#he had exactly ZERO coin on him so he took all sorts of jobs and slept very little

[stxrmstained-a]

// I think Seira would have paid a visit to Umberlee's temple and asked for swimming lessons

[someonestole15]

Hunger

One track mind.

Sounds fitting, I only had one goal in mind at this point and that was finding a way back home. My stomach was starting to feel empty, last time I had eaten was before leaving for Obeus’s tower, and that had been who knows how many hours ago.

The sun above marked the time around noon, I thought about my situation and made a mental note, I had no money. In my haze of waking up, I had forgotten to check if my coin pouch was anywhere amidst the scraps of my gear, I lowered my head and sighed.

“Money makes the world go around…” I thought to myself and pondered for a way to resolve the issue. Not a stranger to work, perhaps an Inn or restaurant would be willing to give me a bit of food in exchange for some menial task.

No harm in trying, I followed the signs and managed to find the local Inn. Two floors, the sign next to the door had a welcoming message written across it along with a few flower pots scattered about. Through the open door, the inn was full of people eating and drinking away, some swiveled around in their seats as I walked in but soon returned to their drinks.

Walking towards the counter, the person behind it was a young lad, wearing a vest and a collared shirt with its sleeves rolled up.

“Welcome. What can I get ya?”

“I’m a bit short on money, you got anything you’d be willing to spare?”

“Hmm…” He lowered the glass he had been cleaning and leaned against the counter. “We don’t really run a charity here…”

“I could work for my meal if that’s the issue.”

“Hmm…” He leaned back from the counter and ran his hand along his chin for a bit. “I have a job you could do, do that for me, and I’ll cook something up.”

“Alright, what do you need me to do?”

Quick and easy, head to the market and deliver notes for the merchants, sounds simple enough. After hearing my growling stomach, the inn keeper did give me a slice of bread and some water to make sure I wouldn’t just pass out while out there.

Short walk from the inn to the market, the entire area was covered in colorful awnings, stalls and tents, the bustling sounds and the scent of food around made me feel hungrier by the minute, I pulled the note out of my pocket and looked it over.

Fish, meat, vegetables and bread, the amounts were scribbled on after the required items, I raised my view from the paper and looked around for the first item, Fish.

Quick walk around the tents got me to the fish, a lone man stood in the kiosk with his hands on his hips, looking around the market.

“Pardon me sir.”

“Ah, greetings lad, how can I help you?”

“The inn keeper asked me to run an order of fish to you.”

“Let me have a look…” He offered his hand out and I handed him the note. “Well I can certainly handle the fish, but I think you’ll have to look elsewhere for the rest of these things. Heh, just joking, let me write the amount up…There. Here’s your note back.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries laddie, now the butcher is around the corner there, you can’t miss it. She has this a sign of a boar dangling just above her door.”

“Alright, thank you again, goodbye for now.”

“See ya later lad.”

Just around the corner indeed, the sign hanging above the door was hard to miss as I stepped through the door and entered the butchers shop. The smell of freshly cut meat mixing in with blood filled my nose as the person behind the table spoke up.

“Well you planning on standing there all day or you got business?”

Brought back to reality, I shook my head and stepped up to the counter.

“My apologies, I have an order from the Inn keeper.”

“From Jack? How much does he want?”

“Enough to feed forty he says.”

“Yep, I can work with that, tell him I’ll bring it over when I can.”

“I shall, thank you.”

Ding of the bell as I headed back outside, I traced my steps back to the market and started looking around for the vegetables. Many different stalls, handmade trinkets and armor caught my eye but window shopping when you have zero money got me back on track, perhaps later on I’ll drop by and spend some money here, but not today.

Finally saw the orange and red mixture of carrots and beets, I walked up to the shop as a client looked around the vegetables on offer.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I in your way?” He asked and stepped back, holding a book tightly against his chest.

“Not at all, I just need to speak with the owner of this stall about this order I got.”

“That would be me. Hi, my name is Jillian.”

“Quinn, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Quinn. Now, you said you had an order?” He said as he opened up his book and located an empty page.

“That I have.” Handing over the note, Jillian raised his glasses over his eyes and took note of the order, closing his book as he finished.

“There we go, tell Jack I’ll get it sorted.”

“Thank you. You don’t exactly look like a farmer to me if I may say.”

“That’s because I am not, my father and mother run the farm, and I simply sell the produce from here so they can farm in peace.”

“I see. Well, best I get going.”

“Stay safe Mr. Quinn, good day.”

“See you.”

List completed, I folded the note back in my pocket and headed back to the inn. As I got back, Jack thanked me and served me up a serving of ham and potatoes with some salad on the side, the taste of it made me think back to home, of my mother’s cooking. Not full, but satisfied enough to survive for now, I thanked Jack and headed out to the streets and towards the castle in the distance.

Not long now.

[darley1101]

July 15 Friendship (Jake x Bailey/MC ES)

Title: Shut Up And Kiss Me

Book: Endless Summer

Pairing: Jake x Bailey/F!MC with mention of others

Rating: PG-13

Warning/Triggers: Teasing from friend, kiss that happens because of a bet

Summary: 'We could die tomorrow.' The severity of what they're about to face has Bailey stepping out of her comfort zone.

Request: July 15 Friendship  from @endlessly-searching-for-you , “Just shut up and kiss me already” from @endlessly-searching-for-you's February challenge, and 'Kissing because of a bet.' Both made by @brightpinkpeppercorn

A/N: I know this isn't exactly the whole gang but this is what I've got. I hope you enjoy! Tags are at the end of the story. If you would like to be added, moved, or removed please let me know. If you enjoyed the story please consider giving it a like, comment, or a re-blog so others might enjoy it as well.

Less Talk, More Action

Curling her body into one of the mod patterned club chairs that dotted The Celestial lobby, Bailey laid her head in the crook of her arm and tried to focus on anything but the turmoil brewing outside the hotel's gates. She'd let Diego talk her into this trip because it was supposed to be a 'once in a lifetime experience in paradise'. He'd been right about the once in a lifetime experience but she was still waiting for paradise. The image of a shaggy haired pilot with laughing blue eyes and a dimpled grin flashed before her but quickly faded. Guys like Jake Mackenzie, who coined nicknames at the drop of a hat and drank like a proverbial sailor, were seldom interested in girls like her; smart girls who were more comfortable coding a new app or researching the best way to build an eco friendly tiny house than they were with flirting. He was a good time guy looking for a good time girl, which Bailey was decidedly not.

“We could die tomorrow,” Diego announced before dropping into the chair adjacent to hers. “Bailey...” She looked up when he nudged her with his knee, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. “Did you hear what I said?”

“We could die tomorrow,” she parroted, her voice void of emotion.

“Exactly. We could die tomorrow. Which means...this could be our last night on earth.”

Bailey sat up, her long hair spilling over her shoulder like liquid sunshine. “You're not going to confess your secret love are you because...no offense...you're not my type.” She tried to smile, to keep things light despite the heaviness that hung in the air. It didn't work. The smile twisted into a grimace that fell flat and then faded.

“What?” Diego's eyes widened in horror. “Ew! No! You're sporting a few things that are kind of a big turn off for me.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting lightly on his knees while he worried his lower lips between his teeth. “No, I was thinking...this could be our last night on earth and maybe you should, I don't know, live a little...just in case.”

“I've lived.” Bailey scowled, her mind scrambling for at least one example that would knock the knowing smirk off her best friend's face. “I helped that football player write his paper last week,” she reminded him. “And I bought that purple bikini for this trip...which I wore to the pool last night thank you very much.”

“You're a tutor Bai, it's sort of in your job description to help other students with their homework.”

“Yes, but I wrote most of the report for him,” Bailey interjected.

“Doesn't count.” Diego rolled his eyes and held up his hand when she started to push the matter of that teeny, tiny purple bikini she'd bought on a whim. “And...the bikini doesn't really count either because you wore a t shirt over it.”

“It was cold.” Dropping her feet to the floor, Bailey let out a shaky breath before letting her gaze sweep across the spacious lobby. Quinn sat on the floor, her back propped against the front desk, while Estela and Sean engaged in what looked to be a heated discussion, and Jake slumped in one of the chairs nursing a bottle of rum. The rest of their group was no where to be found. 'They're just hanging out elsewhere,' she reminded herself before any sort of panic could set in. Before she could stop herself, her gaze wandered back to Jake. Stubble covered his chiseled jaw and his sandy colored hair kept flopping in his eyes, making her fingers itch with the need to brush it off his face.

“The pool is heated.”

Jerking her attention back to Diego, Bailey opened her mouth to counter his remark only to snap her lips into a thin line when she realized he was right. “You don't always have to be right, you know, it's not attractive.”

“Being right is one of the few things I have going for me Bai, let me have it.”

“Don't say that,” Bailey scowled. “You have a lot going for you Diego. Anyone would be lucky to call you theirs.”

“You're my best friend, you have to say that.” Diego glanced in the direction of the others, his gaze lingering on Jake. “He keeps looking over here you know.”

“Wha...no....who...” Blood rushed to Bailey's cheeks, staining them the same crimson shade as the spaghetti strapped tank top she wore. She'd been so careful not to let anyone see or know about the ridiculous little crush she'd developed on their pilot. If Jake had somehow figured it out...well it was  for the best they were all probably going to die tomorrow because she didn't think she could stomach him looking at her with pity or outright rejecting her.

“The hottie pilot, that's who...” Diego narrowed his eyes, a telling smirk tweaking the corners of his lips. “Which I think you already know because you keep looking at him too.”  

“I do not!”

A snort past Diego's lips. “Sell that lie to someone who doesn't know you so well.”

Bailey opened her mouth to defend her actions only to snap it shut again. What was the point in arguing the details? Diego wasn't blind and Bailey wasn't subtle. “What does it matter, guys like that never notice girls like me.”

“Please,” Diego scoffed. “If you were to walk over there right now and lay one on him I seriously doubt he'd complain. In fact,” he paused, a suspicious glimmer brightening his dark eyes, “I dare you to go over there and kiss him.”

Sucking in her breathe, Bailey stared at her best friend in horror. “You're insane!” There was no way in hell she was going to walk over there and try to kiss a guy who had zero interest in her. They might die tomorrow but damn it she would die with her pride in tact. 'Your virginity too,' an inner voice teased. It sounded oddly like Diego, damn it. “That would be like me daring you to...to...” her mind reeled, trying to think of some off the wall dare for Diego but nothing came to mind. “No. Just...no.”

“Chicken.”

Bailey narrowed her eyes. “I am not a chicken.”

The teasing dimmed in Diego's eyes and his face grew serious. “All kidding aside...you kind of are. You never take any risks. You always play it safe. I know you're scared of getting hurt but being cautious all the time...you're not really living. You're just existing. This could be our last night on earth. You like the guy. I'm serving up a reason to kiss him on a silver platter. If he freaks you can laugh it off as a dare. If he doesn't...well...there are worse ways of spending your potentially last night on earth than making out with a hot pilot. You never know,” he winked, “you might finally cash in that v card.”

Was Diego right? Was she merely existing and not really living? The fact that she couldn't answer the question left her a bit unsettled. That wasn't how she meant to be. She couldn't even explain why she was that way. Inhaling deeply, she darted her gaze between Diego and Jake. “You've only got one life to live,” she muttered, rising from her chair. “And by golly if it ends tomorrow you're going to be able to say you took a chance.” Heart pounding like a bass drum she slowly walked across the lobby. Her palms felt clammy and sweat was starting to bead across her upper lip. Shit. Fuck. What was she doing? Her feet faltered. She should turn around; just turn around and high tail it back to the semi-comfortable chair she'd left. “No,” she whispered furiously. “You're going to do this.” Squaring her shoulders, chin raised high, she forced herself to close the distance between herself and Jake. “Uh..hi.”

Jake glanced up, one eye squinted. “Hey Princess.”

Princess. The silly nickname sent shivers of warmth and excitement through her body. “So...we could die tomorrow and...well...Diego...he...well...he dared me to kiss you...he called me a chicken, see...and if we really are going to die tomorrow I don't want to die a chicken...so-” Her words cut off in a squeak when Jake tugged her down on to his lap.

“Anyone tell you that you talk too much, Princess?” Wide eyed, Bailey shook her head and then nodded. She parted her lips, ready to launch into an explanation of why when he rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “So how about you shut up and kiss me.” 

[patrickcharlton-oshea-author]

Chapter Seven:         “Ow!”         Once more, Peter woke into darkness. This darkness was more stuffy and musty though. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his forehead and a burst of stars caused him to lie back again. Through a rising panic he explored his environment with the only sense available: touch. He was bounded on all sides by silk-lined walls, leaving little room to move. Eventually he found a braided cord by his head and pulled on it vigorously. Far off a tinkling bell could be heard. Right. The bell. He continued to pull the rope as hard as he could.         “All right. Keep your shroud on.” A voice from outside his confinement grumbled. “Damn Travellers. Why can't they stay dead like the rest of you lot?” A sliver of light pierced the darkness, then widened as the lid of the sarcophagus was pushed aside. Peering in was quite possibly the ugliest face Peter had seen since joining the game. It was indescribable.         He sat up and took a deep breath of fresh air. Well, air anyway. It was decidedly not fresh in here. The walls were lined with horizontal alcoves in which resided skeletons. Some had weapons and shields placed on them. Some had jewellery strung from their bony bodies. They were all absolutely dead.         “Well, Traveller? Would you like some more time to regenerate, or are you ready to face the world again?” The man asked. It had to be a man. Nature couldn't possibly be that cruel to a girl. It's frame was hunched, knobbly and moved weirdly. The voice that issued from him was oddly calming however.         “I'm ready to get up, thank you. Sorry for going crazy with the bell. It's the first time I've died.” Peter edged over the side of the stone coffin and stood blinking in the half-light.         “Oh-ho! A first timer! Well, welcome to my crypt. I'm Jacob, and it's my job to guide you to the Sisters of Mercy. Follow me.” He began to head for the door with an odd, rolling gait. Peter thought he might have made a decent sailor with that walk. “I've not had a Traveller through here in a little bit. Folks just aren't dying like they used to.”         Peter followed him along a torch lit tunnel. They were well spaced apart and he was glad of it, his eyes were still quite sensitive. “Popular place, was it?” “Oh, for sure,” Jacob replied. “It's dead centre of town. People were dying to get in here. I even used to have my band practice down here, until people complained. Apparently we were loud enough to wake the dead.”         Peter smiled to himself. His dad told the same sort of jokes all the time. Then his smile faded. His dad used to joke, but hadn't in a long time.         After a walk long enough that Jacob's jokes had started to repeat, they arrived at a steel ladder set into the stone. “Up you go young sir. Thank you for listening to an old crypt keeper’s rambling. The Sisters will meet you at the top of the ladder. They've got tea and biscuits I'm told. Now, as much as I like the company, I hope I don't see you again. In a box, at least. Feel free to drop by the cemetery any time.”         Peter took hold of the first rung and Jacob ambled off, muttering to himself good naturedly. When most of your friends are dead, you get used to the sound of your own voice, he guessed.         At the top of the ladder he was indeed met by a Sister in the usual habit. Instead of speaking, she merely gestured for him to follow a short way down a much lighter corridor, with walls that were all white marble with sconces set in a much more regular manner. He was waved into a room with a wooden chair and desk against one wall and a rug and cushions on the opposite side. On the desk was parchment and a quill with an ink bottle. Set in front of the cushions was a small coffee table with a steaming mug and an assortment of snacks. Peter threw himself down on the cushions, grabbed a biscuit and dunked it in his tea. Munching on the snack he looked around to find himself alone. He sat and sipped the tea, which was quite excellent, and thought about how he'd died. It had hurt, and the surprise had made it worse. It had shocked him so much that as soon as the darkness had rolled in he'd logged out, fast. He replayed the moment in his mind again. He'd experienced something similar when Billy had hit him. The surprise that someone, or in the rabbit's case, something, had wanted to hurt him so badly. He was feeling an odd mixture of rage and fear. He desperately wanted to hunt down the mad bunny and cause it as much pain as it had inflicted upon him. Yet, it had taken him down so fast, so easily, he dreaded that it'd do exactly the same again. Peter sipped his tea again. Perhaps he should simply leave it alone for now. If he was more careful, quieter and more attentive he could avoid putting himself in that situation again until he was stronger, and armed.         Sparked by the thought of arms, Peter rolled up his now very grubby sleeve and looked at his left forearm. He scrolled through his stats to the skills section, worried about experience point loss. It had been mentioned on the wiki that when your character died you could lose stats and skill points. He had no stats to speak of anyway, but he'd just earned himself some points in herbalism, fractional though they had been. No, the score was unchanged. Still sitting at 0.3%. He let out a sigh of relief, which cut off shortly. He quickly scrolled to the inventory mark and popped it open. The berries were all still there, and his sickle was undamaged. Unlike his clothes that were rapidly becoming tattered, it was almost pristine. This time his sigh of relief was uninterrupted.         Just as he swallowed the last of his tea, a Sister appeared in the doorway. It could have been the same one. Was there even more than one here? “Traveller, are you prepared to face the world again?” she asked. He thought the voice was the same as the one he'd met in the chapel, but he wasn't certain. They might have just used the same voice actress for all of them. When he nodded assent to the question, the priestess gestured for him to follow her. They walked  up the hallway and ascended a short flight of stairs which brought them out into the graveyard. The priestess bowed and retired back below.         Jacob was there, tidying a plot with a scythe. It wasn't a large graveyard, room only for about fifty plots and a marble arch that led down into the crypts. The tall brick walls kept the air still in here, but the sun shone gently, reflecting off the polished headstones. One plot stood empty with a pile of fresh dirt next to it. Peter wandered over, curious. The headstone bore his name. Shocked, he called out to the crypt keeper.         “Jacob. What the hell?”         “Well, Traveller, how did you think you got down into my crypts?” Jacob leaned the scythe against the stone. “By the grace of the gods, when you bind your soul to this place a stone is set in the yard here. If you die out there, your body is brought here by their will and I have to dig you up and take you down for a rest while your body knits itself together. Most Travellers are awake and screaming when this happens, but some lucky few sleep through it like you did. It's one of the reasons Travellers go to such lengths to avoid dying. Massive sets of armour, magic potions and shields, some even hire mercenaries to do the adventuring for them. Still, I usually gets to see them all at least once. Now, I've got duties to attend to, unless you want something else?”         “No, thank you,” Pete mumbled distractedly. “You've given me much to think about.”         Pete wandered over to a nearby bench and sat down. Lifelike NPCs, painful deaths AND respawning in a coffin. None of this had been noted in his research. What else hadn't been mentioned? Was it even worth playing? But the flipside of the coin wasn't much better. His parents didn't look like they were going to stop fighting any time soon. Did his dad really just fall asleep working? He was in for a world of pain when he got back to school anyway and the advice he'd been given sounded like it was going to earn him more beatings whether he listened to his mum or dad. At least here he knew he could eventually do something about it. Armour had been mentioned, as had magic. Now he just needed the means to acquire it.         The quest! Peter jumped up and ran out the gate of the graveyard excitedly. He'd completed the quest for the herbalist and was owed some money! Running into the square he found he had absolutely no idea where to go from there. He checked his arm again, flicking to the quests section and thumbing the guiding lights option. Once more the little lights shimmered into life to show him where to go. Magic GPS, what an idea.         Following the flickering trail along the street was a cinch. It wended itself around people, NPCs, Peter reminded himself. There couldn’t be this many people role playing as Citizens, could there? Jogging along the trail Peter kept one eye on the lights to ensure he was going the right way and turned his attention to his surroundings. He passed a few stalls, one selling fruit, one selling smallgoods, one selling an impact...         Wait? An impact? Peter was flung through the air, visions of a large animal mixing with sky and ground. He skidded to a halt in a jumble of arms and legs. Picking himself and dusting off his increasingly ruined clothing he looked back the way he'd come. The lights passed through a rider on a barded warhorse as though it wasn't even there. Peter thought about this as he tried his best to tidy up. Maybe the magic GPS didn't account for Travellers, if that’s what the rider was. He certainly looked the part. Peter picked up a clod of earth and slung it at the back of the oblivious twat who'd paid exactly zero attention to the poor person he'd bowled over. They were just riding up the middle of the street as though they owned the road. Of course, his stats in this game were the much the same as his athletic ability in real life, and the clod bounced off the head of a random figure who'd just stepped out their front door.         As the poor innocent tried in vain to solve the Mystery of the Muck Missile, Peter ducked guiltily into an alley between two houses. Then he remembered the bus that had embarrassed him the previous morning and felt vindicated. Stupid machines, Skynet could suck it. So could the jerk on his armoured ass. “Bugger them,” he thought, and strode back out into the street. Pointedly ignoring the ruckus up the street where the Mysterious Muck Missile Manhunt had become a small riot with pointed fingers and accusations thrown as randomly as Peter’s clod, Peter followed the lights down the road to an unassuming building with a wooden sign in the shape of a maple leaf hung above the door.         Opening the door to a jingling bell Peter found himself in a dimly lit room lined with open topped boxes and labelled jars. Behind a counter at the back of the room stood an elderly man with an impressively long white beard. The flickering lights had formed a ring around him, indicating he was the objective of the quest. The herbalist himself, he assumed. Well, he could wait. Peter browsed the merchandise, examining the assorted leaves, roots and sticks of exotic wood. Some he recognised from the real world, camphor wood, cinnamon sticks and vanilla seed pods. Others were clearly made up. He doubted that there was any such thing as Blood Orchid root, mallets from a Sledgehammer Plant, or Dragon Fruit seeds.         The man at the back of the room coughed to get his attention. “Can I help you, young Traveller? Is there something specific you need for, say, a potion or salve?”         Peter ceased his browsing and opened his inventory. He withdrew twenty of the berries and placed them on the counter. “I have come to fulfil your quest. You needed raspberries, yes?”         The herbalist's face lit up with a smile. He quickly swept the berries into a large jar and hid it under the counter whilst looking shiftily behind him at the curtain that separated the shop from the rest of the building. “Well done, Traveller. Here are five coppers for your efforts,” he whispered, dropping the coins onto the counter. You'd think Peter had just brought in a package of illicit drugs the way he was acting.         “May I ask, what sort of potion do you make with those?” Peter inquired, whispering as well.         “No potion, I just really love raspberries. My wife says I eat too many so I have to hide them from her,” he replied with a wink. In a louder voice he continued. “Maybe you seek recipes? Your interest in my wares suggests you may be in the herb business yourself?”         Shaken by the sudden change of tone, Peter stammered, “R-r-recipes? I'm new to the world, could you explain, please?”         “Certainly, Traveller. Whilst you can eat the raw ingredients to gain the benefits of a herb, you also receive all the effects from that herb. Recipes and the correct brewing equipment will allow you to distil the desired effect. I have for sale a basic mortar and pestle, a small cauldron – popular with the alchemist on the move – and the recipes for basic health and essence potions. I also carry more advanced recipes like barkskin, stoneskin, alacrity and mental acuity enhancement. Which would you like?”         Peter dropped his voice to a whisper again. “First, I have some more raspberries, if you're interested.” He placed the rest of the berried from his cache on the counter.         “I can only accept twenty more, Traveller. Any more and I'll have a stomach ache, and the rest will spoil. I can offer three coppers, is that acceptable?” When Peter nodded his assent, the berries were swiftly replaced with the metal disks.         “Good sir, I have but eight coppers to my name.” Peter raised his voice again. “What do you have that you can offer in that price range?”         “Nay young lad. Whilst that sum would procure some herbs from these stocks, it wouldn’t afford you the meanest of the tools I have to offer.” The herbalist shook his head sadly.         Dismayed, Peter slunk out, slamming the door behind him. He was getting exceptionally tired, his eyes were burning and head filling with cotton wool. He couldn’t catch a break.         “It must be past midnight. I should try getting some actual sleep.” He sat on the step outside the shop, closed his aching eyes and logged off for the second time that night.

[galadrieljones]

zero: chapter 6

Fandom: Horizon: Zero Dawn | Pairing: Aloy x Nil | Rating: M (Mature)

Content: Existential Angst, Touch-Starved, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse, First Loves in the Wild, Slow Burn, Violence, Love Triangles, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Post-Traumatic Stress

Chapter 1: Zero | Chapter 2: Driftless | Chapter 3: Borderlands | Chapter 4: Keep | Chapter 5: History | AO3

Forgiveness

“He won’t be there,” said the barmaid. She was putting together a nice cup of coffee for Aloy. The tavern had big, wooden walls and low, brass lights, and it was rather crowded for a typical morning in the Maizelands. Somebody was talking like a parade had come to town. New merchants from the Borderlands with new wares, and this got the villagers excited.

“What do you mean?” said Aloy. She had her hands folded on the counter in front of her.

“If you’re going to see brother Nil? He won’t be there. He caught word on some bandits from Oseram travelers. He told me to tell you if you came, and he left a note where his camp used to be. He said it would be a note that only you can read. Whatever that means.”

Aloy got red in her cheeks. She felt the go-between nature of this barmaid and the rest of her life, and it was making her itch. She sighed and rested her chin in her hands. “More bandits,” she said. “Great.”

“Are you surprised?” said the barmaid. She handed Aloy a little cup and saucer. The coffee smelled good. They didn’t have coffee in the Sacred Lands and Aloy was growing used to it here.

“Not really,” said Aloy. “He’s not really the sitting-still type.”

“And neither are you, I take it,” said the barmaid with her green eyes. She introduced herself as Brissa. “I knew Nil as a kid in Meridian Village. I don't know that he remembers me exactly whenever he comes in here. I was a touch younger, but I remember him.”

“Did you know Avad?”

She blushed. She was tall and rangy and beautiful, but she wore a wedding ring and had some ceremonial tattoos on her neck that communicated the rites of a Carja marriage. “No,” she said. “Only Nil knew Prince Avad.”

“Does everybody know Nil? It seems like they do.”

“Not everybody,” said Brissa, smiling. “But many do. None speak of him anymore, of course. They all think he was a betrayer, but I remember what happened in Sunfall, and a lot of us know the truth behind his allegiances.”

“What truth?” said Aloy.

“That his mother was murdered by Oseram mercenaries,” she said, almost casual. She began polishing a glass with an old brown rag. “Mercenaries who later joined Avad’s cause in Meridian. Nil was a teenager. It was a big deal.”

Aloy felt suddenly very far away and cold. “His mother was killed by Oseram?” she said.

“Yes,” said Brissa. She set down the glass and rubbed her eyes. Then she looked right at Aloy, very serious. “He doesn’t talk about it, does he?”

“No,” said Aloy. “He doesn’t.”

Brissa sighed. She seemed unsurprised by this, the fact that Nil had kept it all a secret. “I guess you two just live in the moment then,” she said. She looked up. “Am I right?”

“What does that mean?”

“You both hurt, but you don’t talk about it. Why not?”

“I’m fine,” said Aloy, so quick and so certain, she almost convinced herself.

But Brissa was not so easy. She sort of squinted, leaning over the bar as if she were reading the glyphs of truth on Aloy’s soul. She nodded, once. “Right,” she said, smiling. Then she changed the subject. “When he moved away from Meridian Village, you know, we were all so sad.” She sighed. “He was so cute, and he writes good stories. He used to read them at the campfire and change his voice for all the characters.”

Aloy allowed herself to laugh at this. “Nil?” she said.

“He used to be much happier,” said Brissa. It was a blunt fact as she tended to her nails with a slender file from her pocket. The Carja spoke with a forward measure. They rarely hid their truths and were uncontained with bravado like the Oseram or the Nora. They wore their bravado on their faces in tattoos and ceremonial make-up. They wore it on their head-dresses and elaborate fashions of metal and ceramic plates. “He was light on his feet back then.”

Aloy nodded, feeling a little guilty for some reason.

“Were you ever light on your feet?” said Brissa.

Aloy gave her a look. She pushed the hair off her face and felt suddenly persecuted. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“Nothing,” said Brissa, innocently. Like it was all a joke. “I just get that you’re a warrior-type, and him, too. So serious. My brother’s a little like that. Not my husband. He’s a fisherman and he just wears his emotions like jewelry. That is why I love him. But still, working at a bar, I’ve had some practice.”

“I’m not that serious,” said Aloy. “I can be…less serious. And I don’t even know if I’m a warrior. I mean, I’m good at stabbing stuff, if that’s what you mean.”

Brissa laughed at this. “You’ll come around one of these nights, Aloy, and I’ll get you toasted off your ass,” she said. “We can talk about your whole life, and your big handsome lover Nil and his childhood brevity.”

Aloy felt very tense in her face and her neck as she drank her coffee. The room was warm and itchy. She tried to pay with a couple coins before she left but Brissa would hear nothing of it.

Afterward, Aloy encountered a distressed man in Brightmarket who had grown worried upon the disappearance of his daughter. It came suddenly, like a big wind in a canyon and took Aloy off guard so that she could not escape him. She’d been busy, walking along the river, gathering up ridgewood for her arrows, trying not to feel both sad and elated at once. She didn’t even see him coming and then suddenly she was involved in his life, and he had a very sad face that made her think of Rost, and then it was too much, and it was in this moment that Aloy felt her heart shut itself away behind a curtain and she began to realize exactly what Brissa had meant about her being a warrior, and she felt annoyed.

The man’s name was Lahavis. He was a diplomat, high born, and he had dealings in the Carja Civil War, and Aloy wondered about his allegiances. His daughter, Elida, had disappeared, and Lahavis was worried that she had taken her own life.

“Why would she do something like that?” said Aloy. They stood by the river, which smelled of medicine. It was late morning, and she had a whole bundle of ridgewood beneath her arm, on her way out to Nil's camp.

But the man looked disheveled. He became uncertain and panicked. “I don’t know. Why would she? She is about your age. Why would a young woman about your age find herself in despair?”

Aloy sighed and didn’t have the answer. “People get sad,” she said. It seemed to be the only true response. She gave in, because the man seemed desperate, and he offered to pay her. “I’ll find Elida.”

“Thank you,” said Lahavis, and then he started to cry and leaned into the railing of the bridge over the river where they talked beneath the rising sun. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

Elida was pretty and mild, and it turned out she had stolen a boat off the Brightmarket docks and rowed it across the canal to an abandoned little island covered in moss. It was hell getting over there. Aloy tracked her to a beach that faced out against the lake, and she was surprised by a Snapmaw, which she killed quickly, but those things were long and evil, and she sustained a kind of bad frostbite to her left arm. She sat swearing and sweaty down the beach from the big, sparking beast and all of its severed electronic impulses. It was dead. “Stupid fucker,” she said as she examined her injury and spat into the sand. She saw a girl then, climbing down from the mesa overhead. This startled Aloy at first, as she was on her guard, but then she noticed the delicate weaving of the girl’s lavender dress, her shiny hair. This was a noble girl, hesitant, and Aloy knew right away that it was Elida, and she sighed with relief, as she assumed this meant her job was complete.

But Elida was atypical in her behavior. She did not speak at first and seemed unwell and frightened. She rushed to her little camp under one of the escarpments in the cliffside, and she rifled through a little hope chest without a word until she found a small covered jar full of a thick salve that Aloy recognized, and then she approached Aloy with the utmost caution.

She held out the jar. “Thank you,” she said, shy. “Here. For your wound.”

Aloy took it without question, staring at her and trying to figure out what to make of this scenario. “Elida?” she said.

“Yes,” said Elida. She then became curious. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Like what?”

“You killed that Snapmaw with just a tripwire and your bow. It was incredibly fast. I thought you were going to die.”

“Oh,” said Aloy. She sighed. She unscrewed the jar and smelled the contents inside. It was hintergold and something stronger. “I’ve had a lot of practice. I don’t recommend it.”

“How do you know my name?” said Elida then, sitting down beside Aloy. “Did my father send you?”

Aloy rolled up her sleeve. The patch of frostbite was small and incomplete but it hurt like fuck. “Yes, he did.”

“Did he pay you?”

She wouldn’t lie. “Yes. But I’m not going to make you do what you don’t want to do, Elida. I just came to make sure you’re all right. I’m not here to force you home if that’s not what you want.”

Elida nodded. She seemed to trust Aloy. She glanced back to her camp. It was set up with a square garden of pretty herbs and a tent and a dead fire, some dead rabbits strung up and many more salves and potions for medicinal healing. The day was bright and new, the sun hot overhead. Aloy noticed that the camp had two bedrolls, and she looked around, but there didn't seem to be anyone else there on the island.

Meanwhile, Elida took off her elegant head-dress, and she drew up her knees and hung her head between them, and she sighed. She had red And puffy eyes. It looked like she’d been crying on and off for a very long time. “I’m alone,” she said.

“Are you?” said Aloy.

“At the moment, yes. I’ve been waiting for someone, but I don’t know where he is. I am okay, though. I promise.”

“Who are you waiting for?”

Elida became troubled. She looked away and her cheeks were very pink. She began drawing shapes in the red sand at her feet. An elephant, a butterfly. “Your name is Aloy, right?”

Aloy looked down at her hands as Elida changed the subject, the linen wraps around her knuckles and wrists, and she played along. “Yes. I’m Aloy.”

“I’ve heard all your stories,” said Elida. “How you saved King Avad from the Oseram invaders. How you can tame machines with your spear.” She looked up, curious and bright. “And yet now, you’re here for me? My father must be paying you a lot.”

“It’s not about money,” said Aloy, rubbing her hands together and pressing them into the sand. “Or, maybe it is a little. But in the end, I think you’re kind of my age, and I just—took an interest. Your father was worried you’d killed yourself, Elida. That’s serious.”

“He was?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’ll get it then,” said Elida. She drew some more shapes: a tree, a sun, a hand. “Maybe I can tell you. Maybe you’ll understand.” It was almost like she was talking to herself. “You’re you.”

“Maybe I’ll understand what?”

“What I’m doing here,” she said. She sniffled. She started to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry,” said Aloy. “Don’t apologize.” She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, but she felt brute in her attempts at comfort as she always did. She did not feel like a comforting person, and this made her insecure. She did not know how to be soft, and she didn’t know what this meant for her. She was not a wise, soul-reading barkeep or a noble maiden wasting away on an island of moss. She had never learned those things. She was an outcast. “Please.” She lowered her voice anyway. She tried, because that’s what Aloy did. “It’s okay, whatever it is. It can be fixed.”

“Can it?” said Elida, a question.

“Well, maybe not,” said Aloy, giving in, feeling tired all of a sudden. “But I can’t know unless you tell me what’s wrong. Is this about another person? The person who shares your tent?”

“Do you know about that?” said Elida. “Have you ever been close to someone like that?”

Aloy thought hard about it. Despite the untold histories, the secrets, she knew now that she had. “Yes, a little.”

So Elida took a deep breath and told Aloy about Atral. She told Aloy that Atral had helped her plant the little garden by the camp, that they had used to be friends but now they were more than friends. She told Aloy that he had joined the Shadow Carja, and that this was their doom. She said that the war had changed him, that it had changed them both irrevocably, and that in answering that change, they fell in a kind of hard love, the only thing that could save their young souls. It was the only thing, like bells ringing in a far away land, and it drew them to its beauty but it was impossible, and it was ghosts. All ghosts. She needed help finding him and making sure he was okay, and she felt belittled by her weaknesses, and her father was too curious and too concerned to be of any help at all, and so she had to leave him or else go crazy. “He won’t get it,” she said. “All he’ll see is treason.”

She spoke of Atral’s sad eyes as the sun went up and up over the mesa. She spoke of how the war seemed to make him both taller but also brittle and sad. Aloy became so wrapped up in the story, she cast her eyes to the sky and then she closed them. She forced her mind into darkness for it was all she knew. Elida was a proper girl with good posture and enunciation, that is what she tried to think about. Elida did not deserve this, because she was an innocent. But then, Elida said something at the end of her melancholy prayer of love, and it was gritty and strange, and it jerked Aloy hard into the moment in which her idiotic deflection tactics fell away like an old curtain, and she saw only Nil inside her mind’s eye, and everything that became of him when the sun went down.

“It’s like…I’m dead,” said Elida, still drawing those shapes in the red sand. But they’d started to mix together, and Aloy couldn’t tell them apart anymore. “It’s like I’m dead, and I only come alive when I’m here with him.” She looked at Aloy, the utmost earnestness in her strange, royal eyes. “Do you know what that’s like, Aloy?”

Aloy became confused, because she did not. No matter what had happened to her, she had never once felt dead. She wondered if Nil felt dead sometimes, because that is who she thought of when the big questions came to mind. “No,” she said. “But I can understand what you’re feeling, Elida.”

Elida nodded, her eyes like little sad lights in empty windows. “You’re lucky then,” she said, wiping away all of the pictures she’d drawn in the sand, smoothing them free with her palm. “I feel so empty.”

“I’ll find Atral,” said Aloy, like a reflex. “Don’t worry.”

  And she did. She did find Atral, but it wasn't what any of them wanted. Even still. I’m not dead, she said to herself that day and all night, like a chant, a reminder of self-forgiveness for all the things she wanted and wished for and how it measured up with what had come to pass. Losing Sickle, kissing Nil by the river. I am me, she said as she lit an entire patrol of kestrels on fire, and as she watched, covered in blood, as Atral died on the dirty fucking floor of a cliffside watch on what had otherwise been a very clear and beautiful moonlit night. He was sturdy and good and he had kind eyes, and she didn’t understand what could make a young man like this get caught up inside a war like that. But how could she? Knowing what she knew now, or what she didn’t, rather. He gave Aloy a little metal key, all bloody, pressed it into her palm as if to symbolize the entirety of young love and life right there in a single gesture. Then, he asked if Elida was safe, and he asked for forgiveness. He promised that he had never betrayed her or their secret meeting spot. He said, “Give her this key, and please. Tell her…tell her it’s all worth it.”

Aloy left Brightmarket that very night, feeling mixed and torn, with Elida tucked into her grief and her loving father’s arms behind her. Elida had cried, but she was oddly filled with a new and tearful optimism that renewed Aloy. The woods were warm that night, and welcoming to her weary soul after she found Nil's note, accompanied by a cryptic map, and she sprinted cleanly through the forest, staying in the shadows, as quiet as can be, and when the moon was high and she knew that it was getting into the witching hour, and she had traveled many miles and made it very far,  she found a freshwater pool somewhere isolated off the river with the moonlight sprinkling through the trees and the fireflies off in the distance, and this is where she decided to build her simple camp for the night, and she took off all her clothes and folded them neatly beside the bedroll, and then she went into the water and washed Atral’s blood out of her hand creases and out of her hair. It felt good in the water, and she wasn’t afraid. She slept in her tent with the flap open and no fire, sound traps and tripwires planted everywhere, on all sides, but it was quiet that night in these parts of the Sundom, and nothing and nobody disturbed, almost as if someone had cleared a path for her.

Sometimes, when Aloy thought about Nil, she thought only about his demeanor upon killing a man. He stood tall and fierce as he ripped the spear from the meat of their spine, as if certain he could never die, and he let the body fall heavy to his feet in anger. But at the end of the day, there was nobody better at building and maintaining a camp than Nil. His delicate ways in how he applied the medicine, braided her hair. She wondered what it would have been like to hear his stories in childhood, all his different voices to pass the time. She thought about those days after Sickle, and how many nights she’d spent in the Borderlands, punishing herself—but for what? Punishment for something she couldn’t place. But she knew now. Survival is not a crime. This is what Aloy decided that night, young and feeling young. It is all worth it. She drifted, safe and sound in the far-flung weeds of existence with the big bugs buzzing in the treetops overhead. Her hair was down and unbraided as she slept, drying to frizz against the pillow that smelled of aloe and pine.

[yesnomaybelobster33]

Winning (Sfw)

Blurr had tried his best. Really he did. But once he caught Knock Out talking about him in the corner booth with his conjunx he just couldn’t pull his attention away. He wasn’t even really talking about him, just drunk and irritated he was bemoaning how shoddy Cybertron and everything to do with it was. How much money and supplies Velocitron was pumping into the place for little to no change. How angry Override was. So of course he was bitching about how they had came to find themselves in the situation. How Blurr was nothing but a second rate wannabe, how he had cheated. No holds barred meant anything went but that meant anything by a racer’s own personal merit. There was no way another racer could have gone down and done the things Windblade had done. He’d had the win handed to him. All the twists, all the turns. He was nothing but a fraud who couldn’t stand on his own speed.

At the time none of that mattered to him. He’d been racing for Cybertron not himself. They needed Velocitron’s assets so they abused their broken system and Override’s adherence to good face to keep their win despite Knock Out ousting them and raising one hell of a fight as far as Moonracer informed them. He couldn’t even blame the mech for it. He had every right. Cybertron was a slagpit but it was their slagpit. Now though the facts of how he’d won were getting to him. Knock Out was getting to him. Blurr could handle snide comments, he could handle scathing looks. He almost felt bad for the mech despite his less than congenial attitude. Knock Out didn’t want to be there. He was angry Moonracer had gone behind his back and forced him into the situation. He was making the best of everything but his true feelings had to come out sometimes and there was no denying he was right. Blurr had cheated even with Velocitron’s rules. Blurr was no cheater.

He had just called closing and Breakdown was stacking their glasses and about to escort his conjunx from his seat when the bartender slammed his servo down on the table. He put on his best smile and cocked his hip. Figuring the mech was still burning hot there was no way he was going to say no. “Hey. Wanna race?”

Knock Out looked up at him, a slight cloud in his optics but it would clear by the time Blurr dragged him off to their track. His face stayed impassive though. Blurr’s confidence dropped but he kept on smiling. “No.” NO? “However you are more than welcome to race Breakdown. I think he’s more your speed darling.” Blurr watched Breakdown tug Knock Out close, the mech mouthing apologies for his partner’s behalf as he tried to get him out the door. Blurr wasn’t having it.

“You’re serious. You’re going to sit in my bar and insult me for hours and not follow up. Seems like you’re scared.”  The taunt didn’t seem to work. Either drunk Knock Out’s confidence and petty nature soared or the mech just had a sturdier ego than Blurr presumed.

“I saw what you were capable of. I’m not impressed. Go run to your boss and let her comfort your ego.” Blurr could only watch the other mech walk away and take the rather large tip Breakdown placed in his servos. This wasn’t over.

No matter how much he asked and goaded though Knock Out refused him. Until he finally broke the other mech. He caught Knock Out alone at the bar. He’d been with Moonracer but Moonracer had left five drinks ago. So he nagged. Even slipped the bot a few drinks with the house’s best to get him in the sort of mood. Refusing Blurr had likely become a game for him at this point. A victory more sweet than winning the race against him even would be. Letting Blurr suffer in the unknowable.

By that time of the night he’d actually sat down at a booth with the racer, it was after hours now but he’d gotten the doctor talking. He’d mentioned liking his new paint and that was all it took for Knock Out to go on about his new collection he was going to bring to the poor drab out of date Cybertronian public. When he finally brought up racing though Knock Out sighed, his mood turning in an instant to exhausted.

“D-do you think I’m being mean when I say I can help you be faster? Do you think I’m trying to insult you or be catty? L-et me tell you- I’m not. I….I can be so much crueler than that. That- that is my job. It requires skill. On my home powers rise and fall by my skills and the skills of my competitors and I’ve proven myself the best. Y-you you’re certainly…..you’re not bad…..but you’re recreational. You have fun here on Cybertron and that’s nice. I like having fun. I’m glad Breakdown and Moonracer get to have fun. You’re pride, you and your boss’ insult to my job….that wasn’t fun.”

Blurr didn’t really know where to go with that. It wasn’t a no but...it wasn’t exactly leading to a yes. “Well then why won’t you have fun with me? Come on, if I’m not a challenge -”

“No….because you think me saying you’re not a challenge is an insult. That saying you’re no match is me being cruel. You need to get tougher metal. I don’t like that sort of fighting, it’s rude. I’m not rude I’m honest. Whether you like it or not says more about you than it does me. I’ve been in your sabatons, I’ve fought against what I didn’t want to believe. Here you don’t need my help-and that’s fine. That’s fine. This isn’t Velocitron.”

That...was new. “What do you mean...you’ve been in my sabatons.”

“Of course! I came from Cybertron! I reared up the first batch of new world sparklings myself! We vintage bots….we all had to change to stay ahead. It was hard.”  

“Knock Out?” The mech was off somewhere in his memories.

“It’s not a fair fight. You-you like fair. How about you try racing Moony first. She’s soft sparked and believes sparks and gumption mean more than science too. She’s also very fast. If you can beat her then you can try me. How about that?”

Blurr tried not to roll his optics. Knock Out was barely even listening to him now. Still...he wasn’t talking nonsense just yet. So Knock Out’s bias stemmed from their frame makeups...well….sure Blurr could admit there was some validity to the idea….but it couldn’t matter all that much. Unless there was some new metal forged on Velocitron that Moonracer had failed to mention science couldn’t gotten that far ahead. There was only so much that could be done and Blurr was positive his skill could beat whatever advancements Velocitron had made. He also didn’t want to play Knock Out’s games. So...he lied. “I’ve already raced Moonracer. She is good but I’m better. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you we had a great time.”

Knock Out gave him a skeptical look but sighed as he shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. You pick the track. Tell me the time.”

It was a few nights later and he was standing with Knock Out on the outskirts of the city. Knock Out looked tired. He was sure the mech would use it as an excuse when he lost. Still he stood and waited for Blurr to send the route map to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he opened it. “This route is quite long. I thought this was a test of speed. A drag race would be more appropriate.”

“Oh come on. I’m not delusional I know you’d beat me in a drag race. Your lighter and you can go from zero to four fifty, I can only get to three ninety-four hundred.”

Knock Out threw up his servos in exasperation. “Then why are we here if you know I’m faster.”

“Because this isn’t about that. This is about racing! I know I can beat you.

Knock Out snorted. “Oh okay. How are we doing this?”

“Fair. You stay in your lane all the way to the finish line.”

“Sure.”

The two took their places, Knock Out waiting on Blurr’s call. As soon as it came Blurr could only gawk as Knock Out shot ahead even though he’d been expecting it. It wasn’t a big deal. Knock Out couldn’t last at that speed and as soon as he reached a bend or a turn then Blurr would get ahead. So he diligently sped along, bitterly watching the other mechs taillights. Waiting for his in.

Blurr felt the turn. Watched Knock Out’s frame tip as the force pushed and pulled at him. Figured he’d be a stunt racer. “SLAG!”

Gunning his engine to meet the racer’s pace and forego his usual tricks Blurr kept up. It wasn’t that hard. He knew he could win. The race in Velocitron was just a one time. He hadn’t been used to physical brawls and all the track challenges and trying to beat other professional racers. If he had time to practice that he was sure he could get it down, sure he could handle the challenge. Sure he could- The were almost at the end on the track, still neck in neck yet something caught Blurr’s attention. Knock Out’s speedometer. It was only at four hundred.

Something bubbled in Blurr’s spark. Rage, disappointment, shame. He didn’t know. Knock Out was playing fair, he was giving him a handicap! HIM! He’d wanted to beat the slagger at his top speed not like this! He wanted to prove that fancy metal and frame types didn’t beat skill! Except….in his thoughts he’d neglected to take in Knock Out’s skill. They were both just as good, this was both of their lives after all. It would made sense that Knock Out knew all the tricks, perfected all the techniques... just like he had.

Blurr gunned his engine harder, straining it and his spark to shoot ahead. Knock Out smoothly met him, like it was nothing. Because in his mind it was nothing. He was trying to prove his point. That even the best still had room to get better, that sometimes the best were bested. Vintage...primus the word had stuck in his processor, he may have well just called him trash. Mechs like Kup were vintage, mechs like Alpha Trion were vintage! If Knock Out considered himself vintage….than what did that make Blurr in the other racers optics.

Before he could stop himself Blurr swerved and rammed himself  into Knock Out’s side, just about to make the last turn the lighter mech flipped like coin and rolled off into the dirt. Blurr watched him transform in his rearview and honestly the look in the slaggers face was priceless. Thrill surged through Blurr’s spark as he crossed the line of street lights that lead back into the city that marked their finish line. As he transformed though it quickly faded and guilt set in. Sliding to a halt he kicked at the dust and steel of the road sending up sparks. It wasn’t his fault! Knock Out still didn’t bother giving him a fair race and his anger got the best of him because of it! It was his fault!

Knock Out was smiling, actually laughing as he massaged his dented door as he headed up the last stretch of road on ped. Blurr stormed to meet him. “I want a rematch! I said I wanted a fair race do you even know the meaning of fair where you come from?”

Knock Out threw up his seros again, “Alright I’ll bite, why?”

Blurr felt his digits curl against his palms. He couldn’t believe this slagger? “Because it wasn’t fair! You didn’t race fair!”

“Ah yes but you did.”

“No, but if you hadn’t-”

“If I hadn’t what? I thought I was being very fair.” Blurr held his glossia. There wasn’t anything he could really say. Knock Out was right, even if it wasn’t what Blurr had wanted. He’d won the race with both of them going at the same top speed...except he’d had to cheat to get ahead or else it would have been a tie. “Exactly. Welcome to the Velocitronain mindset. Imagine for me if you will, back on my home two mechs scouting the wilds. They forget the time, the sun is coming and there is only one place to hide. It only fits one. Congratulations Blurr, you survived, you won.”

[thewidowstanton]

Tessa Blackman, hand-to-hand and acrobalance artist, Josh & Tess, Living Room Circus

American circus artist Tessa Blackman – who is from Chicago – trained as a dancer from the age of five. She specialised in classical ballet at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts, and also did tap, jazz and contemporary. She went on train at Chicago’s Second City and has also studied holistic energy and worked with InVision, a school of psychic abilities.

In 2016 she graduated from the National Centre for Circus Arts in London with her hand-to-hand partner Joshua Frazer. As Josh & Tess, their acts are an enticing fusion of ballet and circus. They are members of Living Room Circus and appear in its show The Penguin and I from 29 June – 2 July at The Dairy at Springhill Farm, in Forest Row, Sussex. It runs again on 25 July at Jacksons Lane in London, and the duo appear in Simple Cypher’s Cypher Stories on 26 July at the same venue during its Postcards 2017 season. Tessa chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Any there any other performers in your family? Tessa Blackman: Yes. My mum, Suzanne Lek, was a prima ballerina. My great, great uncle was Nicolas Legat, who was a really famous Russian dancer. He was kind of like in the beginning of the whole Vaganova technique. Back in the day there was the Legat School of Ballet and the Royal Ballet and they were kind of rivals. So my mum went there from ten to 18. But then Legat got shut down. She worked for the London Festival Ballet and then moved to Yugoslavia and worked in a company there. She also worked at Pineapple Dance Studio and then actually first brought Pineapple to New York. My dad isn’t a performer but he loves the arts.

Is your mother Russian? No. Our familly line is Russian but she’s actually Welsh… well, it’s all mxed up because my grandparents lived in Holland but when the Nazis invaded they moved to Wales, cos we’re Jewish. My dad is from Chicago, born and bred.

Did you always want to be a dancer? Yes. When I was five my mother was teaching and I said, ‘Please can I come and take some classes with you?’. There was never pressure. She never pushed me to dance but it was kind of, ‘If you’re gonna do it, you’re gonna do it well.’ Then she pushed me pretty hard, but in a good way. It was tough at times and I danced from five years old up until 19. I went to North Carolina School of the Arts boarding school for ballet and yeah, I always wanted to be a dancer. That was my thing.

So why aren’t you a dancer? Yes, exactly. When I was 18, I had a really bad back injury; I had a herniated disc and that was the end of my ballet career. I kind of took about four years out. All the doctors wanted me to have surgery but there was something instinctual in me that told me not to do it, and I said I didn’t want it. I did holistic therapies and everything I could and essentially healed myself over time. During that time I went to art school, started painting, did a lot of energy work…

Did you do acting at Second City? Isn’t it an improv place? Yeah, they have a five-level improvisational programme and I did that for a year right after NCSA.

What made you move on to circus? Basically when I was living in Chicago and doing all these crazy things, I started getting romantically involved with a Circus du Soleil performer, who was a dancer in Dralion. [Laughs] I was like, ‘This is awesome!’. I was going to all his different shows around the States and he took me backstage one day and I got to meet all the performers. I was talking to them and was like, ‘How do you do this? This looks insane!’ They were like: “Well, you can train your muscles just like you train your muscles for dance.” They gave me this conditioning programme that I started doing on my own. 

Then because I have a UK passport, I decided that I was gonna buy a one-way ticket and move to England. I did that – it worked with our relationship because he was travelling everywhere too – and I researched where I could take circus classes. I found Circus Space, which the National Centre for Circus Arts was at the time. It said, ‘Degree auditons in four weeks’. So I was like, ‘Maybe I should do this’. [Laughs] I trained for four weeks and I got in, which I still can’t believe. I couldn’t believe it happened because I had only really been physically training hard and getting back into shape since my injury probably for six months prior to the audition. I did a dance performance for my audition piece; I’d never done any circus before, I couldn’t even do a handstand. [Laughs]

This is marvellous, almost like running away with the circus… Yeah, I always describe circus to people as like one of those claw machines at fairgrounds that pick up toys. [Makes a claw hand motion] Circus just sort of picks you up and you’re like, ‘Oh, how did I get here?’. Everyone’s story is just completely different. What made you choose hand-to-hand? I was trying a bunch of disciplines and because I had no gymnastics background I had zero upper-body strength. I found aerial quite challenging. Then I started doing acrobalance and me and Josh paired up and started working together. It was really interesting, because we were similar in size and I was basing him a lot and he was basing me, and I realised that actually hand-to-hand was closer to dance than I thought and it felt really good. And we were dating, so it seems as if my romantic life takes me in the direction of my art forms [laughs]. We just dove into it together and started training and we loved it.

Your degree piece, Bound, was so distinctive and really impressive. How would you describe your style? Where we started is kind of like gender neutrality and not being confined to our genders in the way we express ourselves as artists. So we wanted to bring in a fluid movement quality and not have that be distinctly feminine and bring in a raw quality and not have that just be male; how we can both move in-between that language together and display a woman strongly and maybe display a man femininely.

Since our devised piece we’ve developing a lot with the knotted ropes – Shibari – moving more towards this raw, more aggressive style at the minute. I’m seeing that Shibari is getting more incorporated into circus now, which is really cool [see our interview with Hanna Moisala]; the whole self-suspension thing, having it be an aerial apparatus. We haven’t explored that as much but we’ve been using more the harness work.

Would you agree there has been quite a move to having women as bases? Is there a point to prove? Yeah, absolutely. I think for years we’ve been in that space as women of trying to prove a point, but for me I like to think of it, in respect to the feminist movement, that we’re not trying to be men, it’s more that we’re trying to display our strengths. The difficulty is that people are going: “Oh, you’re just trying to do the man’s job.” But it’s like, ‘No, actually these jobs are equal and we’re trying to show you that we are strong as well, that we are just as strong, we are built to do things like that, too’. It’s like: “Female bases, what’s this?” But it’s super-exciting to see and everyone loves to see it. I think it’s amazing that it’s happening.

How hard is your ‘iron-jaw’ move? [Laughs] I think that like with every circus trick, it’s an illusion to a certain extent; you have the strength but there are ways of making it safe for your body. I would say it’s probably more like a neck hang than it is genuinely from my jaw.

You might be interested in the aerialist Miss La La… but tell us about Josh and why you like working with him? A lot of reasons. We’re basically best friends. We’re not together any more in a relationship so that’s been a difficult transition but the fact is that when you work so close with someone you become best friends. We were living together for three years, we saw each other 24 hours a day so I think my relationship with him is unlike any other I’ve had with anybody. It’s probably one of the most special relationships I’ve had.

The way I kind of describe our creative process sometimes is at times I throw up on the table and then he cleans it up [laughs, a lot]. I’m kind of like, ‘Wah, wah, wah, here it is, this idea, this idea’, and he’s like: “OK, but how can we make that all work and structure it together.” It feels like a good balance.

I’ve always loved adagio and hand-to-hand with the woman in pointe shoes. You support Josh on your shoulders while on pointe. It’s stunning but what does it do to your feet… [Laughs] It requires a lot of training with my legs. The strength isn’t all coming from my ankles, it’s coming from my entire leg, so I have to keep up on my physio with my ankles and then also the strength of my inner thighs and glute muscles so that the whole leg is working to lift the body rather than just my feet.

I’ve never really understood pointe shoes. Is the inside shaped to cushion your foot? Not really. It’s a really close fit but they’re made of papier maché and have wood around the block part. You mostly wear toe pads inside. Most people use cotton or little gels, so sometimes there’s a little bit of foam at the tip of the shoe.

What have you done since graduation? I’ve mostly been working with the Living Room Circus, which is run by Elinor Harvey. She won the Deutsche Bank Business Plan Award in our year at NCCA. We did our first performance together last summer in a yurt in Forest Row in Sussex. We’re coining ourselves right now as an immersive experimental circus company. We mix circus, dance, live music and physical theatre, with an emphasis on audience interaction and involvement. We’re working on The Penguin and I, which Jason Dupree is directing.

Tell us a bit about the show… We’ve been creating a series of scenes that we can then adapt into whatever space we’re going into. For the new show we have this bespoke sofa that we can use in different ways, to balance on, to hang from. We actually got the money to make it from a Kickstarter campaign, which was great. This coming week we are performing in a dairy farm again in Forest Row. We have the scenes all laid out and we’re going to see what we can do with the space. It’s going to be really, really cool. It’s Eli’s home town and it’s kind of like our starting place.

Can you pick out a career highlight or two so far? Right off the bat, I’d say how much Josh and I have travelled so far. We’ve been to Corsica, Israel, Belgium and around the UK, and that alone is pretty awesome and exciting. Then just working with the Living Room Circus has been amazing because it feels just like a circus family. It feels like we’re a bunch of kids making a company, because we haven’t really had that much outside help. We’ve had help funding-wise but yeah, we’ve created this family together and we’re trying to make it work and see what happens.

The Penguin and I runs from 29 June – 2 July at The Dairy, Springhill Farm, in Forest Row, Sussex and again on 25 July at Jacksons Lane in London. Josh and Tess also appear in Simple Cypher’s Cypher Stories on 26 July at the same venue during its Postcards 2017 season.

Picture credits: Tessa’s headshot, Nizaad Photography; Josh on shoulders/iron jaw, Bertil Nilsson; The Penguin, Miriam Strong

For tickets for The Penguin and I at The Dairy and at Jacksons Lane, and for  Cypher Stories. click the links

Twitter: @LRCircus @jacksons_lane @SimpleCypher

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

Click the links to read our interviews with Simple Cypher’s Kieran Warner and Christopher Thomas