#faulkner is a little blond curly haired thing

[fagulaa]

I love TSV because i was immediately locked in to what I think the characters look like on first vocal impact, and have been unswayable on this account. but the GREAT thing is that that appears to have happened to EVERYONE and we all have slight variants going on. The one near universal agreement seems to be that Faulkner is built like a series of mops and sticks super glued together.

[zephyrofalltrades]

Day 2: Bones

CW: Death and dead people (not graphic)

The rain drummed against the pub’s windows, adding to the general thrum of the blithering clientele within. It was fuller than usual, buzzing with the most recent news.

“Fell finally bit the dust, eh?” one of the patrons asked.

“They found ‘im in the bath. ‘ad a little kip and kept ‘em peepers shut, or so I’m told,” answered another.

“Poor thing. No family or friends to look after him. It was a miracle they found the body before it began to properly rot,” added the Florist.

“Those tax blokes were persistent. I hear they thought Fell was mafia all these years,” came one of the younger customers.

“We all did, luv. They never found a fault in his books,” returned the Florist. She owned the shop next to Fell’s.

“Anybody knows what will happen to his books? The merchandise, I mean,” the bartender butted in.

“Who knows, if he’d only sold them, they had been properly taken care of instead of wasting away in that shop of his,” muttered another patron. It was Soho lore that Fell rarely sold a book. There was a general hum of agreement from the gathered crowd.

Their contemplative silence was shattered when the door opened heralding in the frigid, stormy winds and a haggard looking Baker. He stumbled towards the bar and sat heavily on a stool.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, dearie,” the Florist sat beside him, waving the bartender over.

“I wished it was a ghost,” the Baker gulped down the shot of whiskey they slid his way.

“Weren’t you supposed to help box Fell’s things?”

“I did help. Now I wished I didn’t.”

“What did you see?” All the others had gone deathly silent, eyes trained towards the Baker. He held up his glass and two more replaced it. He downed both before attempting an answer.

“Remember years back with that very public break up?” he started slowly.

“Oh yes, the dear looked so heartbroken. It had been a red-head wasn’t it? Flash bastard, if I ever saw one. Spouted nonsense about stars and such. Called Fell stupid and yelling he’d never think of him again.”

“He was there. In the shop.” Heads turned his way.

“He came back? How’d he take the news?” The Baker didn’t answer. A few more drinks were shoved his way.

“We found him sprawled out on one side of a bed in the basement,” he intoned, watching the clinking glasses before him. “Apparently there was a bedroom there beside the restoration area,” he held out his hands to stall the questions he knew they had. “He wouldn’t talk. Couldn’t, I mean. He was already dead.”

It took a minute for the words to sink in and the outcries of confusion and shock to start. The Baker held his hand up once more. “We thought he was sleeping but when we rushed over we found a mummified corpse. He was literally only skin and bones. Then again, he had already looked it when he was alive,” the baker laughed hollowly.

“Are you sure it was him?” the Florist choked out, disbelieving.

“It was dressed in all black - silk pajamas of all things - and hair clumsily dyed a bright red. His keys and wallet were left in the bedside drawer. Driver’s license expired five years ago.” The Baker rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to rid it of the things he’d witnessed. “But the worst part?” he looked around at the earnest faces. “Everything looked clean. The other side of the bed had been slept in, an empty mug of cocoa and a bookmarked novel on the bedside table. And some of Fell’s blonde curly strands still clinging on to the other pillow.”

Inspired by A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner

[asexual-alistair-blog]

Untitled Thedas Peeps in Modern World

Quinn scanned the crowd from the balcony above the stage. Her three brothers, who had formed a Beastie Boys cover group, were on said stage, performing. She felt an immense wave of loneliness wash over her as she saw that everyone in the crowd at least had someone. Alec had disappeared a year ago and she still had no idea how to function without her best friend.

The crowd cheered as her brothers started up “Sabotage,” but the cheers quickly turned to screams as a bright green light suddenly appeared and people fell out of it. Quinn was down the stairs in a flash, the gun she carried out. Her FBI training took over and she quickly told people stay back and get to safe cover. She heard her brothers helping people closer to the stage to safety as she inched closer to the figures on the ground under the light. Suddenly, the light disappeared with a pop, and she pointed her gun at the nearest figure.. “Hands in the air where I can see them!” She ordered, her tone leaving no room for questions. The four figures threw their hands in the air as they slowly sat up.

“Quinn, is that you?” She heard Alec’s voice, causing her to jolt the gun towards the figure who spoke. “Whoa, please put the gun down, it’s me, Alec!” Quinn gave a laugh.

“Hah! Alec is dead, nice try.” She sneered. “And he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing whatever the fuck you’re calling clothing.”

“Ouch.” A smooth voice came from another figure. “Alec, I like your clothing.”

“You picked it out, Sparkler, of course you would,” the shortest of the four figures chuckled. “What is a gun, and should I be worried that she has one?”

“It’s a weapon, and yes you should. Quinn was never a very good shot.”

“Quinn can you interrogate them in the back?” Her brother Mike appeared next to her before she could reply. “We still have to get these people to safety and lock down the hall. Don’t worry, we’ll get the rest of security to go through everything. Hey Alec, you look extra gay today. Nice job man.”

“I’ll need some help getting four people to the back. But yeah I can, just make sure you play some loud ass music during clean up. Drown out their lies.” Quinn smirked.

“Hey!” The short one said. “I don’t know about Sparkler and Domino over there but Curly and I do not lie.”

“Varric, you’re a self-proclaimed liar don’t even start.” Alec glared as Quinn’s security team manhandled them into the back room. “Quinn, I can explain…”

“There will be no explaining. Ya’ll fell out of a stupid fucking hole in the sky. I don’t want to know about that shit.” Quinn shook her head in a sharp motion.

“She’s eloquent. I like her.” the short guy named Varric laughed, “Good choice in friends, Domino.”

“Pat them down. If they resist, full cavity searches. You have the certification for that yeah?” The team of guards nodded. “Good.”

“That’s a little vindictive, Quinn.” Alec frowned. Quinn got into his face.

“You’ll deal with it because it’s protocol. I don’t know if you’re Alec or some hella good impostor, but I’m not risking all those people out there just because someone doesn’t want a pat down.”

“Actually I’m more concerned about a full cavity search. I don’t need more fingers up my ass.”

“That’s what a full cavity search is?” the one currently named Sparkler looked appalled. “What could people hide up there? Other than…” He grinned slightly.

“Lots of stuff. Most common one is drugs. Cocaine is a big thing to stuff up your butt to sneak it places. Prisoners do shit like this all the time. And that’s why you’ll get them if you resist.” Quinn, shrugging, turned to the large blond man standing quietly an grimacing, if going along with her rules. “Why haven’t you protested any of this?” He gave her a brief smile.

“I understand the need for order. And I think the idea of a full cavity search sounds highly unpleasant.” Quinn snorted.

“Can you get me DNA swabs?” She asked one of the guards at the door. “I need to get an identification on the one claiming to be Alec Griswald for sure.”

“How many do you want, ma’am?” The guard asked.

“Four. Ask the FBI agent at the front door. And tell him Quinn needs his help in the back.”

“Gotcha.” The guard nodded before walking off.

“There are FBI agents here?” Alec asked, scrunching his face in mil discomfort and confusion as he was was searched. “For a concert?”

“Yes, two of us are here.” Quinn showed her badge. “NASA detected a disturbance in the atmosphere in this particular club and my brothers just happened to have a show the night they expected the disturbance to manifest.”

The door opened and the guard returned followed by a man in black dress slacks and a red button down shirt. “Are these the suspects, Quinn?”

“Yes,” Quinn replied, ignoring Alec’s protests about being suspects. “Any casualties?”

“Not a single one.” The man grinned before turning to the four “suspects” and showing his badge. “I’m Agent Samuel Hamilton. This is my partner, Agent Quinn Faulkner.”

“This one’s claiming to be Alec Griswald, Samilton.” Quinn jabbed her thumb at Alec. ‘Samilton’ looked at him suspiciously.

“Is that so? If you’re really Alec Griswald, not only will you submit willingly to a DNA test, you’re in for a world of hurt for what you did to Quinn.” He glared, popping open the tube with the swab in it.

“Samilton…” Quinn warned. “I’m a big girl I can handle my conflicts on my own.” Alec stayed quiet, instead opening his mouth for the swab, his eyes on Quinn, who watched him back. “What did the NASA guy say about the disturbance?”

“Gone.” Samilton closed the tube and looked at the three strangers. “Do we want to swab all of them?”

“You won’t find their DNA in any system you have.” Alec finally looked at the other agent. “They’re not from Earth.” Quinn raised her eyebrows.

“Not from Earth…” She shrugged. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Samilton will get everyone’s DNA to the labs for analysis. I will take ya’ll into custody and we’re gonna chat about why three of you aren’t from Earth and where the fuck you ARE from. Any questions?”

“What’s DNA?” The dark skinned man who had been called Sparkler asked.

“DNA… How to explain DNA…” Quinn pulled out her phone and googled it.

“It’s the stuff that makes you you. Your genes and your traits and stuff. Color of your hair, shape of your nose, stuff like that. And that’s the elementary school definition.” Samilton explained, getting a ‘what the fuck’ look from Quinn. “I was going to go into genetics when I started college. Then my FBI calling kicked my ass elsewhere.” Quinn nodded.

“Alright boys, swab ‘em!” She grinned as she popped open a swab stick along with Samilton, who popped one open to swab the small man. She started with the large, muscly, blond man who leaned down at her instruction so she could swab his mouth.

“That tastes like cotton…Gross!” Sparkler (Quinn still wasn’t sure if that was his real name or a nickname) grimaced after Quinn ran the swab through his mouth. “Isn’t that unsanitary?”

“Dorian, this isn’t Thedas. There’s no magic and technology beats what Thedosians have by a long shot. Sanitation is easy.” Alec smiled at Sparkler (Dorian?), calming him.

“Hey Quinn, how come you got the tall guy and I got the short guy? Shouldn’t we have switched?” Samilton whined. Quinn smirked at her FBI partner.

“I know how much you appreciate chest hair, Sammy. And you know how much I like ‘em tall and beefy.” She cackled as the dwarf gave a hearty chuckle.

“Unfortunately for Samilton, I don’t roll that way.” He smirked at Quinn.

“Of course you don’t. I don’t either.” Samilton scowled, popping the lid closed on his swab’s tube. “I’ll get these samples to the lab. Do you want any backup, Quinn?”

“Yeah. Hurry your ass up at the lab, but make sure they test Alec’s sample first. I’ll take ‘em to Andon Gaol. Himchan should be good for backup until you arrive.” Quinn pulled out four pairs of handcuffs and pointed two of the security officers over. “I’ll need your help getting them into the vehicle. Ya’ll are getting handcuffed for appearances. Hands in front of you please.” The four men complied and she closed each pair of cuffs with a satisfying click.

 ****

The ride to Andon Gaol was filled with a stunned silence. The three foreigners were too shell shocked from a being in a loud carriage that moved without horses, Alec (or whoever he was) was so tired he fell asleep, and Quinn had a lot on her mind, none of her thoughts stopping as she pulled up to a gray concrete warehouse with absolutely no windows. “Look alive, sunshine.” She said, grabbing a key card out of the glove compartment to open the gate. “Hope you got some rest because you’re in for some long hours of talking.”

“Oh joy.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Well, Varric can do most of it. We all know he’s a born chatterbox.”

“Sorry, you won’t be interrogated together.” Quinn didn’t sound (or feel, for that matter) the least bit sorry. She pulled out her phone and hit a speed dial on the home screen. “Himchan, I’m here with four suspects in the mysterious… Yeah... Mhm... Himchan I’ll debrief you inside just help me get them into their rooms!” She hung up with a sigh, four people staring at her oddly. “What, you’ve never seen an annoyed woman before?”

“You’ve changed, Quinn.” Alec said, his voice sad.

“Yeah, well. We all do.” She said coldly as a tall, thin, Asian man came to the group. Once he was at her side, she smiled. “Himmie! What’s the haps!?”

“Not much, was watching BTS on Jimmy Kimmel when you called. Anyway, these are the suspects? Samilton should have the DNA samples soon.” Himchan shrugged. “Let’s get them in.”

“Sounds good.” Quinn nodded, and as they lead the four men into the building. Himchan took Dorian and the tall, blond man to two cells on one side of the warehouse, and Quinn took Varric and Alec to two on the other side. Once the four strange suspects were in their own cells, Quinn met Himchan in his office. “What have you got for me?”

“The hole that appeared in the atmosphere within the venue was definitely nothing NASA’s ever been present for before, but the disturbance has happened once before.” Himchan frowned as he looked at Quinn. It happened the day Alec Griswald disappeared, and in the same area he was last seen.”

[johnalfredlarson-blog]

The Silver Ladder

It all started a few years ago.  Never mind how many.  Tom Little’s aunt and uncle had a beach house on the South Shore.  It was in a quiet village, little more than a cluster of cottages.  There was an old dirt road, a marsh, a duck house, a little town, and the beach.  The beach was majestic, it was one of the best, with white and golden sand, regular tides, and young women playing volleyball.  Tom’s mother thought it would be great if he could visit for a weekend, but he ended up staying a bit less than a week.  His aunt and uncle were two of his favorite persons, as his aunt represented in him all the fun and warmth of his family on his mother’s side and none of the restriction.  And his uncle was very laid back and forgiving, even if he was hardly ever around.  He had visited them before in their house in Lawrence, MA, for holidays and to watch movies with his cousins.  His cousins, Judy and Bill, were at his mother’s lake house in Revere, with his brother Biff, as a sort of exchange.  Tom did what he usually did in these situations, that is, he did his best and walked around, going in circles on great wandering expeditions.  It was sunny.  There was the cottage.  There were four rooms. He stayed in his cousins bed, which he didn’t mind.  There was the tv.  The only thing on was golf.  He had a walkman with the first album by Tin Machine.  Tom walked to the marsh.  It was a warm day, with little breeze.  The marsh went on for miles.  There were little birds, sandpipers.  And seagulls.  There was a road with telephone poles that looked like crosses.  Funny there was a little cross in the side of the road.  He went to the beach.  The beach had a seawall.  The tide was halfway out, and the waves were rolling.  There was a small group of teeneagers gathered near the dunes.  He decided to go for a swim.  Walking up to the edge of the water, he took off his shoes.  He took off his shirt, put his wallet in his shoe, did the same with his glasses.  He had brought a towel his aunt had given him.  It was red and orange.  Some of the teenagers were in the water.  He went in as far as his ankles.  Cold.  Then he went in up to his knees.  Two of the young women were standing in waist deep water, arms crossed over breasts, talking.  He went in up to his waist.  The waves were making him hop. He jumped up and dove in.  Then he went out and swam a little.  He noticed the girls strayed a little near him, then they went away.  They were laughing.  They got out of the water and went back to the crowd they belonged with, to a towel.  It felt good to be surrounded by salt water.  He could splash under the surface, and swim for moments without revealing his position.  Or he could get up, ride a wave, ride the pure motion of a wave, into the tidepools.  He did this again and again.

Then, he finally came out of the water, walking in the sun, conscious of the others who were there together, separate but somehow happy to be there.

He got his wallet, shoes, and other things and walked back to the cottage.

Walking up the beach, in the sun.  His heart beating in rhythm to his footsteps, Tom wished he brought a bottle of water.  His throat felt like a piece of steel wool.  It was an idyllic time, the first couple days.  He would regularly walk to the beach, the marsh, and back to the cottage.  It was rather haunting that there was no one to talk to.  He got close to the crowd of teenagers on the beach, but nobody talked to him.  And then Biff arrived.  Biff was an overgrown, loud teenager three years older than Tom.  He immediately wanted to use his walkman, take his more comfortable bed, and he ate through half the apple pie for the week.  Biff was a head taller than Tom, had rusty red hair, freckles splashed over his nose and cheeks.  He had a loud, whining voice, but he could be rather personable at times.  Tom wasn’t entirely unhappy about Biff being there.  But he suspected something was up when Biff asked to go with him on one of his long walks.  We went out to the street and Biff looked up at the sun.  Then we walked to the marsh.

“This place is great,” he said.  “I never came here before.  You know, I went to our cottage in Revere with Uncle Tony…” and then he proceeded to ramble like that for minutes at a time.  “Uncle Tony has an Alfa Romeo.  There is a candy store in Humarock…” this was Biff opening up, removing the blockages that had been between them up to that point, and letting the waters that had been swelling loose.  Tom didn’t know what to say.  But they walked further, past the marsh and up to the beach, and the whole time he was talking, sometimes about something relevant, sometimes something random, sometimes something brilliant.  When they got to the beach he just looked out at the sea, and the surf, and the gulls.  There was a small group of kids playing football, just tossing the ball back and forth.  Biff ran out towards them and motioned to them, waving his arms like he wanted to play.  They hesitated, and he called out to them again.  Then one of them, a lean guy with shoulder length blond hair, tossed him the ball.  Biff ran with it, and turned, then tossed it back.  The three of them tossed it back and forth.  They were calling the others.  They got a game going.  Biff called Tom, and waved him over.  At first, Tom wasn’t sure, but then he ran straight at them.  They tossed him the ball and it hit his shoulder.  Then they tried again.  Tom caught it.  They divided into two teams.  There were four of them on one team.  Biff, the tall blond kid, and a girl that he had seen swimming were on a team.  It was touch football.  They played for about an half hour.  Then they went for a long walk. Tom talked to one of the young women.  Her name was Madeline. She was staying with her brother and his friends.  She was going to college in the fall.  Tom told her he was sixteen. He had just turned fifteen. They talked for a while about how she had two nice Golden Retrievers back home and she was going to have to leave them to go to Tufts.  Then she told him to come out later to the fire on the beach.  Then the walk was over. Biff and Tom went back to the cottage.  When they arrived their uncle was cooking on the barbecue.  There were hot dogs, hamburgers, and chicken.  The burgers were grilled the way Tom liked, with yellow American cheese folded over on the top.  No one asked where they had been.  Later, Biff stayed in but Tom went out, with an eye out for a fire.  There was no fire that night, no gathering of teenagers.  There was a thunderstorm and rain. He watched the storm come.  At first, he watched the waters breaking, white caps in the moonlight.  It was illusory, the way the water appeared to be an enormous wall of surging black and white before him. And then the rains came.  

The following day the beach showed no sign of his new friends.  But the next night, further down the beach, there was a fire.  Tom walked out towards the light.  He could hear the surf hit the rocks and hiss.  He walked and could hear the individuals around the fire.  From a ways off he could tell that these were not the people he had met the other day.  He wandered up the beach and walked some more in the dark.  It was the end of the weekend.  The groups came and went.  The light the next day revealed the emptiness on the beach, and he again walked in the morning.  He went as far as the bridge that went over the estuary, and then up near the dunes.  When he was about to go back, he saw a figure walking in his direction.  It was Madeline.  She was wearing some jeans and a t shirt.  He walked in her direction, the opposite way.  When they were passing, she waved and he stopped.  She came up to him.

“I thought you had gone to school,” he said.

“We decided to stay a couple more days.” Her curly blond hair was pulled back, revealing her wide eyes and slightly upturned nose with a smattering of light freckles.She grinned at him. “Do you want to walk?”

She told him that her family owned the cottage, and it had been in their family for sixty years.  She had been coming down to the beach at that time of year all her life.

“I’m only visiting my aunt and uncle.  They own the cottage on Smith Lane.”  They walked past the dunes, up a road, and under a dock.

“What’s your story?” she said.

“Well, I’m in school in Danbury.  I like music, archery, and the stories of William Faulkner.”

“William Faulkner?  Didn’t he write about a guy having sex with a goat?” she said.

He hadn’t heard about that one.  “Yeah,” he said.

She put her hand on his shoulder and drew him near.  She kissed him, full on.  Then she tilted his chin and pulled him closer.  They embraced.  He kissed her slowly, then felt her body.  She leaned in on him and drew him down in the sand.  Her weight matched his, although he was a couple inches shorter than she was.  She was the dominant one, the aggressor.

When he got back to the cottage Biff was about to go off, with his Uncle Tony.  Tony was coming by in his Alfa Romeo to take Biff to the candy store in Humarock, and go fishing.  Biff had been hanging around the house watching B movies and eating popcorn for the past few days.  When Uncle Tony came, he grabbed his bag and just left.  It was the end of summer and Tom was there alone in the cottage with his aunt and uncle.  They played cards.  They started with pitch, played a few hands, and then went to blackjack.  Tom felt that he got to understand that side of the family just a little better, with just a few games of cards.  His uncle, who was Lithuanian, went down to Pittsburg to work in the steel mills every month.  His aunt, his mother’s sister, was a secretary, and she lived in their house in Lawrence, took care of his cousins.  They lived separate but equal lives, it appeared to Tom, watching his aunt shuffle and then deal the cards.

Afterwards, he went out to the beach and watched the moon over the water.  The reflection on the water of the moon looked like a silver ladder, leading to the beyond.  He suspected Madeline would be gone the next day.  She didn’t leave him an address.  In a few days he would be gone, gone back to Danbury to listen to music, shoot arrows, and read Faulkner.  He had only read a handful of his stories.  Usually this time of year he was looking forward to going back to school.  But for some reason he felt like he was stuck between two places, like he was trying to climb a silver ladder but it was just out of reach.