#i also been talking to gully for the last few hours | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hadtochangemyurlquick · 4 years ago

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here’s 7.1k of Toni pining and Shelby and Toni being childhood friends and also far more character analysis of Rachel than I was expecting? also Marcus is real and I made him a gorgeous himbo. it’s based off that poem by @theycallmedizzy and you can find it here. lmk if you want a second chapter from shelby’s perspective, tho i literally just finished this one. like literally ten minute ago.

Mr. Williams finishes reading the poem and looks over his spectacles at the class. Yes, they’re spectacles, those kind of tiny thick ones that make his eyes too big because he’s much too old to be teaching.

It’s eight am on a Tuesday, Toni walked the three miles to school because she missed the bus only to walk into her shitty honors English class and hear the teacher reading a poem aloud to the class. Her poem. She’d sat down after a momentary pause and listened to him read the final damning stanza.

And then he looks at Toni.

He reads her essays right? What if he recognizes her writing voice? Is that a thing? Or maybe her handwriting or—

“Toni, I was just explaining to the class that whoever wrote this should submit it to the state literature festival,” Mr. Williams says, Toni almost sags against her chair. “I was hoping someone would come forward,” He turns back to the class, eyes hovering over Quinn and Monty, two of the more sensitive guys who sit in the back and ruin the curve for everyone. “But I’ll leave it on the board here,” he clacks it on with a magnet and Toni flinches, “and hopefully someone will come forward. Now onto today’s lesson.”

After class Martha goes up to the board and takes a picture of it, her eyes a little starry at the words and Toni grits her teeth.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Martha says. “Even you can’t deny that.”

“It’s dumb,” Toni says flatly, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m keeping it anyway, maybe someday someone will write a poem about me,” Martha says.

“How do you know it’s not about you?” Shelby asks coming out of nowhere and uninvited too. Toni glares at her, letting her open disdain shine through like sunshine through clouds after a gully washer.

“No guys notice me,” Martha informs Shelby sadly. “I bet Andrew wrote it for you.”

Shelby purses her lips and looks over the poem, “I doubt it. He’s more of a doer, I think. Besides, I’m sure that guys notice you, you went on a date with that boy Sam last month.”

Martha sighs and before she can launch into what a disaster that date was, Toni tightens her hands around her backpack.

“I’ll see you in science,” She tells Martha and manages to escape Shelby’s eyes burning at the back of her neck.

———

reasons not to kiss her

1.) this sort of love is not allowed. you are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and chipped teeth

Toni had played about every sport she was allowed to growing up. Basketball was her favorite, but she loved beat it ball, the game she made up with the other kids in the neighborhood. It was basketball but without rules, devolving into fist fights within the first half. Nothing tasted better than her own bloody lip on a hot summer day. Not even the cool glass of lemonade Mrs. Blackburn always had ready when she ran all skinned knees to Martha’s telling her about how she beat guys two years older than her.

She got angry when she had to stop playing, moving to a different neighborhood. Apparently, Mrs. Blackburn had figured out that she wasn’t only getting her split lip from the older kids in the neighborhood.

The new foster parents were a little stricter, a little richer, and signed her up for youth soccer when she complained about how there was nothing to do without beat it ball.

Martha Blackburn would always be her person, but Toni didn’t expect to find her people so young. Dottie killed as goalie, and Becca’s sweetness made her defense all the better. But it was Shelby and Toni who were the dynamic duo. Toni had a never ending amount of energy as a midfielder and Shelby’s precision made her the perfect striker. It worked the same way every game, Becca would kick it to Toni, who got it to Shelby, who scored a goal. It got to the point that Becca didn’t even need to do much and the coach had to pull Toni aside to tell her to pass to the other girls too.

At the end of the season they sat together at the team party, wearing orange slice smiles. With sticky fingers they held hands and Toni kinda wondered how someone’s eyes could be so green.

Toni doesn’t remember why Shelby’s parents were so angry about them holding hands, but she knows Mr. Goodkind talked to her foster parents and Toni was off to a different home, in a different district, and she lost even Martha for a few months.

———

At lunch everyone’s talking about that fucking poem. Martha sent it around to the whole school and Leah is discussing its merits with Rachel and Nora. Even they don’t seem bored with the topic, though Nora is sure Quinn didn’t write it.

“It could be Monty,” Leah says. “I wouldn’t have thought he had an eye for this stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s Monty,” Rachel says. She looks at Nora, “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“What?” Nora asks.

“I mean it smells like Anna Akhmatova had a baby with Adrienne Rich,” Rachel says.

“Who had a baby with who?” Martha asks.

“Please,” Fatin says. “You’re not exactly the world’s leading expert on free form poetry.”

“Uh, I know when something’s written by a girl,” Rachel says. “I bet you fifty bucks some closet case wrote this.”

Everyone looks at Toni. “You caught me,” Toni deadpans.

“Rachel’s right,” Nora says. “A girl definitely wrote this. Toni, do you know anyone?”

Toni glares at her. “I’ll shake the lesbian phone tree and see what comes out.”

“Well, could it be Regan?” Martha asks. “Maybe she wants to—”

“It’s not fucking Regan,” Toni grabs her books and stalks out, kicking a chair randomly strewn around away as she did.

She hears Shelby sit down just as she leaves, “What’s got her madder than a baptized cat?” Shelby asks and Toni rolls her eyes.

———

2.) no one ever taught you how to love. your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves

The worst of it was that Shelby was gentle. Her hands were warm and soft around Toni’s callouses, and there was a crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on Toni’s hands. No, the worst of it was that Shelby didn’t let go of Toni’s hands when she finished, kept holding onto them as she met Toni’s eyes.

“Well?”

Toni swallowed hard, “I’m not gonna apologize.”

Shelby sighed, her thumb traced little circles around Toni’s hands. “I know today ain’t easy for you.” Toni scoffed and looked away. “But you know you were pickin' a fight. Andrew promised to leave you alone.”

Toni ripped her hands away and jumped from the bench of the locker room. “What the fuck do you know? You weren’t fucking there.”

Shelby’s calm only made Toni’s anger redder, “You ain’t denying it.”

“Why the fuck are you dating him? He’s a self-satisfied little asshole who just wants a little trophy girlfriend to—”

“Toni,” Shelby cut her off sharply and got to her feet, meeting Toni’s eyes.

“You’re not denying that either,” Toni spat.

She could’ve screamed at the hypocrisy. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists against the walls and bleed all over the bandages Shelby wrapped around her knuckles. She wanted to hurt, to make Shelby hurt. She wanted everyone to see and feel how hurt she was, and hurt them with that hurt. Finally level the playing field.

“Andrew is my business,” Shelby said. “Not yours.”

“He becomes my business when you—”

“When I what?” Shelby asked.

Toni looked at her hands, “Never mind.”

Shelby sighed, “Martha’s helping you move in today, right? Shel’ll be there the whole time?”

“Don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“Of course I care. The last time you lived with your mom you didn’t eat for a week.”

“I was five, not fifteen,” Toni said. “And seriously, stop pretending you give a shit.”

She shoulder checked Shelby as she walked out and winced at the sound of Shelby hitting the gym lockers. Her hands still sting where Andrew’s teeth had scrapped them.

———

Regan approaches Toni during science, her eyes serious. Martha straightens, and Toni does her best not to make eye contact.

“It’s not mine,” Regan says.

“Yeah duh,” Toni mutters.

Regan frowns, “I just—I didn’t want you to—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you want,” Toni says.

Regan sighs and leaves and Toni regrets it.

“Shelby thinks it’s Marcus,” Martha tells her. Toni blinks up at her and Martha nods. “She thinks he wrote it for me.”

“Martha, that kid is dumber than a box of rocks,” Toni says.

Martha furrows her brow, “Maybe he has hidden depths.”

“If you think it’s him ask him out,” Toni says.

“Shelby thinks it’s him,” Martha is quick to correct. “But he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Toni rolls her eyes. Marcus had been in love with Martha since the ninth grade. They had gotten placed as lab partners and he literally didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time. Every time there was a dance he would always look like he was about to say something, shoot his shot, when Martha would loudly proclaim she couldn’t wait to go with her friends.

Toni would’ve pulled the guy aside and told him to grow a pair, but a guy who’s not brave enough to go after what he wants wasn’t good enough for her Marty, not by a long shot.

“Rachel still thinks a girl wrote it,” Martha says.

“Maybe Rachel wrote it,” Toni mutters.

Martha’s eyes light up.

———

3.) no one has ever loved you this full surely you would drown in it all

Being a lifeguard was the worst. It was super boring, the pay was shit, and also Toni would probably get someone killed. Like, they pretended she was CPR certified but she absolutely had no idea how to do it. She went to some hour long course, slept through it, took a test that was just: should you kill people? And then they wrote some bullshit on some papers about a three week long set of classes.

But Shelby was tanned and golden looking and on their shifts they’d text back and forth about which kids they were betting on to win sharks and minnows. Tweenage boys in all their adolescent infancy would gaze open mouthed at Shelby and Toni alike but Shelby was the only one who let them down gently. Toni would ruin them for girls forever with something enough to cut through even the thickest skin.

On the fourth of July the pool paid for fireworks and Toni found a blanket and Shelby found her and they sat watching the reflections of the lights together. Shelby rested her head on Toni’s shoulder, all gentle, like she was afraid Toni would spook.

“I know this ain’t much of a holiday for you,” Shelby said. “But thank you for spending it with me.”

She had her hand on the blanket, splayed out like she was waiting for Toni to take it, there in front of everyone. Toni imagined a world in which she did.

———

“Yeah it’s not me,” Rachel says. “I wish I could write that good.”

Which is such bullshit because Toni knows Rachel could say well if she wanted to. Rachel’s weird inferiority complex about Nora pisses off Toni to no end. Nora’s the smart one, Rachel will be the first to say, and Rachel’s the athletic one. But Nora has a six minute mile and Rachel has perfect pitch so Toni hates them both.

“Maybe it’s Dot,” Toni suggests and Rachel, Nora, and Martha snicker.

Out of all of them, Martha’s the best driver, but they always end up in Rachel’s car after school anyway.

“Most of the school seems to think it’s by Andrew,” Nora says. Toni’s fists clench.

“Yeah,” Rachel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he would love to take the credit. C’mon Toni, you don’t know any lesbians who could’ve written this?”

“You’re a lesbian too,” Toni says. “You don’t know any?”

“I don’t have a life outside of the pool,” Rachel says, “and none of them have picked up a book since Hop on Pop.”

“Regan says it wasn’t her,” Martha cuts in helpfully. “But maybe it’s another kid in theatre. Shelby says—”

“Oh my god,” Toni grits out. “What is everyone’s deal with her anyway? Why is everyone still obsessed with her? She’s just another basic Jesus bitch.”

The car goes quiet and Toni wishes she could melt into her seat cushion.

“I didn’t mean that,” Toni says.

“Except you did,” Martha snaps.

Toni winces.

“What’s your deal with her?” Rachel asks. “You guys were fine last year.”

“Quinn says there’s a poetry club,” Nora says. “Maybe it’s someone there?”

No one takes the bait and they don’t talk the rest of the way.

———

4.) she belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. look around you, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’

“Shelby?”

Toni grabbed the shoulder of the girl and pulled her away from Marcus. Shelby was bruised lips and ruined make up and Toni took her by the hand. Thank god Martha wasn’t here, thank god Andrew wasn’t here, thank god Marcus looked just as trashed.

“Toni?” Shelby sorta stumbled, her ankle twisting painfully on her heel and Toni steadied her.

Shelby could do a cartwheel in six inch heels.

“I’m gonna get you home, okay?” Toni called over the music.

Shelby didn’t really respond, just leant into Toni as she led her away and outside. The party had spilled into the backyard and front yard some, the cops probably already on their way, but everyone was too fucking hammered to notice them making their way out.

Shelby’s house was only about a twenty minute walk but it was cold and Toni was only wearing her basketball shorts and her mom’s jacket that she promptly put over Shelby’s shoulders.

“Are you still—” Shelby swallowed hard, “You’re still living with your mom?”

“Mostly with Martha,” Toni said.

“Martha’s great,” Shelby said. “She’s so pretty it makes my eyes hurt.”

“One of our finest,” Toni grunted as Shelby nearly fell on her heels again.

“She could be a model,” Shelby told her. “We should get waffle house.”

“Shelbs, we’re nowhere near a waffle house.”

“What was Becca’s order? At waffle house?”

Toni sighed, looping an arm around her. “I dunno.”

“Neither do I,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Toni said.

Shelby shook her head and stopped right there, circling her arms around Toni and pressing her into a hug. Toni closed her eyes, holding her back as tightly as she dared.

“Oh, Shelby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

———

“Day two!” Mr. Williams calls. He taps the poem again, “I will investigate the handwriting if the poet doesn’t come forward by Friday. I know it’s someone in one of my classes.”

His eyes narrow as he takes them all in and his eyes don’t linger on Toni. Not even for a moment.

There’s a part of her that wants to march up to the front of the room and write her name down, make eye contact with everyone who never even considered her before. But no one expects shit from her, and even if he does go over the handwriting he won’t really be able to pin it on her. He might not even bother checking to see if it matches.

Toni tries not to jump when Marcus takes the seat in front of her during quant lit. It’s not like they have assigned seating but everyone sticks to the same seats anyway. Marcus won’t get shit for it though, perks of being the quarterback.

“So, listen,” he scratches the back of his head and Toni rolls her eyes at him. “I know we aren’t really friends but I—um.”

“Marcus,” Toni says.

“I wanna ask Martha out,” Marcus rushes out. “She’s like the nicest, smartest, coolest girl in the school and like her eyes are out of this world radical.” Radical? “And I would take her somewhere nice like Olive Garden. Or Cheesecake Factory? And pay for it, and open all the doors for her, and I’d carry her books to class—”

“On your date? This is happening during school?” Toni asks.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. Football players.

“Oh no! I meant like, after, if she wants me to,” He says. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask her out?”

Toni blinks at him. “What?”

“My buddy said if you want to get with a girl you get close to the best friend first, and I figured I’d ask you for your blessing because that’s what they do in old fashioned stuff right?” He bounces up in down in his seat. “Can I? Or like, do you wanna give me your blessing?”

She feels like she’s having an aneurysm.

Listen, Marcus having feelings for Martha is one thing. Everyone on the planet who’s ever met Martha falls a little in love with her. That’s kinda just how she operates. Toni narrowly avoided that pitfall by being lucky enough to know her since she was five, but it was a tough time. But Marcus was never gonna act on it. Marcus can’t—he’s the quarterback.

It’s basic math, Marcus is a six foot five football player with shoulders wide enough to bench press the Subaru Forrester Toni’s legally required to buy when she turns thirty-two. He’s got that all American boy smile that shows of perfectly white teeth, and dark hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. His face looks like it was sculpted out of marble, like literally he looks like some sort of roman god, except if that roman god volunteered at the humane society on the weekends and called his mom Mami.

Martha is a res girl who’s best friend is the dyke with anger issues. And like yeah, she’s stupid pretty, but Marcus has exclusively dated varsity cheerleaders since the seventh grade.

So yeah, even if Marcus may have feelings for Marty, everyone fucking does, and there’s a host of reasons why she doesn’t have a date to every dance and a new guy every week. And most of them are the cliche high school movie hierarchy sort.

“It’s really none of my business, man,” she says.

“Dude, it’s totally your business,” Marcus says. He leans closer, “you two are like sisters right? What do I gotta do to prove I’m not gonna hurt her? I’ll do your math homework for a month, no two months.”

A thought occurs to Toni and it’s a terrible one. But when has that ever stopped her?

“You’re in my honors English class right?”

Marcus’s face screws in, “Uh, yeah. But I don’t think you want me doing your homework in there, I’m like totally failing.”

“I have a better idea.”

———

5.) she touches you like youre fragile, and if you break you wont be able put yourself together again

Dot was asleep which was Toni’s first indication that something was deeply wrong. The second was that Shelby wasn’t. She was definitely trying her darnedest, but Toni could tell she was awake. Awake in her arms.

Toni shifted, just enough to let Shelby know she was awake too. The movie was some horror flick, something dumb and flashy and almost muted it was so quiet. It was the only thing rated R that they could all agree on. Dot’s house was the only place they were allowed to watch anything rated R when they were still thirteen, so it was all they watched there.

She felt Shelby shift up, so her head rested on Toni’s chest, shifted until her lips met Toni’s clavicle.

Toni wondered if she’d die.

Shelby went up instead of down, pressing kisses up the length of Toni’s neck, soft barely there things that made Toni’s breath catch as she watched Dot snore on the couch next to them.

Toni’s hands moved to the inside of Shelby’s thighs and they stared there, tracing delicate patterns that only made Shelby curl closer.

“I think you’re probably the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” Shelby whispered.

“I—”

“I’m not done.”

Toni’s mouth clamped shut.

“I think about you all the time,” Shelby whispered. “Even when I—”

“Shelby,” Toni warned. Shelby pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“You’re right,” Shelby said.

Neither of them slept that night.

———

Toni walks into class three minutes late with Mr. Williams, and takes her seat with a sulk.

“He still won’t let me redo that paper,” Toni mutters to Martha who’s eyes are wide.

“Toni, Marcus just—” She nods her head at the poem where Mr. Williams is studying it too.

“Marcus Gonzales?” Mr. Williams asks.

Marcus gets to his feet.

“You wrote this?”

“Yessir.”

“This poem right here?”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Williams blinks and takes off his spectacles, setting them down on the desk. “We’ll talk after class. I should hope everyone has a copy of—”

“I wrote it for Martha,” Marcus doesn’t sit down and the entire class stares at him.

“—Franny and Zooey and I would like you all to turn to page 52. Begin by annotating—”

“Martha, can I take you out on a date?” Marcus asks.

“—this first section, and on to page 64. Remember what Seymour serves as in—”

Martha blushes hard and glances at Toni who smiles before she looks back at Marcus in all his golden boy 6’5” glory.

“Um, okay,” she mutters out and he grins.

“Cool.” Marcus finally sits and gives Toni a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes.

“—this story and compare that to his roles in the other parts of the work we’ve read.”

“I told you it was for you, girl,” Shelby says on Martha’s other side. “People always have a way of surprising you.”

———

6.) she is all bubblegum skies and chapped stick kisses, and you cannot watch the love run out of another persons eyes

They were all a little bit slap happy by the end of the night. A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and laughing far too hard at one another.

“I’m scared,” Shelby told them, still grinning wider than any pageant smile.

“Girl, you picked dare,” Fatin said.

“I did,” Shelby bit her lip. “But all y’all dared Leah to do was finish the vodka.”

“That was—that was bad vodka,” Leah slurred from her position on Dot’s lap.

“But now we’re out of vodka,” Martha sang. “You picked dare.”

“I’ll go with you,” Toni got to her feet, surprised when they were more steady than she assumed they’d be. “Two chairs right?”

“Alright,” Shelby said. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

“Sure princess,” Toni rolled her eyes.

It was an office supply place, probably. The parking lot had this killer decline, and it was one of those spring nights where nothing could really ruin anything. Not forever.

The rolling chairs were kinda gross, left there but not yet picked up by the garbage men. They had to do a special pickup for that, which costed extra. No one in the office had done it for the weeks the girls had been going there after parties.

“Be careful,” Nora urged.

“Don’t fall,” Rachel suggested.

“Hold on, I’m not recording yet,” Fatin said. “Okay now go.”

They pushed off in their rolling chairs, holding hands, and sped down the decline laughing as they barely managed to hold on and steer at the same time.

Toni went flying as she bumped into a patch of grass and for some reason, Shelby went flying with her, landing on top. Toni grunted, but she wasn’t in pain, not really.

They met eyes.

“Sorry,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound sorry.

“You okay?” Toni asked.

Shelby smiled, this real soft thing, Toni wondered what it’d taste like.

“Fuck yeah bitches! I’m so putting that on snapchat!” Fatin screamed and Shelby pulled away, turning white.

“God if this is you in in freshman year, I’m terrified of you as a senior,” Toni called back.

Shelby’s hand slipped out of her’s and Toni tried very very hard not to overthink it.

———

“So I’ve been thinking,” Leah said. Toni took her gym bag out of her locker, pretty much the only thing she kept in there.

“Oh no.”

“Rachel was right about that poem being written by a girl,” Leah continued. “Which meant Marcus lied. And Marcus would never do that unless someone gave him permission to take credit. And since Marcus lied so he could ask Martha out that means the person who wrote the poem wanted Martha to be happy.”

Toni swallowed hard and tried not to fumble with the lock, stumbling with it.

“Toni,” Leah walked over to her. “You need to face the facts: Shelby’s into you.”

Toni blinked, “What?”

“She wrote that whole poem for you, don’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s about you!”

“She—” Toni stopped and furrowed her brow, finally making eye contact with Leah, “You think she wrote that poem for me?”

Leah nodded, “And she let Marcus take the credit. Listen, I know I’m right. I’ve been thinking about it for ages. Whatever fight the two of you had—you need to get over it. She’s into you, Toni. She’s been into you.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Toni told her. “Seriously, fuck you Leah and fuck off. This is none of your fucking business.”

“You aren’t denying it,” Leah crowed. “Shelby likes you.”

“No she fucking doesn’t!” Toni spat at her. “She fucking hates me! She didn’t write that poem Marcus did! For Martha!”

Leah’s brow furrowed, “But… but you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

Toni looked away.

“Shelby’s actually straight, isn’t she?” Leah asked. “Fuck Toni.”

“I’m happy for Martha,” Toni said, and marched away.

———

7.) if you jump, she might catch you, and then youd have to watch as she tumbled through the dark

“What if we ran away?” Shelby asked, which was Toni’s third indication that the punch was spiked.

The first two were her arms wrapped around Toni’s waist, swaying in the soft breeze to the distant music of Junior prom.

“Oh yeah?” Toni asked. “Where’d we go?”

“Peru,” Shelby said. “Or LA, or New York or—” Shelby sort of trailed off, losing her thought halfway through it.

“Our parents,” Toni pointed out. She’d moved in with Martha a few months ago but her mom had taken it as a wakeup call, promising to get her shit back together as soon as she could. Toni couldn’t help but believe her, even if it put her in stasis.

“Right,” Shelby sounded cold, “Our parents.”

“Are things worse with them?” Toni asked.

“No,” Shelby said. “The same, really. They’ve lightened up since—since Becca. Have you heard from your mom?”

“Every week or so,” Toni said. “And if you ever need a break you know—“

“Martha is happy to have me,” Shelby finished.

Toni smiled and pulled away enough to meet Shelby’s eyes, her hands slid from behind Shelby’s neck to either side.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Toni asked.

“You did,” Shelby said.

“Can I say it again?”

“You can.”

“You look beautiful tonight.” Shelby closed her eyes and Toni tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re gonna get out, you know that right?”

Shelby nodded, leaning into Toni’s hand.

Later, Toni will learn that was one of two lies Shelby told that night.

———

Martha gets home at 11:30, exactly when Marcus promised, and Toni smiles as her sister collapses backwards into her bed.

“Toni,” she actually giggles, giggles like a little school girl. “It was amazing.”

“Where’d you go?” Toni asks.

“Olive Garden, I think he was trying to win points with you,” Martha says.

“As he should,” Toni nods.

“He was the perfect gentleman,” Martha swoons. She rolls onto her stomach and looks at Toni and oh god, Toni knows that look. “He did tell me something about you, though.”

“Oh yeah? How I’m better in quant lit than him?” Toni asks.

“He told me you wrote the poem,” she says.

Toni looks away, “Okay, and?”

“You told me you were over Regan,” Martha says.

“It’s complicated,” Toni decides. “And whatever. I wrote it awhile ago anyway.”

“Have you thought about submitting it to that contest Mr. Williams was talking about?” Martha asks.

“Can we go back to talking about your date with Prince Charming?” Toni says. Martha acquiesces, she’s too damn giddy to do anything else.

———

8.) her gaze is too gentle. you will not be the one to tell her that not everything can be fixed with a smile

“Toni,” Dot began, and Toni could tell she was looking at her. “Toni, is Shelby—is she gay?”

Toni snickered, “Dot, Shelby is possibly the biggest straight girl in our school. Maybe our state. She’d sooner give herself a buzzcut than she would ever even kiss a girl."

“Andrew said Shelby got a job as a counselor at this church camp—Guiding Light—in Plano,” Dot said. “I wanted to find the address so I could write to her and it’s a conversion camp.”

The breath left Toni’s body.

“What?”

“And I got to thinking,” Dot said. “About what a mess she was after Becca died this year. Ignoring us, going to all those parties, signing up for a crazy number of pageants. Hell, it was only once you two started talking that she talked to us again.”

“Stop it, Dot.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

“Dot,” Toni said.

“Because if she’s gay, if she’s not there as a camp counselor—Toni, did you know about this?”

“Of course not! Jesus!” Toni said. She jumped to her feet and started to pace, “Jesus Christ. Oh my god.”

“Toni is Shelby gay?”

Toni looked at Dot and Dot sighed, her entire body sagging.

“What do we do?” Toni asked.

Dot, her solid, steady, friend since fucking youth soccer was silent.

“Dot, what do we do?”

“Dot, what the fuck do we do?”

———

Shelby finds her before school, Toni smoking like she hasn’t since ninth grade when Bernice gave her a stern lecture about lung cancer. It made Toni cry, actually. Not because it was so stern but because Martha and Toni had been separated for three years and Bernice still cared enough to get angry with her. She promised then and there to stop, and each drag she took now makes her feel like she’s committing treason.

“Smokin’ kills,” Shelby tells her, like they didn’t all go to Dot’s dad’s funeral last year.

Toni takes another drag, just to watch Shelby roll her eyes.

“How’d Martha’s date go last night?” Shelby asks.

Toni glares, “Seriously? You avoid me all year and now you’re asking about Martha’s date?” Shelby looks away. “It went fine. Whatever.”

“I just—I was surprised Marcus wrote that poem is all.”

“You literally said multiple times you thought it was him,” Toni says.

“I know, I know but—”

“Still holding out hope for Andrew?” Toni sneers. “Marcus may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he cares about Martha. Even a fucking idiot could write a half decent poem if they had someone worth writing about.”

Shelby meets her eyes and Toni’s breath catches.

“Know a lot about poetry, Toni?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Toni flicks the only half used cigarette away. “I have to go to class,” She says, aware it’s just about the worst thing she can do.

Shelby doesn’t even need the last word, she’s aware she’s already won.

———

9.) she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It hadn’t been the first time Toni found her mom overdosed on the couch, but it’d been the most terrifying. Toni had waited in the school parking lot for a pick up for twenty minutes before Shelby had offered her a ride.

When they trooped inside, after having to use the key Tamera kept tucked away in a loose brick, her mom had been passed out on the couch. And the stupid thing had been that Toni had known her mom hadn’t been doing great. Like she’d known Tamera had lost her job, and was close to losing the car, that the pain in her back had been getting worse again from stress. Toni had known that.

But for some stupid, naive reason, Toni had never thought she’d pull this, go back to who she was.

Her tolerance was low, the doctors had told her, because she’d been clean for so long. She hadn’t realized it and had taken more than she could handle.

Shelby had taken the three of them to the hospital, helped carry Toni’s drooling mother into the ER, and held Toni’s hand until the other girls showed up, who she texted to come.

Shelby had been there when the police and social services came to talk to her about going back into foster care. Shelby had never left her side.

Toni couldn’t help but contrast that to the Shelby she saw now. The Shelby who showed up for senior year was barely christian, barely anything, just sort of blank and empty and waiting to grow up so she could have daughters that'd also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also wait to grow up so that they could have daughters that’d also

Shelby didn’t even look at her, for the first week of senior year she didn’t even look at Toni. She talked with Martha in that faux friendly way, she passed off on lunch invitations to do school work and Toni felt like she was going insane.

Sometimes she would just stare at the back of Shelby’s head in English class, writing whatever gibberish came to mind, and not listening to Mr. Williams at all. Just stare, for forty-five minutes, at a girl who wouldn’t even make eye contact, Toni’s pencil moving rapidly as she barely even glanced at the words her hands produced.

On the last day of the semester Toni finally looked away and came to two realizations:

a. Her mother was never getting better. Not really. b. Toni had written P E R U over forty times in her notebook.

As quietly as she could she tore the page out, and maybe about fifteen pages behind it, filled with similar drivel and recycled them at the end of class.

When the next semester started the seats were changed and something she’d written that she barely remembered was on the board.

Her mother was still in rehab.

———

Toni watches Marcus carry Martha’s backpack to class and watches as Martha giggles at him, argues with him. She is literally so happy it makes Toni’s heart burst.

“Shelby’s quite the matchmaker, huh?” Fatin asks.

Toni looks at her.

“Leah told me,” Fatin explains.

Toni rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too,” Fatin says. “Leah’s good at noticing things but putting the pieces together is not her strong suit. So I called Dorothy.”

This makes Toni’s shoulders tense and Fatin wraps an arm around them.

“Dorothy didn’t want to talk but what she didn’t say was enough.” Fatin sighs, “I’m all for a little drama but this is cutting into my me time.”

“What going from twenty-four hours a day to twenty-three and a half?” Toni asks.

“God forbid,” Fatin nods sagely. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I can’t.”

“Clearly not.”

Toni slips out from under her arm, and follows Martha into class. Mr. Williams glares as she comes in and Toni realizes if Marcus came clean to Martha he definitely came clean to Mr. Williams. At least the poem is off the board.

When he passes out papers from a recent essay her’s has a “see me after class” sticker that makes Toni slide down in her seat. Martha doesn’t even notice enough to give her an odd look because she and Shelby are yukking it up about the quarterback.

When everyone files out she hangs back and he looks at her, over his spectacles.

“I’m disappointed,” he says at last.

Toni scoffs.

“You write essays based off spark notes, you never participate, and half the time you don’t even do the homework. But you write this.” He slides the crumpled paper over his desk, her poem shining back at her. “So all I can conclude is that you’re lazy.”

Yeah, obviously.

“Why did you have Marcus tell everyone he wrote it?” Mr. Williams asks.

“So he could ask out Martha.”

“He didn’t need to have written the poem to do that,” Mr. Williams says.

“Can I go?” Toni asks.

“I want to submit this poem to a contest, I want you to start trying in this class, and this,” he hands her a slip of paper with about twenty sets of numbers on it, “is a list of Dickinson poems I want you to read by next week. Pick at least three to write me at least a page about. Single spaced.”

“What?” Toni asks, “You can’t make me do that.”

“I know half the kids in this class write off spark notes, I can easily have them all—including you—fail. So yes, yes I can actually.” He takes off his spectacles and Toni glares at him. “You’re a smart kid, Toni. You’ve got a talent for this.”

Toni shakes her head, “I’m a one hit wonder.”

“You know Britney Spears said the same thing after Baby One More Time.”

“That’s not true,” Toni says.

“Yeah,” Mr. Williams says. “Because she kept working at it.”

And Toni takes the slip of paper with the numbers on it, and marches to her next class and he watches her the whole way, not bothering to put on his stupid spectacles.

———

10.) you will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. she is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart

Dot didn’t invite them all to the funeral but they came anyway, even Shelby who Toni knew had been waffling back and forth.

Some of his army friends showed up, a doctor or two, and Mateo—the hot nurse Dot steadily ignored. It was a small and quiet service, and the seven of them sat towards the back, holding steady for her.

There was too much on Dot’s shoulders, there always had been, but she didn’t look any freer now that the burden was lifted. She just looked scared, small, and sad.

Toni couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she’d look like, if she got the call about her mom. It was a terribly selfish thought but who could blame her?

Shelby’s hands interlocked with hers, in broad daylight, and stayed there for the entire day. When Toni met her eyes she saw pure terror reflected back at her.

God, were they really only seventeen?

———

Rachel is complaining at lunch about owing Nora five bucks, how she was so sure some closet case wrote the poem but it’s no surprise Nora got it right.

Fatin and Leah don’t contribute and Martha probably wouldn’t have either except she was eating lunch with Marcus, they had found their own little table and were smiling at one another.

“They’re certainly cute together,” Shelby says, glancing back at Martha and Marcus.

“I say it’s weird they have the same name,” Rachel says.

“Says the girl who dated a guy named Raymond,” Nora says.

Rachel throws a straw wrapper at him, “That was a phase and you know it.”

“Marcus is sweet,” Shelby says. “If anyone deserves someone sweet it’s Martha.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little,” Leah trailed off and they all looked at her. “You know a little…”

“Spit it out, Leah,” Rachel says.

“Like the porch lights on but no one’s home?” Leah says.

“Martha is smart enough for the both of them,” Toni says. “And thank god because I was sick of doing his homework in quant lit.”

“That’s literally the easiest math class there is,” Fatin says and Toni shrugs.

“What’s that?” Shelby asks, pointing at the yellow slip sticking out of Toni’s binder.

“Some extra credit stuff, from Williams. Apparently I’m not doing so hot in that class,” Toni says.

Rachel leans way over from the other end of the table. “What is that, Dickinson?”

“It’s a list of numbers,” Shelby says. “Why would it be Dickinson?”

“All of Dickinson’s poems were numbered. It was only after she died that other people named them,” Nora says.

“And Nora said it so you know it’s true,” Rachel smirks.

“Join the fucking club,” Dot says to Toni. “I don’t know why y’all didn’t take non-honors English twelve with me. We just sit around and talk about whatever football game was on the most recently.”

“Well I’ve never liked football so.” Toni gets up, “I’ve gotta talk to my science teacher. I’ll see you guys after school.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shelby smiles and Toni clenches her jaw. “Ms. Roberts said I needed to rework my psych paper.”

“See you guys,” Rachel says and as they leave she’s arguing with Dot about why football is stupid and Toni can feel Fatin’s eyes on her all the way out.

———

reasons to kiss her

1.) she loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didnt your mother ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting

Toni hated the magnet program kids at her middle school. Like everyone not in their cluster she found them annoying, rich, and privileged as fuck. They only hung out with each other and it was clear they’d never give—

———

“Toni?”

The stair well is empty, it’s the short cut through the language hallway and no one goes there during lunch.

Toni is working hard on ignoring Shelby but is forced to turn around when Shelby stops halfway up.

“Ms. Roberts doesn’t need me to rework my psych paper.”

Toni stares at her.

Shelby takes a step up, one step closer to Toni.

“I had hoped maybe you wrote it for Regan,” Shelby says.

“No such luck,” Toni croaks out.

“That’s a lot of reasons not to kiss someone,” Shelby says. “You’d think if you really shouldn’t kiss someone you’d only need the one.” She takes another step up, until they’re only separated by a few inches.

“I guess,” Toni says.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” Shelby says.

Toni blinks, “You mean you still—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Shelby says.

She kisses her.

#did something different with time than i usually do #and with structure #lmk what you think #shoni #the wilds fanfic #the wilds #goodfoe fanfic #goodfoe #shelby goodkind #toni shalifoe #gus writes #ren don’t

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the-real-tc · 3 years ago

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Fic Update! Wide River to Cross: Chapter 26—We’ll Get to the Other Side

Author's Note: Okay, kiddies. We're here. We've seen the episodes, so we know how it all goes. I'm just filling in some blanks, as I've been doing this whole time. One thing in particular to note: When Lisa pulls up to Heartland like we see at the end of Ep. 714, I have made the creative decision to set that event the morning following their "rescue". It does not make sense to me she visits Jack the same afternoon. (There simply was not enough daylight hours left for it to have been the same day.)

Also, I have chosen not to cover what happens directly after Lisa's arrival, as this was done expertly well in a story called Better Than Before by another author here that goes by 'Wildflowers606'. I really could not have done a better job of that, so go read that story if you're looking for what could have happened.

I think there's one more chapter left to finish things off in my story, so stay tuned for at least another, because of course I have to cover a certain elopement...

Chapter 26: We’ll Get to the Other Side

Lisa tried not to let the anxiety of being separated from Jack eat away at her.

I should have insisted on going with him, she fretted. I will never be able to forgive myself if something happens to him out there. Cinders may be a valuable horse, but he’s certainly not worth the price of Jack’s life.

The horse had calmed down in the time Lisa had been down in the pit with him. She continued to maintain contact with him, rubbing his head and his mane every so often; talking softly, letting him know he had not been abandoned. She had also got over the initial stress of waking to find Cinders had escaped sometime during the storm. All kinds of dark scenarios about the horse’s fate had played in her mind then, so she was thankful the animal seemed to be unharmed by this little misadventure.

“Can we even get him out of here?” she remembered asking Jack when they found Cinders down in the gully not far from a creek near their campsite.

Jack’s quick assessment of the situation produced an answer she did not want to hear: the sides of the gully were too steep to navigate, and downed trees would need to be cut to provide a suitable passage out.

I guess I’m not as “prepared” as I claimed to be, Lisa mulled, recalling how Jack asked if she happened to have a chainsaw back in the trailer, which of course she did not. Memo to myself: add “chainsaw” to list of tools to always have in the trailer.

Without access to the clock on her iPhone, it was difficult to judge the passage of time, but Lisa guessed Jack had been gone for close to two hours already. Her stomach growled, reminding her the last time she had eaten was the paltry portion of granola the evening before. To keep herself somewhat occupied, she popped a piece of gum into her mouth. That, at least, got her salivary glands going, helping to ease the edge of thirst coming on.

Better for Jack to have that bottle of water than me, she rightly decided. How much longer should I wait? At what point should I leave Cinders and go after Jack? Oh, why did I let him go alone?

“You won’t be gone long,” she remembered emphasizing when he promised he would be right back. She had purposely held onto Jack’s outstretched fingers for a few seconds when she handed him the water bottle; now she prayed that would not be the last time they ever touched.

Please come back, Jack, I’d be lost without you; I’ve been lost without you this entire time we’ve been apart.

***

The tightness in Jack’s chest was nearly unbearable. Hiking up the mountain to find a cell signal is the kind of exertion you really didn’t need, you dummy, he berated himself. You could croak up here and they wouldn’t find your body for days. Lisa would never forgive you, one part of his mind chastised. She’d blame herself for the rest of her life. You don’t want that, do you? Without ever telling her the reason you wanted to take this trip in the first place?

I’m sorry we ever parted in the first place. I love you, Lisa. I love you, and I want you in my life for the rest of my life... if you’ll have me...

At least the climb had not been in vain, and Jack had the assurance Ty and Amy were on the way to their location. They would be bringing his chainsaw and fuel for the truck. And Ty will be bringing my heart pills. I just have to make it back down there, Jack thought. The angina attack was not letting up. A sudden bout of vertigo nearly caused him to stumble and lose his footing.

Okay, take it easy, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Don’t panic. You haven’t eaten breakfast... He paused in his descent and sagged against an old tree, heedless for the time being of the protruding branches poking at his shoulder. Jack threw open his coat, hoping his breathing would not feel as restricted. This action, however, did little to relieve the pressure in his chest and neck. Deep breaths. Slow and steady, now, he coached himself. He breathed in, counted from one to five, exhaled, and repeated the cycle five more times.

Gradually, the dizzy spell passed. Jack consciously returned his breathing to a normal rate. He took a few sips of water, giving relief to his parched throat and bone-dry mouth. The pain in his chest was still there, but not as pronounced. He wiped away the sweat under the brim of his hat. It was time to resume the walk back to the gully. Lisa’s going to be worried if I stay up here too long. I have to get back to Lisa. He reminded himself not to rush; not to overwork his heart; to keep breathing deeply and steadily. I have to get back to Lisa.

***

Ty glanced over to where Amy sat next to him in the truck. She had been quiet the entire ride so far, but he knew her silence was not of the same quality as last night during his birthday dinner. Last night, she had been mute due to worry. This morning, it was due to anticipation.

Amy loves her Grandpa Jack so much, he thought. If anything had happened to him, I don’t know what she would do. I don’t know what we would do. It was already so rough on the family when he had that heart attack last year. Thank God he’s okay now. But with that thought, Ty remembered the bottle of pills he now carried, burning a hole in his coat pocket. Jack had sworn him to secrecy on that one, leading the young man to worry maybe Jack was not as “okay” as he claimed to be to Amy during their brief conversation.

Based on Jack’s hurried instructions, Ty estimated they had perhaps another half-hour of travel before they found the correct Range Road, along with Lisa’s stranded truck and trailer. I hope Jack will still be okay when we find them...

Amy stared steadily at the road. The beauty of the rolling hills to her right-hand side did not entirely escape her notice, but her thoughts were still mainly focused on her present “rescue” mission.

I’m so glad they’re okay, Amy mused. Simply seeing Lisa’s number on her call display had been enough to disperse the anxiety that had been holding her hostage all night long. The sound of Jack’s voice on the other end lifted her spirits completely and renewed her energy—energy that had been sapped due to lack of sleep in the preceding hours.

In time, Ty found Range Road 135, noting how absolutely far off the beaten track it was, and how far away it was from Jack and Lisa’s intended destination. How in the world did they get so lost? he wondered as he continued along the trail, keeping his eyes peeled. Soon enough, both Ty and Amy spied Lisa’s empty truck and trailer.

“There it is,” Amy exclaimed, leaning forward excitedly in her seat.

“I see it,” Ty commented, keeping his own excitement under wraps. And not another soul around, he contemplated, thinking how they had not encountered any traffic in either direction for the past hour-and-a-half. He slowed Jack’s truck and brought it to a stop a short distance behind the trailer.

“I hope they’re still okay,” said Amy as she hurriedly unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Me, too. Let’s go,” Ty said, exiting the truck.

In minutes, they were hiking down into the woods in search of the trail Jack had mentioned, carrying a shovel and the necessary chainsaw and jerrycan. Ty surreptitiously made sure he still had Jack’s medication with him. You’d better be okay, Jack, he thought. This family needs you more than you know.

***

Lisa’s heart leapt upon hearing Jack’s voice calling her name. She spun around, seeing his approaching figure. He appeared to be absolutely worn out, but to her eyes, he could not have looked more wonderful. She climbed up the side of the gully hurriedly to meet him, throwing her arms around his frame.

“Ohh, you’re back,” she breathed, thoroughly relieved he had returned safely. You’re back. I don’t want you to ever leave me like that again, she thought. They held on to each other for a few sweet moments before separating with the happy news Jack had indeed managed to get a cell signal. Help was on the way.

“Good!” Lisa exclaimed. She held onto him again, this time in celebration of Jack’s success. They would be on their way home in a matter of hours, and they could finally put this whole miserable failure of a trip behind them.

Jack did his best to hide his utter exhaustion from Lisa as they climbed back down into the gully together. Last thing she needs right now is to worry about me, he decided. She’s got enough to worry with this horse being stuck down here for so long without food and water. I sure hope he got in a good drink when he crossed the river last night. Stupid horse. Could have gotten himself killed running off like that by himself...

***

It took Ty and Amy about two minutes to find the trail Jack had mentioned, and about thirty minutes later, they came upon the shelter Jack erected next to the rain-doused firepit.

“They can’t be too far now,” Ty commented. “Let’s find that creek.”

“Right,” Amy said, pausing briefly to take in how Jack and Lisa had stretched Cinders’ stall sheet to cover themselves during the night, along with the spruce boughs for bedding. Earlier, she had wondered how they managed to spend the night, especially through the storm. Definitely not a motel room, Amy thought mirthlessly, recalling Tim’s comment from the evening before.

The young couple picked up the pace, knowing they were getting close now to their stranded loved ones. An intermittent drizzle started falling, evidence the weather front that brought last night’s rains had not completely moved on.

***

Lisa looked over to where Jack stood in the gully. Ever since he had come back, relaying the fact Amy and Ty were coming, he had spoken nothing further. The grey pallor Lisa thought she had observed on Jack’s face when he returned seemed to have cleared. Still, his silence was concerning. What if he’s on the verge of another heart attack? she thought. All that climbing up and down that mountain... Oh, why did I let him do that? I should have been the one to go. Knowing she was risking getting him upset just for asking, Lisa went ahead anyway, doing her best to sound nonchalant about it:

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he answered easily, seeming quite unperturbed; showing no sign whatsoever her question was probing too deeply or breaching any invisible boundaries.

Okay, Jack, Lisa thought decisively. That’s the opening I’ve been hoping for ever since I came back to Hudson. Time to talk for real, now. I need you to hear me; it’s now or never.

“You know what I thought a lot about when you had your heart attack...” she began slowly.

Jack listened with a heavy heart while Lisa unburdened herself. Every word she spoke—reminding him of their squabbles about vacation homes and trips to France—pinched his conscience.

She’s right, he thought miserably, bringing his tired body to rest against a downed tree branch. It really was all so silly and unimportant, just as she said.

Lisa then delivered the line that made him die a little inside: “... all I really wanted to do was just... I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Jack ducked his head guiltily. I wanted to spend time with you, too, Lis. I wanted that so bad.

“I was so happy when you came back last winter,” he blurted out before even realising he was saying it.

She stared at him with a mix of shock and disbelief. We can’t be remembering the same event, Lisa thought, nearly scoffing at this admission.

“You were?” she asked skeptically, then saw him avert his gaze. You sure didn’t seem happy to see me when I came back, mister. What’s going on in that head of yours? Why? Why were you being so unreasonable when all I wanted was to be there for you? Lisa wondered for the hundredth time. Maybe now I’ll get an answer.

The whole uncomfortable episode played back in their minds of that night, both thinking of the awkwardness of the hospital bed occupying a space in the living room at Heartland.

Jack felt a return of the dread he experienced when Lisa summoned him from his room to show him what she thought would be helpful in his recovery. The same sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. A sour taste erupted in his mouth as he thought again of how it might be for them in some hypothetical future where he was a total invalid, and she was reduced to playing nothing but a nursemaid.

Lisa recalled how dishevelled he appeared that January night with his hair falling over his pale face, dressed in his robe, the light gone out of his eyes. Where was that lively, exultant greeting she longed for? Where was the bright smile, the crushing embrace, and the smouldering kiss that signalled he missed her as much as she missed him?

Back in the present moment, when Lisa almost demanded Jack explain why he had resisted her help, he finally admitted his deepest insecurity about the nature of their relationship, and that he did not expect her to understand his reasoning.

“You’re a lot younger than me, Lis,” he muttered, after she declared he had no way of predicting the future; how anything was possible, including the fact she might be the one needing care instead of him ten years down the road.

He’s been worried about our difference in age this whole time? Lisa thought incredulously. How could he even think that would be a stumbling block for us? It’s exactly as you expected Jack, Lisa thought, I don’t understand your reasoning.

Lisa adamantly declared it was damned stupid of him to think he was doing her some incredible favour by “sparing” her a future of taking care of him.

“Don’t you get—don’t you get I was all in?” she said passionately. “I was all in because I loved you, not because I felt sorry for you. But that’s all water under the bridge now, because if loving each other was enough, we’d still be together, wouldn’t we?”

Maybe we shouldn’t go to Arizona together!

Jack could not help but remember his angry, careless words from that night. I regret that so much, Lis. I need to tell you that. I need you to know...

“For what it’s worth, Arizona wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Jack admitted.

“Yeah? Too hot?” Lisa guessed, despite her heavy heart at the bitter memories of how they parted; of how much she had been looking forward to spending time with him in that famed desert state.

“No,” Jack murmured. “Too lonely. I spent the whole time there wishing you were with me.”

He looked up at her, wondering even now if it was too late to bring her back into his lonely life; if she would forgive him. Lisa gazed back at his downcast face, watching his expression carefully to gauge his sincerity.

“I’m just too damned stubborn to pick up the phone, and too damned stubborn to say ‘I’m sorry’,” Jack said.

“Jack?!”

Lisa started at the sound of Ty’s shout. “Here!” she called in response before rushing up the side of the gully to meet with Ty and Amy.

When Jack was sure no one was looking, he quietly asked Ty for his heart medication. He slipped a pill under his tongue and waited for the blessed relief to take effect.

***

A calm quiet filled the cab of the truck as Jack and Lisa got back on the road again to Hudson.

The time spent together with the trapped horse had finally provided the opportunity for the former lovers to communicate certain truths. The air had mostly been cleared; all that was left now was to decide if whatever it was they had was still worth holding onto.

An idea had been brewing in Lisa’s mind ever since Jack issued his apology of sorts. I am going to need something to get that stubborn cowboy to come out and say everything I bet he still wants to say—before we were interrupted when Ty and Amy arrived... The way Amy helped her to guide Cinders across the river provided that way; Lisa bided her time until she was sure she would have the best chance of success. I hope this works, she thought, as she pretended to fiddle with her iPhone.

Jack’s hopes of convincing Lisa to stay in Hudson seemed to be slipping away when she suddenly begged him to stop the truck. She had at last picked up a cell signal, she told him, and needed to speak with her real estate agent immediately lest she lose the chance to accept the offer on Fairfield.

Not if I have anything to say about it, Jack thought, almost in a panic now, watching her step outside onto the road as she hoped to recapture the finnicky cell connection. I’m going to lay my cards on the table. The rest will be up to her. She said she ‘loved’ me back there in the gully. Did she mean that in the past tense, only? No, I have to believe she still does...

Lisa stood with her back to him. Almost hating herself for the pretense, she informed him she had a signal again; that the call was going through. She heard him grouse that this was crazy; that she should at least wait until they got back into town. But she would not be deterred. I’m forcing you to play your hand, Jack. Don’t let me down. From behind, she felt him reach for the iPhone. He grabbed it from her hand and ended the call.

“What are you doing?” she asked, feigning ignorance, though her heart surged in triumph.

“I don’t want you to sell,” he declared. “Just hear me out. Maybe it is enough.”

“What is?” she asked in confusion.

“Earlier you said loving each other ‘wasn’t enough’. But you’re wrong,” Jack said, the lines of his face drawn into deep sadness. “It is enough, Lis. I still love you, and I think you still love me. We just have to figure out how our lives fit together.”

Lisa held her breath, keeping her own thoughts from spilling out, waiting for him to finish all he wanted to say.

“Now, I don’t know how that’s going to work; only that I want it to, and I hope you do, too. So will you please... just... stay?” he beseeched.

Lisa searched his eyes—eyes which seemed to be holding back tears. The expression she beheld revealed a tormented heart on the verge of breaking at the prospect of another goodbye, this time one that could be permanent.

Without giving an answer, Lisa held out her hand for her phone. “Will you let me think about it?” she asked instead. Once again, she hated stringing him along like this, but she wanted to be certain he meant what he said.

Jack swallowed and sucked in a ragged breath. After a few moments, he finally responded, almost in submission. “Okay.” He placed the phone in her hand.

“I promise I will have an answer for you tomorrow,” she added, noting the bleak disappointment on his face. If she had instead read relief, it would have been over for them.

“Okay, good,” Jack said with a little more enthusiasm. “You can be sure I will be waiting.” Don’t let me down, Lis, please.

“Um, can we get back on the road, now? I’m starving.”

“Oh, sure! Let’s get going,” Jack said, scrambling back to the driver’s seat.

They stole occasional glances at each other the rest of the way, not quite sure what to say to fill the silence, afraid anything else would break this tenuous new connection.

He said it! He still loves me, Lisa silently exulted. He wants me to stay. Jack wants me to stay! She did not know if it was the lack of food that was causing the light-headed sensation or if she was riding a heady high of emotion. Either way, she was already quite certain what she was going to tell the real estate agent when she got back to Fairfield.

She didn’t flat out say “no” when I asked her to stay, Jack thought, feeling more upbeat than he had in months. That’s got to be a good sign, right?

***

Jack exited the driver’s seat and relinquished it to Lisa when they finally arrived at Heartland.

“So... I’ll be hearing from you later?” Jack asked tentatively as he peered through the lowered window.

“Scout’s honour,” Lisa said with a smile, pulling the three-finger Scout salute.

“Okay, then,” Jack said, not knowing if he should chance a goodbye hug and a peck on the cheek.

“We’ll talk soon,” Lisa said as she started the engine.

“’Bye,” Jack said with a small wave. He backed away from the truck and watched Lisa reverse and drive off. Only this time, he had a strong sense this was not a goodbye that would be of the permanent sort.

***

A hungry and tired Lisa unloaded Cinders from the trailer in front of a surprised Fairfield stable hand named Laura.

“Wow, we expected you back yesterday afternoon, Ms. Stillman. I thought you were taking this horse to Montana. Is everything all right?” she asked in confusion.

“Yes, everything’s all right, Laura,” Lisa responded. Better than they’ve been in a very long time, in fact. “And yes, I was taking Cinders to Montana. Not anymore. It’s a long story.”

“Okay,” Laura said slowly, intuiting her boss was not going to say anything more on the matter.

“Please see that he gets a good meal and a good watering,” Lisa instructed. “He’s been through a lot over the past twenty-four hours.”

“Will do,” the young woman said eagerly.

“Thanks, Laura. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few calls to make.” But not before I have a shower and something to eat!

“Let’s go, Cinders,” Laura said, taking the halter to lead the horse to the stables.

***

Jack knew Tim would not stop hounding him about the failed trip to Montana and his status with a certain woman. The trick now was how to forestall his ex-son-in-law until he had heard a definitive answer from Lisa about his request for her to stay in Hudson.

It was already a sure bet Tim would be inviting himself for dinner, Jack figured, and what was the deal with Jade Virani’s presence at Heartland? Well, there was one thing—or rather things—no longer present at Heartland, and that would be Tim’s flock of sheep. Jack noticed their absence almost right away, which meant Tim had finally got rid of them.

One less headache to worry about, Jack thought happily. Things just keep looking up!

Incredibly, when dinner time rolled around, Tim did not immediately pester Jack about what happened on the road trip. Instead, he regaled everyone with how much of a profit he made selling his sheep, and how Georgie mistakenly believed he had sold Clover, her 4-H sheep, along with the rest of the flock. Jack thought he noticed Jade and Georgie exchange a couple guilty looks during that part of the story. Since no one had yet explained why Dr. Virani’s daughter was with them, he asked as politely as he could.

“So,” he began, casting a look in the teen’s direction, “what’s the deal with you, young lady?”

“Me?” Jade asked innocently. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean: what brings you to Heartland?”

Jack did not miss Tim’s look of consternation. “She’s here because I promised Tricia I would look after her for a couple days while her mother has an operation,” Tim interjected.

“Oh, did you, now?” Jack muttered. “Rare act of charity?”

“You could say that,” Tim answered. “She was in a bind. I couldn’t say ‘no’, Jack.”

Jack nodded agreeably, though he privately wondered, as always, what angle Tim was working, since he seldom did something out of complete altruism.

“Thank you for letting me stay here, Mr. Bartlett,” Jade piped up. “I know I didn’t exactly make a good first impression and all, but I like it here a lot.”

“Is that so?” asked Jack, remembering when the teen stupidly decided to go for a joy-ride in his truck.

“Totally,” Jade replied, pasting a smile on her face.

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Jack commented. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jade said with a shrug. “But my grandmother should be out of the hospital by now. I guess my mom will be flying back home soon.”

“That’s good,” Jack said before returning to his meal.

“Now, Jack,” Tim said, “be nice. After all, Tricia is your doctor now. You want her to still make house calls, right?”

“I am being ‘nice’,” Jack retorted, narrowing his eyes at Tim.

“No, you’re being grumpy. What, things not go as you planned on that road trip with Lisa?” Tim asked, thinking he had found a weak spot to exploit.

Jack put down his knife and fork. There it was: the question he knew was coming. “That is none of your business, Tim, despite you poking your nose in it all the time.”

“Shame.” Tim shook his head pityingly. “You had all that time together with Lisa—alone—and you blew it. Again.”

Irritated now, Jack said: “I didn’t ‘blow’ anything. As a matter of fact, I told Lisa exactly how I felt about her and that I wanted her to stay.”

This seemed to surprise Tim. “You did?”

“I did,” Jack confirmed.

“And what did she say?”

“She said she needed to think about it.”

Tim’s face fell in disappointment. By now, Georgie and Jade were squirming uncomfortably at the direction of this conversation.

“Who’s ‘Lisa’?” Jade whispered to Georgie.

“Jack’s old girlfriend,” Georgie whispered back.

“Jack had a girlfriend?” Jade asked a little louder than intended.

“’Had’ is right,” Tim said, having heard Jade’s question. “Until he let her get away.”

“All right, enough,” Jack groused in annoyance. “I did not let her ‘get away’!”

“That’s not the way I see it,” Tim muttered under his breath.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and I’m going to tell you again that’s enough,” Jack said, glaring at Tim.

By now, Georgie and Jade were looking desperate for a change in topic. “Hey, do we have anything for dessert? I’m still hungry,” Jade said, hoping it was enough of an interruption to derail the conversation.

“Yeah, dessert would be great!” Georgie agreed brightly.

Tim rolled his eyes; Jack was secretly grateful for Jade’s less-than-polite request.

***

As much as Lisa wanted to simply head to bed after having showered and eaten a quick meal, it was still early enough to catch her real estate agent. The conversation was a simple one: Lisa advised the woman she would be turning down the offer from the potential buyer; furthermore, Fairfield was to be taken off the market until further notice.

“Is everything all right?” the realtor asked, surprise mixed with a touch of dismay evident in her tone.

“Yes, everything is fine,” Lisa said, a smile playing on her lips. “I’ve just decided I need to stay in Hudson for much longer than I originally anticipated...”

With that issue taken care of, Lisa next placed a call to her sister in Montreal. “I hope I’m not calling at a bad time, Rachel,” she began.

“Not at all,” Rachel responded.

“I wanted you to know I’ve decided against selling the family place.”

“What? Really!” Rachel nearly squealed. “What happened? Did you and Jack make up?”

“Umm... not quite,” Lisa said, enjoying holding her younger sibling in this tiny piece of suspense.

“What’s going on, then?”

“We got stranded on a road trip to Montana yesterday,” Lisa said. “Things were said. Some very good things. In fact, he said the very things I always hoped he would say. He doesn’t know about Fairfield yet, but I am going to tell him tomorrow morning after we’ve both had a chance to get some rest.”

“So... you’re not back together again... ‘yet’. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Exactly,” Lisa said.

“Well, that’s real good news, sis,” Rachel said. “I’m so happy for you. You sound happy, too; happier than I’ve heard you sound in forever.”

“That’s because I am,” Lisa affirmed, the smile lingering on her lips. “I am.”

“After all you’ve been through, I wish you two the best,” said Rachel.

“Thanks, sis,” Lisa said. “That’s pretty much all I called to tell you, so have a good night and we’ll talk again soon, okay?”

“You bet, sis,” Rachel responded. “Good night.”

***

“Grandpa, it’s Lisa,” Amy said, when she saw the woman’s number on the call display on the kitchen extension. Jack dropped the morning paper as if it were burning his fingers. As quickly as his arthritic legs could carry him, he jumped from his seat and bounded over to the phone.

“Hello, Lis!” he greeted her brightly.

“Good morning, Cowboy,” Lisa said gaily. “Is it okay if I stop by in about a half-hour?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Jack replied. “I’ve been expecting you, after all...”

“Right,” Lisa said. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Jack echoed, and heard the click in his ear that told him Lisa had ended the call. Right away, he set a fresh pot of coffee brewing.

Amy observed his movements and thought to herself something had changed in him overnight. Something, or someone had re-lit the spark in him that had been missing ever since suffering the heart attack. Without thinking too hard about it, Amy had a pretty good idea who that someone was, and she was pleased her grandfather had not given up on that person. Good for you, Grandpa, she thought as she sipped her tea. Dad might have nearly screwed everything up for you earlier, but I’m so glad you and Lisa seem to have found your way back to each other.

Jack caught himself humming while pouring himself another cup of coffee for the wait. The morning sun was shining brightly, clear evidence the stormy weather had moved on. He sat himself down on the bench on the front porch, keeping his eyes open for Lisa’s arrival. He refused to think she would be bringing news he did not want to hear. As such, his mind was already running ahead of him: to what he would say, and how he would show her he meant what he said about loving her and wanting her to stay.

You’re not committed to me!

Lisa’s complaint from their early days needed to be crushed for good, Jack thought. I’m ready for that commitment, Lis, and I think you are, too. All he had to do now was find the right time to prove it to her.

Almost as if she had set a timer, Lisa pulled up and parked her car thirty minutes after her call. Jack put down his mug and went to meet her.

“Hi,” she said, a sly smile forming on her lips.

“Hi,” Jack replied, taking in her freshly styled tresses. He listened with a burning heart as she informed him she had taken Fairfield off the market for now. She searched his eyes for some sign this was the answer to his question he was hoping to hear.

It did not even matter to him she added “for now”. He further did not even care she was keeping Cinders. All that mattered was she was here and she was staying. It would be up to him to convince her to change that “for now” to “forever”.

That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long, long time, Lis, he thought, as he lifted his hat from his head and pulled her in for a deep kiss. She laughed happily, thrilled her news had elicited this response from him. She pressed her lips to his again, just for good measure.

When they pulled back from each other, Jack’s face had grown serious. “You won’t regret it,” he said. And she could tell he meant it.

Chapter 27: Love is a Fire

#heartland #heartland fanfic #heartland fanfiction #Jack Bartlett #Lisa Stilman #JISA #My fics #Wide River to Cross #update #Chapter 26 #We'll Get to the Other Side #Jack and Lisa

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poorlytunedukulele · 4 years ago

Text

Day 13 - Night of the Hunter

September 13, 2872

It had all started with a cryptic message.

Andal Brask: Party. Tuesday. 29°30'57.2"N 147°42'28.2"W. ;)

Azra didn’t have much going on that day, so she figured why not? If it didn’t end up being her scene she could always just leave.

Still, some paranoia (it wasn’t not paranoia if it was useful, she had to remind herself) made her want to check out the place beforehand. Or maybe she was just bored. In any case, she found herself staring at an empty patch of Pacific Ocean at around 1pm local time. Andal’s coordinates had her smack dab in the middle of nowhere. There weren’t even any islands nearby. She flew her jumpship in lazy circles, wondering exactly what kind of prank he was playing.

It took her a good fifteen minutes to realize that Andal had never specified the coordinates were on Earth. A quick check with her maps revealed that 29°30'57.2"N 147°42'28.2"W was at the peak of a very prominent mountain on Venus.

But there wasn’t a party site at the mountain, either. There was a cache. A cache with a cheeky note (written in unfamiliar hand) and another set of coordinates. Those lead her to a cave on Mars, then an archive in Freehold, then a weird spire on Venus.

Azra was having so much fun she almost forgot about the party. There was a clue in a dead zone so full of interference even the GPS failed and she had to navigate by her map alone. She had to go diving in a cenote for another.

Then one clue dropped her off in the middle of nowhere. While she’d been galivanting about the system, night had fallen on the Appalachian Dead Zone. She was in some unremarkable stretch of forest in the mountainscape. There was nothing. No tracks, no trail signs, no notes with hints, just the cooling night air.

Azra closed her eyes and listened. And though there wasn’t any sounds to be heard over the wind, she did smell something. Just the barest hint of smoke. It grew stronger as the breeze picked up, so she followed her nose upwind. She paused to listen frequently. After a few minutes, she heard… something. Were those voices in the distance?

Azra had finally found the party. She hadn’t seen the fire because it was in a deep gully, hidden by foliage. She crested the ridge and watched for a few minutes below as figures talked, danced, gestured, lit by the roaring flames. It was hard to recognize anyone from the distance, but this had to be the right place.

Azra picked her way down the slope, social anxieties forgotten. Why she’d needed to go through a scavenger hunt to get here she had no idea, but she wasn’t about to complain. It had been fun.

The ground was slippery at the bottom of the valley (there was mud beneath the dead leaf cover). Azra would have normally paused to gather herself before approaching, but she was robbed of the opportunity when she tripped and slid the last few meters.

She stumbled into the light of the fire. A ragged cheer went up from those gathered- all Hunters, she noted. Azra was mortified for a second, all eyes on her-

Then everyone went back to their conversations.

Almost everyone. There were a few familiar faces in the crowd. Andal ambled over, drink in hand, hood thrown back. “Hey, you made it! Wasn’t sure you would.”

“Liar,” Cayde called from across the clearing. “You bet she’d get here before the night was up.”

“Didn’t mean I knew,” Andal countered, then turned his attention back to the young Hunter. “How long ago did you start looking?”

“Uh… four hours ago?”

Andal raised an eyebrow. “Scoping out the site early, I see. It’s not even dark in the Pacific yet.”

“I was bored.”

“You bored now?” Cayde asked as he also came over. He slung an arm over her shoulders and gestured. “Welcome to the cool kid’s club.”

“Is that what it’s called?” Azra asked. “With capital letters and everything? The Cool Kids Club?”

“No,” Andal sighed, “but it should be.”

“Only the cool kids get invites,” Cayde explained. “Only the good kids actually find the place in time. So here we’ve got ourselves a bunch of good, cool kids. That includes you, now.”

“Who arranged all of this?” Azra asked.

Andal shrugged. “Someone from Dead End Cure, this time. Sometime tonight there’ll be a contest to see who has the honor next year. Speaking of honor, did you remember your party etiquette?”

Spark answered by transmatting two bottles of rum into his Guardian’s hands. She waggled them in a proud boast.

“Brought the good stuff, I see!” an unfamiliar voice said. “Though I don’t recognize you.”

Azra turned as a stranger approached. They were half a head shorter than she was, leanly muscled, with dark skin and a camouflage-patterned cape. Azra glanced for half a second at Andal, who shook his head.

“You’re going to have to do a lot of introducing tonight,” the Gunslinger said. He clapped her on her shoulder and wandered off to talk with Shiro and another unfamiliar Exo.

Message received: you stand for yourself here, no help from me.

“I’m Azra Jax,” she said, transferring the bottles to her left arm so she could stick out her right hand. “My Ghost is Spark.”

“Name’s Puck,” the Hunter said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

“It suits you,” Azra said without thinking. They had a certain mischievous air about them. That didn’t stop Azra from immediately regretting opening her mouth. These were new people, she couldn’t go around saying whatever asinine thing came into her head first.

But instead of taking offense, the other Hunter just smiled. “Thanks! I picked it myself. I think I have heard of you before, but I can’t recall when. You frequent the ADZ?”

“No more than anywhere else,” Azra replied. “Um. I did some stuff at Twilight Gap.” She really hoped it was that and not the other thing people always recognized, but the other Hunter’s face remained contemplative.

Puck shook their head. “Fun story, actually. I was stuck on Venus that whole time. My ship got shot down and nobody could come pick me up. I don’t think that’s it.”

Azra realized she’d be having this conversation a lot tonight. She considered just leaving. Booze and a bonfire didn’t really outweigh hours of curiosity she’d have to entertain. “I’m the Arcstrider,” she said, aware of the weariness in her voice.

“Oh, yeah!” Puck’s eyes lit with recognition. “Say no more.” A pause. “Damn, aren’t you like, four?”

“Yeeeessss?” Azra said.

“Andal!” Puck barked. The Gunslinger ambled back over with Cayde and Shiro in tow. He was trying to suppress a grin and failing.

“You didn’t break the rules, did you?” Puck demanded. “No hints.”

Andal bowed. “No, ma’amsiree. Just the starting coordinates. And a winky face.”

“I told you ‘sir’ is fine,” Puck sighed.

“I think mine is the more elegant solution,” Andal said with an air of superiority. “Rolls off the tongue. ‘Sir’ sounds like ‘zir’ and then we all get confused about how formal we’re being.”

Azra had already lost where the conversation was going. “I ended up staring at the Pacific Ocean for a while before I realized what was up,” she offered. “Also I have no idea what you’re arguing about.”

“Listen,” Puck said. “Zavala uses ‘sir’. Sloane uses ‘sir’. Nobody is going around saying ‘him yes him’! It’s never going to get confused. Yours just sounds dumb.”

Azra turned to her Ghost for help, but he just did a shrug-twirl and floated closer to her shoulder. “I didn’t spend a lot of time with people before meeting you,” he whispered. “I have no idea either.” Puck and Andal continued their debate, to Azra's befuddlement.

“Somebody please explain it to the newbie before she gets an aneurysm?” Shiro interrupted. "She's turning red."

Puck turned to face her, dark eyes flashing in the firelight. “Okay, fine.” Azra knew that tone of voice. It was identical to the one she’d used earlier, a weary ‘let’s get this over with’. Puck spoke slowly. “So I’m not a ‘ma’am’.”

“You’ve made that very clear, sir,” Azra said.

“I’m not technically much of a ‘sir’ either,” Puck explained.

Azra’s brain plugged the new information into her equation and threw up an error message in response.

Andal cackled. “I’m not sure we’re out of aneurysm territory, my fey friend.”

Azra held up her hands. “You just spent like two minutes arguing-“

“I’m sure we could drag this on for another few,” Shiro said, “but let’s not. Puck uses ‘ze’ and ‘zir’. Andal always complains about honorifics because he likes smashing words together in terrifying new ways.”

“That’s it?” Azra said.

“There is no widely accepted gender-neutral honorific,” Andal said. “But one day…”

“Really trying to change the world, this one,” Puck muttered. Ze looked at Azra with a question in zir eyes. Does this have to be a conversation?

“Uh.. it suits you?” was all Azra could think of.

Andal grinned and nudged Puck with an elbow. Puck rolled zir eyes.

Azra turned on her Gunslinger friend. “Your solution to the ma’am/sir issue was ma’amsiree?”

“It’s in beta,” Andal said. “Still working out the kinks.”

“It’s a wonder you haven’t come across this problem before if you’ve been running with him,” Puck said. “Referring to people in… interesting ways is kind of his thing.”

Azra shrugged. “That’s the trick. I just don’t refer to people in general.”

“If it really bothers you, Puck, I’ll stop,” Andal offered. “I was getting the vibe that you liked that bit, but I’m always willing to be proven wrong.”

Puck just laughed. “As long as you don’t teach the newbies any bad habits.”

“I am sorry to inform you it is far too late for that,” Shiro intoned. “The puns, Puck. They get so much worse when she’s around.”

“Well see if I share my liquor with you,” Azra groused. “I had to go into the City proper to get this stuff.”

Puck eyed the bottles she still cradled in her arms. “Well, since you brought two, you deserve a present. ��Come on.” Ze swatted her shoulder until she moved to stand by a mostly-empty folding table. Puck vaulted easily on to the table and stood.

“Hey!” ze shouted, clapping zir hands once. All conversation died immediately. “Public service announcement! This,” ze gestured down to where Azra stood, frozen in shock, “Is Azra Jax. She’s an Arcstrider. Oooooo. Big mystery.” The Hunter waved zir hands in a spooky gesture, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Here’s the deal: if any of you bug her about it, she gets permission to stab you.”

“She won’t stab anyone even if they bug her,” Cayde called. “She’s shy.”

“Then I give Cayde permission to stab you,” Puck said blithely. Cayde made a silent gesture of celebration, which Puck ignored. “I just eliminated a lot of boring conversation. You’re welcome.”

“Is giving Cayde permission to stab people a good idea?” someone asked.

“Better not toe the line then, shouldya?” Puck waggled a finger, then jumped nimbly down from zir table. The hum of conversation resumed after a few seconds.

“Thanks,” Azra said.

Puck waved her off. “I’m the host, it’s my job. Drinks go over there. Ashton left to get pizza like two godsdamned hours ago, you’re welcome to some whenever that gets here. No explosions or ordinance unless some Fallen show up. Be nice. No bothering Azra about being an Arcstider. That’s all the party rules as of now.” Ze fixed her with a stern glare. “Don’t make me add any more.”

There was a loud crack- a branch snapping under someone’s foot. A cheer went up as an unfamiliar Hunter walked into the clearing.

“That’s my cue,” Puck said, giving a sly wink. “Have fun.” The Hunter strode off to welcome the next person to the party.

"Come on," Cayde urged. "I don't think you've been introduced to Mot Balek. I have to be there to see that."

AO3 Linky

#destcember #destcember2020 #destiny #destiny the game #shhhh #it's still the thirteenth somewhere #andal brask #cayde-6 #shiro-4 #and self-indulgent nb characters #oh my

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bunkershotgolf · 5 years ago

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Several of golf’s greats - including Jack Nicklaus, Tom Watson, Ben Crenshaw, Greg Norman and others - have been on SiriusXM this week to share their Masters memories and other thoughts.

All of these interviews and episodes are available on demand on the SiriusXM app. Listen for free through May 15 with this link: www.SiriusXM.com/StreamFree

Jack Nicklaus was a guest on SiriusXM’s The Starter with host Taylor Zarzour, who asked what his favorite moment was in a lifetime of playing at Augusta. Nicklaus, rather than citing any of his own great Masters moments, described the joy of seeing the hole-in-one that his grandson, GT, hit in the Par-3 contest in 2018.

LISTEN: https://twitter.com/SiriusXMPGATOUR/status/1247890979098525699

Nicklaus: “We played on Sunday before the tournament...and I said, ‘GT, do you want to hit a ball on the ninth hole?’ And he says, ‘Sure, none of my cousins have ever gotten the ball on the green.’ I said, ‘Really, I didn’t realize that. ... Well, if you’re going to knock it on the green you may as well knock it in the hole!’ And he says, ‘Good idea.’”

Nicklaus: “To me, things that I’ve done at Augusta are pretty special, pretty special in my life. But, you know, when one of your kids or your grandkids do something, that’s far more special than anything you do yourself. So, that was my number one moment at Augusta, was GT’s hole-in-one.”

Nicklaus also said he is “delighted” that they intend to play the Masters this fall.

Nicklaus: “Well, I didn’t think they’d play. First of all I didn’t think that with the schedule of tournaments that were already on the schedule, somebody would have to get bumped off. Secondly, the golf course is overseeded that time of year and traditionally the overseed is not quite ready in November. And football season, no azaleas and all the kind of things that you wouldn’t expect, but I’m delighted to see that they’ve put it all together and we’re going to have it. I think it’s great.”

***

Greg Norman hosted a new episode of his SiriusXM show, Attack Life Radio, with co-host Brian Katrek. Norman played in his first Masters in 1981, and he recalled a special moment he shared with Nicklaus coming off the first tee during the Saturday round of that tournament.

LISTEN: https://twitter.com/SiriusXMPGATOUR/status/1247929099290542086

Norman: “I remember teeing it up with [Nicklaus] on Saturday and I was as nervous as heck playing with Jack. I had met him before in Australia a few times. I played practice rounds with him. But, you know, on the first tee of the Masters on a Saturday, we were both nervous. And I remember this: We both teed off, we both hit good drives…and as we got down to the bottom of the gully right off the tee Jack put his hand on my shoulder and says, ‘I hope you’re as nervous as how I feel right now.’ And that kind of just made me relax so quickly, and that really told me the character and the nature and what a gentleman Nicklaus has always been on the golf course, whether you are beating him or not. He wanted you to feel as comfortable as he possibly could because he knew the next 18 holes ahead of us, the next four-and-a-half hours was going to be a big grind. … He’s a competitor, he always wanted to beat you, but at the same time he had total respect for the game of golf and total respect for his playing partners or other competitors in the game.”

***

Tom Watson joined The David Marr Show and talked about winning his first Masters in 1977, and described the pressure of coming down the stretch neck-and-neck with Jack Nicklaus on Sunday. LISTEN: https://twitter.com/SiriusXMPGATOUR/status/1247543418609446912

Watson: “[On] 16 it really kind of changed for me. Up until that time you can imagine the pressure that I felt, anybody would feel in the Masters. The pressure was high. Here I am in the Masters, going neck-and-neck with Nicklaus. ��16th tee, the flag is in its traditional back far left position there. I debated whether to hit a six-iron or a five-iron. I said, ‘I’m going to hit a five-iron and take a little bit off of it, hit myself a cut shot, hit it just left of the pin where the water is and just work it back to the right a little bit.’ As soon as I hit that shot, honestly, the pressure just drained from my body, because I hit that shot exactly the way I wanted to. As flush and as pure a shot. It landed by the hole and went back about 15 feet behind the hole but still, just the fact that under the pressure, hitting that shot, three-quarter shot, it just relieved me of the pressure. I played the last couple holes with some pressure but not nearly the pressure as I had been playing with for the entire round.”

***

Charl Schwartzel was on Brad Faxon’s show, Just the Fax, and shared the feeling of nervousness he felt approaching the 18th tee with a one-stroke lead on the final day in 2011. LISTEN: https://twitter.com/SiriusXMPGATOUR/status/1247623498593378304

Schwartzel: “Walking to 18 with a one shot lead was the most nervous I think I’ve ever been in my life. Because for the first time, you’re standing on 18, and this is what you dream of as a kid. … Whatever your dream was, but mine was always Augusta. And I’m standing on the 18th tee thinking to myself, ‘You most probably just need a par to win the green jacket.’ Gee whiz I tell you that made me so nervous!”

***

Jordan Spieth was on Gravy and the Sleeze with hosts Colt Knost and Drew Stoltz and described how special it is to be a part of the Masters Champions dinner.

LISTEN: https://twitter.com/SiriusXMPGATOUR/status/1247664430374178823

Spieth: “The room is incredible and it's a break from kind of the grind and getting ready for the tournament. ... For everybody in that room it was a dream come true to win that tournament. So it’s worth reflecting on that week, whether you are playing or not and you really get the opportunity to do so with that cocktail hour into the dinner.”

***

Ben Crenshaw hosted his SiriusXM show, Crenshaw on Golf, with co-host Ed Clements and talked about a fall Masters Tournament and the conditions that could make it interesting.

Crenshaw: “I’m elated to hear the announcement [that the Masters is planned for the fall]. … I have [played Augusta National in November] but it is hit or miss to know what the weather could be like. I know one thing, you’ll see different blooms on the golf course. … What I would not like to see is wet conditions. The most interesting conditions are dry and fast. If the temperature goes down a little bit, if it gets a little cool and gets a little breezy and dry, then you could really have something interesting.”

#siriusxm #golf #jack nicklaus #Ben Crenshaw #Jordan Spieth #Tom Watson #Charl Schwartzel #Greg Norman

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ravens-rambling · 6 years ago

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The Demon and Angel (Pt 8)

Masterpost

Summary: It happened during one rainy day the two met. One half-demon who was hiding from the world, who just wanted to survive, and one kind human who lend him a hand. Despite their differences, they want to learn from each other and maybe fall in love in the process.

WC: 1,327

ships: Romantic Moxiety, Romantic Logince, Platonic LAMP, Family Logicality

warnings: Nervousness, Food mention, Drugs, Held against will, Mentions of experimentation, Crying

Tag List: @punsterterry @stormcrawler75 @frostedlover @mycatshuman @mutechild @panicattheeverywhere15 @overlord-winter @analogical-mess @saddestlittlebabe

@sevencrashing @lwilddiamonddogl @thatgaydemigodnerd @darkhumourandfandoms @whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @romanslunchbox @wewuzraw @callboxkat @randomsandersides @lefaystrent @aroundofapplesauce @ryuity @cricks-loves-you @impunkrock-baby @just-another-rainbowblog @nerd-in-space @amazinglissawho @bubbliee0 @llamaly

(Let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!)

Only a few more bites were eaten before the plate was set aside and he yawned loudly. Quickly he drank a bit of his juice then got up and placed it where the others did theirs. Sighing he glanced around rubbing his arms to get rid of that tingling sensation. Well, now what? Most of this stuff he’s never seen before so he had no idea how to work it. They didn’t like it when he left without them knowing so he was stuck here…

He could just sleep until they come back, that sounds like a decent idea…

But, something he’s noticed in this place, was that it was deadly quiet. He’s gotten so used to the busy streets noises that now having it this quiet was almost…daunting. Scary almost.

Well, …he could try to start up the weird square thing on the wall that played the singing woman. That would surely help, right?

It shouldn’t be too difficult.

Shouldn’t… Yeah, shouldn’t be…

It’s been 20 minutes since then and he’s seen fiddling with it. Pressing the screen seeing if maybe it’s some touch screen thing like the phone that the others used. To poking at the buttons on the side and back but still nothing. Growling he glanced around the sitting square thinking maybe there was some on switch that worked for it. That’s when he spotted a small black rectangle thing on the table that had buttons on it. Huh… Maybe that’ll work…

He pressed a smallish red button on the very top of it only for a screen to suddenly turn on and people’s voices could be heard. Yelping he jumped backward hitting his back against the wall while the tail to be fluffed up. Breathing heavily wide eyes stared at the screen as it played. Welp,… That worked…

Coming closer to the screen he poked at it with a sharp finger ready for something to attack him. When nothing did and the people moved and continued talking he leaned forward and sniffed it. It didn’t smell any differently, at least he didn’t smell people.

Tilting his head up at it he watched the people move about quietly. Slowly he went back to sitting on the square and sat down inquisitive by this strange box.

“We’ll be seeing a cold storm be hitting the city for the next week or so, be sure everyone to wear a jacket out there-”

Despite the fact that he had no idea how the people behind the box could do it, they seemed to be able to predict the weather. And from a week ahead too! Oh, maybe they are wizards that he remembers from the stories he was told as a kid. Though he thought they didn’t exist but, well, he’s not supposed to exist so who knows.

While he was thinking on that the people went away suddenly to new people and he tilted his head curiously at that. They were talking about something while mentioning what looked like the prices for the rectangular thing he’s sitting on. They mentioned the word ‘couch’ and he blinked.

Looking down he smiled poking at a corner with his sharp claw, “So your a couch. Huh…”

Then the people changed again as quickly as the others did and he blinked. This time he was quiet as the person talked about prices for where they store food in. He called it a refrigerator.

“Re… Refri… Refrigerator…” It was a weird word to say and he winkled his mouth a bit afterward. But he went quiet again as new people came on.

After a few more of these, the original people came on announcing that he’s watching something called the ‘2 News’ whatever that could mean. Again he went silent as these people talked for a bit not completely understanding everything they were saying but he was intrigued nonetheless.

About a half hour went by and he was dozing a bit when he snapped to attention at the screen. Blood drained from his face at seeing his own face on the screen. But it was without his horns or his wing.

“This man is still on the loose, he’s reported to be dangerous when provoked. Be cautious if you see him. His name is Virgil, though no records have been released on his last name. Also,” It cut to a picture of another man and Virgil’s breath sucked in, “a man named Thomas Sanders helped him escape from the asylum. We still don’t know why he did such a thing but records show he’s not a dangerous individual.”

Thomas… That face… He remembers that face…

“You’re getting out of here, alright? Just hang tight. I’m sorry for giving you so many drugs. I wasn’t sure how you’ll react towards this, I didn’t want to take my chances. But don’t worry it’s going to be okay. Keep breathing for me alright?”

Through his foggy brain, he could barely register that voice as he was pulled down white hallways. Distantly he could tell his hands and feet were strapped on the gully. And despite the fact that he was terrified he couldn’t seem to care. Or move his muscles. Yep, drugged again indeed.

His eyes blinked up towards the man who seemed to be frantic. Why was he so worried? Was there something wrong with him?

All he could manage was a groan, trying to voice his questions but Thomas only looked down at him worryingly but smiled a bit. “I promise I’ll get you out. I promise.” Virgil could feel gentle fingers brush up against his hair then a door opened and he couldn’t remember what happened after that.

Taking a shaky breath he opened his eyes to see the people were now talking about something else. His hands went to his chest as he took another deep breath.

Thomas… That’s who saved him… But…if that’s the case why did he wake up in an alleyway alone? Did he just dumped him somewhere and called it a day? But if he went through all that trouble why just dump him off? Why not take him to his place to experiment with him personally?

Gulping he ran his cold hand down his face. Why did he forget about that? It must’ve been the drugs…

What’s most important is the fact that his face was on the news. Other people must’ve seen his face, and true it was without his horns but he was still recognizable. Is that why Patton and Logan took him in? Cause they recognized him and wanted him for themselves? Were they waiting till those scientists come and take him away?

Releasing a painful breath in, the edge of his eyes got blurry and he realized that he was about to cry. Of course, these two don’t really care about him. Course they were just looking for money or to look good for catching him. Of course… How foolish of him…

Quickly, he got up and went to the closest window seeing if he could escape that way but it was tight shut. And when he banged the window he felt that it was harder than the previous one and his breath sucked in harsher.

Running down the hallway the sound of feathers beating against the fabric and his back he went to Patton’s room. A tear came down his cheek when he saw a weird fabric covering up the window. Scared to even touch it he darted around looking for somewhere to hide. Luckily he could open a door that led to a smaller room, a much smaller room filled with clothes, but it’ll have to do. Ducking inside he buried himself in it finding the heavy scents of Patton to be strangely comforting in a way and shut his eyes. He sat there crying silently into the fabric for god knows how long.

“We’re home, kiddo!”

“There is no need to shout, Patton. I’m sure he can hear you plenty.”

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brynandchristopher · 5 years ago

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The 3 Musketeers

Hello again! It is a bittersweet thing to say this will be our last post from New Zealand. We have had an absolutely wonderful time here and in part don’t want it to be over, but we are also ready to move on to our next adventure in Australia. We are looking forward to a little bit of routine and stability, as well as a new landscape to explore in a new van!!

The last time we checked in we had just finished the Kepler Track and were waiting to meet up with some friends of mine. We left Lake Dunstan and headed through a deep river/reservoir gorge between Cromwell and Alexandra to go see my college best friend, Camille, and her boyfriend, Aaron. They had been picking cherries and training young trees for about 7 weeks and when we arrived they had just finished their stint on the orchard. A lot of people here get a working holiday visa which allows them to stay for up to a year, and up to 2 years if 3 months of farm work is completed. Camille and Aaron were pretty sick of Alexandra so we headed out into the hills of Otago to camp for a few nights at a cool secluded freedom camp they knew of called St. Bathan’s place.

We spent 3 nights in St. Bathan’s and had a blast. It was situated around a bunch of cattle grazing pastures nearby to an old abandoned gold mine. The gold mining operation had left a large pit in the ground which over the decades filled up with rainwater and is now a lovely lake! We spent our first night there hanging out with Camille and Aaron and catching up on all of their adventures. We stayed up late into the night, having a few drinks, and freezing our toes off. It got really cold but we persisted in staying up and enjoying the amazing array of stars. We got full views of the milky way and it was definitely the best stargazing we’ve done during the trip. The next day we walked over to the lake and spent the day basking in the sun, listening to music, and climbing the fragile cliffs and jumping back down into the lake! We made dinner together and had another night of hanging out and listening to hilarious stories about Ireland, where Aaron is from.

The next day was very gloomy and we spent most of the day watching The Mandalorian in our van, great show, highly recommend. It cleared up in the evening and Camille and I were treated to a few impromptu duets from Bryn and Aaron once he had enough whisky to bust out his guitar.

The next day we left St. Bathan’s and went back to Alexandra to hang out at a lake nearby to the orchard Camille and Aaron worked on. It was an awesome lake with cool waterbirds and big cliffs all around. We hung out on the beach for a while and attempted our highest cliff jumping of the trip (~40 feet). It was a beautiful day and after taking care of some final logistical things in town, we all set out to a freedom camp in that river/reservoir gorge we came into town through called Champagne Gully. We enjoyed a last dinner together before going our separate ways the next morning. It was so much fun to see an old friend and spend a few days socializing, Bryn and I aren’t sick of each other but having other people around is nice sometimes :).

The next morning was my birthday! Woohoo. We spent the beginning of the day at a cafe so I could watch my favorite soccer team, Manchester United, play my least favorite soccer team, Chelsea. Since it was my birthday they made sure to win for me :). We had some lovely drinks and treats at the cafe to celebrate and then headed to Queenstown to shower at the free service station. Bryn had planned a special dinner/activity for my birthday but wouldn’t tell me what it was, just that we had to be in Queenstown that evening. After hanging at the service station and talking to my fam, we drove into downtown. We parked the car and walked along the docks until we reached a famous old steamship, the TSS Earnslaw and Bryn finally let me in on the secret - we were taking a steamboat cruise across Lake Wakatipu to a traditional farm for a gourmet all-you-can-eat bbq dinner. The cruise was beautiful and we stood out on the front deck while we braved the wind and enjoyed the view. The farm was immaculate and definitely used for private functions and weddings from time to time. There were tons of flower gardens and a cool old Victorian style house where dinner was served. We got a lovely table overlooking the water and treated ourselves to a little bit of everything they had to offer. I think I went back to the buffet 4 or 5 times and was very, very full by the end of it. After dinner they did a demonstration in this cool outdoor amphitheater of how they shear sheep as well as a live demonstration of their herding dogs herding a flock of sheep down a hill. The control of the dogs was incredible, using different pitched whistles to signal them to stalk, bark, run, stop etc. There were two dogs were highly adept in working together and it was an awesome learning experience. After that we got back on the boat and headed back across the lake. There was a piano singalong of old folk songs in the back of the boat and Bryn and I sat right up by the piano in the heart of the diehard geriatric singers and sang our voices hoarse - there were some people that were suuuuper into it and it was really fun and hilarious to be a part of. Bryn even requested happy birthday at the end and I got a nice birthday serenade from a bunch of strangers :).

The next day I got a wonderful belated birthday present :). My sister Madeline flew across the world to come visit us for 9 days. She arrived in the late afternoon and our first day we shopped for a few things, made a nice dinner in our Airbnb, and rested up so she could get over the jet lag quickly. The next morning we got up early and headed into town to kick off the festivities. We found a really good deal on a 3 person parasailing over Lake Wakatipu. It was such an amazing view as we were towed up behind a boat over the lake and a really fun way to kick things off. After our morning parasailing ride we walked around Queenstown and did a little bit of shopping before heading into the public flower gardens along the lake. After a lot of walking and minorly sore feet we decided to stop for lunch at a famous local restaurant called Fergberger. We got ourselves a meat pie, a burger, and the NZ version of a Boston creme donut. All of them were fantastic and a special treat, as we normally don’t eat meat or dairy.

We had planned to do a cruise on Milford sound the next day but the landslides had destroyed the roads and still were not open to personal vehicles. We didn’t want to spend ~250 dollars for a commercial coach and cruise upgrade option so we made a change of plans and headed back to Wanaka where Bryn and I spent a few days a couple of weeks back. We went back to some cool cliff jumping and lazy river spots we found and stayed at a huge open campground in the woods and made friends with a bike packer named Karl. He serenaded a family of ducks with his flute and he and Madeline were fast friends!

The next day we headed north up to Mt. Cook. We planned to go all the way up into Mt. Cook National Park but when we arrived the weather was very clouded and drizzly so we decided to wait until the next morning for better weather and camped at a lake. We made an amazing dinner of portabella mushroom burgers and red kumara (like a sweet potato) fries and snuggled up in the van to play a rousing game of monopoly. As monopoly always does, the game dragged on quite a bit, and I won by forfeiture - me and my sisters play monopoly back home so it was a really fun throwback game night. The next morning we got up early and drove an hour or so into the national park. We made a first stop and did a 3 km hike up to an overlook of the Tasman glacier. It was the first time Madeline had seen a glacier so that was really cool, and the views of the mountains were absolutely gorgeous. We continued up the road to its end where there were hundreds of cars/vans parked at the staging camp for a plethora of hikes. We opted not to join in on the difficult and crowded trails but just hung out, had some snacks, and enjoyed the view of NZ’s tallest mountain. After we left we had a hefty driving day and made it a long way south to yet another lakeside campground.

The next day we drove even further south to the town of Bluff. We had spent the last 3 nights staying at freedom camps in our van - we had to pitch a tent as well because the van really only has space for 2 people - and were a bit weary of the cold and loneliness accompanying being alone out in the tent so we booked some more cheap Airbnb’s. The Airbnb in Bluff was really nice and after driving to the end of the peninsula at the end of NZ we utilized the real kitchen space to make an Italian feast of salad, gnocchi and vegetarian bolognese sauce, and garlic bread (and a little bit of wine).

The next day we drove through the Catlins, a large forested area of southern New Zealand stopping along the way at some really cool natural features. We went to two different waterfall areas which each boasted multiple waterfalls and took in the beauty and got some great pictures. We stopped for a couple hours in a small town called Owaka so Madeline could take an online test back home which she took at the local library - after that we did a little souvenir shopping before heading to Jack’s Blowhole. After a sizable walk we made it to the blowhole, which was over 600 feet inland and nearly 400 feet deep! It was really crazy to see the tides flow in and out and spray up, we got there at high tide so it was in ideal form. After that we headed to Kaka Point, a small beautiful seaside town where we got another Airbnb up on the cliffs. Our host, Mary Jo, was super nice and gave us some good advice of what to do around there and let us play with her Red Heeler, Matty. I don’t have enough dogs in my life… :( The next morning we woke up very early to go to a lighthouse ~15 min away for sunrise. Madeline was in a sleepy stupor and was unable to rouse herself so Bryn and I made the journey on our own. It was really nice to be out in the early morning hours and we got some absolutely amazing views at Nugget Point. There were large rock outcropping all around the peninsula that looked like nugget of gold (or chicken). It was a lovely morning, despite a cloudy and slightly underwhelming sunrise. After going back to the Airbnb and making breakfast, we headed back through the Catlins to stop at some of the spots we didn’t have time to see on the first pass. We went to the famous Purakaunui falls as well as Curio bay. Curio bay had a petrified forest outcropping along the sea that is now home to the rarest species of penguin in the world. We were graced with a lucky sighting of the 2019 bird of the year, the Hoiho (noisy in Maori) or Yellow-eyed penguin. We were able to get reasonably close and watch it hang out along in petrified forest rocks. We went to a cafe afterwards and had some really nice snacks before heading to Weir Beach. We camped in a big open field along the ocean at the farthest south point in all of NZ this night and luckily, it wasn’t all that cold.

The next morning we got up early and drove to Dunedin for our final day together. We got to our Airbnb and after taking showers we went into town. We walked around town a bit, stopping in some art galleries and cool shops to get a few souvenirs. We got a gelato in the main square downtown and played ping pong in the park for a while. Afterwards we went to the Black Dog, a chic restaurant bar for a final meal together. We shared cream of tomato soup as a starter and a chocolate mousse for dessert, along with our individual entrees of course - it was a really nice last supper together. We headed back to the Airbnb and hung out and snuggled before going to bed. We got up and drove to the airport the next morning for Madeline’s very early flight - I was very sad to say goodbye to her but am so thankful she came. I miss her and my family a lot so it meant a lot to me that she came all this way to see me. <3

After we said goodbye to Madeline we packed up and did a long haul drive up to Christchurch where we are now. We will be in Christchurch for another ~2 weeks trying to sell our van and then we will head to Australia!!! Wish us luck selling the van, we might need it! :)

Expect our best,

Christopher and Bryn

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willowwzz · 5 years ago

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𝕺𝖚𝖗 𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝕻𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖚𝖒 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟤

"You didn’t eat much did you?" James questioned as he walked thru the door. Closing the book, you walked past him and headed over to the fridge, grabbing an apple out. Taking a big bite, you held the apple in front of him. "I’m eating now arnt I?" you snapped, walking over to the back door and taking a seat on the old wooden bench that you had found at a junk shop and couldn’t resist buying. "Just worried about you that’s all" James replied, his back towards you. Quickly you shoved your feet into your boots and headed off down to the stables. The last thing you felt like doing was getting into yet another fight with James. Throwing your apple over the fence to one of the horses you quickened your pace as you realised it was getting a lot colder, and darker. Switching the stable lights on and grabbing a jacket, you threw it on as you walked into the feed room. One by one you fed all the horses that were in work, 12 in total, and loaded up the trailer with hay for the rest. You loved this time of the day, even though it took nearly an hour and a half just to fed everyone, but the enjoyment you got from sitting on the deck after a long day with a glass of wine watching the horses munch away happily, nice and warm, made it all worthwhile. "There girl" you whispered to Munchie, as you did the straps on her neck rug up, giving her a pat before placing her feed and hay down in front of her. Munch was the first horse you ever owned and she meant the world to you. So much so that you sold everything you owned and paid a small fortune to bring her over with you from New Zealand. Reaching old age now, Munchie was definitely the most spoilt horse on the property. Climbing the fence you were just about to hop back on the bike and head back up to the stables when you thought you saw a faint light coming from down in the gully. Walking slowly down the path you realised that the light was coming from the first cabin. The curtains were pulled and soft smoke was flowing freely from the chimney. Thinking nothing more of it, you jumped on the bike and within minutes were back at the stables. After locking up you made your way back to the house laughing as you were greeted by an excited Goldie, jumping and bounding like she was 2yrs old instead of 12! Her excitement meant one thing...you had a visitor.

"Bloody hell!" you screamed as you were scared half to death by Sam jumping out from behind the back door. "Surprise! Mwah haha I rang from in town, you weren’t expecting me this early were you!" she laughed, grabbing you in a bear hug. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you rested your head on her shoulder and squeezed your eyes shut. "I stopped at the grocery store and got all your favourite things, oh and some of mine too. Didn’t know how much wine you had so I brought a carton!" Sam laughed as she still hugged you. “And I also got some...." Sam was saying when she stopped suddenly, dropping her arms and turning you to face her. "Hey what’s wrong?” You couldn’t even bring yourself to look her in the eye. "Long story" you managed to whisper, fighting back the tears. "Oh no here's trouble" James laughed, walking into the kitchen after shaking his boots off at the door. Sam gave you one last glance before turning to James. "Don’t you know it buddy!" she laughed, heading over to James and giving him a hug. "So how long are you staying? Hope you’re not going to be too much of a bad influence on my girl" he smiled walking over to the fridge and giving you a kiss on the forehead as he passed. "Unfortunately only a few days, then I have to head home, but...." she said as she rummaged thru her bag, finally pulling out a bottle of wine, "...I do have a few weeks off in a month or so, and will definitely be out then". You walked over to the cabinet and pulled out 2 wine glasses. "Plus...” Sam continued, "I might even let this one...” she pointed to you, "...talk me into riding one of those smelly brown things out in the paddock!" she laughed, pulling out a seat at the breakfast bar. "I’m going to hold you to that!" you smiled, thinking of the first time you had talked Sam into going for a ride. You were laughing so hard you thought you were going to fall off the horse! "Well I'll let you girls catch up. I’m heading to bed, got an early start" James said, leaning in to give a kiss. You felt him tense as you turned away so instead he had to give you a kiss on the cheek. "Night" he smiled to Sam as he headed up the stairs. "Wow" Sam gasped, filling your wine glass up again. "What’s up with you guys?” You took a deep breath and followed her out onto the deck, grabbing a blanket as you passed. 3 hours and 4 bottles of wine later you were exhausted. You had, laughed, talked nonstop and were now rather drunk, listening intently to Sam as she filled you in on her latest boyfriend. "If only my life could be that easy" you sighed, pulling the blanket up around you. It was nearly 3am and the valley was so still you could hear the odd bird call and the soft sound of horses munching away in the closest paddock. "It can be Hun, and it will be" Sam said, kissing you on top of the head as she stood up. "But for now...I’m off to bed". "Hey Sam?" you called out, just as she was heading in the door. "Mmm?" she said, turning to face you. "Thank you for everything" you smiled. Sam blew you a kiss and turned, closing the door behind her. You sat for a moment, with your eyes closed. Your mind swirled, thoughts racing at a million miles an hour and you wished you hadn’t had so much to drink. You thought about Sam and you thought about James. It wasn’t fair to him that you carried on with this relationship and as Sam made you realise tonight, it wasn’t fair on you either. Standing, you slipped your boots on, nearly falling over in the process, and threw the blanket around your shoulders, holding it in front of you. Even though it was pitch black you knew this place better than anyone and made your way slowly down to the bottom paddock. Taking a short cut thru the bush, you stepped over logs and branches, trying your hardest not to fall into the creek that ran beside the path. You heard the familiar nicker of Munchie as you walked up to her, throwing your arms around her. She grazed quietly as you freely and openly sobbed into her neck until you couldn’t cry anymore...

You didn’t know how long you had been outside, but you knew you were cold. Laying for what seemed like forever in the soft damp grass, you watched Munchie in what light the moon reflected thru the trees, eating away happily, her life so simple and carefree. Rolling over onto your back you stared up at the sky, the stars visible thru a clearing in the trees. You knew it was going to be hard. Probably one of the hardest things you were ever going to have to do but it had to be done. 'I can’t go on like this' you thought. 'It’s killing me'. Your mind was made up; there was no way around it. You were going to leave James. 'Shit...I’m going to do it' you told yourself. "I’m actually going to do it" you made yourself say aloud. Guilt overwhelmed you as you thought how horrible you were being. That you were actually happy, almost proud that you were going to break someone’s heart. No matter what, you had made up your mind. If James loved you, he would understand, wouldn’t he? "Ahh...excuse me?" someone spoke. You jumped up suddenly, almost pushing the person over as you clambered to your feet. Spinning around you saw a dark figure with long brown hair peeking out from under a black woolen hat. Stepping backwards slowly you didn’t know wither to punch him, or run away screaming. "I'm sorry..." he spoke again.”I didn’t mean to scare you...but when I saw you walking into the forest awhile ago, I was worried that you were lost or hurt". He stepped closer to you as you held your breath, not sure what to say or do. From under his hat as he got closer, you could see the most intense, yet softest, green eyes you had ever seen. "Are you ok?" he asked again. Nodding, you picked up your blanket and started to make your way back up to the house, not saying a word. You couldnt say a word. A combination of drinking, being freezing and just getting the fright of your life, you could only just manage to breathe let alone talk and you didnt even care that a random stranger was walking on your property, you just had to leave. You turned just as you were leaving the forest to see the man walking back down towards the cabin and disappearing into the darkness...

'Oh god my head hurts' you groaned as you rolled over. Opening one eye you noticed that the curtains were open and dark grey clouds loomed overhead, threatening to downpour at any second. 'Shit...need to put rugs on'. Sitting up and brushing your hair out of your face you managed to drag yourself into the bathroom. Tying your hair up, you threw on yesterday's dirty clothes. 'No point putting on clean clothes if you are just going to get drenched' you thought. Slowly you made your way downstairs, the smell of the cooked breakfast made your stomach churn. It was nearly half ten so you knew James would be at work. Walking over to get a glass of water you noticed a note from Sam saying... 'Gone into town, not sure how long I’ll be but have my cell if you want anything. Love u x x'. You grabbed a glass of orange juice, carrying it out onto the deck. You had only just reached down to pull your boots on when you felt the first faint drips of rain blowing onto your face. By the time you got to the stables the rain was pouring down. Watching from the stable doors you waited a moment to see if the rain would pass. 'Damn it' you muttered as you made a run to the bike shed throwing your jacket on as you went. About half an hour had passed by the time you had loaded rugs and the feed's you had made onto the trailer and were on your way around the paddocks putting rugs on certain horses and feeding the others. Finally you arrived at your beloved horses paddock and were greeted, as usual, by her nicker, excited at the sight of her breakfast. The sky was getting darker making it seem more like nearly dusk instead of 10am. Quickly jumping the fence you placed her feed bin in front of her which made her stand still while you threw her rug on. The wind had started to pick up as you reached back to do the back straps up. As you walked around behind her to do the other side, the cottage down in the gully came into view. You noticed smoke still coming from the chimney and just as you were doing the front straps up you saw the front door of the cottage open. Sheltering behind Munchie to block the wind, you could see thru the blowing trees as someone walked out onto the small deck and stretch their arms above their head. Slowly last night’s events crept back as you remembered what had happened. You thought that you had imagined it or maybe even dreamed it. Jumping the fence and climbing back onto the bike you made your way back to the stables glad that this morning’s chores were over and you could finally have a coffee. Pulling the stable doors closed and switching off the lights you were on your way back up to the house, glad that the wind was finally starting to ease, as a truck pulled into the drive. With everything that was going on with James, and with Sam arriving you had completely forgotten that you had a client’s young horse arriving. 'Great...just great' you thought as you motioned for the truck to back into your round pen. The client who owned the horse, Susan, as you often thought of her, a bitch. One of those people that had more money than sense. Yes she had top quality horses that were on the competition scene and earning top money, but horses to her were like a machine instead of an animal, with real emotions and feelings. You had worked many of her horses that were on their last chance or had problems, so she had always sent them to you. As much as you didn’t like dealing with her, you couldn’t stand it if any of her horses went elsewhere and plus she paid well. Pulling the truck door down, you were nearly knocked off your feet as a black blur flew past you, smashing straight into the side of the round pen. "Whoa...easy" you soothed as the horse tried to run back past you and out the door. The truck driver quickly shut the round pen door behind you and climbed up on the viewing step that went around the outside of the pen. "Got a good one on ya hands this time!" the driver laughed. "You should have seen us trying to get the bloody thing on the truck! Talk about dangerous. Might just be the one you can’t beat!" he smirked before jumping back in his truck and leaving. You had abit of a reputation on the horse scene for trouble horses and when you had moved into the area, you weren’t entirely welcome. A lot of the older horse breakers where not impressed that someone was moving in on their territory and taking their business, let alone a woman. Watching as the horse ran in panic around you, you could tell by the look in his eye that this was indeed going to be a hard one. Looking at your watch, your stomach started rumbling as you saw that it had just turned 12. Slowly you edged your way to the door, squeezing out as soon as the horse went past. You could hear the horse instantly slow down when he realised any possible threat had gone. 'Poor thing' you thought to yourself as you made your way back up to the house to be greeted by Sam on the deck, two coffees in her hands.

"Ha! You look how I feel!" Sam laughed, handing you your coffee. "I haven’t drunk that much since, well last weekend!” "You’re such a bad influence" you smiled, sitting down on the deck beside's her and dangling your legs over the edge. Listening to Sam talk about everything from when she was in college to what she had to do when she got home, she were startled by banging coming from your round pen. "What the hell is that?" Sam asked. "Yet another of Susan's stuff up's" you murmed, making a mental note to call her. "Oh dear, just don’t get hurt please" Sam said, concern in her voice. "Mmm don’t plan on it" you replied. You were just about to head in doors to ring Susan when you heard James truck pull into the drive. Taking a deep breath you grabbed the phone and headed into the office. Flicking thru your address book, you found Susan's number as James walked into the office. Dialling quickly you prayed that Susan would answer so you wouldn’t have to talk to James. Instead you got her answer phone. After leaving a brief message, you quickly headed back towards the kitchen, hoping not to run into him. You knew you had to talk to him, but at that moment, you couldn’t face him let alone tell him what you had decided, what you had to do... "Hey Morg, making a sandwich, you want anything?" James yelled from across the room. "Ah no thanks, going outside for a few hours" you replied, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge as you walked past. You had just reached the back door when James spoke. "Hey.." he said. "Mmm?" you asked, turning back to face him. "I won’t be home till late but..ah.. I need to talk to you about something, but later though, ok?" he asked, not looking at you. "Sure, ok" you said, wondering what was up. James didn’t seem his normal, laid back self. Even though you knew things could never continue between you two, it didn’t mean that you didn’t care about him, or wished him any harm. Sam had gone upstairs to make a few phone calls and answer some emails and you heard James leave again just as you were heading out to the stables. You had grabbed a halter, lead rope, jacket and a book. You loved this part of dealing with horses, gaining his confidence and trust for the first time. You were heading out the door when the stables phone rang. "Hello" you answered breathlessly. "Hi, it's Susan, has the horse arrived?" she said, emotionless. "He has" you said, again thinking to yourself 'why did you deal with this woman'? "Look, I'll put this bluntly, I don’t like the horse, but it has potential. He hasn’t been handled much and what handling he has had is, well let’s just say, that you need to be careful around him. He has a month, if he isn’t up to scratch by then, then he has to go, and I mean go" she said. "Ok, I'll see what I can do" you replied. As you were about to ask her his name, she cut you off. "He doesn’t have a name, don’t care what you do with him, just fix it" she said before hanging up on you. 'Ok good to talk to you too, bye' you muttered sarcastically. Finally getting to the round pen, you looked thru the viewing hole in the side of it. The horse was standing at the far side, sweating and shaking. 'What has she done to you?' you thought opening the door and stepping in. Instantly the horse started to pace, facing away from you to avoid any eye contact. Walking out into the middle of the round pen, you laid your book, halter and lead rope down and put your jacket on. All the while the horse still kept walking, every now and then when you made a sudden move he would pick up the pace and start trotting. 'And so it begins' you thought as you sat down on the sand and opened your book. As much as you tried to concentrate on your book, you couldn’t. Your mind kept wondering back to James, Sam and the mysterious man staying in the cottage. All you could remember was his voice, so deep and soothing and his eyes. You had never seen eyes that colour. Your attention was brought back by the black horse snorting. Slowly he had calmed down but his breathing deepened as he edged closer and closer to you. Ignoring him, you turned your back to him, looking down at your book. Behind you, you could hear him edge a little bit at a time closer to you and every time he came around your side to face you, you again turned your back on him. This continued for over an hour until eventually the horse was less than a metre away from you. Just as he put his head down to sniff you; you held your hand out. At the sight of your hand the horse reared, before spinning and again running manic around the pen. 'Definitely been beaten' you sighed turning to your book again. Eventually he settled, but this time watched you from a distance, too fearful to approach you again. After looking at your watch and realising that you had been in there for over 4 hours, you slowly made your way out of the round pen. Filling his water bin and putting in a hay net and a feed, you peaked thru the viewing hole as the horse sniffed at his food, then walked back to the far end, dropping his head and trying to rest, visibly exhausted. 'That explains a little' you thought as you headed back to the stables. 'Obviously the horse has been bribed with food before, as hungry as he is, he doesn’t even have enough trust to eat'. Feeding the other horses and putting rugs back on, you checked the horse again on your way back up to the house. He had picked a little at the hay but hadn’t touched his hard feed. 'At least it was something' you thought as you walked in the front door to be greeted by a beaming Sam. "Guess what, guess what, guess what!" she squealed, taking your hands and spinning you around the kitchen. "Mmm I don’t know..." you laughed, "but it must be good!"... "Guess who is the new regional manager with a big, fat pay cheque to match?" she laughed, dancing around the room. "Oh I don’t know?" you smiled "Tell me?” "Ha Ha" Sam laughed, playfully punching your arm. "Yay...congrats!!" you replied, pulling her into a huge bear hug. You knew how hard she had fought for that job and to finally be put in that position must have felt amazing. "What a perfect excuse to open a bottle of wine" you said as you walked over to the fridge. "Oh come on!" Sam laughed, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. "You know I only drink on special occasion's...oh and any day of the week that end's in Y!” You couldn’t help but laugh at Sam, happy that she was happy. "But..." Sam continued, a sad look spreading over her face. "Mean's I have to leave earlier....like tonight". "Never mind" you lied, trying not to let your disappointment spoil her good news. "You never know..." you continued as you walked out onto the deck with Sam following behind you, "...maybe it will be me secretly surprising you next time". "I hope that's a promise!" Sam laughed, sitting down beside you on the deck. For awhile you both sat in silence, sipping your wine, watching the horses and listening to the birds wildly going about their business as the sun started to set, taking any last morsels of food back to their young one's before dark overwhelmed them. "Isn’t life funny?" Sam asked, turning towards you as she pulled her legs up to her chest. "What? As in you spend the day with gorgeous men in suits and I spend the day covered in hair and shit?" you laughed, sculling the last of your wine before Sam topped your glass up. "Exactly!" she laughed, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. "But..." she smiled, giving you a peck on the cheek, "But...I wouldn’t have it any other way!" you replied, giving her one back. "Amen to that!!" she laughed as she raised her glass in the air.

An hour and 2 bottles of wine later, Sam was packed and ready to go. Standing on the deck, you felt guilty that you wanted Sam to stay, but also knew that no matter what, she would always be there for you and you would no doubt need her in the weeks to come. "Please please PLEASE promise me one thing?" Sam asked hugging you as her taxi pulled up. "Anything" you said, carrying her bags down the stairs. "Do what your heart tells you" she almost whispered, giving you one last hug. Fighting back the tears, you closed her door as she wound the window down. "Will call you tomorrow and also tell James I said bye" she yelled as the taxi went down the drive. Running up to the deck you just managed to see her wave as the taxi disappeared out of view. Instantly, as soon as you realised Sam had gone, the tears started...and you didn’t think they would stop.

Walking back into the kitchen you headed straight over to the fridge. You were glad you had run out of alcohol, choosing water instead. As you were about to head upstairs, you saw a note on the table.

"Hey babe....Dry those bloody eyes and harden up!! Love u, miss u all ready, will call u first thing :) Sam x x x".

God she made you smile! You headed up to your bathroom this time noticing a card sitting on your pillow. 'Sam!' you smiled again to yourself as you opened the card. Instantly your heart dropped when you realised it wasn’t Sam's writing, but James'.

"M, please don’t worry but I'm staying at George's tonight. Lately I've sensed that things have been abit off between us, and wanted to give you, and myself, some time out. I have my cell on me, and George's number is in the office so please call if you need anything...or me. J". Lying down on the bed, you held James' card to your chest and squeezed your eyes shut tight. 'So he does know what's going on' you thought to yourself as you rolled onto your side and pulled your pillow under your head. Knowing that gave you some sort of relief amongst the guilt. At least it wouldn’t just come out of the blue, like blurting out one day at the dinner table 'So hunny how was your day?...Oh good, mm mm yes me too oh by the way...I’m leaving you, can you pass the salt please?'. Ha if only it could be that easy! Tomorrow night, defiantly tomorrow night you decided. Walking back downstairs, you pottered around for an hour or so before lighting the fire. It wasn’t until you realised you had spent nearly 40 mins watching the flames that you forced yourself to get up. You were exhausted. Physical and emotionally. Back in your bedroom you ran a bath and poured way too much bath gel in, nearly causing bubbles to spill over the edge. Removing your clothes you slipped slowly into the hot water, feeling your skin tingle at the sudden heat. After what seemed like hours, and several refills of hot water, the tiredness had started to kick in as you slowly drifted in and out of sleep, when you were woken up by knocking. Not sure if you were just hearing things you ignored it as you rested your leg on the edge of the bath. There it was again, there was someone definitely knocking on the door. 'Damn it' you muttered, deciding to ignore it before reality kicked in. 'What if it was an emergency? What if the horses were out?’ 'Grr' you groaned as you pulled yourself out of the bath, wrapping a towel around you. Your wet hair, still clinging to your face and neck, covered your shoulders and was still full of bubbles. The person knocked again. "All right, all right, I’m coming" you yelled as you got to the front door and opened it. Gasping at what you saw, you felt like your legs were going to crumble as your heart leapt in your chest. Standing in front of you was possible the most beautiful person you had ever seen in your life. Wearing a navy beanie, his dark hair curled out from underneath, swirling it's way over his intense green eyes and down around his neck, sitting on his black hoody that was pulled up around him. "Um....hi" was all you were able to say. "I'm sorry..." the man apologised, "Didn't mean to interrupt...” he smiled nervously, motioning to your towel. You had been so mesmerized by this man that you had totally forgotten that you were standing there practically naked. Blushing, you instinctively wrapped your arms around you, holding the towel firmly. "Can I help you with anything?" you asked, suddenly shy. "Oh sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were ok?" the man replied, staring you straight in the eyes. 'What?' you thought to yourself as he spoke again. "I saw you the other night...was worried that you were lost or hurt" he continued as it all came flooding back. 'He was the man in the forest' you remembered. 'The man with the eyes'. "Mmm I'm fine!" you laughed. "I had a date with Mr Beam that night....Mr Jim Beam". The man laughed a deep, throaty, yet cheerful laugh. "Oh I've met him too!" he replied. "Many...many times!!". You both laughed, followed by an awkward silence. "Ah would you like to come in?" you asked. You don’t know why you had asked him, but secretly hoped he would say yes. "No no, I'll let you get back to your bath" he replied, motioning to your wet feet. Turning to walk down the stairs. "Might be able to sleep tonight now that I know your ok" he said quietly. "Thank you" you managed to whisper as he turned away. You stood in the doorway momentarily as you watched him disappear into the darkness. Closing the door you bolted upstairs to get changed. Quickly throwing on your pj's you were pulling back the duvet on your bed when you suddenly stopped. Staring at your reflection in the mirror opposite your bed, you were slightly shocked. You hadn’t realised it......but you were smiling.

That night was possibly the first night that you had slept peacefully in a long time and when you woke that morning, instead of groaning and rolling over to sleep some more, you were up and out of bed in a flash. You had no idea why you all of a sudden had an energy burst, but wanted to use it to your full advantage. After showering, you actually felt like eating for once and wolfed down a bowl of cereal before feeding Goldie and headed down to the stables. Within the hour you had feed out and taken rugs off, finishing at your beloved Munch. As you walked down to the far end of her paddock to get her feed bin that had blown under the tree's, you noticed the front door of the cottage down below open and you instantly thought of the man that was staying there. The man that had visited you last night. The man who's eyes you couldn’t forget. Smiling to yourself, you headed back up the hill, climbed on the motorbike and made your way back to the stables. After bringing in a few horses to work you let them settle in the yards with a fed and a hay net each before checking the horse of Susan's that had spent the night in the round pen. Looking thru the viewing hole you could see that he had eating his hay net but not touched his hard feed or water. You grabbed your gear, a halter, lead rope and book and slowly opened the round pen door. The horse stiffened his body as soon as you entered and watched your every move. Still not making eye contact you kept your back to him, slowly edging your way into the middle of the pen. As much as you enjoyed this part of dealing with horses, you also knew how dangerous it was. Many times you had been kicked, run down and knocked out by horses in the same situation as this one. But for some reason, this one was different. 'So far so good' you thought as the horse still stood still, not yet fearful enough to run from you. After ten mins or so, you heard the horse move as he edged closer and closer to you until you could feel his breath on the back of your head. "What a good boy" you murmed softly. The sound of your voice made the horse snort as he backed off a few steps. "Must think of a name for you aye boy?" you told him, still not turning to face him. "What about Black Beauty?" you laughed at your stupid remark. "I know...I know...not very original for a black horse is it?” After awhile of blabbering about nothing in particular, the horse had become more and more comfortable with your voice, and was even standing beside you, sniffing your hair, your folded legs and spreading his slobbery lips all over the pages of your book. "Oh thanks for that!' you laughed as you folded up the book, placing it under your jacket away from his prying lips. Slowly you stood up, standing right beside the horse’s head, the closest you had been to him yet. As you gently held out your hand, the horse took one quick sniff before backing up and again you turned your back on him. This time you walked a few steps away, and as expected, curiosity got the better of him until you could walk a whole lap of the round pen with the horse following behind. After filling his feed bin you walked with it in your hand before stopping and placing it at your feet and again turned your back on him. Within seconds the horse was happily munching away. Silently you left the round pen and peaked thru the viewing hole and watched as he stood contently, head in his feed bin. "I don’t know much, well anything, about horses, but he is a beautiful" someone said behind you. Startled, you jumped around. It was him. "He is" you whispered, turning back to face the horse so you wouldn’t have to look at him. You didn’t know what it was, but around him you felt odd, intense, as if time stood still. "Is he yours?" he asked, this time standing closer to you to look thru the hole as well. "No sadly, a clients horse" you replied, turning to pick your gear up. You started to head down towards the stables, and turned the corner into the yards as you looked over your shoulder back at him. He stood watching the horse for a moment before turning and walking back towards the cottage. 'What a dick!' you told yourself. 'Why the hell did you just freaking walk off? God imagine what he thinks of you now?' you thought as you started to tidy up, banging the buckets together in frustration. Grabbing the two horses from out of the yards, you were walking them back down to their paddocks when you noticed him patting Munchie over the fence. "Sorry for just heading off like that" you apologised as you were letting the horses go. "Not a problem" he replied, picking some grass for Munch. "I can see you are busy". "As always" you smiled as you jumped the fence. It had started to get warm so you decided to take her rug off. "Ville" he said suddenly, catching you off guard as he placed his hand out. "I’m sorry?" you asked him. He started laughing. 'That laugh' you thought, causing you to slightly smile. "Ville, my name's Ville" he said again. "Morgan" you replied, placing your hand in his. Your fingers tingled as your hand touched his. As if you were placing them in a hot bath again. "Pleased to meet you Morgan" he smiled. "I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on!” You couldn’t help but laugh, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Ha very funny!" you smiled as you were climbing over the fence. Right at that moment, your foot got caught in the wire, causing you to trip. Suddenly you felt Ville's arms around you, saving you from completely falling. You stood up catching your breath. Looking up, your face was so close to Ville's that you could feel his soft breath on your face. "Ahh...thanks" you whispered as you felt his arms still around you. A small smile spread across his face. The curl in his lips was almost unbearable not to kiss. As you leant closer you could see the surprise in his eyes, yet also the urgency for you to kiss him. What the hell were you doing! You scolded yourself, but you just couldnt stop.Your heart beat quickened and you felt Ville's arms tighten around you as he pulled you closer towards him. Just as your lips were about to touch, you were both startled by the sound of a truck pulling into the drive. James' truck. "Damn it" you muttered as Ville's arm's left your side. "Umm better go" you said, stepping away from him. "Another time" he replied as he bowed, turned and left. You watched as he walked towards the cottage and once you felt like you could walk, you took a deep breath and made your way up to the house. 'Here goes nothing'...

Walking into the cold house, you switched the jug on and pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. "Not for me thanks, all ready got one" James said as he walked into the kitchen. You sat down as you waited for the jug to boil. There was an awkward silence as you watched James finish his coffee and rinse his mug in the sink. He turned to you, resting against the bench. For a moment he looked at the ground, shifting on his feet. It wasn’t until he looked you in the eyes that the tears started to flow. And once they started, you didn’t think they were ever going to stop. James walked over to the table and sat down opposite you. "I love you" he said reaching out to take your hands in his. "I love you too" you replied. And it was true, you did love James. "But..." he asked, taking a deep breath. "I'm not IN love with you" you whispered. James sighed, his hands tensed around yours for a brief second before he dropped them and sat back in his chair. "I'm sorry" you sobbed, wiping the tears from your face. You could hear James' breathing deepen and forced yourself to look up at him. Silently you cried as he held his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. You heard him sniff every now and then, eventually standing up. "I'm glad you finally decided to tell me the truth" he said, a slight hint of anger in his voice. "I don’t know why you couldn’t have trusted me enough to tell me earlier". "I thought I could have made it work, I really, really did" you replied. James walked over to the bench grabbed the tissue's and placed them in front of you. "Drink?" he asked. You nodded yes, watching him as he poured you a large coke. You’re favourite. That was James, knew all you quirk's and habit's, like's and dislike's, and even though you had just broken his heart he still made you his first priority. "So what happens now?" he asked, getting himself a beer out the fridge. You shrugged your shoulders. What did happen now? "No matter what...” James continued, "...this place is yours, I'm not taking your dream away from you". "Thank you" you murmed. You both sat in silence for a moment when James stood up. You watched as he headed upstairs. He returned a few minutes later with a couple of bags. "You don’t have to go...” you said quickly, standing up. James smiled as he placed his bags on the deck. "Yes I do" he replied, turning to face you. "I'll be back at some stage to get the rest of my things and sort stuff out". The tears started falling again as you squeezed your eyes tight trying to fight them back. You felt James step closer towards and wrap his arms around you. "I'm sorry...” you wept again into his shoulder. "I know...” James replied before letting you go. You watched as James threw his stuff into the back of his truck and climb in. He gave a simple wave before heading off down the drive. You don’t know how long you sat on the step that night, Goldie by your side. But once the tears finally stopped and your body couldn’t take the cold anymore, you dragged yourself to your bed, not bothering to change and fell instantly asleep.

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bounty-tales · 5 years ago

Text

Cleansing Rains

The rain fell in thick, heavy drops. A slow, steady downpour that sounded like a slow applause as those drops of water fell upon the city. Rain… The lifeblood of civilizations across the face of Hydaelin. It washed away the suffocations of the world, the dust and grit, the stink and fetid grime that accumulates with time. It restored the dried out gullies and streams, bringing life to the barren, and prosperity to what was once destitute. On this day, the rain that fell was a steady, cleansing one. Morishito was a young man from a middling house that held nothing of importance. His father was a tax man’s counter and such was a good enough living to provide for a simple life. A young wife, and a single son could live happily in a small apartment in a bustling town of trade and commerce. But when that young boy became a man, living and support of such a lad was not possible so with a few inquiries and a letter of introduction, Morishito found himself where he presently was. Morishito stood at his post beside a gate that lead to his liege-lords estate. Jin Mishata, a local magistrate that found his sun on the rise within the governance of the province and was gaining influence and power with it’s ascent. So too, it was believed, as it was offered to Morishito, would those of his retinue. Stations of promise, positions of respect, as power arose and was amassed, needs demanded it get disseminated and even if young Mori was not given a state of prominence away from Mishata’s side, naturally he would slide into one of the spots vacated by his peers. As far as Morishito was concerned, the arrangement was a net gain, regardless of the means in which it occurred. Young Mori was not within the close confines of his lord’s confidence and knew nothing of the actual means and ways such ascent was being attained, but he was not deaf to the rumors and whispers on the street, in the markets, and in the cups of the older guards with which he spent after hours within the saki shacks and brothels when not working. Taxes and rents were on the rise. Groups of toughs and thugs had been prowling and roughing up merchants and traders in the dark hours of night. Shipments were coming up short or missing entirely. Such whisperings were shortly shut down when some of the more senior guards glared over their cups. Coincidences that Mori could not ignore, but at the same time, found easier to play along with as he was, technically, ignorant of anything official. As he stared into the rain, he found his mind ill-at-ease. He looked down at the ground. An itch found itself on the back of his neck and it made him uncomfortable. Anxious. A stirring of doubt? Guilt? Was it shame that set him on edge now? Certainly not. Whatever was happening with lord Mishata had nothing to do with a dogs-body guard like him. He watched the gate. He ran messages between politicians and magistrates. He wore a robe and carried a sword, true, but he never had to use it. His job was simple and he was content with it, so why the un-ease? Something made him look up from the ground to the pathway that led up to the estate. There, at the entrance to the simple alley that led to the Mishata house stood a single figure. From this distance, young Mori’s keen eye could tell that the person was not very tall, not taller than he, certainly. They wore a humble robe of sun-bleached white with fading red trim, a battered and frayed sandaga covered their head and with it’s wearers downcast gaze, Mori could not see the owners face. Simple linen breeches tucked into thick travelers tabi slid into worn shoes made clear the person was a traveler but it was the sheathed sword attached to the person’s black belt that told him what this person was. A ronin. Morishito sighed and straightened up. Ronin… Wandering samurai that were no longer part of a house either by intent or failure, often found themselves making a living by doing what they know and magistrates on the rise, such as Mishata, were eager to fill their retinue with ronin of note. A roster of capable, proven swordsmen and women were just as much a symbol of wealth and station as what address they called home, the clothing they wore, the fabric of their undergarments… Everything was a testament to their power and prestige and by default, those associated with a good lord would ALSO be worthy of such same considerations. Young Mori motioned for the ronin to come closer. “What’s your business, ronin?” Mori asked the wanderer, hoping he sounded as authoritative as he thought he did. “I seek employment.” Came her voice. Mori blinked, shocked. Yes, there were female samurai but he had never actually met one. Though, he had never actually met any male samurai either, just ronin. She was not the first nor would she likely be the last to seek an audience for employment but still, the notion that female masters of the sword were actually real? That they could be this far away from the capital? “Erm… That is YOUR sword, right?” Mori asked, simply to ease suspicion. It was not uncommon for young lads to take up a sword of a sire or elder and call themselves samurai, so too could women. There was a soft growl from her throat that seemed so realistic to the same threatening sounds he heard coming from caged tigers he could have sworn she could have been one had he not been looking at her, and reflexively, Mori held up his hands. “Gotta ask, madame. I’ll.. I’ll get the boss. Wait here.” The ronin moved to stand under the gate, out of the rain and did as bid. She stood there. With a curt nod, Mori turned to head into the estate and retrieve his boss, the head of the Mishata guard. It was not long when Mori returned with orders to escort the ronin into the main yard of the estate. It seemed the idea of a female ronin was as oddly peculiar to the older guard as it was to him as shortly, all the guard that was on duty stood in eagre audience, waiting around the courtyard. Wordlessly, she made her way to the middle of the yard and in the rain, the ronin stood with arms crossed across her chest and head down, but Mori caught sight of the slits within her sandaga’s visor, a common practice to keep the harsh rays of the sun out of the eyes. In that brief glimpse of her, he could tell that she was deeply tanned, a long life in the sun, and her hair was black, traits not uncommon to many, especially the more rural and coastal peoples. “So… You’re a ronin?” The senior guard growled out. A large, middle aged Roegadyn by the name of Chabai boomed out. There was a slow nod from the woman’s head. “Heh… We’ll see.” With a wave of his large hand, two of the guard responded. They brought out a crate with three long pegs extending upwards from it. On those pegs were tightly wrapped and bound mats of either straw or bamboo, woven into a thick roll about as thick as a man’s thigh. Tameshigiri, test cutting, would be what determined if the woman spoke true. To cut through the bound roll, not only need the weapon to be worthy of a swordsman, but the wielder knowing the basics of the art of wielding such a sword. He had seen a true samurai cleave through a roll with little effort once at a festival. Every person with a sword that came to the alley that said they were ronin, however, had not been able to cut more than an inch into one of the rolls here. None here were samurai, Mori knew. These were men hired on reference and strength and would often hire anyone that was of the same make. But if one came to their door proclaiming they were something more, well, it stood to reason to test that and so, such would be done here and now. The crate with the rolls of straw was set before the ronin and with a final look of curiosity, the bearers stepped back. “Alright, ronin… You know what to do. Cut through the mats and we’ll talk… Fail? Heh, well… we kick your lying ass and throw you back out the way you came.” Mori gulped at those words. Not that he had not heard them before, but rather, that he had never heard them levelled to a woman. He knew that some of the men could get carried away in their delivery of beatings, but those were done to lying men. He fretted what they would do to a woman. The ronin simply grunted and he could see her head slightly turn to the targets. A long pause hung in the air as the rain continued to fall. Finally, the woman slid into a wide stance, her hands falling to the sheathed sword at her hip. One gripped the scabbard while the other the hilt of her blade. “From the sheath? Either she’s the real thing or about to make a fool of herself.” He heard whispered from a guard beside him. Then suddenly, faster than Mori could blink, the sword hissed from its scabbard and with a whisk of steel and straw, the three mats severed as one! The wet straw and bamboo rolls exploded into fibrous frays and fell onto the wet ground. The ronin, sword held down and out to the side, had slashed through all the targets with no effort. A sharp, alarmed cry of shock and awe tore itself from every throat in the crowd. Gasps of marvel were soon replaced with shouts of cheers at the display. The ronin sheathed her blade and stood upright, folding her hands into the sleeves of her robe as the uproar began to die away, Chabai beckoning order and getting it. “Heh!” The older man barked out. “Guess we need to talk, eh?” He growled with a grin before leaning over and speaking softly to another guard. With a curt nod, the other man went into the estate proper and in a short time, the master of the estate, Jin Mishata, stood next to his headman. “I saw, Chabai.” Mishata said as he stood next to his man. Jin Mishata wore a simple white robe that fit his form snugly. He was tall and lithe, a man of politics and thought rather than strength of arm, though none in the town could deny that this man was a fine example of power. What he did not have, personally, he acquired through others. Since taking over his family’s accounts, his name quickly became one that found it’s way high in the ranks of government, as high as a minister’s position, if the cards were played right. “Ronin.” Mishata said, his tone as commanding as his headmans, full of strength and confidence that was station of birth and name. “Remove your cover so that I might see whom it is that wishes to join me.” Mishata commanded. There was a long pause of silence as the rain continued to fall, then a rumble of thunder and crack of lightning that startled many in the crowd. The rain truly began. As it fell down with greater intensity, a deluge of water that became a deafening roar. The ronin reached up and removed her covering, then. A sharp breath and gasp once more stole itself from those that observed, including Morishito. Ears, sharp and feline, perked up from a head as lovely and beautifully savage as her kind were known to be. Her skin was a dark, deep sun kissed tan. A smirk, coy and feral bore with it’s white teeth two elongated canines that peeked out from her slender lips. Her eyes of deep crimson bore a savage mirth that bespoke of mischief and cleverness, a mind of sharp intellect and cunning cruelty both. A Miqo’te! As the shock rippled through the guard in various throws of awe and wonder, Mori saw that Mishata had gone ghostly pale with fear. The words that screeched from his throat carried over the chorus of rain as a panicked hand pointed at the Miqo’te ronin. “KILL HER!” His words brought an instant halt to the whispers and marvel. “KILL HER NOW!” Jin Mishata screeched out once more. There was a pause of uncertainty in all save Chabai at the masters orders! The large Roegadyn roared as he leapt from his perch at his master’s side, pulling from his sheath his own steel. Shocked and pulled back to reality by the call to arms from their captain, the yard instantly began to glisten with reflection of light on steel as swords began to appear in the hands of the guards, but the ronin was quicker! Mori stood in place as the ronin became a blur of white and black. She moved with such speed, he could not even see her strike! In the blink of an eye, two of the guard that had made it close to her were falling away as sprays of crimson hissed from their open sides, the ronin, barely having moved, held her sword low and pointed at Chabai, narrowed her gaze with a feral, fanged grin. Chabai snarled and brought his sword up, committed to his charge as three more of the guard closed in from around her, completely dismissive of how easily she cut down two of them only a moment before, yet young Mori still could not move. The ronin shifted her stance, sliding the blade back into it’s sheath as she locked her gaze on Chabai. Her grin grew inhumanly large and wickedly malicious. Her eyes of crimson dilated to full blackness as she rolled her shoulders, from underneath the wet robes, Mori could see that her body was swelling, her muscular mass was growing! Mori swallowed hard. “Oni!” He forced himself to whisper as fear gripped his chest and choked his words short. The three guard stopped short, having also borne witness to the transformation. Shock and terror writ plain on their faces. A hiss that sent terror down Morishito’s spine filled the air. The sound like that of the stripped jungle cats that roamed the deep wilds, that feasted on the brave and foolish, erupted from the creature that was in their midst. Then suddenly, Mori felt a strong wind yanked his feet from under him! He fell on his back and began to slide closer to the feral demon that was once the ronin. He cried out in terror and tried to crawl away, but managed to instead grab a nearby post and just as quickly as it had happened, he was suddenly thrown back! As he sat upright, his vision went black as blood splattered across his face! More of it rained across the yard as severed limbs and pieces of the three guards cleaved cleanly through plopped and slapped in the mud and against the walls of the yard, and like Mori, splattering other guards that were on the outskirts and staring in wide eyed horror at the site before them. Mori scraped the blood from his eyes as a scream tore itself from his throat! The taste of blood not his own filling his mouth with it’s metallic heaviness, the warmth of it hot on his wet skin, the stickiness of it resistant against the rain. The swordswoman of earlier was gone and a monster wearing her clothes and drenched in the gore of it’s slaughter had taken her place. It was still close to her size, but the muscles were far more prominent. Her eyes were completely black, her hands practically claws. Her tan, sunkissed skin now bore paler stripes and her mouth, far too large, bore fangs and a wicked, evil grin. Chabai, the powerful Roegadyn, was on his knees, begging her with her blade resting against his neck, clutching an arm that was missing a hand. Mori watched as the demon slowly pulled her sword away and took the man’s head in a claw. He could not hear Chabai but he could see the man’s throat bob as he whimpered when the creatures head neared and took in a deep, huffing breath through it’s ever grinning fanged mouth and nose. He watched in horror as those fangs parted and a tongue slid out and lapped along the man’s muscular neck before the demon leaned in. Those painted lips of crimson, a remnant of the woman before, moved softly as the creature spoke softly. Mori stared in horror as Chabai’s eyes went wide. “No… Nooooo-AAAaaaaahhh!” He cried out as those fangs sank into his neck. The muscular man flailed in futility as blood spurted thick and dark from his carotid artery, his skin rapidly pailing, Mori and the other guards locked in fear at what they were witnessing, at what they had seen! Then, as the last of the man’s life began to wane, the demon slid her sword into his chest, ending him fully. A cold, sultry laugh rumbled from her chest as she straightened up and yanked her weapon free, setting her black gaze to the house. Then as that fanged smile returned, she began her approach.

The rest of the guards instantly broke out of fear and began to flee! All loyalty and pretense instantly abandoned. Morishito, however, watched. It was not bravery that kept him frozen in place. It was not loyalty or honor. It was fear. Pure fear. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream and flee with the others but his legs and arms simply would not move! He could only watch! He watched as the demon made her way up the steps to the estate, each of her steps slow and intentional, blood dripping from her blade and from her person. He listened as Mishata tried to flee further into the estate only to have the sounds drowned out by roars and maniacal laughter lush and sultry, followed by the crash of furniture then the screams and cries and pleas of a woman who is cut short in a bloody slash... Hiso, Mishata’s young wife. The crying wails of a child, who is also then cut short in equal swiftness, Tome, their young son. Then finally, the scream of Mishata, a roar of anger just before the slashing of steel and the thud of a body, ending it suddenly. In mere moments, an entire legacy, future, and past is cut down. Mori stared as from the same steps came the woman of earlier. The demonic form gone, the Miqo’te returned. She was still covered in gore, more of it, now, but it was her. In one hand, she carried her sword, dripping blood. In the other, three heads. The Mishata house, all that remained of it. Proof of her kill. Mori went pale as his gaze locked onto hers. Her crimson hued eyes stared cold and empty at the young man, as if they could steal his very soul if she wished, just as easily as she stole the lives of those she killed this day. Then with the casual disregard any dominant predator would show for weak prey after being sated from a kill, she turned her gaze away. Silently, she made her way down the steps and across the yard, stepping uncaring over the bodies and viscera she had left in the mud of the yard. Three heads flopping against her leg as if they were a trifling bag one had merely to deal with after a day of shopping. She walked past Mori, still sitting in shock and horror as he stared at her, covered in blood and sitting in mud and soil, unable to move after what he had borne witness to. Then with no more of a word, she passed through the gate and back out into the alley, disappearing into the rain from which she came, slaughter in her wake.

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svguavajelly · 5 years ago

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Accidents Will Happen

It’s our one year anniversary in Cuenca and I wake up in the hospital. Quite different than our planned celebratory dinner as a family because as we all know…shit happens. There was no regular path to this moment, instead a series of accidents and bad luck. The good news is the surgery is behind me and now the slow healing process begins.

It all started over a couple of months ago when I had a planned adventure for the kiddos while Hannah was away at her weekly afternoon of playing bridge. Getting outside is imperative because the three wee ones trapped in the house can be a challenge. The week before I had ridden my bike a couple of hours out of town, up a valley road to this visible summit on a ridge. Guaguazhumi (pronounced Wawashumi) seemed like a good way to spend an afternoon with the kids.

That nipple on the ridge is the summit.

We took a 1/2 hour taxi ride ($6) to the trail head. We were a determined team with Luz in the chest carrier, my backpack full of rain gear, hats, water, snacks, a change for Luz, camera and a couple of small toys, and Tomu and Jade hiking. They are very experienced for their age and keen to explore. We were prepared…after all, what could go wrong?

The trail immediately began with a steep ascent and would continue for the duration of our hike. I picked the more direct, steeper, shorter route with the intention of having a longer leisurely descent with the sights of Cuenca and Cajas always in our view.

Trailblazing Jade the Fearless

There wasn’t a soul in sight for our hour climb and near the summit we had to push through some overgrown brush and criss-cross through a gully….challenging for anyone, yet Tomu and Jade were excited to push for summit. I stepped up a small slope and suddenly, without warning my foot slipped downward a couple of feet. I instinctively put my left hand up to protect sleeping Luz’s head and my right hand out to catch my fall.

THWACK…my foot went down with my arm extended, stretched over my head immediately dislocating my shoulder. I knew it right away when I stood up and checked on Luz. She was crying as this woke her and I noticed my right arm was a few inches longer. The pain was intense though with the adrenaline pumping I remained calm, telling the kids we had to go down and wouldn’t make the summit. They knew something was up even though I downplayed my injury. We walked back to a flat spot where I took off the heavy pack (OUCH), took Luz out of the carrier (OUCH), took off my shirt (OUCH) and evaluated the situation.

Clearly dislocated as I could see the odd shape of my shoulder and the ball of my humerus bone in my armpit. Made a small attempt to reset it by holding onto a tree and pulling backwards….like in the movies. No luck. Checked cell phone…no service, not that I could really call anyone to help me though speaking with Hannah would have made me feel better. I knew we had to get to the remote dirt road, an hour down a steep trail with the 3 helpers.

I explained to Tomu and Jade that I was OK but hurt and they would have to help themselves to get down. Tomu valiantly offered to help Jade down the tricky parts of the trail and he assisted in getting Luz back in the carrier and the pack on my back (OUCHY-OUCH). I thought about ditching the pack and returning for it later but since I had to carry Luz regardless I thought the pack would provide counter-pressure to Luz’s carrier…kinda holding my shoulder together….but not really.

We managed to get down fairly quickly and the sun came out blazing when we reached the road. It was no surprise that there were no cars in sight so we started walking. I thought about knocking on a door of one few houses for assistance but decided against it. Luckily within a few minutes a mixto (taxi pick-up truck) passed and agreed to take us home.

Happy to be off the mountain I had a moment to let it all sink in and the pain came on strong as well as many emotions during the very bumpy ride home. I was mad at myself for putting the kids in a potentially bad situation, for getting hurt and realizing the consequences of it all. Injured, unable to help around the house, the slow recovery….crap.

I finally got ahold of Han and she was going to meet us at the house to watch the kids and I would carry on to the hospital to get my arm reset. The best thing about this day so far was the kiddos and their attitude. They all were beyond helpful by listening and acting accordingly after the accident and before with their eagerness to do some crazy exploring with Papa.

Han arrived at the house and the second phase of this debacle began. Figuring out which hospital to go to and how to progress with emergency care and long term help. I couldn’t really think about anything except putting my shoulder back in the socket. The pain had intensified as it had been a few hours since the accident by the time I reached the hospital.

They immediately put me in a room and gave me a lot of attention with questions, blood pressure, x-rays, etc. but no indication of getting my shoulder set. After an hour and much struggle with the language, calls to and from Han and many different people coming in and out we heard the trauma specialist was on leave (he just had a baby). More confusion and delays, saying I would have to go to another hospital, finally they informed me a doc would come and help me.

Hours more passed before he actually arrived, during which I had been admitted, prepped for surgery, IVed, lightly drugged (not enough) and left alone in a room while I writhed and tried to get a comfortable position to relieve the pain…no luck. Han arrived as the doc was trying to manipulate my arm back in the socket, without success. It was an extreme anterior dislocation that was difficult to reset so they put me under and minutes later it was in place.

When I awoke the pain had all but disappeared. After more x-rays, paperwork we were free to go. The prognosis was it would take awhile to recover but with time and rehab it should heal fine.

Fast forward a month. After rest and a couple of rehab sessions things had gotten better for the first couple of weeks then much worse for the last couple of weeks. I sought a second opinion and subsequently third opinion, got an MRI and the diagnosis was two major tears in the supraspinatus (top shoulder muscle), and the labrum (shoulder socket). Surgery was scheduled for the following week. We found out later, while performing surgery there was a 3rd major tear on the subcorpularis (shoulder blade muscle).

As happy as I was to finally know what was happening with my body, the actual news itself was pretty grim. A month had gone by since the dislocation which set recovery back. I had been relatively active during the month while my shoulder was barley attached with activities like biking daily, playing ball and roughhousing with the kiddos…all the normal stuff. There was some pain but compared to when it was dislocated for 5+ hours and after it was reset it seemed minimal.

The afternoon before surgery I went to a 90 minute relaxing massage to loosen things up before I was laid up. It was a brilliant idea and upon leaving my session I felt better than I had in a couple of weeks. I pedaled my bike home from the other side of town on one of the designated official bike lanes just like the ones in Seattle with the little bumps separating it from the road and painted with that red, textured, rubbery coating and the familiar bike logos stenciled on. Also, all intersections have the pedestrian crossing lights except changed to show a rolling green bicycle when we have the right of way.

From experience I know there is no established formality for 'right of way' in Latin America and I often say when urban riding “I don’t want my epitaph to say ‘But I had the right of way’”. The nice smooth lane I had to myself combined with the gentle downhill or the post massage, semi-euphoric state of mind or the lack of traffic on the one-way road…I dunno but I was riding fast with my perfectly connecting lights flashing the rolling green bicycle and that bliss quickly ended.

In the distance I saw the small white car approaching my clear intersection and prepped to brake (even though I had the right of way) and I saw it stop before turning into my lane. Perfect, they are waiting for me and I continued my fast pedal cadence when at the last second they turned and crossed my path. It happened in slow motion in my mind and by slamming on the brakes I managed to scrub some speed before the bike collided with the drivers front bumper and I flew cartoonish over my handlebars, over the car hood and landed some meters away, tumbling into the bike lane.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK I yelled, more scared about further damage to my shoulder than anything else. It hurt…really badly and consciously I had managed to not land directly on my existing injury….the night before my morning surgery.

Many people gathered and the woman driving the car came over crying (I think she thought she killed me). Soon the police and ambulance arrived even though I called no one except Hannah. It was difficult to dial with shaking hands and the service wasn’t good so many dropped calls later she left Jade at Tomu’s soccer practice and arrived with Luz in tow to find me in an ambulance.

We talked for a minute and I assured her I was going to be sorta OK. While I received suspect care in the ambulance, Hannah was negotiating the compensation with the woman who had no insurance but had the backing of a dozen colleagues from where she worked across the street. Hannah had the backing of Luz who was bawling due to all the commotion. I was useless and no help.

After much debate we agreed the ambulance would transport me to the free, public hospital for x-rays and evaluation. The woman and some entourage, including Hannah and Luz would follow and pay for the x-rays. I did confess that I was previously injured and was getting surgery the next day…it seemed like the right thing to do. We creeped through rush hour traffic, listening to the driver and EMTs argue about the best route and Hannah and Luz followed in another car.

When we finally arrived at the hospital later I was frustrated and done with everyone and the last thing I wanted to do was spend hours waiting for x-rays the night before my surgery. I stepped out of the ambulance in front of the emergency entrance and said “adios…I’m going home”. I got in a taxi and picked up Tomu and Jade who were patiently watching the next soccer practice. They are on their best behavior when things are at their worst…they really rise to the occasion.

So happy to be home, Han soon arrived with Luz after riding with the woman and her entourage. The police had been following but were released en route when we agreed, via recorded video, that the $50 cash compensation was sufficient…which it wasn’t but what can we do?

The next morning, lying on the operating table, I was surprised by the large size and sparseness. It was virtually empty except for a couple of metal shelves, a garbage can and a free standing closet. Staring at the two huge, modern octopus-like lights which hung from the ceiling above me I witnessed people slowly filling the room by rolling a dozen types of electronics, scanners, computers, monitors, drills, and a cart with all the ominous looking sharp things…one by one over the next hour. The anesthesiologist came in and sent me to dreamland.

So back to the start of this blog…our 1 year anniversary and when I awoke in the hospital I was happy to see Han and the kids. I got some sweet homemade cards and they all wanted to climb on the robot bed. Lovely to have my main support group in attendance. Our dear Cuencano friends Lore & Juanito came by as well. Unfortunately the doc made me stay overnight…ugh. They came in frequently to wake me and ask how I was doing?!?

The doc came by late and gave me the news of the surgery. From the MRI he knew about 2 of the damaged areas but was surprised by the severity once he was inside. He also found a 3rd major tear that didn’t show on the MRI and took care of that as well. My new internal hardware includes 4 composite screws anchored into bones to give extra support for the sutures which repaired the severed tendons. Overall he said it went very well and eventually, with proper therapy, I should be 100%.

After a difficult night of sleep…the first of 100+ in a row to date, we finished up some paperwork and final check up and I was ready to go home. I had to go downstairs and pay before they would officially release me and remove the IV. I settled my tab, about $3900, not including the screws which we arranged to buy direct from the supplier to avoid the hospital mark-up as advised by the surgeon to save some $$ since this was all done without insurance. My research shows the similar extensive repair in the US may have cost up to $30,000 or more.

As I write this I am 6 weeks post-op and progressing on schedule while seeing 2 different physical therapists per week not counting Libby who was my in house therapist while she was visiting....Thanks Wub! Their styles differ and I’m benefiting from the variety with Jose and his specific exercise regimen and Carla and her stretching and shoulder manipulation. The loss of strength and complete atrophy of my upper body is shocking. I stepped on a scale yesterday at rehab and I weighed 144 pounds! I haven’t seen those numbers since middle school football. I couldn’t lift my arm for weeks and have recently began using the smallest dumbbells made…and seeing progress which is so measurable at this stage. I’ve started riding my bike this week which changes my attitude immensely. I did enjoy the leisurely walking pace to experience my neighborhood and the city these past few weeks…but nothing like biking in Cuenca, which I love.

My first goal was to be ready for our 3 week Bolivia trip which departs in a couple of weeks. Patagonia trip in January will be more demanding as we are backpacking and camping with the kids and I think that’ll be OK as well. Lastly I hope to resume the annual Squamish, BC trip to rock climb with Han when we return to the PNW next summer. With every painful stretch and struggle with every rep and grunt I close my eyes and imagine climbing that big wall again.

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wazjunz · 5 years ago

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Owlboys

Raelene touched Gordon gently on the shoulder.

“Gordon, you’re hyperventilating,” she said quietly.

Gordon’s hands wrung at the steering wheel like he was squeezing water out of a soaked towel. Raelene could see beads of sweat forming at his temples.

“Is this the place?” she asked. Her voice was calm, steady; like a psychologist’s should be. Gordon nodded, staring past her down into the field. Raelene followed her patient’s gaze.

“Can you see the owlboys now?” she asked. Gordon’s eyes flicked to hers, irritated.

“Do you think I’m experiencing psychosis Raelene?” he snapped. “Have I had a schism? Am I detached from reality?”

Raelene was shocked, though years of practice allowed her not to show it. She’d been a mental health practitioner in a metropolitan hospital for twenty years. She’d certainly handled more extreme behaviours than a snippy comeback, but for gentle, intelligent, thoughtful Gordon, this was a sign of extreme stress.

Gordon took a deep breath and dragged his fingers though his grey-brown hair. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she replied. “You’re really scared aren’t you?”

Gordon laughed nervously.

“I’m so scared,” he replied.

Raelene believed him. She’d made a career out of believing people. She joked that it was her one real marketable skill. She’d figured out pretty quickly that being a good psychologist wasn’t rocket science. People just want to know they’re not crazy. They want someone to say, “I believe you." Raelene had spent two decades of her life doing everything she could to deliver those three words to patients before someone else (usually a Doctor or a Nurse or even another psychologist) messed up royally by saying anything else. A lot of the people who came through emergency as mental health admissions had been sexually assaulted. Raelene saw first hand that for people who had just been through a major trauma a misplaced ‘are you sure?’ in the place of ‘I believe you’ could break someone’s spirit almost as badly as the assault itself.

She never even thought about going into private practice until after her divorce. Her ex-husband was an arse, but he shared her work ethic, so they owned their own home and had savings. Starting again was relatively easy. Raelene told her colleagues that she had every intention of staying on at the hospital, but at the same time she bought a small house in a misty little rural valley an hour out of the city. She resigned a few weeks later. Her little house had an artists studio out the back that would be a perfect home office. Raelene was only in her 50s, and had spent most of her divorce money on her new home, so she still had to work. Her adult son reluctantly build her a website, rolling his eyes the entire time. He’d inherited his father’s belief that everything Raelene did was annoying and slightly stupid.

Her first private clients were painfully boring. After twenty years of dealing with crisis day-in-day-out, three ladies her own age with long term, but highly functional depression didn’t do much for her in terms of mental stimulation. Business didn’t really pick up until she got a call from a farmer on a neighbouring property. He was a tough looking 40-year-old family man who probably hadn’t been to a GP for twenty years. He seemed out of place in her little studio, surrounded by indoor plants and comfy cushions, wound up tighter that a rubber band.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t really believe in counselling or whatever, but you aren’t allowed to tell anyone what I say to you right?”

Raelene assured the farmer that the only reason she would break confidentiality was if someone’s safety was at risk. That seemed to satisfy him.

“I saw a big hairy man in the bush on my property,” he blurted.

“He must have been eight feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. He just stood in the tree line about forty metres away from me, watching while I filled a horse trough with a hose.”

His voice was shaking. Raelene looked him in the eye.

“I believe you,” she said.

He came back twice more. She asked him how he felt about what he’d seen, how he coped when he woke up dreaming about it, and then about his life more generally. At the end of his third session he told her he felt a bit better just telling someone, and that he didn’t think he’d need to come back again.

Word must have spread somehow from there. Raelene started getting calls from otherwise normal people who claimed to have seen or experienced something they knew no one would believe. She saw a high school science teacher who was convinced aliens had put a microchip in her arm. She met with a family who claimed an angry poltergeist was noisily opening and closing their kitchen cupboards at 3am every night. Two distraught parents came to her with their little girl who claimed her imaginary friend bit her on the arm. The parents said she’d screamed so loud and long that they rushed her to the hospital. Raelene seemed to have accidentally cornered the market on healthy, average people who needed to tell someone about an unexplainable, socially unacceptable trauma. She told them all the same thing.

“I believe you.”

Just like at the hospital, that alone seemed to help the most. Some people she saw regularly, their visits morphing from ghosts and monsters into the usual concerns about their life and relationships. Others dropped their strange experience on her lap and never returned.

Gordon came to her about a year after the farmer. She liked him immediately. He was exactly ten years older than her, slender, with thick wavy hair and smart, smiley, dark brown eyes. He used to be an academic, and now worked for a publishing company, proofreading textbooks. He spoke quietly but clearly, laughed easily and often, and always insisted on showing Raelene videos of his grandchildren on his smartphone. He also believed that mysterious, sinister beings called ‘owlboys’ were stalking three generations of his family.

Gordon was visibly nervous the first time he came in. He had a little leather satchel with him, and he held it on his lap like a shield, but it didn’t take much to get him talking.

“I’m a somewhat disturbed,” he told her. “Not mentally. I mean...not clinically. But I’m worried about something, and I don’t want to tell anyone because I know it sounds mad.”

Raelene nodded, for him to continue.

“I guess I didn’t think much of it until I found my grandfather’s diary,” Gordon continued.

“I’ve always been a little bit jumpy, and I tend to have bad dreams a lot, especially when I’m stressed. One dream has been recurring since I was a child. I see these odd, um, creatures or beings. They just show up in whatever regular dream I’m having, standing at a distance, or leaning out from behind a tree or a door frame. They never attack me or anything but there’s a feeling about them that gets to me. A sense of…doom I guess.”

“What sort of beings?” Raelene asked. Gordon rubbed his chin.

“To me they always looked like fuzzy rectangles with big black eyes,” he said. “But there’s something really wrong about them that I can’t describe. Something about the way they move. I’ll see them in a dream, and then for the next few days I have that experience where you think you see something out of the corner of you eye, but you look again and it’s not there. I just put it down to an overactive imagination…until I found the diary.”

Raymond reached into his satchel and pulled out an antique leather book.

“This was my grandfather’s,” he said.

“It’s mostly really dull farming stuff, but there are three entries that made me think I’m either going crazy, or there’s something weird going on.”

Gordon explained that his grandfather was one of the first landowners in this valley, and ran a large cattle farm in the early 1900s. Gordon’s own father, Roland, had grown up on the farm, and Gordon had spent the first few years of his life there too, before his family moved to another part of the valley. There were three yellow post-it notes poking neatly out of the diary. Gordon turned the pages to the first note and looked at Raelene. She gave a little nod, and he began to read.

“This one’s dated August 1, 1929,” he said.

“Saw something in the far paddock today. The largest owls I had ever seen, gathered in the centre of the far paddock, in the gully. I estimated them at four feet tall, with black eyes the size of saucers. There was something very peculiar about the way they moved.”

He flicked to the second post-it.

“August 1, 1937. Roland saw the strange owls in the far paddock today. Said he was too frightened to get a closer look. Could not tell if they were people or animals. Called them ‘owlboys’ because they looked like little boys but with owl faces.”

He jumped to the final post-it, speaking more quickly now.

“This one is the first of August, 1940 and it’s mostly about a fence falling down and chasing stray cows around the property,” he explained. “But then he writes, ‘Owlboys in the far paddock. Came back in early.’ The diary goes on for another decade, but he never mentions them again.”

Gordon snapped the diary shut and looked at Raelene expectantly.

“I think the fuzzy white rectangles I’ve been seeing my whole life might be owlboys,” he said. Raelene didn’t reply.

“Did you notice the thing that the entries had in common?”

Raelene wasn’t really a detail person. She had no idea what Gordon meant.

“August first,” he explained. “Every time they saw the owlboys it was August first. I think the owlboys, whatever they are, visit that spot every year on the same day. I only got the diary in November last year, after dad died, so couldn’t do it last year, but this year on August first I’m going to that spot to see if they’re there. I want you to come with me as a witness.”

Raelene had agreed to go with Gordon on the condition that he come and see her once a fortnight for the six months to August. He’d agreed, and had quickly become her favourite patient. They talked about his grandfather and his father, his career, his wife, his own children and grandkids. Of course, they also talked about the owlboys. Gordon was convinced they were real. Maybe not flesh and blood creatures, but real, intelligent beings nonetheless. He burned through a number of theories as the weeks went by. At first he thought they might be native spirits of the valley, angry at his forefathers for clearing a sacred spot to graze cattle. Then he decided the whole ‘owl’ thing might be an alien cover-up, citing the big black eyes, and a number of obscure books he’d dredged up that talked about alien abductees having weird memories of giant owls, supposedly revealed (under hypnosis) as ‘screen’ memories’ intended to cover up an abduction. As the date drew nearer he began to err towards the owlboys having something to do with his family specifically, but he wasn’t sure what.

He’d seemed oddly calm when he rolled up to her house in his neat Volvo station wagon on the first of August, but as he drove her up into the hills on the North side of the valley towards the area where his grandfather’s farm used to be he’d become increasingly agitated. By the time he pulled the car to a stop on the little ridge with a view down into the gully on their left he was breathing fast and strangling the poor steering wheel to death. Raelene put her hand on the door handle. Being in the car with Gordon’s huffing and puffing was starting to stress her out too, and she needed some air. Gordon’s hand shot out and grabbed her firmly on the shoulder.

“Don’t get out,” he whispered. “I’m getting that feeling. The doom-y feeling.”

Raelene turned to look at him. She was about to tell him he might be making himself lightheaded, and to try and slow his breathing, when something white in the trees behind him caught her attention. She leaned to look past him for a better view of whatever was there. Time slowed down. She could hear her heart pumping in her ears, but all other sound seemed to have stopped. Her brain was trying to desperately to explain the input from her eyes. She almost thought it was a child because of the size, but the body shape was wrong. It could have been a person in a costume, but no, the eyes were too real. They were huge, and black and so deep. Whatever it was kept swaying side to side, partially behind a tree about 30 metres into the bush. There was something completely unsettling about how it moved.

“Gordon, what is this,” she whispered.

Gordon had swung around to follow her gaze into the bush.

“Where, I can’t see,” he asked shakily.

“There! Right there!” she shrieked. “Can’t you see it?” Gordon scanned the bush frantically.

“I can’t see a thing,” he said. “What is it?” Raelene ignored his question and grabbed his arm hard.

“Get us out of here, now!”

Gordon threw the car into drive and made a quick u-turn. For a terrifying moment, this swung Raelene closer to the being in the trees. She shrank down in her seat. The thing had stopped moving but it’s eyes followed her as the car picked up speed down the hill. Now it was her turn to hyperventilate. Gordon barely slowed down through the curves towards the main road.

“Did you really not see it?” Raelene was frantic now. “Gordon tell me you saw it too.”

Gordon glanced across at her and shook his head.

“I couldn’t see anything,” he said.

Raelene put her face her hands and let out a little moan. She felt Gordon’s left hand rest gently on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s OK… I believe you.”

#paranormal #fiction #shortstory #nosleep #lovecraft #creepy #holloween

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husheduphistory · 4 years ago

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Horror-scopes: Arthur Covell and his Savage Stars

The Covell house in Bandon, Oregon was hardly one of peace and harmony. The family consisted of chiropractor Fred Covell, his fourth wife Ebba, his two teenage children from his third marriage, his three young children with Ebba, and his forty-seven-year-old brother Arthur. It was 1923 and the stress level in the house was at new heights. Two of Fred’s children, sixteen-year-old Alton and fourteen-year-old Lucille, were considered mentally disabled and Alton had spent some time in an institution before eventually returning home. His brother Arthur was confined to a bed, paralyzed after being crushed by a truck he was repairing in December 1920.

This situation would be stressful under the best circumstances but adding to the environment was a cloud of sheer contempt that permeated the entire house. Arthur was not an easy person to get along with, regularly fighting with Ebba and referring to his niece and nephew as brats. He rarely left his bedroom, and it was in that space where he brewed and cultivated an all-encompassing obsession with astrology. Within only a few years he successfully turned this obsession into a lucrative source of income, crafting personalized horoscopes and selling them by mail with a client list that included some members of the Hollywood elite.

Arthur Covell, photograph reprinted in New York Daily News, January 25, 1931.

Surrounded by charts, astrological paraphernalia, and endless books filled with scribbled notes and calculations, the image of Arthur Covell with his dark sunken eyes, stringy hair, and waxy complexion was just as endearing as his personality. Ebba reciprocated easily, openly criticizing her brother-in-law right down to complaining about the amount of food he consumed. Given all of this, Fred may not have been surprised when he received a call at his office on the afternoon of September 3rd, 1923. The real surprise came from the voice on the other end, it was Arthur bearing a simple message, “You better get home here fast, the brats tell me there's something wrong with Ebba."

When Fred returned home the scene was horrible and completely mystifying. Ebba was laying dead on her bed with red marks around her nostrils and neck. When he asked his son Alton what happened he only said “Dunno. I found her lying on the floor in the hall by the telephone when I came in from the barn.” His daughter Lucille also claimed no knowledge, asking him repeatedly what was wrong with Ebba. The only person in the house that seemed unsurprised at Ebba’s sudden death was Arthur, who seemed positively delighted. When Fred entered the room to tell him what happened his response was "She's dead, ain't she, Fred? The kids wouldn't tell me. But the stars did. They always tell. Jupiter and Mars are averse to the sun and Venus. That's a juxtaposition Ebba couldn't take."

Ebba Covell, photograph reprinted in the Knoxville Journal, January 18, 1948.

The scene of Ebba’s death was odd. There was no obvious cause of death and despite there being numerous people in the house everyone said they had no idea what could have happened to her. There were many questions, but Fred was not willing to give time for them to be answered. Distant and noncommunicative, he quickly signed his wife’s death certificate citing her demise as “natural causes” and moved to get her into the ground as soon as possible. When the police could not actually confirm Fred’s alibi that he was at work the entire day that Ebba died they put a halt on her burial in order to investigate further.

The attempts to piece together the death of Ebba Covell grew increasingly frustrating with each passing day. The children claimed no knowledge of anything amiss in the house and Arthur only rambled about the death being foretold by the stars in a tone that did not hide his delight in her death. Looking for answers, a second autopsy was done and it revealed that while her neck was dislocated, the injury would not have killed her. Finally, it was determined that the death and the strange burns were caused by a cloth soaked in ammonia being pressed up to her face, eventually suffocating her. Ebba’s death was officially a murder, and the police were certain they knew the killer. In their eyes there was no way for the children Alton and Lucille to plan the complicated killing and they wrote off Arthur due to his being bedridden. Clearly, the murder was committed by Fred Covell. A warrant was issued for his arrest and within hours the children were moved away from the home and both Fred and Arthur were taken to the county jail.

Although officials were certain that they had their culprit securely behind bars there was yet another problem with the case, they did not have the concrete evidence to place the deadly ammonia soaked cloth in Fred’s hand. In search of proof, the Covell’s house was searched. Once inside they found something, but it was not at all what they expected.

At this point it was well known that Arthur Covell was a maniacal astrologer who endlessly ranted about the movement of the stars and how they dictated the paths of the humans below them. When they entered his bedroom and picked up a notebook it seemed at first to be filled with notes of more of the same ramblings, some of which was written in some form of code. But, upon closer inspection the words took a dark turn, talking of various dates and times of death, including that of Ebba Covell. The date was scribbled throughout the book but finally one entry literally spelled it out, “6:20 a.m. Sept 3, Monday. Will Al do his part?" This was followed up with "Sept 3. Eleven a.m. Should have been 11:14.” Ebba’s death was not the only one written out in Covell’s terrifying book. Among the coded messages were mentions of local merchant Ira S. Sidwell who was to "fall down stairs at store. Will have will and other papers in pocket." Then there was a written out tale detailing how the family of local dairy man E.J. Pressy would die in a house fire but "not before you take the doors and windows out of it to be used in my new house." The book detailed the future deaths of twenty-seven prominent citizens of Brandon by every cause imaginable. A discovery of a pile of forged wills with the deceased leaving all of their belongings to Arthur Covell made the astrologer’s book even more sinister. This was not a book of predictions, this was a schedule.

An emaciated Arthur Covell laying on a chair outside the Covell home.

When confronted about his book, Arthur only laughed and said he knew they would find it because the stars said they would. When directly questioned about the dates, times, and methods of death laid out for the citizens of Brandon his response was only “I wished things to happen to people. Got any law against wishing?” It was a painfully frustrating situation. Clearly Arthur had information but the chances of his sharing it were slim to none. But, among his astrological hitlist there was one very important name, Al, the one who he hoped would “do his part” in the murder of Ebba. The police headed off to speak to her sixteen-year-old step-son Alton.

By the time authorities got to Alton, they may have expected just another dead end in the case of Ebba Covell, but this time things went easier than they ever could have expected. Almost immediately Alton began talking, and what he revealed spelled doom not for his father Fred, but for his bedridden uncle Arthur. He told the police that Arthur told him and Lucille to carry out the murder of their step-mother for him, that “Bad things always seemed right when he talked to us. When he said do it we just did anything because it seemed the thing to do.”

His formal statement stated:

“Uncle Arthur told me to buy a 10-cent bottle of ammonia. Then he told me we'd have to kill Ebba because she had learned something he wanted to do and she was going to tell Fred. It was something that would make us all rich and she would spoil his plans. So, she was standing by the telephone when I came in. I put the cloth on her face and held her arms with my left arm around her. It took a long time. I don't know how long. I called Lucille and we got Ebba up on her bed. She was all limp and dead. Lucille threw the bottle down the gully. My uncle told her to. He told us what to say to Dad and the police, so we did. He said he would have a lot more work for me--kidnapping, setting fires, pushing people downstairs. All exciting.”

When confronted about Alton’s confession Lucille immediately confirmed it all. Like her brother, she claimed their uncle had an almost supernatural power over them and they dare not defy him, even when he asked them to kill for him.

Newspaper article showing Alton Covell.

Arthur scowled when he was told about his niece and nephew’s confession. "The brats are telling the truth. I'd have been master of this county after Alton had killed a few good-for-nothings around here if I'd obeyed the stars. Shouldn't ever have worked up Ebba's horoscope on a day when the heavens were unfriendly to me. Made a simple mistake. Figured the wrong day and hour."

The murder trial of Arthur Covell began on November 5, 1924, but there was very little to go over. All three participants in the murder fully admitted their guilt with Lucille giggling through her entire testimony. With little hesitation the jury handed down the verdict of murder in the first degree with a sentence of death by hanging. On May 22, 1925 the killer astrologer was wheeled to the gallows in a wheelchair with his last horoscope, one he wrote for himself, stuffed into the waistband of his pants. In a horrific twist, when Covell’s body dropped his painfully thin frame did not weigh enough to break his neck and end his life. He hung and slowly strangled to death for twenty-six minutes.

Alton and Lucille’s lives took very different paths after their uncle’s trial. Alton was also tried and convicted of murder, but rather than face the gallows he was instead sent to the state penitentiary. Released in 1932, he led a quiet life before passing away in 2002. Lucille was never tried for the crime and disappears from record soon after the trial.

Upon his agonizing death, Arthur Covell was cremated but his ashes were never claimed. To this day all that remains of the killer astrologer sits in storage at the Oregon State Hospital.

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cursewoodrecap · 5 years ago

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Session 14: Nice Sociable Folk

Everyone is very nice to us, except one grumpy guy.

This one fought me, folks. And Quarantine Depression didn’t really help. So it’s a bit less pared-down than it could be. But speaking of people who should probably be quarantined, have some virulent fungus.

We return to the scene: Valeria has just unceremoniously yanked a mandrake root out of the ground, and it’s doing what mandrakes do, screaming at the top of its lungs (...do plants have lungs???) and raising hell. Which is not GREAT if you’re in the middle of the Spooky Woods Where Monsters Live.

We’re reckless idiots, but that’s on brand.

Shoshana rolls a Nature check to know it’ll stop screaming on its own eventually, and that getting it into our Haversack will stop or dull the noise. Otherwise, the recommended mandrake-harvesting technique is that extreme heat or cold will stun its screaming. Usually people harvest them with daggers heated over a flame.

Problem: Shoshana is only one who knows this, Clem and Val are stunned, and it’s LOUD, so it’s hard to talk. So it’s up to the sorcerer to handle it. She doesn’t want to burn the dang thing to a crisp and make it useless as a spell component, so blasting it with magic is right out. She snatches a torch out of Clem’s backpack and lights it, heating up her small dagger.

Clem fails to shake off the stun, but Valeria recovers. Gral throws an inspiration at Clem, who’s still stuck, and frantically glances around the area to see if the BIG LOUD NOISE has alerted any enemies. In fact, it very much has. A variety of heavy shapes are uprooting themselves out of the dirt, turning blank mossy faces towards us.

Shosha tries to hurry up on silencing the mandrake, but her haste causes her to fumble it. At least she doesn’t damage the plant.

Gral, still watching, sees the grassy, lumpy creatures pick up rocks and start hurling them. Shoshana gets bonked. A rock bounces off Valeria’s armor. Gral’s looking at those ones, when another one hefts out of the ground behind him and conks him with a big ol’ stone.

“Ah,” Valeria observes. “Yeetroots.”

Clem, even with inspiration, still fails to unstun herself, clutching her hands to her sensitive elven ears.

Gral swings his sickle into a yeetroot’s rooty, tuberous body, a thick sap dripping from the gaping wound. Meanwhile, Shoshana takes a second stab with her hot dagger and manages to silence the awful screaming.

The one Gral bloodied picks him up entirely and yeets him at Clem. Gral bounces off the drow’s armor comically. Clem remains completely undamaged while Gral pouts at being unwillingly Fastball Specialed. Valeria and Shoshana scatter, dodging another volley of heavy rocks.

Taking an entire orc to the face, though, finally breaks Clem out of the stun. She’s ready to lumberjack down some trees - oh, wait, Gral’s lying there moaning. The battle medic gives him a good slather of Space Mayo, and he’s fine, though he probably smells like a sandwich.

Gral and Shoshana pop off a couple of spells for minor effect, the tuberous creatures shrugging off most of the effects. They’re bothered enough to retaliate, though; the one Valeria’s facing off against hefts her into the air for another round of PC Bowling, flattening Shoshana. The hail of rocks from the rest of the Yeetroots doesn’t let up, but their aim is only mediocre.

Aethis snacks on a root-person Valeria nicely carves up for them, and as Clem gets to slicing and dicing it looks like the fight’s falling in our favor.

Suddenly, a short human guy in rough clothing charges ungracefully out of the woods, crossing through the undergrowth strangely quickly for someone so unathletic-looking. He clonks a Yeetroot over the head with a long wooden staff, whacking it a few times for good measure so it stays down, and then looks up at us with a frustrated expression. “What the hell are you kids doing? Get out of here!” he shouts irritably, like we’re trespassing on his lawn.

He’s got a bit of an accent. It’s much heavier than Shoshana’s; even by her small-town standards it’s the rural accent of someone who speaks Old Valdian regularly.

Gral Dissonant Whispers a Yeetroot, causing it to run past Clem and the Old Dude. It runs straight into Clem’s sword and dies. Shoshana, Valeria, and Aethis efficiently dismantle the last one standing.

Clem’s ears, still sore from the mandrake’s cry, pick up additional movement through the woods. Sounds like the Yeetroots weren’t the only ones interested in loud, clumsy prey.

The old man seems to know it too, and he starts to scold us. “Pulling a mandrake while the woods are like this? Dummkopfen! Now get outta here! Scram!”

“I’m sorry, we didn’t have a choice-“

“What are you doin’ yakkin’? MOVE!” he shouts, turning and dashing into the underbrush. Shoshana barely catches him muttering “those IDIOTS” in Old Valdian as he scrams.

Well, we’re definitely not gonna stick around either. Old Dude went northeast. The Sturmhearst camp is to the south. We’re all thinking this weird crotchety old man is a druid, so he’s gonna know the best way to go and also we could totally ask him a few burning questions. With a concise nod to each other, we dash after the druid, Valeria swinging herself up onto Aethis’ back.

The wooooooooods are aliiiiiiiive, with the sound of monsterrrrrs, but following the druid’s trail we manage to dodge down an old gully and manage to shake any of them who came to investigate the commotion. Unfortunately, we’ve just put all those monsters in between us and the Sturmhearst camp. We pause, crouched in creek bed, as the last walking tree’s footfalls fade into the distance.

Gral breaks the silence: “…wait, was that a druid?”

Shoshana grumps. “How are we gonna FIND him? He could be a SQUIRREL by now! And I’m surprised he even speaks city-folk Valdian.”

We got the sense of how he moved – he hasn’t left a footprint, but we’ve picked up his pattern a bit. We could keep following him, and Valeria suggests the quest will give time for the monsters attracted by our noise to disperse. Gral doesn’t want to pass up the opportunity to find out what the Druids know about the Prisoners, and Valeria’s hopeful he might have seen the other Order of the Rose knight about.

Shoshana beefs her Survival check. We’ve been doing well following his pattern of not disturbing plant or animal tracks, trying to think like a druid wood. But we hit a dead end.

And then Clem casually points out some tracks none of the rest of us can even make out.

Please. Clem Haxan has tracked wood elf partisans. One aging human is nothing.

We follow Clem’s lead for about an hour. As midday approaches, we notice the sense of vibrant, chaotic, suffocating life is fading a little, and the sickening-sweet scent of flowers and spores has lessened. We come upon a grove of trees, standing tall, centered around one utterly massive tree in the middle whose canopy is just barely open enough to allow beams of light to spear through. In every beam, a sapling has begun to grow. Others, a little more seasoned, have grown tall and thin to push up through the great tree’s canopy.

Deeper in the grove, Shoshana can hear a voice in Old Valdian, and it’s mostly swearing.

“Dumb fuckin’ kids, I swear, first it was those meshuggenah bird mask idiots, now we got - what the hell were those morons doing, stirring everything up? Hard enough when the woods are just tryin’ to kill ME without having to keep an eye our for-”

It seems to be a one-sided conversation. Rambling, but pausing for responses that we can’t hear. Shoshana cautiously steps closer.

She wants to be respectful, but the closest thing Old Valdian has to deferential is a greeting without commentary. “...Hello?”

The voice pauses, and then speaks to its silent companion. “Do ya hear something? Go check it out.”

We all roll real bad Perception. Gral is starin’ real hard, and he only sees a squirrel loop the big tree. We don’t hear the druid say anything else.

She tries a Message cantrip: “We wish to respect your solitude, but we need to speak with you.” Hopefully a decent Persuasion roll will do.

“Wait. Hold up,” the voice grumbles in Old Valdian, heaving a massive sigh. “They’re idiots, they’re not gonna-”

Something big makes a “GRAAHK” noise.

“No, they’re not gonna go away unless I talk to them. Look, they followed me here. I knew it was unavoidable.” He calls out to us in common Valdian. “All right, come on in, no funny business.”

Being seasoned D&D players, we’re hesitant to cross the giant patch of fallen leaves, but it turns out it’s not a booby trap; it’s just what happens when you’re under a big ol’ tree. They are pleasingly crunchy and probably serve as an excellent intruder warning.

The druid isn’t pleased with our caution. “Either leave or come over here! Let’s get this over with.”

We circle the tree to find a small hut in a sunbeam, with a little garden. The old guy, looking like a hippie Danny DeVito, is sitting outside on a fallen log, prodding a small campfire with a stick as he heats a kettle over it. More notably, there is an owlbear curled up next to the fire.

“I wouldn’t get too close, he likes eatin’ fingers,” the druid grumps. “That’s why he’s called Fingers.”

“Oh! This is Aethis, and I’m Kyr Va-”

“Yeah, yeah, get to the point.”

“Are you a druid?”

“Ah, right to the point.”

We manage to stumble over a quick introduction, and that we want to ask him about the Druids’ actions against the artist’s colony in Holzog.

“So all druids know each other, huh?” He starts peeling a potato, unimpressed.

"I don’t know how druids work! There was an organized attack against cultists of the Key, at an artist's colony at Holzog Valley. Do you know of this, and are the Druids in an organized resistance against the Prisoners?"

“Are druids an organized anything?” Shoshana snarks.

Druid DeVito rolls his eyes. “Look, mask guy. I go where I’m needed. I don’t know anything about what’s going on in Holzog. I barely know what’s going on here, I just got here!”

“You... just got here?”

“Yeah, like a month or two ago. Hard to get lay of the land when EVERYTHING’S TRYIN TA KILL YOU, not to mention it’s hard to get a handle on things when idiot adventurers are runnin’ around STIRRIN’ THINGS UP!”

Gral soldiers on. “Well, what do you know of the curse corrupting this area? We were here gathering supplies for a ritual, but it seems like there is also trouble here, what with the villagers and the trolls."

Gral is very polite, so the druid grudgingly answers. “Look, here’s how it goes. This” – he taps the tree – “is Mother Tree. It’s important, for reasons. There’s always supposed to be a druid warden here. But something happened. She’s gone now. So I heard it through the grapevine, and I got called in.”

“Was it a literal grapevine?”

“The old bag and the windy bastard have ways of getting in touch with us, if we’re needed. They told me I gotta go here and – well, so I came. I’m tryin’ to figure out what happened to old warden, figure out what I can do to keep the place safe. It’s a lotta work! But right now I’m trying to make lunch. Because lemme tell you, this owlbear is a lot calmer than most of his type, but he WILL eat me if he gets too hungry.”

“As far as what I know about it? Half the valley got taken. Everything west of the river got overgrown. Haven’t spent much time on the other side; I don’t wanna get spotted. You see what happens when somebody gets a look at me.” He gestures dismissively to all of us. “No good deed, and all that.”

“So half the valley got overgrown. My sources tell me the other half is honestly not doin’ much better, even though it looks better on the outside. Like I said, I’m still tryin’ to get my networks up and running, which is difficult when most of my sources are working for the enemy.”

“Yeah, the villagers have fungus brain,” Shoshana tells him. “Someone who came from this village seemed to be corrupted by fungus, and was working to encourage its spread. Also, they’re bringing in a Fuckton of Trolls to Bad Herzfeld. Which, if they get fungused, is...bad.”

Valeria, meanwhile, is attempting to feed the owlbear some granola. After a moment, she elects to just toss the bag in its direction. Handfeeding an owlbear is Not Wise.

“I’ll add that to my list of problems,” the old man grumbles. “Bunch of sporebrained trolls, sporebrained villagers, plants tryna kill me…all right. How many they got so far?”

“One troll was definitely fungused, but he’s dead. There’s about 8 at the troll moot now. Their food stores look spore-free so far, but we’re going to be looking into the village more.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t want to be corruptin’ ‘em yet, it’d tip their hand too early. Trolls are usually solitary types. With how the sporebrains work, any new arrivals would be majorly creeped out. They’d want to get a critical mass before they try to get ‘em brainwashed.”

We agree that’s probably the plan. We explain the situation in Holzog, and ask what he knows about the druids’ actions there and whether the druids are the Prisoners’ jailers.

He shrugs. “Me and mine, we don’t talk to each other much. We each got our beats to cover. It’s not like they give us a manual – we’re not super fond of writing things down. Rumor is there’s old sources – real old – that have some knowledge, but otherwise you gotta get lucky and get a visit from the bosses themselves. But they’ve never been the most reliable.”

“The...bosses? Like Baba and Gramps?” Shoshana asks, referring to the old grandmother and grandfather gods of the woods.

“Yeah, they don’t exactly come when you ring a bell. Now I don’t know what old rattlechains, or the angry lady, or the quiet guy, or the sneaky bastard are like, but the chiefs aren’t communicative at the best of times. And since this fakakta Curse thing started they’ve been harder to get a hold of. We get our orders, they keep us busy, but there ain’t much in the way of answers. I’m told to guard this place, and do my thing. The ‘Prisoners,’ or whatever? That’s new to me.

“Look, stay away from the villagers, anyone especially friendly, anyone who talks about love, togetherness, caring, all that crap. Don’t go anyplace overgrown, anyplace with too many mushrooms. Spores will get in your brain.”

“I just do what I’m told. Or infer, really, I’m not told enough to do what I’m told.

If you wanna be helpful – something’s spreading this. The Curse spreads enough on its own, but something’s deliberately spreading it around. Go hunt for whatever’s doing that. Also, I can’t find previous warden – y’know, the person whose beat this is supposed to be.

He’s mostly losing interest in us, but can’t resist one last jab. “What do you need that mandrake for anyway? Half the things you think they can do, they can’t.”

Valeria jumps at the chance to talk about her Quest. “Over in Mornheim they’re dealing with the undead sort of curse. There’s a disease in the water affecting the whole population, and we found a ritual to purify the river! It’s not the sort of magic I usually work with, but I think I can make it function with the plants that I need. I’ve got almost all of them!”

“Hmm. Whatcha missin’?”

We check our notes. “Norbert’s Wort?”

Those Sturmhearst guys might have some, if you wanna try to get it off ‘em. Or there’s a bunch of it growin’ not far from the riverbank. Lemme see this ritual of yours, I wanna make sure you’re not wastin’ your time.”

He gives it the once-over with a surprisingly appreciative eye. “Oh, huh. Rosalind’s work.” He rolls up the scroll, slaps it back into Valeria’s claws, and turns to walk out into the wood. “Get outta here. I got things to do. If you stick around, Fingers will eat ya.”

Wait.

There’s a beat, and then Shoshana starts yelling. “WAIT, ROSALIND? BECAUSE WE FOUND THIS IN THE HOUSE OF A LADY NAMED ROSALIND. AND I DIDN’T THINK YOU GUYS WERE INTO HOUSES? WAIT COME BACK SHE’S A GHOST NOWWWWWW-”

He’s gone. Dammit.

We wave goodbye to Fingers.

As we cautiously make our way out of the grove, Gral is asked to make a Charisma check. A leaf, still stuck to a small bent twig, falls from the great tree and gently helicopters down. He reaches up a hand and catches it out of the air, easily, as if it was intended to find his hand. With an excellent perception check, he glances up and sees the silhouette of a motherly face in the branches. It’s hard to spot among the rustling green canopy, but it’s looking down at us from the branches - he can almost see a wooden torso in one branch – and then the shape pulls back into the branch, moving through it like sand.

Gral experiences an internal hell yes.

Gral has received: one twig with some leaves! It has vibes. This thing is definitely special, and a gift – not from the druid, but from the Mother Tree.

It clearly has Properties, but we do not know what they are.

So, what next? Trying to get the last plant for the spell has a nonzero chance of getting us lost overnight. We could stop by the Sturmhearst annex, or check in on the trolls....wait. Dang it. This morning we told that old lady we’d stay in town overnight. And we’ve already stood up one dinner invitation this arc.

As Clem capably leads us around dangers and toward Sturmhearst, Gral stares at his twig. He can see the leaves seem to move without wind, and he slowly realizes he’s able to predict which ways Clem is gonna lead us based on which way the leaf radar blows. It seems the gift can help find safe passage in the wood!

With a good survival check, we manage to skirt all dangers and the riled-up zone. Once again we smell acrid smoke from Sturmhearst camp and pass by the impassive looking giant owl guards with their flamethrowers. We see Rita the robot chicken hop by with something in her mouth, and follow her into camp. She ignores us and bops right up into the house that contains Prof. Ulmus’ lab.

Hey, we should go check on Flynn! A student directs us to where they’ve set up their clinic in an old barn, and soon we are confronted with a steely-eyed Fiona, arms crossed, glaring at us. “Hi, we, uh-”

She is silent, as usual, but Valeria rolls a nat 20 insight and can read her face like a book. She’s mad that we didn’t come back when we said we would – we made them worry, and also left them alone in this den of academic madness.

Valeria stumbles over a sincere apology until she is interrupted by a solid barbarian hug.

The paladin takes this as her opening to gossip about our day. “We got plants! And got real lost! We slept over a troll’s place!” Fiona makes a surprised gesture. “Yeah, there’s like eight. They have HOUSES. It’s surreal?!?!?! One of them thinks he’s a doctor!”

She’s interrupted when Dr. Ulmus sticks her hand through a curtain and hands off a vial of blood. Valeria now has blood. “Take this to my lab, please.”

Valeria blinks. “O...kay?” She dutifully leaves to take the blood to the lab.

Shoshana can’t keep her mouth shut. “Uh, ma’am? ….did you not notice that wasn’t a grad student?”

“Hm?”

“You gave this to the paladin.”

“…Good. She’ll follow orders. WAIT, YOU’RE BACK!” The doctor bursts through the curtain, beak-first.

“We come bearing fungus!” Clem gives her a vial of fungus. Clem is then ordered to take this to Prof Ulmus’s lab. She does.

So now we have two tanks in a lab. They try to flag down a grad student and make them do it . No, too bad, they’re busy. Clem is like, what if I’m enormous and intimidating? But the grad student is not impressed. “Please. Do you know what kind of horrors I’m studying? You can’t terrify me.”

Valeria is like FFFF CAN YOU PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHERE THE BLOOD GOES. But the grad student leaves.

Oh hey, that rack has vials of red stuff. She puts the blood in the blood rack.

Clem shrugs, sets the fungus on a random table, and leaves.

Back at the clinic, a pale and haggard Flynn stumbles out and leans on Fiona. “My sister was very worried,” he tells us, making a flimsy effort at his usual grandiosity. “I, of course, had total confidence in you!”

Fiona, deadpan, signs: [He cried.]

Professor Ulmus finally emerges in full. “Well, Mr. Fairgold, I’d say you’re well on your way to recovery! Practice those breathing exercises I showed you and take it easy for next few days.”

Valeria and Clem hustle back, spouting apologizes for missing dinner, because Valeria is polite and Clem is genuinely upset at missing the opportunity to pick the doctor’s brain about medicine.

“Hmm, yes, you’re back! Well, you’re all alive…” Professor Ulmus starts inspecting us, her beaked mask tilting this way and that. “…oh dear.” She prods Clem a bit. “Yes, hmm.” She briskly hands Clem some sort of compressed herb poultice. “You’ll want to eat this.” Clem immediately makes a med check. It’s some kind of medicine, I guess. Clem swallows it. It tastes super gross.

“So!” she chirps. “I look forward to hearing what you’ve learned. How was your expedition, did you find what you were looking for?”

“Most of it,” Valeria admits. “We’re still looking for Norbert’s Wort.”

“I have a bit, but it’s spoken for, I’m afraid. Anyhow, I believe a dinner was planned! It’s a good thing you didn’t show up last night, I forgot all about it. I had to do quite a lot of work on Mr. Fairgold. The fungal infestation in his lungs should be cleared up, although the treatment did leave some aftereffects. Nausea, some trouble breathing for a few days. Nothing major.”

Valeria just sort of awkwardly lifts her hand, offering Lay Ons. He waves her off, bluffing his way past her insight. Sure, he’s fiiiiiiiine.

“He was fortunate. Not the worst I’ve seen – something worse would have required a substantially more radical treatment. More invasive, too. Were any of you exposed?”

“Uhh, not to that, but to other things?” We tell her about the Snorlax bear over a plate of sandwiches.

“Yes, I’ve seen similar phenomena – a fungal colony hijacking a living creature. Unfortunately that’s where my expertise ends – I might have to discuss with my, ugh, colleague in the aberrant biology department.”

Valeria tells her about the dream mushroom feast. “So you tripped on mushrooms and hallucinated and fought some mushroom men. We’ve all been there.” The professor waves it off with disinterest. “Yes, spooky curse magic messing with your mind, I’m sure it was harrowing. And/or enlightening. But I don’t have time for spooky magics; I’m a woman of SCIENCE! Speaking of, Clementine, where did you put that fungus?”

“On a table with similar looking specimens?”

“Pardon me a moment.” She immediately stands and runs. We see a huge guard stomp toward the lab. Then flamethrower noises. There’s a bit of screaming.

She emerges slightly scorched, fixing her coat. “That…was the wrong table. It’s cross contaminated! Well, I suppose that’s the cost of science. Sometimes, in order to make great discoveries, you must burn a table of samples before they kill you.”

“I’m sorry, I asked a grad student and he said put it anywhere, really!” Clem bluffs.

“Which one?”

“....um, a short guy wearing a bird mask?

“Ah, Jean-Pierre, I know him. We will have words later. Never trust an entomologist, they’ve all got a head full of beetles or something. So! What’s next for you? I can’t say we have a ton of room here, but I’m sure we can try to find somewhere for you to stay...”

Valeria idly taps the clear bead on her earring chain. “Well, we DID promise to stay at the inn in town tonight...”

Ulmus hums discontentedly. “I trust the villagers precisely as far as my guards can throw them.”

Shoshana butts in. “Right? Okay, because the last time we stayed in a fungus person’s house I was RIGHT and it SUCKED.”

We go back and forth, deciding we’ll keep our promise but stay in the annex for dinner. A feast in Mushroom Town sounds...ominous.

Clem, determined, asks the professor if she can have a flamethrower. Sadly, it doesn’t matter how much Clem pleads her strength and skill, those had to be SPECIALLY REQUISITIONED from the ENGINEERING DEPARTMENT. She had to call in favors! Now if you’ll excuse her, she has work to do.

We have an early dinner, and then head to other side of river for the first time. The difference could not be more marked. If this wasn’t German old-growth forest, the other side would be a jungle (a fungus jungle? A fungle.); these are lush, rolling, well-tamed agricultural fields dotted with quaint farmhouses; rural but civilized.

The “town” is a bare handful of buildings clustered around a small mill. A general store, the mill, the inn, a sheriff’s office, and that’s really it. Blacksmith. Handful of tradespeople. Pretty standard – these are people who live to support the surrounding farmers.

Not far from there we can see the Farmers’ Temple we heard about, a plain round wooden structure with large carved symbols for Rack, Torme, and Lethe. By Valeria’s standards, it’s the absolute bare minimum of what counts as a temple. “They’re trying, I appreciate that.”

As we travel into town, Valeria can see that the people on this side of river seem to fall firmly into 1 of 2 camps: some are incredibly healthy, almost overly large and well-fed, and very happy. The other half seems sickly. Not as bad as Mornheim, but we can easily sort people into Kinda Sickly or Big Healthy. There’s a lot of coughing. Perhaps the Medusoid Mycelium?!

It’s nearly sunset; we head down to the inn. There’s a couple of people sitting around the inn, farmers getting a drink after making deliveries to the mill. A friendly innkeeper named Aaron greets us. “Ah, you must be the people I’ve heard about!”

“Yes, Zelig told you about us?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some rooms prepped for ya. What brings you to town? We don’t get many of your type around – knights, or whatever you are.”

“Oh, we heard there’d been another Knight of the Rose around,” Shoshana probes.

“That’s what Zelig says, haven’t seen him.”

“Well, uh, thank you for your hospitality?”

We head upstairs, breaking into our usual pairs of roommates - Clem with Gral, Valeria with Shoshana, Aethis in the stables weirding out the horses.

Clem, the wary soldier, checks around to ensure the room is secure. She finds something! A note has been tucked into the mattress. “YOU ARE IN DANGER. COME DOWNSTAIRS AFTER THE SERVICES START AT THE TEMPLE.”

Huh.

She tells the rest of us. Everyone is like, “...yeah, we already knew that?” But it’s excellent news that not every villager is in on it.

There’s a knock on Clem’s door. A nervous young woman is standing there, holding a tray full of pastries. “Hey, uh. My dad wanted me to give you these. They’re leftover, they’d just go stale anyway.”

“Oh, uh, thank you! Much obliged. Um, will that be all?”

“Try ‘em, at least take a look at them. They’re pretty good,” the girl tells her insistently, and scurries off.

Clem and Gral immediately inspect the pastries suspiciously. Pulling one apart - sure enough, there’s a note stuffed in a pastry! It says “CHECK UNDER THE BED.”

Under the bed, where Clem found the first note.

Gral pops down to the tavern area to get a few more deets from Aaron the innkeeper. Turns out temple services start after sundown. “You’ll know it, you’ll see people headin’ towards it. Why, you thinkin of attending?”

“We have a paladin with us, she’s always interested in the local religious customs.”

“It’s nothing you’d be interested in. More of a town hall meeting than anything.”

“I understand. Thank you for the pastries, they were absolutely delicious!”

“Oh, thanks kindly! Sleep well.”

Sure enough, as the sun sets we see lights in the dark as people start streaming in from across the valley to the Farmers’ Temple.

Once it looks like the last stragglers have made it into the service, Clem knocks on wall separating our rooms, as a signal, and we head downstairs. We try to be quiet about it. Aaron and his daughter are there, cloaked and ready for travel. His daughter has a hooded lantern in her hand.

“I don’t know what you people came here for, but you’re not gonna find it here,” whispers the innkeeper urgently. “You have to leave.”

“What kind of danger?”

“I keep my ears open. Zelig came back this morning, told some people about some outsiders, guests – told us to have rooms ready for them, and then stay out of their way when they came for you tonight. I don’t know how long we have – they always go to temple first, but the clock’s running. I don’t know you much, but you seem-“

“This has happened before?” Valeria breaks in, concerned.

“Not in so many words, but, yeah. People have gone missing. Last time we couldn’t do anything about it. We weren’t warned; they just showed up in the night. This time they were worried – there’s more of you, and better armed. Last time was just traveling merchants.”

Gral nods. "We came here looking to find what 'they' were planning at the troll moot. We don't just want to run away, but if you're in danger for housing us, that can wait. What's next?"

“The troll moot? Yeah that’s fishy, but I don’t know how to warn ‘em away. You folks seem connected, can you get word out about this place? But be discreet. I’ve heard stories about the Penitents, and I don’t want no part of that either. There’s still good people here. A lot of people in that temple there, though – I would have sworn they were good people too, until this all started. I’m not sure what it’s all about. We haven’t been going to services, and so far they haven’t forced us to. But they had folks posted in the inn, makin’ sure you showed up tonight.

“You gotta get moving. Rebecca can get you to someplace safe. Slip out now, and finish leaving the valley tomorrow night.”

Clem insights ‘em, and then seem genuinely honest and concerned for us.

“Whatever this is, something about you guys has them spooked, so I wanna make sure you survive. There’s strange things afoot in Herzfeld these days.”

“Would they let you leave?” Valeria asks.

“I don’t wanna know what would happen if we tried. So far they’ve been content to let us keep running the inn, serving ‘em drinks.”

“How have you evaded their influence?” Clem asks suspiciously. “What makes you the exception?”

“Not everybody’s one of ‘em. The woman, Zelig, she came out of the woods a couple months ago after the other side of river fell. She started talkin’ to people, sayin’ she knew way to protect us. People were scared, ‘specially since the old cleric went over to the other side of the river and never came back. A bunch of people went down to the temple to hear her say her piece.

“Those that went – not all of them came back. Afterwards, she started holding services regularly. Meetings, gatherings, whatever. Those that go, their crops flourish, they get strong and healthy. Those that don’t start to get sick. Their crops die. And once people start getting sick, everyone tells ‘em to go to temple and pray about it.”

I don’t know why Rebecca and I have managed to avoid the brunt of it so far.”

Rebecca pipes up. “I’ve snuck into the temple during day, it’s open to everyone. It seems fine mostly, bit run down – everything seems to be in place. But whatever’s going on there, it’s weird. The point is, I can take you to a safe place.”

Her dad nods. “I dunno where it is. Safer that way.”

Rebecca continues, her face too grim for her young age. “I’ve been smuggling people out of the valley. Mostly, people who oppose Zelig just vanish. Dad keeps the inn running and keeps his ears open. Anyone we suspect might be in danger, we get them out.”

Valeria considers. “We’re not going until we figure out what’s going on, but staying safe for tonight is not a bad idea.”

“I don’t know how long the service will go. It can be ten minutes, it can be an hour. We have to get moving, now.”

We hurriedly discuss: we want to know what happens at the mysterious services, but Valeria and Clem aren’t exactly built for stealth. Rebecca says that during the service itself, the town’s pretty deserted - everyone either goes in or stays well away.

We decide to split the party: Rebecca will take Team Clank to meet her friends at the safe house; Gral and Shoshana will sneak up to the temple.

“I can’t tell you where safe house is; if you get captured, you’ll spill. Meet me at the top of hill there. I’ll be hiding in the bushes right by the old fence.”

The shadowy huntress and the subtle bard manage to get close without giving themselves away. Gral gets right up next to a window, and listens in, staying out of the window’s line of sight.

Zelig’s voice booms out, rich and strong: “Brothers, Sisters, we come to our next business. You have heard of the outsiders. They come, they question us. They question our ways, our motives. They endanger our sacred project with our brethren amongst the trolls. Do not fear, for we have a solution: I sense in them a great capacity for love and understanding. Tonight we shall find them, and give them a chance to join in our love. Should they not, should they hold hatred in their hearts, then those hearts may be hollowed and made ready for our love. Come brothers, come sisters, come family.”

Gral minor illusions the hue of the night sky onto his face, hoping it’s enough cover to peek in the window unnoticed.

“It is time. First, let us renew our bonds,” the old woman intones. Zelig stands in the center of the circular room. All the people around her are tall, strong, and glowing with health, crowded together, holding hands. Zelig taps a floorboard, and Hans and Frans solemnly move to pry up the board.

Underneath is a lush green carpet of plant life. Fungus and vines creep out of the floorboard, growing at an impossible rate. Everyone stands as a wave of vegetable and fungal matter extends through temple, climbing up the worshippers’ legs and enveloping their bodies entirely. As Hans and Frans pull back the boards, a frame rises up; vines work their way into frame, forming a picture. Blooming flowers and different shades of leaves and lichen form the image of a female figure, motherly looking, bound in roots. Yet another tapestry?

The worshippers speak in eerie unison. “Though bound, she will be free. She is the growth. She is our love. She is protection. She will grow free of her bonds. We will grow as she does.” The chanting does not falter as the wave of plant matter entirely consumes the chamber. Gral ducks back under the window as the air chamber starts to fill with dense, cloudy spores.

He’s been relaying everything he sees to Shoshana with Message, and they both agree: We’ve seen what we can see, it’s time to get the hell out of here.

Meanwhile, Rebecca leads Valeria and Clem out of the town proper to a set of rolling hills near an abandoned granary. There’s a cleverly hidden trapdoor set almost invisibly into the sod, leading down into a small network of caves.

“They used to use these caves to make cheese! Hmm...it should be this one tonight.” She bypasses several doors set into the earthy tunnels, stopping at one seemingly at random and knocking softly.

A voice on the other side whispers, “Who are you?”

“One who seeks freedom,” Rebecca whispers back.

“And who are we?”

“The last Free Thieves!”

...What.

The door opens a crack, and Rebecca hurriedly herds the tanks through. “The guy in charge is the little guy. His name’s Henri Decannes. Him or one of his people will help you get out. I have to get your friends.” She runs back into night, vanishing into the darkness.

Valeria groans. She understands that stabbing Henri is not an appropriate action at this time, but dang would she enjoy it. And now she’s gonna have a DEBT to him? Maaaaaaaan.

As Gral begins to sneak back over to Shoshana, behind them, they hear the congregants start to move.

#bad herzfeld #the growth #valeria argent #gral omokk'duu #clem haxan #shoshana bat chaya #druid devito #professor ulmus #henri decannes #session recap

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thechasefiles · 5 years ago

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The Chase Files Daily Newscap 11/2/2020

Good Morning #realdreamchasers ! Here is your daily news cap for Tuesday February 11th, 2020. There is a lot to read and digest so take your time. Remember you can read full articles via Barbados Government Information Service (BGIS), Barbados Today (BT), or by purchasing a Daily Nation Newspaper (DN).

BARBADOS TOPS EXPENSIVE PLACES – BARBADOS has been ranked as one of the world’s most expensive places to live. In its 2020 index of the countries where the cost of living was highest, international business publication CEOWORLD Magazine placed Barbados 12th out of 132 countries. Switzerland was deemed the most expensive place to live, followed by Norway, Iceland, Japan, Denmark, Bahamas, Luxembourg, Israel, Singapore, South Korea, Hong Kong, and Barbados. The most affordable place to live in, the publication added, was Pakistan. The others in order or ranking were Afghanistan, India, Syria, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tunisia, Venezuela, Kosovo, Georgia, Nepal, and Egypt. In the 2018 index, Singapore topped the most expensive ranking, and Barbados did not feature in the top 20. (DN)

TAX WARNING – GOVERNMENT WILL BE going after more tax evaders this year. Acting Revenue Commissioner Wayne Forde made this promise yesterday as he urged land tax defaulters to pay up. During the launch of a partnership between Card Services at Cave Shepherd and the Barbados Revenue Authority (BRA) at the latter’s Weymouth, St Michael office, Forde said there were 110 000 accounts, but the compliance rate was only 65 per cent. And he suggested that these delinquent accounts contributed to delayed payments to taxpayers. (DN)

SAGICOR PREPARES TO CUT JOBS IN BARBADOS, ST LUCIA - Job cuts at insurance giant Sagicor General’s Barbados - and St. Lucia appeared imminent Monday as the company announced that it will be undergoing a restructuring process. In a statement, president and CEO Keston Howell said the decision was taken after a strategic review of the company’s operations. On the fate of the staff in the two countries, he said: “We sincerely value the contributions of our team and will ensure that the affected team members receive the necessary guidance and support to assist them through this process.” He suggested the restructuring was a nod to an “ultra-competitive market” in which the firm sought to “improve customer experience and deliver superior value”. Sagicor General underwrites auto, home, travel and business insurance. “The company is focused on the delivery of exceptional service to its clients and is continuously reviewing operations to improve efficiencies,” the statement added. The news comes as Sagicor, the legacy of the Barbados Mutual Life Assurance Society nears its 180th anniversary. It operates in Antigua, Bahamas, Barbados, Dominica, St Lucia and Trinidad and Tobago. (BT)

TRUDEAU MAY BE HERE NEXT WEEK – Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is expected to be in Bridgetown next week for talks with Prime Minister Mia Mottley, she hinted today. The revelation came from Mottley as she addressed the launch of an initiative designed to improve diagnosis, treatment and care for children affected by paediatric cancers and serious blood disorders, which is being lead by the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto, Canada. Addressing the function at Ilaro Court, Mottley said: “This Monday we have the opportunity to thank you as Canadians, and to thank the SickKids Foundation and to thank the High Commissioner, and next Monday I think we will do the same thing with the Prime Minister of Canada when he is here with us.” Mottley gave few details, but pointed to the longevity of the Canadian-based commercial banks in Barbados, saying the two countries would continue to build on their centuries-old relationship. But she gave an indication that the issue of climate change and climate resilience would be featured in their discussions. Mottley said: “The relationship between our countries is centuries long and I am happy to report that the temperature of that relationship is a good temperature. It is not in any means at risk of catching any kind of unfortunate problems that are facing the world today. “We look forward to working with our Canadian partners not just in the area of healthcare or philanthropy, but in a number of other areas of development, particularly the climate crisis which is bedeviling all of us at a rate and in a way that is really frightening some times.” Back in September 2018 the two prime ministers held a bilateral meeting on the sidelines of the UN General Assembly, as they discussed issues of interest to Ottawa and Bridgetown. (BT)

MIA WANTS NEW CDB STRATEGY – PRIME MINISTER Mia Amor Mottley is calling on the Caribbean Development Bank (CDB) to come up with new strategies for new times. Though complimenting the bank on its 50 years of existence at an anniversary thanksgiving service held at Frank Collymore Hall yesterday evening, Mottley said it could no longer be a case of all things to all people. She highlighted a need for the bank to involve the youth in its mission going forward, to create economic accommodation to deal with climate change, and to ensure a secure water source for the region. The Prime Minister said Barbados had benefited from almost $1 billion in development capital over the last 50 years from the bank. “But I speak to you here not only as governor of the CDB [for Barbados], Prime Minister of Barbados and chairman of CARICOM, but I do so conscious that if ever this region needed the oxygen of finance for the thrust of development, it’s now as we face a series of existential crises that threatened to destabilise our progress.” (DN)

VIRUS TEST SOON – TESTING for the deadly coronavirus could begin in Barbados this week. That was the word last night from Minister of Health Jeffrey Bostic, as the death toll from the virus in China, where it was first reported last December 31, reached 811 yesterday, with 37 198 confirmed cases. It has spread to 27 countries and territories, infecting more than 330. Bostic was speaking to the media at the end of a public information session on the deadly virus, held at the Lloyd Erskine Sandiford Centre. He said the testing kits, which had been mentioned by acting Chief Medical Officer Dr Kenneth George during the session, would be facilitated through the Pan-American Health Organization (PAHO). “We have a state-of-the-art public health laboratory here, the Best-Dos Santos [Public Health] Lab that has the capacity to do testing once we have the kits,” he said. George, in his closing remarks, had said the kits were on their way. “Barbados has taken an unprecedented step to try to have testing here in short order. And therefore, the Minister of Health and Wellness has been working closely with the Pan American Health Organization to have that facility in Barbados. The kits are coming shortly and after a quick verification and training of staff, Barbados should be able to test shortly,” George said. (DN)

WATER RATIONING FOR FARMERS – The Barbados Agricultural Development and Marketing Corporation (BADMC) will once again be rationing the water supplied to farmers at its Spring Hall Land Lease Project amid the forecasted drought conditions threatening to wreak havoc on yet another crop. Dr Jamekal Andwele, Technical Officer at the corporation made the revelation during a recent press briefing with local climatologists and meteorologists. He revealed that the Barbados Water Authority’s (BWA) decision to ration water last year took farmers by surprise and forced the BADMC to reduce their own rations down to two hours per day in some cases. While stressing there was no need to panic this time around, Andwele admitted that a solution was desperately needed for many rural farmers whose wellbeing is directly tied to the success of their crops. “There were drought conditions, low water levels and even some instances where our levels went completely dry. We were facing new issues because our pumps were clogged with slush from the low water levels and because of that, many farming districts went without water for three months as we replaced the pumps and as the water levels slowly began to improve,” he disclosed. Hoping to prevent a repeat of the issues, the technical officer revealed the BADMC would soon be installing new water metric metres at Spring Hall St. Lucy which will allow them to measure the water usage of each farmer and limit their water use based on how much produce and livestock they are raising. “So a farmer with ten acres growing a crop that needs significant amounts of water, he would get more water to wet his crops compared to a farmer who has one acre of something like Cassava or Sweet Potato which might not require the same amount of water. That is a pilot project that we want to start in either February or March,” Andwele disclosed. He added that over the last three months, officials from the Ministry of Agriculture have been engaging with the BWA and funding from the Caribbean Development Bank, to help them capture surface runoff from gullies and drainage canals before reaching the ocean. The statutory body will also be carrying out research, which will guide them in a quest to catch and store their own water for irrigation. Since Andwele’s comments, Prime Minister Mia Mottley announced an initiative that will see farmers planting more crops to supply institutions like the Queen Elizabeth Hospital (QEH) and the School Meals department. Farmers from Spring Hall will reportedly be key stakeholders in the venture, but it is still unclear how drought conditions might affect the effort. Meanwhile Chief Agricultural Officer, Lennox Chandler believes poultry farmers will be hardest hit by impending drought conditions and have been urged to rethink their stocking practices.“A lot of heat is given off in pens because you could have as many as 30 000 birds, which adds to the situation. So we are advising them to lower their density to a level that they could get enough circulation in the pens,” he suggested. Chandler advised other livestock producers to store high quality foliage of the grass and conserve it by placing it in special containers. For planters of fresh produce, he suggested that the focus be crops like cassava, sweet potato and others which do not require large amounts of water. (BT)

FISH PRICE WORRY – While Barbadians are now paying $10 to $15 dollars less for a pack of flying fish, fisherfolks are hoping that they would be paying less at Easter. Last Christmas the fish which forms part of Barbados’ national dish was being sold at between $35 and $40 per pack of 10. But when Barbados TODAY visited the Bridgetown Fisheries Complex today, vendors were selling the fish between $20 and $25 dollars. Vendors who agreed that the price should be reduced even further, said they are hoping that when the Easter season arrives they can sell the fish for less. Fishermen lamented that the vendors might get their wish once the catch improves. Returning to the island this morning after spending 16 days at sea where he caught about 14 000 flying fish, fisherman Jerome Brathwaite said Barbadians can be assured that flying fish will be around for Easter. He said he caught between three and five crates (300 fish per crate) of flying fish per day while on his recent trip, but noted that he was accustomed to catching way more than that. “Fish will be around for Easter. The price may go back up or come down, but fish will be around for Easter. The people in Barbados can rest assured that they are going to get fish for Easter,” Brathwaite said. Another fisherman who requested anonymity also returned to the island today with what he described as a fair catch. That fisherman said “Once the catch continues on this trajectory Bajans will get fish at a reasonable price for the Easter holidays.” “The catch wasn’t bad but we accustomed to catching more fish than this and that is why the vendors got to sell it for the price them selling it at now. But what I can say is that the catch is much better than it was around Christmas time,” the fisherman said. Barbados TODAY understands that in recent weeks, fishermen have been selling flying fish at between $130 and $150 per hundred depending on the catch. Vendor Angel reported that customers were happy to see the reduction in the price from $35 to $25. She said several customers have indicated that they were anxiously waiting for a cheaper buy. “They are happy but not as happy as they are to see them come down to their price where they could get them at $15 per pack. “But I don’t think that they would get to that price so soon because the vendors still paying a high cost for the fish from the boat,” Angel said. Meanwhile, vendor Gad Taitt suggested that vendors who were able to sell flying fish at $20 would have to be buying thousands. “When we had flying fish in here last week and week before, people buy three, four and five boxes of fish, and them people might still got flying fish to sell at $20. “But the average Joe that does buy flying fish on a daily basis and clean and sell everyday would have flying fish at $25 because if we don’t have a lot of boats the price is going to be high. “The man that buying 500 and 200 and 100 flying fish from the boat, is not going to get them at the price as the person that buying 10 and 15,000,” Taitt said. Taitt advised Barbadians who know they want to have flying fish on their tables at Easter to purchase them now so they would not be disappointed if there were only few around later. “Right now the flying fish ain’t stabilizing. Dolphins and flying fish ain’t stable and the price is fluctuating. So one day you might come and hear one price and another day you might come and hear another price. But I telling you that if the flying fish continue to go down as far as the catching is concerned, there is a possibility that the price could go back there,” Taitt said. (BT)

15 EQUIPPED TO TACKLE DRUG TRADE – THE CHANGING FACE of the drug trade needs to be matched with the changing face of drug law enforcement. Executive director of the Regional Security System (RSS) Captain Errington Shurland said this was why it was so important for women to be trained in how to identify and safeguard against drug traffickers. He was speaking yesterday during the opening ceremony for the Drug Investigations for Female Officers course, where 15 regional female law officers from the police and military forces are being trained. It is a partnership between the RSS, Organisation of American States and the Canadian Government. (DN)

FORMER PM SUED FOR DEFAMATION BY CURRENT PM’S FATHER – The High Court today ruled that former Prime Minister and Minister of Finance Owen Arthur used words capable of defaming the father of Prime Minister Mia Mottley in the lead-up to the May 24, 2018 General Elections. On July 23, 2018, Queen’s Counsel Elliott Mottley, now Sir Elliott filed an action in the High Court claiming that words spoken by Arthur during a press briefing on May 14, 2018 were capable of defaming him, based on the meaning or meanings attributed to Arthur’s statement which was published by a number of news outlets. And when he handed down his decision in the Number 12 Supreme Court before attorneys for both parties this morning, Justice Barry Carrington agreed with Sir Elliott’s claim. “In the circumstances, taking guidance from the principals and noting what constitutes ‘defamatory’, I hold that the words used by the defendant are capable of having the meaning attributed to them in…the claimant’s statement of claim,” Justice Carrington ruled. Before giving his decision, the judge quoted from Sir Elliott’s statement of claim which Sir Elliott outlined as possible grounds for defamation. “In their natural and/or innuendo meaning, the words meant and were understood to mean that the claimant [Sir Elliott] requested the defendant, as Minister of Finance to act ultra vires and unlawfully and grant the claimant a waiver of income tax arrears on income of millions of dollars under the provisions of the Duties, Taxes & Other Payments (Exemption) Act, Cap 67B of the Laws of Barbados,” Justice Carrington said. He further told the court that the claimant alleged that Arthur’s words meant or were understood to mean that Sir Elliott made the request in circumstances where he knew or ought to know that the said request required the defendant to act ultra vires or unlawfully. The presiding judicial officer went on to cite another aspect of Sir Elliott’s claim for defamation in which the Prime Minister’s father alleged that Arthur’s statement was capable of conveying the meaning that he, Sir Elliott, had made an outrageous, egregious or highly improper request of the former Prime Minister. “[He] Made a request of the defendant which was corrupt and/or unethical in that it would have been necessary to take the claimant’s request to the Cabinet of which his daughter, Ms Mia Amor Mottley was a member and thereafter to Parliament of which she was also a member, for its approval subject to a negative resolution,” Justice Carrington quoted paragraph 6 (iii) of Sir Elliott’s claim as stating. The judge also noted that Sir Elliott’s claim went on to allege that what the former prime minister said about him could be taken to mean he was inviting Arthur to commit a crime, namely, conspiracy to defraud the revenue. Justice Carrington also referred to paragraph 6 (v) of the claimant’s statement in which he [Sir Elliott] suggested that Arthur’s words meant and were understood to mean that he “was able to have arrears of tax waived probably as a result of a conspiracy involving a public officer”. Through his lawyers, the former prime minister filed his defence in which he claimed the words he used were fair comment on matters of public, national and historical interest and importance. His counsel Vernon Smith, Q.C. in association with Hal Gollop, QC contended that the words their client used were true and therefore justified. The defendant argued he did not impute or imply any motive on the part of the claimant, rather, he gave his reasons why he did not entertain Sir Elliott’s purported application for a waiver. The defence also indicated that reference to a conspiracy did not mean or suggest that there was one. Arthur’s counsel further insisted that use of the word ‘outrageous’ did not refer to the claimant’s character or reputation, but to his application for a waiver of tax. The claimant had filed an application to strike out the defence in its entirety, while the defence countered with a Notice of Application for a ruling on “meaning”. And today, Justice Carrington ruled on what he concluded Arthur’s statement were capable of conveying in its natural and ordinary meaning. “That the claimant wrongly made an unreasonable request of the defendant to waive the payment of taxes on millions of dollars of income earned by the claimant that involved a process where Cabinet and Parliament approval were necessary and thereby placed the defendant in an invidious position since the claimant’s daughter was a member of Cabinet and Parliament. Further, if the claimant was granted the waiver, it was possibly through a conspiracy with a public officer,” the judge ruled. But immediately following Justice Carrington’s decision, Arthur’s counsel served notice of his client’s intention to appeal the court’s decision. Lead attorney for Sir Elliott, Roger Forde, Q.C. did not contest the defence’s application for leave to appeal. Attorney for Arthur, Vernon Smith, Q.C. acknowledged that he had 21 days in which to formally file the appeal application. In the meantime, Judge Carrington will await the outcome of the Court of Appeal’s decision to determine the direction of trial to deal with the substantive case of defamation. Sir Elliott wants the High Court to grant him relief in the form of damages, aggravated and/or exemplary damages for defamation spoken and published by Arthur on May 14, 2018 at a press conference. The Prime Minister’s father is also seeking an injunction to restrain Arthur, whether by himself, “his servants or agents” from further publishing or causing to be published, the same or similar defamatory statements and/or comments. Sir Elliott also wants costs and such further or other relief the court deems fit. Neither he nor Arthur attended today’s sitting. Forde appeared for Sir Elliott in association with Lyn-Marie Simmons and Stewart Mottley. Also in court today as observers were attorneys Gregory Nicholls, representing the state-owned Caribbean Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) and Shadia Simpson for Barbados TODAY. (BT)

POLLARD GOES ON TRIAL FOR MURDER –Twelve jurors empaneled to hear a murder case against a St Michael man have been urged to focus only on the evidence given in the High Court. Principal Crown Counsel Alliston Seale made the appeal in his opening remarks to the jury of six men and six women selected for the trial of Andrew Harclyde Pollard, of Mahaica Gap, Green Hill, St Michael. The Crown is alleging that Pollard, who is in his 30s, murdered Onicka Gulliver between March 11 and 14, 2014 in Vaucluse, St Thomas. The accused, who is being represented by attorney-at-law Sydney Pinder, has pleaded not guilty to the charge. In putting forward his case Seale, who is prosecuting the matter along with Crown Counsel Kevin Forde, told the jury that his side was also alleging that Gulliver was the “girlfriend or at least a friend” of the accused and sometime around March 11, 2014 she left her residence in Station Hill, St Michael in his company but never returned home. The prosecutor said as result, a missing persons report was issued and police investigations started. The prosecutors further alleged that during the probe the accused made “certain statements” which the police followed and were able to discover Onicka’s body in St Thomas. “Did anyone see him kill her? I tell you empathetically no,” Seale said. He added, “It is not any ‘I see’ witness . . but there is circumstantial evidence strong enough that you can make a reasonable inference from all of the circumstances. “You should focus on the evidence and only the evidence that comes from the witness stand.” However, he told the jury the case was being tried as a non-capital matter given the amendment legislation and as such there was no death sentence involved. The Crown expects to call 16 witnesses to give evidence in the case which will be tried in the No. 2 Supreme Court before Justice Randall Worrell. The matter will continue on Thursday February 13. Before that the two sides will make submissions in the absence of the jury beginning tomorrow. (BT)

REGIONAL – DAD KILLS EIGHT-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER, HANGS HIMSELF – A man who allegedly beat his autistic daughter to death, killed himself on Sunday. Michael Maynard, 37, was found hanging from a tree outside his home at Boysie Trace, Kelly Village. The child, Makisha, was found dead in her bed. She turned eight-years-old last month. Maynard’s 11-year-old son alerted neighbours. At around 10.20 p.m. on Sunday, police were contacted and went to the Maynard house, a simple structure made of galvanised roofing sheets and wood. Police were told that around 7 a.m. on Sunday, Maynard used a cutlass to beat Makisha until she fell unconscious. The father changed her clothes, powdered her body and placed her to lie on her bed. Around 10 p.m. when the child did not regain consciousness, Maynard tied a length of rope to a mango tree and hanged himself. His son jumped through a window and alerted neighbours and relatives. Maynard’s brother cut the rope and placed the body on the ground. A district medical officer pronounced the father and daughter dead at the scene. Maynard’s sister told police that Maynard and his wife broke up about a year ago and he cared for his two children. President of the Glimmer of Hope Foundation Zahir Ali commented on the incident on a social media post, bringing attention to the issue of the parenting of autistic children. He said: “Autism is something that can lead you into Great Depression. No one knows how a autistic child can play on your mental, unless you in fact have a child with it. If you weren’t prepared for it, life can be quite frustrating. Only God knows what parents of autistic children are going through, especially in this third world country called Trinidad, where Autism has been around several years now and there is absolutely nothing put in place to help the less fortunate parents who can’t afford to pay for the occupational and speech therapy services”. (Trinidad Express)

SHORTAGE OF MALES WORRIES ERDISTON COLLEGE PRINCIPAL – A DEARTH OF MALES accessing adult education at Erdiston Teachers’ Training College has led its principal to consider launching a survey to examine what offerings might be more attractive to them. Dr Patricia Saul made this known when she delivered the principal’s address at the college’s Division of Continuing Education graduation ceremony for the year 2018-2019, at the Pine Plantation, St Michael campus on Saturday night. Of the 248 students receiving certification in 11 courses, only seven were men. “I don’t know if it’s that our offerings are not attractive to men. Probably we should be offering more things in the skills area, but [there is] SJPI (Samuel Jackman Prescod Institute of Technology] and so we do not want to go into their area . . . . “We want to have more males taking advantage of continuous professional development, if not the women are going to leave them behind. We’ve got to bring along the males,” she said. The overall pass rate for the graduates was 94.3 per cent, which Saul suggested was a reflection of the high level of commitment to the programme (DN)

LAND TAX CAN NOW BE PAID ‘THROUGH CAVE SHEPHERD’ – Land tax payers now have Cave Shepherd Card Services through which to make their payments to the Barbados Revenue Authority, the agency has announced.The revenue collection and tax administration agency announced that effective immediately, the over 110,000 taxpayers could use the send/receive feature on the Cave Shepherd App to make their land tax payments when they become due. The new Cave Shepherd App payment method is an addition to the authority’s digitization efforts, following on its recently implemented Tax Administration Management Information System (TAMIS), and the eZPay+ platform that is used to pay for various government services. Making the announcement at the BRA’s Weymouth, St Michael location today, Acting Revenue Commissioner Wayne Forde said the additional payment method was one of the ways the agency was seeking to become more efficient and effective. Stating that the changes were being made at a time when consumer expectations were changing and increasing while tax compliance regimes were being constantly changed, Forde said it was important that Barbados keep up with the developments. He said the continued digitization of various aspects of the BRA’s operation would lead to improved business facilitation and increased investment. Forde said: “For us at the authority, improving service delivery and integrating technology are deemed as two of our most important strategic goals. “With Government spearheading the modernization, digitalization and transformation of the public sector, this is but one aspect of how we at the revenue authority are helping to fulfill that vision. “This initiative with the Cave Shepherd Card Services is a good example of public and private sector partnership towards facilitating ease and increasing efficiency in our operations.” The revenue chief is hoping that the additional payment platform would help to improve tax payment compliance, adding that taxation was “vital to the functioning of our society”. He said the BRA would continue to build out its digital footprint, adding that plans were in the pipeline for enhancing the service experience of BRA and expanding online payment to the other taxes. Forde also disclosed that BRA was mulling the distribution of land tax bills electronically. There are currently just over 35,000 Cave Shepherd cardholders, and just over 20,000 of them have so far downloaded and are registered on the app. Once Cave Shepherd cardholders download the application on their mobile device they can make the payment through the send/receiver (peer-to-peer) feature. The land tax payer would need the last four digits of their account number, the BRA telephone number attached to that payment system. They would also fill out the map reference field with a unique set up numbers and the year the tax is being paid for. With the next issue of land tax bills around May, officials are expected to launch a marketing campaign soon to sensitize the taxpayers. Alison Browne-Ellis, Director of Card Services with the Cave Shepherd Card Services said the pilot phase started in December. She said: “With the growing concerns around productivity in our country, we see this partnership with the Barbados Revenue Authority as a step in the right direction”. “The ability to reduce foot traffic and long wait times across the various Barbados Revenue Authority offices builds a case for the future of digital payment across all government agencies.” She said during the next phase of the partnership, cardholders will be able to use the Cave Shepherd card mobile app within the BRA offices to make digital payments using QR code technology with tablets that are to be made available. Browne-Ellis said: These two digital payment methods will allow for enhanced experience, diversification of payment options and overall efficiency within the Barbados Revenue Authority.” (BT)

SICK KIDS TO GET INTENSIVE ATTENTION -Paediatric care in Barbados and the Eastern Caribbean is about to get a major boost. Medical care for sick children at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital is about to be overhauled in a seven-year initiative to create a regional paediatric centre, officials have announced. The “Centre of Paediatric Excellence for Barbados and the Eastern Caribbean” is to improve diagnosis, treatment and care for children affected by paediatric cancers and serious blood disorders, they said. Under the initiative, the QEH paediatric care ward is to be refurbished and there will be procurement of furniture and up-to-date medical equipment. Patient and family areas at all polyclinics are also to be overhauled and the medical equipment is to be upgraded. Forty paediatric nurses are be trained in a special programme and deployed across the health system while four doctors are to be trained in targeted, high-need paediatric sub-specialties through fellowship at the Hospital for Sick Children. There will be support for six international observer ships in quality improvement (BT)

TRAFFIC CHANGES FOR SPEIGHTSTOWN COME ALIVE – Special traffic regulations will be in place from 10 p.m. Friday until midnight Saturday when the We Gatherin’ event Speightstown Alive is held in St Peter.

No vehicular traﬃc will be allowed along Orange Street to Queens Street at its junction with Chapel Street.

To facilitate this road closure, the following traffic measures will be in effect.

1. No vehicular traﬃc will be allowed to enter Orange Street at its junction with Sand Street and Major Walk.

2. No vehicular traﬃc will be allowed to enter Orange Street at its junction with Church Street.

3. No vehicular traﬃc will be allowed to enter Queens Street at its junction with Goddings Alley.

4. No vehicular traﬃc will be allowed to enter Queens Street at its junction with Chapel Street.

During that time, vehicular traﬃc will be allowed to ﬂow in both directions along Church Street and Goddings.

Absolutely no parking of vehicles will be allowed on Church Street, Major Walk, Goddings Alley or Chapel Street.

(DN)

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thewidowstanton · 5 years ago

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Peter Groom, actor, choreographer and drag artist – Dietrich: Live in London

Peter Groom, who comes from Newcastle upon Tyne, graduated from the Guildford School of Acting in 2013, and has since worked both in the UK and internationally. His dance credits include One Side to the Other for Akram Khan Company, and his theatre work includes Romeo and Juliet and Adventures of Sherlock Holmes at the Aquila Theatre in New York. He was artist in residence at Battersea Arts Centre in London in 2014.

In January 2018 Peter launched his multi award-winning solo show, Dietrich: Natural Duty – co-written with and directed by Oliver Gully – which documents screen icon Marlene Dietrich’s life during the Second World War. It premiered at the Vaults in London before touring internationally, taking the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and Adelaide Fringe by storm. He has followed this with a cabaret, Dietrich: Live in London – accompanied by his MD Jimmy Jewell at the piano – which sold out at London’s Crazy Coqs, Live at Zédel in July and will return to the venue on 1 October 2019. Peter chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Did you always want to be onstage? Peter Groom: Yes, yes I did. I joined a youth theatre group in Newcastle when I was nine or ten and did plays and musicals with them until I was 17.

Was there anyone in your family in showbiz who inspired you? Er, no. [Laughs] My mum worked for the NHS and my dad used to work for Coca-Cola, but my grandma was very funny and very musical. She sang a lot but just with us as kids, you know, nothing… nobody performed professionally or anything.

So you don’t know where this urge came from? No, it just always seemed there, really. I remember the first time, it was in nursery, pre-school, I played Santa and I had to come down a chimney and pop out at the bottom. When Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney, that was the song. I remember really clearly the room, and appearing from the chimney and everybody looking at me. And I remember where the lights were… that’s a really clear thing. I remember them all laughing.

You’ve appeared as a dancer; did your course at Guildford cover dance? We took ballet, jazz and contemporary, but before I went there I was really more interested in dance. I used to dance when I was a kid and then I went to Germany and was part of a show there called Sommertanz. That was with dancers from Pina Bausch Company. I’d never seen her work, I didn’t know who she was, and working with that company blew my mind because the dance I’d done up to then was all technique-based; a lot of ballet, and then her dancers were all about your expression and what you feel and what interests you and what you’re passionate about.

Suddenly that sparked more of an expression side and I thought, ‘Well, maybe dance isn’t right for me, maybe acting is much better’. So that’s why I trained at a drama school. But it’s funny, you know, the minute I left drama school I thought, ‘Oh, I want to dance again’. So I did and I went off and did a show with Akram Khan for a little bit, and then with some other companies, and I still make work that’s very dance based as a choreographer that I don’t perform in. It’s usually quite devised and working with a lot of text; usually half dancers and half actors.

You seem to have got international work very soon after graduating… I’ve been really lucky that I haven’t really been out of work a lot since I graduated, which is a really lovely position to be in. I stayed around In London for a few months after I graduated and then… I really love Germany. I lived there when I was 17 and when I graduated I thought, ‘I really wanna go there again’. I feel very at home there. So I went back to the school where I’d trained with dancers from the Pina Bausch Company – Folkwang Universität der Künste in Essen-Werden. I had a friend there and she said: “Oh well, just come and take class here in the mornings.” So I did, and an audition came up in Berlin. I went and I got the job in the show MEAT at Schaubühne, so I stayed there for about a year. It was wonderful. I loved it.

Again you were artist in residence at BAC quite soon after that… Yes, I came back from Berlin and it came up… you could live there.

Oh yes, I’ve been on a backstage tour and seen the rooms. It’s marvellous! It’s amazing! They give you this space, and they give you a weekly budget to eat, and then you just make work all the time. Its wonderful; it’s like taking all the pressure off. You have time. I think I was there six months and you have time to let things develop and let you thoughts sit.

I would call your Marlene shows ‘female impersonation’ rather than drag, but how did you get into drag? It had been floating around for a while, I think. A few people had said: “Oh, you should really do it, because we think you’d be adept at it.” And then, I’m trying to remember, the first time was at BAC. A friend of mine had had a really bad year and he had a big Hallowe’en party and said: “Everybody has to come really full-out. Everybody has to get their great costumes on.” And I like Marlene Dietrich anyway, I have for years, and he said: “Oh, you come as Marlene because you’ll like that.” So I did! There were some photos, one got put on Facebook and then a woman called Tanith Lindon, who was the events co-ordinator at BAC saw it and said: “Oh, you look great! Come and host a New Year’s Eve party at BAC.” So I said, ‘Yes’.

And that was the start of it? That was the start of it, yeah, but it was little bits of cabaret. I’d never thought about making a show.

How had Marlene first come to your attention? I first heard her name through Vogue by Madonna; there’s that bit at the end where she raps all the Hollywood stars names, Garbo and Hepburn… and I went and looked them all up [laughs] and it was Marlene’s image that was really fascinating to me because she was cold… and distant… and aloof. This person that really didn’t coo… well, she wasn’t sweet or cute in any way. And as a teenager that really appealed to me.

When you were creating the show, did you study her mannerisms by watching her films? Well, I’ve seen all her films and read about 17… 18 books on her, newspaper articles and things like that, and then I think you have to forget all that and try to embody her without copying her. I never looked at footage and they tried to imitate her. I sort of tried to find where all these mannerisms came from. I mean, she just had the spine of a Prussian soldier. Everything pulled up, everything is tight, taut. Maybe towards the end that’s also because she was pinning her face in place so it looked younger, but it’s all these things that she has in her that are from her life experience. I was interested in that; both the illusion and what was behind it.

I’m really hot on costumes and must compliment you on your gown. Is it based on her famous ‘nude’ dress, designed by Jean Louis? Yes. It was made by a costume designer called Kathleen Nellis. She studied at London College of Fashion and graduated a few years ago. We’ve collaborated for a couple of years now; we have two dresses and a coat. When we first started making the show, before we wrote anything, before we thought what the story would be, the first thing we did was find out if we could make that dress. I feel similar to you, costume’s such a huge thing for me, particularly with that show. In the first two minutes when you see the dress and when you see Marlene, you have to be impressed, you have to go, ‘Oh my gosh, where did you get that?’. Because if you don’t have that you may as well throw the rest out the window. We need to be drawn in and dazzled.

It’s so fabulous! It’s so classy, and, well done, because too many people skimp on costumes. And I like Marlene too much to do that. It is, you know, a lot of beading backstage and a lot of time, but I think, ‘That’s good!’. And in a strange way it really gives you an insight into her. I played Edinburgh for the month last year and by week three, you think, ‘Gosh! Doing drag every day and painting this much and looking after the hair and looking after the dress, it’s a lot of work and it’s not much fun’. You just have to do it; it’s your duty to get it on and deliver the image of illusion every day. And it really took it out of me and I’d get a little bit annoyed sometimes. But then I thought, ‘She did this for 70 years, before she became a recluse’. The amount of perfectionism and will it must have taken to maintain that image is extraordinary. But there’s nothing I do in the dressing room that she didn’t do; probably just as much make-up, just as many support garments.

We haven’t mentioned your wig. Did you have it specially made? Yes, by Jack James Baxter at Wig Chapel. They’re based in Whitechapel.

How long does it take you to put on the make-up and everything? From nothing to everything, about two hours. It’s a long time but it is a lot of layers and stuff because the make-up isn’t exaggerated. It’s not really ‘drag’ make-up. It’s very clean, so it needs to be very clean.

Let’s talk about Dietrich: Live in London… Live in London is based on her Vegas cabaret show, really, and her subsequent cabaret shows around the world. It came about because I really love Zédel; I love that space, it’s so beautiful. They had asked me to come and do Natural Duty there, but Natural Duty, really it’s a play. It has aspects of cabaret in it and there are songs but it’s a story with a narrative that you follow through, and I thought, ‘The space at Zédel is so cabaret, you can get drinks with people serving throughout and that wouldn’t be good for Natural Duty. I don’t think it would work, so I said, ‘I’m not sure’. And they said: “Make something else, maybe make a new cabaret.”

And actually there was loads of things I wanted to do that didn’t fit with Natural Duty, loads of songs… ‘I’d love to do that song but it doesn’t fit’. So I wanted to make an evening that felt glamorous and take that class idea and see if I could make a very… I didn’t know of anyone else who just stands there and sings songs, without any joke, you know, when the drag isn’t a joke. So, yes, I think it’s that. It’s glamorous, it’s fun and it’s the first time I’ve done the tuxedo, which is really exciting.

Have you found any footage of those concerts she gave later in life? There’s only her show at the Queen’s Theatre in London that was recorded for television but that’s more of a recital. She doesn’t do the tails, she doesn’t do any of that stuff. There are a few clips… she used to have a kickline at the end of her cabaret show… the girls would come on and do little tuxedo-Fred Astaire kickline, there are clips of news footage of that.

So the songs you sing are the songs she sang in her concerts? Yes, the only one she didn’t that I sing is Top Hat, White Tie and Tails.

And there’s no patter in this one; it’s song, song, song. Is that what she did? She did do that, yeah. Sometimes there’s a little bit of introduction… ‘A song by Charles Trenet’, there’s a little bit of narrative based on her coming to America.

Will you be touring Live in London? Yes, we’ve been asked to perform it at the Sage in Gateshead, which is great. It’s amazing to be asked to play a concert hall like that. And also it’s home for me. That’s going to round off the year.

Is Marlene taking up most of your time or are you managing to fit in other work? No, it mostly Marlene.

So you’ve got to spend those hours getting ready all the time. I like her and to not have the pressure of the narrative that’s in Natural Duty and to just enjoy and sort of play with the audience in London has been really great. I’ve got to say I was really terrified the day of the first Zédel show. I thought everyone would be bored. There’s no story, they’re just gonna… they’re just gonna leave! So I was so thrilled that it was received so well. It was a great night. It’s such a nice energy in that room.

You’ve won loads of awards with Marlene, which stands out? We won Critics’ Choice at the Adelaide Fringe. Marlene was in Adelaide 50 years before we were there, strangely, and her tour manager, Ron Tremaine, who organised her Australian tours, came to see the show. He’s 80-something. He was incredible and stayed with us afterwards and he talked and told us stories about her, showed us photos of them together. That was really extraordinary and very touching. It’s fascinating when you meet people who knew her as a human person and not just the illusion, people who see behind that. He wanted to know how we made the show, and he really loved it, which was really kind.

Is there anything else you’d like to say about her? I guess, back to the drag thing, it’s funny because a lot of people see the show and then they tell me: “Oh, but it’s not a drag show,” which I really like. That was a real aim with Natural Duty; how do you do a drag show that isn’t a joke and isn’t demeaning to the man playing it or the woman who it’s representing? I have a lot of admiration for her and particularly her work for peace in the world. That’s an incredibly timely message now, you know. Everybody has a platform to promote themselves, to promote how good they look or whatever it is. What she managed to do was link that and a stance for peace. If we all did that the world might be a better place.

Peter performs Dietrich: Live in London at the Crazy Coqs, Live at Zédel in London on 1 October, and Dietrich: Live in Gateshead at the Sage on 18 December 2019. He will be touring Dietrich: Natural Duty again in 2020.

Picture credit: V’s Anchor Studio; vintage Marlene holding papers, with thanks to Andrew Davidhazy For tickets to Dietrich: Live in London, click here

And for Dietrich: Live in Gateshead, click here

Peter on Facebook

Twitter: @_petergroom

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Read the story behind Andrew Davidhazy’s picture of Marlene, which he took as a schoolboy!

#peter groom #marlene dietrich #showbusiness interview #dietrich: natural duty #dietrich: live in london #cabaret #Crazy Coqs #kathleen nellis #wig chapel #live at zedel #drag artist #battersea arts centre #sage gateshead

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