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wittywallflower · 1 month ago

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Catwinter Week One

prompts chosen for Week One:

1. Decorating the tree/office 3. knitting/crochet (barely there after i cut some stuff i didn't like) 4. Christmas lights

❄️

The Dead Boy Detective Agency office was unrecognizable.

It would be inaccurate to say it had never seen festive decor. One did not share a space with Charles Rowland without experiencing some measure of whimsy and fun. Charles’s family didn’t celebrate the holiday but there was always some shiny bit of festive something-or-other that caught his eye.

And the addition of the ladies had brought a new set of holiday traditions to the mix, and both Crystal and Niko had very colorful (loud) tastes. Jenny preferred dark colors but hadn't been able to muster the majority vote for a gothic Christmas tree. (Though they did agree to use her taxidermy raven as a tree topper once Niko had been allowed to decorate it with a little scarf and Santa hat she crafted out of felt.)

Niko thought that when it came to pretty decorations more was better, Crystal had far too much money available to spend on the endeavor, and Charles shamelessly egged them both on until it looked like an explosion of Christmas.

So. A glittering tree sat in one corner, festooned with baubles and knickknacks that weren’t strictly ornaments per se, but if a string could be tied ‘round any small object it was considered fair game. Evergreen garlands were swagged above all the doors and tiny little miniature wreaths hung on all the door handles.

From the ceiling numerous paper snowflakes were hanging suspended with invisible threads. It had been a pleasant activity for the group, cutting them out. The Night Nurse had even been persuaded to pause her duties to join them briefly. Her first attempt at the simple craft had been an utter failure falling apart into no less than two hundred pieces when she tried to open it. Then she had scowled fiercely through her second attempt, working with intensity for a full ten minutes before revealing possibly the most beautiful piece of art that has ever been created from a folded-up piece of printer paper. After apparently mastering the task, the Night Nurse sniffed in pretended disdain at the silliness of it before going back to what she considered more worthy efforts. Her snowflake got pride of place though, hanging just in front of Edwin’s desk where he could see it with a small glance upward.

Throw pillows and soft blankets covered with designs of reindeer and snowmen and yet more snowflakes were scattered about the furniture. The slim wall-mounted television (which Crystal had insisted was an essential appliance back when Edwin had tried to object to its presence in the main room) was displaying a video that cleverly made the whole unit look like a cozy lit fireplace. Edwin had yet to locate the ‘blue teeth speaker’ that was playing music in the background; he decided he didn't need to start hunting for it until the songs became too cloying or bubbly.

The crowning glory of it all was the lights. Strings and strings of fairy lights were everywhere. Niko hadn’t stopped until she’d run out of outlets for all the plugs and Jenny had vetoed the addition of any more extension cords. And when that still wasn’t enough, battery-powered candles found their way onto every flat surface, flickering their own counterpoint to the twinkling of the electric lights. The effect within was like the whole room was gently sparkling, Edwin couldn't imagine what it must look like from the outside.

The glow radiating out of the window was enough to illuminate the figure standing on the fire escape. Normally the black hair and leather would have blended into the shadows of the dark night, but they gleamed dully in the light instead. Golden eyes flashed back a much sharper reflection.

Edwin pressed his lips together around a smile and turned towards the window.

“Oh, wait, wait!” Niko bounced over to Edwin and held out a knit cap. The yarn looked soft, and was the same color as Edwin’s eyes (as he had been informed, being unable to see himself in a mirror or photograph), and was topped with a jaunty little yarn bobble that Edwin could not imagine himself wearing, but knew very well he would be doing just that. And sooner than expected.

“For you!” Niko beamed. “I know ghost ears can’t actually get cold, so you don’t really need it. But it would have been rude to make gifts for my human friends, and not do anything for my ghost friends. You and Charles are very important to me too!”

Edwin adored Niko.

“Thank you, Niko.”

Edwin didn’t get a chance to inspect or compliment Niko’s knitting before she went up on her toes and tugged the hat securely onto Edwin’s head.

“Just wanted to make sure you are all bundled up before you step outside,” she said with a tiny smile.

Crystal was grinning where she sat on the sofa. Charles was confused for only a moment before he clocked the visitor through the window. Charles rolled his eyes but reached for his bag laying nearby, fishing around in it until he came out with a thick sheepskin coat. He passed it off to Edwin with only a half-hearted mutter about stupid cats not wearing their fur coats when it's cold, as he turned back to Crystal.

Edwin couldn't hold back his smile now as he moved towards the window, phasing directly through the wall to step out onto the fire escape.

The Cat King’s eye’s flickered to Edwin’s, and the corner of his scarred lip lifted in a smile before his gaze was drawn back through the window.

Edwin stepped closer, close enough to notice those normally-slit pupils were now blown wide, only a sliver of gold visible at the edges. Thomas was rapt, absolutely mesmerized by the twinkling lights inside. His mouth hung slightly open, jaw slack. If he had furry ears at the moment, Edwin had no doubt they would be twitching away adorably.

He admired the soft wonder on the feline monarch’s face for a long moment before he stepped closer still and reached out to drape the coat in his hand around the shorter man’s shoulders. The leather jacket was very stylish, but could not possibly be warm enough on its own.

The Cat King dragged his eyes back to Edwin again as the ghost took the coat’s lapels, drawing it close around the other man. Each arched an eyebrow at the other.

“I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.” Edwin said, primly, because he knew it amused Thomas when he acted like an ‘Edwardian fussbudget’.

“Such a gentleman.” Thomas’s tone was teasing but warm. Warmer than the temperature of the air around them, which he now seemed to notice with a full body shiver.

Though he had no body heat to share, Edwin nonetheless wrapped an arm around the Cat King’s shoulders and drew him close. Pressed up against his side, Thomas’s head tipped in to rest against his shoulder.

“It’s no doubt warmer indoors,” Edwin suggested.

“In a moment. It's nice out here. With you,” the Cat King murmured back softly.

The ever-present bustle of London seemed to quiet, just a little. Enough to be ignored by the men standing in each other’s arms, wreathed in festive glow, enjoying a moment just for the two of them.

#catwinter #catwin #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #the cat king #catwinter 2024

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bookgirl318 · 7 years ago

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Big Reveal-Secret Santa

So Merry Christmas to @kdlovehg from your Secret Santa. I have you have enjoyed these last 24 days and I have been so excited to finally reveal. As a final gift to you, I wrote a short little story inspired by my recent outing to look at Christmas lights. I hope you enjoy it and Merry Christmas!

THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

‘What do you think about going out tonight and looking at some lights?” Katniss rolled her eyes a little at her boyfriend. She was just finishing up cleaning the dinner dishes and looked up to see Peeta’s goofy grin. The holidays always made him giddy as a child. He loved every aspect of it, the sights and sounds, and had tried in the years they had known each other to get his girlfriend to love it as much as he did.

Do you really want to sit around in the car that long just to see how Clark Griswald some people are?” Katniss folded the dish towel as she looked at his hopeful face. She loved him so much that it was difficult to deny him these little things that made him happy.

“I promise if the traffic gets too bad we’ll come home,” he replied, “but I heard that the Capitol neighborhood looks amazing.”

“Fine,” she sighed in defeat. “Let me get my shoes and coat.”

Peeta lit up at her agreement. “Great. And if you’re nice enough, I’ll bring those cheese buns I made today, and we can stop at Starbucks for some hot chocolate. I got a gift card the other day from the family of one of my 4th graders.”

Hot chocolate and cheese buns? “You’re on.” Katniss ran upstairs and threw on her Sketchers and grabbed her heavy parka out of the coat closet.

“Ready?” she asked. Peeta had his own jacket plus a wool cap over his blonde curls. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The hopped into his Honda Accord and backed out of the driveway. Peeta picked a station which had The Christmas Song by Nat King Cole playing. They didn’t talk too much, and Katniss thoughts roamed to why in the world she agreed to come along on this silly car ride. Ever since her parents and sister died in a car accident her last year of high school, she just never felt like feeling especially festive during the holidays. She supposed it was a defense against the lonely feeling otherwise.

For a few years afterwards, Katniss would spend Christmas alone, either in her dorm room at Panem College or her small apartment, rejecting all offers from friends and family like her Uncle Haymitch to come for Christmas dinner. The only concession to the holiday she would make would be to place small wreaths on the graves of her family.

But all that changed a couple of years ago when she had reconnected with Peeta two years ago. They had known each other through most of school, and Katniss even had a small crush on him at one point, but after her family were gone she focused on finishing school and getting away. Peeta had gone to art school in District 1 and so for years they didn’t talk. But, fate has a funny way about it, and after completing her degree a job opened up in District 12 Environmental Services Department and Katniss came back home.

That was two years ago, and a couple of weeks after her return she popped into Mellark’s Bakery for some breakfast and who should be at the counter, but Peeta himself. He had smiled brightly at seeing her again, and after a short catch up and paying for her food and drink, asked for her telephone number.

He called that night, and Katniss was amazed at how Peeta recounted how he had a crush on her since they were young but had never gathered up the courage to tell her. When he had seen her again after so many years, he knew that he had to man up and finally take his chance. He asked Katniss to dinner, where they spent most of the night catching up. After school, Peeta began teaching art at the local elementary school, while helping out in the bakery during breaks. It was an easy conversation, and one date led to many more and before Katniss knew it, they were a serious couple.

That had been in the summer, and their first Christmas together Katniss learned about how much Peeta loved the holidays. He went completely over the top with decorations and gifts for her. Music played all the time, and her boyfriend tried to drag her to various Christmas events, like visiting Santa and baking all sorts of treats.

After two Christmas seasons now, and living together for the last year, Katniss was used to Peeta’s exuberance about the holidays. Although she still remained somewhat ambivalent towards it all. She just didn’t necessarily see the “magic” in it all that Peeta did. One thing she had to admit that, though, were that his baked holiday treats were the absolute best and Katniss sneaked quite a few of them. She would see Peeta’s sly grins that led her to believe that he knew full well how much she really enjoyed them.

So now this year he wanted to add on going around to look at Christmas lights. Fine. She hated traffic, but Katniss figured as they pulled into their nearby Starbuck’s that she could probably deal with it. They got out of the car and walked in.

“Two tall hot chocolates.” The barista charged up their order. They stepped to the side as they waited.

“Do you think it will snow tonight?” Katniss asked.

“Not sure. Weatherman said it was a 50/50 chance. It would be awesome, though, wouldn’t it?”

Katniss smiled. She had to admit Peeta’s enthusiasm about everything in life was contagious. “Yeah, it would.”

Their names were called out then, and the picked up the drinks and got back into the car. Music was still playing as they quietly drove the next few miles to the Capitol neighborhood. Peeta was usually chatty whenever he drove, but tonight he seemed low key. Maybe just busy with focusing on the road and sipping his chocolate.

As they approached the gate, even Katniss gave a little gasp. It was beautifully lit up with lights and garland. They entered the neighborhood and immediately fell into a long line of cars. UGH. Just what she hated about this. For what seemed like forever, they moved about a foot per minute. Cars seemed to be everywhere, and every once in a while, she could even see horse drawn carriages driving through the streets.

Eventually, Peeta spoke up. “I’ve got an idea. What we really want is to get to the square. That’s where the main attractions to see are. The weather’s not that bad, why down I turn left at the next street and we just walk it?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. I’m up for it,” she replied and in five minutes they finally turned off the main road onto a side street and Peeta found a house that he could park in front of. Katniss found her scarf in the back of the car and tied it around her neck.

They got out of the car and met on the sidewalk. “What do you think?” Peeta asked, and it was then that Katniss finally took in some of the houses around her. Almost every one was lit up and decorated in some way. Some had large lit up ornaments hanging from the trees. Brightly colored lights covering the houses, trees, and bushes. Cut out of all kinds of characters from Santa to Spongebob. Large blowups, as well. Even one house had a large menorah out front. This neighborhood was definitely into the holiday.

“It’s a little over the top, don’t you think?”

Peeta laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He took her hand and they began to walk up the sidewalk. Their path returned them to the main road, but instead of being stalled in line, they were moving and passing car after car. Katniss began to notice other things. Many of the windows were open, and kids head, complete with Santa hats, were sticking out of the sunroofs. They passed by others who had made the decision to walk.

“Merry Christmas!” a child waved at them from their family minivan. Katniss couldn’t help herself. She waved back. “Merry Christmas to you!”

Peeta had that sly knowing grin again and Katniss scowled. “What?”

“I knew you would enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. The kid is cute.” Peeta squeezed her hand and they continued on. They would take a detour on some of the side streets to see some of the houses. Most were pretty much like all the others.

Eventually, though, they came to the square. There was the neighborhood clubhouse in the middle, with a gigantic Christmas tree in front. Houses were lined up all around and lit about 100 times more than any of the other streets they had seen. They stopped in front of one that had 5 differently dressed dancing Santas whose hips were moving in time to Gangnam Style. Katniss couldn’t help but giggle at the silliness of it.

Another house they stopped at actually had a family playing live music in front. A teenage boy playing saxophone, the father on drums, a young girl playing guitar, and the mother singing Joy to the World. People were all around taking video and pictures. Peeta was so caught up himself that he brought out his phone.

“Selfie time?”

Katniss shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, why not?” They got close together as Peeta put his arm as far as it could go.

“Count of 3, ok?” She nodded. And he counted off, but surprised her as just before he took the photo Peeta turned his face to give her a kiss.

“Sneaky,” she commented.

“Always.”

She continued to watch the performance and when the song ended turned to see Peeta doing a few last minute punches on his phone before placing it back into his coat pocket. Probably posting to Instragram or something like that.

“Are you up for one more street? There’s one more just north of the square I heard is great.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” They walked on and she felt Peeta rubbing circles with his thumb on the top of her hand.

They turned right off the square and one street up. Katniss could start to see her breath as they walked along. They turned left and the view was amazing. The way it was lit up reminded her of the movie It’s a Wonderful Life and how the town of Bedford Falls had lights strung over the streets from building to building. This was done the same way and even Katniss had to admit she loved it.

They walked until they were at in front of the third house on the left when Peeta finally said “Let’s stop here.” Katniss raised her eyebrow at him but when she saw about ten other people there realized this must be another special one everyone stopped to see.

All of the sudden she could hear music starting, soft and low cello. She recognized the tune of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and the lights were flashing wavy and gentle along with the music. The lights were obviously synchronized with the music. She had heard about this, but had never really seen it in action before. It was really a sight to behold, and even more so when the music suddenly kicked into rock with guitars leading Carol of the Bells. Light blinked and flashed all around her for the next few minutes. A tree made completely of lights reminded her of the strings of the guitars, a Santa held a large sign flashed with pictures of words like JOY, PEACE, and MERRY. It went on and on and almost made her head swim with stimulation.

By the time the last long note died down and it went dark, Katniss let out a small “Wow.” She was about to turn towards Peeta and ask if he was ready to go when suddenly Santa’s sign lit up once more. In big green and red letters she read:

KATNISS, WILL YOU MARRY ME?

She gasped and turned to see Peeta lowered on one knee, a black velvet box held out in her direction in his hand. Her eyes must have been a mile wide from the shock.

“Katniss, I love you. These last couple of years together have been the best of my life, and I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you please do me the honor of being my wife?”

She couldn’t help the tears coming from her eyes as she simply said “Yes.” His megawatt smile was all she needed to know his happiness as he placed the small pearl ring on her finger. He knew her so well and that she didn’t need anything big.

Peeta stood up then. “How did you do this?”

“Well, I didn’t put on the light show! But the owners come into the bakery a lot and were telling me about their house during Christmas. So, I asked them if they would help me propose, and they kindly agreed. I think I owe them baked goods for the next 6 months,” he laughed. “So, I planned it for tonight, they fixed the program to do what it needed to with the lights, and I texted them when we left the square that we were on our way.”

“Ahh, that’s why you were messing with your phone.”

Peeta looked sheepishly. “Yeah, almost caught me there. But it worked. You really are going to be my wife.”

“Yes, I am,” and as if on cue, snow gently began falling as he pulled her in and they kissed. And Katniss couldn’t help herself as she thought how magical the moment truly was. Peeta had brought that back for her.

She would never look at Christmas lights the same ever again.

THE END.

#love in panem #secret santa #bookgirl318 #everlark #christmas

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apparitionism · 8 years ago

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Sound 6c

I’m putting up parts 6c and 6d, which together form the end of part 6, in rapid succession this evening; combining them would make for an insanely long post, but this is all of a conceptual piece—well, in my head it is; who knows if the connections actually connect, or if I’m really just hitting every point with a too-wordy hammer. Trying to do both too much and not enough? Anyway, I wrote some things down. Cf. Soon, as well as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5a, part 5b, part 5c, part 6a, and part 6b of this.

Also a PSA: Tumblr friend @shipsbecomearmadas is working hard to raise funds for the Kaleidoscope Youth Center (http://www.kycohio.org/), which serves LGBTQIA+ kids in Columbus, Ohio. The group is trying to get Ellen’s attention, and you can help by tweeting or blogging about the center and tagging it “#4Ellen”. (I’ll mention too that wherever you are, if you have a local youth center, they most likely could use any help you can give.)

Sound 6c

Myka had never bothered much with Christmas when she lived alone; she was content for it to be nothing more than a quiet day. Very near silent, and possibly even holy, though religion had, and has, occupied her thoughts only when relevant to translation or teaching. Abigail, who has apparently (and incongruously, as far as Myka is concerned) gone to church every Sunday of her entire life, takes great delight in calling Myka a godless commie. Pete doesn’t call Myka a godless commie, but he does go with Abigail to church now, her interdenominational Chinese Christian church in D.C. “They look at me like I’m a zoo animal,” he once confided to Myka, and then he said, with slight puzzlement, “Weird to be the different one. But I guess I do look like a zoo animal, sitting there with everybody. Probably sound like one too; you know I can’t sing, but Abigail pokes me when I just mouth along with the hymns. I think she does it so they’ll laugh at me and not hate me.”

“Is it working?” Myka asked.

“Well, they laugh. Real quiet, but they laugh.”

“Is that okay with you?”

He frowned, just a little. “Course it is. What kind of guy am I if it’s not?”

“A not-Pete kind of guy,” Myka had assured him.

Pete’s on her mind this afternoon because she’s wrapping his Christmas present: a New York Mets baseball cap. Christina has decided that the Mets are her team, given that last year was their first year in the league and it was also her first year paying close attention to baseball, so Pete takes her to games whenever he and Abigail visit New York during the season. When Myka had wondered aloud what to get him, “a Mets hat” had been Christina’s immediate suggestion.

“Will it be okay for him to wear a New York hat in Washington?” Myka asked.

“The Senators left, so I bet nobody there even cares about baseball anymore. But also I bet it wouldn’t matter to Pete anyway.”

Of course it wouldn’t. Because Pete is a Pete kind of guy.

To wrap the present, Myka is sitting on the floor, next to the tree, because Christina is taking up most of the table with the newspaper. Christina generally doesn’t have time to read the paper before school, so that is one of her rewards for finishing her homework in the afternoons. But while she’s always intent, she isn’t always as intent as she is this day, this unremarkable, not-yet-Christmas Tuesday. She has the newspaper open in front of her, and she’s gone to get the dictionary too; she is on her knees in the chair, her whole body hunching over their small table as she reads, consults the dictionary, then reads some more.

Myka doesn’t begrudge her the table space, because she is enjoying being near the tree, breathing in green and outdoors; while she can’t imagine ever calling Colorado home again, this pine scrapes with familiarity through her lungs. They don’t have enough tree here for the smell itself to go deep, but she’ll take shallow, because it signifies her having won once again an argument she and Helena have now had for three Christmases: Helena says she wants to buy one of the popular aluminum trees, and Myka objects, based both on Colorado and on “where could we possibly store it?” Then Christina tells her mother that it’s an aluminum tree, not an aluminium one, because they are Americans now; Helena objects that she is not in fact an American, so she will continue to say “aluminium tree”; and Myka says it doesn’t matter how anybody pronounces it anyway because it isn’t a tree.

The first time Myka won this argument, in 1961, Helena had stepped back and regarded their newly decorated, blessedly nonmetallic tree. She had at that point declared that if there was no chance of real modernity, she would at least like said tree to be flocked. “Fake snow,” Myka had sighed, “on a real tree?” But the next day Helena brought home an aerosol can of the stuff, saying that Myka did not need to trouble herself over it, that she herself would deal with the application. “Tomorrow, though,” she’d yawned.

Myka had been the first one up and out of bed the following morning. She walked into the living room and caught sight of the tree. She blinked. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked again. But no, the sight stayed the same: the bottom two-thirds of the tree—the still-decorated tree—seemed to have been dolloped with melting strawberry ice cream. She stood in front of the tree for some time, trying to formulate a thought.

“Helena, could you come here?” she called.

Helena grumbled, from their bedroom, “I don’t want to get up yet.”

“I really would appreciate it if you would come here and tell me what you see.”

She emerged, buttoning her robe, muttering “fine, fine,” blinking. She leaned against Myka, nuzzling brief and warm into her neck. Then she stood straight up, facing the tree. She blinked some more. “You want me to tell you what I see.”

“Yes and no,” Myka said, “or maybe I mean yes or no. Depending on what you tell me.”

“Hm. I see that I have made two errors.”

“Two errors, you say.”

“Yes. First, I failed to attend to the color of the spray I purchased. In my defense, I don’t suppose I had any idea it came in colors other than white.”

“It’s fake snow,” Myka reminded her. That was met with a heavy sigh that did not do much to disguise an underlying growl, and Myka chuckled. “And your second error?”

“Second—well, technically first, chronologically—I had a child. Who I believe is now lurking in the hallway, and who might as well come here and regard, with shame, what she has inflicted upon our tree and ornaments.”

Christina walked to the tree and sighed. “I wanted to surprise you.” This said with remorse, but also with something a little like pride.

“You did do that,” Myka had to concede.

“Quite successfully,” Helena said. “And you managed to do this in the night without waking us, which is also a bit of a surprise.”

“I didn’t turn the light on. So I guess I couldn’t see the color in the dark. Also I couldn’t reach all the way up the tree either. Are you mad?”

“About your not being able to reach all the way up the tree? Actually, I’m not at all angry about that, because at least some of the decorations were spared a pinkening.”

Myka said, “I wonder if it comes off. The pinkening, I mean.”

Christina pulled a formerly shiny gold metal ball from the tree. She rubbed at its dried pink drips of flocking with her thumb.

So yes, Christmas was once a quiet day, a day with which Myka never much bothered. But now Christmas is something else again, something that is signified, for her and for Helena and especially for Christina, by the removing of pink-encrusted ornaments from their various protective boxes and newspaper swaddlings and the placing of them, as the finishing touches, on their tree.

Myka raises a hand to the ornament nearest her, a plastic Santa who looks as if he’d been minding his own business on the sidewalk, only to be splashed by a taxi driving through a puddle of melted cotton candy. His pink imperfection clashes terribly with his red coat, and Myka feels more than a little silly for how that makes her heart swell. He’d look even more ridiculous if he were hanging from an aluminum—or aluminium—branch... but Myka suspects her heart would swell just the same.

“Myka,” Christina says from the table. Her voice is querulous, a little jar to Myka’s Santa-inspired sentimentality.

“Christina,” Myka answers back. She will later reflect that she should somehow have known what had Christina concerned, but fate had made her take just one glance at the newspaper that morning. She’d glanced at it again, just the front page, just above the fold, when she arrived home. She hadn’t known. She couldn’t have known... but that was no excuse.

“You and Mom.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t see what’s coming.

“Are you sick.”

“Sick. Sick?” And still she doesn’t see what’s coming. “We had those bad colds, but that was last month.”

“No. Not colds. Sick with.” Christina looks down at the paper. “An incurable, congenital disorder.”

Myka stands up, walks to the table. Christina has the paper open, but now she flips to the front page—the front page, it’s below the fold, but the front page—and reads the headline out loud: “Growth of Overt Homosexuality in City Provokes Wide Concern.” Christina stumbles, just a bit, in that out-loud reading, over the “sexuality” part of “homosexuality.”

This is the kind of situation Helena was made for, as a parent; she would know the right words to say to either defuse it or dismiss it entirely. Myka is... not a parent, so she cannot have been made for any situation as a parent. But her footing is in any case far less secure, not just because they don’t talk very much about this with Christina, not directly, but also because Myka herself tries not to think about it very much. Not directly. Except when she’s forced to. Except when things happen.

But all right, this newspaper article has now happened. Myka reads the front-page portion. It doesn’t seem so bad, despite the headline; it’s about the state liquor authority revoking licenses of so-called “homosexual haunts.” She nods and Christina turns to the continuing page—and there the article seems to go on forever, columns upon columns. Christina points to a particular section: “Out of the Shadows,” the subhead reads, and Myka braces herself. She scans the text there: apparently the best argument that the “organized homophile movement” can muster is that, just as Christina had quoted, homosexuality is “an incurable, congenital disorder”—which in turn would mean that homosexuals should be considered “just another minority.” Analytical psychiatrists, on the other hand, say it’s the result of “ill-adjusted parents.” Which for some reason means it can be “cured.”

Myka asks, “Have you read the whole thing?”

Christina nods.

“Will you give me a minute to read it too, so I know what we’re talking about?”

Christina nods again. It isn’t her fully nervous nod. Myka takes that as a genuine okay for her to go ahead.

But as Myka starts to read, Christina executes a seemingly aimless wander over to the record player. She puts on... she puts on the Drifters. Their 1962 LP, the second side, and Myka now knows that Christina is more upset than she wants to say out loud, because if she is starting with the second side? Helena plays on every track, and the songs themselves do not matter in the slightest: what’s important is that Christina knows she is hearing her mother.

She comes back to Myka, who is now sitting at the table; she stands behind Myka’s chair and drapes herself over Myka’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” Myka says, and Christina nods against her neck. She doesn’t move away, though. At no point while Myka reads does Christina move away.

The article deals mainly with men, where they go, how they talk to each other, why they act as they do. Women are worth almost no mention, and Myka comes close to convincing herself: This is not about me. This is not about Helena. This is not about me, and it is not about Helena. It is not about us.

But one section, despite its male focus, rips the ground from under her tentative self-persuasion. It’s subheaded “Impossible Dream.” It begins, “Many homosexuals dream of forming a permanent attachment that would give them the sense of social and emotional stability that others derive from heterosexual marriage but few achieve it.”

It is the kind of bald statement that she seems always to be trying to tell herself is untrue, but here it is, in the newspaper. Everyone in the entire city read this today. Everyone in the city read that her life and Helena’s, their life together, is impossible... the ten-year-old who shares that life, she is a warm mantle of worry still clasping Myka’s shoulders but now slipped down, plastered against her side, as Myka looks at this newspaper on this table at which they impossibly eat breakfast, lunch, dinner.

“Okay,” she tells Christina when she’s through. “I read it. What are you thinking?”

“You’re not sick,” Christina says.

“I don’t think so.”

Now the words tumble out. “Okay, but then the people in the article who say you’re not sick, the ones who say it’s just that you have weird parents, if your father is hostile and your mother is... I can’t remember what it said about mothers, but they say you can be cured, but how can you be cured of something if you’re not sick with anything in the first place? That doesn’t make sense.”

She really is a very smart girl. “Not much sense,” Myka agrees.

“But do you want to be?”

“Want to be what?”

“Cured.”

How to explain the difference between what you want and what you want? Not that Myka can even explain that to herself, so she goes ahead with the response that had jumped into her head: “But that would mean I wouldn’t love your mom anymore.”

“I know what it means,” Christina says, with a hint of resentment. “Is it what you want?”

Smart girl. Discerning girl. “I want to love her forever,” Myka says. It’s as true as any of the other contradictorily true things she could say, but she does have to stop herself from adding “in an ideal world.” There’s only so much truth you can tell a ten-year-old. Even this ten-year-old.

“Forever?”

There’s both hope and certainty in that word: “do you mean it” crossed with “of course you mean it.” Myka has heard the same collision in Helena’s voice. She’s never known how to give Helena the right answer, and she has no better intuition here. “I do want to,” she tries.

“Is that what Mom wants too?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.” Christina tightens her grip on Myka, a dramatic grasp of a hug, then lets go. “I think I’ll go read now.”

“Okay. What are you reading?”

“I’m not sure. I have about three or four library books.” Feigned disinterest, a lack of precision: she’s finished talking about this. But then she cocks her head, listening to the music. “Rudy isn’t sick either.” Most singers and musicians with whom Helena works, Christina can take or leave. She’s polite to all of them, of course, because Helena would never let her get away with anything less. But a select few—and this seems to have nothing to do with how famous they are, or even how talented—she adores. Rudy Lewis is among those select few, and in this case, the devotion is mutual. He always asks after her, and when he sees her, he declares “there’s that baby!”, which never fails to accelerate Christina’s usually slow smile.

“Rudy isn’t sick either,” Myka says. “Rudy is as sweet to you as I’ve ever seen anybody be, plus he sings like an angel, and he gets a huge kick out of your mom. I don’t think anybody who does all those things could be sick.”

“And he doesn’t want to be cured either, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” Myka says, but here, she is skirting an outright lie. Because Rudy might not be sick, but he does have his problems. And some of those problems do arise from the fact that he... isn’t sick. But here, too, there’s only so much truth you can tell a ten-year-old. Myka suspects that Rudy, as well as most of the people she knows who aren’t sick, would not volunteer to be cured. But she does wonder what they would say about it, what she herself and even Helena would say about it, if they woke up one morning and found themselves cured—or rather, found themselves not like this. Like everyone else instead.

“That’s good,” Christina says. “I wouldn’t want him to be different. I really am going to read now. I have A Wrinkle in Time again, and I got Ice Station Zebra and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold for the first time.” Over the summer, she had developed a fondness for spy thrillers, in spite of needing to look up what seemed to be every other word. Myka and Helena both found this new preference a little alarming, but it sent Abigail into hysterics. “Like mother, like daughter... no, I mean, like this person, like this person’s kid!” she had chortled.

Now Christina takes the dictionary from the table, tucking it under her arm. She likes to read books in her room. Newspapers on the table, books in her room, and she leaves Myka sitting there, still staring at the columns upon columns of the article.

She can’t decide how much to tell Helena about it, or even if she should bring it up in the first place. Given how invested Christina had been, she most likely should tell it all, including about their conversation, but on the other hand, Christina seems to have wanted to put the issue to bed. Although that may have been just with Myka... but of course it isn’t as if the problem won’t come up again in some other equally unexpected way...

Helena opens the door to the apartment, interrupting Myka’s choice-making. She sets her violin case and handbag down, and then she asks, with a twitch in her voice, “Did Christina read the newspaper today?”

“You know she did. She always does.”

“Did you?”

“I hadn’t. But then she asked me whether you and I are sick.” Helena’s posture slackens. “So yes, then, I did.”

“Lovely.” It’s a sharp word. Helena comes to the table, looks down at the newspaper, doesn’t touch it. In fact she crosses her arms at it. “Why is this necessary?” She might be asking the paper itself, interrogating it about its unacceptable behavior.

“Part of it is news. About the State Liquor Authority.”

“But why the rest of it.”

“You don’t really want an answer.”

“I’m not really asking a question.” She directs her attention now at Myka. “And I hope you bear in mind: not impossible. A dream, yes, and every now and then a nightmare, but not impossible.” Because of course she would know which part of the article had threatened to overpower Myka. And maybe it had had that effect on Helena too, at first, but now her shoulders are square: that’s anger, not hesitation or doubt.

They both notice that Christina has slunk up the hallway and is hanging there, uncharacteristically reluctant to interrupt.

“Come here, you,” Helena says, and Christina flies at her. She used to wrap her arms around Helena’s legs. Now, taller, she hugs Helena around the waist. Shoulders will be next... when she grows, it’s fast. Dramatic spurts, just like Myka remembers from her own childhood. Helena asks her, “Are you all right?’

“Mostly all right. But.”

“But?” Now Helena does sound a little uncertain, and Myka, too, braces for Christina’s answer.

“I’m too old to go to Macy’s and sit on Santa’s lap tonight like we were going to.”

Helena breathes a bit. Then she says, “You had hardly any Christmas at all for the first five years of your life. Please indulge me.”

Christina sighs. She says, “Okay, Mom”: not fully graceful in her acquiescence, but graceful enough. She is showing that she is all right.

“You’re the one who likes tradition,” Myka tells Christina, this perceptive girl who knows her mother well enough to know when she, too, needs reassurance... in fact Christina may have objected to the excursion just so she could acquiesce.

“Myka, I’m ten,” Christina groans. Well, then again, maybe not.

But everything is all right. They eat their dinner—fried eggs, bacon, toast, because eating breakfast at night is different, but it binds them together in its difference—atop the opened newspaper, making a mess of it, dropping crumbs, letting yolk dribble, setting bacon down just to watch the fat-stains blight the type.

Then they go to Macy’s. It’s as overwhelming as it is every year; this year, though, the fact that they are just three small parts of the teeming crowds and silver-belling holiday racket seems to mean they could be any three people at all. That they can be any three people.

But at a certain point, Myka turns to say something to Helena, and Helena... looks odd. There’s a little dampness at her temples, and her breathing is a strange not-quite-pant. Some sort of delayed shock reaction? “What is it?” Myka asks.

“Winter wonderland,” Helena says.

It takes Myka a second or two to realize that that carol is drifting through the bechristmased store. “What about it?”

“That’s the song. Well, not this version of course, but—on Phil’s Christmas record, I told you. I played it over a hundred times. And listened to it... uncountable. I can’t stand it. I need some air.” She bolts away, saying, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Christina looks at Myka, and Myka reads that look immediately. “Oh, no. You’re talking to Santa so we can tell her that you did.”

“Can’t we say the line was too long?”

“Only if it is. But you know she wouldn’t believe us anyway, so you’re stuck.”

“I’m ten,” Christina insists, but that’s the last objection she offers.

When Myka and Christina emerge onto the sidewalk, Helena is clapping her hands against the chill of the evening.

“You could’ve come back in,” Christina informs her, as they begin to walk toward the subway. “The song ended.”

Helena ignores this. “Did you ask Father Christmas to bring you anything in particular?”

“I asked Santa. Because I’m an American. I asked him for a Vac-U-Form.”

Myka says, “He was a little confounded. Apparently she’s the first girl to ask for one.”

“I don’t see what joy any boy or girl would derive from what is essentially a plastic foundry. And why on earth do you continue to want toys that will burn the house down?” Helena asks. But she puts her arm around Christina and drops a kiss on her head.

“It’s not even really a toy. Like you said, it’s a foundry.” Christina utters the word with evident pleasure. “Besides, the only thing I’ve ever burned is my own hand, with the sulfuric acid. And only one time.”

Helena declares, “That is, from my perspective, a distinction without a difference. Certainly in terms of damage.” At which Christina sighs.

Myka would put her arm around Helena and drop a kiss on her head, but she settles for laughing at her. “Never let it be said that you avoided hyperbole. Nobody was happy about that burned hand, but I think from almost everybody else’s perspective that’s a distinction with a pretty big difference. Even in terms of damage.”

“My hand did hurt though,” Christina says.

“I know it did,” Myka assures her.

“Hyperbole,” Helena huffs.

The subway is warm. On it, they are just three people.

****

Myka and Helena put Christina to bed together. Most nights, one or the other will take the lead, but tonight they are together.

Christina says to her mother, in the middle of the yawn that followed her insistence that she was not tired, “Myka says she hopes you want to love her forever. Do you?”

Helena says, “Of course I do.” She is all business, as if no more factual a statement could be issued. Christina relaxes—she’d been holding her head a bit up, off of her pillow, but now the feathers give way with the tiniest of exhalations—and Myka wishes that she too were ten, to be able to hear that voice and believe in its infallibility. “Now,” Helena says, with no change in tone, “are you still concerned about that ridiculous newspaper article? Tell me the truth.”

“You’re not sick,” Christina says.

“Not to the best of my knowledge.”

“But Immigration might feel like they have better knowledge. Right?” She doesn’t say this with any guile, but Myka suspects she’s been thinking it out for some time.

“You’re very clever. All I can tell you is that some people hold certain misinformed beliefs. Where those come into conflict with ours... well. We will face what we must, if and when we must. In the meantime, shall I let you know if I begin to feel ill?” Again, the tone says do not concern yourself, and again Myka wants to believe her. Christina believes her enough to nod. “All right, then,” Helena says. “Myka and I will retire to our bed that is not a sickbed, and you will sleep well.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“You say that as if you are addressing someone in this room, and yet I see only Myka and myself.” She leans down and kisses Christina’s forehead, then takes Myka’s hand and kisses it—and that too says do not concern yourself. “Vac-U-Form. What are we to do with you?”

“Make sure Santa knows I want one.”

Helena’s tone doesn’t change, but her smile deepens. “I don’t know who that is either, so I could not possibly convey the message.”

Myka laughs. “See, knock-knock, that’s why we had to go to Macy’s.”

“I’m ten,” Christina insists, but with little force. She blinks a very slow blink. She yawns again.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Sound #part 6c #Soon sequel #the conclusions of part 6 will be up as soon as I can get it formatted #it's not particularly exciting #I am still building the exterior of the box #I do know it's a bit like waiting for plot-Godot at this point

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mayasha-chan · 7 years ago

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Music, Hats and Panta (Shoumade Collection) #3

Collection Summary: A collection of stories for the pairing Kaede x Kokichi x Shuichi (Or as I’ve dubbed their ship name, Shoumade)

Some are set in the canon story. Some are AU. And some are in Modern AU.

I’m more than happy if someone wants to make any of these oneshots a full length fic. Just message me which one you’d like to adopt and you will most likely get my permission.

Title: Not Your Typical Christmas

Fandom: Danganronpa V3

Rating: K

Written by Mayasha-Chan (Can also be found on AO3 - HERE)

“Shuichi! Shuichi it’s time to wake up!”

Shuichi groaned, rolling over to the other side of his bed and burying himself further in the warm, comfort of his bed.

“Shuichi! Come on, who sleeps in on Christmas!”

Shuichi blearily moaned in response, clearly still not fully awake right now.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this… Sorry Shuichi!”

Shuichi only had a moment to process how strange that sentence was before a waterfall of freezing cold water was poured on him, sending him flying out of his warm bed.

“AH! What the hell, Kaede?! That was absolutely freezing!” Shuichi yelled, rubbing his hands up and down his wet arms to warm them up.

Kaede giggled and clapped her hands together, apologetically, “I really am sorry, Shuichi. But you just weren’t waking up and we were getting impatient.”

Shuichi sighed, “Well, you could have found a less chilling way to do it. And what are you talking – Wait. Kaede, what are you wearing?!”

Shuichi couldn’t believe it took him this long to notice, but Kaede definitely not dressed in her normal attire. Rather, she appeared to be decked out in a full-on red and white Santa costume. She was even wearing the white, fluffy beard!

Kaede smirked and gave him a little twirl. “Do you like? Pretty festive isn’t it?”

Shuichi nodded, but frowned after a moment of thought, “While it’s very nice Kaede, I have to ask why you’re dressed as Santa and not Mrs Claus?”

Kaede laughed, “Oh! Well, I was going to dress as Mrs Claus at first but…”

“But…?”

Kaede shook her head and smiled, “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, you’ve got to hurry downstairs! Kokichi and I have been waiting for ages to open presents!”

“I’ll be with you guys in a moment. I have to put on some different clothes, since someone got these ones wet.” Shuichi shot her a judging look to which she just adverted her eyes and hurried out of his room.

Shuichi couldn’t stop a small smile from making its way to his face. He knew they meant well, and he could never stay mad at them for long. You never can stay mad at those you love for long anyway.

It didn’t take long for Shuichi to get on a new pair of comfortable – and drier – clothes. Now that he was dressed, Shuichi quickly made his way downstairs feeling a bit guilty that he’d been keeping them waiting.

As soon as Shuichi entered the living room, he was immediately met by a colourful array of rainbow twinkle lights, red and gold tinsel dangling across the top of the fireplace – where a roaring fire was blazing – and a lovely Christmas tree decorated with a wide variety of silly and themed Christmas ornaments, where stacks of presents littered its base.

It was beautiful.

“Merry Christmas Shuichi!” Kaede cheered, setting off a party popper upon his arrival making him chuckle at the fun greeting.

“And a Merry Christmas to you too, Kaede.” Shuichi smiled taking a seat on one of the three pillows Kaede had pre-organised on the floor. She said it would allow them to create a little ‘Present Opening Circle’ where they could all be close while they opened their gifts.

Kokichi and he had loved the idea instantly.

Speaking of which…

“Kaede? Where is Kokichi? I thought you said he was waiting down-“

Suddenly, the top of the present next to Shuichi burst off and out of the box came a flying mass of red, white and purple. Shuichi screamed as it knocked him to the floor.

What the heck?!

Taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, Shuichi was finally able to get a good look at what collided into him, only to feel his jaw drop as he realised exactly who it was.

“Merry Christmas Shuichi!”

And exactly what he was wearing!

“K-KOKICHI?! What the – How did – Why are you in a dress?!”

Kokichi grinned and jumped off of Shuichi to strike a few poses. The dress that Kokichi was wearing was in fact a Mrs Claus outfit, with velvet red straps and a red, velvet base that reached down to his knees. There was white fluff trimming the top of the chest and bottom of the skirt. Wrapped around his neck - like his normal checkered scarf – was a long stream of purple tinsel that, in Shuichi’s opinion, really brought out his eyes.

“Nishishi~ Don’t you like it Shuichi? I think I look really cute!” Kokichi pouted instantly turning on the puppy eyes. He turned to Kaede and asked, “Don’t you think I look cute Kaede?”

Shuichi felt his blush deepen immensely – Wait since when was he blushing?! – as Kaede pulled Kokichi into a big hug and started rubbing his head, her own face tinted with a bright blush.

“Of course I do! You are adorable Kokichi!”

‘And she falls victim to his cute act again..’ Shuichi thought, unaware that they had both turned their attention back to him until they were both sitting in front of him.

“Come on Shuichi! You think Kokichi is cute in that outfit too don’t you? And that I do too, right?”

“Am I cute Shuichi? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”

Shuichi felt himself sweat. He never enjoyed being the centre of attention – he just couldn’t handle it. But they were both looking at him so eagerly… URGH!

Curse both of them and their cuteness!

Feeling his face turn redder than a tomato, and burn brighter than the sun – He pulled his cap down over his eyes and murmured.

“I… think youbothlookcute…”

Kokichi frowned and held his hand to his ear, “Huh? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said… I think you both look cute…”

Both of them frowned again, and Kaede poked Shuichi’s side, “Nope! We didn’t hear that Shuichi. You’ve got to say it a bit louder.”

Gritting his teeth, Shuichi swallowed his embarrassment and shouted.

“I SAID I THINK YOU BOTH LOOK CUTE!!”

The living room fell silent, the only thing that could be heard was crackling fire. As soon as Shuichi had realised how loud he had said that he immediately went to apologise, but was crushed by Kaede and Kokichi throwing themselves on him.

“K-Kaede?! K-Kokichi?!”

Both of them giggled and hugged him tightly, “Merry Christmas Shuichi!”

“We love you!”

#shoumade #kaede x shuichi x kokichi #kaede akamatsu #shuichi saihara #kokichi ouma #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #christmas #fanfic #fanfiction

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rehnro · 7 years ago

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The first time I heard of the lost city trek was from Rory – part of the Everest summit team in May. He had lived in South America for some time when he was still a professional poker player. In Colombia itself most hikers won’t miss that trek. While that made me somewhat suspicious, the trip delivered with great (and advanced) hiking, good group spirit and a rewarding lost city experience.

I booked the trek in my Santa Marta hostel (Masaya – recommended). A little research suggested that while there are 6 companies or so offering the tour, they have all the same itinerary and charge exactly the same (COP850,000). Doing it unguided isn’t really an option given required transport to the trailhead (needs off-road jeep and knowledge as to where), no good camping/tent options and difficulties getting food as each hiking team brings their own food & chef. I did it with expotour.

A little background

The city was built between the eighth and the fourteenth centuries by the Tayrona Indians. Nowadays only circular stone terraces covered by jungle remain, but the views and the location of the site are extraordinary. A local name for Ciudad Perdida/Lost City is Teyuna.

Tayrona Indians: When the Spanish arrived in the 1500s, tension mounted over many years until confrontations between the Spanish and the Tayrona forced the natives to move their settlements higher into the Sierra Nevada mountain range. This move saved them from both the system of rule the Spanish brought to the region and from an unseen killer, disease. Today the descendants of the Tayrona go by the names of the Wiwa, the Arhuacos, the Cancuamo and the Kogi.

See here & here for more.

4 day return hike (~46km) – not for beginners

We left the tour office in Santa Marta around 10am crammed into two jeeps. I travelled with two dutch girls (one jusgt completed the NY marathon, one a Spanish ace), a swede (Johan), joe (uk) and a couple from Alabama (news of dangerous animals such as snakes, but also great beaches were new to me). The journey was meant to take 2,5h would It not have been for an accident induced hold-up. Our driver basically took out a motorbike in a bend injuring both riders. Silly driving really. Then it got really busy as a large truck delivering a digger also arrived to remove some landslide that coverred the road on several occasions after heavy rain the night before. Once the police had arrived we got loaded on a new vehicle and continued. The last hour of driving through the jungle and by now in indigenous territory to the pueblo El Mamey was pretty rocky and with often a steep way down on our left (my window). But we made it without further delay or motion sickness. Time for lunch & more introductions.

Day 1: How wet is wet?

The short hike on the first day would take us some 3,5-4h and included ascending 500m. As luck had it, the so far hot day was not to last. As soon as we had crossed the first river the skies opened and we basically walked all the way in rain. It made some mud-fight and soggy shoes. But somehow it felt great and liberating. After key sections we got refreshments (watermelon – how fitting if I think about it now ;o) or had the opportunity to buy them (water, beer, snacks).

I ended up finishing the day with Markus & Eva from Germany (somewhere near Ulm). They are on their annual leave and we had much to talk about including useful tips on my Yukon plans (as Markus had been there). Key takeaways: a) take loads of whiskey & b) prepare yourself for war with the mosquitos. It felt like a victory when we reached camp after dark for a great dinner (fish on the menu).

Once we sorted equipment, it was time for entertainment. To my surprise, the monopoly deal game i brought along was an instant hit and we played until lights were switched off. Bedtime in the largest outdoor dorm I have come across – luxury alomost considering where we were.

What to take with you?

Enough cash (beers go for 5-7,000 a piece)

Insect repellent (take a good one!)

Sun lotion

Snacks (not heavy and good between meals)

Short trousers

Two easy drying tops

Swim trunk/suit

Towel

Aqua pack (1.5-2l, ideally take some supplement tablets as you sweat a lot)

Head-torch

Hiking poles (really helps on the muddy trek)

Hiking boots & two pair of socks

Havajianas

Light jumper for evenings (in general you might appreciate long clothing for mosquitos)

Hat/baseball cap & buff (for the sweat)

Water for first day (purified water afterwards is ok)

Cards (monopoly deal was a hit!)

Wireless speaker (UE2 BOOM no less)

Battery pack (not essential as you can charge phone in the camps)

Dry bags for all your stuff

One book (max., I finally managed to finish ‘Born to Run’)

Sunglasses

Hygiene stuff (ideally biodegfradeable soap)

Basic meds (guides are ill prepared for issues and you are remote, ibuprofen / paracetamol at least)

Day 2: Learning about Tayrona Indian culture

The second day started with a 5am wake-up, 5.30am breakfast until we got going around 6.15am. Boots remained as wet as last night – which goes for any clothing. The humidity is so high that you are better off keeping it in a bucket of water overnight! Today we had some 200-300m altitude gain ahead of us until the final camp before reaching the lost city.

We passed indigenous villages (where kids traded sweets for pictures), learned about the indigenous culture. These Tayrona Indians live here completely self sustained. Impressive. Coka is an important part of their culture though only consumed by men in the form of leaves – not in the processed (white) version. In fact, locals chew the coka leavers together with powder/calcium from crushed seashells. The residue (spit?!) over time forms a ever growing, white ring on the poporo. The men use it as a powerful mix that keeps away hunger and lets them walk on for a long time. Appearantly the shaman is also reading from it every 10y or so … what it says I don’t know ;o)

Weather wise we stayed dry all day, enjoyed a swim over lunch time and and generally felt much better about things with some stunning scenary and flora on the way. While the way was still mainly up, the group was pretty fast and maanged all distances well below guided time.

A Poporo – the white bit wasn’t there when the Poporo was new

Day 3: Entering the lost city

We started early again. 4.30am we were up. Main reason was a pretty noisy columbian school class, which we wanted to front-run basically before they got to ciudad perdida. The hike up was pretty short (c1h), but very steep. Once up, we got a low down of the history. How it was used as sacred place (still, indigenous meet every September here), how tomb raiders went after the gold burried with past dead residents and how a farer family rediscivered the city.

The city itself turned out a lot larger than I had thought and we had it almost to ourselves early on. Great panoramic views made the journey here really worthwhile. The next two hours or so we spent venturing around the place. Me & Johan were in a particularly good mood and really took in the views. What a cool place! Memorable experience for sure.

The way down seemed even steeper and it was super humid. By the time we got back to camp we all appreciated a pre-lunch swim in the cold river. Add bit of UE2 Boom music and a few aguila beers and you have a little party going right there.

The way to our overnight camp was in tendency down, but not straightline. Amazing jungle views all over and the weather remained kind. At the end waited another river to refresh in and relax as well as the final round of Monopoly deal (I won the company at least 3-4 buyers … should consider charging commission!).

On a more negative note, our chef had slipped in the lost city and dislocated his arm. The swelling was huge and his pain likeewise. Poor fella though good to note that he was better the day after.

Day 4: Home

The last day is a crisp 6h walk with a few stops with fruits and drinks. Again no rain, great vistas and the indigenous villages we saw on the way in. Everyone happy to have made it and after a well deserved lunch also ready to get back to civilisation (and mobile reception). Don’t miss that trek if you visit colombia. It’s really worth it.

Ciudad Perdida: Amazing jungle trek to the lost city The first time I heard of the lost city trek was from Rory - part of the Everest summit team in May.

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