#i also just really like vehicle museums for some reason >_> i used to frequent the airplane museum all the time as a little kid

[elegyofthemoon]

🪞🗝️ 🔪 🧷 🎠🐠!!

hi friend !!

emoji ask

🪞 -- What sort of appearance do you feel would reflect your true self?

Lame answer but I kinda just think my appearance as it is works just fine as a reflection of my true self. I feel that the only difference is I have the inherited resting bitch face that the rest of my family does but I guess that'd be fitting for days when I'm just Tired lol

TBH though actually if I had like eyes that changed color by mood I think I'd be fine LOL love that :)

🗝️ -- How do you personally try to get to know people?

Keeping tabs of what people like/dislike. Asking more about it. Checking in on how they're doing and following up if we've previously discussed something going on atm. I also seem to be in a habit of just trying to help whenever I can :'D

🔪 -- What song plays in the videogame cutscene where you (the boss), appear before the protagonist for the first time?

OOO wait so during a video game cutscene prior to the fight, so not necessarily the battle theme but just the introduction music...

I figured it might be something that swells into the fight scene itself, so something that would start with maybe like 1-3 instruments before it slowly crescendos into an orchestrated piece

If I had to pick something similar to that, I'd probably start with something like:

🧷 -- What items do you own that you associate with your favorite characters?

my brain is blanking on this one oopsies I wanted to think of something beyond "merch" but that's all I can say T - T like the Oz plush I got a few months back or insane amount of Leo zines I have sitting on my shelf LKASJDFHLAKH but yeah that's really all I can think of atm TT

🎠 -- Where do you most like to go for fun outside the house?

; - ; tbh with the nonstop studying for the last 4 months I feel like I've completely forgotten what it felt like to go outside and have fun (has hermited the entire way through dedicated studies)

The one time I did go out during and have fun, it was exploring some area in the city we hadn't gone to in a long while. I wanted to go to the museum too but ; - ; we didn't have the time,,

So short answer: just going into the city and exploring. Maybe a museum and learning a little more about the area lol

🐠 -- What color combination do you feel best suits your personality?

uHHHH probably yellow/blue tbh I would've said something more warm of a color like red but then I think red is such a strong color and I don't have that strong of a personality lol

[winterscaptain]

still a chance.

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

a/n: the yearning in this one…i’ve outdone myself. okay so this one has been rolling around in my head for a long time. you’ll all be able to tell, but i love photos as a vehicle for storytelling. we use a lot of pictures in this story, and i hope you can “see” them - they brought me a lot of joy when i visualized them, and i hope i was able to do them justice. i also decided beth moves to okinawa instead of hong kong bc the museums in okinawa can’t be beat.  thanks to kira (@good-heavens-chris-evans) for encouraging me to post this tonight - you are a treasure and a gift.  words: 4,181 warnings: language, longing. 

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Closed

+++

You kissed Jack’s temple and threw your backpack over your shoulder, leaning into the backseat. You carded through the honey-blond hair on the side of his head, reveling in the softness of it. “I love you, bud.” 

He sniffled, and it took all you had to keep it together. “I love you, too.” You could hear the effort in his voice. He was trying to be strong for you, for his dad. 

You kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment. You pulled back, your hands fluttering over his little shoulders, fussing for no reason. “You be good okay? You gotta be good for dad, alright?” You leaned in close. “He needs all the help he can get, and you’re his best teammate. You gonna take good care of him?”

He nodded. 

“Atta boy.” You straightened, slipping your arm into the other strap of your backpack. You faced Hotch, who pulled your collar from under the straps and fussed with them for a moment. He was stalling. 

“Aaron, I -”

He shook his head with a small smile. “I know. Call when you can. Your godson will miss you if you don’t.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’ll call you when I land.” 

“Seattle is great. You’ll love it.” He sounded like he was convincing himself as much as you. 

You threw yourself into his arms, and he wrapped around you as best he could with your backpack. “I love you, Aaron. Take care of yourself.” You pulled back and rested your hands on his shoulders. “Try to get me back home, while you’re at it.” 

“I’ll do my best. Fly safe.” 

And with that, you grabbed your duffle and walked into the terminal. You looked back once, finding two pairs of identical brown eyes watching you from open windows. You blew them a kiss, and they both raised a hand to catch it. 

My boys. 

+++

Emily warned you about Beth before you landed back in Virginia, but you were still nervous. Returning from a long assignment was never easy, especially when you knew coming back meant the real loss of something that never was.

You and Aaron had danced around each other for years, but never did anything about it, claiming team dynamic and stability for Jack after Haley’s death. Even then, neither one of you could deny how miserable it was to be apart. Your assignment to Seattle ended up lasting close to two years. You tried to keep in touch, but it was often too painful to be so out of reach. Your calls got farther and farther apart, but you tried to check in when you could.

Even then, you sent Jack semi-frequent gifts and care packages full of his favorite things. That boy was your favorite person in the whole world, and you his, second only to his father. It had broken your heart to leave him.

It would be a relief to see him again.

You stepped into Dave’s familiar foyer, toeing off your shoes. Everyone was in the backyard, relaxing after another homemade dinner. The whole team knew you were coming – except Beth and the Hotchners. Emily, JJ, and Dave spent an exorbitant amount of time and energy carrying off your surprise arrival.

When you stepped out into the backyard, three pairs of eyes flickered up at you before returning to their conversations. Emily, Penelope, and Derek hid the smiles that ghosted across their faces to avoid suspicion. Hotch and Jack had their backs to you, by design. Jack was watching one of Spencer’s magic tricks, Hotch was off a little ways with Emily, and Beth was at the bar with Dave.

Now was your chance. Approaching quickly and quietly, you put your hands over Jack's eyes and leaned in close to his ear. “Guess who, Jack Hotchner!”

He froze, and his little hands covered yours out of instinct. 

Wordlessly, he whirled around and threw himself into your arms. You landed hard on the ground, suddenly in tears. Jack was crying into your shoulder, his hands scrabbling for purchase on your jacket. You held him as tight as you could, the wave of emotion overwhelming you. You mumbled nothings into Jack’s baby blue button down - how much you loved him, how much you’d missed him, how happy you were to see him. You were sure none of it made sense.

“Are you staying?” Jack asked.

It broke your heart. “Yeah, love. I’m staying. I’m here.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, weeping together. It reminded you of those videos where parents or siblings come home from war and their kids just lose it. You never expected to be on the other side of that, but here you were. 

A hand on your shoulder jarred you from your haze. You looked up to find Aaron’s familiar brown eyes. You kissed the side of Jack’s head and stood. He stayed glued to your leg, and you picked him up, letting him hang off your hip as you straightened.

Aaron gathered you into his arms, and you wrapped your free arm around his shoulders.

“Good surprise?” You asked.

He only held you tighter.

You pulled back and swiped at the tears on your cheeks. “Whew. Alright.” You looked down at Jack, whose eyes were cleared of shock and tears, smiling up at you. “What did I miss?”

Aaron shot you a smile and gestured behind him. “Beth, this is Y/N. Y/N, Beth.”

You shook her hand with a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Beth. I’m glad these boys are in good hands.”

+++

Emily offered to drive you home. You were quiet, staring out the window much of the way. Your apartment was still mostly packed, but your bed was ready for you.

“Good to be home?” She asked.

You nodded.

“There’s still a chance, you know.”

Finally looking over at her, a sigh escaped you. “He loves her, Em.”

She snorted. “He loves you more.”

You shook your head.

+++

“Y/N seems so lovely,” Beth said, settling next to Aaron on the couch.

He hummed in assent, distracted in the extreme. 

“Jack was so happy to see her. It really was thoughtful of Emily to put that together for you both.” She kept her voice light, but couldn’t help but search his face for something, anything. She’d heard he closed off sometimes, but she’d never seen it first hand. 

He nodded, still silent. “It’s been a long time.”

Beth pushed down the pang of something achy in her chest and took a sip of her tea. “Ready for bed?”

Aaron nodded, and shot her a small smile. There was so much going on behind those brown eyes. He was quiet. Quiet and distracted. 

Your absence was suddenly the loudest thing in the room.

And Beth knew it. 

+++

Your room was so quiet. It had been quiet in Seattle, too. There, though, nobody you loved was close enough to touch. A fifteen minute drive would take you to your favorite house with your favorite view and your favorite boys. But they didn’t belong to you anymore.

Jack wasn’t yours.

Aaron wasn’t yours.

Beth had them now. Sweet, sweet Beth. She was so open and kind. The immediate liking you took to her was almost infuriating. You didn’t want to like her, and yet there was nothing to dislike about her.

You were gone. You came back. She was there. 

Now what?

You rolled over and checked your phone, finding a text from JJ. 

I’m so proud of you I’m so glad you’re home. If you need anything, I’m here. 

Then, some minutes later. 

If he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass you know who to call. 

You smiled, and replied. Derek?

Fair point. Go to bed!!

+++

Your first case back felt like slipping into a comfy old pair of shoes. Building and delivering the profile was as easy as breathing, the feeling of your weapon in your hand as you cleared room after room, the tight fit of your vest across your chest – everything was something you missed. You yearned for the physical feeling of the BAU while you were chained to a desk in Seattle, and it was a relief to have it back.

You and Aaron were back in-step with each other right away. It was almost like you’d never left.

Almost. 

When a few tears slipped down your cheeks as the jet cruised through the air, headed back to Quantico, Derek reached for your hand. The rush from the past week caught up with you all at once and wrapped around your throat. 

“We missed you,” he said.

You smiled at him. “I missed you, too.”

He watched you for a moment, squinting a little. After a moment, he looked over at Hotch, who was frowning down at his phone. You brushed the tears off your face and squeezed Derek’s hand once - a reassurance. 

He knew, just like you did. Just like Beth did. 

+++

It was the next time you all were over at Dave’s that Beth finally asked. 

“What’s the story there?”

JJ looked over at you as you reclined in one of the rocking chairs on Dave’s back porch, Jack in your lap. He was regaling you with another tale from school - one of the many you missed while you were away. Hotch sat nearby on the step, his elbows on his knees, listening to his son with upturned lips. Occasionally, you and Aaron shared a look over Jack’s head, knowing and steeped in time. 

“Oh, Hotch and L/N?” JJ said, following Beth’s gaze. 

Beth nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of her drink. 

“They’re close,” JJ started, choosing her words carefully. “Y/N was close to the family - close to Haley and Aaron before Jack was born. She’s Jack’s godmother, along with Haley’s sister Jessica. When Haley died...” She shook her head. “He’d never been in worse shape, but she kept him upright. Nothing’s ever happened between them, not like that anyway, but nobody on this team has ever managed to come close to what those two have.” 

Beth hummed thoughtfully. “How did Jack take the news of the Seattle assignment?”

JJ laughed a little, but it wasn’t really funny. “Not well. He was moody and irritable for months, like his dad. Both of them eventually got used to it - being on their own again.”  

“It’s lovely to have such good friends, isn’t it?”

“Our team is a family. We take care of each other.”

+++

A rare day off found almost the entire team headed to the lake for the afternoon. You drove, with Derek riding shotgun beside you. Beth and Aaron sandwiched Jack and his car seat in the back. As always, you made sure Jack was visible in your rearview mirror as you drove. 

JJ drove the other car, with Will, Henry, Dave, and Emily. 

Derek ran the aux cord, of course - he had the best and most varied music taste of the whole bunch. You belted along to whatever he played, dancing in your seat and laughing the whole time.

God, it is good to be home.  

“Are they always like this?” Beth asked quietly, over Jack’s head. She gestured to you and Derek, holding imaginary microphones to each other’s mouths and growing quickly out of pocket, much to Jack’s delight. 

Aaron nodded, making play at a long-suffering kind of exhaustion, but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. You met his eyes in the rearview mirror and grinned before turning your attention back to the road. 

“Y/N enables bad behavior,” he said, loud enough for you to hear, dropping back into his usual deadpan. 

You swung your arm back and swatted at him. 

+++

“What was she like?” Beth settled beside you, a glass of wine in her hand. It was movie night at the Hotchners, and you’d wandered down the hall to stretch your legs and grab some water. 

You got caught up at the wall of framed photos, stuck on one particularly lovely one of Haley - grainy and candid. Aaron’s handwriting in the top corner informed you it was from January 1993, Bainbridge Island, WA.

You smiled. “Charming, funny.” You huffed a laugh. “Damn near the most impatient woman I’ve ever known. She jumped the gun on everything, for better or worse. She knew how to throw a hell of a dinner party and gave the best Christmas gifts. She was the best mom. Jack was her world.” You reached up, touching the frame lightly with the pads of your fingers. “I was mad at her, during the divorce. We never fought, but I was upset with her and she knew it.” You laughed down your nose. “It was the only time she was more patient than I deserved.” 

Maybe you were revealing too much, but you continued. 

“I sometimes wish I could take it back - my anger. I wish I wasn’t half as mad at her as I was when she died.” You shifted your gaze, settling on a photo of you and Haley in the hospital a few hours after Jack was born. Haley looked exhausted, but happy, her hand reaching up to Jack’s little face as you held him with a fond smile. To this day, you have no idea how Aaron managed to get that picture. You tapped the frame with your finger, your tone brightening. “That was a really good day.” 

Just like before, Aaron’s handwriting in the corner gave away the date and occasion. October 7th, 2005. Haley and Y/N with Jack, 5 hours old.

“I can imagine,” Beth said with a light laugh. Her voice was pensive, thoughtful. “These boys are lucky to have you.”

The corner of your mouth tipped up, and you offered her your arm as you turned back toward the living room. 

You liked her. You did. That’s what made it so damn hard. 

+++

“Aaron, can I talk to you for a minute?” 

Aaron turned around, pulled from his work with the dishes, to face Beth. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

Beth sat at her kitchen island, the pads of her fingers tapping restlessly on the marble counter. Her eyes were downcast, avoiding him. “I got a job offer in Okinawa.” 

His eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“I think I’m going to take it.” She looked up at him, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth. “What do you think?”

Aaron circled the island and sat beside her, reaching for her hand. She laced her fingers with his. He leaned forward, attentive. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

She smiled with one side of her mouth. “I don’t think I will.” She looked down at their laced hands. “In the spirit of not regretting anything, I have something else to tell you.”

Aaron was quiet. Waiting. Listening. 

“I think you should tell Y/N how you feel.” 

He startled, sitting up straight. “What?”

Beth smiled a little wider, a gentle, soft thing. It made his heart ache and his head hurt. “She has your heart, Aaron. There’s nobody who knows you better. Nobody better for you.” She squeezed his hand. “You have a second chance. I think you should take it.” 

“Beth, I -”

“Aaron. Please. I’m leaving anyway, and you and I both know we won’t be able to swing the distance.”

He sighed. 

She’s right. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be. It’s hard to see the things in front of us, sometimes. Especially when they’ve been there for a long time.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. 

“Now’s your chance, Hotchner. Don’t screw it up.” She shoved playfully at his shoulder, drawing a wider smile from him. 

The smile fell from his face as he looked around at the decidedly unpacked house. “When do you leave for Okinawa?”

She took a sip of her tea. “Next week. The movers are coming this weekend to pack up the house.” 

He laughed to himself. She’d already made up her mind, but was sweet enough to make him feel included. He leaned over and kissed her, sweet and chaste. A goodbye. “I love you, Beth.” 

She looked back up at him with a soft smile. “I love you, too.” Then, her face transformed, a mischievous smile on her face. “Need a ride?”

+++

You were laid out flat on the couch watching a movie when there was a knock at your door. With a sigh, you rose and popped the lid on your gun safe with your fingerprint before you unlocked the door. 

I really need a peep hole. 

Aaron Hotchner was on the other side, sheepish, with his hands in his pockets. You looked behind him, Beth’s little Civic idling in front of your building. She waved at you before driving off into the night.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”

You stepped back and locked your firearm away as he stepped past you into the house. When you turned to face him, he was studying the photographs on your bookshelf. Some were photos from your childhood, faded and well-loved. Others were more recent, and you knew he would see his face staring back at him in many of the frames. He paused at the shelf that held your favorites, always within your sight and reach. 

One was a photo Dave took about two and a half years ago, before you left for Seattle. You all had your backs to the camera, with Aaron holding one of Jack’s hands and you the other. Your head was thrown back in laughter as you helped Jack leap high into the air between you. 

Another was you and Haley, nearly a decade ago. You were cheek-to-cheek, her arms wrapped around you from behind, with both of your hands holding onto her forearm. Your smiles were wide, posed but genuine. A dry, crinkly rose petal from her funeral was tucked into the frame.

There was a collage of jet photos - Emily sleeping nearly-upside-down in one of the seats, Dave and Aaron pouring over a case file, Spencer, JJ, and Elle sleeping in a heap, Emily’s nail-bitten fingers resting on her copy of Slaughterhouse Five, JJ looking out the window during golden hour, the team crowded around the latest photos of Henry on JJ’s phone. They were all photos you’d taken on a whim and printed when the homesickness grew unwieldy. A few post-it notes you found while packing your stuff landed in there too. 

Derek, Penelope, Aaron, and Spencer smiled out of the final photo. It was the FBI vs. ATF baseball game the year Jack was born. JJ had taken it, all of you in your FBI pinstripe jerseys, capturing the moment right after the game-winning pitch was thrown. Derek was the only one who played, but the rest of you rushed the field to claim victory nevertheless. Spencer held the baseball in the air, mid-shout, while you were up on Aaron’s back with a victorious fist raised. Penelope’s feet were off the ground as Derek spun her in a circle and Haley was visible on the other side of the fence, holding a blanket-wrapped Jack to her chest and cheering. 

Those photos were the ones that came to the office with you when you moved to Seattle. More than one person asked if Jack was your son, and you always said no, but with a little smile that prompted more questions. 

“Do you have copies of these?” Aaron asked, his fingers tracing the photo of you and Haley. He was careful not to disturb the delicate petal. 

You stepped up beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Yeah. I have framed copies, if you want them. They’re still packed.” 

You stood in silence together for a little while, letting the nostalgia for the people and places and times past wash over you. 

“So…” you started, “are you going to tell me why Beth dropped you like a lost puppy on my doorstep on a perfectly respectable Saturday night?” 

He sighed. 

Uh oh. 

You took his arm and guided him to the couch, shoving wrappers out off the cushions (it was your day off, alright?) and plopping down in the corner. 

Aaron licked his lips, and you couldn’t help but look down at them. 

What I wouldn’t give…

“Beth is moving to Okinawa.” 

Your brow crumpled, and you immediately reached out, grabbing onto his forearm. “Oh, Aaron I’m so sorry.” 

He shrugged. “It’s for the best. I told her I didn’t want her to have any regrets, and it’s an incredible opportunity.” 

“Of course.” You shuffled closer to him, hoping your presence could be of some comfort. 

He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he was fighting with himself. 

“Spit it out, Hotchner.” 

That drew a short laugh from him, and he ran a hand through his hair. All the air left his lungs in one huff. “You know how much I love you, right?”

You nodded, watching carefully as he flipped his hands palm-up before you. You gingerly slipped your fingers over his hands, feeling the callouses from years of handling pens and firearms. He closed his fingers around yours, his hands warm and familiar. 

“You know how much Jack loves you, right?”

You nodded. There was a point to this, you could feel it. 

“Beth said something to me tonight, and it...took me by surprise.” He swallowed, staring down at your linked hands. “She said I should tell you how I feel.” 

You squinted at him, more than a little confused. “Aaron, you tell me how you feel all the time. I know you’re not one to express your feelings with words, but you tell me how you feel every time you bring an extra cup of coffee for me, or save my favorite seat on the jet, or text me a picture of Jack.” You laugh through your nose. “You may not say it in so many words, but I know.”

You could tell he wanted to interrupt you, but you were proud of him when he didn’t. “Yes - yeah. That’s not what I meant.” 

He was growing frustrated with himself, and you squeezed his hands. “Hey. It’s just me.” 

“That’s the prevailing issue,” he said. 

What? 

“Aaron, you lost me.” 

He steeled himself, taking a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, and you knew if both of his hands weren’t occupied, one of them would have been pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m in love with you. I’m -” he opened his eyes and faltered, exhaling, “so in love with you.” 

You let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. You tried to speak, but you were thwarted by your own closed throat. The incandescent joy lit you up from the inside. You were hot and cold all at once and you weren’t sure if you were breathing. 

I’m so in love with you I’m so in love you with you I’m so -

Aaron stood abruptly, releasing your hands and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

You swallowed, trying to get your bearings. “Aaron, wait. Stop.”

He turned, and you could see the raw hurt in his eyes. 

Oh. Oh my God he thinks I’m upset. 

Instead of ruining everything by opening your mouth again, you stood and strode toward him, grabbing his face and pulling him to you. Your lips crashed together, and you let out another completely-overwhelmed-wires-crossed noise. The tears fell down your face with abandon, but you ignored them, completely wrapped up in the feeling of his lips against yours.

You felt him freeze before he kissed you right back, his arms winding around your waist, holding you close. His hands ran up and down your back as you fought to get closer and closer to him. 

He pulled back first, chasing his breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you dropped your hands to his collar, winding your fingers in his shirt. 

“Aaron…” 

He surprised you by letting out a bark of breathless laughter. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” 

You pulled back, playfully lowering your brows. “How long?”

He looked up and made a great show of thinking. “Oh...I would say conservatively 2002, but that might just be when I noticed.” 

Your head fell gently to the left. You studied his face for a moment - his straight nose, high cheekbones, the bags under his eyes that seemed to get deeper every day, the stern mouth…You knew his face better than yours. It was the face that haunted your dreams. 

“What?” He asked. 

You replied, simply, “I missed you.” 

He kissed you, holding your face between his large hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I missed you.” He kissed each one of your cheeks. “I missed you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I missed you.” The corner of your mouth. “I missed you.” Your lips. “I love you.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey 

[tlbodine]

A Plea for Some Non-Cringe Native American Representation

There’s something that has bothered me for a real long time, and I haven’t said anything because it didn’t really feel like my place to say it. But if pasty white folks across the country will insist on continuing to make these books and comics and movies, then I guess this pasty white girl can make a plea to do it better. 

So. Here’s the deal. Native American representation in fiction sucks. 

We’re going to talk about why, and then talk about some ways you can do it better. And it’s going to take a while, so join me under the cut. 

PROBLEM #1: Erasure 

The first problem with First Nations people being represented in fiction is that it, uh...doesn’t happen very often. It’s pretty rare for a show or movie or book to have a Native character, and even rarer for that character to exist without being a vehicle/mouthpiece for some kind of hamfisted message. 

And, of course, Native characters who do show up in movies are sometimes played by non-Native actors, which is just. Um. 

somebody fucking kill me I don’t want to live on this planet anymore. 

PROBLEM #2: The Same Stock Character Over and Over and Over 

There’s this weird thing where TV shows have A Very Special Native American Episode(tm) where a Native American character shows up in a storyline designed to, idk, provide a tidy outlet for the viewer’s white guilt or something. I see this a lot in superhero stories for...some reason: 

Batman and Chief Screaming Eagle (ok, it was the 1960s, surely things have gotten better right? oh...) who’s butting heads with a villain over a bad contract for, uh, the chief’s ancestral lands

There was the Buffy episode “Pangs” where a Chumash vengeance spirit is the villain-of-the day after being disturbed by some construction (and this is honestly one of the better treatments of the premise, at least the episode is well-written) 

There was the Smallville episode with Kyla Willowbrook, the Kawatche Skinwalker (I know, I know) who for bonus points dies tragically in Clark’s arms (I KNOW) and who was deeply concerned with...with some construction...disturbing her sacred homesite...(this is starting to sound familiar)

And then there was The Flash episode where Barry is forced to fight with the complicated-yet-tragically-evil Native American activist woman whose crimes involve stealing cultural artifacts that belong to to the museum (yes I’m screaming) and also murdering people...y’know, for vengeance and stuff. 

I could keep going but I really don’t think I have to. When your only representation of a culture is a character (frequently a smoking-hot member of the opposite sex to the hero) who is an ambiguous villain who is motivated by vengeance and/or justice over having their land/cultural artifacts disturbed, and who has a valid claim but is really going about it in the wrong way and whose tragic death and/or defeat really gives the white character something complex to think about for two seconds.... well. That’s more than a little racist. 

PROBLEM #3: These Are Not Your Stories to Tell 

You know what white people love doing? 

They love appropriating Native culture! Seriously! They love it! And who can blame them, really? Native people have so much rich symbolism and mythology and cool clothes and neat aesthetics. Painted war ponies and buckskin dresses and shapeshifters and monsters, oh my! Indian burial grounds and vengeful spirits (oh for fuck sake enough with the vengeful Indian trope)

But here’s the deal: 

The mythology you’re borrowing from belongs to a group of people who are still alive and sometimes practicing the religion you’re liberally reinterpreting 

There is no such thing as a “Native American” myth. You’re talking about literally hundreds of different tribes who are culturally distinct from one another and have their own complex histories of interaction, diplomacy, war, friendship, etc. with one another for centuries before white folk got here. You erase all of that when you treat Native culture as a grab-bag of cool things you can mix and match to your liking. 

Maybe, just a thought, stop it with the oppression narratives about activists and/or vengeful spirits who are real threatened by white people disturbing their homes? It’s not that there isn’t a lot to unpack in that -- I mean, white people really did conduct mass genocide against a race of people, for starters -- it’s just that this isn’t really your oppression narrative to tell. 

It seems to me that folks writing about Native Americans don’t actually have any idea what Native people are like? They either think of them as anachronistic figures, an extinct and ancient group, or they think of them as people really hung up on their cultural past. Because maybe people can’t think of anything to do with a Native character other than use it as a vocal mouthpiece of one very specific part of their cultural oppression.

But please. Please stop. That is every bit as stupid and racist as making a Black character who only talks about slavery, or a Jewish character who only talks about the Holocaust, or giving all of your gay characters AIDS. 

So what do you do instead? 

Writing Native Characters in a Way That Does Not Suck - A Quick Primer 

I can’t write a definitive guide on writing good Native representation, because there is no such guide, and if there were it would take a whole book probably, and I am not in any way even remotely an authority. 

But I can give you some pointers that will help you. 

(And to be honest, Native representation is so awful that the bar here is really super low, even just attempting a tiny bit is a really welcome breath of fresh air)

Choose a Tribe 

Step one: Figure out what kind of Native people you’re writing about. 

Because, as previously noted, Native People Are Not A Monoculture. 

How do you pick a tribe? Well, start with geography. Where do you want the story to take place? Obviously people move around, so you can find folks outside of their ancestral lands, but they all started someplace, and a lot of people live where their parents and grandparents and cousins all live. 

So where does your story take place? Pick a spot. Then find out what tribes live in that region. It’s not a secret. There are maps:

(Source: http://www.emersonkent.com/map_archive/native_american_tribes_map.htm) 

Or maybe you want to go about this in a different way. Maybe you have a specific story idea in mind and you want to write it in a way that would be accurate and respectful. Cool! A good first step on that is to figure out what tribe actually does the thing you’re wanting to write about. 

Skinwalkers, for example, originate in the Navajo Nation (Dine` people), although there are related myths from surrounding tribes in the area. 

If you’re writing a story about Wendigo, then you should know those myths originate with the Algonquin people of Quebec and Ontario.

If you’re writing something with spiritually significant buffalo, you should probably choose a culture that actually interacted with buffalo -- ie, a Plains Indian tribe like the Lakota-Sioux people. 

And so on and so forth. 

(Note that this is only the first step. You still have to do a lot of research after this to be sure you’re doing everything properly and respectfully. And, y’know, maybe reconsider if you actually want to tell a story respecting that mythology, or if you just want to sound cool and exotic) 

Also, personal preference: Please don’t make your characters Cherokee if you’re just going for “character with Native ancestry.” Please choose a different tribe. For a lot of complicated (and sometimes surprisingly racist) reasons, white people have been claiming Cherokee heritage for a long time, and even when it’s true, it feels cheap and cringey in fiction. If you want to tell a story about the Trail of Tears or something set in Tahlequa, Oklahoma, great! Write Cherokee characters! But if you just want a Native American character for other reasons...pick a different tribe. 

Choose a Name 

Fun fact: Modern Native people that you meet out on the street don’t have names like “Stands With Fists” or “Running Bear.”  

If you have an impulse to name your character any kind of descriptive “adjective + animal” name...just don’t. Please. And don’t go to BehindTheName or some other random site to pick out something that “sounds” Native. 

Names in other cultures are tricky. Some (but not all!) Native people may have a cultural tradition of having multiple names, including naming ceremonies (often as a rite of passage in adolescence). Some tribes have clan names. Everybody’s different. But these special names are culturally sensitive, often sacred, and are not a thing readily accessible to white people. White folks spent centuries trying to wipe out Indigenous people’s belief systems; they deserve to have some things kept private and sacred. 

So what I’m getting at here is that white writers really, really should not touch on the “Indian naming ceremony” trope at all if they can help it, because it’s gonna be real hard to get the details right, and getting the details wrong is going to make you sound like an ignorant racist. And most of the time, it’s not really that important to a story. 

Most contemporary Native people have regular English names. They may also have tribal names and clan names (that they may or may not share with outsiders). But lots of tribal members don’t, and that doesn’t make them any less Native. 

My recommendation for naming your Native characters? Find real people from the time period, tribe, and region you’re writing in. Find a phone book or newspaper from a town on or near a reservation for your chosen tribe. Look at names of participants in powwows. Look at the sports rosters for Native schools. Look at historical records like census data from the year you’re writing about. Don’t just make things up. 

** One Note: You know how “black” names are a thing? You encounter a similar sort of thing in some contemporary Native Americans. I grew up with a lot of kids who had “weird” names like Kirby, Sheriden, Baskerville, Sterling and Precious. (and by “weird” I mean “names middle-class white people don’t tend to use”). There’s also a lot of black-sounding names in Native populations. There’s some complex reasons behind this, and a lot of sociology of naming, and I won’t spend too much time on it right now but just...so you know. It’s a thing. 

Write a Human Being 

This really is the biggest thing, and it’s true of every writing you do, all the time, no matter what: Write a real person and not a caricature. 

Native people are people first. Their cultural heritage affects them the way anyone else’s culture does. The things they eat, wear, do, believe, the stories they know, etc. are all affected. But Native people don’t have a responsibility to be walking representatives of their tribes. And they definitely shouldn’t be a vessel for white guilt. 

(Fun fact: “Iron Eyes Cody,” maybe best known for the “Crying Indian” role in a commercial about pollution, was an Italian-American born  Espera Oscar de Corti) 

Here’s a really, really good article I found while working on this rant that might be of interest to you as wellas you set out on this quest:  https://mashable.com/2015/03/24/american-indians-tv/

I still have so much to say on this topic, and maybe I’ll write more in the future, but this is already very long so I’ll stop. I hope this has been at least a little bit helpful for y’all. Go forth and write non-terrible characters, I beg of you. 

*Disclaimer: I am not a Native person and do not claim any special knowledge or ownership of Native culture, and I beg you to please listen to Native voices when possible in your creative endeavors. I’m just a gal who happened to have spent most of my life living near reservations and growing up around Native people and having Native friends and being taught about historical cultures by my mother who has a degree in Southwest Studies and has done a lot of formal and informal research due to her own interests in the topic. 

If you found this article helpful at all, please consider dropping a tip in my tip jar.

I also have a book coming out! You can pre-order it now! It features a main character of mixed heritage, New Mexico reservation border towns, and zombies trying to get by like everybody else. 

Pre-Order now on B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/river-of-souls-t-l-bodine/1131956124

Or on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/River-Souls-T-L-Bodine/dp/1950305015

Or from the publisher: http://journalstone.com/bookstore/river-of-souls/?fbclid=IwAR14Qna5tMgWBV0We2uGSLreBkmyvZ5SoDAzPQpTKeFn4JR4PWSyKGl0VEo

Or add it to your Goodreads library: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46183381-river-of-souls

[rosy-night-sky]

Of Treasure and Adventure

Genre: Treasure Hunter/Indiana Jones AU

Pairing: Ot7 x reader

Summary: Your grandmother gave you a gift that she won in a game, so naturally you are curious as to the origins of it. A decision was then made that you should seek the answers to your questions. However, you never expected your decision to lead you on a treasure hunting quest.

Warning: Suggestive and violent themes

Tag List: @sevenincubistolemyheart @xxqueenwxtchxx @technicolor-blues @taevkimchi @youcantbesiriusremus @vannilacake @baby-hobii @catsandstrawberries @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash @http-lostforever @jhopetypes @seesawsmin-flower @taekookandyoongi @star-gods

(A/N: Ugh, so sorry if this is trash, I spent a lot of time writing this!)

Chapter 8

Hundreds of streetlights flew past you like little fireflies in the night sky. The white brick buildings that loomed over you as you rode pass by gave you a taste of home. Everything here had a sense of British influence on it. Even the way people acted reminded you of your home country. The orange and yellow lights that shone brightly from the streetlights dyed the night sky a blackish orange tint. A few pedestrians wandered around the streets, searching for anything and anyone that could give them a good time. They wanted to forget themselves and reality, even if it lasted only a single night.

The soothing evening breeze cooled your skin comfortingly. It had such a relaxing effect on you that you almost dozed off a few times. Key word… almost. Even if the night air was very relaxing, the fact that your stomach continued to do flips nauseously kept you awake and focused. The longer you remained in the car the more your stomach flipped and fluttered. Your mouth had been dry the entire ride, and this gagging lump was still lodged in your throat.

You fiddled with your fingers as you took in the evening sights, looking for anything that could distract you from your anxious thoughts. You were confident in the plan. After all, Yoongi spent an entire day mapping out the structure and wiring of the building where the gala was being taken place so that he knew which plug he needed to pull and which wire he needed to cut. He even came up with backup plans in case somehow merely flipping the switch permanently wouldn’t cut it. You tried to remain interested when Yoongi explained the nuances and technicalities of the switches, distribution boards, sockets, and light fittings in the structure, but you lost it when he began discussing how the building had a system where it employed vulcanized-rubber insulated wiring enclosed in a strip metal sheath which bonded to each metal wiring device to ensure earthing continuity. 

This was why you were a journalist and not an electrician. 

You inhaled deeply through your nose, your eyes closing for a mere moment as you willed your stomach to stop fluttering relentlessly. You didn’t know if you considered the events that were about to take place in the near future were going to be the most dangerous you underwent. After all, you took part in a shoot out a week earlier. However, you knew that this was going to be extremely risky. One wrong move and your whole life could be over in a snap.

Jin, who drove the convertible seemingly without a single care in the world, glanced over to your shaky and fidgety form and gave you a small, reassuring smile. “A penny for your thoughts?” he asked all too casually. He acted like he wasn’t about to commit a felony, which, you supposed, was a good thing. You rather he acted inconspicuous.

You tore your gaze away from the moving buildings and brought your attention to meet the millionaire’s beautiful face. The way the wind blew through his dark locks reminded you of the paintings of ancient Greek gods you wrote an article on once. He really was an image of perfection and beauty that all envied. Not a single blemish or flaw adorned his features.

Snapping yourself from your daze and thoughts, you replied in a tone that matched his, “Oh, nothing, just thinking about how this is all going to land us in prison.”  

Jin chuckled humorously, as if you merely told him a funny joke. “Oh, ye of little faith. Of course we’re going to end up in prison if you keep on with that attitude. Think positively and everything will be fine.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes as you prompted your uninjured elbow on the side of the car, your chin cradled in your own palm. “Last time I thought optimistically, I fell down a hill, sprained my elbow, and almost got shot on several occasions,” you quipped snappily. 

Jin didn’t reply at first. His eyes were glued to the cobbled streets which were free of any congested traffic. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel lightly, as if he was tapping to a jazzy tune that had been stuck in his head all day. “I won’t lie to you. What we’re about to do is very dicey.” You cut him off with a scoff before he continued, “However, half of what we need to pull this off is confidence.”

“Confidence or rashness?” you inquired with an arched eyebrow.

“Confidence,” he firmly answered, finally glancing to you out of the corner of his eye. “If we are confident that we can succeed in this endeavor, then it will happen. We can’t be constantly second guessing ourselves. Otherwise, this expedition will become a failure.” His mirthful smile slowly faded into an impassive gloom. The aura surrounding him had suddenly turned bleak, and you couldn’t help but probe into this.

“Are you telling this to me or yourself?”

His grip on the wheel tightened for a mere moment. You wouldn’t have caught onto the action if you hadn’t already been analyzing his body signals. You knew that he was carefully choosing his next few words. A single slip could lead into revealing confidential information about him. “I suppose a bit of both. We both need this message but for different reasons. This expedition is absolutely crucial, and we can’t afford to be anxious of what all of this may come to. We’ve come too far. If anything, that’s what fighting the Japanese taught me. We need to take a leap of faith sometimes,” he explained, and you listened to every single word that came from his mouth. He did have a point, you supposed. Being too scared to take the next step can be fatal.

You broke away your gaze from him and returned to the sights around you. “I guess you’re right.” 

“Exactly, now cheer up. Jungkook will be waiting for us.”

Right, Jungkook had decided to go on ahead while the two of you prepared yourselves for the night. He said he wanted to scope the area for any potential threats that could possibly jeopardize the mission. You agreed with his concerns. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. Not a single thing could be out of place.

You knew that you and Jin were nearing your destination. The streets suddenly became frequent with men and ladies embellished with silk dresses, dashing suits, sparkling jewelry, and expensive accessories. It looked like you were living those pictures from the magazines that you often lost yourself in for entertainment. Attending extravagant parties and balls with some of the most influential people in the country seemed like something from a dream to you. You never would have thought that you would have ended up somewhere like this.

Jin parked the car a few meters away from the entrance of the museum, and instantly you were starstruck by the opulence and splendor of the event. The museum towered over you much like the Goldosa had before. Spotlights pointed into the sky gathering the attention of all near and far. A red carpet was laid out for all of the attendees to strut upon as if it were something from Hollywood. A huge crowd of rich men and women were scattered about with drinks in hand, gossiping and gloating the prices of their clothing to one another.

Your eyes couldn’t help but remain glued to the sight, even as Jungkook stepped out into your view and opened your door, taking your hand and guiding you out of the vehicle. In all honesty, you felt like a sheep among a pack of wolves. You didn’t necessarily belong to the upper class, and, thus, such a display left you speechless.

Jin chuckled when seeing your amazed expression and gently looped his arm through yours. He was a gentleman through and through, after all. He couldn’t leave a lady unattended. “Shocked, are we?” he queried, his tone light and teasing.

Jungkook followed the older’s gaze and saw your gaped mouth and round eyes. A small snigger escaped his lips, and he quietly cooed to himself. You were honestly too adorable for words. You looked like a child being brought to her very first day of school. “Is this your first time at a gala?” he asked curiously.

You finally managed to regain yourself and snapped yourself out of your daze. You cleared your throat and clasped your hand around your red clutch bag with a firm grip. Looking back at Jungkook’s cute bunny smile, you replied, “Well, not exactly galas, but I’ve been to plenty of exhibit openings before. I’m a reporter, remember? It’s just…” Your voice trailed off as your eyes tarried up uncertainly to look at the shining spotlights pointed up into the night sky. “Isn’t this a bit much for an exhibit opening?” 

Jungkook also looked up into the black sky, his hands digging themselves into his suit pockets. “Actually, this is pretty subtle for a gala,” he commented, causing your eyes to widen in surprise.

Was he actually serious? There were galas more excessive and flamboyant than this? You suppose that the only way this could get any more extravagant was if the sky suddenly started to rain colorful confetti. Still, you thought that this was going to be more modest. You shouldn’t be surprised, but here you were, slack jaw and wide eyed.

“Subtle? This is absurd!” you exclaimed, although you softened your voice so that no one around could hear your rantings.

Jin finally broke out in a small bout of laughter. Your reaction to your first gala was too hilarious and priceless for him to not laugh at. “I once attended a party where the host brought show girls to entertain us,” he revealed, waiting with a smug smirk for your reaction.

Just as he hoped, you caught onto what he insinuated and began to sputter with round eyes. “Show girls?!” Why was he, a businessman, going to parties with showgirls? When did he have time for things like that? 

With a smirk, he lightly slapped your arm in a gesture to quiet down your flabbergasted shrieks. “Shush, darling,” he hushed in an amused tone. “People are watching.” He offered polite smiles to a group of older men sharing cigars and discussing politics in their small circles while guiding you through the white stone arches leading to the entrance of the museum. 

You huffed, still feeling the rush of shock in your veins along with the new feeling of slight agitation bubble within you. “Then don’t say things like that if you don’t want people to stare,” you retorted, glancing up at the stone structure before returning your focus to what was ahead of you. 

Jungkook straightened his suit and adopted the persona of an appointed bodyguard, his face donning a cold and calculated mask. Honestly, you would find his sudden switch to be extremely attractive, but you didn’t have time to be staring at him. He fixed his tie before commenting, “Tonight, y/n, everyone will be staring at us. Our each and every move will be judged by all.”

Those words didn’t exactly quell your fears.

Jin slowed his walking to a stop, as if mentally preparing himself for what was ahead. Suddenly, he turned to you and grabbed the white fur shawl draped around your shoulders and arms. He readjusted it so it sat perfectly on your bare shoulders like a mother fixing her child’s appearance so that he looked presentable. “You look lovely tonight, y/n,” he commented softly, a small smile gracing his lips. “Namjoon was right to get you this. It compliments your dress nicely.”

You flickered your eyes to the floor for a few seconds, suddenly feeling bashful from his sincere compliment. Your memory brought you back to your tender moment with Namjoon. His warm embrace, the way his eyes shone with such adoration and love. It was such a perfect moment. You could still feel his soft lips on yours. 

From the way Jungkook was staring at you, you figured that he knew what you were thinking. His lips curled into a smug, knowing smile that you just wanted to wipe off. Who knew the youngest could be such a brat sometimes. “Jin was also right to pick red for you. It really brings out your eyes.” 

You would’ve been touched by Jungkook’s compliment if not for his teasing smirk. Feeling your cheeks tingle with heat, you mumbled in reply, “Thank you. You both look rather dashing as well.”

Jin’s lips stretched to widen his smile. You had to admit, his smile was something ethereal. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone told you that he was secretly a deity in mortal disguise. A small laugh escaped his lips. “I am always dashing. You just have yet to realize that.” Once he was done fixing your shawl, he took your arm in his own again and faced the enormous crowd awaiting you both. “Remember to smile, dear. We can’t have everyone knowing our intentions.”

You both then stepped over the threshold separating you from the outside world. Just like that, the operation to steal the kobae began. 

“Right,” you sighed, curling the corners of your mouth into a courteous and cheerful smile. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Weaving you through the crowds with Jin at your side and Jungkook at your heel, the scent of expensive perfume and cologne filled your nostrils. You almost choked on the strong stench but managed to remain composed. Dear Lord, what do they put in those fragrance bottles? Skunk stench? It certainly was as strong and potent as a skunk.

“The worst, at the moment, is that we accidentally run into someone that either of us know,” Jin replied, taking you to the refreshment table. He plucked up two glasses of bubbly champagne and handed you one, which you graciously took. “Right now, we need to socialize. Talk to people. Warm up to them. Get on their good side. That way, when we have the kobae, we seem less suspicious to everyone.”

You took a sip of champagne while listening to Jin explain the plan and then grimaced in disgust. Ugh, what kind of champagne did they bring to this gala? You thought that the best was supposed to be here? Why did this taste so sour? Did they accidentally bring champagne that had gone bad?

“Wouldn’t we want to stay inconspicuous though? That way the people won’t remember us?” you questioned, trying to ignore the bitter taste on your tongue. 

Jin shook his head but continued to appear pleasant and cheerful to those around him. “No, people don’t attend galas to not mingle. If we want to seem natural to everyone, then we have to associate with others,” he answered, taking a drink of his glass.

Jungkook slowly took one of the glasses from the table, his fingers curling around the stem, and took a small sip from the yellow, bubbling liquid, as if he were curious about what it would taste like. Instantly, his face scrunched up in disgust as if he just ate a lemon and quickly placed the glass back on the table, hoping that no one noticed his little spectacle. Finally, you weren’t alone in this regard.

Leaning into him, you whispered, “You don’t like it either?”

He coughed into his hand shortly followed by his tongue peeking out of his mouth as if he were trying to be rid of the foul taste on it. “What did they put in it? Vinegar? Bleugh!”

Swirling your drink in your glass, you answered with a slight frown, “I think the champagne went bad. It doesn’t age well unlike wine.”

“No, it isn’t spoiled,” Jin answered plainly before taking another sip. He seemed unaffected by the sour taste. Lucky bastard. “If it was, it would be a golden hue, not pale yellow. This batch is just particularly sour.”

Jungkook scoffed quietly to himself. “Of course you’d know. You’re an alcohol connoisseur.”

Jin merely hummed pleasantly to himself, his eyes scanning over the vast crowds like a spectator watching a sports game. “You say that like it’s an insult,” he chuckled for a moment. His arm around yours tightened for a bit, rousing your attention to him. “Let’s go out and socialize with others before we’re deemed reclusive.”

You sighed in slight defeat. This wasn’t exactly what you were hoping for. “Jin, I’m not exactly familiar with these type of people.” You mildly gestured to the gossiping people before you, each seemingly enjoying themselves. “What do I even talk about?”

Jin shrugged his broad shoulders nonchalantly. “I’d imagine that the Indian Independence Movement is on everyone’s minds. You’re informed in that area, right? You could discuss that with others, but be mindful of what everyone’s opinions are on the subject. We don’t need to make any enemies tonight,” he mentioned.

You still hesitated to go out and begin consorting everyone. The thought of possibly offending some rich lord or lady accidentally sent a wave of dread over you. You shuffled in your spot uncomfortably next to the millionaire, suddenly becoming super self-conscious of every little thing you did. Did your hair look good? Is this how a lady is supposed to stand? What if someone saw your arm in a cast hiding under your furry shawl?

Jin noticed your reluctance and gave you an innocent smile. However, based on what he was about to say, you knew it was anything but innocent. “Aw, is our baby girl too shy to go out and make new friends~?” he cooed quietly enough so only you could hear him. 

“Jin!” you hissed under your breath, trying to ignore the growing heat on your cheeks. What was he trying to do treating you like a little girl? 

You heard Jungkook chuckle from behind you, a hand hovered over his mouth to hide and muffle the noise. “Does our doll-face need us to hold her hand tonight also~?” he murmured softly, his hand moving to reveal his cocky grin. Argh, how you wanted to smack that grin off his face!

“Jungkook!” you hissed with just as much fervor as you did with Jin. You felt like a mother trying to keep her mischievous sons under control. A sharp pang tug at your heart for their mothers. They must be exhausted from dealing with their little devils. “A bodyguard is supposed to be silent!”

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders carelessly, as if your words meant little to him. Jin, on the other hand, ignored your seething and pulled your closer to his side. The strong stink of perfume that filled the air was suddenly replaced by the natural scent of Jin’s musk. For a moment, you relaxed under his touch but then instantly froze up. “Don’t worry, dearest. I’ll go and help you make new friends.” He moved his hand so it was pressed against the small of your back, urging you to move forward.

You began walking at Jin’s insistence. Where to? You had no idea. Ladies and gentlemen stared at you curiously as you weaved through the crowds. You tried your best to ignore their rude stares and to remain calm. You just followed the direction that the millionaire pushed you until he abruptly pulled you to a stop before weaving his arm through yours again. You realized that he stopped you by a group of two couples around your age. Hopefully, this was a good place to start with socializing. 

“Good evening, everyone,” Jin politely greeted, giving each a small bow of the head. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

The couples, although they were a tiny bit perplexed by your sudden appearance, nodded in agreement. One of the men, who had a handlebar mustache that covered his mouth, spoke up, “I’m so glad that tonight is rather cool. I don’t think I could handle another sweltering night.” He then held out his hand toward Jin for a handshake. “Michael Collins.”

“Seokjin Kim,” he replied, returning his handshake. You supposed that Jin switched up his name so that they wouldn’t get it mixed up. 

“Ooooh, that sounds rather exotic, Mr. Kim,” one of the girls commented, her tone turning kittenish. She raised her hand toward the millionaire, offering it for a kiss. “I’m Charlotte Dixon.” You didn’t fail to notice the flirtatious gleam in her dark eyes as Jin took her hand in his own.

“Enchanted to meet your acquaintance, Ms. Dixon.” He placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand. By the way his lips dwelt on her hand a second longer than necessary, you would’ve been rather irritated by his coquettish attitude, if not for the fact that you knew it was all an act. Like he said, you both needed people to think of you fondly, even if it meant tossing your morals and beliefs out the window.

Ms. Dixon’s partner must’ve been oblivious of Jin’s action for he didn’t react poorly at all, or he knew what his game was but didn’t care. He stuck his hand out to Jin, and at this moment you realized that no one was paying you any heed. You almost preferred it this way, since you weren’t given the opportunity to absolutely humiliate yourself. However, you soon found out that you didn’t like being on the sidelines. You wanted to be in on the action.

“Vincent Foster, I’m a distiller.” After he finished shaking Jin’s hand, he added with a proud grin, “In fact, I’m the one who provided this event with the drinks.”

Ah, so he was the one to be blamed for this God awful champagne? Good thing you hadn’t started complaining yet. Otherwise, you’d be in your own grave by now.

“Ah, a businessman?” Jin inquired, with a fond smile. “I myself own a watchmaking company. It’s so nice to see another person of the same mindset, and here I thought I would be surrounded by historians and philosophers.”

“If there were, then we wouldn’t even bother wasting our time here,” Mr. Collins’ partner remarked with a soft snort. You stared at her expectedly for a few moments, waiting for her to introduce herself. Once she realized that you, in fact, don’t know her name, she quickly added, “Oh, I’m Martha Hopkins.”

Once you gathered everyone’s names, you just realized that Jin was truly the oddball in the entire group. Everyone was British by birth while Jin was a foreigner in their eyes. You hoped this mere fact wouldn’t make the others snobbish toward him. You didn’t know if you had the patience for such insolence. 

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself to the others, but Jin beat you to it saying, “This is my lovely fiancée, Ms. y/n l/n.” 

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your sockets. Fiancée?! Why the bloody hell did he need to tell them that for?! It had nothing to do with anything! You whipped your gaze frantically to meet his own. Was he out of his mind? Was he trying to compromise the mission?! Even Jungkook gave Jin a bewildered glance out of the corner of his eyes, as if he couldn’t figure out why on earth the elder pulled a stunt like that.

Hoping that no one got suspicious by your panicked reaction, you quickly whined, “Honey, don’t tell them that! You know how flustered I get when you mention things like this.”

Ms. Hopkins released a small coo upon hearing Jin’s announcement. She placed a hand over her heart as a sign of how touched she was. “Congratulations! I how you have a happy and healthy marriage.” She then raised her glass for a toast. “For the future bride and groom.”

Everyone repeated her words and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip. You drained the remaining contaminants quickly, not caring if anyone gave you an awkward stare. Forget the awful taste of the champagne, you needed alcohol in your system now. Jin glanced at you curiously out of the corner of his eye before releasing a small, faint chuckle.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Mr. Collins began with an inquisitive gleam in his beady eyes, “how did you come to meet each other?”

See, this was why Jin shouldn’t have said this in the first place, because now you were going to have to dig deeper into this lie. Before the millionaire could get a single word out of his mouth, you answered, “We met during one of the rebel protests against the passage of the Public Safety Bill and the Trade Disputes Bill. I was a reporter for the Gazette, and he was on a business venture with some of the marketers here. We somehow got caught up in the protests, and he managed to get me to safety after the bomb was thrown.” You then sighed wistfully for effect, making you seem like a lovesick fool. “The rest is history…”

“How chivalrous of you, Mr. Kim,” Mr. Foster commented with a small chortle before taking another drink of his champagne.

You didn’t fail to notice the eye roll Ms. Dixon attempted to hide. It seemed she had her sights set on him tonight it seemed. You assumed she was a hired escort for Mr. Collins. After all, the man with the mustache seemed quite a few years her senior, and she didn’t appear to be the type of woman who would waste her time on someone like him unless she got something out of it. She was going to be quite a handful to deal with, you expected.

Jin moved his arm so that it snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. You definitely seemed like the picturesque image of the madly in love couple that everyone envied. Let’s hope that this whole story didn’t come to bite you in the rear. If it did, you were going to give Jin a piece of your mind.

“I couldn’t just let a lovely lady get injured in the madness,” he confessed charmingly. His face beheld emotions of complete fondness and tenderness for you. He seemed he was ready to get down on his knees and worship the ground you walk on. Such warmth and devotion radiated from his body that you almost doubled back in wonder.

Damn, he really was a good actor.

You playfully smacked him in his ribs with a bright smile adorning your face. “Oh, stop, you…” you giggled, looking down to obscure your bashful face. “You’re just trying it get me all muddled up, aren’t you?”

Jin sighed in a dramatic fashion. “Damn, you’ve figured me out.” You weren’t sure if he was merely acting or not. Something about the tone in his voice made it almost believable. “You know that I can’t resist seeing you all bothered.”

You smacked him again, but this time you hit him a little harder than before due to the annoyance that bubbled within you. You heard Jin release a tiny ‘oof’ at the sharp jab you gave him in the ribs but continued to smile cheerfully at the other guests. Served him right for throwing you into this mess of a situation. If he pulled something like this again, you were going to box his ears.

Mr. Collins stroked his bushy mustache thoughtfully as his eyes eventually landed on Jungkook hovering behind you and Jin, his face as emotionless as the paintings that riddled the walls. Mr. Collins’ equally bushy eyebrows shot up curiously and gestured to the much younger man. “And who is this fine, young gentleman here, dare I ask?” he wondered in a chipper tone.

You gave Jungkook a mere glance before answering coolly, “Oh, pay him no heed. He’s just our guardian for tonight. What with the protests riots in motion, we didn’t want to risk the possibility of any rebels jumping us tonight.” You smiled to the gentleman with a cheerful twinkle in your eyes, emitting a trustful and innocent aura from you. “I’m sure you understand our caution, Mr. Collins.”

“You must tell me where you hired such a man,” Ms. Dixon implored in a sultry tone, looking Jungkook up and down with a dark glint in her eyes. You resisted the urge to retch at the sight. You were somewhat relieved that she no longer lusted for Jin, but you rather she didn’t yearn for either men at your side.

“Oh, before I forget to ask such a thing,” Ms. Hopkins butted in, ignoring Ms. Dixon’s immodest comment. “Do you perchance know of our special guest that came here tonight? I hear he is another oriental. Maybe you two bumped into each other sometime ago?”

You and Jin both smiled and sighed in relief inwardly. She must be talking about Namjoon. You knew that the historian came to the gala a few hours ahead of you two to avoid arousing suspicion, but unfortunately neither of you had spotted him in the crowds. He must be in deep discussion with some of the other guests.

In a mirthful voice, he answered, “Ah, I believe you’re speaking of my colleague, Namjoon Kim. Yes, he wrote to me saying that he was also attending-”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Ms. Hopkins interrupted, waving her gloved hand in the air as if to sweep what your ‘fiancé’ just said away. “This is a different foreigner! I believe his name was… Oh, I forget what it was! Darling, do you remember what his name was?” She turned to her partner, Mr. Foster, for help in the situation.

You felt the smile slowly drop from your face along with Jin’s as a deep sense of dread and fear settled among the three of you. There was someone else here? Another foreigner that supposedly Jin could know? You glanced up at the millionaire, and, although he remained calm and composed, you knew that a storm of emotions raged within him, ready to wear him down to the bone. Your mind instantly went to the chance that perhaps someone from the Japanese government managed to track you here, but you knew very well that Jin put a lot of money and effort to cover everyone’s tracks.

Mr. Foster pondered for a few moments, mentally searching for the name that was on the tip of his tongue. His finger tapped against his glass in deep thought as deep hum resonated from his throat. “I believe it was… Oh, I know it… It’s… Virgil…? No… Vante! That’s it!” He cried out triumphantly while his partner cheered and praised him for his good memory.

Meanwhile, the calm exterior on Jin’s face slowly faded into a slightly annoyed frown. A soft scoff past through his lips before his recomposed himself with a polite smile. His smile was strained, you noticed, as if someone told him a very poor joke. “Vante?” He paused to contemplate the name but just ended up shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe I know the man. Is he from Korea?”

Mr. Foster simply shrugged his shoulders casually. “I don’t know. I never bothered to look into him. You foreigners all look the same to me; it’s hard for me to tell the difference.” He chuckled to himself and the other couples before continuing, “All I really know about him is that he is an excellent artist. I show really look into buying a painting or two from him. That way I can appear to be a more cultured businessman.”

Jin’s smile became even more strained the longer the man went on. For a moment, you thought that his fingers were going to snap the steam of his glass in two. However, he just lifted the glass to the man as a gesture of respect. However, you knew that your partner had little respect for the fellow businessman. “A smart move, Mr. Foster.”

Mr. Collins then went into a harangue about the many pieces of art and literature that he obtained from his travels across the world, in which Ms. Dixon tried her very hardest to appear interested in what her companion had to say. You took this opportunity to lean into Jin’s ear and whispered quietly into his ear, “You know this ‘Vante’, don’t you?”

Jin never directed his attention away from Mr. Collins as he softly replied, “Yes, I do, and you know him as well. Even Jungkook knows him.”

You furrowed your eyebrows confusedly at his response. You glanced at your bodyguard, who was searching around him for someone in particular. You figured it was this Vante that had them on edge. Turning back to Jin, you further prodded, “Alright then, mind telling me who he is then?”

Jin opened his mouth to answer when Jungkook stepped in and alerted him, “Jin, there he is. Would you like me to confront him?”

You and Jin followed Jungkook’s small gesture toward where the infamous artist stood. Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor as you recognized the figure.  Your thoughts scrambled together to form some sort of a complete sentence. A whirlwind of emotions went through you at that moment. Bewilderment. Shock. Disbelief. You had to blink a few times to confirm that what you saw wasn’t a trick of the eye. However, it soon became apparent that you, indeed, knew this man. He was the last person you expected to be here at the gala.

The man standing a few meters away, admiring a painting with deep interest, was Taehyung. What was he doing here?! He could jeopardize the whole mission!

“No, don’t,” Jin answered, snapping you from your dazed thoughts. “A bodyguard confronting him will only get everyone’s attention and rouse suspicion. I’ll go talk to him.”

Before he made a move in Taehyung, you placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “No, no, stay here. I’ll go talk to Tae,” you insisted. When Jin opened his mouth to protest, you continued, “You’re better at sweet-talking your way in to getting everyone on your side. You should carry on doing that while I speak with our lovely demolition expert.”

The millionaire contemplated what you said for a few seconds but sighing in defeat. He glanced around him, watching the people around him to see if anyone was spying on you, and took your hand on his chest and gave it a comforting squeeze, as if to wish you luck. “Act like you don’t know him if anyone comes by, and be careful of what you say. We don’t want him ruining the mission.”

You gave him a reassuring nod before turning back toward the lovely, yet rather boring, couples. “Will you excuse me, everyone? I think I’m going to get another glass.” You didn’t wait for their responses as you stormed over to ‘Vante’. Your bewilderment and confusion faded away into anger and frustration. Just what was he trying to pull here?!

You smoothly strode up to his side, rolling your shoulders to readjust your fur shawl. A wave of confidence came over you as you stood next to him and began to examine the painting with him. Of course, the painting was Indian in design, and the image beheld a group of young men and women dancing together in a merry dance with hundreds of flowers surrounding them. The painting was beautiful, to say at the very least. You knew why it was the source of Taehyung’s interest.

“What brings you to this event, Vante?” you spoke aloud, catching his attention from the colorful image. “This isn’t exactly an art gallery.” You turned to stare at him with an enraged and accusatory glare. 

Taehyung’s eyes lit up with recognition as they fell upon you, and his lips quickly formed that boxy smile that would usually have you smiling as well. However, you were too furious to be smiling back at him. “Ms. l/n! I didn’t know you’d be here. If I had known, I would have dressed to impress you,” he admitted, his eyes glinting with a mischievous gleam.

Your eyes quickly took in his attire. He wore a khaki suit that fit him like a glove with a scarlet tie to match. In fact, now that you looked closer, his red tie was the same shade as your dress, meaning that he planned to match his clothing with yours. Cheeky bastard, he already planned this little stunt to begin with! You scowled with a soft growl. “What are you doing here, Taehyung?” you demanded quietly. “You’re supposed to ready to take out the guards with Jimin. That was the plan.”

“And it’s still the plan, sweetcheeks,” he asserted, bringing his attention back to the painting. He remained poised despite the fact that you were ready to rip his head off. “Jimin is going to take care of the guards outside while I take care of the ones in here. I already counted four in this very room at each exit.”

Sure enough, when you broke your gaze away from him, you saw tall men in black suits hanging around each exit of the room, watching each and every visitor with the eyes of a hawk. As much as you hated to admit it, he did have a point. If you managed to get your hands on the kobae, any one of those guards would be waiting to take you down like an adrenaline crazy American football player in a matter of seconds. 

“And do you have any wonderful ideas as to how you’re going to take them out all at once?” you asked bitterly. “The blackout isn’t going to provide you enough time to just knock them all out.”

Taehyung rocked himself back and forth on the heels of his brown leather shoes with an all-too-pleased smile stretched across his lips. “I have a few ideas, in fact,” he answered, swirling his champagne in his glass casually. “The one that will work the most efficiently is where I don’t take them all out, but instead I provide a path for you to escape. I’ve numbered the doors one, two, three, and four respectively.” He lifted his hand to point at the different openings he dubbed in a relaxed manner to avoid any suspicion. “All you have to do is signal me when the lights go out, subtly-” He gave you a pointed look to emphasize the word. “- and then I will incapacitate the guard at that exit.”

You arched an eyebrow in slight surprise. He certainly thought this through. “And if the other guards see you?” you questioned in an austere tone.

“With any luck they’ll be too busy containing the crowds who will be in an absolute panic.” He lifted his glass to his lips and took a thoughtful sip from the light golden liquid.

“Wouldn’t it be suspicious if the others found their fellow guard unconscious?”

“I said I would incapacitate them. That doesn’t mean I’m resorting to violence.” He turned to give you a sly smile, one that caused your stomach to flutter with butterflies and your cheeks to heat up. “There are other ways to distract someone, Ms. l/n.”

No! Don’t get flustered by that goddamn smirk, you cried to yourself. That’s the reaction he wants!

To distract yourself from his smug smirk, you glanced over to the nearest clock to see how much time you had left. It was currently 20:25, and Yoongi said that he was going to cut the wire at 22:30, giving everyone enough time to get a little tipsy and, therefore, unaware of what occurred around them. Ugh, that meant you had to deal with another two hours of this unnecessary bullshit.

Turning back to the situation at hand, you took another look at Taehyung’s attire. He certainly appeared to be very chic and in style. Where on earth did he get the money to buy such a luxurious suit? “So, you chose your disguise to be a famous artist, is that it?” you asked curiously.

Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a few seconds, making you wonder if you said anything strange. Did he actually forget what his cover was? He then began to chuckle in an amused manner, his eyes slightly wrinkling under the smile. “I thought that you worked at an international news company? Shouldn’t you know? I suppose your company only covers stories that affect your country.” When your face slipped into a puzzled expression, he proceeded, “Do you actually think that my main job is to blow stuff up?”

“It… isn’t?” Suddenly, it all clicked together. All the puzzle pieces fell into place. You could barely believe it yourself. How could you be so stupid! “Wait… this isn’t a made-up cover story? You’re actually an artist?” You felt like someone managed to prove to you with factual evidence that the sky was actually green instead of blue. 

His smile broadened as he brought his drink to his lips. “The market doesn’t have many jobs available for demolition experts unfortunately. I have to do something to pay the bills.” He then took a long drink, and you watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “Yes, I create paintings, sculptures, and sometimes calligraphy for a living, although the Japanese government keeps pressuring me to create propaganda art for them.” His voice had suddenly turned bitter and harsh as he recalled unwanted memories.

“And the demolition stuff?” you inquired, still in shock with this new information.

“It’s something I do as a hobby,” he revealed, his tone still grim. You weren’t sure if you’d call blowing things up as a hobby, but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for once. 

You recalled the memory of Taehyung watching the armored vehicle explode in a blaze of fire and destruction with longing and wonder. You had brushed it off as Taehyung being himself, but now that instance made sense. “I suppose your artistic side comes out in those instances as well.”

“There is a sense of beauty in the destruction of something else. A paradox, I know, but beauty comes in many forms, not only in the creation of an object.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly as your round eyes glanced away. “I guess you learn something new everyday,” you joked. Catching a server walking by with a platter of empty glasses on it, you snuck yours with the others, hoping that your rushed action wouldn’t cause it to stumble and crash to the floor. “The Japanese are making you create propaganda?”

Taehyung snorted with an intense look in his eyes, a hidden fire blazing behind the dark orbs. “I haven’t made anything for them so far, even though my mailbox is full of threats and bribes from them.” His jaw clenched tightly and his grasp on his glass harden.

“They’re sending you threats?!” you exclaimed in a harsh whisper. Just how horrible was this government?

“Against me. Against my family. Against my friends. The list goes on...”

You swallowed back your obvious concern and glanced around before finally saying, “If they’re threatening you and everyone around you, then perhaps the safest route to take is to merely give in to their wishes. After all, you would only have to make posters, right?”

Suddenly he then got very close to you, his teeth gritting and nostrils flaring in an explosive rage. Your heart nearly lept from your chest at his abrupt aggressive nature. Looking into his eyes, you felt like you were staring into the eyes of a man ready to commit murder. In a growled voice, he snarled, “I absolutely refuse to create anything promoting the very government that encourages the sexual slavery, murder, torture, and subjugation of my people as if they were mere pigs being led to the slaughterhouse. They look down their noses at us from their palaces while we grovel in the dirt eating rotten and maggot-filled scrapings. Do you have any idea what it’s like coming home to find your sister on the ground beaten and sobbing because those monsters-”

His furious and hateful tirade was unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of his drink shattering in his hand from how hard his fingers gripped around the delicate glass. The tiny shards exploded and fell to the ground like diamonds glittering in the light. The champagne spilled all over his hand and into a puddle onto the floor.

The crowd surrounding you and Taehyung let out a collected gasp of shock and slight horror. The room became deadly silent, as if the slightest sound would result in the execution of someone. Some of the people parted their lips in shock while others just froze in their spots, watching Taehyung for his next move. You, too, were frozen in your spot from the shock of what just occurred.

Suddenly, Taehyung burst into laughter as if someone just pranked him. To be honest, his outburst only made him more unhinged in your eyes. He gave you a boxy smile before redirecting his attention to the large crowds waiting for an explanation. “These are some flimsy glasses if I ever saw some.” He shook his hand to be rid of the liquid sticking to his clothes and skin. “I guess I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

The crowds then chuckled amusedly along and soon returned to their conversations while a servant came in with a broom and a few rags to clean up the mess. Taehyung then urged you to move away from the wandering eyes and the mess. You left the area and entered a room where people examined the artifacts that were recovered in the latest archeological dig. You wondered if the kobae was in the very same room.

Once you and Taehyung settled in the room, you smacked him straight in the ribs. The artist stumbled back a step and clutched his side while squeezing his eyes shut for a mere moment. He groaned in pain while you unleashed your fury onto him. “Control yourself, Tae! We don’t need people being wary of us because someone can’t control their emotions!” you scolded, your fists clenched at your sides. “First you act on your own without telling anyone else on the team and then you overreact- Gah!”

During you ranting, you threw your arms in the air in exasperation, and, in doing so, moved your injured arm. Pain sharply shot your arm as if someone dug a knife into the tender muscle. It nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. Your other hand clutched the source of the pain tightly as your eyes slammed shut, your teeth gritting together as small groans of agony slipped through your lips. 

Taehyung instantly went to your side and shielded you away from prying eyes that happened to look your way. All emotions of anger and rage instantly fell from his face and was replaced with deep concern for your well-being. “Y/n!” he whispered worryingly. “Are you okay? Do you need to step outside?”

You inhaled a quick, sharp breath as the pain began to slowly ebb away. Your eyes peeled themselves open reluctantly as your body soon relaxed slightly. “I’m fine,” you replied, exhaling gradually. “I’m just sick of this bloody arm hurting all the time.”

“Just remember not to move it too much,” he reminded, looking around to see if anyone had spied the incident. Once he deemed it to be safe, he turned back and gave you a small smile. “You yell at me for nearly causing a scene due to my anger, but yet you do the exact same thing and end up hurting yourself.”

You huffed annoyedly, mostly because he had a point. “Don’t rub it in,” you grumbled, slowly letting your arm fall to your side. 

His smile grew a tiny bit sadder. “Just be careful, alright? You’re injured enough as it is.”

You nodded slowly, averting your gaze from him. “I will…” Your voice trailed off as your thoughts returned to Taehyung’s small outburst. You never seen eyes so full of rage and fury. Just thinking about them made shivers crawl down your spine. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like living in such horrendous conditions, being treated less than human. He mentioned a sister who was beaten and crying. Your reporter instincts wanted to know the full story behind his sister to get a better understanding of who the demolition expert really was. “About your sister… Whatever happened to her, I’m sorry.”

Taehyung’s features hardened very slightly at the mention of his sister, his cheek catching between his teeth as he bit down on the soft flesh. “Don’t apologize. You had nothing to do with what happened to her.”

“I know.” You paused to sigh quietly to yourself. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He slowly shook his head. “No, at least not now, not when people could hear us.”

You silently agreed with him. Although the champagne flowed from the bottle freely at this point in the gala, the guests hadn’t had quite enough alcohol to dull the senses and their memory yet. Looking at the clock once more, you saw that it read 21:05. You still had quite an amount of time left until the planned blackout. Ugh, why was time moving so painfully slow? 

“So, Ms. l/n,” Taehyung began, feeling the awkward tension rising between the two of you. He must have wanted to change the subject, since obviously the one beforehand was a touchy one. “What about you? What brings a lovely lady like yourself to this event?” Ah, so he wanted to play pretend while there were others around.

Thinking over the words you practiced so many times before coming to this godforsaken gala, you answered with a polite and friendly smile, “I’m working on an article for the Gazette about this exhibit opening and the artifacts found during the archeological dig.”

The artist faked deep interest by quirking up an eyebrow and smiling. “Oh? Doesn’t a journalist need to take notes on names, quotes, and different artifacts here? Or do you supposedly have a good memory?” he questioned innocently. Really? This was how he was going to act?

With an annoyed sigh and an eye roll, you revealed your clutch bag from under your fur shawl and clicked it open. There was no need for any of this. He knew fully well what you had inside your clutch, what was even the point of this? You took out your pocket notebook complete with a pen strapped to its cover and showed it to him while glowering. “I am taking notes from tonight.” That was a lie. The scribblings and writings inside the little notebook were notes taken for a different exhibit opening you were writing for back in London. You were merely using them again for when people began to ask questions… much like this unnecessary moment.

“May I take a look?” he asked, his tone turning slightly playful.

“No,” you flatly replied. Dropping the notebook back into your clutch, you snapped it shut and hid it under your fur shawl once more. Little did people know that along with the notebook and makeup in your clutch, you also had a little pocket pistol in case everything went south. You dearly hoped that you wouldn’t have to resort to using the concealed weapon. “All the information I have in here is confidential until the article is released to the public.” You then sighed exasperatedly from how ridiculous this all was. “Why are you making me do this? You already know everything about this.”

The demolition expert shrugged his shoulders casually, as if you only asked his what his favorite animal was. “Just making sure you remember your lines. After all, like you say, we can’t afford any slip-ups.”

You knew that remembering your lines was the least of your problems. What was at the top of your list was making sure that everyone around you didn’t step out of line. “I practiced my part for hours before coming here. Right now, I’m the least of your worries,” you replied, taking a rather large gulp from your champagne glass.

“Just being cautious.”

“Maybe you should listen to your own advice.”

Taehyung snickered at how blunt and curt you were acting and smoothly took a step toward you. “Speaking of reporters, is there any way I could persuade you to interview me? I have a lot of things I want to say.”

You arched an eyebrow in confusion by his question. “Do you now? Please, share your feelings with me.” In all honesty, you were only playing along for the sake of blending in with the crowd. If it were up to you, you would’ve just plainly refused again.

Taehyung’s smile turned slightly mischievous as he took another step. “For starters, I think there’s a treasure here I think is beautifuller than all the other artifacts combined,” he began.

He must be talking about the kobae, you assumed. “Can you please elaborate for me, Mr. Vante?” you interviewed innocently, completely oblivious to what he was secretly insinuating.

Suddenly, his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, pulling your body against his. A sharp, astonished gasp passed through your lips as you quickly balanced your glass in hand so the bubbly liquid wouldn’t spill over the edges. You felt his warm embrace bundle you up like a curtain of comfort. In an instant, your cheeks burned up with flustered heat. Your eyes were as round as a doe’s eyes as your chest suddenly tightened. 

Taehyung smirked upon seeing your flustered state and hummed to himself in approval. “Well, this beautiful masterpiece dons the most beautiful shade of red. I always did love using red in my own works. It symbolizes power, strength, passion... “ His voice trailed off as he cupped your chin between his thumb and finger and tilted it up to meet his hungry gaze. “Lust…”

“Taehyung…” you whispered, your voice quiet and airy. 

“In fact,” he continued, preventing you from finishing your sentence, “if I seem to recall correctly, I made a promise to you that I haven’t fulfilled yet. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Oh no, you had a feeling you knew what he was talking about…

When you didn’t answer, his smirk widened and his grip on you tightened somewhat. “Judging by your expression, I’d say you do.” He chuckled huskily, his rumbling chest vibrating against your body. “I promised that I’d make you scream my name over and over again. Unfortunately I haven’t exactly kept to my promise because a little someone keeps avoiding me. Why is that?” He brought his face closer to yours as his eyes momentarily flickered down to your lips before bringing them back to meet yours. “Do I really make you that nervous? Do you squirm just at the thought of me?”

Suddenly you sensed many pairs of eyes looming from behind you. Out of the corners of your eye, you noticed how people began to watch you with curious and confused glances. Oh no, no no no, everyone was going to assume the absolute worst if you continued to be held in his arms like a hustler. You quickly pulled away from his grasp, earning a small groan of disappointment. “Mr. Vante, please, I’m engaged,” you protested blatantly, hoping your loud tone would dispel everyone’s assumptions.

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up at lightning speed, bewilderment etched onto every inch of his face. His lips parted as if to ask for you to elaborate; but before the words could leave his mouth, you gestured to Jin who was loudly laughing at a poor joke someone said. You noticed the smaller group had become larger since you left to confront Taehyung. Damn, Jin really knew how to charm people.

Taehyung relaxed slightly, catching onto what you were insinuating. His stiff posture loosened from the stress that had it taut. A small sigh of relief slipped through his lips in a drawn out breath. In a flash, his composure flipped like a switch. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, however the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure your fiancé wouldn’t notice if we slipped off to an isolated hallway. He seems to be rather busy entertaining others.” He then tutted playfully, his eyes boring into yours with a dark fire smoldering in them. “Leaving his beloved where anyone could snatch her up. How irresponsible of him.”

You swallowed a lump caught in your throat as you snapped your gaze from his, feeling goosebumps raking up and down your arms and spine from the intensity of his eyes. “I don’t need people watching over me,” you retorted in a quiet murmur. “I can take care of myself.”

He hummed thoughtfully at your reply, eyes taking in your appearance. However, he seemed to be taking his time with looking you up and down like you were a wrapped up present waiting to be unraveled. You furrowed your eyebrows, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, and fixed your shawl to that it covered your body more. “What are you doing?” you demanded, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Just thinking about how lovely you would look with your dress on my bedroom floor and your body underneath me, all needy and whiny and begging me to give you some release.” He chuckled huskily and tilted his head to the side. “Wouldn’t that be a delicious sight?”

He said it so casually that your brain didn’t register it at first until you finally processed his words. In that moment, you exploded in a fit of embarrassment, your cheeks flaring up in a burst of heat. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but you could muster were choked words and stutters. It felt as if all coolness left the room in an instant and was replaced with humid, hot air. You needed to breathe, to get some relief from what he said.

“I- I’m going to find my f-fiancé. I… um…” You stumbled around, unsure of where Jin had wandered off to. Bollocks, where the bloody hell was he when you needed him? With fiery cheeks and sweaty palms, you whipped your body around a few more times before stammering, “I… I’m just going to… yes…” With that, you scurried off like a little mouse.

Taehyung smirked to himself watching you run off so flustered and speechless. Even after Hoseok and Jimin got a taste of you, you were still so innocent and cute when faced with such sensual whisperings. Oh yes, he knew all about your little escapades with those two. He past by your door waiting for Hoseok to leave so he could fulfill his promise; but instead he heard the breathy moans and cries of pleasure through your door, and so he decided to let Hoseok have a little fun with you before his turn. He was a patient man, after all.

However, he was quite surprised to see you and Jimin on the couch in a heated makeout session the next morning. He shouldn’t have been so shocked. Naturally, when Jimin wanted something, he wasn’t going to wait idly by. He was going to go after it. Taehyung could still see the face you made when Jimin kissed you just right, and the moans, oh, the moans were like music to his ears. The image of you writhing in the pleasure that Jimin was giving you, oh, that was art. He remembered palming himself secretly while watching Jimin mark your beautiful skin. How he wanted to paint your skin with the most beautiful colors. Maybe he will later tonight when you two are alone, that is, if everyone is still alive then.

You fanned yourself with much fervor, needing the nice breeze that you were producing to cool down your hot skin. Your mind replayed Taehyung’s words over and over again. What game was he playing? Was he trying to get you to have a heart-attack? Why did he insist to make your heart pound in your chest and your nerves to go sky-rocketing into the atmosphere?

You weaved through the crowds like a needle weaving through fabrics until you miraculously caught sight of Jin. You thanked God and then quickly made your way over to him. You hoped that the heat in your cheeks died down and your appearance didn’t show how flustered you were. The last thing you needed right now was Jin and Jungkook to whisper teasing remarks in your ear. 

“Darling!” you called out, a bright smile replacing the bashful and embarrassed expression that was etched onto your face moments ago. 

Jin turned around at the sound of your voice and gave you a cheerful smile of his own. Seeing him with such a warm smile on his face made your anxious nerves instantly die down. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that he was pretending to be your soon-to-be husband? Jin wandered away from the group to take your hand in his. “How is my dear doing this evening?” he asked considerately before placing a sweet kiss on your hand.

“I am doing splendidly,” you answered, your heart fluttering ever-so-slightly at his action. “There’s someone I think you should meet, darling.” You weren’t referring to Taehyung, but you just needed the excuse to pull him away from the crowds so you could fill him in on what the artist disclosed to you.

“Really? Well, if you insist.” He quickly turned back to the people he just became friends with and bid them farewell before following you through the crowds. Jungkook followed as well subtly, not drawing any unwanted attention to himself, as according to the plan.

Once you were away from the large crowds, you revealed to the millionaire, “Tae just told me that he’s here to take care of the guards inside so that they don’t get in the way when we make our move.”

Jin rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. His jaw clenched for a mere moment as his lips tightened into a thin line. He really was going to give Taehyung a ranting or two when this was all over. “It would’ve been nice if he informed everyone first instead of going off on his own,” he grumbled, his hand smoothing back his hair.

You had to admit, he looked really nice with his hair slicked back.

You nodded your head in agreement, ignoring that absent-minded thought that blossomed into your mind. “I think so, too, but just be happy that he didn’t decide to ditch the plan.”

Jin scoffed humorlessly. “That would’ve been the cherry on top, wouldn’t it be?”

Jungkook suddenly butted into your conversation and said, “Look! The kobae!”

Both of your heads snapped in the direction Jungkook was looking. You eyes were met with the sight of a simple, wide, stone bowl sitting on a pedestal with guests merely looking at it for a second before directing their attention to the artifacts. You didn’t know what you were expecting, to be honest. You knew that a bowl this old wouldn’t be exactly magnificent, but you certainly weren’t expecting it to be so… plain.

“Perfect,” Jin spoke up, snapping you from your thoughts. “We just need to get into position and wait for the blackout.” 

Jin then ushered to you to where the plan called for you two to stand, in a corner nearby two exits where the two of you could easily make your escape. Anxiety bubbled within your stomach, causing you to feel slightly nauseous. No slip-ups. No mistakes. Otherwise, that was it. It was all over.

“Mr. Kaneki, is that you?”

The hand that was gripping yours suddenly tightened, as if something scared your partner. You looked up to Jin to see his eyes as round as saucer plates. He was deadly still, as if the slightest movement would result in his execution. A shaky, quiet breath passed through his lips as his hand slowly trembled in yours. For a mere moment, you thought you saw his fearful eyes water up with concealed tears. 

“Jin?” you murmured quietly, your voice laced with deep concern. What made him so scared? “You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost, a demon.” His eyes flickered to Jungkook subtly. “You need to hide.”

Jungkook nodded without a protest and quickly exited the scene, blending in with the crowds like a chameleon blending into its surroundings. Just like that, your bodyguard slipped away from your sights. By God, did that boy certainly know how to sneak away.

Jin suddenly turned around and replaced his terror with a polite and friendly mask. You tried your best to match his mask, but the confusion was very apparent on your face. “Mr. Akimoto! What a pleasant surprise! I never would have expected you to be here.”

An older man, who was a bit shorter than Jin, stood before you, and your heart sank in the deepest pits of dread upon seeing him. Based off of his appearance and Jin’s cryptic comment, you assumed that the man hailed from Japan, and the uniform he wore with great pride revealed that this man was a governmental official. Not only this, but he wasn’t alone. Four other men wearing the same bloody uniform stood by his side with curious looks on their wrinkled faces.

Fucking bollocks, God must really have something against you.

Mr. Akimoto arched an eyebrow in confusion and hidden agitation, as if Jin was a rude, spoiled brat who pointed out his balding head to everyone. “I was about to ask you the very same thing. I wasn’t informed that you were out of the country,” he acknowledged, his tone grim.

Jin, however, remained pleasant despite the obvious contempt the man held against him. “Really? Perhaps the paperwork I signed hasn’t transferred yet?” An obvious lie.

“Are you suggesting that the government is incompitant, Mr. Kaneki?” Mr. Akimoto demanded, his jaw clenched tightly.

The millionaire smiled courteously, although it was slightly strained, and replied, “Of course not, Mr. Akimoto. Forgive me for my disrespect.”

Mr. Akimoto nodded brusquely, a hum rumbling in his throat similar to a snake’s hiss. “You are forgiven, chōsenjin.” He then glanced over to you, looking at you as if you were an annoyance and nuisance. You didn’t know what, but the few seconds you shared staring at each other felt like you were staring into the eyes of a viper. Any moment he could lash out and bury his fangs into you. “And who is this young woman you have with you?”

Although his question was polite, you knew the meaning behind it was not. He might as well have called you a whore or a complete waste of space. “I’m Ms. l/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you introduced yourself with a slight bow of the head. 

“She is with me as my accompaniment,” Jin explained curtly immediately after your introduction. You figured that was his way of saying ‘don’t tell them anything else’.

Mr. Akimoto raised his eyebrows in complete surprise, his aged forehead wrinkling deeply. “Ah, I did not know a man of such… stock would be making an appearance to this gala. And mixing with a foreigner no less. How brave of you,” he replied, looking you both up and down.

Well, shite, Mr. Akimoto certainly wasn’t worried about possibly offending anyone. Anger bubbled within you and rushed through your veins like hot fire. How dare he say such rude and insulting words to Jin! And to you, nevertheless! What, were you cattle in his eyes? Oh, how you wanted to slap the old bastard across the face before strangling him. You, however, contained your anger by slowly exhaling through your nose quietly, releasing all the tension that began to build up within you. 

“You know me, gentlemen,” he began, lightly gesturing to the others at Akimoto’s side, “I was never one to be afraid to do what I want.” His grip on your hand tightened, but this time it wasn’t from fear. Rather, you could sense the smoldering fury that ready to suddenly explode.

“Such arrogance could be your downfall, Mr. Kaneki,” the old fart remarked. “If I were in your position, I’d be more watchful of myself.”

“I don’t view it as arrogance, Mr. Akimoto,” you suddenly cut in, keeping your tone light and genteel. “Rather, I believe that we should have more men like Mr. Kim, men who are determined and dauntless.”

For a few seconds, you and Mr. Akimoto held each other’s gaze, both full of contempt and hidden rage. The stronger and fiercer his gaze pierced yours, you merely intensified your own glare, icy and cold like a blizzard. The longer you stood in his presence, the more you wanted to bash his face with a nearby chair. You knew, from what Jin had told you, that the Japanese government was full of self-righteous and prejudiced men who looked down on the Korean people that they subjugated under their wills, but you couldn’t get over the fact that they said such horrible things without a second thought. Did they really think so low of those who were not of their own nation?

Suddenly, a plate bearing several glasses of champagne appeared in front of your face held by a smiling, cheerful waiter. “Would any of you like some more champagne?” he asked in a chirper tone. 

“Yes, please,” Jin almost groaned as he quickly snatched up a glass. 

Without even a moment of hesitation, he took a large, prolonged gulp of the golden liquid. You watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he nearly downed the entire glass. You supposed the millionaire was under an extreme amount of stress currently and desperately needed something to take the edge off. 

At the rate Jin was draining his glass, you figured someone needed to stay somewhat sober. After all, you already had enough alcohol in your system thanks to the stress Taehyung put you under. You politely declined the waiter’s request, and the young man kindly bowed his head before scurrying off to satisfy another’s needs. Your eyes followed him weaving through the crowds before the rude, old man caught your attention by saying, “I’m afraid to say that your partner no longer goes by the name Kim Seokjin.” Although his gaze was still hard, you didn’t fail to notice the faintest hint of a smug smirk on his dry, thin lips.

What? What the bloody hell was he talking about? You brought your attention to Jin’s face, bewilderment and shock written all over your face. His face held a stoic expression, although you noted the dull gleam of grief and anguish in his eyes. He swallowed hard, as if he were swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. However, he remained strong.

“I noticed you kept calling him Mr. Kaneki,” you reluctantly commented, finally tearing your gaze away from Jin’s.

“Yes, I’m sure that you know about how Korea conceded to Japan a few years back. Since Korea is now apart of the Japanese empire, we believe that its citizens should also take on Japanese traits. We’re trying to experiment with having Korean citizens change their names to fit our language. That way we avoid any confusion and conflict with customs and laws,” he explained with a content smile on his aged face. “I personally oversaw Mr. Kaneki’s process to change his name. In governmental and medical documentation his name is Kaneki Daiki.”

You nodded your head in understanding followed by a pleasant smile. However, inside a storm of fury and horror rage within you. You couldn’t believe your ears. The government was forcing people to change their names just so it fitted their needs? What kind of misanthropic, dictatorial, fanatical person would come up with something so tyrannical?!

“Ah, I see,” you responded, pouring all of your willpower into trying to not grab your pistol from your clutch and placing a bullet right in between his eyes. “I’ll try to remember that in the future.”

“Yes, if you please excuse us,” Jin began, already guiding you away from the group of despicable men, “there are some friends I haven’t spoken to yet and I wish to do so before it gets late.”

“Of course, I almost forgot. I heard that your colleague Kim Namjoon is here, as well as that rebellious Kim Taehyung,” he jeered venomously, but then recomposed himself to a more civilized manner. “If you do happen to come across any of them, please inform us as soon as possible.” His expression then darkened as did his eyes. “You know it is your civic duty.”

“I wouldn’t even think of anything else,” Jin replied before sweeping you away from the pit of snakes. A long, tired sigh slipped through his lips as exhaustion settled on his beautiful features. His long legs quickly carried the two of you away with you almost stumbling behind. “That was too close.”

“I thought you covered up our tracks!” you panickedly whispered. “What are Japanese officials doing here at an exhibit opening?”

“I did!” Jin snapped harshly, his grip squeezing your hand almost painfully. “I… I don’t know how they found out we’re here. But what I do know is that we need to find Namjoon and Taehyung and warn them before they do right now.”

You frantically looked around for the historian, or even the artist at this point, your head jerking around in a panicked manner. “I haven’t seen Namjoon all night,” you notified him, and then a sudden thought popped into your mind.Your heart was suddenly sent racing as panic settled upon your being. “What about Jungkook? What if they find him?”

“Shit, I almost forgot about him.” He downed the remainings of his drink before placing it on an empty plate nearby. His hand rake itself through his hair as the stress began to weigh down on him. “If they find Kookie, then we’ll end up attending a public execution.”

Your eyes then blown up to the size of plates as your lips parted in alarm. Execution?! 

However, before you demand him to clarify, he pulled you into another room, almost full to the brim with people you could care less for at the moment. All your mind could focus on was the well-being of Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Your eyes scoured through the crowds for any familiar faces, but all you could see was men and ladies dressed in ridiculous outfits and bedecked in gaudy jewelry. You were ready to shove someone to the side in desperation for the others.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your mind began to imagine the worst. You tried to shove those negative thoughts to the side, but that only made your anxiety worse. What if they were already captured by those men? What if they were already dead in some alley?

“I can’t believe they made you change your name!” you exclaimed. You needed something, anything, to distract yourself from imagining the dead bodies of the boys you’ve grown so close to. Even if the sudden topic brought back painful memories to Jin.

Jin paused his frantic rush through the crowds, his eyes peering around for any of the other boys. “‘Experimenting’, please, they left me with no fucking choice. It was either I changed my name or they executed me for treason,” he growled, his tone suddenly spiteful.

“They were going to execute you?!” you nearly cried out. 

There was a pause followed by a sigh. “That’s what happens when you start asking too many questions.”

Now instead of worrying about the others, your mind was suddenly concerned for Jin’s safety. What if those men decided to arrest Jin? For Christ’s sake, all of this stress was going to result in a heart-attack! “Asking questions about what?” you demanded, your eyes now trained on his back.

“I…” He stopped and looked into your eyes. You saw the desperation and agony that stormed in his eyes like a hurricane. He opened his mouth, wanting to spill everything to you, wanting to confide in you, wanting for you to wrap him up in comfort. But… not now…  he couldn’t. “I’ll explain everything to you later. Right now we need to focus on the others.”

“Jin!” you protested, ignoring the confused glances you were from everyone around you. 

“They didn’t like what I was doing. They needed to get rid of me. They needed to erase everything about me. They wanted to make me disappear. They took everything away from me, y/n… my family, my titles, my name… my identity… who I am...” He suddenly began panting heavily as if he just ran a marathon. At first, you figured it was from the amount of stress that was tumbling within him.

However, when he abruptly pulled you to the side into a dark hallway away from the lively crowds, you knew something was wrong. His footing became ragged and he stumbled all over the place, as if a haze of dizziness settled upon him. His ran another hand through his hair as his head lolled from side to side. Something wasn’t right.

He then suddenly pulled you forward and threw you against the wall. You yelped as your back came in contact with the cold, wooden wall. He then placed both of his hands on each side of your head, trapping you against the wall. Your round eyes bore into his half-lidded, hazy eyes. For a moment, you were afraid he would try to hurt you again, but instead, he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours. 

His hot, ragged breath fanned your face as his head began to lower slightly. As you angled your head to get a better view of his face, you noticed how unfocused and clouded his eyes were, as if he were trapped in a daze. What was going on? What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Was the anxiety of the whole situation getting to him? “Jin…?”

“Y/n…” he sighed, his hands slipping down until they met your shoulders. He then gripped your upper arms, as if he needed something to keep him upright. He inhaled and exhaled for the next few moments, his head dropping slowly before he would force it to rise again. All color to his smooth skin vanished and was now as white as snow. A coating of sweat gathered on his forehead and drops if it ran down his temples and the sides of his face. His hazy eyes finally contact with yours as his eyelids began to sink. “Something… something isn’t right.”

“Yeah, no, I can see that!” you exclaimed, feeling your own anxiety beginning to rise. “What do you need? Water? Air? Damnit, I knew we should’ve brought Hobi with us!”

A sigh escaped his lips as his face slowly contorted into that of pain. “I feel… I feel…” His head flopped to the side before he quickly brought it back up. “I don’t feel so good…” He stumbled for a few moments as if all of the muscles in his legs disappeared. You then saw an emotion flicker in his eyes for a long pause. Desperation. “Help… me…” With that, his eyes rolled to the back of his skull, and he lost all control of his muscles. He tipped forward, his lips brushing against yours for a mere seconds before he dropped to the floor.

You cried out in alarm as your arms shot out and hooked themselves under his armpits, preventing his skull from cracking against the marble floor. A sharp shot of pain ran up your injured arm like lightning, and you let out a loud groan of pain from how your arm throbbed. You groaned more as you strained to keep his body from collapsing as you slowly laid him out on the floor, his head resting against your lap.

Your eyes widened in complete and utter panic as your breathing began as ragged as his just moments before. This was bad. This was really bad. Jin was unconscious. You didn’t have Hoseok to check on him. What if he was dying? Maybe he just had a heart-attack or a stroke or some organ just failed? Your mind raced with a hundred different possibilities as tears began to well up in your eyes. This was all too much. All of the anxiety you faced throughout the night just continued to build up until this very moment where it exploded like a volcano. You couldn’t handle all of this.

A small, choked sob escaped your throat as you looked up toward the exit of the hallway, where a beam of light from where the festivities were still ongoing shone through like a drop of sunlight. Where was everybody? Wasn’t Jungkook supposed to here to prevent this very thing from happening?! Where the bloody hell was Namjoon? You haven’t seen the wanker all night?! And Taehyung? Where was he?!

“Help me! Someone please help me!” you screeched, tears pouring down your cheeks. “My fiancé is unconscious! Please someone help him!” 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, as if all the air in your lungs had suddenly vanished. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t do anything. Was this a panic attack? Were you in the midst of a panic attack? Or were you merely going through shock?

“Help me!!!”

You saw a shadowy figure come through the hallway at the sound of your cry. You instantly recognized the maroon dress and black heels. Ms. Hopkins. Oh thank God someone heard you.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, her eyes as nearly as big as yours. In an instant, she ran back inside and began shouting, although you couldn’t exactly hear what she was yelling. You supposed it was a good thing Jin forced you to socialize.

Your mind drowned out her yelling and the laughter coming from the other room, because all you could focus on was Jin. Despite falling unconscious and collapsing, he looked so peaceful, as if he was only resting from a long day at work. You brushed some of the strands of hair that had fallen into his face and tuck it behind his ear. His beautiful face was only visible by the dim light that poured in from the other room, but you could still make out every feature.

A group of people started to flood the hallway, all concerned with your fiancé’s well-being. You would’ve let them take Jin to the nearest hospital, but what happened in the next moment changed your mind. 

The light coming from the other room suddenly disappeared like someone snuffing out a candle, and everything went pitch black.

Bollocks, it was the blackout. It was time.

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks! Shit! Damnit! This couldn’t have happened at a worse time! The others were expecting either you or Jin to obtain the kobae, and only Namjoon would grab it if either of you were unable to. You had a codeword picked out to let him know that he had to snatch it quickly, but you were unsure if you could notify him in time.

Determination suddenly enveloped your whole being as your anxiety soon began to subside and ebb away. You flew to your feet and left Jin behind for the doctors and nurses to fumble with. You knew this was what Jin would’ve wanted you to do. First, you needed to somehow notified Namjoon that Plan B was in motions, then you needed to find Jungkook and tell him that Jin needs help getting out of here, and finally you needed Taehyung to provide an opening for Namjoon to slip through. Ugh, this wasn’t going to be easy.

You slipped through the doorway leading you to the exhibit once your vision had finally adjusted to the darkness. Everyone was in a complete panic from the sudden lack of slight and were rushing to get out. The guards at each entrance and exit were trying their best to calm the guests down and keep them in the room. However, their methods weren’t exactly proving to be successful.

You wandered through the darkness, once in awhile bumping into the other guests and visitors. You mumbled quick apologies as you tried to look for a familiar face. However, the lack of light was making things very difficult for you. You might as well be wandering around with a blindfold over your eyes.

Okay, this wasn’t working, time to resort to your next option. You lifted your head in the air and cup your hands around your mouth and screamed over the cries and loud voices, “Fire!!!”

You didn’t know exactly why the boys wanted that word to be the codeword, but you figured it was because it would throw the other guests into a bigger panic, causing more mayhem and creating a bigger exit for everyone. And you were right. Everyone began to scream and howl in fright and tried to barrel through the exits with the strength of a cowherd.

Hopefully, Namjoon heard your cries and was already making his way to the kobae. You were praying to God that everything would turn out alright, despite the fact that one of the boys was unconscious in a hallway surrounded by strangers. Speaking of Jin, you needed to find Jungkook as soon as possible. He was the only person available who could carry Jin out of here.

You pushed your way through the crowds, yelling Jungkook’s name over and over again over everyone’s shouting. You stumbled over your heels and decided to kick them off. You were a lot faster without them anyway, and hopefully that meant you could find Jungkook quicker. 

Suddenly an arm shot out and grabbed your upper arm harshly. You yelped and brought your other hand up to smack whoever decided to snag you like a creep. However, before you could plant your palm against the stranger’s face, you were pulled into his chest and his lips were suddenly against your ear. “Y/n, relax, it’s only me.”

Oh thank the Lord. Jungkook.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!” you hissed in reply, itching to smack him anyway. His lips on your ear made you squirm in his grasp. Didn’t this boys know your ears and neck were extremely sensitive?

“I could say the same to you,” he whispered. He pulled his lips away to search for your partner; but when the millionaire was nowhere in sight, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and slight concern. He snapped his head back to you. “Where is hyung?”

“Exactly why I’ve been looking for you!” You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. “Jin is unconscious. I don’t know how, but he’s lying in a hallway and I need you to get him out of here right now.”

Jungkook sputtered in shock as his round eyes widened even further. “What?! What happened?!”

“I don’t know! But you need to get him to Hoseok. Right. Now.”

Jungkook stared at you for a few seconds. Even through the darkness you could see some light softly reflect off of his dark eyes. Any other time, you would’ve found this to be somewhat romantic, string into each other’s eyes, ignoring everything happening around you. However, this wasn’t a romance novel; this was reality. And right now, reality is screaming at you to find Taehyung.

“Go.” You ushered Jungkook toward the hallway you burst from and ran off to find the artist. 

You figured finding Taehyung would be the easiest objective out of the rest, since you knew what he looked like and where he last was, but it turned out the be far more difficult than you expected. Of course Taehyung would turn out to be the most difficult. When wasn’t he difficult?

You bumped into a lady who screamed rather loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention toward her. You wanted to strangle her for being overdramatic, but you just pushed past her and continued trudging through the crowds. When this was all over, you were going to take a much needed bath and relax.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when another hand roughly grabbed you by the shoulder. You weren’t quite as surprised since this just happened seconds ago, after all, you finally found Taehyung. “Taehyung! Finally! Where have you been? I thought you were by the exits!”

“So you do know Kim Taehyung…”

You instantly froze, your blood running cold like ice in your veins. That wasn’t Taehyung.

“Mr. Akimoto…” you gasped. Shite, you needed to get away from him. This could only end in disaster. You tried to rip your shoulder from his grasp, but, man, for an old coot, he had an iron grip.

“You know, I got a report from one of my men that he caught sight of Kim Taehyung in a forest near Darjeeling with a British woman. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this?” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. He was behind the raid? Bollocks, you were right again. This was going to be a disaster. 

When you didn’t answer, he continued venomously, “I should’ve known, and if you’re here with Mr. Kaneki, then that means he’s also apart of this conspiracy.” His slimey voice trailed off as he sighed in disappointment, like a father would when he found out his son got detention again. “Why am I not surprised? It’s a good thing I had him incapacitated then.” His grip tightened on your shoulder to the point that it was becoming painful. “I should’ve had him executed a long time ago.”

Now in the books you’ve been reading lately, when the lady is in the clutches of the antagonist, she usually does one of two things. She either slams the heel of her shoe into his foot and slips away, or she slaps him across the face and makes a dash for it. Now you didn’t have your shoes on anymore, and your good arm was currently in the clutches of Mr. Akimoto, and you really didn’t want to injure your bad arm any further than you already have. So, what could you do?

In the matter of mere moments, your instincts took over again and you did the first thing that came to mind. You brought your knee up and slammed it into the old man’s groin with as much strength as you could muster. Mr. Akimoto yelled in pain and instantly released your arm. You had to admit, it felt really good to finally cause the man some pain.

You ran away from the Japanese official before he or any of his men could grab you again. In a flash, you decided to abandon your quest to find Taehyung. Instead, you raised your head once more and shouted, “Door three!” You noticed that that door had the least amount of congestion from the crowds of people and would provide Namjoon with the perfect escape. You prayed again that Taehyung heard you and was already on his way to take care of the guard.

You knew that the demolition expert told you to signal him subtly, but… subtlety be damned! You needed to get out with Jin right now before you got killed by the Japanese! 

You rushed back to the hallway, lifting up your skirts as your bare feet padded against the stone floor. Your heart pounded in your chest from all the running you’ve been doing these past few minutes. You slipped through the doorway and almost collided into the man you just ran into minutes prior from this whole catastrophe. You yelped and grasped at the man’s shirt until you realized you were tugging onto Jungkook. “Oh thank God, did you find Jin?” you demanded. However, your question was instantly answered when you noticed a large lump thrown over Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“Yes, yes, he’s right here!” Jungkook replied and took a step around you, trying to slip back into the exhibits.

“Wait! Jungkook!” You tugged him by the shirt once more and dragged him back into the hallway. You couldn’t go back out there, not with Mr. Akimoto searching for your blood! “No, no, no! We’re going this way!” 

Jungkook stammered as he was yanked back into the dark hallway. “But the plan-!”

“To hell with the plan! That Japanese wanker is out there trying to kill us! We need another way out!” you argued, searching through the darkness for a door. 

“My pocket!” Jungkook jutted out his hip toward you, and you stood there in confusion for a few seconds. “There should be a lighter in there.”

“Thank God you’re so prepared,” you sighed in relief before shoving your hand down his pocket. Normally, you would’ve flushed at the thought of putting your hand in his pocket, but right now you could care less. The situation was dire, and you needed light.

Once your hand came into contact with metal, you pulled your hand out in flash and opened up the lighter before repeatedly pushing down on the flint, watching sparks shoot out in every direction, before a small flame finally came into existence. You could’ve cried from joy in that moment, but you knew you needed to focus on the task at hand. 

“And then there was light,” you lightly joked. What, someone needed to make the jokes since Jin couldn’t at the moment. Once you saw the annoyed look on Jungkook’s face, you cleared your throat awkwardly and said, “Okay, let’s try to find another exit.”

You began to walk away when Jungkook responded, “I looked at some of the maps with Yoongi when he was studying the building’s wiring. I think I know of an exit around here somewhere.”

“Jungkook, you are a godsend.” You thanked to whoever was listening in that moment that Jungkook was at your side. Otherwise you would’ve been wandering around these halls with an unconscious Jin until the police found you and arrested the both of you.

“I know I am. Anyway, I think we need to turn left.”

You followed Jungkook’s instructions and went down every hall he directed you. To be honest, you wondered for a few seconds if Jungkook was as equally lost as you were. You only wondered this because every hallway looked exactly like the previous three that you all walked down. All the halls has white wallpaper with Victorian looking furniture and adornments on the sides. 

Chills ran down your spine as you walked down the silent and dark hallways with only a small, warm flame to guide your path. You didn’t know why, but walking down these halls made you feel as if you were in some horror genre book that you loved to read. At any moment, you felt like someone or something was ready to pop out and scare you.

And someone did pop out indeed.

As you made a turn to the right according to Jungkook’s instructions, your face almost ran smack into another chest. You yelped and jumped back, ready to scold whoever decided to scare you like that. However, your heart lurched to your throat when you recognized the man to be one of the men who was as Mr. Akimoto’s side. He must’ve been sent by the old snake to track you down and kill you, because in that moment he brandished a knife, the cold metal reflecting the warm light in silver gleams.

However, before he could make a move against you, all of your logic and reason were thrown out the nearest window. You decked the man straight in the jaw as hard as you could before your mind could even process what you were doing. You heard a satisfying crack in the man’s jaw before he collapsed to the floor with a groan. Bloody hell, you seemed to be getting used to all of this action.

You turned around to face Jungkook, who was staring at you with round, rabbit-like eyes. His jaw went slack at the display before him, as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes just saw. You also stood there dumbfounded for a few moments, your hand still clenched tightly into a hard fist. “I think the adrenaline is still rushing through me,” you remarked a little too calmly, despite your shocked expression.

“Yeah, I’d say,” he replied before ushering you along the final hallway.

You practically ran to the door before you and flung it open with all of your strength. Cool air hit your hot skin as if someone dumped a bucket of icy cold water onto you. It was a nice refresher from all of the chaos you just endured. However, you couldn’t take the moment to appreciate the cool night air, because you needed to get into the getaway van as soon as possible. You just hoped that it happened to be somewhere nearby and not a block away. That would be the cherry on top…

“Jimin should’ve taken care of the guards that are around here…” Your voice trailed off as your eyes located an unconscious body lying in the nearby bushes. Sure enough, Jimin did his part of the job and he did it according to what everyone agreed, unlike a certain someone.

“Yeah, but where’s the van?” Jungkook demanded, his head whipping around to locate the black van just as Yoongi described.

Damnit, Yoongi, where was the van? You looked around as well, your nerves suddenly shooting off again for what seemed to be the millionth time that night. “It should be right around… there!” You jabbed a finger when your eyes finally landed upon the sleek, black van parked a few meters away from the commotion that was going on in the museum.

Jungkook nodded and quickly readjusted Jin on his shoulder so that he wouldn;t fall off accidentally. “Alright, let’s get moving, now.”

You didn’t question him as you ran as fast as your legs could carry you to the van, ignoring the shooting pains in your feet from the rough surface that was digging into the soft, tender padding underneath. All you cared about, besides Jungkook and Jin’s safety, was getting into that van as fast as humanly possible.

When finally reached the van, you ripped the back doors open and threw yourself in, not caring about the people you landed on. You practically crawled inside as Jungkook settled Jin on the van floor carefully before quickly scurrying inside. A chorus of concerned voices rang out as they saw Jin’s body before them, demanding what happened and if he was alright. Hoseok, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat, hopped to the back to get to work on Jin, his medical bag already at his side and opened up. 

You placed a hand over your heart as you finally began to settle down. Your body had been going through constant anxiety for hours, and now that it was all over. You could finally relax. However, you began to notice that all of this constant panic and anxiety had taken a toll on your body. For as soon as you began to calm down, your vision soon started to darken. You supposed this was your body’s way of telling you that it was shutting down from all the excitement and that you needed rest.

“Y/n…? Are you alright?” you recognized Namjoon’s voice asked you.

You would’ve given the historian a piece of your mind for disappearing the entire night, but you were far too exhausted to bring yourself to do so. Maybe you would do it once you had the energy to. Instead, you weakly raised you head, looked him straight in the eyes with such earnestness, and said, “Never. Again.”

With that, you slouched back into your seat and passed out, letting the comforting darkness overtake you.

[belphegor1982]

Aaand this will be the last chapter until next February or March. BUT. There will be new chapters in February or March, come rain, sleet, snow, or frogs and locusts. So, there’s that.

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested… (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15)

Chapter 16: Underture (on AO3 here)

To say Evelyn O’Connell felt a little out of place would have been an understatement, albeit a small one.

She had helped Izzy land his dirigible in the middle of the Medjai camp, downed her supper without really stopping to appreciate the taste or even acknowledge what it was she was eating, and now she was left to her own devices while everyone got ready. This was a situation she was not at all accustomed to. She was a librarian, an Egyptologist, a scientist of ancient history, a problem-solver. Right now, though, she did not know exactly where she should be and what she should, or even could, do. This state of forced uncertainty was unbearable.

The sun was going down on Egypt in the truly spectacular way that was unique to the place. There was something both sharp and mellow to the light, the way it appeared to envelop everything in bright gold like gift wrap around a Christmas present. Of course, the fact that this particular present included gleaming scimitars and machine guns made the whole thing feel a little bit bizarre.

Nobody seemed to pay any mind to the rich light, despite the definite possibility that at least some of the Medjai in the camp would not live to see the sun come up again if Hamilton was even partly successful. Everyone was walking among or in and out of the tents, looking determined and purposeful.

This especially made Evelyn O’Connell feel out of place.

There was also the fact that, ever since sunrise, she had been unable to get rid of a lingering anxiety, as though lead was slowly but surely settling into the pit of her stomach. She wondered whether this was anything like the ‘weird feeling’ Rick claimed to have whenever she was about to read books she shouldn’t read aloud or open chests she shouldn’t open. If it was, then she made a note to listen to him a little bit more in the future. This kind of feeling certainly was difficult to ignore.

Maybe the sight – the sheer stench, rather – of the still glowing remnants of the lorry they had found had brought this anxiety. It had been such a relief to hear Ardeth say that nobody had been inside when it blew up. Evy was not at all squeamish around thousand-years-old mummified corpses, but when it came down to facing the possible loss of one or two of the men she loved most and in such horrific circumstances… Well, suffice it to say that for a closer look she had waited until Ardeth was absolutely positive that there was no gory remains to stare her in the face and impress upon her how spectacularly she had failed them. If he was aware of her repugnance and the reason behind it, he tactfully avoided to mention it.

As for why that lorry had blown up, there were only three possibilities that held water: either the Chamber of Horus – as Sheikh al-Nazar had said the name of the organisation Thomas Ferguson worked for was – had set fire to their own vehicle, and that was illogical; or else Rick and Jonathan were the ones who somehow managed to blow it up, and that was probable; or else it had been an accident, which was not impossible (since nobody had been in it the lorry must have been stationary, thus not creating any spark) but improbable.

Whatever had happened, Charles Hamilton and his men had waltzed off, taking the two prisoners with them.

Needless to say, Alex had waited for his mother and Ardeth with barely concealed agitation. He was stamping his foot with impatience and almost shaking when they had got back on the dirigible. And had let out a suppressed but still perfectly audible ‘Whew!’ when Evelyn had told him that the explosion hadn’t made any victim.

They had reached the Medjai camp by sunset.

Evy had not quite expected this. She had thought they were going to an appointed place where the leaders of the Twelve Tribes Ardeth had told her about could join them – a sort of war camp with a few tents and some poles to tie the camels to.

She frankly had not expected the children to be there.

The women had not been a surprise1. The Medjai were warriors and scholars, often at the same time, men and women both. The descendants of the Pharaohs’ personal guard, they had to use every set of arms they could get to protect Hamunaptra and other places, less well-known and only slightly less dangerous. As Evelyn had understood it, they had come close to dying down around around the 4th Century; it was then, more or less, that they had created the position of High Commander, to bring all tribes together in an hour of need. About a third of those had been women, as were about half of the current Elders. This had surprised Evy at first. After all, in England women only obtained the right to vote about ten years ago – why, they still didn’t have it in France, their nearest neighbour.

But war was not for children. And yet there they were, helping with menial work, taking care of the animals, or playing hide-and-seek among the tents.

Alex had gone off exploring after she had made him swear that he would not get into anyone’s way or start any mischief. She knew her son to be fairly well-behaved around even relative strangers when he had a mind to, but she also was very much aware that, when nervous, he had something of a propensity to trigger catastrophes without the slightest malicious intent.

This had amused Rick to no end when Evy first pointed it out innocently. Of course, he had teased her mercilessly about this, pretending to wonder ‘who he had gotten it from’. She had huffed, pointedly ignoring the memory of the mighty shambles their eight year old son had single-handedly caused at the temple where they had found the Bracelet of Anubis.

Of course, Jonathan had roared with laughter when Rick had told him about the whole pillar business. And, considering the way Alex had so quickly lost all remorse and had kept grinning at her afterwards, there was absolutely no doubt that his uncle had been sharing with him a story or two about Evelyn’s frequent little bouts of clumsiness during her time as the librarian of the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities. And she would willingly have bet her beloved small stone painting of Hatshepsut that stood on her bedside table that at least one of the stories Jonathan had told his nephew was about her accidentally knocking down all the bookshelves of the Cairo Museum library.

Honestly, those three…

The reality of the situation came back to her with such force it felt like being splashed in the face with icy water. She had to get them back. She just had to. The alternative was simply unimaginable.

Evy started when someone spoke to her and relaxed when she recognised the voice.

“We are ready to begin the meeting,” Ardeth said, his tone serious but friendly. She nodded and stood up, dusting herself off and smoothing her rumpled clothes as best as she could. Although a few of the people she was about to meet knew her already, she thought it best to try to make a good impression – and, truth to be told, she did feel a little nervous. After all, it was up to the Council of Elders to decide what the Medjai’s course of action was going to be in the next hours.

It was very considerate of Ardeth, really, to fetch her himself while as the High Commander he could, maybe even should have sent someone.

Alex was currently engaged in lively discussion with a slightly younger girl Evelyn recognised as Maira, Ardeth’s eldest. The conversation was in two languages and backed by a good deal of gestures, as neither exactly mastered the other’s language. This did not seem to deter them, Evy noticed amusedly, and it was on this slightly cheerful note that she stepped into a large tent after Ardeth, who courteously drew back the canvas to let her pass.

The inside of the tent was well enough lit, with rich colours and comfortable-looking cushions strewn in a circle. The entire Council were seated there, all members looking up when Ardeth and Evelyn entered. She bowed respectfully, and many gave her an answering bow of their head in acknowledgement.

“Sit down, Evelyn O’Connell,” said the oldest Elder, Fatheya, a deceptively frail-looking old woman sitting in front of the entrance. “We were just about to start.”

Evy sat down on unoccupied cushions beside Ardeth, who cast a last sweeping glance at the people in the tent before joining her.

“First of all,” he said, “let me remind all of you –” here he looked at everyone in turn, but Evelyn had the fleeting impression that he lingered half a second’s time on her in particular “– that everything you have to say will be taken in consideration. Just remember that time is of the essence and we should make the most of the moments we have left. Elder Atef, I believe you have a suggestion.”

Elder Atef’s face was sharp, his eyes beady, and when he spoke there was a controlled sort of urgency in his voice. “Indeed I do. Commander, I know that the attack two days ago failed, and I believe I understand the reasons of this failure. But couldn’t we organise another, maybe stealthier attack, that would strike down their leader and cancel the whole operation?”

Evelyn listened with rapt attention, grateful for the use of English – for her benefit, no doubt – and found herself rather in agreement with him. Anything that could stop the search party from entering the Pyramid sounded good in her book, especially since it was only a matter of hours before the complete and utter destruction of Ahm Shere.

But Ardeth shook his head.

“I have sent scouts ahead for the past two days, with instructions to look for any weakness. Unfortunately, Hamilton now constantly keeps men close enough to him that we can’t attack from afar. To get to him would mean first getting through them, and we’ve already tried just that.”

There was a silence, during which Evelyn thought about the Medjai’s last attempt to ‘get to’ Hamilton. Ardeth had parted very reluctantly with enough bits of information for her to put together the jigsaw of that night. The skirmish had abruptly ended when Rick – always one to grab an opportunity when he saw it, he’d been right in the middle of the fray – had failed to stop Hamilton from bringing down a gun on the side of his head. The Englishman had cocked his gun and stared at Ardeth, fully aware of who he was, what he was, and ready to gamble everything on the basis that the Medjai would not risk getting O’Connell killed.

And that gamble had proved successful. Evelyn wondered what had been Ardeth’s thoughts after this, and wondered about the Elders and the Chieftains, as well. She had known, without a doubt, that Ardeth was the kind of man to lay down his life for the people he considered friends, and that thought very much humbled her. But what really shook her was the knowledge that he was also willing to risk the success of a mission and the responsibilities he had as the High Commander of the Medjai for the life of one of them.

That fact, when you knew Ardeth Bay as Evelyn knew him, was earth-shattering. Apparently his authority hadn’t seemed to weaken since that night, but she kept a close watch on the interactions between Elders and Commander all the same.

The turn had come for Pyhia, one of the youngest Elders – barely fifty or fifty-five years old – to speak out.

“Yet there is surely something we can do – we must. As we speak Hamilton is entering Ahm Shere with his men, and within hours, he will have raised the Army of Anubis. Is there nothing the Medjai can do but stand tall against the jackals from the ancient hells?”

Pyhia was one of the Elders that Evelyn knew best. Despite being comparatively young, she often used a convoluted phrasing that was often confusing, both in Arabic and English. However, behind the formal words was a question bordering on insolence: in short, were the Medjai only good for battling against Anubis’ Army and useless for any other, more elaborate, plan?

A whisper ran through the tent, but Ardeth raised his hands immediately. A hush fell despite some mild glares thrown in Pyhia’s direction.

“Please, Elders, now is not the time for sterile arguing. Elder Pyhia, is there some action in particular you would suggest we take?”

“Indeed, Commander. Our topmost priority should be sending a party to overpower the men Hamilton might have left outside the pyramid to guard their camp. It would give us a mighty advantage should they come out again.”

‘Should they come out again’… Evelyn couldn’t repress a shudder. She was fully aware that considering every possibility was the rational, reasonable thing to do, but for once she absolutely refused to think in the rational, reasonable way. There was only one outcome to consider seriously, and this was Rick and Jonathan both coming out of the pyramid alive. Unscathed as well would be absolutely splendid.

This made Evelyn shake her head at herself. Maybe not thinking in that blasted rational, reasonable way was a mistake on her part.

Thing was, try as she may to force herself to contemplate a grimmer alternative for logic’s sake, it failed every time.

Ardeth nodded, and Evelyn wrenched her mind back to the situation at hand.

“This is a very sound proposition indeed, Elder Pyhia. I suggest Maher of the Fourth Tribe for this mission – he and his team are especially trained in stealth combat. Given the number of men Hamilton has placed there, Maher’s men should overpower them without unnecessary bloodshed.”

This everybody seemed to approve of, and if the way the Elders began shifting in their seats and gathering their things was anything to judge by, the meeting was nearly over. But Ardeth raised a hand, and everything stilled.

“Evelyn, I hope you are aware that you are absolutely free to make a suggestion. Is there anything you wish to say?”

Evy bit her lip, then cleared her throat. She didn’t think she would sound entirely convincing if the first sound that came out of her mouth was a strangled squeak.

“Yes, there is,” she said with as much calm and composure she could muster. “Commander, I know that the men you will send to Hamilton’s camp are skilled fighters, and I am perfectly aware that the Medjai are undefeated on the battlefield, but –” Here she stopped for a second, because for all the respect she had for the Elders, she did not appreciate the two or three definite sniggers she guessed rather than heard. She let her face naturally assume the stern, scolding expression she often wore when Alex (or Jonathan, for that matter) clearly was not listening to a lecture. Just because most of these men and women knew just how aware she was, having faced and been defeated by the Medjai twice in her time, didn’t mean they had to rub it in her face.

There was something of an awkward pause. Evelyn did not dare look at Ardeth, who if she knew him at all probably had an amused smile dancing in his eyes.

“– But if we want Hamilton’s plan to fail, we should not be fighting only his men and the Army of Anubis if he does manage to raise it.” She took a deep breath. “We need someone to go down into the Pyramid of Ahm Shere as well and try to stop him. I volunteer for this task.”

The whispers that filled the tent made the stir caused by Pyhia’s earlier remark sound like a mere ripple. Before Ardeth could react, Elder Raneb, a very fat man with hard features, stared at Evelyn full in the face and spoke to her. Both were sort of unusual for him.

“What on earth could make you believe that the Medjai would not be fit for this kind of mission? I know what you have in mind – you would take the glory for yourself and let the Medjai be slaughtered, when it is you and your kind who have brought danger back to the desert with the Diamond of Ahm Shere!”

This caused an uproar. Most of the Elders sprang, shuffled or waddled to their feet and hurled expletives at Raneb, who stuck out his three chins mulishly, his cold eyes fixed on Evelyn.

She felt every muscle in her body tense, but held out his stare silently.

This was nothing new. She’d had to deal with minds like that all her life. Whether it was because she was a woman or because of her Egyptian mother, some people made their contempt towards her very clear. ‘The mongrel bitch’ and ‘that jumped-up little upstart’ were some of the nicer nicknames she had heard herself referred as throughout her childhood and her university days. For these people, the world was arranged in a stricter classification than the Dewey system, and if you didn’t belong in their category, you had better keep your mouth shut and your head down. Evelyn had long decided that crying herself to sleep every night probably would not help matters, and pointedly kept her back straight and her chin up as much as she could. She had followed her passion, she had learned and studied, and talked to anybody who would listen, mostly Jonathan, who occasionally dealt with nonsense of his own and always had an ear ready for her.

Being called ‘your kind’ in a tone of voice usually reserved for words like ‘filth’ or ‘scum’ is never pleasant. Someone insulting her English heritage turned out just as upsetting as someone insulting her Egyptian heritage.

The heated exchanges settled down to a tense hush when Ardeth finally silenced the tent, his eyes blazing.

“That is quite enough! Elder Raneb, I will not have Medjai Elders disrespecting a guest, particularly a guest as honoured as Evelyn O’Connell is. Besides, she and hers bear absolutely no responsibility in what is happening.”

“Yet you cannot deny that the Diamond of Ahm Shere would not have been stolen if it hadn’t been for those foreigners!” the old man snapped, still glaring at Evelyn.

“Raneb, you are acting just as some of the foreigners you hate so much,” came the placid voice of Fatheya, the oldest Elder. “You know, those who cannot and will not be bothered to distinguish one Arab from another.” She leaned towards him, exhaling smoke from her hookah as she said with the shadow of a very wrinkled smile, “In other words, you are an idiot.”

Elder Raneb stiffened, but remained silent. Fatheya turned her startlingly green eyes on Evelyn, who gave a strained nod in acknowledgement.

“Thank you,” Evelyn mouthed rather than said.

Then she straightened up, her head still held high. “I feel I cannot express upon you how much I don’t care for glory,” she said in slow, halting, but grammatically correct Arabic. Although she spoke at the entire Council she could see a few heads turn inconspicuously towards Elder Raneb. “If anyone here has doubts about my loyalties, they should do well to remember that Hamilton is keeping my husband and my brother hostage and will not hesitate to kill them if he feels it necessary.”

She was proud that she managed to keep her voice from shaking and her pronunciation accurate, except for the last sentence, on which she couldn’t help but trip. All eyes were on her. She turned to Ardeth.

Of course, she knew how she could plead her case. She could appeal to his feelings, say that she should be the one to enter the pyramid because it was nobody else’s husband and brother down there… But she’d feel like betraying herself. Evelyn O’Connell did not appeal to anyone’s feelings to obtain something. She did so by being the right person for the job.

So she bored into the jet-black eyes and said levelly, “I am the only person in this tent who has been inside the Pyramid of Ahm Shere. Nobody else would know what to expect or where to go.”

Ardeth looked at her intently, and gave a serious nod.

“Has anyone got something else to say?” he asked in English. Nobody moved a muscle and jaws remained shut.

“All right. Then we are sending Maher’s people to cover the ground around the Pyramid of Ahm Shere, I will lead the rest of the men nearby for the eventuality of a return of the Army of Anubis, and Evelyn will go inside for a direct stealth attack on Hamilton. Council dismissed.”

He bowed where he stood and left the tent. Evelyn followed him.

When she was certain nobody was watching her except Ardeth, her muscles relaxed as one and she let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” said Ardeth, “about Raneb. He never fails to make things… difficult.”

“Don’t be. I’ve heard far worse occasionally, growing up in England.” A cool breeze made her shiver. “Do you think a mortal can really control the Army of Anubis?”

“No, I don’t.” In the quickly fading twilight, Ardeth looked tired, the tension and lack of sleep finally catching up with him. “Anubis does not like it when mortals meddle in the gods’ affairs. That’s why his gifts are double-edged swords. If Hamilton does what he intends to do, it will be Anubis who will control the creatures, not him. He will simply be a tool.”

“What would it take to stop Anubis’ army, then?” asked Evelyn, her heart plummeting in her chest.

Ardeth appeared pensive. “In theory, Hamilton’s mind leaving his body. Nothing short of that would break the link.”

“Death, then.”

“My friend,” said Ardeth gravely, “you and I both know there are fates worse than death.”

He nodded at her and walked away to get ready, leaving her with a lot on her mind.

Night had fallen during the meeting, bringing a radical change in temperatures. Fires had been lit throughout the camp to light the way, and every square inch of it was buzzing with an anticipation such as Evelyn had seldom felt before. She had been young when the Great War had started, but there was something in the air that reminded her in a very striking way of the end of that particular summer. It was as though everything – what she was about to do, the choices she would have to make – everything could become a possibility to change History still about to unfold. At the same time, she felt that she and her actions were utterly insignificant, something trivial that was about to be ground by History in motion. The great big void that swallowed people, and spat out the names, as her father would say when he was feeling depressed (generally about the lack of knowledge about Ancient Egypt).

That’s why we do what we do. So History remembers us as people, not names and dates.

But it’s only people who properly remember people, had once pointed out a seven-year old Evelyn.

People.

Her father had laughed, closed the book he had been reading and ruffled her hair. Then he had changed the subject.

Evelyn shook her head, allowing some of the tension that had been piling up for the last few hours to ease suddenly as she smiled a little.

I’m doing this for Rick and Jonathan and Alex, she thought, and this is well enough for me.

History can have the rest.

.⅋.

Tom had never set foot in a jungle before, but he had read books about it. Most authors, he suspected, bragged and boasted and were oh-so-slightly untruthful about the reality of the situation. He had figured early on that, if there was really any truth in those pages, there would hardly be any tigers left in India, for one thing.

A few points all authors agreed on seemed to be rooted in truth: the stifling heat, made all the worse by the heavy dampness of the air, the impression that the very oxygen was getting rarer as you trudged on through the leaves… But the thing that came up most often was the ever-present sensation of being watched. Your every move, every word, every breath… Every single small thing you did seemed to be under careful, constant surveillance.

It was very unnerving.

Tom clearly wasn’t the only one to feel that way, although the others’ reactions were all different. Most agents huddled together, clutching their weapons and throwing nervous glances over their shoulders from time to time. Some tried to look relaxed, and failed.

The most interesting to watch was O’Connell. Tom could vaguely recall Jon telling him at one point that the American used to be in the Foreign Legion many years ago; now it was obvious in his stance, his walk, the way his eyes scanned every dark corner before taking a step… He didn’t look all nervous and scared like so many agents did – well, truthfully, kind of like Tom himself felt – but rather wary and aware of his surroundings. There was something deceptively relaxed and calm as well. It seemed to stem directly from instinct, and was probably helped by the fact that, unlike everybody else (except Jon) he had actually already been in that pyramid – and got out alive. Even though the inside of it did not match Jon’s description at all.

The atmosphere was damp, dark and thick. They literally had to hack their way through the enormous leaves and lianas sometimes. The plants were everywhere, creeping up the walls, intertwined around the columns, forming a thick, mostly dark green cocoon all around them. The condensation sometimes made droplets of what Tom hoped was water fall from the ceiling, wherever and whatever the ceiling was. It also made people jump out of their skin every time some tepid liquid dripped on their heads or shoulders, which made Tom wish very hard everybody would just take their fingers off the trigger of their guns before something horrible, definitive, and entirely non-supernatural happened.

At times they could make out in the light of the electric torches the sudden glint of gold through the foliage, or the hint of another, bigger room beyond the green wall. They passed it silently, without stopping. There was barely any conversation between the men apart from a few whispers.

They all followed Hamilton, who followed O’Connell. What O’Connell himself was following – his memory or his imagination – was anyone’s guess.

Tom couldn’t help but jump when he heard a mutter from somewhere to his immediate right, “Place has changed a bit, hasn’t it.”

Peering through the occasional holes in darkness created by the electric torches, he could make out Jon’s face, his eyes resolutely staring in front of him at the black hole that was going to be their path in seconds. Even with the lack of light he could see that the usually slightly slanted eyes had gone a bit rounder, and his jaw was clenched a bit tight.

“I guess,” he replied uncertainly, falling into step with him. “First-timer, remember? This looks more like the jungle around the pyramid you told me about. With the – dead soldiers and stuff.”

“Yeah… Well. Did I tell you about other, er… stuff?”

“What? The blokes in red who wanted to grab the Bracelet of Anubis and kill your nephew?”

“N—no… The other other stuff. That could still be around. The – the pygmy mummies.”

“What?!”

Tom stared and almost stopped in his tracks. Jon looked dead serious.

“You are joking, right?”

“Ha. I wish. Rotten little bastards.”

“What are they?”

“Guardians of the jungle of some sort. They jump on you with no warning, with blowpipes and the sharpest, nastiest little knives – I even saw one spear a guy.”

“Blimey! What with?”

“A spear, I think.”

“Oh.”

“Right.”

Tom threw a somewhat nervous glance at the forest around them. Suddenly it seemed to rustle with malevolent life and odd noises. He was suddenly aware that his already clammy hands were starting to shake. “So… How d’you kill them?”

Jon jerked his head towards Tom’s gun that he kept in a holster swung over his shoulder.

“Blowing them up with dynamite rather does the trick too,” he added. “Oh, and a shotgun too, according to Rick. The results were just as messy, too.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, Imhotep seemed to make them back away, but other that that…”

Tom shook his head with a grim smile he was pretty sure no-one could see.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where that thing landed, now, would you? After all, you were one of the very last people to use – to – to know where it was.”

He saw Jon’s pointed look when his face caught the light of the torch the agent behind him – Becker, a hefty fellow with a bushy beard and a thorough mind – was holding. His friend hadn’t talked in length about his first interview with Hamilton, but he had been clear about some specific things he had voluntarily left out.

Even though Tom wasn’t sure he entirely believed that particular part of the story – the ‘resurrection’ part – he was not going to argue about keeping things from Hamilton. Not after he’d watched and listened to his own boss talk about killing thousands of people as collateral damage and asserting, in horrible calm honesty, that it was for the greater good.

Admittedly, Tom reasoned, having doubts about Evelyn O’Connell coming back from a deadly knife wound while not having problems with accepting a three-thousand-years-dead mummy being raised from the dead was a little bit inconsistent of him. Maybe it was because he had seen Mrs O’Connell, talked to her. The fact that this lively, smiling, essentially alive woman had actually been dead, even for a few minutes, was hard to process.

And this no matter what Jon said. It was a gut thing.

The Southerner shook his head wryly.

“To tell the truth, I completely forgot about it once we got Evy back. I guess it stayed wherever Alex left it and got lost somewhere in that jungle.”

“You didn’t find it on your way out? Because I thought, you know, someone could have picked it up then. After all, it is priceless. One of the most famous books in history – at least Egyptian history.”

Jon actually stopped in his tracks and stared at him with an odd look on his face. Then he shook his head and walked on with a shrug.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know whether we even would have picked it up on our way out. It got pretty frantic down there, we just wanted to get the hell out. Besides, that book is bad news, my friend.”

“Thought you and your nephew resurrected your sister with it.”

“That’s beside the point. Of course I’m glad Evy didn’t… Bloody hell, ‘glad’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. But that book also brought old Imhotep back. Twice. Granted, the second time we didn’t get the whole locusts, bugs and boils and sores business, but…”

Jon’s voice trailed off, and Tom nodded. His point was a bit unclear, but the Liverpudlian reckoned he got it.

Still… It was a shame.

Lost in his musings, Tom didn’t see that the party had stopped until he almost bumped into Agent Bennett’s back. Being taller than him, he stared over his head at what had brought this sudden stop.

The two agents watching O’Connell (and protecting Hamilton, no doubt) had hacked a fork in the road clear of branches, and everyone was now peering through the darkness at the double path.

“Well?” Tom heard Hamilton mutter impatiently. Maybe the atmosphere was finally getting on his boss’ cold steel nerves, after all. His voice came as a mere whisper. “Which way?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told about our last happy family trip to this place,” O’Connell deadpanned, “but I wasn’t particularly thinking of lining the path with white pebbles. I didn’t even come in that way.”

“I realise that. But do you have any idea as to the path we should take right now?”

In the crossed rays of the electric torches what little of O’Connell’s face Tom could see looked grim and set.

“Yeah, we should turn around and get the hell out of here before we’re all dead.”

Tom could suddenly sense tension rise higher among the agents around him. The American’s voice had been low, but firm and utterly devoid of any irony or jokey element. He was simply stating a fact.

There was no doubt that he had been aware of voicing some of the silent anxiety that had gripped most of the men since they had set foot in that pyramid. Granted, Tom hadn’t known O’Connell for that long a time, but it was obvious that the guy was anything but dumb. The Englishman could easily assess the cleverness of the seemingly casual remark.

Whispers ran all through the back of the group, and they gradually travelled up to the front, one agent at a time. Even if O’Connell hadn’t actually heard what they were about, he was smart enough to pick up on the atmosphere and encourage the doubts some of the men appeared to be growing.

Of course, those doubts didn’t fit Hamilton’s plans at all. Tom caught his boss glancing briefly in Baine’s direction, and the agent pushed back his jacket, leaving the butt of his gun exposed. He heard Jon gulp in the dark near him.

“Unfortunately for you,” Hamilton growled, white teeth gleaming in the erratic light, “this has never been an option. What always has been, however, is the possibility that I might grow bored of your deplorable lack of manners. So either you help us onwards, or I may just ask Agent Baine here to –”

Tom felt someone brush past him and realised with a start that Jon had pushed his way to the front of the group. Jon stopped and just stood there, his hands in his pockets in a would-be casual fashion.

“You’ve got to go right,” he said, his voice unsteady but standing his ground. Both Hamilton and O’Connell turned to him, both faces displaying different shades of surprise.

“How do you know that, pray tell?” Hamilton asked, not bothering to keep the disdain from his tone. It dripped like melting water from an icicle. Jon shrugged, apparently unfazed. Tom, who knew him, knew better.

“I’ve been inside that bloody pyramid too, if you’ve not forgotten. And it so happens we – I – this is the way we came in from. I mean, I recognise this corridor. I reckon that if you cut away the greenery on this wall here there’ll be hieroglyphics that mean ‘This way to the Scorpion King’.”

The boss made a sign, and his two bodyguards raised their machetes and hacked at the vegetation covering the wall in front of them. When they had uncovered a few symbols, Hamilton turned back to Jon with something new on his face. Tom decided he didn’t like at all the way his grey eyes started to gleam.

���Well! We may finally have found a use for you, mister ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time’. I can’t deny I’m somewhat surprised.”

“You’d be even more surprised at the things I picked up,” Jon retorted with what he probably thought was a sly grin. Actually, it came off more as a grim sort of wince. Tom had known that one for a very long time. It never fooled him, even back then.

Hamilton eyed him for a couple of seconds, then moved onwards, turning right; everybody followed, O’Connell muttering “Hey, quit that” when Bennett poked him in the small of the back with his gun. To Tom’s surprise, the agent looked almost apologetic as he hastily put the gun away and, thankfully, took his finger off the trigger.

“So,” Tom heard O’Connell whisper to Jon, who looked slightly green – unless it was a trick of the light, or lack thereof. “When’d you get the time to brush up on your Ancient Egyptian reading skills?”

“I was gonna ask the same question,” Tom piped in, highly curious. “Does it really say ‘That way to the –’”

“I didn’t, and yes,” Jon answered in a low, still slightly shaky voice, glancing uneasily at Bennett and Norton who were walking nearby, watching the three of them. “But I didn’t translate that. Alex did – that time. The three of us walked past it, on our way to… You know.”

“Yeah,” O’Connell said, his low baritone a bit rough round the edges.

“The ‘three’ of – oh. Right.” Tom cleared his throat and asked, a tiny bit awkwardly, “Well, is there anything you remember that might come in handy? Can you still read hieroglyphics?”

“Not as well as I used to,” Jon replied with a shrug. Then he added fervently, “But I’ll never forget that bloody Ahmenophus stork thing now. I’m likely to remember that one as long as I live.”

“Why? What does it mean?”

Jon stood still for a second, then he stared at O’Connell and Tom, who stared back, puzzled. Then something passed into his eyes, and his face relaxed.

“Do you know,” he said, with a shake of his head and a small but genuine smile this time, “I really haven’t got a clue.”

A low chuckle escaped O’Connell, and Tom let out something halfway between a sigh and a small, shaky laugh. There was something that he was missing here, clearly, but it didn’t matter right now. Not really. Not when a tiny fraction of the cold, gripping apprehension that had been clutching at his gut ever since they entered the pyramid had been lifted, even for a second. He tugged at the straps of his rucksack and fell into step with the two brothers-in-law just as O’Connell asked, his voice almost normal, “You don’t give a damn about the meaning of that symbol really, right?

“How did you know?”

.⅋.

“Look, lady, I’m not so sure about this.”

“And you choose this precise moment to inform me?”

Not letting go of Dee’s helm, Izzy turned his head towards Mrs O’Connell, a bit puzzled at the quiet laugh behind the seemingly biting remark. He had been expecting irony, or worse, sarcasm. But there was the hint of a smile on her lips.

“So… Remind me again. We are goin’ under to – to do what, exactly? Apart from probably gettin’ shot, I mean.”

She threw him a pointed look, but didn’t pick on the remark. Instead, she put down the whetstone and the short sword that the Medjai chief guy had given her and explained with a slow, deliberate voice.

“We are going down into the pyramid to stop a man named Charles Hamilton from summoning the Army of Anubis, because if he is successful in that, he will destroy the world.”

“Right. Okay. I still don’t get it.”

He caught her disbelieving stare for a second, then her face kind of slackened a little bit and she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, this is not so hard to process, you just –”

“No, no – I get the ‘The Earth is doomed and someone’s got to save the world’ part. But I still don’t understand why we gotta do the saving. I mean, it’s not like it’s your fault or something, right?”

She didn’t answer that right away and her gaze drifted off a little, and he wondered whether he’d blurted out exactly the wrong thing. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“It isn’t, right?”

Well, he’d heard stories. People talked, on long journeys. Most customers found the silence of the open desert sky so daunting and empty they quickly got the urge to fill it with words. And sometimes Izzy listened. If half the stories about Evelyn Carnahan O’Connell were true, the woman had – granted, with some help – had a hand in raising each and every single mummy buried in Egypt2.

This was probably a cartload of bull, but after the nasty business with the wall of water and the desert swallowing that pyramid two years ago, Izzy felt more inclined to give some of those stories far more credit than he used to.

Mrs O’Connell suddenly looked back at him and stated, rather intently, “No. I mean no, it’s not,” she corrected, more gently. “It’s just that we’re the only people who stand any chance of success. And we need to do it quickly, because it all comes down to the new moon setting. At dawn tomorrow.”

Izzy did not ask why they ‘stood the only chance of success’, because her earnestness and seriousness was so much more disturbing than O’Connell’s laid-back ‘mummies, pygmies, really big bugs’ attitude. It meant that it was real, and that it was just the start. Worse, he was actually expected to take a part in the ‘saving the world’ party.

And he’d always thought himself a sidelines kind of guy, too. Ever since O’Connell had buggered off to the French Foreign Legion, that is. The odds of getting shot in the arse were much lower if you stood on the sidelines.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, going back to scrutinising the landscape, “no wonder you people never stop to look at the scenery.”

Mrs O’Connell spared a brief, tense smile and returned to her whetstone and her sword. In the silence that followed, a tiny sound reached Izzy’s ears. It would have gone completely unnoticed in the middle of the conversation between him and his passenger, but as it was, he could not ignore it. Blocking the helm with the autopilot – a simple jamming device – he tip-toed towards the sound as silently as he could, followed by Mrs O’Connell’s curious gaze.

He did have a hunch about what, or who, could have made this sound. He was just wildly hoping to be wrong.

Sure enough, when he plunged his hand into one of the empty crates usually filled with supplies, his fingers caught something wriggly, warm, and emitting remarkably colourful language as he hauled it out into the night air.

Young Master Alex O’Connell’s blue eyes, looking unnervingly like his father’s, shot him a full glare that his blond fringe quite failed to soften.

Izzy let go of him before the collar of the jacket he was holding on to ripped for good. In a flash, the boy went from red-faced anger and shame at having been caught to dutifully wincing when he saw his mother advance on him. She did look quite formidable, much more so than a petite, slim librarian had any right to be.

“Oh, brother,” Alex mumbled, his cheeks rapidly losing colour. In spite of his annoyance at finding a stowaway – not to mention the identity and especially pedigree of said stowaway – Izzy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid.

“Mum, wait – I can explain everything.”

This should be really interesting, then.

.⅋.

Jonathan was starting to hate pyramids with a passion.

His reasons for doing so seemed perfectly sound to him, too. For starters, pyramids were the place you buried dead people. Long-dead powerful people. People who had been dead for millennia, and who, when they had been alive, had made arrangements for a peaceful, undisturbed afterlife.

As the Pharaohs were for the most part fantabulously rich, they had no problem getting the best architects to design the most perfectly lethal booby traps to ward off intruders. Knowing this early on had somewhat quelled his enthusiasm for archaeological venture.

Not that he really agreed with angry people who claimed that digging out ancient artefacts and putting them on display for the world to see was grave-robbing and sacrilege, but… Pyramids were graves, after all. And Jonathan had never really been too fond of cemeteries in the first place.

But what he was now loathing with all his heart, what really riled him to no end were bloody pyramids filled with bloody jungle swarming with bloody creepy little pygmy mummies!

Keeping his mouth shut tightly against the terror-induced nausea, he walked with his eyes and ears wide open, peering and listening intently for any sign of the eerie hush that had suddenly fallen just before the nasty little buggers had attacked two years ago. It had seemed, then, that the only sound for a couple of miles around had been his own blood thumping in his eardrums and Evy’s deep breathing.

It had been shockingly easy to stand on that ridge with Evy, telling himself over and over that if they didn’t shoot these men in red, Alex and Rick and Ardeth didn’t stand a chance down there. The old reflexes had come back as though they never left. Jonathan had slowed his breathing, pushed down his nausea, done his best to ignore his pounding heart, and got to work. The enemy’s uniforms were red instead of grey, and thankfully Hafez’s men were too busy trying to survive the jungle to shoot at them; but for those two differences, he might have been back in a trench, twenty years ago. Aim, shoot, reload; repeat ad nauseam.

It had been a sickening, exhausting business – not to mention the nightmares after that, both those where he missed and those where he hit the target – but at least he had not been part of the big action then.

This time, he’d been shoved unwilling in the middle of the fray, without any other purpose than just because he happened to be there, surrounded – with two noteworthy exceptions – by people who would kill him if he tried to escape, just as he’d killed those men two years and two decades ago.

Trying to escape would be a bloody stupid thing to do anyway, considering the lurking pygmy mummies that vied for everyone’s blood, his and the agents’.

Equal shares of danger for all. Hurray for equality.

Except it wasn’t really equality, now, was it? Rick and him were now in the exact same position Hafez’s nutters had been at the jungle of Ahm Shere, hunted down and potentially shot at from two different parties at once. Not that he felt sorry for the blighters (not after they kidnapped Alex and threatened to cut his arm off to get the Bracelet), but suddenly finding himself in the same situation actually had something laughable about it.

Sometimes I hate irony.

He kept chewing on his grim thoughts as he walked, and since Hamilton wanted to keep an eye on him after his little remark earlier about the path to the Scorpion King, the company was not helping any. The only difference it made was that instead of having complete and utter darkness engulf everything behind him with each step that he made, he had complete and utter darkness ripping open before him, as though reluctantly.

It came as great relief when Rick quickened his own step and muttered right behind him, making him jump a little, “Recognise the place?”

Jonathan peered at the little he could see of the space around them with narrowed eyes.

“Well… Can’t really say I do, old boy. Must’ve hurried past and not stopped to enjoy the view. Why?”

“Because I think we’re getting close. See that gold… ish thing on your left?”

“That pointy thing that sticks out from behind the big ferns?” They probably were anything but ferns, but Jonathan couldn’t for the life of him tell what kind of greenery the big dark leaves were supposed to be. Risking a glance behind him after making sure Hamilton wasn’t looking, he saw Rick staring at it.

“Yeah… I guess. Well, that’s where that nutcase Hafez stuck the bracelet. There’s a statue somewhere that sucked his hand right off.”

Jonathan winced. “Guess I won’t be sticking my hand anywhere around there, then.”

For some reason, Rick’s four-hundred-tooth grin took on a sinister gleam in the torches’ lights.

“Might be a good idea.”

His round blue eyes hardened a great deal the second after that, and Jonathan looked around to see what had brought this sudden change. He was met with Agent Baine’s equally cold and steely glare, and for a moment there he felt like having stepped into a less muddy no man’s land.

After a few seconds of silent glowering, Jonathan cleared his throat and asked awkwardly, in the most normal voice he could muster in the circumstances, “Say, how come everybody got a bag and we didn’t? Planning to do some archaeologing on the side, are you?”

Baine’s cold eyes shifted their aim from Rick to him, and Jonathan had a fleeting but haunting sensation of being a butterfly pinned in one of those display boxes entomologists showed them off in. He gulped nervously.

Incidentally noticing that he seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

Baine’s expression turned into one of grim amusement as he gestured at his own rucksack.

“Well, our thinking was, you probably won’t make it out of this place alive, so what would be the use of giving you a bag? It’s all first-aid kits and ammunition and other stuff you won’t need anyway.”

Jonathan knew he ought to have been more afraid of Baine’s answer; it sounded more like a promise than like a remote possibility. But he just couldn’t push the pygmy mummies out of his mind. His memories of them, though blurred (mostly with running like mad) and, truthfully, rather brief, were so much scarier than the seemingly more direct threat of Baine and his bunch.

He made a mental note to ask Tom what was in his rucksack. It hadn’t looked like there had been much in the way of equipment.

As for Rick, threats of all kinds must have got so old by now that he just raised an eyebrow at the bloke, who-rang-your-bell style. Then his toothy grin came back and he walked past the agent with a shrug.

“I wouldn’t think of depriving you of your first-aid kit, you probably will need it more than us,” he drawled, throwing a derisive look over his shoulder at Baine. “By the way, how’s your eye?”

Baine stiffened and automatically raised a hand to his two-days-old bruise. The angry red and purple was beginning to fade into yellow and green at the edges. It was not without a certain amount of satisfaction that Jonathan remembered having made this particular impression to the agent’s face. The small victory over him in the scuffle two days ago was worth any amount of glaring he’d been subjected to since Monday.

And there had been a certain amount.

A sharp intake of breath made him turn his attention back to the front of the group, a few feet away. Hamilton and his two bodyguards had stopped on the first step of an enormous stairway and were pointing their torches down in the room they’d just entered.

This chamber was big. Even with the greenery that was invading everything, gripping the columns, covering the statues and crawling up the walls, you could feel the weight of thousands of years coming down on you like the Egyptian sun on your head at the height of the afternoon.

It wasn’t just about the weight of the years, too. The entire room gave off an impression of malevolent watchfulness. It might have been just another demonstration of the theory that stated that the bigger the room was, the less you felt like talking, but there was something creepy in the air that you couldn’t help but taste, something damp, heavy and… dark. Brownish, maybe. Something that didn’t bode well at all, anyway.

As he walked carefully down the slippery steps, Jonathan noticed that his knees were having a heated debate about whether to start wobbling or not. He could hardly blame them, having just recognised the place as the chamber where he’d seen Anck-su-namun peering into a corridor, as though waiting, before she turned those cold black eyes on him and stared him up and down. As though he was something small, useless, and utterly out of place in the general order of things. When he had cleared his throat and raised his fists – feeling remarkably foolish in the process – the look in her eyes had changed, and in there he could now read, “Oh, does it want to play? Does it do tricks?”

Never, in his entire life, had he felt so much like a mouse stuck in a room with a cat in a playful mood. The woman had just murdered Evy, driven a knife into her stomach, up close and personal, and smiled. Seeing her had made cold sweat run down his neck and his back, and this was before she had toyed with him like a predator with its food. Jonathan was fully aware he didn’t exactly have a lot going for him in terms of chest-beating, swinging-from-lianas manliness, but he still did have his pride, and being thrown and beaten around by someone who must weigh half as much as he did still stung. Super badass concubine fighter from Ancient Egypt – as Alex had once put it – or not.

The whole group stopped at the foot of the stairway, circling something on the floor, and Jonathan tried to peek through the mass of dark suits to get a look. When he finally sneaked a glance, he spotted Hamilton being helped into a set of large robes with a lot of gold stuff on them that Jonathan judged too gaudy to not be fake. Especially when it looked so much like a fancy bathrobe minus the belt.

“Gentlemen,” Hamilton said, shaking the long sleeves to make the hem fall on his wrists, “this is the end of our journey. Here lies –” here he paused for effect, gesturing at the ground with the cloth of his sleeves giving an appropriate wave, “the Seal of Anubis.”

The few agents who were standing too close to it took a hasty step back.

There was not a single root or leaf on that seal. The big scorpion figure was clearly visible, the different shades of gold gleaming where the light of a torch touched them. The total absence of dark green was unsettling. It also made it crystal-clear that this was what they had come for. The ominous, heavy feeling hanging in the room seemed to emanate from this very point.

Anyone could sense that this seal meant business.

And Hamilton, without any other form of ceremony, cool as anything, came to stand right on top of it.

Instinctively Jonathan tried to take a step back, but froze at the sudden touch of cold metal against his neck. From the rustle behind him, it appeared that he was not the only one with survival instincts. There was a collective intake of breath and a fifty man gasp –

And nothing happened.

The collective breath was released and the tension in the atmosphere seemed to dwindle. All things considered, the whole business felt anti-climatic, even something of a let-down.

But Jonathan had learned not to trust seemingly all-clear situations. He still had the soot behind the ears to prove it.

Most agents seemed to welcome the lull, and they all gave a start when Hamilton turned a strangely meaningful look at Baine and said, “You’re in command now, ag—”

He never finished the word. Under his feet the seal sent a gradual shudder that shook the walls and eventually the entire pyramid. Golden light so bright those too close to it had to shield their eyes seeped – not unlike some sort of thick sticky syrup – from the gold parts of the seal and into Hamilton, who had gone stock-still, his eyes lost into the distance and his mouth slightly open.

He looked like any unfortunate bloke who had just walked rather violently into a lamppost, except for the very disturbing detail of thick yellow light pouring straight ahead from his eyes, his mouth and his nostrils. Then his feet left the ground.

It felt like watching a string puppet show done by someone who had only heard the theory of it. Hamilton’s dark grey shoes floated aimlessly four or five inches off the ground, his head lolled at a weird angle on his neck, one shoulder was slumped when the other one remained rigid…

“Here we go again,” Jonathan heard Rick mutter. The words fell in a stunned, shocked silence. Only Baine seemed to know exactly what was going on, and seemed very pleased by the turn of events so far.

Hamilton’s body – obviously his mind was busy somewhere else, possibly a few planets away – began to drift off towards the passageway to another chamber, his feet still dangling a little off the floor. The leaves and lianas shuffled aside gently, as though self-consciously, where he went.

A small crowd of agents followed Baine, who kept a leisure pace behind Hamilton, looking calm and poised and as gleeful as if Christmas had come early. Not so Jonathan’ and Rick’s escorts, who hung their heads low and shuffled silently, occasionally treading on each other’s feet. Once in a while they would glance grimly at the fantastic sight of their boss being dragged on as though by some sort of invisible string.

The supernatural does take some getting used to, gentlemen, Jonathan thought with an inner sarcastic grin which slipped abruptly when he bumped into a taller agent’s back. The agent gave a start and whirled around, his hand – and gun – jerking nervously. Jonathan took a hurried step back, startled, only to knock another agent to a halt. His gun was out in a flash, too.

“Now, now, gents, no need to resort to extremes,” Jonathan stammered, instinctively raising his hands. As the two men let out a trembling breath he made a show of straightening the creases in his jacket and added in a slightly steadier tone, “You know, you’d really better put those guns of yours away before one of you does something I’ll regret very much.”

“What?” the taller agent barked while the other shook his head and put his gun back into his holster. “Shoot one of our own?”

“No, I meant me.”

The agent sniggered, but Jonathan did notice with great relief that he kept his finger off the trigger now.

When he tried to peek around the dark suits to get a sense of why they had all stopped, he was unceremoniously shoved in front, where Rick already was, standing beside Tom with his blue eyes fixed on something ahead of him. Hamilton’s body had drifted to a halt.

His eyes still wide open and his mouth agape, his head still rolling on his neck like a ragdoll’s, he went near the wall as though attracted by a giant magnet like in the cartoons from the moving pictures Alex loved3. He stayed there, as though tied to a post, under a heavily-decorated gong of massive proportions that hung from the wall, too high for anyone normal to bang.

A sort of spasm ran through his whole body – even his fingertips jerked. Then he went completely still.

A shadow swept over the large chamber, and it felt hot and cold at the same time, and empty. Emptying, rather. Jonathan had a mad urge to dig his fingernails into his palms just to be able to feel something. The last time he had felt anything like it, he had thought the reason was the body of his dead sister lying in his arms. To say it had been unsettling would stretch the limits of even the most open-minded judge on English understatement.

Like last time, it lasted only a few seconds before everything went back to normal in a flash, leaving a trail of lit flambeaus and oil lamps, their light greenish and faintly sinister behind the trees, the lianas, and the giant ferns.

Except the Army of Anubis had just been raised again.

Jonathan let out a raspy breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It fought briefly with what felt like his heart hammering inside his throat to get out.

Then Baine turned to him and Rick a look that made something churn in the region of his stomach. It wasn’t the passing glare or occasional sneer Jonathan had got used to in the past few days. It was a straight, direct stare. The kind that made you wish you were being ignored.

“Kill them.”

Oh, bollocks.

.⅋.

1 Me in 2008: “The Medjai, while being mostly a warrior people, were a society where the position of man and woman was not about superiority or inferiority. Rather, they went through life having different tasks (the men were taught in the arts of war, the women generally took care of the breeding of camels and whatever farming there was to do) but came together when it came to raising children and making important decisions for the future of the tribe.”

Me in 2019: to hell with gender roles, let’s say the Medjai came too close to extinction in three millennia to confine men to war and women to farming. We didn’t see women Medjai in battle in TMR but they were there.

2 This amounts to a grand total of one, two if you count Anck-su-namun. I would like to state, in Evy’s defence, that she was in no way responsible for the second time Imhotep was raised from the dead. (She just took the Bracelet of Anubis from its chest and Alex activated the Bracelet by putting it on.)

3 Cheating a little here, because while Porky Pig cartoons were already pretty popular in 1937, Daffy Duck was only created that same year, and Bugs Bunny a year later.

[takerfoxx]

RD Walpurgis Nights 7: Part 2

“Waaaaiiiiit a minute,” Ophelia said, holding up a hand. “The museum. A field trip to the museum. Um, did they by any chance take you into an elevator and…”

Homulilly grimaced.

“Oh. Oh, wow. Geez, no wonder you got all twisted up. I was walking around in a daze for a solid week after our class went through all that, and I didn’t have shit else going on. Meanwhile, you’re already getting kind of stressed out when they dropped that on you.”

“Pretty much,” Homulilly admitted. “I thought…I mean, I knew they were going to tell us something big, but I thought it was just going to be some gross pictures from the war. I wasn’t expecting…that!”

…

Five days ago…

The three doors to the shuttle, one in the front, one in the middle, and the last near the rear of the vehicle, all hissed open, allowing everyone that was part of Homulilly and Gretchen’s integration group to climb aboard.

Integration classes were very similar to school years, though obviously they had to be handled a little differently. Since new arrivals had to finish their schooling on top of learning all that was needed to know about the afterlife, sorting everyone into groups was a little slapshot. Generally speaking, when it came to school they were sorted into the equivalent of whatever grade they happened to be in when they had died. Most of those tended to be in middle-school, so those classes were the largest, though they were very small when compared to the ones they had left behind, usually only around a dozen or so. There were also a smattering of elementary schoolers as well, whose classes were usually only numbered about five at the most at a time, while older girls just took classes with those who had been in the program long enough to be at their level, while the rare adult just skipped all of that.

Integration programs, however, were usually kept with those they had entered the program with, regardless of age. Granted, exceptions were made for the exceptionally young, as there were just some things that they needed to be a little older to learn about, but most of the girls that Gretchen and Homulilly had entered with were within a few years of each other, so they had all stuck together, more or less. A few had left for one reason or another, while occasionally a latecomer had been added to their numbers. At the beginning their had been seventeen. Now there was fifteen.

To be honest, though Homulilly had lived with them to what essentially amounted to her entire life, she still didn’t really know any of them other than Gretchen all that well. She knew their names, sure, but had never talked to any of them unless she had to. And that was fine. Gretchen and their older friends was all the companionship she needed.

The two of them entered the shuttle through the middle door and took their seats. Per usual, Homulilly sat down next to the window while Gretchen took the aisle seat. Homulilly’s seat remained the same, but Gretchen’s shifted beneath her, curving inward to better accomondate her wire legs. She giggled a little at the ticklish feeling.

Once everyone was on board, the doors shut and the shuttle started moving across one of the very few roads in Freehaven large enough to allow for motor vehicles. The FIB building was near the top of the hill anyway, and had been built after most of the town. Its destination was the museum, which was located on the other side of the hill that Freehaven sat upon.

Homulilly leaned back in her seat and sighed. She had to admit, she did feel a lot better than she had last night. Her homework was out of the way, none had been assigned for that day, and thanks to the field trip she and Gretchen got to spend the day together instead during breaks and between classes. And hey, walking around looking at interesting artifacts was far more interesting in struggling to comprehend boring mathematical formulas.

“Oh, I can’t wait until we get there,” Gretchen said happily.

“Why? Are you really that interested in the war?”

“Not one bit! But they have others things besides all that stuff about the war, like some stuff from all the way back from the founding of Freehaven!”

“I know, right? And the curator’s supposed to be one of the only witches to turn all the way back into a Puella Magi. There’s, like, only eight of those!”

That voice was most definitely not Homulilly’s. For one, it had a distinct Latin accent, and had been so unexpected that it made her jump a little. She looked around wildly, and then turned to find the source.

It was a girl. Well, obviously it was a girl; they were all girls! But this one would be more accurately described as a woman. Wait, no, that wasn’t enough. She was a woman, one that looked to be in her very late teens, maybe even her early twenties. Her skin was dusky, her body slender and well-proportioned, and her flowing hair a brilliant reddish-orange that practically shimmered in the sunlight. Her cheeks were sharp and pronounced, and her smile was stunning.

It took a second for Homulilly to place her. Mitty, right. That was her name. She had joined their class a few months after Homulilly and Gretchen had, and Homulilly didn’t think that she hand her had ever exchanged to much as two words. So why was she butting in on their conversation?

Then Gretchen lit up. “Mitty-chan!” she said happily.

“Heya, Gretch! Long time, no see!”

Gretchen giggled. “Last night isn’t long!”

“Long enough.”

Wait, what?

…

Now…

“Wait, stop, stop, stop,” Ophelia said, bringing the story to a halt again. “Mitty. Like, glowing orange hair, all sharp edges, looks like she got put together from every dark-skinned ethnicity in all the best ways? That Mitty?”

Homulilly jerked up in surprise. “You know her?”

“Kind of. A friend of mine teaches a dance class at the studio where I practice. Mitty’s one of her students, and…Oh my God.” Ophelia buried her face in one palm and sighed. “Out of all the people to just drop into your life, it had to be her.”

Homulilly stared. “Wait, why? Is she…bad?”

“Bad? No, she’s a good kid. But, uh, she’s can be a little…thoughtless and pushy.”

“Yeah,” Homulilly sighed. “I noticed.”

…

Then…

Turning to Homulilly, Gretchen said, “Lilly-chan, you know Mitty-chan, right? She’s also part of the planning committee.”

Oh. Oh, right. That. The dancer. Gretchen had told Homulilly about her. Frequently.

“Hey there, cutie,” Mitty said, extending her hand. “I think Gretchen might’ve mentioned you once or twice.”

Only once or twice? Homulilly’s memory rewound to all the times Gretchen had brought up Mitty, and how enthusiastically she had done so. And then there was the many complimentary terms she had used.

Not knowing what else to do, Homulilly hesitantly extended her own hand and limply shook Mitty’s.

“Goodness, that’s quite the handshake you got there. You must have lots of fun at Halloween.”

Gretchen winced. She hastily slashed her own hand across her throat as Homulilly’s face flushed bright pink.

Mitty noticed. “Ah. Okay, no-go zone. Sorry about that. No offense intended.”

Homulilly found her tongue. “I-It’s okay,” she stammered. Still, she made a point of keep her arms clenched at her chest, out of Mitty’s view.

“Anyhoo,” Mitty said, turning her attention back to Gretchen. “Did’ja hear they got an entire section of jott jewelry? I hear they know how to mold jewels. Not cut them, mind you. Actually mold them, like clay.”

Gretchen’s dark pink eyes lit up. “They do?”

“You bet your cute butt they do! It’s kind of crazy the sort of stuff the aliens can do. Like the ai…aijuh…aijurk…”

“Ai'jurrik'kai,” Homulilly mumbled.

“Right!” Mitty said, snapping her fingers. “Them! They got this liquid metal thing that is just the weirdest thing I have ever seen!”

As they chatted, Homulilly slunk deeper into her seat and gritted her teeth.

…

The trip to the museum was not long, but it certainly felt like it. Gretchen and Mitty continued to talk and talk about all the cool stuff that they wanted to see, while Homulilly kept a close hold on her tongue, constantly reminding herself that Gretchen was perfectly entitled to have other friends and could to talk to them instead if she wished.

But darn it, she had already spent all of last evening with this one. Why did it have to bleed into now?

Finally they arrived, and everyone got off the shuttle. To Homulilly’s irritation, Mitty followed the pair all the way off. Why? Didn’t she have anyone else to talk to? Was Gretchen her only friend?

In contrast to the rest of the flat, red roofed building of Freehaven, the museum was designed more like a Muslim mosque, a one-story white building with several domes on its roof. The arching doors and windows were the same as the rest of the city though, and it was surrounded by a lush botanical garden, with herbal life hailing from all across the galaxy. The walkway from the parking lot to the front doors were line with squares of grass, which had been molded into free-standing forms of the various species in the afterlife, one per square.

“I know we’re here for Freehaven history,” Gretchen said as they all line up. “But I hope we can see the dinosaur exhibit.”

“They don’t have one,” Mitty said.

Gretchen’s face fell, which was another strike against Mitty in Homulilly’s book. “Why not?”

“Because all the animals we have are made up of everyone’s memories of them, remember?” Mitty said. “No one has any actual memories of dinosaurs, so we never got any actual dinosaurs.”

“Oh,” Gretchen said, sounding disappointed. “I wanted to see the pterodactyls.”

Mitty laughed. “Uh, yeah. About that. You do know that pterodactyls aren’t actually dinosaurs, right? They’re-”

All right, enough was enough. Homulilly’s head snapped around to focus on Mitty with a furious glare. She even hissed in warning.

Seeing this, Mitty quickly amended, “-a very close relative! So I guess it still counts! I mean, scaly dinosaurs and feathered dinosaurs are still dinosaurs, so the term’s pretty fluid, I guess.” Then she made a face and turned away.

Good enough. “I wanted to see them too,” Homulilly said to Gretchen. “But you know, they have elysians that look like dragons. Maybe they have one that looks like a pterodactyl.”

At this Gretchen’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be great! I’ve always wanted to ride in one anyway.”

“One day,” Homulilly promised.

The caretakers led the group into the museum. Despite her annoyance at Mitty’s continued presence, Homulilly did find herself interested in her surroundings. She had never actually been to the museum before and was pretty curious at sort of exhibits a magical afterlife could offer.

The lobby was round and made of white marble, ringed with pillars. The floor sat in a depression, with steps leading up to the three hallways on all side. In the center was a roped-off miniature of Freehaven itself. However, as they circled around it, Homulilly saw that it actually contained four Freehavens instead of just one, with each occupying a fourth of the hill model, with the one facing the door resembling how it looked now and each of the others show how the city had looked sometime in the past, with the smallest being little more than a tiny village on a vast, grassy hillside.

Waiting for them between the Freehaven model and the stairs leading to the center of the museum was a young woman with pale skin, silver eyes, and long silvery hair tied back in a braided ponytail that hung over one shoulder. She wore a neat white uniform and pale blue sapphire studs in her ears. It was clear that she was the one guiding their tour, whatever it may entail.

“Welcome, everyone,” the young woman said. She had a bit of a European accent, though Homulilly couldn’t really place where it was from. “Welcome to the Freehaven Museum of Cultural History. My name is Astrid, and I-”

Mitty’s hand shot into the air.

“Are you that one witch that managed to turn back into a human?” she asked without waiting to be called upon.

Homulilly gaped at her, shocked at the blatant rudeness. She wasn’t the only one. Most of the other girls shot her surprised and disapproving looks. However, Astrid herself was unruffled.

“Well, someone’s done her homework,” she said. “Though I should point out that ‘witch’ is just something of a modifier, and are no less human than you and I.”

“Yeah, okay, but are you?” Mitty said, undeterred.

Astrid nodded. “I am.”

“How?”

Homulilly gritted her teeth. Though Mitty wasn’t saying it out loud, it did really sound like she was implying that there was something wrong with being a witch.

“Well, as luck would have it, that happens to be part of the tour today,” Astrid said.

Completely oblivious to the hint, Mitty pressed on. “So are we learning about-”

Astrid lifted a finger to her lips. Finally Mitty got a clue and shut up, though she was still anxiously fidgeting from her plethora of unanswered questions. Homulilly didn’t understand what her problem was. Astrid had already promised that everything would be explained in time. Couldn’t she just wait?

“As I was saying,” Astrid said, “though the museum has a little bit of everything-”

“Except dinosaurs,” Mitty muttered under her breath.

“-it’s primary function is to chronicle the long history of Freehaven. Follow me, please.”

Astrid turned and walked up the steps into the center hallway. Homulilly, Gretchen, and the rest of the girls automatically followed.

The hallway was of the same white-and-black marble as the rest of the place. On either side were a row of arching doorways, each one bordered by a pair of pillars that were fatter in the middle than their tops and bottoms. Beyond, Homulilly could see a series of exhibits, some displaying things like old outfits, others containing skeletons of exotic animals, and others had artifacts from their extraterrestrial neighbors. There were a few normal visitors milling about. A couple glanced up and saw the group passing by. They grimaced in what looked like pity. Homulilly swallowed. That couldn’t be good.

“Though it is far from the largest human city in the Puella Magi afterlife, Freehaven is one of the oldest,” Astrid continued, talking as she walked. “Furthermore, it acts as the capital for one of the primary settlements for what is known as the New Life Alliance, a collection of multi-species territories united against a common threat.”

“Yeah, about that,” said a Canadian witch named Claudia, who had streetlights for eyes and street signs for fingernails. “What’s up with that anyway? I mean, we’re all here for the same reason. Shouldn’t we be getting along?”

“Well, to better explain that,” Astrid said, “I think it would be better to just show you.”

Everyone looked to her in confusion.

“This way, please,” she said, and then headed over to the far wall. There, a large golden tube was set into the wall, running from the ceiling to the floor. A grid of glass tiles were set in the wall on either side.

Next to the tube was a plaque that read FOR FREEHAVEN INTEGRATION BUREAU USE ONLY. NORMAL VISITORS NOT PERMITTED.

“Um, wait. What is that thing?” said a Swedish witch named Lucy, who was noted for having a removable head.

“Is it something…scary?” Shiloh, a black American girl who was a couple years younger than the rest.

A few of the other girls laughed at her, but then Astrid silenced them with a look. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “Girls, I must warn you, what I am about to show you will be rather intense. However, it is a necessary part of your education, for you not only to understand Freehaven’s history, but also what it is that Freehaven is meant to defend against.”

This caused several worried murmurs to rise up from the group. Homulilly’s hand reflexively sought out Gretchen’s, which was in turn already going for hers.

This was it. They had heard rumors and tales of the supposed dark enemy across the sea, but so far no one had come out and explained what they were supposed to be all about. And though the information was supposedly there for the asking, neither of them had dared to ask. They had a good thing going. Why darken it with something they couldn’t control? They just figured that their elders would tell them when the time came.

Well, it seemed that the time had come.

Brushing the hair from her face, Mitty called out, “This is about the Void Walkers, ain’t it?”

Astrid nodded. “Now, I understand that a few may have already educated yourselves about them. However, I must stress that what material you may have come across falls far short of the reality of the situation.”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal about it anyway?” said Amaya, a Spanish girl who tended to be a little more ornery than the others. Homulilly remembered her making something of an impression their first day, when she had disrupted the orientation with her constant cynicism. “I mean, don’t they offer a way out? I mean, none of us asked to be here! So what’s so bad about wanting to die for real.” When everyone near turned to stare at her, she amended, “I mean eventually.”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Astrid said. “And that’s the problem.”

She touched the panel next to the tube, and suddenly a large glowing rectangle appeared in its front. The rectangle slid open, revealing itself to be a door, leading to a round room within.

It’s an elevator, Homulilly realized. But did it go up or down?

Given the subject matter, she really hoped that it went up.

“Everyone aboard, please,” Astrid said. “Single file.”

The class all exchanged uneasy looks, but they obeyed. The casual, jovial mood from before was completely gone. Now an air of dread was starting to build.

“Well, I’ll be,” Mitty said. “This got real dark real fast.” Then she favored the two younger girls with a devilish grin. “Still, whatever it is they got in there, it’ll be waaaaaaaay more interesting than looking at rusty shovels behind glass.”

Homulilly and Gretchen both held back a bit. “Are you okay with this?” Gretchen said in a low voice.

Homulilly hesitated, and then nodded. “I’m fine,” she said. “I mean, they wouldn’t take us to anything bad, right?”

“I guess…”

From the sound of it, Gretchen was more apprehensive of where that elevator led than Homulilly was. Squeezing her hand tightly, Homulilly said, “Let’s go. Don’t worry. Just hold onto me.”

Gretchen managed a small smile, but it wavered a bit. Still, she let herself be led into the elevator.

The elevator’s interior was creamy white and kind of boring. One everyone was aboard, Astrid entered behind them, and the door slid shut. She touched the wall, and then there was a small rumble as the elevator started to move.

Homulilly’s stomach clenched up. They were going down.

As the elevator descended, Astrid continued speaking. “You were right earlier. While we have managed to carve out a little slice of Heaven here at Freehaven, the hard truth of the matter is that none of us chose to come here. Our lives were cut prematurely short by the Incubators’ deceit, and whether we fell in battle, succumbed to the darkness, or maybe even passed due to something completely unrelated to the Incubator’s contracts, not a single one of us was expecting to come here. None of us asked to come here. None of us wanted to come here. Maybe some of us expected the actual Heaven, maybe some Nirvana, or reincarnation, or nothing at all, or maybe those more cynical expected to end up in Hell. But regardless of what we thought we were going to see on the other side, not a single one of us got what we wanted, expected, or felt that we deserved. We were sent here against our will and left to fend for ourselves, seemingly for all eternity.”

Homulilly had to admit, she felt more than a little taken back by Astrid’s speech. By and large, most of the elders she had met had always spoken of Freehaven in the most glowing of terms, and considered the afterlife to be nothing short of a divine gift. To hear someone describe it in such a cynical way was…disconcerting, to say the least.

Astrid continued. “That is the situation that we have found ourselves in, and we make the best of it that we can. But the sad fact of the matter is that while we are dead, there are still those that would take advantage of us.”

Then the doors slid open, letting everyone into the room beyond.

It wasn’t a very big room, but it was still of a decent size. Like the elevator itself, it was round with creamy white walls, though these were of marble instead of metal. The floor was carpeted with red velvet, and traditional Freehavenian pillars were ringed around the walls. The lighting was dim, giving the place a solemn, eerie ambience.

As would be expected from a museum, there were several exhibits arrayed in a circle between the walls, all of them sitting on short, square pillars and covered with glass, with some sort of internal lighting making them glow. In the center of the room was one final object, also sitting in a glass case, with a spotlight beaming down on it.

Homulilly curiously peered out at the objects. None of them seemed particularly out of the ordinary for a museum, mostly things like old articles of clothing, ancient tools, weapons, and the like. And the room’s centerpiece seemed to be just a piece of paper.

Astrid led the group to the exhibit on their most immediate right. It was a walking stick, about a meter and a half long, made from a gnarled branch, with several symbols and pictures carved into its length. It was so old that it was nearly all black.

“Now this walking stick is one of the oldest artifacts that we have preserved here,” Astrid told the group. “It belonged to Ruth, one of the original founders of Freehaven, roughly around twenty-seven thousand years ago.”

Shiloh sputtered. “W-Wait, Freehaven’s been around that long?”

“Some places have been around longer. But yes. It was originally founded by a small group of human witches. A Walpurgisnacht, to be exact. And if you’d like to get a look at what it was like…”

Astrid laid a hand on top of the glass case, and a light flashed behind everyone’s eyes.

…

It was a bright and sunny day, but then, most of them were.

Ruth made her way across the hill and sat down on her favorite pile of rocks, the one that sat in the shade of a small copse of trees. Setting down her walking stick, she looked around.

The village was coming along nicely. They already had three mud huts erected already, plus one set aside for food storage. Most of the group was still sleeping in tents, but that was all right. In time everyone would have a home of her own, though to be honest, Ruth was going to miss sleeping with the others at night, all of them huddled closely together for warmth. But to be fair, that was probably the only thing she was going to miss from their nomadic days.

It really was a nice place they had found to settle down in. The hill was large enough to accomondate as many structures as they had need, the ocean was full of fish, and the land was vibrant and fertile. Not far from where she was sitting, the twelve sheep they had gathered were leisurely wandering about, baaa’ing contently as they grazed on the lush green grass. While down at the beach, Lilah and Dinah were working on weaving reeds together. They had one boat fully seaworthy already. Soon they would have another, and another still. And from then, who knew? Maybe others would find them. Maybe their little family would actually grow.

Ruth plucked reed from the ground and stuck it in her mouth. Chewing softly, she leaned back and looked up at the sky.

It was true, they still didn’t have any idea of who they were, where they were, how they had all come to be together, or where their strange power came from. But still, at least they had found a pleasant place to call their own.

…

Homulilly gasped and took an instinctive step back. She wasn’t the only one.

That had been so real. One moment she had been herself, standing with her class in the bottom floor of the Freehaven Museum, and the next she was in Ruth’s mind, seeing her memories through her eyes and hearing her thoughts.

She looked over to Gretchen, who had gone a little pale. Gretchen glanced back, swallowed, and tightened her grip on Homulilly’s hand.

“Ruth, Lilah, Martha, Sheba, Dinah, and Abigail,” Astrid said. “Originally a wandering group who, one day, decided to stop wandering and make their home along a seaside hill. If only they knew what that small decision would one day lead to.”

Then a Tasmanian witch named Brittney, notable for the scaly growths that covered the back of her neck and arms, shakily raised her hand. “Um, are any of them…still around?”

A sad look passed over Astrid’s face. “Only Lilah,” she said. “And she doesn’t take visitors.”

Then Astrid led them to the next exhibit, this one a wrap-around grey tunic made of wool that sat on a mannequin. It was fairly simple, ending just above the knees and leaving one shoulder bare and mostly free of decoration on the front. However, as the group walked around it, Homulilly saw that the back was dyed to represent what seemed to be an egg-shaped gem encased in a protective cage.

A soul gem. Homulilly had heard much about them, and even had seen recreations. According to what she had been taught, the body she wore now had once been inside one until despair had caused it to burst.

“This here belonged to Abeba,” Astrid said. “She came along much later, after Freehaven had grown a bit. And that…took some time, much longer than it would have for a city in the World of the Living. You see, population was somewhat hard to come by, even though no one was dying to thin the ranks. With no one being born, it took having others stumbling across the village by chance and deciding to stay to increase their numbers. But it did grow, and in time it had become large enough to attract the attention of someone else entirely, someone who had no intention of joining them.”

She placed her hand on the tunic’s case. Realizing what was about to happen, Homulilly and Gretchen both braced themselves.

…

Sure enough, there were two of them.

When Abeba had heard that a pair of strangers had appeared, it had cheered her greatly. Newcomers were always a welcome sight. Though she of course loved all her soul-sisters dearly, it did get a bit dull seeing the same faces day after day after day. As such, someone new was certainly worthy of excitement.

But then she had heard something strange. The strangers were not there to settle down and live with them, nor were they wanderers in need of help. They weren’t even merchants looking to trade. No, these two apparently hailed from another village, and they had come with a message.

How…odd.

Something about that raised Abeba’s suspicions, and she had summoned up her soul-spear before heading down to the beach to see what the fuss was all about. She wasn’t the only one. As she left her hut, she saw that others also had their weapons in hands, with the soul-blessed carrying the weapons they had born in life, while the soul-cursed brought the ones that they had made here.

Strangers were often a welcome sight, but nothing was gained by being stupid.

Abeba walked with the others down to the sea, where a small crowd was already gathering. As she approached, she could see that the descriptions she had heard were correct. There were indeed two newcomers down there. But they were not standing on the beach with the others. Instead, they stood in the surf, the water up to their knees as they face those on the shore.

Their garb was…strange. For one, it was in all in black, made of a material that Abeba did not recognize. It didn’t seem to be wool or leather, and it shimmered strangely where the sun caught it. In fact, it sort of looked like it have been woven from oil, if such a thing were possible.

For another, it didn’t seem to cover all that much. One wore a very short wrap-around skirt that hung low on her hips, and a hooded mantle that barely covered her breasts in the front but hung down low in the back. The hood was drawn down low, obscuring most of her features.

The other had on what could only be described as a single piece of black fabric, one that was wound diagonally around her body in such a manner that left skin bare in between. It started over one shoulder, left one breast bare, and continued on down, only just concealing her pelvis before winding around her right leg before disappearing into the water.

That one wore nothing on her head, and her long hair was dark blue, as were her eyes.

And finally, both of the strangers didn’t look like they had ever so much as seen sunlight. Their skin was paler than anything Abeba had ever seen. In fact, had she not already been told otherwise, she would have thought that they had been marble statues that someone had dressed and carried into the water for some inexplicable reason. It was a wonder that they didn’t burn.

The pair wasn’t moving. They simply stood where they were, waiting for everyone to arrive. Abeba felt her hackles raise. The strangers’ unusual appearance was discomforting enough, but there was something else about them that made her suspicious. These, she felt, were not friends.

Abeba joined the rest of her soul-sisters and stood, spear held in both hands where the strangers could see it. Soon the rest where were them. The whole of the village was now in the beach.

The unhooded stranger than raised her head, the first movement Abeba had seen from the pair. She smiled.

“Greetings,” she said. “Do not be afraid. For we come with tidings of great joy, which shall be for all people. For unto you is sent a gift.”

“A gift?” said Dinah, one of the village elders. “I see no gift. Unless you have it secreted in your buttocks.”

This sent a small ripple of laughter from the group, but the stranger was unruffled.

“Not a trinket to be held,” she said. “No, we bring something much more valuable. We bring a promise. A promise of escape.”

…

“It was a lie, of course.”

It took Abeba a moment to realize that it was not the dark strangers that was speaking, but Astrid. It took her another for her to remember that her name was not Abeba, but Homulilly. Right. She had just been watching another person’s memory.

“That was the first meeting between the place that would be known as Freehaven and the place already calling itself the Withering Lands,” Astrid said. “Though they had heard tales of a dark country across the sea, this was the first time they had bothered to introduce themselves. And they came promising the greatest prize of all. In exchange for loyalty and service, we would be granted death: a final death, a true death, complete escape from the Incubators’ contracts and the repercussions of such.”

A hush fell over the group as everyone mulled over that bit of information. Then Shiloh said in a hesitant, almost scared voice, “Could they?”

“Unlikely,” Astrid said. “But that didn’t stop people from believing them.”

She then led the group over to the next exhibit, this one an ivory comb painted with red flowers sitting on a satin pillow. The comb was very old, the white now darkened to dirty yellow, several of the teeth missing, and the paint largely chipped away.

“In the end, it doesn’t really matter how suspicious your offer is,” Astrid said as everyone gazed down at the comb. “It doesn’t matter how many internal alarms you set off, it doesn’t matter how many are opposed to you, it doesn’t matter how obvious your lies might be. If you offer something no one else can provide, something everyone eventually craves, then people will take that chance.” Astrid laid a hand on the side of the glass case. “And so they have.”

…

“Please undress and place all your possessions in one of the provided containers.”

Nilhella stared at the Void Walker attendant. “Really? Right here? In front of everyone?”

Though the dark-clothed and pale-skinned girl was smiling, it seemed to Nilhella that this was a question she heard several times a day and was quite frankly sick of it. “Yes, please. Come now, we all have the same equipment.”

Sure enough, the ones that had been in line before Nilhella were all stripping down to their skin, some more embarrassed about it than others. Nilhella glanced over her shoulder to the door she had just entered, where the long lines of weary girls were waiting to begin their lives as Void Walkers were waiting their turn.

“Please hurry,” said the attendant, her smile straining.

Swallowing, Nilhella grabbed one of the provided containers. “Will I get them back?”

The look the attendant gave her told her everything she needed to know, but she still said, “No. You are leaving everything about your previous life behind. Including material possessions.”

Nilhella bit her lower lip. Then she looked around for some place that she might have some measure of privacy.

Finding none, she finally just gritted her teeth and set about getting it over with, removing what personal effects she had on her person before taking off first her clothes and then her undergarments. It was as awkward as she had expected, and she tried not to bend over more than necessary. Fortunately, nobody seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to her.

Nilhella carefully folded her clothes and laid them inside the container. Then she placed her personal effects on top of that.

All except one.

It was her comb. Or rather, it was Nada’s comb, the one she had always worn in her hair. Nilhella had never seen her without it, from when they had worked together in the embassy to walking hand-in-hand along the shore to even when they had laid close, wearing nothing else. The one time Nada had taken it off was to give it to Nilhella, right before she had left on that diplomatic mission to greet the new species that had shown up in the afterlife.

Nilhella hadn’t wanted her to go. There was something very wrong with those newcomers. They weren’t like the rest of their neighbors. She had begged and begged Nada not to go, to find someone else.

Then Nada had taken the comb out of her hair and handed it her. There, she had said. Now you know I’m coming back. Keep it safe for me.

They had kissed after that, the last time Nilhella had ever kissed anyone.

That had been eighty-seven years ago. Nilhella had never seen her again, save for briefly in the videos that their new neighbors had sent to everyone as a threat.

Nilhella knew that she couldn’t logically bring the comb with her. She was coming here to die anyway. What good would it do her then?

But her death was two hundred years away, at the minimum. And she didn’t want to face that alone.

There was a heating grate in one corner. Darting over, she pushed the comb through the small metal cage and watched it fall until it landed on a pipe. Memorizing where it landed, she sealed up the container and turned it in, all the while praying that she would find the opportunity to search for it again.

She never did.

…

“Void Walkers give up everything for the chance to die,” Astrid said. “Their possessions, their homes, their loved ones, even a portion of their souls. They give up all happiness, surrendering themselves to a bleak existence before finally being released.”

This time the girls were able to shake off the effects of the memory quicker, but even so it was a few seconds before Shiloh ventured with, “But…is the releasing thing real? Like, do they really die?”

“A very good question. Certainly, anyone released by Oblivion ceases to exist in this world, but what happens to their souls after is unknown. But in the end, it doesn’t matter.”

“What? How can you say something like that? Of course it matters!”

“Because of who is doing the offering. Consider: back in life, was the Incubators’ promise of grating a single wish real?”

A hush fell over the group. The Puella Magi among them seemed especially uncomfortable, their faces downcast as each ruminated over the desires that had caused them to make a deal that they didn’t fully comprehend and pay a price that they couldn’t afford. Homulilly, herself a witch that had no idea what sort of wish had compelled her past self to do such a thing, scanned their faces, wondering.

Although asking about others’ wishes wasn’t exactly taboo, Homulilly had never been able to work up the courage to bring it up with any of the others, and those that she was close enough to broach the subject with were all witches themselves. She glanced over to Gretchen, who glanced back. Gretchen winced and shrugged, obviously as uncomfortable as Homulilly was.

Finally a British girl named Jordan said in a low voice, “Yes. Yes, it was.”

Astrid nodded. “And was the price made fully clear? Was the Incubator that contacted you fully forthcoming about what you were getting yourself into?”

“Nope.”

“Hell no.”

“Yes.”

Everyone turned to the one who had responded in the positive, who turned out to be Mitty. For her part, she seemed to immediately regret speaking up, and cringed back at the attention.

“Was he?” Astrid said.

Mitty made a face, but then nodded.

“You knew going how dangerous witches are, that witches are created from Puella Magi who had fallen into despair, that the whole system was created by the Incubators themselves in order to harvest our emotional energy?”

“Yes,” Mitty said after a moment of hesitation.

Astrid quirked an eyebrow. “And your Incubator was just completely forthcoming with those details from the beginning?”

“Er, no.”

“Then…”

Mitty shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, I thought something was up, so I started asking questions, and kept asking them until I got the whole story.”

Astrid smiled at that. “Well, then you were wiser than most.”

Perhaps, but something still seemed off, and the others knew it too. “Wait, you knew?” Jordan said. “And you took the contract anyway?”

“Yeah. Um, well, it wasn’t exactly easy, but…” Mitty shrugged again. “I knew one of the girls that got turned into a witch. I saw it happen. And I figured, well, since this whole thing was going to be happening anyway, someone had to step up and put her out of her misery. And there were probably others that were stuck as witches too, so…” Her voice trailed off as she saw that many of the witches in their group were giving her odd looks. “Erm, no offense.”

“It’s okay,” Gretchen said. Then she released Homulilly’s hand to lean over and give Mitty a tight squeeze. “That was really selfless of you, Mitty-sempai. You’re a good person.”

Mitty grinned and returned the hug. “Aw. Thanks, Gretchen.”

Homulilly had to keep her mouth shut tight so no one would noticed how hard her teeth were grinding together.

“Indeed, that was a very brave choice,” Astrid said. “But…did it work out the way you envisioned?”

Mitty’s face fell. “No, I guess not.”

“Were you able to…liberate your friend?”

“Yeah. And two others. Fourth one…” Mitty reflexively rubbed her throat. “Fourth one got me.”

Astrid nodded. “A very common ending. However, your case is an anomaly, and you had to pump your Incubator for information. As is their way, they highlight the promise of a wish, talk a good game about being a defender against the witches, and never bother to mention what witches are and why they’re created.”

“Yeah, they’re a bunch of deceitful bastards,” Claudia muttered.

“Exactly. They’ve already approached us once with a fantastical offer while making sure not to mention the fine print. Why should this time be any different?”

For a moment, most of the girls just stared blankly, not really understanding what she was saying. However, a few just hardened their looks. Those were the ones that had already learned what they were about to be told.

Homulilly, it should be noted, counted among the former, and she just stared with the others. She had never met an Incubator before, outside of her forgotten former self’s dealing, and was now far from their machinations. So what did they have to do with anything?

However, some were quicker witted than her, and Lucy started sputtering, “W-Wait, hold the fuck up! Are you saying that there’s an Incubator here?”

“I am,” Astrid said calmly.

Homulilly felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. An Incubator? Here? In the afterlife? But this place was supposed to be for them! A sanctuary away from their clutches, a place where those victimized by them could start over and build new lives! How could one of those monsters be here?

“I know what you’re all thinking,” Astrid said. “Why? How?” She clasped her hands behind her back and started pacing back and forth through the sand as she continued to address the group. “We may not know who created this afterlife, or why, but we do know that it was made exclusively for us. Magical girls. Witches. The Puella Magi. From every nation, across a dozen worlds we have come here, united in our joined victimhood. And whatever anyone here might think about that, I think we can all agree on one thing: Heaven or Hell, this place is ours, and the Incubators have no place here.”

There were more than a few murmurs of agreement at that.

“Unfortunately, that has not stopped them. For there is one in here, with us.”

The next exhibit she took them to was another garment on a mannequin. This one, however, was a hooded black robe, made of the same glossy material that Homulilly had seen in those memories.

Astrid gave it a good long look before laying her hand against the case.

…

For a day that revolved around death, the Releasing Ceremony was always…lively.

Sif stood at her post, watching. A sea of white naked bodies from every imaginable species was arrayed before her, all of them packed together so tightly that it was a wonder any of them could breathe. They surged, heaved, swayed, and undulated together, their arms, claws, talons, tentacles, and other appendages all raised up as if they could grasp the blessing that was about to bestowed upon them. Floating over the heads of those on the ground were calliopes and kotoss, who shivered as they darted around madly. Everyone was moaning, growling, shrieking, baying, or even screaming, all of them crying out in desperation, ready to finally receive what was promised.

The frenzy was ever rising, and several of the participants ended up getting crushed by their neighbors, their screams of pain barely distinguishable from the rest of the calamity. Trails of vapor rose up wherever that happened, as if to signal for help. But no one took notice of their plight. No one ever did.

The Releasing Ceremony took place upon the plain of Meggido as it always did. It was a wide, open space several kilometers square, sunken down about half a meter and laid with smooth, black tiles. Covering the entirety was a huge stone canopy, held up by towering stone pillars all around the plain’s perimeter. There, the Elite Guard stood at their posts around the ceremony, some standing in front of the pillars and facing out, while others stood at the entrances in between and looked in. As was the case every year, once the ceremony had begun, no one got out and no one got in.

Sif had been part of the Elite Guard for nearly fifteen years now, and had done her duty guarding the ceremony year after year. Whoever it was that guarded what was chosen at random, so sometimes she looked out for intruders and other times she faced in to watch for runners. She vastly preferred the former, as it meant she didn’t have to watch. She would still be able to hear though, so it wasn’t that much better.

Though she was supposed to be watching those about to be sent into the Void, she remained focused on the centerpiece of the ceremony, which at least wasn’t writhing and screaming. It was a black pyramid, about twenty meters tall with a flat top. Said top was shining with a white light, which was the only way she could make out the two figures on top. One was a human garbed in an all-concealing. Her arms were spread up over her head, the dangling sleeves sliding down enough on her arms to reveal skintight black gloves that covered the entirety of said arms. Her head was bowed, all of her facial features concealed by a black cowl pulled down low over her face.

The other was little more than a tiny black blob from her perspective, but she knew well what he looked like. It looked to be part cat and part rat, with sleek black body and a rodentlike face. Its eyes were red and beady, a red diamond sigil was on its back, and its raised tail was curled like a chameleon’s. Protruding from its ears were a pair of strange appendages that seemed to be part arm, part antennae, encircled at each of their ends by a floating gold ring.

Oblivion and Reibey, Sif’s masters.

Thankfully the ceremony was almost at an end. Oblivion raised her arms higher, and the platform started glowing brighter. The moaning grew louder as the crowd all pushed closer. Several of the smaller ones looked like they were being crushed by the sea of bodies, but no one seemed to notice or care, not even the ones being smothered. The moans and screams reached a crescendo.

And then they began to disintegrate.

It seemed to be happening in slow motion. Each and every one of the Void Walkers started to dissolve, starting from their tops and working their way down. And from them all billowed a column of white mist. Sif had to restrain herself from taking a step backward as the mist billowed out toward her.

The moans ended, and where once had been a sea of bodies was now a sea of mist. It became a thick fog that rose up, surrounding the pyramid and enveloping it.

Then the cloud started to be drawn into the center, pulled in by an inescapable vortex. The mists were drawn in closer and closer, becoming a spinning whirlwind that spouted up from the platform, with Oblivion and Reibey both standing in its epicenter.

Then the white of the cyclone darkened and turned black, becoming a thick pillar of smoke. It was then sucked right into the top of the pyramid, rushing down into the platform like a smokestack in reverse.

Then it was over. The cyclone of souls had been completely consumed by the pyramid. Oblivion lowered her arms, and Reibey bounded catlike up her robe to perch on her shoulder, and together the two descended the steps of the pyramid down into the vast expanse below, an expanse that only moments before had been filled with the writhing bodies of thousands upon thousands of their followers, but was now completely empty of all life, save for themselves. Reibey bounded up like a cat to perch on Oblivion’s shoulder, and she started down the steps on the side of the pyramid, ready to make the long walk back to the castle.

No signal was given out, but then, none was needed. Sif and the rest of the Elite Guard closed into a protective rank around their masters, and together they left Megiddo, until it would be ready again the next year.

As they fell into their designated places, Sif glanced over to Zoya, whose post had been next to hers. Zoya’s face was blank, but Sif knew her well enough to know that she felt the same.

Sick. She felt sick.

…

As the memories receded and Homulilly regained a sense of herself, the sick feeling didn’t leave. If anything it only got worse, and she found herself clutching at her stomach as she struggled to keep her breakfast down.

She wasn’t the only one. Most of the class looked deeply disturbed. Some started gagging, and more than one of the others girls had started crying a little. Gretchen was one of those. She pressed herself close to Homulilly, wrapping her arms and several of her legs around her taller girlfriend as she burrowed her face into Homulilly’s shoulder. Homulilly slowly inhaled and exhaled, trying to make the nauseous feeling leave her. Gretchen needed her to be strong now. She could go throw up later.

This time, Astrid didn’t pick up the lecture right away. She stood there, waiting for everything they had seen to finish sinking in. When the class had calmed down enough, she said in a low voice, “It was very strange, to make it all the way to the top only to then question your purpose. Oblivion’s Elite Guard are indeed a strange lot.”

Of the group, Mitty looked the least affected, though she still seemed troubled. As such, she was the one who picked up on what Sif was implying. “Wait,” she said. “‘It was very strange’? You mean, that was you?”

“Very perceptive of you,” Astrid said. “Yes, that memory was mine. Sif was my name as a witch.”

She waved a hand, and suddenly another figure appeared in their midst, this one obviously a holographic image. It wore the same black robe that was on display inside the glass, though the hood was down. And there were several notable difference between the face everyone saw and their host. For one, the skin was completely devoid of color, the lines were sharper and the cheeks were thinner, the hair was short, and the eyes were hungrier. Furthermore, it was dotted with several strange growths that looked like chunks of ice.

But other than that, it was clearly Astrid.

“Yes, I was once a Void Walker, just as I was once a witch,” Astrid said as she looked into the eye of her past-self. “And a good one at that. Time and time again I proved myself loyal and trustworthy, enough to finally earn myself a place within Oblivion’s Elite Guard, something that at the time was considered a great honor.

“You see, hope is an emotion in short supply in the Withering Lands. The only hope that a Void Walker is permitted is hope of death. All other kinds are heavily discouraged. It is a life defined by desperation and despair, and by the time one is finally selected, nothing remains save the unquenchable desire to leave.

“But what happens when even that hope is shaken, when decades of reinforced lies and propaganda are called into question? I thought that making to the top of the Void Walker hierarchy would put me on the fast track to be released. After all, being a member of the Elite Guard allows you to start submitting your name a full fifty years early. I thought that my salvation was finally within reach, and sooner or later my name would be drawn.”

“It was a scam, wasn’t it?” Mitty said.

“Absolutely.” The bitterness in Astrid’s voice was clearly evident. “Turns out that good help is hard to find, so when they come across someone useful, they’re inclined to keep them. Your name goes in, but it never, ever comes out. And why wouldn’t it be that way? I mean, the Incubators had lied about everything else. What was one more?

Year after year I stood watch over the releasing ceremony, ensuring that no one ever tried to get out or in, fantasizing about the day that I would join them. I saw clear evidence of their lie with my eyes but still didn’t comprehend. I made up reasons, excuses, justifications to explain what I was seeing with my own eyes. Of course the releasing ceremony had to be legitimate. They never came back, right? That pyramid was probably just a portal to the great beyond, a gateway into spiritual freedom.” Astrid sighed. “It truly is amazing the lengths one will go to avoid admitting that she’s wrong.”

“So, how’d you get out then?” Jordan asked.

Astrid waved a hand, and her past-self was replaced with a different image, albeit dressed in the same outfit. This one was a shorter girl who looked like she had been black before all the color had been drained from her skin, though her short hair was still dark green. “I got lucky. Very lucky. See, being a Void Walker is a pretty lonely existence. Sure, you have companions in the ranks, maybe even friends. But most of them are just a brainwashed as you are, and most of the time they just help to reinforce the lie. But then I met someone, someone who had been there longer than even I had, someone who’s long wait had started to wear down her faith and was starting to have some serious doubts.

“We often worked the same shifts, so we ended up becoming friends, almost out of necessity,” the present-day Astrid explained. “Despite this, it was nearly three years before she felt safe enough around me to confess her doubts. And as it turns out, that fear was justified. I almost turned her in right then and there. Obviously I didn’t, but it was a close thing.” Another hand wave, and the image vanished entirely.

“So, why didn’t you?” Lucy said.

“Shock. Simple as that. I mean, how could another member of the Elite Guard express even the slightest bit of doubt? After all, we were supposed to be the most loyal, the most dedicated, the most…brainwashed. Either way, I found it deeply disturbing, and couldn’t shake it from my head. Shock turned into curiosity, which turned into a conversation. A very, very long conversation. I’ll spare you the details, but I had already stood guard over a fair share of Releasing Ceremonies by then. Not quite enough to stir up doubts of my own, considering how deep in I was at the time, but just enough to plant seeds for her to water.

“In time those seeds grew, and I started to pay attention. Everything that had seemed so right now just looked off. I started noticing things that had just slipped past without leaving an impression. I noticed how odd everyone seemed to act, how strange it was that we were putting so much trust in an Incubator of all things,  And the more I noticed, the more those doubts grew. My friend and I kept talking, and eventually I couldn’t justify the way things were anymore. And so we decided to run away.”

Astrid sighed. “As you might imagine, simply leaving the Void Walkers is no mean feat, especially when you’re directly connected to the upper crust like we are. We took risks, talked to people that we weren’t supposed to talk to, all the while praying that none of them was a mole. Arrangements were made to have us snuck out, and thus began the scariest night of our lives. Naturally, it when to hell almost immediately.”

“Someone snitched, huh?” Mitty guessed.

“Indeed,” Astrid nodded. “We didn’t know it at the time, but as it turned out the entire Withering Lands criminal element is run by the Reibey himself. I suppose he figured that one would develop anyway, so he might as well create it himself as a way to keep tabs on everyone.”

The next exhibit she led them to was a long battle-staff made of some kind of black metal. The pole was sleek and unornamented, while at each end was a small crystal nub.

“Of course, he cared little for either one of us,” Astrid said along the way. “With so many devoted cultists fighting one another for the honor of sacrificing their bodies and souls to whatever it was he was doing with them, what were two runaways? However, he could not risk having us leaving to tell the whole world what we had seen.

“It didn’t take long for us to realize that something was wrong. I’ve always had a keen sense of direction, and even though they had us stuffed in shipping containers, I realized that we were going the wrong way. That was bad enough, but then some of those that we had paid to help us started laughing at us. Taunting us.”

…

“All aboard!” shouted one of their betrayers from the outside. “Next stop: Palace Omega!”

Zoya felt light in the head and sick to her stomach. Setting her battle-staff aside, she curled up in a ball in a corner of the large shipping container that was supposed to take her and Sif to safety, but now would only be a one-way trip to an eternity of darkness and isolation. Tales were told of Oblivion’s dungeon, of the rows of cells with no door, no window, no light, no food or drink, where they simply tossed you in and immediately forgot about you.

“No,” she whimpered as she clutched at her head. She started to hyperventilated. “No, no, no…”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” laughed another one of the betrayers. She recognized that harsh, croaking voice. It was Narsh the vekoo, the one whom she and Sif had been told to go to for help, the one who had taken their money and made all the arrangements, the one that had promised that she would keep them safe, that had said that she would take them to safety, that all they had to do was follow her instructions and let her do all the work. The one that had been working for Oblivion the whole time.

“Sorry girls, but look at it this way!” Narsh continued. “I hear that after the first decade or so, your mind just shuts down and you fall into a catatonic state. So you still get your release, after a fashion.” The shipping container rumbled as the large shuttle transporting it began its journey.

Zoya threw up.

As she finished heaving what little there was to be found inside her, she heard Sif groan loudly. She looked up to see her friend leaning against the far wall, her face buried in her hands.

If Zoya was in bad shape, then Sif looked even worse. Her whole body was shaking, her hands covering her face as sweat dripped from everywhere.

“Please,” Sif was whispering. “Please, please, please. Help us. Please, help us.”

Zoya didn’t know what to do. She wanted to go over to Sif and try to comfort her, but what good would that do? What could she say? They were both doomed.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Sif mumbled. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, don’t let them take us.”

Now Zoya was a confused as much as she was terrified. Who was she talking to?”

Then something strange started to happen. The chips of ice that had been stuck into Sif’s skin had started to glow, lighting up her corner of the container. What was more, the shaking had grown worse.

“Sif?” Zoya said.

Sif didn’t seem to have heard her. She just stayed where she was, violently trembling as the light grew brighter.

“Sif, what’s happening?”

Then Sif moved her hands from her face. Her eyes were closed.

“Sif?”

And then Sif’s eyes snapped open, and the whole contained filled with a brilliant silver light.

…

Mitty practically leapt up in excitement. “That’s when you turned back!”

“Precisely,” Astrid said. “Now, ladies, I know about the rumors that have been surrounding me and my…rebirth, I guess. But what you need to understand that it wasn’t anything that I knew would happen, could happen, or even how it happened. If you’re hoping for a step-by-step explanation, something that anyone could replicate, then I am going to disappoint you. We’ve gone over my memories of that incident with a fine-toothed comb a hundred times and found nothing. What happened, who I was talking to, or what deal was made is just gone. There is a gap of about a minute that no amount of magical probing can seem to uncover. One moment I felt like the world was ending, that everything was starting to drift away, that my sight and hearing were growing dim. I could barely hear my friend talking to me, asking me what we were going to do, but I couldn’t respond. And then, the very next moment, something inside me snapped. Power filled my body, and a flood of memories came rushing in. There was a flash of light, and the next thing I knew, I was outside of the crate, standing over the bodies of our captors. And in my hand…”

The present-day Astrid gestured with her hands, and a pair of axes with elegant silver blades and handles set with blue gems appeared in her grasp. This sent a murmur of surprise and wonder through the group.

Astrid twirled the axes like a pair of revolvers, and they vanished. “Of course, the power that was returned to me really wasn’t that much. A Puella Magi and a witch really aren’t that much different in terms of strength, but it was enough. You see, Reibey and Oblivion enslave the Void Walkers’ bodies as much as their minds and souls. Perhaps you’ve noticed how unnaturally pale they all are?” Everyone nodded. “Well, though none of you have been here long, if you were to take on an experience Void Walker in a straight one-on-one fight, then you would probably win. Their strength is sapped along with their wills, until there is little left.

“This incident…brought it all back,” Astrid said as she watched her former self wreak righteous vengeance. “My memories. My power. My strength. My will. Plus, it shocked the hell out of those traitors. I managed to overcome them, and my friend and I hijacked one of their vehicles and fled for the Byronic Sea. Miraculously, we made it.”

Astrid sighed. “I’ll spare you the details of our trip across the water. I suppose it was incredibly uncomfortable, but we were breathing relief for the first in what felt like forever, and eventually we found ourselves on the shores of Freehaven.”

“I guess they were pretty surprised to see you,” a girl named Carly remarked.

“Completely. And as luck would have it, Freehaven was already more than a little suspicious of the Void Walkers. Outreach attempts never really gained much of a foothold, so when we showed up, their initial belief was that we were another group of Oblivion missionaries. Which…turned to believing that we were some kind of subterfuge agents once we had explained ourselves and begged for asylum.”

“How did you convince them?” asked another girl, this one named Zhao.

“Firstly, by offering our memories,” Astrid said, holding up a single finger. “It was easier back then, given that we had fewer restrictions on memory probes.” A second finger went up. “Also, the promise of proof of their suspicions also made them willing to listen. And once they had it, well…”

“That’s when they decided to invade?”

Astrid shook her head. “Not overnight, of course. There was a lot of discussion and debate, as well as going back and forth with their allies. Freehaven was already friendly with Orya’s Furnace and several local ai’jurrik’kai nests, and there were a substantial number of calliope dances connected to all of the above groups, all of whom were unwilling to swallow the pill that Reibey was offering. Still, it took some time for everyone to be brought onto the same page.”

Mitty’s hand shot up. “Did Reibey ever try to get you back?”

“Shockingly, he barely even aware that we were gone. The smugglers that had betrayed us never actually got around to reporting us. I guess they wanted to keep whatever potential reward for themselves. And after we escaped, they no doubt wanted to avoid being punished for failure.”

“What? But you were in the Elite Guard! How could they not notice that you were gone?”

Astrid smiled. “An excellent question, one which I never got a solid answer to. The other guardswomen almost certainly would have reported our absence. There’s been a few theories thrown about. Certainly their security measures have…tightened since then. Personally, I think it has to do with Reibey himself, and how his mind works. Now, I know only those of you who are still Puella Magi will remember, but as we understand it, Incubators see the world a bit…differently from us.”

“What, you mean the part where they con little girls into becoming horrible monsters just to harvest their emotions for whatever?” Amaya said in a bitter tone.

Lucy turned to her with a hurt look. “Hey!”

“Sorry, Lucy,” Amaya said, cringing.

“I told you to stop that!”

“Sorry.”

Astrid cleared her throat. “Actually, I was referring to their psychological makeup. Now, based on what we’ve been able to gather from those who have had extended interactions with Incubators, much like yourself, part of how they are able to do what they do without remorse is that Incubators do not experience emotions, at least not the same way we do. Fear, love, hate, guilt, concern, anger, joy, and so on are completely alien to them, so they are able to continue their terrible system without pause, bending or omitting the truth whenever it suits them, but having no reservations about coming clean whenever pressed.”

Again Mitty cut in. “So it is true? Does the whole Puella Magi system actually put off the death of the universe?”

Homulilly remembered when her class had reached that part of Puella Magi Studies and how it had completely bewildered her. She hadn’t exactly been at the top of her class, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that no one else in the class really understood it either. In fact, even the teacher had confessed to finding the whole system incomprehensible. How little girls experiencing powerful emotions was supposed to translate to the universe not dying was something that not even their textbook could answer.

As it so happened, neither could Astrid. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “Nor would I understand how such a thing would work if it does. All horrible aspects aside, it always struck me as a needlessly convoluted way of going about things. But that’s beside the point. The point is that among Incubators, Reibey has always been quite the anomaly. Even without taking the fact that he is even here into account, he is different in that he shows every indication of having emotions, but with very little control over them. Every interaction anyone has had with him has shown him to be something that is…impatient. Quick to anger. Rash, arrogant, thin-skinned, deliberately obnoxious, prone to acting without thinking things through, and a variety of other negative traits. Common theory is that he suffers from some kind of mental illness unique to his species.

This was met with a prolonged silence. “An insane Incubator,” Claudia said at last, mostly under her breath. “Well, that’s…terrifying.”

“That depends,” Astrid said with a shrug. “He is an absolutely abhorrent individual, but at the very least he is easier to manipulate than his brethren. But getting back to the original point, I feel that the reason he didn’t bother to come after us before it was too late was that he was so wholly convinced of his invincibility that he couldn’t even conceive that we would be a threat.” She started walking toward the next exhibit. This one was more eye-catching than the others, as it contained a pair of weapons like none Homulilly had ever seen. Each one looked like three large, triangular blades that stuck out in three different directions. They were joined together in the middle by a shielded grip made of silver and set with violet gems. “He thought us as barely worth pursuing, a couple of irritants that would just disappear and never bother him again. This proved…false.”

Astrid lifted her hand, but hesitated before putting it down on the glass. “Girls, I need you to brace yourselves. Of all the memories you will be seeing today, this one will stick the most.”

Homulilly and Gretchen were already shaken, but they steeled themselves the best they could. Their entwined fingers squeezed tight, and Homulilly gritted her teeth.

Astrid moved her hand the rest of the way to the glass.

…

The trip across the Byronic Sea had not been long. In fact, it had only taken three days.

But it had felt longer. Oh sweet molten Core, it had felt so much longer.

Yorto had tried to pass the time. She had read the books she had brought along, but her mind wouldn’t focus and soon it became all but impossible to even comprehend the words. She had tried spending time with her fellow soldiers, but talk had always eventually wandered back to what lay before them. She had tried meditating, but her thoughts always came to dwell upon their destination.

Arriving in the afterlife had been hard. Learning of the deception behind her wish had been harder. And so when she had settled down in Orya’s Furnace with the other jotts, she had sworn to never call upon that power again, to never summon up her bardu blades with the intent to do harm.

The renegade Void Walkers’ message had changed all that. Even in death, the deception had not ended. It was up to them to make sure that it did.

Now at long last, the great warrior transport shit Meterle came in sight of land. Yorto stood agitatedly in her regiment, anxiously trying to calm her nerves. The human warships were to be the main thrust of their attack, and then the transports would spew their angry cargo upon the sands.

And then the fighting would begin.

Not killing. Bless the stones, no one would die.

But they would hurt. Yorto’s bardu blades would once again cleave flesh, and if they didn’t, it was her flesh that would be opened.

She had never wanted to do this again, but here she was.

The Meterle’s cargo was shielded behind a heavy hull, but Yorto could still hear. The information they had gathered had made their destination to be a receiving dock, where those seeking to become Void Walkers arrived. It was likely to be only lightly defended. Apparently Oblivion had never anticipated an actual invasion.

That was the good news. The bad was that many of those they were likely to encounter probably weren’t even Void Walkers yet, but just the weary and worn looking for an exit.

To steady herself, Yorto thought on those images that those two human renegades had brought with them, of the Releasing Ceremony and the great pyramid that absorbed souls. What the New Life Alliance was about to bring was a mercy compared to that.

Then the explosions started. The humans were firing upon the docks. Yorto could hear the sounds of their mighty guns going off, as well as the clear, crystalline chimes of the calliopes.

Calliopes fighting. There seemed to be something deeply perverse about that.

Then the screams started. Yorto closed her eyes.

“Ready yourselves!” called out the captain through the ship’s speakers. “Weapons out!”

The witches among them were already armed. The Puella Magi reached into their magic to summon up the weapons given to them through the Incubators’ contracts. The hold of the ship lit up as those weapons were called back into service.

It was time. Yorto took a deep breath and concentrated.

Without hesitation, violet light gathered around her hands, forming themselves into a pair of triple-bladed weapons that were splayed out in three directions, joined together in the middle by a grip. She lifted them, staring at the intricate glyphs carved into the blades, at the dark purple gems that studded the grips.

Hello, my old friends. It is so unpleasant to see you again.

“Approaching beach!”

Then there was a terrible jolt as the Meterle heaved itself upon the shore. Yorto swayed on her feet but kept her balance.

“Three!”

This was it. There was no turning back.

“Two!”

Children would be hurt today. The only thing she could hope was that it would one day be worth it.

“One!”

Stones forgive her.

And then the front of the ship opened, the hull sliding back and the ramp driving out into the sand. Sunlight filled the hold, and Yorto could see that the docks were already burning.

“Go, go, go, go!”

They surged forward. Jotts weren’t exactly known for being as quick and nimble on their feet as humans or ai’jurrik’kai, but their short, bulgy muscles handled short distances just fine.

Moments later, Yorto was surrounded by complete chaos.

From behind came the sound of firing cannons and discharged energy weapons, mixed with the shouts and commands of her allies. In front of her came deafening explosions and screams. Several dismal looking buildings were already in flames. Calliopes zipped this way and that overhead, redirecting energy beams with pinpoint accuracy.

And for one eternally long second, everything seemed to just stop.

She saw the beach rising up in front of her, with several bursts of sand being flung into the air. She saw a square black building erupt into flames as several calliopes redirected at least five brilliant beams right into its center. She saw the first thrust of humans and ai’jurrik’kai leaping toward what looked like a blob of black and white. It was the Void Walkers, and they were panicking

She saw all of that in crystal clarity, and wondered if she was in a dream.

“Move!” someone roared, and suddenly the world sped up again. Blinking, Yorto remembered her training and did as she was told.

The beach wasn’t the easiest thing to traverse even when it wasn’t being bombed into glass, but jott feet were great at finding purchase in even the slickest of surfaces, and soon the jotts had pushed past the dunes to join their extraterrestrial friends in battle.

Focus on those wearing black and white, Yorto thought. Filter out those in Alliance uniforms. Engage the newly arrived only if challenged.

Keeping that in mind, she let her mind filter out anything with color and singled in on the Void Walkers, most of whom were fleeing but still had some resisting.

Yorto leapt forward, crying out as she made for the closest figure clothed in black.

…

As the images cleared, there were tears in Homulilly’s eyes. She wasn’t the only one.

Gretchen was softly weeping. She all but threw herself against Homulilly, seizing her with both hands and several legs as she buried her face in in Homulilly’s shoulder. Homulilly held her with an arm across her shoulders and the other holding the back of her head.

Astrid had been right. Though the memory had stopped before Yorto had actually taken part in any violence, there was little doubt as to what had happened next.

Then she heard a gasp. Looking up, she saw Shiloh standing by herself, looking down at her hands in horror.

In her hands was a massive silver mallet, its shaft frosted with gold.

Shiloh stared down at the mallet, as if she didn’t know what it was. Then she gasped again and swiftly banished it, causing it to disappear in a shower of gold sparks.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” She fell to her knees and started sobbing.

“It’s okay!” Astrid said, hurrying over and knelt down to hold her. “It’s not your fault. It’s just the memory.”

“But it is!” Shiloh cried. “Because…I made the same promise! The one Yorto made! When I found out what witches were, I promised I wouldn’t ever, ever, ever fight anyone again.”

“And you haven’t. You’re still keeping your promise.”

“But what if there’s another war? What if they make me go fight, like they did with Yorto? What if I have to hurt people again? I thought it was supposed to be over!”

“It is over. The war’s not going to happen again. That’s part of what I’m showing you.”

Shiloh stared at her as if she didn’t believe her. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Astrid said without hesitation. “I’m sorry we had to show you that, but the worst is over. Are you okay?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then Shiloh nodded.

“Good. Just hold it together. It’s almost over.”

Maybe so, but Homulilly had her doubts that the worst was over. She had known that their trip wasn’t intended to be fun and games, but she had vastly overestimated just how disturbing it would actually be. She hugged Gretchen closer and slowly breathed out.

Then, of course, Mitty had to go and ruin things. Again. “How does a war even work?” she said. “I mean, nobody can die. Wouldn’t everyone just keep fighting forever?”

Astrid sighed, and rose to face her. “That was…definitely part of the problem,” she admitted. ���And a major reason why armed conflict is so rare. However, to everyone’s surprise, the initial assault was very successful. As it turned out, the Void Walkers had never anticipated any sort of invasion and had little in the way of defenses. Furthermore, as I explained earlier, your average Void Walker is considerably weaker than any of you are. Within a few weeks of fighting, they had managed to capture a full third of the Withering Lands and were pushing further inward.”

“Really? Huh. I mean, I’ve seen maps. Isn’t the Withering Lands supposed to be one of the biggest territories we have here.”

“It is. Unfortunately, the closer they got to taking over, the harder the war became, and it wasn’t just do to the sheer size of the place. It didn’t take long for the Void Walkers to smarten up and start mounting an actual resistance, and though individually they were weaker, they had the advantage of numbers and fanaticism. They were willing to go places and do things that anyone in the Alliance would balk at, and they never, ever gave up.”

The next exhibit was the last of those ringing the room, this one an old and battered military cap, one set with the four-pointed star that Homulilly had seen on the New Life Alliance emblems.

“Things started to drag out,” Astrid continued. “And the major disadvantage of immortality began to reveal itself: if one cannot truly die, than you were stuck being hurt over and over until you broke, and the Void Walkers proved to be very creative in hurting people. But still they pressed on, convinced that if they kept it up just a little longer and pushed a little harder, they would finally have Reibey and Oblivion in their grasp.”

Gretchen swallowed noisily. “Um, y-you’re not going to show us that, are you?”

“Of course not. But I am going to show you the reason why we failed.” Astrid’s eyes darkened. “You see, something happened then that no one could have predicted. Most of the rest of the afterlife had declined to join in on the assault, but the Alliance had thought that it would stop at that. What they didn’t expect was for an entirely new army to suddenly attack at their rear. One day everyone in Freehaven woke up to find themselves under siege, and the Alliance’s new outposts in the Withering Lands were under attack.”

…

“Caaaaaptaaaaaiiiiinnnnn!”

Captain Chelsea Johnson looked up from the field reports she had been going over. The final push into Twilight’s Crypt was coming up, and though she wouldn’t be a part of it, seeing how she had to defend the coast, everyone was expected do their parts and be ready.

Unfortunately, war could go horribly wrong at any time, and given how frantic Nu’sodka’sii was beckoning toward her with no fewer than four arms, it seemed that it just had.

“Hurrrrryyyyy!” whistled the ai’jurrik’kai communications officer.

“What is it?” Chelsea said as she rushed over. “More suicide bombers?”

“Wooorrrrrssssse! Weeeee’rrrrrrre beeeeiiinnnng invaaaaaaaaded!”

Sure enough, the sensors were all lit up with thousands of dots, all coming from the sea. A second later every alarm in the fortress went completely berserk.

Chelsea broke out into a cold sweat. “What is this? Where are these coming from? The Void Walkers don’t have an armada!”

“Thheeeeeeyyyy aaaaarrrrrreeeeennnnn’t Vooooiiiiiiiiiiid Wwwwwwaaaaaallllllllkeeeeeeerrrrrrs!”

“Then what…”

Then Chelsea had a horrible premonition. She abruptly left the communications array and headed over to the balcony, the one that faced the sea. Behind her, Nu’sodka’sii waved her arms frantically as she whistled for Chelsea’s attention, but she was ignored.

Chelsea opened the door to the balcony and went out to see.

There were considerably more ships in the harbor than there should be. Quite a lot, actually, and from over twice as many species than were represented by the Alliance. Furthermore, the sky had been clear last time she checked. Now it was filled with aircraft, calliopes, and kotoss.

One of the kotoss floated in front of the rest. The wispy, ethereal being hovered just close enough to get everyone’s attention without actually reaching the first line of defenses. “This is Force Commander Tessikin of the United Territories Combined Military!” the kotoss called, her voice magically amplified. “You will stand down and surrender control of this outpost immediately, or we will be forced to attack!”

Chelsea’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you serious?” she said. “I’m not going to-”

Then she stopped, scowled, and tapped her throat. “Are you serious?” she said again, this time her voice booming loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not surrendering to a bunch of mercenaries!”

“We are no mercenaries,” Tessikin replied. “We are here of our own volition, to prevent you from making a horrendous mistake. Stand down immediately, or face the consequences!”

“A mistake?! How can you-”

“This is not a negotiation, or is it a philosophical debate! You have heard our demands and must respond!”

Chelsea’s mind raced. This was bad, this was very bad. Though they have resigned themselves to the horrors they would have to face and commit for their invasion to succeed, they had expected it to all come from the Void Walkers. This was a wrinkle that they had not anticipated.

“Nu’sodka’sii,” she said over her shoulder. “Contact command, and tell them-”

Then the entire beach on either side of her was consumed by fire.

Chelsea almost fell over in shock. All the gun installations they had set up had simply blown up. She could hear the cries of pain and fear from the gunners that had been at their posts, or at least the ones that hadn’t been instantly disintegrated.

What the hell? The armada hadn’t fired! Why did they just blow up like…

It was then that Chelsea realized that it was unnaturally dark, despite it being a quarter past two in the afternoon.

Chelsea had a terrible, sinking premonition. She slowly looked up.

Blotting out the sky was a huge, hovering disc-shaped…thing, one ringed with violet lights. Ropes of glowing beads of the same color hung from its center.

A spacecraft? A warship of some kind? Chelsea was pretty well read on the various craft designs of the afterlife’s races, but couldn’t place this. Andalite, maybe? No, she had seen andalite ships, and none looked like that.

Then suddenly, she got it. It wasn’t a ship, it was a being. The invaders had brought along a goddamned coronian.

But how? There was only like about…nine of those total! And they didn’t take sides!

Apparently this one had.

“Do you get it now?” Tessikin called. “Either abandon your fortress now and surrender yourself into our custody, or we will be more than happy to wait for you to regenerate to take you in anyway.”

…

“At first they thought that the Void Walkers had some unknown allies that they had managed to send a call for help to, but the truth was much more discouraging,” Astrid said as the vision faded. “Not only were these new assailants unwilling to help out with the war effort, but they had wholly bought what the Void Walkers’ were selling: hook, line, and sinker. And they were not about to let their one possible end to everlasting life be taken away that easily.

“The Alliance’s spirit broke then. It was one thing to hold the course against a bunch of crazed fanatics, but having the rest of the afterlife suddenly rise up in arms against them was the last straw. Everyone was sick of fighting, sick of the pain, sick of dying, sick of it all. And so, though it disgusted everyone involved to have to do so, a meeting between the leaders of the New Life Alliance and the Void Walkers was called, and a truce was drawn up.”

She took them to the final exhibit, the large one in the center of the room. This one was not on a pedestal, just a large glass case over a plain wooden desk, on which sat a pen and an unrolled sheet of paper.

Homulilly leaned in close. The paper was old, but the words on it were still perfectly legible. On the bottom were a number of signatures. On the top was written THE FREE LIFE COMPACT.

As she mused over that, Jordan said, “We surrendered?”

“Not exactly,” Astrid said. “Remember, the Alliance was winning at the time, but they had gone as far as they were going to go. The terms of the Free Life Compact were clear: the New Life Alliance would cede all of the territory it had taken and return home and never again take up arms against the Withering Lands. And in return, the Void Walkers would stay well away from Alliance lands and make no attempt to spread their gospel among its inhabitants.”

And with that, she laid her hand against the case, triggering the final memory.

…

The leaders of three different armies met together on the field of Broken Dreams. Though General Aisha suspected that the name had just been chosen to go along with the Void Walkers’ perchance to give everything overly morbid names, it couldn’t be more appropriate.

Aisha, who stood in command of the humans in the New Life Alliance, stood with Molecular, Mujj, and Der’ong’vey, her calliope, jott, and ai’jurrik’kai counterparts, with a good chunk of the New Life Alliance arrayed behind her. In front of them was a three-sided table. Tessikin hovered with her officers at another edge, with the United Territories camped behind them.

At the third edge was the leaders of the Void Walkers, infuriatingly within reach but forever out of their grasp. Oblivion stood as still and silent as a statue, her cowl pulled down low over her features. Over one shoulder stood the blindfolded being known only as the Matriarch, whom very little was known of.

And on the table sat Reibey himself. Though every single enemy of the New Life Alliance was present, it was he that Aisha directed all of her hate toward. He was the source of everything that the Alliance had been formed to fight against. He was the reason that the majority of the afterlife had been deceived into rising up to defend the indefensible.

Naturally, the deranged Incubator smugly ignored the malice being sent his way. “We are in agreement then,” he said, his telepathic voice even more grating than that of the Incubator that had conned Aisha into her own private hell. “All POW’s will be released, and the New Life Alliance will remove itself from the Withering Lands and swear to never take up arms against the Withering Lands or its sovereign holdings ever again. And in return, our own people will refrain from trespassing on Alliance territory and cease all recruitment campaigns in said territories. The Alliance will make no effort to discourage those outside of its jurisdiction from partaking of Oblivion’s gift, either through force or propaganda. We leave you alone, you leave us alone. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Aisha said, practically spitting the word out. “But…before that…”

“Oh?”

Turning away from Reibey, Aisha turned her attention to Tessikin and her people. “That was a mistake,” she said. “You sided with a devil. And one day you’re going to realize that. Better start practicing your apology, because it better be damned good.”

“Enough,” Reibey said. “Sign.”

Aisha exchanged a mutually angry looked with her companions. Well, with Mujj anyway. Ai’jurrik’kai were blind, and who knew what was going on with calliopes anyway?

Picking up the provided pens, Aisha and Mujj signed on the appropriate lines. Der’ong’vey reached over with one spindly arm and scraped a finger over her line, leaving an oily brown smear, which hardened into a glassy substance almost immediately. Molecular flared, and a puff of calliope glitter was spewed over the final line.

The Void Walkers added their own signatures next, followed by the UT, and it was done. The Free Life Compact had been signed. Aisha prayed that that it would be a long time before they came to regret it.

…

“And now you know.”

Homulilly stood with her head bowed, her long raven hair hanging down around her face like a curtain. The sick feeling from the earlier violent and disturbing memories had ebbed into the background. Now she mostly just felt…tired. Disappointed. Even a little betrayed.

Part of it was residual from Aisha, who had certainly felt very bitter toward those who had risen up to protect the Withering Lands. But most of it was her own.

The Incubators were evil; everybody knew that! How could anyone stick up for one? I didn’t make any sense!

“Now you know the dark side of our little self-made Heaven,” Astrid continued. “Now you know what the New Life Alliance had to ally against in the first place. And now you know the trap that’s waiting to ensnare you. The truce between us and the Void Walkers has held for centuries, neither side willing to risk another war. We have kept up our end and stayed out of their territory, but that hasn’t stopped us from telling the truth.”

Apparently Homulilly wasn’t alone in her thoughts, as Shiloh said then, “Why? Why did they want to stop us? Didn’t you show them what you saw?”

“We did,” Astrid said.

“Then…” Shiloh seemed to be struggling with her question, so she just said, “Why?”

“Because to someone dying of thirst, even a glass of water offered by the devil himself would be tempting. Thus far, no true method of passing on from this afterlife to whatever comes after has been found.” Astrid sighed. “There have been ways to…partially simulate death, but nothing permanent is known to exist. The Void Walkers are the only ones with any tangible claim to it, and having the only known Incubator in their ranks adds credibility to that claim.”

“But why would anyone want to die?” Gretchen said. “Why would anyone want to leave in the first place?”

“Not every place is as nice as Freehaven. There are territories that more resemble Hell than anything else. Besides, forever is a long time. Even the most heavenly of places starts to lose its appeal after a while.”

This answer got a lot of frowns from the group. Homulilly in particular struggled to imagine how terrible another territory had to be to make someone willingly take their chances with the Void Walkers.

Then Amaya had another question, one that took everyone by surprise. “So…Okay, so hear me out: wasn’t it kind of screwed up that we tried to invade them in the first place?”

Homulilly jerked up. “How can you say that?” she said, gaping at Amaya. “You saw what we all saw. You saw what they’re tricking us into doing. We were trying to save everyone!”

Amaya frowned. “Yeah, okay, but we made that choice for everyone. Most of the afterlife didn’t want anything to happen to the Void Walkers, but we chose to do it anyway.” She shrugged. “We chose for them. I don’t know, that just seems wrong to me.”

Wrong? Wrong? The images of the Releasing Ceremony flashed through Homulilly’s mind, of those frenzied girls who had willingly let their bodies be torn apart and their souls sucked up into that pyramid. Wanting to put a stop to that was wrong?

But to further add to her surprise, Astrid didn’t seem to agree. “This may surprise you, but there are many that agree with you, even here in the Alliance itself. Certainly going to war without the rest of the magical girls’ help backfired in a major way. Perhaps if more time was taken, if we made more of an effort to talk to the other species and territories, it would have been different. And in light of what happened, the odds of anyone risking another war are slim to none. The best we can do is educate as many as we can, and help them ready themselves for the long march of time.”

Homulilly swallowed. “So…what do we do? You said that everyone gets tired sooner or later. What do we do to keep that from happening to us.”

“You can’t stop it from happening,” Astrid said. “But you can make the long wait easier.”

“How?”

Then Astrid looked down at Homulilly and Gretchen’s hands, which were still tightly entwined, and she smiled. “It looks like you already know. Love.” This actually got a few chuckles from the group, Astrid being among them. “I know, I know, it sounds cheesy, but I’m being serious. The bonds you form here are even stronger than they were in the world of the living, and actual studies show that those who have someone or even many someones to love and support them, they are able to withstand the long wait without falling into despair.”

“Well. I guess I’m fucked then,” said Amaya after a pause.

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

The girl shrugged. “Come on, let’s be real: this place is totally biased toward lesbians. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with that, but what about the rest of us? I’m straight, and I don’t want to stop being straight! What am I supposed to do?”

Mitty scratched her head. “Yeah, uh, you…do realize that everyone eventually goes gay sooner or later, don’cha? Like, the afterlife changes you and all that.”

“Not if you don’t want to!”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you?” Mitty said, soundly honestly mystified.

“Because it’s not me!”

Astrid slowly nodded her head. “While it is true that romantic love makes things easier, there are more kinds of love out there. Platonic love. Sisterly love. Strong bonds that form between you and your friends, between you and your community. There are many that have held on to their original romantic preferences and still withstood. You can too.”

“What about anti-social people?” Jordan wanted to know. “Because that doesn’t seem fair to them at all.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But unfortunately, we have to work with the hand we’re dealt.” Astrid then turned to address the group as a whole. “Girls, understand that I didn’t show you this just to scare you. I did it because it’s important for you to face the future with your eyes open. As you grow older, you might find yourself changing your mind about a great many things. Even Freehaven might stop being appealing. But whatever happens, remember what you’ve seen today. Do not fall for Oblivion and Reibey’s lies. Do not let them have your soul. Love each other and support however you can, and do not be afraid to accept help when you need. Because we may have come here from a dozen different worlds, hundreds of different countries, and so many points in time, but one way or another, we’re all in this together.”

[chaos-weekly]

just some closure

Her days in New York City were coming to an end. This sucked for two reasons: one, Nollie was starting to love NYC, and two, she was soon going to be back in Los Angeles with an ex she still thought about regularly.

It had been three months since she’d ended things with London, completely blindsiding him and shattering both of their hearts in the process. She loved him, and she still did, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that their relationship had been founded on a lie that Nollie couldn’t overlook. He’d started their relationship to break her dry spell, and once he’d broken it, he couldn’t seem to get enough. The more she thought about it and processed it through with her therapist, Nollie could see a lot of her old self in him: two insecure individuals who found their meaning and value in relationships through sex. 

Even though their relationship had been built on dishonesty, Nollie didn’t hate London. How could she? He was just as broken as she was, and she wouldn’t and couldn’t fault him for that. He’d done a terrible thing, but that didn’t make him a terrible person. Besides, London had been the one to break Nollie’s negative relationship with intimacy. He’d shown her that sex wasn’t a tabboo thing and that she was able to do whatever she wanted with her body with whomever she wanted to do it with. There was so much freedom in that.

Coming to NYC after their breakup was exactly what she needed. She was starting to feel like herself, and not the version of herself she was with London or before London or really any other time. For the first time in her life, Magnolia was Magnolia. She had never felt better. She was funny and kind and outgoing, she made friends easily, and she loved big. She was spontaneous, she enjoyed trying new foods, she would never turn down a good time. She liked flirting with guys and dancing with them, and she didn’t mind the occasional one night stand. Nollie hadn’t felt this good ever. 

She had also reconnected with Langston in New York. Part of her hand always felt like he was the one who got away, even if they’d gone their separate ways for a good reason. They had gone on a few dates, kissed, had sex. And even though those had been good times, the spark that they’d previously had wasn’t there. They resigned themselves to just being friends, and Nollie was fine with it. 

This weekend, a bunch of her friends from LA were flying in to celebrate Langston’s birthday. Nollie knew this meant she would have to see London, but she didn’t harbor any ill-will towards him. She hoped that their breakup had allowed him to grow into the person she’d always seen him as. Even if it would be awkward to be face-to-face with a man she still cared deeply for, that was life, and Nollie was learning to embrace every minute of it.

///

Their little group of LA friends decided to get a limo to pick every person up from their apartment or hotel and drive them to the club where they were celebrating Langston’s birthday. Nollie lived in the same apartment complex as him, so the pair was picked up last and together. She could hear the music blaring from inside the limo as soon as it was in sight, and when the doors flung open, loud screams escorted them inside the vehicle. She and Langston took the last two available seats, squished between the door and Esther and Bishop and across from Xander and a slightly pregnant Imogen. Didi was squeezed in next to Xander, and JJ was manspreading in the back seat with London. 

“Fancy seeing you all here,” Bishop teased, earning a grin from the limo’s newest arrivals. “I’ve missed you two so much.”

“Bish, you were just here two weeks ago,” Langston said. Bishop and Esther had been making rather frequent visits to New York City to visit museums and meet with artists and collectors. The MAP had really taken off since Bishop’s exhibit, and now they were both in high demand. 

“Does that mean I can’t miss two of my best friends?” he whined, giving a fake pout. “Two weeks is too long.”

“But Nollie’s going to be back in LA soon,” Didi offered up, maybe a little too anxiously. “Right, Nollie?”

The girl laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted cautiously, immediately receiving playful boos from (mostly) everyone in the limo. “Hey! I really love it here. And the agency offered me a permanent contract. I’ve still got a week to make up my mind.”

“Just a week?” Didi whined, taking over Bishop’s role as the resident Drama Queen. “That’s not long enough at all.”

“That’s so exciting, Nollie,” Esther said encouragingly. “I know that you’ll be amazing wherever you go.”

Nollie smiled, eyes flickering over everyone in the vehicle and resting gently on London.

“I’m still thinking about it.”

///

There were five people passed out in Nollie’s apartment, and she, lucky number six, was still wide awake at the prime time of four thirty in the morning. Save Imogen and Xander, who left at a decent time because they were responsible adults and almost parents now, the entire LA crew had come back to crash at her place instead of finding their way to their hotel rooms. She didn’t mind, but she wished she was at least able to sleep.

London was in what seemed to be the most uncomfortable position ever in an oversized armchair. He had no blanket, kept shifting around, and he seemed to be muttering something in his sleep. Earlier in the evening, both tipsy at the club, they’d shared a dance, his hands grabbing her hips in a way that made her think back to the time they’d made out in the spare room at Xander’s party. He’d buried his face in the crook of her neck, she’d pressed her body against his, and they’d moved in a way that could have convinced a drunker Nollie that it would be worth it to go home with him. 

It had been three months, she’d slept with numerous men, but her body still ached for London.

And she was finding that her heart did, too. He was confident instead of cocky, bold instead of brazen. It was now obvious that he cared about others and listened to what they had to say. He’d grown from an overgrown frat boy into a man. 

Maybe their breakup had been good for him after all.

He stirred in his sleep, and Nollie made her way over quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder to wake him up.

“Hey,” she said softly, waiting patiently for his eyes to open. “Let’s move you somewhere more comfy, okay?” He nodded groggily, pushing himself to his feet and following Nollie into her bedroom. She’d previously declared the space off limits, but she could make exceptions at her own discretion. Without even questioning it, he crawled under her covers. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him, brushing pizza crumbs off of his forehead (how did they get there?). 

“I feel like sh-t,” he muttered, looking at her with half-awake eyes. 

“You had a lot to drink, London.”

“About us, Nols,” he replied, pushing himself into a sitting position, likely against his better judgement. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. You were right about everything.” She was silent. Nollie had to look away from him. She just couldn’t handle seeing his face. 

“You made me a better man when we were together, but for some reason, I think you ending it has made me better still. When we first broke up, I blamed you, I won’t lie. I was angry with you and with myself, and I couldn’t understand why you had to go and end something so good. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what we had wasn’t good, because it’s impossible to be good if there’s dishonesty and miscommunication. I wasn’t open and honest with you, and I have no one to blame but myself for things ending.” London sighed. “Please look at me, Nols. Please just look at me.”

And she did, her eyes watering and her teeth biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from spilling over.

“I’m sorry, Magnolia. And I want you to know that even though you probably hate me and will never forgive me-- and that’s okay-- but… I still love you. I always will.”

“I don’t hate you,” she replied softly, a tiny tear trickling down her cheek. She brushed it off quickly, sucking in a deep breath. “And I’ve already forgiven you. Months ago.” It looked like a huge weight had been lifted off of London’s chest.

“Thank you. I don’t deserve that.”

“That isn’t true, London. You are not a horrible person. All I’ve been able to think about these past few months, at least in terms of our relationship, is that I want you to see yourself the way I see you. You’ve always seen yourself as a bad guy, and you’re not. You are kind, you genuinely care about people. You’re confident and strong-willed and determined. You want to give others everything. You are a great man, London.”

He was crying now. It was the second time she’d ever seen him cry. Nollie reached a hand up to brush the tears away, her palm cupping his cheek and her thumb stroking it softly.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you, too,” she replied just as quietly. “But things can’t be the same. You know that as well as I do.”

“They can’t be,” he agreed. “But they won’t be. We’re two new people. We’re starting over, starting fresh.”

“I’m staying in New York, London.”

“And my business needs to expand. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

They stared at each other for a few moments before she pulled his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. What she’d thought was impossible was actually becoming a reality. 

“I’ll be back in a month for you,” he murmured against her lips. “And I’m never letting you go again.”

“Please hurry back,” she replied. “Because as soon as you’re back in New York, I’m going to need you to f-cking rail me.”

[dunbartonnhrxnf926-blog]

No Time? No Money? No Problem! How You Can Get Hotels Near Dunbarton New Hampshire With A Zero-dollar Budget

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Music in Human Life

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The 30-Second Trick for Music in Human Life

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If You Read Nothing Else Today, Read This Report on Music in Human Life

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Finding Music in Human Life on the Web

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The Hidden Treasure of Music in Human Life

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19 Easy Ways to Save Money in Armenia

Posted: 12/16/19 | December 16th, 2019

I never got to Armenia when I was in the Caucasus. I was bummed because there so much history there. Next trip, right? Well, Carine and Doug love Armenia so much, they’ve visited four times over the past few years. So, in this guest post, they are going to give us their best tips for saving money when you visit Armenia!

Armenia is one of the oldest nations on earth. Its roots date back to 860 BCE, and its capital, Yerevan, just celebrated its 2,800th anniversary, making it one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. The nation has a very rich culture, a ton of beautiful places to explore, amazing food, and some of the most hospitable people you’ve ever met. Having been to Armenia four times, we’ve found it to be one of our favorite places on earth.

The crowds have not made it yet to this beautiful part of the world, which is why we often hesitate to share our love for Armenia with others (we want to keep it our little secret as a budget-friendly destination).

But Matt convinced us otherwise, so here we are, sharing our 19 best tips for saving money in the country:

1. Walking around the cities The cities in Armenia are very walkable. They’re easy to navigate and well marked. You can even get from one end of the capital Yerevan to the other in 30-40 minutes. Walking is also the cheapest and healthiest way to get around. So bring comfy shoes — they will come in handy!

And if you get lost, just ask the locals. They’re so helpful and love showing their city off. Don’t be surprised if they end up walking with you to your destination and inviting you over for coffee and cake as well!

2. Take a free walking tour in Yerevan. There is so much to see and do in Yerevan. The best way to get a taste of it is to join a walking tour with Yerevan Free Walking Tours. The tour lasts about three hours, covering almost 2.5 miles (4 kilometers) and about 25 points of interest. To join, just meet at 5 pm (17:00) by the entrance to the History Museum on Republic Square.

3. Use the GG or Yandex apps instead of taxis. Although there are taxis, the fastest way to get around is to use the GG or Yandex apps. Like Uber, they call on drivers in your area to pick you up. GG only works in larger cities at the moment.

Rides within Yerevan will cost you about $3-4 USD, depending on how far you’re going. Rides to the airport will set you back about $6.

If you want to call on a regular taxi, make sure you agree on the price before getting in, especially at the airport. This is where regular taxis will most often try to charge you double what you’ll pay on GG or Yandex. Sure, it’s convenient not having to wait for your ride to get there, but is it really worth the extra money? Probably not. Offer to pay them the same thing GG would charge, plus an extra 100 AMD (or dram) ($0.21 USD) to avoid the wait.

A little note about cars in Armenia: Although they surely had seat belts at one point in time, they are not frequently used. Don’t be surprised if there is no buckle or seat belt at all. Especially, don’t be surprised if the driver just shrugs off your comment about it!

4. Hop on a marshrutka to get around Yerevan. One of the cheapest ways to get around the larger cities is by taking marshrutkas (minibuses). Cities are working on putting together a map of the various routes, but for now, you can use the A2B Transport app on Android, or if you know Armenian, check out Marshrut.info (although your browser may offer to translate the page into English, too).

Riding a marshrutka costs 100 AMD ($0.21 USD), which you pay before getting off, or when the driver asks you. To get off at your stop, just say kangnek (kang-nek), which means ‘Stop here’. The bus will pull over at the next stop to let you off.

Also, here are a few tips to help you enjoy the ride: Sit in the front when you can; you’ll be more comfortable. If you take one of the minivan marshrutkas, you open and close your door. Just make sure you don’t slam the door too hard, or you’ll hear it from the driver. Sometimes seating will get tight, so you may need to stand. Also, don’t be surprised if women ask you to hold on to their purses, groceries, or babies if you do have a seat — although the nice thing to do is to offer them yours!

5. Take a bus between cities. Although tourism infrastructure is slowly being built, it’s still quite easy to get around the country, even if most people don’t speak English.

There are larger buses that go from city to city, though most are to and from Yerevan. These are also called marshrutkas. Costs vary between $0.50 to $5.00 USD depending on where you’re going. Your money will be collected before the marshrutka leaves.

Just know that there’s no actual bus schedule: they usually head out to larger cities (Gyumri, Vanadzor, Dilijan) when they’re full. If not, they leave on the hour — just don’t expect them to be very timely! You can grab one at any of the three bus stations in Yerevan.

On your ride, it may happen that they may need to refill the marshrutka with gas. Many vehicles in Armenia run on compressed natural gas and propane, so during the fill-up, you will be asked to get out of the vehicle as a safety precaution.

6. If you’re in a rush to get to a new city, take a shared taxi. You can also take a shared taxi, which usually leaves from Yerevan’s main bus station. You’ll split the fare between 3-4 people. There is no schedule for departures. Again, they wait until the taxi is full before they head out.

Costs vary between $5 and $10 USD per person, depending on where you’re going. You can negotiate with the driver, though. If each person pays a little more for their fare, they won’t wait to fill up to go.

Our tip here would be to find friends at your hostel that want to go to that same city. They’ll help you fill that taxi up faster.

7. Just hitchhike to get around (and make friends). This is definitely the cheapest and most fun way to go! Even locals recommend it to get around. They call it avtostop, which comes from the Russian word for hitchhiking. When traveling outside of Yerevan, it can often be easier to hitchhike between villages than to wait for a marshrutka. However, it’s not the most time-conscious way to do it.

You’ll notice that Armenians are very friendly, generous, and hospitable, so they’re very willing to pick up strangers looking for a ride on the side of the road. However, if you end up making friends with the driver, they will insist you come over for drinks and food before they drop you off at your desired destination. If you want, you can try and tip the driver, but chances are, they’ll kindly refuse.

A few tips here to ensure safe and easy travel: We recommend you look clean, travel in groups of two or three people, and to have a mixed-sex group. Also, women shouldn’t be offended if the driver (likely a male) only speaks to the men of the group! Armenia is still a very traditional country.

8. In Yerevan, take the metro. Yerevan’s metro system is little known to visitors, but it is displayed on Google Maps and is one of the best ways to get around the city. It’s also one of the things residents of Yerevan are very proud of. The Karen Demirchyan Yerevan Metro covers 2 miles (13 kilometers) and has about 10 stops. Tickets cost 100 AMD (or $0.21 USD), so it’s really cheap to get from one end of the city to the other. In the summer months, it’s also the coolest mode of transportation.

There is no metro card to speak of. Simply go to the counter and exchange your money for a token to get you through the gate. Also note that for some odd reason, you’re not allowed to take pictures in the metro, even though most stations are beautifully built.

9. Hostels and homestays are your best bet for cheap short-term stays. If you’re on a tight budget and don’t mind sleeping in large, 20+-bed dorms, there are spots available in Yerevan for as little as $3 USD, slightly out of the center of Yerevan. If you want a smaller dorm, around four to six people, expect to pay about $15 USD per bed. These types of dorms are closer to the city center. At that price, certain hostels even have private rooms available.

Armenia is also a great place to do a homestay. If you want to connect with residents on a different level, we highly recommend doing this. It’s one of our favorite ways to get to know the culture and to experience how locals live. The family you choose will treat you like one of their own, hence feeding you like crazy. We would especially recommend this in smaller towns, where you can actually learn a lot about life outside of Yerevan.

10. Airbnb is a great option for longer stays. Airbnb is quickly growing in Armenia, especially among expats who rent out their places during the months they’re not around. You can find great options in the center of Yerevan for $40 USD or less. This will give you access to an entire apartment with a kitchen, which is a great way to save money as well. You may even be able to negotiate the price if you’re staying for longer periods of time.

11. Couchsurfing is great for if you’re on a super tight budget. With such hospitable people, it’s not surprising to see tons of great options for Couchsurfing, mainly in Yerevan. If you like staying with a local, this is one of the best options. Just don’t be surprised if your host ends up adopting you at the end of your visit!

12. Visit Armenia in the shoulder seasons for the best pricing. The busiest time to visit Armenia is during the summer. June to September are when you can expect to see crowds and high prices. However, if you go to Armenia in April or May or the end of September through mid-November, the crowds will have subsided, and prices will drop. This is when you can find cheaper accommodations, and even negotiate prices for longer stays.

13. For cheap eats, look for typical Armenian meals. You’ll find a lot of cheap and delicious options typical of Middle Eastern cuisine and influenced by the Caucasus region. You can eat local treats like lahmajoun (Armenian pizza) for as little as $2 USD per plate. Another great cheap option is getting shish taouk or wraps from hole-in-the-wall restaurants. These bad boys will also only set you back $3-4, depending on what you put in them. Another delicious and cheap option is khatchapuri (cheese-filled bread), a typical Georgian meal that is served all over Armenia.

Some of the best homemade meals are sold on the side of the road. You’ll see plenty of people selling their fresh produce, homemade wine, vodka, sweets, and other treats all over the country, mainly on large “highways.” You’ll also find these stalls set up near some of the more popular tourist destinations, like Garni, Geghart, and Noravank. These will only be a fraction of the cost of what is sold in grocery stores, and they’ll be much more delicious, that we promise! If you buy a few things from the same stall, you can negotiate the price. Also, don’t be shy to ask for a sample!

14. If you have a kitchen, cooking in is always the cheapest option. If you plan on cooking in, expect to spend $20-30 USD for weekly groceries, split between two people. You can either get your goods at grocery stores like Sas, Vas, or Parma, or head to a market to get them straight from the source. In Yerevan, the Gum Market (pronounced “Goom”), or Gumi Shuka, is a great place to shop and observe residents in their daily routine.

15. Avoid the produce at the supermarkets. The best place to get fresh produce is not in grocery stores. It is often imported from far-off countries and packaged in a lot of plastic. For the best produce, be sure to check out the fruit stalls that are on every street corner or behind a group of large buildings. They have local goods that are in season, and often you can negotiate a good price, especially if you’re buying a larger volume.

16. Drink the tap water. The water in Armenia is perfectly safe to drink straight from the tap. Even while you’re out exploring, you’ll find public water fountains, called pulpulaks, everywhere, from public parks to street corners, all over Yerevan and in larger cities. These fountains are almost always running, providing fresh drinking water to those in need.

You can get a sip of water straight from a pulpulak or fill up your own water bottle. To redirect the flow of water at an angle for the bottle, simply place your finger on the spout, and voilà! (As an eco-friendly tip that helps you save money and the environment, make sure you have a reusable water bottle.)

17. Get the best souvenirs at Vernissage in Yerevan. You will notice a ton of handicrafts and other goods being sold all over the country. If you find something special in one of the villages you visit, get it there. But if you’re looking to get souvenirs for friends and family back home, be sure to check out the Vernissage in Yerevan. Although Sunday is the big day when all the merchants are present, you can still score great finds any day of the week.

Your best bet is to walk around once to see what’s available and compare prices. Then go back to the stalls with the best prices and try to negotiate a little more. Try to wait until the end of the day to get the best prices, as most merchants will want to go home.

18. Don’t be afraid to bargain on prices. We mentioned it before, and we’ll say it again: don’t be afraid to bargain on goods. Although tourist prices aren’t as exaggerated as in other parts of Asia, you can still knock off a good percentage by negotiating with the seller. Just be fair with your final price. It may seem like a few dollars for you, but it may mean the difference between having a meal that night or not for the seller.

19. Visit Armenia’s top sites for free. One of the best things about Armenia — as if we haven’t listed off enough of them — is that most of the popular sites of interest are free. Noravank, Geghart, Khor Virap, the Areni winery (including a wine tasting) — all these amazing sites are free to enter and visit.

***

We loved our time in Armenia and would highly recommend it to anyone looking to get away from the crowds and travel on a budget. Your dollars go so much further here than in most other countries. Yet you’ll never be lacking in delicious food or comfortable amenities. And too add to all of this, you’ll have a ton of beautiful sights to visit and kind people to share your journey with!

Carine and Derek spend half the year traveling the world and the other half exploring their home province of Quebec. Their goal is to inspire everyone to chase their wildest dreams and to leave a positive impact on Earth. Their blog, We Did it Our Way, focuses on eco-friendly travel guides to both popular destinations, as well as off-the-beaten-path locations, on how to live and travel sustainably, and on tips for content creation. Carine and Derek are also on Instagram (@wediditourway) where they share their pictures and eco-tips.

Book Your Trip to Armenia: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation To find the best budget accommodation, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the most comprehensive inventory. Some of my recommended places to stay in Armenia:

Envoy Hostel Yerevan – This is a cozy little hostel where the staff goes above and beyond to help you make the most of your time in the city.

Kantar – Kantar is incredibly clean with lots of common area space, and one of the best breakfasts in Yerevan!

Hostel Tsaghkadzor – There are no frills to this place in Tsaghkadzor, but it’s comfortable and close to all the town’s main attractions.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Want More Information on Armenia? Be sure to visit our robust destination guide on Armenia for even more planning tips!

The post 19 Easy Ways to Save Money in Armenia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

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CARA BLACK IS definitely in a select class of PI writers on the West Coast.

The late Sue Grafton certainly paved the way with her Kinsey Millhone series, also referred to as the Alphabet mysteries, but there are few like Black alive today who has faithfully delivered one book in the same series more or less once a year since 1998. In fact, Black recently celebrated the 20th anniversary of Aimée Leduc’s introduction to readers.

An avowed “pantser,” who prefers to write by the seat of her pants than through outlines, Black is working through 20 arrondissements of Paris by way of the investigations of her private detective, Aimée Leduc. Her 18th, Murder on the Left Bank, has just come out in paperback, and her next mystery, Murder in Bel-Air, which will be out next month, followed by a new standalone set during World War II.

Last year, I attended a workshop on writing villains that she led at the Sisters of Crime Los Angeles meeting, in addition to a reading at Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena. We had a wonderful lunch at Fiore Café, and later I posed these questions to her.

¤

NAOMI HIRAHARA: I was first introduced to you and your work at a regional mystery conference in Pasadena in 2003. You were discussing your third installment in the Aimée Leduc mystery series, and now it’s almost 16 years later and you’ve released your 18th! I know that it may be difficult for you to identify the reasons why you have been able to deliver and publish these installments so regularly, but can you give me one internal motivation and/or discipline and one external one involving the publishing world and readers?

CARA BLACK: That’s a good question. When I began writing Murder in the Marais, my first novel, I had no idea that my character Aimée Leduc would continue and that I would write a series featuring her set in Paris. Encouraged by my editor, I wrote the next story, based where I was staying in Belleville, at my friend’s. I began thinking a lot about what would have happened in the time since her last investigation in her personal and work life with her friends and colleagues. I just progressed her from there. But I still pinch myself that I get to keep doing this — who knew, I didn’t, when I started writing that I’d get intimate with a fictional character and have a long-term relationship?

It’s been that way with each story, and I can feature the social issues in Paris and France at that time as well as her character growth. Writing Aimée became a way to investigate the darker side of the City of Light, explore things my friends talked about, get the police angle, and dovetail history. I guess internally it’s been a vehicle for me to exercise my curiosity about the elusive French I meet.

Externally, I feel lucky to have a publisher who promotes the series and readers who ask for more.

You have only two more arrondissements to write about. How did you go about selecting each arrondissement for each novel? Did you plan way ahead? And what happens after the 20th Aimée mystery?

As I said above, I had no master plan to write a series. I have just written and chosen arrondissements that appeal to me, whether it’s the landscape, its place in history and how Paris grew and became the city we know today, the stories organic to it. The arrondissement, which to me is a character, evokes a place, a time, and a crime that could only happen there. It’s organic. Not that crime can’t happen anywhere, but it’s the why here, why now that imbues vitality. I wish I could plan ahead but I’m not that organized. In Aimée’s character arc, there will be some resolution in the last story, but I’m clueless as to that and what I’ll do. But I visited Marseille recently and loved it and it could be another setting.

There’s been a lot of discussion of you beginning the series in 1993 and just moving the time incrementally (weeks or months) with each installment. What research tricks do you have in staying in the 1990s? With the advancement in digital technology, have you encountered easier ways of accessing the past? If so, please share.

My neighbor is a French programmer who worked in Paris in the ’90s, so he keeps me honest, such as reminding me that characters would use dial-up and other great details. I consult French police who worked in the ’90s; some are retired now, and they recount procedure and cases going on at the time. They even touch upon the rivalry between certain law enforcement branches. I guess we could liken it to the rivalry between the FBI and Special Forces French-style. Back then, only the French military had GPS access. My research is in historical archives, specifically consulting magazines like Paris Match and daily French newspapers on microfiche. This is invaluable. I can read the paper to know what was on sale, what strike was happening in Paris, the weather, the current world events, what movies were out, shows playing, foreign leaders visiting Paris. I also lived on and off in Paris in the ’90s, so I do remember.

Aimée now has a baby, her first as a single mother. What issues have you encountered in writing about a mother of an infant in terms of her crime-fighting investigations? As her daughter continues to develop, how will you balance Aimée’s mothering responsibilities with her work as a private investigator?

My editor encouraged me to shake Aimée’s life up a bit, to challenge myself as a writer. So Aimée’s life as both a mother and a professional investigator leads her into this new role of juggling, as so many parents find themselves doing. Aimée is now a single maman. When the story starts in September 1999, her baby Chloé is 10 months old. Aimée is running her detective agency, which focuses on computer crime, and constantly juggling her life, work, baby, and the man in her life. In other words, trying to do her best to earn the daily baguette and butter it. She’s lucky to have Babette, a nanny whom she shares with a family across the courtyard. Aimée needs to pick up her daughter from bébé swim, and life gets more complicated every minute. Murder in Bel-Air opens with Aimée about to give a PowerPoint presentation on computer security to a select, mostly male group of CEOs, the movers and shakers — when she gets that call all parents dread: her daughter’s been left at the playgroup and no one else is able to pick her up. Not only that, but Aimée’s American mother abandoned her daughter at the playgroup and has disappeared. So Aimée’s got to juggle her business, caring for her daughter and now worrying over her mother and if her mother really did leave the CIA.

Do you have some sort of character bible, timeline, and/or chronology to keep you clear on Aimée’s life moments as well as other central characters? What’s been the biggest continuity mistake you’ve made, and how have you fixed it?

I wish I had a character bible. Even a list of the shoes Aimée has worn. Which is funny because my publisher asked me for one. Stymied, I was on deadline and didn’t have time to go back through my books. So the handy-dandy folks at my publisher came up with one and made a bag and it looked like this.

The biggest continuity issue was that I’d put Aimée’s age in the first book, Murder in the Marais. This presented issues, especially with her biological clock. So on the 10th anniversary special issue my editor said I could change anything in that story. So I took out her age.

I know that you go to Paris frequently, at least once a year. Share three little-known locations that are great for authors, either for writing or observation opportunities. And also three favorite restaurants under the radar (please mention your favorite dishes, too).

Only three? Well, I’ll try.

Definitely start at the Place des Vosges in the Marais, the 17th-century arcaded square for the beauty, and go behind it to the courtyard of Hotel Sully (it’s not a hotel, but a hôtel particulier, which is what they call townhouse mansions). There’s an incredible bookshop nestled inside.

Stroll on the banks of the Seine at twilight opposite Île Saint-Louis.

Drink an apéro outside at Chez Prune, a cool place, on the Canal Saint Martin.

Museum-wise, the Musée de la Chasse, a hunting museum, in an old hôtel particulier in the Marais.

The Balzac museum in the 16th arrondissement, where Balzac wrote hiding from his creditors.

Most of all, be a flâneur, a walker with no particular destination, and see where the streets take you. It’s always a good idea, and you’ll discover Paris.

Foodwise, the jewel-like eclairs from L’éclair de Genie, roasted cauliflower at Miznon in the Marais, and the Lebanese wrap stand on Rue Rambuteau.

You are currently working on a new manuscript, a standalone historical. What can you tell us about it? After being in Aimée’s world, are you exhilarated or terrified to inhabit the minds of totally new characters? How did you make the transition? (Any burning of sage or other rituals?)

Hmm … burning sage is a good idea. I’m excited and a bit terrified. It’s about going back to the past, to another time, and immersing myself. On my wall, I’ve put up a 1940 Paris map — a special one that was issued to the occupying German soldiers with the Kommandantur, locations of the cinemas and canteens for German soldiers, and authorized bordellos. I’ve always collected old black-and-white photos circa the ’30s and ’40s at flea markets and street sales in Paris. Also, I copied files of alleged collaborators in the military archives at Bois de Vincennes. My great friend in Paris is 90 years old and joined the Resistance when he was 14. Whenever we can, we go out to eat and he loves to drive around Paris (yes, he still drives!) and show me spots where he hid, where the ladies of the night would give him bonbons, and where his father was arrested.

That sounds wonderful. I’m a sucker for stories set around World War II, and I can’t wait to see what you do independent of Aimée. I’m sure it will be an adjustment, but one that will not only service your standalone, but also inform your return to your series.

¤

Naomi Hirahara is the author of several books of fiction and nonfiction, including the Edgar Award–winning Mas Arai series and the forthcoming mystery novel Iced in Paradise.

The post The Darker Side of the City of Light: An Interview with Cara Black appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/30uxlI1

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FOR THE KARL MARX Bicentennial Forum, Jason Barker spoke to Clive Coleman, co-writer with Richard Bean of Young Marx, a play about Marx and his family’s early years in London. The play opened at the Bridge Theatre in London on October 27 and ran until December 31, 2017. It was directed by the Royal National Theatre’s former artistic director Sir Nicholas Hytner, and starred Rory Kinnear in the lead role, Oliver Chris as Engels, and Nancy Carroll as Marx’s wife Jenny von Westphalen.

¤

JASON BARKER: Many people will be familiar with your TV credits on The Bill and Spitting Image. How did you come to co-write a play about Karl Marx, which seems like a different proposition entirely?

CLIVE COLEMAN: As a writing partnership Richard [Bean, co-writer] and I go back a long way. We used to write comedy together in the mid-1990s. We wrote a sketch show called Control Group Six for BBC Radio 4, so we’d always been in touch. Richard became a well-known playwright and I went on to work for the BBC as its legal correspondent. We worked together on a play about phone hacking called Great Britain within five days of the verdict in the big criminal phone hacking trial in which Rebekah Brooks was acquitted and Andy Coulson convicted. [1] We worked on that in 2014 and wanted to do something else. Then Richard was approached initially to write the libretto for an opera about Karl Marx. That didn’t happen for various reasons but through talking to him about it we started reading around Marx — we read a number of biographies — and were just amazed by the fact that in 1850, as a young man, all the things you would never have imagined of this imposing figure — this bust in Highgate Cemetery — actually happened to him. He lived the most extraordinary life. All the incidents in the play actually happened. He did apply for a job on the railway as a clerk, he did have terrible boils on his backside, he fathered a child illegitimately with his housekeeper, and he lived in absolutely penurious circumstances. At one point the Prussian spy who was spying on him reported back to Berlin that Marx hadn’t left his Soho apartment for five days. Why? Because he’d pawned all of his own clothes; he was too poor to leave the house. So there was a ready-made door-slamming farce right there, with bailiffs banging on the door and his beautiful German wife fobbing them off while he hid in the cupboard. There was an amazing collection of ingredients that we thought would make a fantastic play. Initially we thought of it as a pure farce. Then we backtracked slightly because when you’re putting a genius on the stage farce is actually too slight a vehicle … That was basically it. I think we slightly fell in love with the young Marx because he was such an amazing character. Flawed but charismatic, energetic, crackling with intelligence, and the kind of person to whom things happened and who made things happen. So the character we found magnetic and fascinating.

I agree that farce is too slight a vehicle for Marx. But I could have imagined the play as an opera. You focus on a lot of material that lends itself to melodrama.

The producers were keen to have an opera with Freddy Demuth, who was Marx’s illegitimate son, grown up, but we fastened on 1850 as the play’s setting because it was a time when an awful lot was happening. We really wanted to focus on Marx as a young man, the one people don’t really know about. Some of the information has been hidden from the public …

Almost certainly a lot was censored by Marx’s daughters, maybe self-censored.

Yes. People are more comfortable thinking about him as an austere and iconic figure who gave birth to communism then Stalinism, et cetera. No one’s thought about lifting the curtain and looking at the life he was living, all the normal problems, so for us this presented an irresistible opportunity. No one’s written a play about Marx and put it on the English stage, even though he lived in England for the majority of his adult life.

In focusing on the young Marx you’re perhaps contradicting the audience’s expectations, both of the image of the man as well as Marxology. It’s easier to think of Marx as a great thinker when we’re presented with him as this sedentary old sage with a big beard in the way that all the Victorian sages are presented: Darwin, Dickens, et cetera. Did you deliberately set out to smash this image?

The thing that comes across if you read Marx’s letters, particularly those to Engels, is how funny he was; witty, funny, very well read. He would quote Shakespeare at length, he knew poetry, literature. He and Engels would ridicule their opponents, quite cruelly, actually. I’m not sure that this ritualistic side to Marx and this caustic wit ever really left him; I’m not sure he became so different to the way he was previously in terms of his sense of mischief and ribaldry. That bust of him at Highgate Cemetery — somewhat strangely — casts a long shadow. I happen to believe that lurking in the background there’s a real person. One of the things that draws you to him is this incredible intellectual energy he had. Maybe that magnetism is in some respect what makes him into a leader. If there was a room with five hundred people in it and he walked in you’d know he was there. He was someone who drew your attention. That energy was something that everyone found attractive. So in that sense I don’t think there was a deliberate effort to smash the image of him as an older man.

I’d like to come back to the question of farce. Young Marx is a very dynamic play and there’s a lot of outrageous physical comedy, like the fight scene in the British Museum, where Marx meets Charles Darwin (apparently without realizing who he is). But the mood of the play shifts with the death of Marx’s son, at which point it becomes a tragedy; Marx realizes the error of his ways and makes peace with the chaos. In reality, of course, when his son Guido dies in 1850, it turns out to be only the beginning of a long sequence of tragic events. In 1851 his wife Jenny gives birth to a daughter, Franziska, who only survives a year; then Edgar, his eldest son, dies in 1855. And for the next 15 years Marx is still persecuted much as he was before by bailiffs and landlords, and he doesn’t make serious headway on his “economics shit” for years. Even after Das Kapital is published in 1867 he complains to Engels that he’s never been in more dire financial straits and feels like he’s at death’s door. In 1860 he writes a work entitled Herr Vogt, which is this huge exposé of an obscure German activist who, years later in 1870, turns out to be a spy of Napoleon III. By this point Engels is almost tearing his hair out, imploring Marx to finish his book on capital. But he can’t. In this sense one could say that the farce is never-ending. Why did you decide to curtail the farce at the point you did, in 1850 or thereabouts, when in reality it had only just got going? 

In any piece of drama or comedy, when you’re dealing with such a full and eventful life, you have to bite off a digestible chunk. But you’re absolutely right, we compressed a lot. The Marxes lost several children, whereas we focused on Fawksey. In fact it was Edgar who lived up until just before he was eight years old, who Marx absolutely adored, and who was a brilliant Artful Dodger–type character. He would stand outside their Soho apartment and fob the debt-collectors off as well. All of that is equally great material but we wanted to get as much of his young life into as short a period as we could. So much happened in 1850; that year draws in all of the incidents that took place around it. You’ve only got two hours on stage. Had it been a box-set TV series we could have expanded it. You mention how he felt as if he was at death’s door. He was frequently ill due to a terrible lifestyle of smoking cigars and drinking far too much but also just getting through the run-of-the-mill everyday things of life. As writers, we had to make a decision about what a reasonable chunk of his life is, and if there were great things that happened outside of that then which ones we should try and work into that space.

I suppose the staging of the play might also have encouraged that compression. Young Marx is performed at the Bridge Theatre in London, a purpose-built brand-new state-of-the-art theater on the Thames at Tower Bridge. You have this fantastic revolving stage that allows the action to change locations in an instant, from Soho to Brussels, and which serves the piece very well. Did knowing you had that machinery at your fingertips influence the way you wrote the play?

It started quite raw. The Marxes lived in two rooms in London’s Soho in what’s now the Quo Vadis restaurant. We knew we wanted to have scenes in the Red Lion, where the Communist League met. We also knew that we wanted the duel scene, which actually took place in Antwerp, and where Konrad Schramm went to fight August Willich on Marx’s behalf. Schramm was grazed by a bullet, everyone thought he was dead, and then he turned up in Soho a few days later. But, actually, the truth is we wrote the play and Mark Thompson, the brilliant set designer, came up with this amazing revolving set. There were still a few scenes that the director cut. But we wanted the London of the time, which was a dirty, grubby Soho, awash with émigrés and revolutionaries from the 1848 revolutions in Europe. So we wanted this Dickensian pea-souper type of London together with this fetid atmosphere of revolutionaries plotting and planning. And also factions splitting. At least one of the communist factions wanted to spark revolution through pure violence. Marx never wanted that and believed things would happen through a historical process. It was all those things together that led to the way in which it was staged.

Whenever I fall into conversations with people about Marx, people always tend to express the same opinion. Armchair enthusiasts, people who haven’t read him much, or at all, usually start by insisting that while they admire Marx and agree wholeheartedly with his ideas in theory, they don’t see how they could possibly work in practice. I’m curious to know whether you’ve had similar conversations with people and whether you share the sentiment. The reason I ask is because that skepticism doesn’t come across in the play at all. Overall it ends up feeling optimistic and dispenses with the lunacy, along with the cliched idea that Marx is a utopian fantasist, irresponsible, nothing but a drunken raver, et cetera.

I’m someone who’s sympathetic to the man and his dilemmas. Marx was a young man married to a beautiful German aristocrat who was four years his senior. He was living in difficult, penurious circumstances, managing a young family and trying to hold a political movement together through the Communist League at a time when it was splitting up. So he had a lot on his plate! But can I answer the question in a slightly different way?

Sure.

Put it this way. A play about Karl Marx cannot avoid his writings. It would be absurd to try to do that. No one goes to the theater to have two hours of Marx’s theories rammed down their throat. That would not be a particularly entertaining evening. But we wanted to tackle his writings and we thought long and hard about finding ways and the right speeches in order for him to do that. So there’s a scene in the play where they’re making breakfast and Marx has an epiphany, and it’s through making breakfast that he manages to expound upon alienation. Something like alienation is a difficult concept to get across and we wanted to find ways to ground things like that in situations that might have sparked his imagination and enabled him to come up with them. And especially in those domestic situations. But I don’t think we ever took on or made a value judgment about whether these concepts were workable in practice. It was a moment in time. It was 1850. So no one had really put any of this stuff into practice. We were many years away from him actually completing Das Kapital. He’d been working on it for about five years and hadn’t done much, I think. So that wasn’t the focus of the play. I’ve slightly dodged your question there.

I think it’s fair to say that Marx in 1850 is an unusual character. At the time he was experimenting with communism and socialism, which were still fairly minority underground sects. He doesn’t know how things are going to work out, he’s grappling with it all; even though Marx’s “theory” is itself a practical undertaking. He’s not an abstract theorist.

There was one speech we put in the play and which I was very keen to have in. Marx had a great optimism that history would play out in a particular way and in the speech at the Red Lion he says there will be a time when the money’s eaten itself, banks will be bust, there will be no money to pay the police or the army and so we won’t need a revolution; we shall simply walk in and take over. There was also another speech we put in. Although he had this optimism, capitalism has clearly turned out to be hugely elastic and shape-shifting. It hits one crisis then it finds a way, whether through the invention of credit cards or state intervention to prop up banks. So in actual fact it’s proved to be a very powerful foe and perhaps more so than Marx imagined. So in the play he gives another speech when he’s at his nadir and in which he describes capitalism as a seven-headed hydra that can never be beaten. And I wonder whether he ever thought like that. Did he ever consider: What if I’m wrong about this? What if the enemy is more powerful than I thought? I take the view that anyone who believes so much in something must at some point reflect and think: what if the thing is more difficult to beat than I ever imagined?

It’s the Marx bicentennial this year and Marx’s ideas about class struggle and economic exploitation are still live issues. I wonder whether this explains why there have been so few TV or theater dramatizations of Marx’s life. Do you think producers are frightened, not so much of Marx, but of what he represents? Or do you think there’s a more innocent explanation? In passing I’ve heard it said that the Raoul Peck movie The Young Karl Marx has been struggling to secure an English distributor, which may go some way toward explaining why more Marx films don’t get made. Clearly it can’t be for lack of a good story, or one that’s worth telling. 

I don’t think there’s a big capitalist conspiracy to blunt any drama about Karl Marx. There have been lots of documentaries and books. I think it’s because people associate him so much with the writings and the history that followed it. And for a lot of people that’s a bit of a turn off.

But it’s still very visual. Your play has a great visual language in terms of the spies and all these archetypes you have in it. It’s interesting that the Marx story should remain so overwhelmingly on the page.

Well, having said that the Young Marx play has been on about a thousand cinema screens on National Theatre Live, so it has been seen in cinemas. There may end up being a film of the play. Who knows? You have these sleeping giants. For years and years, when I was writing sitcom, everyone said you cannot write a sitcom about people being in an office. People are in an office all day and they do not want to come home and sit for another half an hour and watch people in an office. And then Ricky Gervais wrote The Office. Sometimes you have a long period where people think things aren’t doable. Then suddenly times change, attitudes change, and those things become popular. So you never know. This may be a time when people are going to look again at Karl Marx. He certainly deserves a look.

And as a dialectical thinker of contraries he’s perhaps the greatest sleeping giant of them all. One should never say never with Marx.

Well, exactly. Maybe we’ve helped to start something new.

¤

Jason Barker is professor of English at Kyung Hee University, South Korea. He is the writer-director of the German documentary Marx Reloaded and author of the novel Marx Returns.

¤

[1] In 2011, it emerged that The News of the World, a mass circulation UK tabloid Sunday newspaper owned by Rupert Murdoch’s News International, had hired a private investigator to hack into the phone records of Milly Dowler, a young British teenager who went missing in March 2002, and whose body was eventually discovered six months later. In July 2011, it was reported that during the period of Dowler’s disappearance, during which the newspaper supported a public campaign to find her, the private investigator and journalists from the paper listened to voice messages left on her phone, and deleted others in order to free space for new incoming messages. This created the false impression that Dowler was still alive. Following pubic outrage the paper ceased publication in July 2011. In 2013, former editors of The News of the World, including Brooks and Coulson, were prosecuted for their involvement in the related phone-hacking scandal.

The post “Young Marx�� at the Bridge Theatre London: An Interview with the Writer Clive Coleman appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://ift.tt/2HD7MKm

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Nerja Overview

Nerja Overview

Nerja is a beautiful, and once hidden, gem of a town nestled on the Eastern tip of Spain’s sunny Costa del Sol. The town is a wonderful, small, peaceful retreat. From the sunny, sandy beaches, to the bars, restaurants, history and outdoor activities, there is enough to fulfil your needs without having to venture out to the nearby cities of Granada and Málaga. Recently, Tripadvisor presented it to the wider world by announcing it as one of its’ 2018 Top Destinations on the Rise. With a stunning 10 miles of beaches, paired with crystal clear blue waters, it’s easy to see how this Mediterranean marvel made the cut! I love this town and have now visited 3 times. With it popping up on the radar, now would be a good time to impart my knowledge.

I won’t drill down on the dull facts like parking tips, websites like Nerja Today and Explore Nerja have already covered that in great detail. They are great local resources. I shall instead be giving my opinion as to what is worth doing, and where is worth eating.

First of all though, I have never stayed in a hotel in the town, personally, I like the freedom to do as I wish when I would like, so half board or all-inclusive fares do not interest me a great deal. In the past we have used James Villas, and booked a villa in the scenic hills overlooking the classical coastal town. They frequently run offers including free airport parking and car hire, it’s a great way to save a bit of money. The wonderful sunrises creep from behind the hills, bathing the town and villas in a spectacular early golden glow. This is reason enough for me to stay on the hillside above!

Villa Sanchez y Rico, booked via James Villas

What to do

Cueva de Nerja (Nerja Caves) – these imposing caves, unearthed by five friends in 1959, display impressive stalactites & stalagmites (included the largest Stalagmite discovered.) These caves have a rich history, having been inhabited from about 25,000 BC up until the Bronze Age (600 BC.) Definitely worth a visit if all you have seen is Wookey Hole in the UK, the largest cavity is outstanding, and in the height of summer, a good way to keep cool!

Nerja Buggy Tours – Without a doubt, my favourite thing to do whilst in this town. Roland, a Belgian expat, is super friendly, insightful, and pretty damn cool. Making for an awesome tour guide. Based in Torrox, you venture out in a convoy of brightly coloured 2 seat 4x4 buggys, exploring hills, riverbeds and trails you would not be taking your hire car along. It’s an exhilarating, noisy, dusty ride full of amazing views. Roland may take you through Frigiliana or other popular villages, you will turn the heads of tourists as they stroll through its streets. If I could get away with it I would happily purchase a buggy and drive it around at home! I really cannot recommend doing this enough, it’s far more comfortable than a quad bike too!

Frigiliana – This beautiful white washed village of Moorish heritage is a brilliant way to spend a day, offering a large array of small bars and restaurants, steep alleyways decorated with beautiful flowers and a selection of very skilled craftspeople offering many stunning items, from delicate, intricate mosaics to brilliant leather goods.

Rio Chillar – Running from its estuary in Nerja all the way up to the high hills of Sierras de Tejeda, in the summer months this river flows extremely shallow at its widest point and makes for a wonderful walk. Take some shoes you don’t mind getting wet, and you can go as far as you like, you’re sure to enjoy the scene, no matter how far you travel up the river. I would recommend going at least as far as the small hydroelectric power station though. The valley gradually gets narrower as it meanders northward, at one point your knees will get wet, and you can reach out and touch both sides at the same time. It makes for a relaxing couple of hours. Though if you are after something more demanding, start in Frigiliana and take on this walk I discovered last time out. We went ill prepared, owing to a distance miscalculation, I was much hated, but what an accomplishment! This is a challenging 14 mile-ish trek across different terrains. Descending down from Frigiliana to the Rio Chillar, where it begins to climb in to the stunning national park. Here the valley begins to narrow, some scrambling over boulders is necessary, but the waterfalls are beautiful, and the cool water is ridiculously refreshing! After a while you hook a left along a thin winding track to the valley’s ridge, climbing a couple more valleys, the final descent takes you into dry riverbed that runs past Frigiliana. Some of the best views can be found whilst crossing these ridges!

Nerja – Grab some wonderful ice creams, find a bench on Balcón de Europa, enjoy whilst the world goes by. Find a cute little bar, grab some drinks, sit outside, enjoy whilst the world goes by. In Nerja there is no sense of urgency, it has a calm pace, and one can easily find the time to breath and recover from the rush of their hectic life back home. The beautiful white streets are laced with shops of every variety, every one with friendly welcoming employees. You will also find a stunning array of Berber paintings and leather works from the Maghreb, Owning to North Africa’s proximity to the Costa del Sol. As I have mentioned in a previous post, Ale-Hop is a personal, quirky favourite, pay a visit! If you want to really see Nerja come alive, visit in early October. They have their biggest fiesta of the year, Feria de Nerja. A fairground springs up, and the whole town appears to be awash with noise and colour each night until the early hours. Now would be a good time to stay out of town if you like your sleep!

Oasys Mini Hollywood - If you are looking to travel further afield, this movie set turned theme park is a great day to be had by all. During the day there are spectacular cowboy displays, involving stunning stunts, involving horses and fist fights, performed in the town’s main street. Film geeks will love the history of the site, as well as the museum, and the attached zoo is impressive. Something I really was not expecting, with over 200 different species, split across 3 beautiful habitats. In the high season, they also have a seriously inviting pool and jacuzzi to cool off in. Truly a desert oasis!

Where to eat

There are many, many amazing eateries in Nerja, but here are a few of my favourites.

The Steakhouse Burriana – A modern looking affair offering a selection of succulent, well cooked steaks, meaty burgers and delicious deserts. Located just off Playa de Burriana, this is a wonderful restaurant with friendly staff almost guarantees a great night out

Churrasquería Brasileña Amazonas – Nestled to the West of the town in Plaza Fabrica de Cangrejos, this beauty has an amazing parade of skewered meats being served to each table. Watching the food slowly make its way over is punishing for it all tastes so good! The sides, rice etc, are equally good, but don’t eat too much, you want to save space for the BBQed pineapple! I think, with respect to all the other restaurants in Nerja, this is the one I look forward to going to most!

Chiringuito Moreno – Sitting right on Playa de Burriana, this delectable restaurant is built out around the centrepiece open fire kitchen from where smells waft, tempting you in, then causing your mouth to water as you watch your dish being lovingly made. Naturally, being on the beach, you find a wide choice of fish dishes, but the paella is also a very good option, and a reasonable price

You may have noticed that I have excluded the easily reachable activities and sights towards Malaga, there is so much, it all deserves a dedicated post!

No matter what you are after, adventure, relaxation, or a bit of both, Nerja and its surroundings offer it all in a beautifully sunny Mediterranean package!

Additional Images

Quite a regular occurrence. Goats being herded around the countryside

The widest part of Rio Chillar

One of the waterfalls along the Rio Chillar walk

View over with Nerja in distance, on trek back towards Frigiliana

Live show at Oasys

Buggy Tours vehicles. A load of fun!

Feria de Nerja 2014 fairground

[maydienthoaisky]

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[captainignatiuspigheart]

I got to go to a cool thing: Worldcon75, the global convention for SFF, this year based in Helsinki, Finland. In a dangerous move, Angry Robot sent just me and Penny Reeve, our inimitable publicity manager, to brave the crowds of geekdom. A day of travel got us into Helsinki airport at 11.30pm and we bumbled through bus routes to our quite lovely, if super-heated flat, by a mere half one in the morning.

Day One – Aug 8: Wandering Free

Dead animals at baggage retrieval, boozing, molesting statuary

Tommyknocker Craft Beer Bar

Refreshed and energised we rose for a day of acclimatisation (getting lost). Our flat was way over in Arabiata (check it out, you too can enjoy the weird sexually abusive Donald Duck artwork, and the nice view). First up: loading our flat with breakfast and lunchables – we rolled on sandwiches, bitches. So many delightfully familiar Scandinavian meats and cheeses and breads. Joy!

We selected BICYCLE as our vehicle of choice, swayed by the 10 Euro a week rental. The con venue was relatively easy to find, though Google Maps yelling incomprehensible Finnish placenames in my ear was quite stressful. It was closed. Since it was the day before the con, that made sense. We had found the most important place. Second most important: beer.   

This is not the rock church

Finland is definitely catching up with craft beer, but it’s got a way to go. We finally found Tommyknocker Craft Beer Bar, having discovered the worst thing about the bikes was finding one of the official places to park the bloody things. Very friendly, fine range of beers. We also found what Penny was convinced was The Rock Church, which turned out to be a pile of rocks, next to Storyville (the finest jazz club in Helsinki, apparently). We plunged on, frequently cycling on the wrong side of the road, and for a while with the loudest squeaking wheel imaginable.

We rode sea-lions, we mounted tortoises, we took a ferry to Suomenlinna. Boats and I are not friends, but we tolerated each other. It was a very smooth 20 minute trundle across the water. Suomenlinna  used to be a fortress island, but is now a weird community of 800-odd souls living in and around a bunch of museums. It’s very pretty. Having cycle-bumbled around for much of the day we only really had time for one thing – and it was an obvious choice: we went to the creepiest part we could find: the toy museum. Fuck me… Amongst the terrifying dead and ever-seeing eyes of the dolls were genuine treats like a stack of doll heads and limbs, a cute Nazi doll, nightmare hedgehogs, and of course, Moomins. My favourite part is that the creepiest, and weirdest things were presented with no explanation at all, like the Nazi doll. It also gave me a massive flashback to BRITAIN’S SPACE, a joy I had totally forgotten about. Thank you Finland, I shall now explore eBay… Penny and I demonstrated various ways to hug a bear.

They watch me in my sleep.

Big building, churchy.

Just… terrifying.

Another big un, excellent use of copper throughout.

Things on Suomenlinna.

Islands, sky and water. Finland.

So much awesome, so much ‘oh…’

Correct, and incorrect ways to hug a bear for the camera

After escaping from the fortress we took pictures of fancy buildings until we succeeded in making contact with one of our authors. A new venture: find the fucking restaurant. This was an exercise in rage, Google Maps and a three dimensional environment. As it turns out, Helsinki puts buildings on top of other buildings. That’s why we cycled under and around a massive Mega-City One style block forever until we saw some stairs that might, maybe lead upwards. I shall shelve my ire. We found the place – Bali Bagus. Amazing Indonesian food, and a great place to meet our author Alex Wells, Skiffy and Fanty podcast co-host Paul Weimer and their excellent friends.

I have no recollection of the rest of the evening… It’s possible that we got back at a reasonable time and grabbed some Zs.

A Whistle-Stop Tour of Worldcon75, Helsinki Day One. What I remember of a week with @penelopebabs #worldcon75 I got to go to a cool thing: Worldcon75, the global convention for SFF, this year based in Helsinki, Finland.