light and doing nothing to detract from the contentment on his face.

“I think what my stodgy brother means to say is that you are stunning, Swan,” Killian flirted outrageously, his gaze lingering on her legs before meeting her eyes again. The heat in his glance revealing that while his tone was provocative, he meant every word. “You’ll be wasted on the Rabbit Hole, love.”

“How do you know that’s where we’re going?”

“This isn’t Boston, Emma. There’s only a handful of places to grab a drink here,” Liam explained, seeming to agree with Killian’s assessment. “I look forward to hearing all about your evening later.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she heard the throttle of an engine in the distance. Her companions evidently did too as Killian muttered, “Bloody nuisance. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you there instead?”

“And what, sit at the next table while we talk? No, I think I can survive another motorcycle ride. Don’t wait up! I have my key.” She joined August as he came to a stop, taking the helmet he held out and carefully settling behind him. After making sure her dress was securely anchored, she waved at the brothers and wrapped her arms around August’s waist.

Sunset was still about an hour away but the fireflies were out, lighting up the forest on both sides of the road. Somehow, she knew she would never forget this moment, the verdant forest crowding the sky, wind racing past them, warm air mixing with a cooler night breeze. She felt freer than she had in years and wished Henry was there to enjoy it with her.

Thoughts of Henry brought her back to the reality. She had a job to do and the sooner she was done, the sooner she could return to her real life.

Pulling off the harbor road and heading away from town, August eventually slowed to a halt and asked, “Are you okay for a short hike?”

Puzzled but game, she nodded and allowed him to take her hand to help her off the seat. He unlocked the top box on the back of the bike and pulled out a flashlight, blanket, and a tiny picnic basket. Without a word, he turned up to a slightly overgrown trail. Following him into the woods, she was surprised at how dark and hushed the landscape was. They walked for about ten minutes before he stopped and made a satisfied sound deep in his throat.

When she came up beside him, she could see why. He had brought her to a bluff that overlooked Storybrooke, the city spreading out beneath them and glittering like the fireflies that lit their way here. “Wow.”

“I think it has a certain something,” he agreed, eyes twinkling characteristically.

He spread the blanket out and removed a small bottle of wine and two metal cups from the basket, pouring them each some before sitting down with a quiet grunt. She kicked off her shoes and joined him, primly folding her legs to the side and grinning as she took a sip.

“So, August or Wayne or whatever you’re calling yourself these days,” she started teasingly.

“I’ve always been August but I used my middle name as my byline back in my newspaper days,” he explained. “Harder for the death threats to find you that way.”

“Nice,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I guess now those are fewer and far between.”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered mysteriously. He had always had this otherworldly quality about him, as if he saw and knew more than other people. His face was careworn, lines fanning out from his eyes and gently scoring his forehead. While his hair was still a warm brown color, the beginnings of his beard had some silver that glinted in the red light of sunset. But when he looked at her, his eyes were the exact same mix of intelligence and underlying mischief that made him seem like a schoolboy instead of a famous author. “Emma, how did you end up here?”

“That is a long story,” she sighed, taking another drink to give herself time to think. “Why are you here?”

“You know, I’ve covered stories all over this world. Heart wrenching tales of woe, uplifting accounts that would make you believe that heroes still exist, thrilling adventures, and hopeless romances. You’re still the only person who wouldn’t tell me anything unless I offered a story of my own in trade first. I think that’s why you’re the only one that haunted me.”

“Haunted you? That sounds ominous.”

“It isn’t. I may use different words to describe it but I think it amounts to what normal people would call friendship. So, Emma Swan, since you have the distinction of being my oldest friend, I will give you what you want. I’m in Storybrooke to write a book.”

“Believe it or not, I kind of figured that out already. What’s it about?”

“Well, it’s not just any book. This one is special.”

She studied his profile, shaken by the serene admission. Shaken by the whole conversation for that matter. Mostly because he was right. If she was his oldest friend then he was her first, and possibly only, one. A friendship made in a prison cell for the price of a story.

He had come to interview expectant mothers serving out their sentences. She had refused to take part but he would talk with her anyway, visiting her during the course of his research. Eventually, they both started sharing pieces of their lives and in the end, he left just like everyone else did.

“Why didn’t you ever try to find me? If you felt like we were friends, why disappear?”

“I don’t think I was ready to learn the end of your story,” he said simply, as if that explained a decade of nothing. “Did you ever find Neal?”

“What makes you think I went looking?”

“Friends, remember?” He laughed and nudged her shoulder with his own.

“Yes I found him. For Henry’s sake. They are vacationing on the west coast as we speak.” Staring out into the thickening darkness, she admitted, “I miss him. But it’s the right thing to do. A kid deserves to know their parents.”

He topped off her cup, putting the bottle aside without filling his own. “Would you want to know about your parents, if you could?”

“I’m not a kid anymore and I haven’t been for a long time. Maybe not ever.”

The conversation lapsed, both buried deep in thoughts of the past, of things that were or never would be. He opened the picnic basket again and handed her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a bag of pretzels. It wasn’t fancy, but then their relationship was never about flash. It was about having someone to talk to while you learned to accept what life threw at you.

Hours later, loath to leave but knowing it was approaching midnight, she stretched out her legs and moved to stand up. “I should probably get back. It’s been a rough few days.”

As they made their way through the night by the thin beam of his flashlight, she didn’t mention that he hadn’t told her what his book was about and he didn’t point out that she never told him why she was in town.

Perhaps they would continue to haunt each other.

#ouat #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #cs ff

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dlfbjtr · 3 years

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my wip; second chance department.

juvie teenagers are recruited to dive into criminals' minds to catch even more criminals. with the help of some cool tech.

pretty much a mash of found family, mind twists, dark pasts and a touch (touch) of romance. sci-fi, futuristic, and psychological stuff? ig?

meet my main ocs!

lancia bythe; the smart kid.

kalen spinster; the smartass.

marcellus baxter; the one who uses humour as defence.

armani baxter; the what-i-have-no-idea-what's-going-on.

hart chamberlaine; the prodigy who's now an adult.

meet my secondary ocs!

millicent dye; the boss.

catalina farona; the unofficial therapist.

jeremy gemin; the not-dead.

garett chamberlaine; the mad scientist.

kristen spinster; the one who just is.

atticus eaves-micheli; the agent.

oriel sheng; the one who is a government agent as a side job.

#wip; second chance department #ocs; hart chamberlaine #ocs; lancia bythe #ocs; kalen spinster #ocs; armani baxter #ocs; marcellus sallow #ocs; millicent dye #ocs; catalina farona #ocs; jeremy gemin #ocs; garett chamberlaine #ocs; kristen spinster #ocs; oriel sheng #ocs; atticus eaves-micheli

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junkyardlynx · 4 years

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“Crow,”

A voice squawked in my ear, crystal clear and uniquely grating. My handler, a wiry middle-aged man with a voice like steel wool. I didn’t know his name and I didn’t care.

“You there, birdbrain?”

“...What is it, HQ?”

“Oy, oy, save the animosity and low voice for the bad guys. You’re en route to the black box, but...just wanted to let you know that you aren’t the only one with a SHINE out here. You’re the only friendly one, though. Lucky you!”

Yes, lucky me. A chance to spread my wing, both literally and figuratively. Swooping low and piercing through the mist spreading lazily over the forest treetops, I ran a systems check on my stealth, ICE, and weapons suites. All green. I grinned inside of the black helmet I wore, which was something visually akin to both a pyramid and a beak. Our callsigns were mostly attributed to something about our appearance or unique abilities. Between the helmet and the Kestrel flight/fight system, it was pretty easy to see where mine came from.

Another SHINE, huh?

SHINE. Synthetic High-Information Neurolink Exoskeleton. Like most acronyms, it neglects brevity and accuracy for a cool name. Pilots of these advanced personal exoskeletons were usually called Shiners. The overall technology package was pretty new and viable candidates were few and far between, with most applicants washing out within the first two tests. It should be noted that “washing out” was a sanitized term for, well. Anything from neurolink installation failure to psionic organ rejection. It was estimated that Russia, the largest superpower, had around thirty combat capable Shiners. A country’s overall military prowess was determined by the strength and skill of its Shiners after the Toa-Yahontov Skirmish, where two JDF Shiners lead an overwhelming victory against five Russian armored divisions.

I was one of twelve NATO Shiners. We were relatively late arrivals to the peacekeeping table, due to deliberations over the moral quandaries inherent in our creation. Experimenting on teenagers left a bad taste in the mouth of rational people, I suppose. Wonder why? We turned out to be quite instrumental to a tenuous world peace, though. Our first real deployment lead to us taking on both JDF and RAF Shiners on the artificial island of Oxcallos, smack dab in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Both superpowers had a mind to lay claim to the neutral scientist-lead nation for their own devices, intent on breaking the technological and military stalemate they’d found themselves in since the late 2080′s. My blood surged with a heady sweetness when I recalled the sensation of finally tasting real combat with my SHINE, as if all the pain and training had paid off. Ostensibly, we were there to enforce peace, but I know I wasn’t the only one that reveled in the chance to prove myself to both the world and our commander.

I was pulled out of my reverie by a blip on my radar, some 3 kilometres to the northeast. It appeared only once, but I was sure it was no mistake. My SHINE and I didn’t make “mistakes.” We moved as one, our senses were one. Noting that the buildup in the stealth system’s heatsink was nominal, I nodded internally and increased my speed, on an intercept trajectory with the radar blip.

“HQ, anomaly noted on radar, time logged as 18:37. Moving to intercept. Permission to engage potential hostiles?”

“Permission granted, Crow. Good hunting, even if I’m not seeing whatever you’re seeing.”

“Just trust me. Going radio silent.”

I wove through the mist, silently cursing its presence. Anyone paying close attention would be able to see sharp, unnatural voids in the mist where my sheer speed cut lines into the air. As a countermeasure, I took erratic loops, full stops and dips, the maneuvers only possible because of my SHINE’s unique method of flight - an array of black, bladelike pillars. When active, they formed an elecromagnetic field around the core SHINE, interfacing with my psionics for fine flight control and my neurolink for synchronicity. Flight at the speed of thought, really.

Coming up on the area that had pinged hot on the radar, I made a straight descent onto the ground and switched the Kestrel to scouting mode. The “wings” switched to their inert position, attaching to my SHINE in the rough shape of a cloak, causing me to hover just a couple of inches above the forest floor. I glanced from side to side, monitor inside of my helmet flush with information. The forest floor had been disturbed recently, and the air stank of charged ions and spent fuel. Someone was using a mass-produced SHINE flight system around here, a basic propulsion model. Probably an A-Type Osprey, judging from the smell and scorch marks. As I nodded to myself, running the numbers on who would still be using such outdated tech, I heard it. The softest “plink” of a high-tension fibre wire bowstring.

There.

Without shifting my body, one of my wings shot out and sliced a projectile out of the air. The Sagittarius EMP Arrow buzzed uselessly amidst the fresh dirt before exploding into harmless shrapnel. I’d picked up on the danger as soon as I landed, but decided to play on the back foot and let the attacker come to me. Chasing a target I couldn’t see into the forest was a good way to get riddled full of holes, after all.

“Is that you, Paris?”

I asked, taking a shot in the dark. My SHINE’s external speakers broadcast my voice into the endless canopy of trees, and the only response came in the form of three arrows - from three directions. 12, 7, 4. Classic triangle attack pattern.

I blocked all three with two of the Kestrel’s twelve blades, clicking my tongue loud enough for my assailant to hear.

“You’re getting slow in your...well, you’re the same age as me. I guess you’re just getting slow. You know it’s a war crime to attack a NATO peacekeeping officer unprovoked, right?”

Six this time. Three behind, one in front, two on the sides.

I was getting a little annoyed, now. Paris was probably testing my defenses, seeing how many arrows they needed to fire at once to overwhelm me. That worked for me. I didn’t mind being underestimated if I was the one that set it up. Knowing full well I could deflect all six, I let one slip through my six o’clock before hardening my SHINE’s systems to avoid the EMP burst and deactivating the Kestrel’s scout mode. Falling to the forest’s floor, I stood back up, making a show of attempting to restart my weapons suite.

If they fell for this, they were an idiot.

“Come on, Paris. No mercy for an old comrade? I dunno what they teach you in Greece, but you’ve gotta be kind-”

Idiot.

Sixteen armor-piercing arrows bared down on me, forming a nearly-perfect circle meant to impale me with no room for conversation. This was Paris’ preferred way to fight - unseen, from a distance, and with overwhelming firepower. Their signature weapon was some sort of tricked-out bow coupled with a miniaturized fabricator, capable of producing a wide variety of specialty arrows. Owing to the psionics all of us Shiners trained in, Paris could do this fancy little trick where they simply threw the arrows with their mind. It let them set up attacks that were seemingly impossible to dodge. Thing is, they loved their goddamn bow, so there was always one arrow just a little faster than the others. That was what we called a “dead giveaway.”

Kestrel roared to life with an electrostatic burst, and I spun all twelve blades above my head into an interlocked shield, scattering the arrows with a horrific metal screech. Kicking off the compacted dirt beneath me with the aid of my SHINE’s synthetic muscles, I leapt a good ten feet in the air before activating flight mode, cutting through the dense forest in the blink of an eye. With branches and limbs falling to the cold earth, I followed the direction of that arrow that was just a little faster than the rest. In the thick eaves of an old redwood, Paris scrambled to fire another shot that I barely dodged before I slammed my metallic fist into their sternum, knocking the air out of them.

We sparred for a few seconds, just like the old days. Unlike the old days, though, all i wanted was to end this pointless little fight as soon as possible, so I simply slapped Paris’ centurion-like helmet with the flat of a Kestrel wing, knocking them out cold. I’m sure they thought I was a bad sport.

Maybe, but at least I didn’t shoot first and reminisce later. Dick. I set them against the trunk of the tree, rummaging through their SHINE’s external compartments until I found what I was looking for. The black box containing all of Rabbit’s intel, pulled directly from their brain. And I do mean directly.

“HQ, this is Crow. Looks like the Grecian army sent out Paris to recover the black box. I’ve incapacitated them. Do you want me to bring them back to base along with the black box?”

“Crow, I hate to point out the obvious, but what are you doing blabbing on a battlefield?”

“What do you mean?”

“Since when did they send Paris out without Hektor?”

The descending roar of a Type-A Osprey sounded in my ears, followed by the metallic “shing!” of what could only be a legendary lance.

“Ah, shit.”

#writing #my writing #sci-fi #science fiction #cyberpunk #exosuits #exoskeleton #original fiction #maybe this could become something later idk #psychic powers #psionics

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geekwashing-blog · 4 years

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What's Soft Washing And Why Is It Better For You Personally

Power washing is an effective way to eradicate filth and the grime from the outside surfaces.

From walls roofs, pathways, and parking areas, hot jet washing can help keep your organization looking its best.

But there are a number of situations. As an instance, if you can find free roof tiles, bricks, pebbledash, or shingle, injury can be caused by high speed jets.

In cases like these, the single option used to be quite a reliance on tough chemicals.

As an market, we needed to accomplish better.

Especially given also a desire to get some thing relating to it and the growing understanding of our environmental impact.

What is soft washing

This advanced cleansing system gets brilliant effects with environmentally friendly compounds. Once employed, these compounds biodegrade safely and very quickly building the place safe for critters and persons alike.

Nevertheless, it is perhaps not the chemicals found which makes washing that is gentle dissimilar from additional cleaning methods.

Soft wash Texarkana utilizes lowpressure technological innovation (just like the type of pressure which arrives from your own taps in your household ). That has some Important advantages over different Kinds of technologies including:

Less water is used

Results can last longer as the chemicals obvious the contaminants that make the Build up that is natural rather than Simply beating the dirt away from

Less stress means less sound

This method is significantly more gentle meaning it's more flexible and can be used on surfaces

Much less Chance of any harm

Even better to your surroundings too

These benefits although delivering equivalent cleaning benefits.

What can be cleaned washed

As it pressure Engineered washing technologies can be employed on a larger variety of surfaces.

It can be utilised to wash gates and walls together with surfaces and also some stone work that wouldn't endure to and including high-pressure wash.

With soft wash Texarkana, it is possible to stay ontop of a lot a lot more of one's external surfaces making your company appear better for more.

Gentle washing supplies a clean too

As soil in dirt and dirt, this tech could remove mould, mildew, lichens, moss, fungi, green and red algae, pollen, along with other organic and natural spots -- viruses and germs could clean away also.

Does soft cleaning clean, it sanitises. And by cleaning away the spores that promote increase it helps to keep your buildings cleaner.

Nothings from achieve

Assist a business which has use of the gear and devices, and it's easy to do a thorough job. In the case below, among those Alpha group is making use of our telescopic poles to accomplish those hard to reach areas.

High storey windows, roof eaves, windows, and awkward nooks and crannies are nolonger a problem.

#Soft Washing #Washing #What's Soft Washing

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thesims4blogger · 5 years

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The Sims 4 on Xbox & PlayStation 4: New Game Patch (July 16th, 2019)

There’s a Sims 4 update available for players on Xbox One and PlayStation 4.

Update: 07/16/2019 – v1.16

It seems like only yesterday when we added Mouse & Keyboard support to The Sims 4 but that hasn’t stopped us from making improvements based on your feedback while preparing for Island Living. The team has also been hard at work on new features and have addressed some long standing issues so let’s dig in, starting with the new stuff.

New Console Features

Mouse & Keyboard can now be used to bypass the “Press START” screen rather than requiring a controller to get to the Main Menu. That means you can start and finish your Simming session using the control scheme you prefer. Now, where’s the any key?

I’m on a boat… Oh I’m not?!?! Seems that going into First Person view didn’t agree with all Simmers and left some feeling a little ill. Worry not, head to Options > Game Camera and Disable First Person Head Bob for that more on rails feel while you are inside your Sims’ heads.

When entering cheats, Sims would continue their day as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Using a controller, adding cheats could take most of a Sim day if you were unlucky. Now, when entering cheats, the game will pause letting you add all the cheats you want without missing a second of Sim life.

Randomize Traits Button

We all get creative block sometimes, other times we just look for a challenge. Whatever your approach you can now hit the Randomize Traits button in CAS to get a set of traits you might not usually pick for your Sim. Will your Sim be a Jealous, Lazy Goofball or a Genius, Slob who Hates Children? Let the dice decide.

Lounge Chair

Everyone (even you) gets a FREE LOUNGE CHAIR! That’s right, we’ve added a delightfully Portable Lounge Chair, so you can now lounge by the pool they way you’ve always wanted and you don’t even need to wake at the crack of dawn to put your towel down.

Pride Content

Created in partnership with the It Gets Better Project you can show your pride with some fantastically colorful new clothing. From the rainbow leggings to the body suit and new t-shirts your Sim can show their Pride. In addition, we’ve also included a selection of decorative Pride flags for hanging on your Sims’ walls. Finally, we’ve updated our bathroom door sets in-game so that every bathroom door also includes a gender-neutral version for builders, and includes a full suite of color swatches for mixing and matching to your heart’s content. Happy Pride Month everyone, even if we did get here a little late!

Stilt Foundations

Or as we like to call them, High Heels for your House. Or House Heels. These things don’t need to be limited to just the tropics. Stilts are a great partner in crime to terrain manipulated and flat lots, in any biosphere. You can find them in Build Mode alongside all the other regular Foundation types. Now go get your stilt on.

Further Eaves Extension

Now you can pull your Eaves… further.

Freelancer Career

Freelancer is a brand-new type of career. Sims can choose to be a Freelance Artist, Programmer, or Writer, and will work through an agency that will connect them with a variety of gigs. Unlike other careers, there’s no defined work schedule to worry yourself over. Need some extra Simoleons? Smash through a few gigs in a single day and get paid! Need some time off? No problem – plenty of gigs will be waiting for you when you’re ready to get back to work. Your office is wherever you want it to be. Perhaps a quiet corner in the local library, or maybe you’d prefer a home office decked out in the new set of office furniture? You’re your own boss, so the choice is yours! Completion of gigs across the different agencies will lead to a variety of rewards, and ever-increasing pay.

New Objects

This free set of home office furniture and decor is ideal for your burgeoning Freelancer Sims!

Bookcase: Edgier LadderCase

Desk: Anglette Desk

Desk Chair: The Professional

End Table: A Cute Anglette

Decor: Not So Simple Pen Holder

Decor: Hand Reference Model

Decor: Robo, The Friendly Circuitry Kit

Decor: The Note Book

Laptop: FreeRoam Portable Computing Device

Wall Decor: Better As A Pair Of Paintings

Wall Decor: Supreme Freelancer Award

Doors of many Colors

Knock knock! Who’s there? Color! Color who? 350 new color swatches spread across all of the doors. Yeah, maybe the future as a stand up comedian isn’t in my future after all.

New Lot Traits

Clothing Optional: This new venue-only lot trait will inspire your Sims to — you guessed it — get nude.

Off-The-Grid: Now you can live out your nomadic fantasy on any lot. Applying this lot trait will remove your Sim’s use of power and running water, but on the upside it keeps your bills down. Keep a lookout for existing objects with the “Works Off-The-Grid” note in the Buy Catalog.

New Clothing

Freelancers tend to want comfy, but professional outfits. We’ve got them covered with the following new pieces of clothing.

Women

Men

A cable knit cardigan outfit

A sweater and skirt outfit

A layered sweater

A pair of flats

A collared sweater

A button up shirt

A crewneck sweater

A pair of drawstring pants

Immaculate White Shelf

According to SimGuruGraham, Simmers really REALLY wanted a plain white version of “The Immaculate” shelf available in Buy Mode. Who are we to argue with what SimGuruGraham tells us?

More Toddler Diaper Colors

We added some L’il Swimmies Splashy Diapers! You don’t necessarily have to use them for splashing in the water, but that’s where our brains were at when we made them. We made these not only in anticipation for Island Living, but we also thought you’d appreciate more swimming options for your toddlers to use in the Seasons Kiddie Pool.

Back Float

A new Back Float interaction is available for Sims swimming in the pool. Select the water. Try it out. Take a load off.

Fishing Additions

Brace yourself, we’re about to cast you into a deep dive…

We added several new interactions to allow players to fish in different ways and interact with other Sims around fishing activities.

Sims can perform a few new Fishing-based socials to gain useful info (via UI TNS/Notebook) and push NPCs to Fish.

Fishing is now joinable.

Improved fishing interaction tuning and autonomy to make the interaction more efficient and fun.

Upper skill levels now provide more meaningful rewards, with new Interactions added to Fishing skill levels

New high skill cast interaction “Angle for Big Catch” increases chance of getting rarer fish.

New high-skill VFX visuals on Rare fishing spots.

Ability to now “Mentor Sims in Fishing.”

Fishing UI has improved information, including Notebook info with Bait information.

Tuning for fish that can be caught is unique per world & more fishing spots added to some of our previously shipped worlds.

New bait preference system applied to most existing fish that modify catch chances.

Ceiling Fan Updates

Ceiling Fans will now cool a room if you have Seasons and the fan is on. Oh yeah, speaking of which, we also added the ability to turn them On and Off. And while we were at it, we figured we’d make them dry off damp Sims too.

Ceiling Objects Build Sort

We also added a new Ceiling Objects Build sort category to make things like Fans easier to find.

Swimming Things

There is now a chance for interesting things to happen to your Sims while swimming, like getting a cramp or losing their suit (eek!). Swimming also now gives your Sims a boost in Fitness skill gain.

Part-Time Jobs Update

And last but not least (you still with me?) all existing Part-Time Jobs are no longer just for Teens. That’s right, now elders could work as Fast Food Employees. Young Adults could be Babysitters if they want. Why not? The Part-Time world is your oyster. Oh oh oh — and one last thing on that note: You can now have two Part-Time Jobs at once and pick between shifts. Wowee.

The green pulsing of the snap cursor would previously appear every 20-30 seconds for some players even if you were using a Mouse & Keyboard. That pulse is under control now, unless you are using snap cursor in which case you should expect to see it.

Rooms can now be resized with the Mouse & Keyboard control scheme.

Talking of Mouse & Keyboard, if you use them you can live drag objects now.

Simmers using a Mouse & Keyboard can now make use of edge scrolling. We had the option before but it didn’t work as you might have thought.

The Virtual Cursor may be virtual but it doesn’t mean it was meant to disappear after you came out of build mode.

Sims will travel to the correct venue when invited out to an event by a NPC Sim.

Fixed an issue where the UI would occasionally indicate that a Sim was at work, when they were actually at home, which would block access to the Sim’s inventory.

Sims will no longer receive random phone calls from other Sims between the hours of 8pm and 10am, allowing them to enjoy a full – and speedy – night’s sleep.

Fixed an issue where multiple music tracks could end up looping and playing simultaneously.

Expecting parents will once again be able to “Take Family Leave” via their phone to take time off from work.

Fixed an issue where a Sim who had cheated with another Sim romantically, were then unable to successfully propose to that Sim and get married.

Fixed an issue where Sims in the eSport Gamer branch of the Tech Guru career were not earning money when programming video games.

The Pick Up Serving Together interaction will no longer cause one of the Sims involved to fail to route to the food.

Fixed an issue where interactions on the Digitalistic Sketchpad object would disappear if a Sim’s actions were canceled while they were picking up the Digitalistic Sketchpad.

Updated the Digitalistic Sketchpad object so that creating paintings on it will satisfy Aspiration goals and work tasks that involve painting.

Fixed an issue with the Lin-Z Smart Speaker, where the interaction to hire a Gardener would remain unselectable, even when the home had a garden that needed tending.

Sims will now look at the Lin-Z Smart Speaker when speaking to it.

The “Pre-Owned Painter’s Easel”, that’s unlocked via the Painter career, will now provide an Inspirational emotional aura, instead of a Focused emotional aura.

Fixed an issue where staircases were not rendering properly while held by a mouse cursor.

Adjusted icons of Lunar New Year recipes to better display what food you’re looking at within an inventory.

The children’s Yin & Yang Necklace will no longer clip into their neck when wearing a shirt that’s tucked in.

The “CleanRoom” wall pattern, which was previously missing a name for its 5th color variant, has now had that specific color variant named “Like Sand”.

A new content alert icon has been added to individual careers within the Select a Career panel, to help players find new careers that have been added to their game.

“Shift clicking” with the controller (X and Circle (PlayStation 4) or A and B (Xbox One)) at the same time on the Age Up menu will no longer cause menus to overlap.

Note: If a save file created prior to this update contains a Sim that’s already in this bad state, simply traveling to another lot with that Sim will permanently fix this issue.

As far as I’m aware, this is the only instance in the game where a color variant has been given a unique name. Huh… neat!

Scientists will once again wear an appropriate outfit when going to work even if StrangerVille is not installed.

The “Chemical Analyzer” object can now be purchased from Build Mode without having to use a cheat.

Made updates to the list of valid objects that can be selected as the outcome of the SimRay’s “Transform Object” interaction.

Fixed an issue where objects from multiple festivals were appearing on top of each other in the neighborhood simultaneously.

Apartment landlords will now leave the apartment immediately after addressing a tenant’s complaint.

Added the ability for Sims with the Vegetarian trait to hire a Vegetarian Caterer by clicking on Stoves or Refrigerators.

Vegetarian Sims will no longer enjoy eating Mud Carp.

Fixed an issue where hungry pets would not eat from food bowls autonomously.

The pet toy box will no longer have its position rotated in a random direction when a Sim returns home from an active career.

Fixed an issue where the “Litter-Matic Scoop-Free” litterbox wasn’t looking clean after cat poop had been removed.

Fixed an issue with the Pet Adoption Agency, where they would occasionally show up at a Sim’s home without any pets to adopt, and would simply stand at the home’s front door and not do anything.

The Hide/Show filter now does as you’d expect while using the Simstagram pet interaction.

Fishing in Brindleton Bay shouldn’t have your Sim facing the wrong direction. No more fishing the land and wondering why the fish aren’t biting.

Updated the Gardening career so that Sims will earn more than 10 Simoleons per completed work shift.

Fixed an issue where on days where no holiday was set to occur, a Sim’s work schedule would update to falsely indicate that the day was a Holiday just prior to going to work, causing the Sim to stay home for the day.

Fixed an issue where NPC Sims were not autonomously using the skating rinks that appear in certain neighborhoods.

Toddlers will no longer attempt to queue up behavior to “Run Inside” during bad weather conditions if they’re already inside.

Fixed an issue where Sims voices could not be heard when Singing Together around a Holiday Tree if City Living was not installed.

You’ll now be able to cancel the Compel to Drink interaction after choosing to feed on a Scarecrow.

The Acting career task to “Get Into Hair and Makeup” can be successfully completed once again.

Fixed an issue where celebrity Sims who had been set to use their normal walkstyle were switching back to using the celebrity walkstyle after traveling to certain types of venues.

Three star celebrity Sims will no longer use the celebrity walkstyle.

Your Sims can now pester… er… visit, any campers of their choosing in Granite Falls.

Fixed an error where Sims would get stuck in the Forest Hideaway lot in Granite Falls.

Simmers who have City Living installed can now put the Siopao and Ensaymada dishes on their restaurant’s menu.

Bat!

Grand Master Vampires know all, or so they thought. Now they can continue to earn points. Does that make them a Grand Grand Master?

Vampire NPCs shouldn’t get appear at a venue and prevent you from saving.

Vampire NPCs shouldn’t have their Vampire Energy drained after a load which allows them to continue with their expected autonomous behavior.

Sim Form!

The following environment objects, which were created for StrangerVille, have been added to the Build Mode debug catalog to allow placement on lots. Players must enter the bb.showhiddenobjects cheat before they can be seen in the catalog.

Added proper images to the Officer and Covert Operator branches of the Military career.

Removed the “Question about Spores in Lab” interaction for Sims who have already acquired the Modified Hazmat Suit.

Removed the “Heart of the Pack” styled look from Create a Sim, as it was authored using clothing that’s only available to Sims that have joined the Military career.

Updated the pack information panel on the main menu to not display world objects under the Build Mode Items.

10 different cacti

3 different Joshua trees

3 different RVs

2 clusters of rocks

2 junked cars

A group of desert flowers

A military truck

A tire

A parking stop

Holiday Celebration Pack

The Crown Roast platter will now show a partially eaten state when half of its servings have been taken.

PlayStation 4

Some makes of keyboard are extremely fancy with lots of features, one of those features appears to have been the ability to prevent the mouse from being used. We’ve made improvements in this area.

As usual, we have new creations which were created and shared by members of the Sims Community. You can find them in My Library.

There we are, a lot of changes to take us further into 2019. Now I’m off to get my Sims some sun, sea and fun in The Sims 4 Island Living.

SimGuruLegacy

#news #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #xbox one #playstation 4

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