#i figured this could either be taking place in the gallery or itself or somewhere nearby outside it; up to you whichever you prefer

[occkalt]

Kat's heard the rumors. But she had to listen close, because they were surprisingly hard to find - so much so that a part of her suspects that she might've just been hearing what she wanted to hear.

A haunted art gallery... Well, it's not the kind of thing she usually chases after. It's only because she's in the area that she figured it was worth checking out, not having much else to do with her time. Annie had intended to come with her, but... sometimes, things come up - Kat gets that. And besides, if there really does turn out to be something here, Kat's not sure she'd want her here anyway.

Right now, she's still in the "gathering info" phase. But as serious as this investigation is, Kat's always been the mischievous type, and she can't stand to spend too long without messing with someone a little bit. ...Maybe that requires a bit of self-reflection, but either way... that's what has her leaning in towards the stranger just slightly now, and with a playful half-smile, asking-

"Hey. Do you believe in the supernatural?"

@fabricatedprince ( starter! )

[sir-subpar]

Where have you been? (Part 2)

*Warning: Blood/Gore*

Five weeks. That's how long Boyfriend had been missing. Five weeks with still no sign of the blue-haired man, it was starting to drive Pico mad. The longer this went on, the harder it was for Pico to think positively. He was starting to struggle with sleep, sometimes going days without so much as a wink of rest. His fiery orange hair was messy from him constantly running his fingers through it. It was hard to relax when someone you care about was unaccounted for. Whitty and Hex were still helping out, which Pico appreciated, but it did little to ease his fears. The three of them met up and searched for Boyfriend as often as they could.

It was late in the afternoon, another day going by with no luck finding Boyfriend. The trio had resorted to putting up missing posters for Bf, splitting up to scatter them around town. It did little to help, especially when random vandals would tear them down or draw all over them. Every time Pico saw one of the posters being ruined it pissed Pico off to no end. He didn't think it was possible to want to strangle a graffiti artist as much as he did. By some miracle of willpower he refrained from doing so (that, and he didn't know who was doing it). Pico sighed angrily as he hung another poster, his thumb turning white as he pushed the tacks into a wooden pole. His gaze lingered on the poster. In the picture, Bf was smiling. He looked so happy.. Pico felt his chest tighten around his heart. It felt hard to breathe, but not impossible. He clutched the front of his vest, fidgeting with the teeth of the zipper. Pico could only imagine what Boyfriend was going through, and his imagination was not kind. As much as he tried to ignore the worst possibilities, he struggled to stay positive. 

What if Boyfriend was dead? 

He hated the idea. He didn't want to think about it. Surely he was alive. He had to be somewhere! Anywhere! He couldn't be dead! Pico tried to ground himself by thinking of other possibilities. Maybe Bf was just hiding from everyone because he didn't want Gf and her family to know where he was. Pico grit his teeth as more anger suddenly rose from his core. Girlfriend… he was honestly starting to resent her. Sure, most people don't want to see their ex after a breakup. Pico understood that, sure, whatever. But when someone goes missing, it's good to help find them. Especially when you're the last one to have seen them…

Pico was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his phone buzzing in his pocket. Whitty was calling. The two exchanged phone numbers after they went to that diner weeks ago. Pico tapped the green icon to answer, and brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Whitty. What's up?" Pico asked, his anger faded a bit, now being distracted with the sound of Whitty's voice. "I just wanted to let you know that Hex can't help us for a few days. He's got some computer virus that's apparently been a bitch to remove." Whitty sounded agitated. Pico figured he was probably worried about his best friend. "Is he gonna be ok?" Pico asked, he was already missing one person, he didn't want to lose another. "Yeah, some tech guy's helping him out. He should be fine soon..." Whitty paused. "Hey, do you want to meet up? I'm out of posters to hang." Whitty's tone changed a bit, Pico couldn't quite figure out why, but he brushed it off. It didn't matter anyway. "Yeah, I'll pick you up. Where are you?"

…

Pico drove in silence as Whitty sat in the passenger seat. He felt a little bad for the bomb man as even with the seat pushed all the way back, he barely fit in the car. Pico's car just wasn't designed with people over 8ft tall in mind. Whitty had the chair leaned back so he wouldn't hit his head on the ceiling, his knees were bent just so he could fit in the car. Whitty's hands were in his pockets, despite the lack of space in the car, he seemed like he was relaxing a bit. 

"Hey Pico." Whitty broke the silence. Pico let out a hum, signaling he was listening. "I had this random idea for the next place we should check."  "Hmm?" Was Pico's only reply. He was tired, but he wasn't gonna quit for the day just yet. "You know that bridge close to the freeway? The one over the ditch?" Pico had to think for a moment before he caught on. "You think he might be hiding out in the ditch?" Pico asked, a little glimmer of hope making itself known. Whitty shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. It's a common place to hide." Pico turned on his blinker, he had to drive to the opposite side of town to get there but at this rate it wasn't a big deal. If there was even a chance of Boyfriend being there, he had to take it. He had to make sure Bf was safe. 

…

After Pico parked the car, he and Whitty climbed down into the dry ditch. It was now night, the darkness making it hard to see anything. Except Whitty's eyes, that is. In the complete darkness, Pico noticed Whitty's orange eyes were glowing. He could partially see the tall man's body as the warm light from his eyes reflected off of him. Pico found it fascinating. It was oddly comforting, like a fireplace. Pico found himself getting lost in them.

 "... Pico?" Whitty's voice interrupted Pico's stupor. Turns out the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed too. "Huh? What?" Pico asked, a little lost thanks to his little daydream. "Are you alright? You seemed out of it." Whitty asked, shifting awkwardly as he stood. Pico felt uneasy, did Whitty see something in the dark that he hasn't noticed yet? Were they alone? Pico quickly shoved his hand in his pocket and whipped out his flashlight. As soon as he turned it on, and the light flooded the ditch, he realized no one else was near them (at least no one was close enough to see). So why was Whitty uncomfortable? Like someone was staring at him? 

Wait… 

Pico had almost physically face-palmed. He was staring at Whitty. He just stood there in silence and stared at this dude's face in the darkness. From Whitty's point of view, that probably came off as creepy. Now he felt a bit guilty for being so weird. Damn it, he had to say something to break this weird silence! But what? Should he apologize? Or just brush it off so they don't have to talk about it? 'Damn it Pico, say something! Anything!' He mentally chastised himself. Just when he was about to blurt out what probably would have been nonsense, Whitty piped up. "Did my eyes creep you out?" Whitty asked, sounding disheartened. Pico suddenly panicked, speaking before his brain could filter it. "What- No! No. Not at all. Your eyes are cool! Like a jack o lantern or something. They're neat! They like.." Pico cleared his throat to compose himself again. He had to give a rational response. "I think your eyes are fascinating. I didn't mean to offend you, I just got distracted. I'm sorry." Pico's face turned a light shade of pink out of embarrassment. He hoped his disjointed response would somehow make the situation less awkward. Whitty's eyes widened, and his cheeks glowed a bit as his expression shifted from surprised to bashful. He started rubbing the back of his head, a nervous habit, Pico assumed. "I… thanks. I've had people say my eyes remind them of Jack O lanterns before, but I think this is only the second time someone's used it as a compliment. Bf was the first." Whitty confessed, his tone sounding fond. Pico smiled a bit, of course B would say something like that. Pico snapped out of his trail of thought before he got more distracted with reminiscing. "Speaking of��� we should get back to looking for him." Pico stated, bring their focus back to the task at hand. Whitty nodded. The two chose to walk throughout the ditch, hopefully they'd eventually find a sign of Boyfriend under these bridges. 

Each step they took echoed off of the cement around them. It was a little eerie. Pico was glad that he wasn't alone, Whitty seemed like he could hold his ground. It was comforting. After a few minutes, they came across a blanket laid out next to a few plastic water bottles. They couldn't necessarily say they belonged to Boyfriend, but it felt like they were on the right track at least. They continued their walk, hoping to find more signs of Bf. A few more mostly uneventful minutes went by, then they saw someone not too far ahead of them. Pico lowered his light a bit so it wasn't shining in their eyes, but he could still see them pretty clearly. They were leaning their back against the wall of the ditch with their arms crossed. They had what appeared to be a goat skull for a head with long horns er.. Horn. Pico noticed that one of their horns had clearly been broken off. Their face had multiple large cracks all over it. He wore a dark blue hoodie that matched his hat. His jeans were either a darker shade of blue or black, Pico couldn't quite tell. The skull-faced stranger had turned their head to look at Pico and Whitty, clearly having noticed Pico's flashlight. His black eye sockets with glowing yellow pupils staring them down. Pico admittedly got a shady vibe from him, but he was accustomed to shady people due to his type of work. He decided to approach the man, but not get too close, he just needed to know if he had seen Boyfriend. "Hey. Mind we ask you something?" Pico called, hoping the stranger would cooperate. "What do you want?" The horned stranger rudely snapped in a clear Russian accent, he was clearly agitated. Pico wasn't that fazed by the man's rudeness, again, he was used to that kind of behavior (not to mention he wasn't all that polite or well mannered himself). "We just have some questions. We're looking for a friend of ours, maybe you've seen him around." The man appeared to relax a bit after hearing that. His expression was less aggressive. "What does your friend look like?" He asked, his tone a bit less harsh than before. Pico pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his gallery until he found a picture of him and Boyfriend. He turned the phone around to face the man. As soon as he saw the photo, his eye sockets widened, and he tilted his head back a bit in surprise. "Boyfriend?" The man questioned.

Now it was Whitty and Pico's turn to be surprised. "You know him?" Whitty asked, bewildered at the man's recognition of Bf. "Yes, we are… acquainted. I see him a lot lately." That, admittedly, made Pico angrier than it probably should have. This guy knew where Bf was while no one else did. B had trusted this guy instead of Pico? Or Whitty? Pico once again asked himself the question that plagued his mind for weeks. 'Why didn't he come to me?' Pico tightened his grip on his flashlight. He should be glad. They finally had a potential lead. Pico forced the irrationality down for what felt like the 100th time that day. "Do you know where he is?" 'Please. Tell me you know where he is.'  Pico begged internally. The man nodded his head in a 'sort of' fashion. "I know where he's been hiding lately. It's not too far from here." He looked around a bit, as if checking to see if they were alone. "You know that little theater on Chavez road? The closed one? He's been around there lately. You'll find him if you go there." Pico suddenly felt a small rush of relief. That sounded promising. "Thank you, Mr..?" "Tabi" "Thank you Tabi. We appreciate it. Oh! I'm Pico, by the way. This is Whitty." Whitty waved, and Tabi nodded in acknowledgment. Tabi bagan to walk away. "Take care of Boyfriend you too. He's fragile right now." He called before departing. "We will," Whitty replied, "Thank you." Pico mumbled one more time before he and Whitty rushed towards the car. 

…

For the first time in weeks, Pico felt hope. He felt almost giddy in a sense. Soon this nightmare could be over. Soon Bf could be safe. But there was still a chance that they wouldn't find Bf. There were a lot of emotions running rampant in his head. Nerves, excitement, doubt. He couldn't remember the last time he was this conflicted. Various 'what ifs' both positive and negative coming forth to give their piece of mind. Pico gripped the steering wheel of his car tightly, his knuckles turning white. 

Tabi's words echoed in his head. 'Take care of Boyfriend, he's fragile right now.'   

Was this all really because of Bf and Gf's breakup? It just felt extreme. Most people don't go missing for weeks after a breakup. Especially Boyfriend. This was out of character for him. He hated being alone. There was more to it. There had to be. Pico was sure of it. 

Pico pulled over as the old theatre came into view. The decorative walls were a bit worn, but still beautiful. He knew this old place fairly well, it made him a little sad when it was shut down. Pico and Whitty stepped out of the car. Whitty stretched his arms, glad he could stand at his full height again. The bomb man looked at the various posters on the theater's walls, each one advertised some sort of play or performance. "Huh." Was all Whitty said. "What's up?" Pico asked. "I don't know why, but I thought this was going to be a movie theater. I didn't realise it was one of those performing arts places." Whitty replied. Pico turned to Whitty. "You've never been here before?" Pico asked, genuinely surprised. Whitty only shook his head in response. "Aw man, that's a bummer. This place was nice. It was family-owned, a local theater, ya know? It went bankrupt, but when it was open it was cool… B loved it here." Pico's tone shifted as he reminisced. Going from casual to bittersweet. Whitty tilted his head curiously, waiting for Pico to continue. He didn't make eye contact with Whitty, instead focusing his gaze on the theater's doors. "Ya know… sometimes, after a show, the owners would let B and I use the stage. We'd sing there for as long as they let us. We did it almost every week." Pico couldn't help but feel nostalgic. He remembered those times so well. It was years ago, back when he and B were together. They were memories he cherished. "Sounds like it was fun." Whitty commented briefly. "It was." Pico's tone continued to be bittersweet. Deep down, he hoped that he and Boyfriend could have what they did back then. He always regretted letting B go, but never said anything. Once Boyfriend found someone else, he figured he'd never have a chance again. Pico's vision started to blur slightly. 'Goddammit Pico! Now's not the time!' He mentally chastised himself, he didn't want to cry. Not when Bf was still lost. Not in front of Whitty. He was able to bury this before, he could do it again. Pico did his best to refocus on the task at hand. He needed to stop doing this. 

Pico cleared his throat.

"A-Anyway, we should look for Boyfriend. He's probably around here somewhere." Whitty nodded. Pico was thankful that Whitty didn't pry into his emotions. He'd rather NOT talk about that at the moment, thank you very much. "Let's check inside." Whitty proposed, Pico gave a brief sound of agreement before pulling the front door's handle. Surprisingly it was unlocked. Was Tabi right? Was Boyfriend here? Did he unlock it? Pico made a mental note about the door and continued inside, Whitty following just behind him. Once again he needed his trusty flashlight. The theater was usually dark as is, but it was extra dark with it being the middle of the night. While in said darkness, Pico was briefly reminded of earlier that night when he stared at Whitty's eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time. Pico's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This was definitely going to be one of those memories that kept him up at night whenever he thought about it. Then, Pico had another thought. "Hey Whitty." "Hm?" "How come you haven't been using a flashlight too? I mean, I don't mind sharing mine, I'm just curious." Pico hoped it wasn't a rude question. "Oh, well, uh.." Whitty began, Pico once again noticing how the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed like his eyes. "I don't really need a flashlight. I can see in the dark." Whitty's cheeks glowled orange a bit, now Pico was convinced that was how Whitty blushed. He found it kinda endearing, to be honest. "That's really cool. Wish I could do that." Pico said and chuckled a bit, feeling a bit lighter in spirit. Whitty also laughed coyly, feeling a bit flattered. "Let's check out the stage first." Whitty directed, already walking towards it. "Yeah, good idea." Pico agreed, following suit. The 'house' was dusty, and the seats clearly hadn't been used in a while. Well, most of them hadn't. Pico paused, getting a better look. He quickly noticed that a few of them had been folded out, the armrests were raised, and what looked like a shiney red blanket was draped across them. Someone had been using them as a makeshift bed, Pico realized. Someone was definitely here. "Psst, hey Whitty." Whitty turned around to face him, Pico waved his hand in a 'come here' gesture. Whitty nodded and approached him. 

The tall bomb headed man leaned over Pico, looking down the same row of seats he was. It didn't take him long to catch on. "We must be on the right track. Wait, is that a curtain?" Whitty reached over Pico to pick up and hold the 'blanket' which was, in fact, part of a stage curtain that had been cut. Pico felt his heart clench. B was using a curtain for a blanket, he must be cold. Pico looked at the chairs/bed. One of the seats had a pile of clothes/costumes haphazardly bunched together, probably being used as a pillow. This was just… sad. Bf didn't deserve to live like this. 

While Pico looked at the seats, Whitty took a second to inspect the curtain. It was red on one side, and white on the other side- wait, no, the other side had red too. In weird splotches and smear-like patterns. Whitty held it stretched out in front of him, the white and red patterned side facing him. The patterns looked inconsistent not just in size and shape, but in hue as well. Some of the red splotches looked darker almost..wet, while others looked faded, like stains. Whitty touched one of the darker red spots with his thumb, surprised when it was actually wet. Realization suddenly dawned on him, this wasn't a pattern. Now he was worried. "Hey Pico?" His scratchy voice quietly called, Pico turned around to look Whitty in the eyes. Whitty held the curtain in a way that only let Pico see the shiney full-red side and not the 'patterns'. "I'm not entirely human, so correct me if I'm wrong but… human blood is red, right?" Pico gave him a confused and worried look, then nodded hesitantly. "That's what I was afraid of." Whitty admitted, turning the curtain around so Pico could see. Pico's white eyes shot open wide, before giving Whitty a panicked look. Pico's heart dropped.

Just as Pico was about to say something, there was a loud *CRASH* from a distance. 

Pico and Whitty's attention snapped towards the stage, it looked like a shelf had fallen over from backstage. Frantic footsteps could be heard. Neither of them had to say anything, they both bolted towards all the noise. Running up the small stairs to the stage. They ran towards the backstage area. Their own footsteps echoing as their shoes hit the wooden floorboards. Whitty, with his longer strides, took the lead ahead of Pico. Once they arrived at the backstage room, they saw the metal Exit door slowly closing. Whitty slammed it back open, dashing through it, Pico not far behind him. Once outside, they had stumbled into a fenced in parking lot. Street lights illuminated the empty lot, now they could see the other person running away from them. They were short, around Pico's height. They had a black hoodie on, the hood was up so they couldn't see their head. Even so, Pico was sure that it was Boyfriend. It had to be. 

The hooded person ran into the parking lot's locked gate. Attempting to climb over it, but they weren't fast enough. Pico and Whitty were on their tail. They still tried, though. They were clearly struggling to get up the fence's bars, it looked like they kept slipping, like they couldn't grip the bars. Just as they were about to make another attempt to climb, Whitty caught up to them. The tall bomb man swiftly wrapped his hands around their torso, easily lifting them off the ground. Like holding a kitten. They helplessly swung their arms and legs, attempting to free themself from Whitty's grip. Amidst all their wild flailing, the hood came down, revealing a familiar face with blue hair. Boyfriend. They found him.

"N-no! Let me go! P-Put me down!" Boyfriend yelled, his voice filled with panic. His eyes were closed, and tears soaked his cheeks. Whitty knelt down to bring Boyfriend closer to the ground, still not letting go. "Hey! Hey… Boyfriend, it's just us. It's okay." Whitty did his best to keep his scratchy voice steady, hoping to calm down the terrified bluette. Despite not having the most soothing voice, it seemed to help a bit. Bf stopped flailing and yelling for the moment, his eyes snapped open. He seemed to have come to a sudden halt. His fearful eyes scanned the environment around him. Pico tried to approach him slowly, he didn't want to spook the poor guy more, but he too, was shaking. He had seen Boyfriend scared before, sure, but not like this. This was a new level of absolute terror. He looked so… fragile. Like if someone so much as flicked him, he'd fall to pieces. This was a far cry from the Boyfriend Pico knew. The dumb, reckless, confident man was no where to be found. What really struck Pico though, was the noticeable dampness of Boyfriend's hoodie sleeves. Pico figured he must have been injured, and he had to help. 

In the moment though, he was overwhelmed. He was happy that they found him. He was also worried about him. Part of him was angry. After all the weeks spent searching for Boyfriend, after spending those weeks bottling up all his frustrations, fears, grief, worry. He had reached his tipping point. He couldn't hold back anymore. The tears in his own eyes couldn't be stopped this time. Pico threw away his inhibitions, and just ran up to hug Boyfriend. Pico buried his face in the crook of Boyfriend's neck, and dug his fingers into his blue hair. He was there, they actually found him. And he'd be damned if he lost Bf again. His own face was wet with tears. "G-god Damn it you- you fucking idiot. Don't scare me like that again. F-fuck." Pico's voice shook, sobbing, his cries making it harder to speak. Whitty let go of Boyfriend's torso, instead wrapping his arms around both Pico and Boyfriend, trying not to cry himself (emphasis on tried). A few of his hot, orange tears fell onto the other two boys, but neither seemed to notice.

After a few moments, Whitty and Pico pulled back from the hug. Pico kept his hands on Boyfriend's shoulders, he didn't want to let go. His attention was once again brought to the dampness of Bf's hoodie, he knew it had to be blood. "B… let's go home." Apparently that was the wrong thing for Pico to say, as soon as he did, Boyfriend panicked again. "I-! N-no! I don't want to see her again please Pico-! Don't make me go back!" Pico rushed to ask what was wrong, startled by Bf's reaction. "B, who are you talking about?" Pico gently grabbed Boyfriend's hands, he wanted to be comforting, but that changed when he noticed Bf heavily flinched, and his hands were wet. Pico gently brought Bf's hands into the light. His hands were cracked and bleeding. Badly. The skin and flesh looked like it was just barely holding on to the bones. Some of the blood was dry and crusty, while some of it was fresh. Pico furrowed his brow. "B… what happened?" Bf began crying again. "Gf.. She.." Bf's voice trembled, his lip quivered. He started sobbing. Whitty's orange eyes widened, in a spur of the moment, Whitty gathered both the shorter males in his arms. Lifting them off the ground and standing at his full height. "Hey Pico, why don't we all head to your place?" Pico nodded, still holding Bf's hands. "You can stay with me, B. I promise I won't take you to Girlfriend. She won't even know we found you, okay?" Bf looked into Pico's white eyes, then Whitty's orange ones, before slowly nodding and letting out a barely audible "okay". 

Whitty carried them to Pico's car, he decided to sit in the back with Boyfriend so he wouldn't be alone while Pico drove the car (they moved the front passenger seat as far up as they could to make more legroom for him). Bf was huddled to Whitty's side, the tall, warm, bomb man made him feel safe. Whitty had one of his arms wrapped around Boyfriend, hoping to comfort him. The bluette was still crying, but not as much as before, he seemed to have calmed down slightly. No words were exchanged during the car trip to Pico's house. 

Once they arrived, Whitty gently carried Bf into Pico's house and carefully set him down on Pico's couch. Pico ran off to grab his first aid kit from his hallway closet, mentally preparing himself for how wrecked the rest of Bf's arms might look. He didn't want to end up freaking out and scaring Bf more. Pico moved to sit next to Boyfriend on the couch. "Okay B, show me what hurts." Boyfriend seemed hesitant, Whitty, who was sitting at Bf's other side, rubbed his back. The small gesture seemed to comfort Bf a little, and he removed the black hoodie he was wearing, hissing as the fabric pulled away from his wounds; he was only wearing a tank top under it, so the damage to his arms was revealed easily. Boyfriend's arms looked worse than his hands did somehow. Cracked and bleeding, in some places, it looked like the skin had stitches only to fall apart more and undo them. He could see the bone in Bf's elbow and shoulder. 

Pico felt sick. It was a mystery how Boyfriend wasn't just screaming in anguish. Pico took a quick glance at Whitty, who also looked appalled at the gorey sight before them. Pico looked into Boyfriend's teary eyes, then back at his arms. "We should take ya to the hospital." Pico said nervously, his gauze and hydrogen peroxide couldn't fix this. "I-I already tried that. They couldn't- *sniff* they couldn't stop it. I-It's magic." Bf confessed, Pico noticed Whitty's expression changed from shock to sympathetic. Whitty gestured to Bf's arms "Was this Girlfriend's magic?" Boyfriend nodded. Pico felt rage bubbling in his core. His attempt to keep calm and collected was thrown out the window. "Did she do this on purpose!? That's it! Imma beat her ass!" Pico whipped out his gun. Furious. "I'm gonna pump that bitch full of lead!" Pico was about to storm out his house when both Boyfriend and Whitty stopped him. "PICO DON'T!" Bf and Whitty said in unison. Whitty gripped Pico's arm (which was super easy seeing as his hand was big enough for his fingers to wrap all the way around Pico's forearm), and Boyfriend hugged him, burying his face in the crook of Pico's neck. "Why the fuck are you two stopping me!?" Pico shouted, still undeniably pissed. "Please don't go, Pico!" Bf cried. "Listen dude, as much as I'd love to see ya give that girl more holes than swiss cheese, if you even try it, her family will kill you. Plus, if ya went to her now, they'll know we found Bf, and who knows what they'd do to him then!"

Pico hated to admit it, but Whitty was right. He'd just make it worse by confronting Girlfriend. Her family was powerful, her parents would definitely come after all of them if he tried to do anything to her. His anger was screaming at him to go and blast her with his Uzi, but reason objected to it. Pico sighed, and put his gun on the table. "Alright. Yer right. I'm sorry." Bf hugged him tighter. "Thank you." He said quietly. "Well, if I can't shoot that bitch, let's at least try to solve… this." Pico gestured towards Bf's arms, which were bleeding all over him in the hug. Whitty rubbed the back of his head, unsure. "Well, demon magic did this in the first place, maybe another demon can undo it?" Whitty offered, Pico thought about it, it made sense. If hospitals couldn't treat a curse, might as well try magic. "I can't say you're wrong, the issue now is finding a demon who would be willing to help. The only other demon I know I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw her. Do you know anyone?" Whitty shook his head. The three stayed quiet. Pico wracked his brain for anyone who might be helpful. Maybe his dad knew someone who could help? Probably not. His brother definitely hung out with demons and whatnot, but most people his brother hung out with were bad news. Not to mention he hasn't spoken to his older bro in a long ass time. That was a no go. Who else could he ask? Pico glanced at Whitty, he appeared to be going over various options in his head too. They were silent until Boyfriend chirped in. "I might know someone. Maybe tomorrow we can find her?" Pico shrugged. "I guess that's just what we gotta do. For now though, you should go get cleaned up. You remember where the shower is?" Bf nodded, and started walking down the hallway. "I'll bring you some clean clothes you can borrow!" Pico called, Bf replying with a distant "Thank you" before disappearing around the corner. 

Pico made eye contact with Whitty. He might not have known this guy too well, having only met him a couple weeks ago, but the time they spent working together trying to find Boyfriend made Pico appreciate him. He wanted to know more about him. Whitty was so helpful, even managing to calm Pico down when he was two seconds away from snapping. He found the gentle giant fascinating and comforting. "Hey Whitty?" Whitty let out a curious "hmm?" 

"I just wanted to say thanks.. For everything. You've been really helpful and great and.. I really appreciate it." Pico's earnest tone made Whitty's cheeks glow slightly. "It's no problem. You don't have to thank me or anything. I just.. Wanted Bf to be safe too, ya know?" Pico nodded understandably. "I wish we coulda met under better circumstances. You seem like a great guy, I uh… I'd really like to keep hangin out with you. Maybe once we get this whole curse thing sorted out, we should do something together? Maybe all three of us should." Pico felt color flooding in his own cheeks now, feeling somewhat nervous. Whitty smiled. "I'd like that." Pico let out a small chuckle. "Cool. Cool. Sounds good." 

An awkward lull took the conversation, neither saying much. Whitty eventually stood up and stretched, feeling a bit sleepy. "Well, I should head out. I'm gettin tired. Want me to meet up with you guys here tomorrow?" Pico hesitantly nodded, he almost offered to just let Whitty stay the night, but if he had plans to go home, who was Pico to stop him? "Sounds good. Imma uh.. Get some clothes for B." Pico attempted to make the situation less awkward, he was never good at goodbyes. "Yeah, that'd be good. I'll see you tomorrow." Whitty and Pico parted ways after that. Now, Pico just had to help Boyfriend. Hopefully this woman he was talking about can reverse whatever demon spell was on him..

Pico let Bf borrow his spare pajamas, and threw Bf's clothes in the wash. He wasn't sure if the washing machine was gonna be able to get all the blood out. As he was going through it, he noticed that the inside of Bf's jeans were bloody too, the curse must've been affecting his legs as well. Pico kept the 1st aid kit out, that way he could bandage what was left of Boyfriend's limbs. While Pico tended to the bluette's wounds, he made small talk with Boyfriend, hoping it would put him at ease. It seemed to help. Eventually it became time to turn in for the night. Both boys were exhausted.

 "Hey Pico?"

 "Yeah B?" 

"Can I sleep in your bed with you? I don't wanna be alone."

"... Yeah. C'mere."

"Thanks Pico."

"No prob. G'night B."

"Good night Pico."

[no6secretsanta]

warming up

for: @flat-san

from: @iwatch-theworld

Happy holidays! Here is a sort of modern-ish AU fic that I hope qualifies as “super schmoopy fluff” :) Getting to write Safu and Inukashi was a delight, as well as writing their group dynamic with Shion and Nezumi, lol. I hope you enjoy, and have a wonderful holiday season & rest of the year! <3

***

            “How lame,” Safu sighs.

            “Seriously,” Inukashi agrees. “That’s probably the worst I’ve ever seen.”

            “Like a grade schooler made it.”

            “My dogs could do better.”

            Nezumi narrows his eyes at the two idly making prodding remarks and leaning casually against the wall of Karan’s bakery. Safu is wrapped up in her baby pink scarf, arms crossed, snug and cozy, and Inukashi is wearing a black jacket so long it reaches their knees, their hair loose and messy. “All your dogs can do is turn the pure white snow into a putrid yellow,” he retorts. “This is nearly perfect.”

            “Perfect, he says,” Inukashi scoffs.

            “The head. It’s off 4.1 centimeters on the left,” Safu points out.

            “Are you serious?” Nezumi laughs, disbelieving. “You can tell just by looking?”

            Safu furrows her brow. “Of course.”

             “Well, if you don’t like it, make one yourself instead of standing there uselessly.”

            “You’re the one who said you could do it. We’re testing your skills.” Inukashi smirks.

            “Shion and I are already experts,” Safu retorts, not looking at him, examining her fingernails. “It would be unfair.”

            “Is that so? One of the boy genius’s many talents is that he’s a master in snowman-making?” Nezumi retorts.

            “Don’t turn your anger on me, Nezumi,” Shion says, squatting, examining Nezumi’s ever-so-slightly lopsided snowman. “There’s no shame in not being good at something you’ve never done before.”

            “Hey, wait, who said it’s not good? And why would I be ashamed of something so—”

            “There you go.” Shion grabs a handful of snow, smooths it into the side of its head. “I bet that feels better, Mr. Snowman. We’ll get you some arms and eyes soon, too.”

            “This is ridiculous,” Nezumi mutters.

            “Don’t be a sore loser,” Inukashi jabs.

            “Shion, that’s not fair. He was supposed to do it himself,” Safu says, lifting herself off of the wall and walking over to where Shion and Nezumi are. Inukashi follows closely behind.

            “He made most of it. Besides, wouldn’t you feel bad for the snowman if we just left him like that?”

            Safu eyes Shion for a second, hesitates before saying, “I suppose so.”

            “Well, there you go. It’s done,” Nezumi says, shrugging his shoulders. “We’re finished here. I’m leaving now.” Without waiting for a response, he turns his heel to start heading away.

            But Shion reaches out, places a hand on his shoulder. Nezumi freezes. “Wait. I just said he still needs a face. You can’t quit partway through.”

            Nezumi almost sighs, catches himself, says, “And where are we getting its face?”

            “My mom has some raisins she said we could use. I’ll be right back.” Shion removes his hand from Nezumi’s shoulder, and Nezumi watches him as he walks back to the bakery. Once inside, Nezumi turns his attention back to the snowman, blank-faced and empty, for a few moments, but feels two sets of eyes boring into him. “Can I help you two?”

            “What a brat,” Inukashi says.

            “Childish. Immature,” Safu agrees flatly.

            “Doesn’t know a damn thing.”

            “You’re the ones who suggested this,” Nezumi shoots back. “Why do you care so much about my snowman crafting abilities? I bet you don’t even know either, Inukashi.”

            Inukashi sticks their tongue out.

            “Simple-minded. Foolish,” Safu continues.

            “Vague. Pointless,” Nezumi retorts.

            Safu sighs. “I never cared for doing this,” she gestures to the snowman, “but Shion loved it when we were little. I don’t know why. Personally, I think snow is much more interesting when you look at individual flakes under a microscope—”

            “Yeah, yeah, you’re a huge geek, we know.”

            Safu continues, unruffled. “And the point you’re not getting is that this is something fun Shion likes. And you’re not taking advantage of it.”

            “Like a big dummy,” Inukashi teases.

            “Enough from the peanut gallery,” Nezumi snaps.

            Tongue again.

            “Inukashi’s right,” Safu asserts. “At least act like you’re having fun. Instead of being a… a boring…moody—sort of—”

            “Dummy!” Inukashi helps.

            “Dummy,” Safu agrees.

            Nezumi sighs for real this time. Dealing with Shion is one thing, an ordeal in itself, a not depleting but still relatively significant toll on his energy reserves. Inukashi used to be a small annoyance, like a buzzing fly, miniscule and easily swatted away, not too difficult to handle, but ever since their group expanded and they became friends with Safu, the two had become a tiring pair to deal with.

            But while Inukashi was a brat, like a kid sibling, Safu was someone more on equal footing he could exchange quips with, and he respected her insight.

            Most of the time. Like when she’s not calling him a boring, moody dummy.

            “And what? You two are trying to create some sort of romantic atmosphere with snowman building and insults? It’s working wonders so far. As you can see.”

            “It would be easier if you had a better attitude,” Safu says.

            “And it would be easier for me if you weren’t here.”

            “We’re just helping you get it off the ground,” Inukashi says.

            “A sort of friend-hangout-turned-romantic-date thing,” Safu adds.

            “Didn’t ask for your help,” Nezumi says.

            “You need it, though,” Safu counters.

            “You—”

            The bell above the door of Karan’s bakery jingles, and Shion returns, a small basket in hand. “Sorry I was gone so long,” he says. “Mom actually didn’t have any spare raisins—raisin bread has been popular lately, for some reason. But we found some dried apricots instead.”

            “…Great,” Nezumi says, completely unable to care about the dried fruit.

            “I’m glad you found something, Shion.” Safu smiles, any trace of harshness from the previous conversation vanished from her expression, replaced only with the gentle warmness she always has around Shion. “We’ll leave the finishing touches to you boys, then. Inukashi and I have other plans.”

            “Plans? You two?” Nezumi queries.

            “She’s gonna help me identify all the dog breeds I have,” Inukashi says, grinning, obviously excited. “Don’t know ‘em myself. Just know which ones are the fluffiest, best blankets, which are siblings, stuff like that. Don’t know anything about breeds.”

            “Didn’t know you were a dog person,” Nezumi says to Safu.

            “I’m not partial to any particular animal. But Shion’s interested in ecology, and I’ve helped him study sometimes. I know all the different kinds of both domestic and wild dogs and cats, a variety of fish, rodents, trees, fungi, and more.”

            “It’s true,” Shion says. “But she’s lying about not being partial to particular animals. Safu loves cats.”

            Nezumi’s not sure why, but Safu almost immediately blushes, as if embarrassed by her fondness of cats. “Well, anyway, we should be going. See you later.” She grabs Inukashi’s hand and starts powerwalking away. Inukashi sticks their tongue out at Nezumi one last time as they’re pulled along.

            Nezumi makes no reaction, just turns back around to face Shion, and as soon as he does Shion grabs his wrist, his fingers ice-cold, and puts a piece of dried fruit in his palm.

            “We’ll start with his eyes,” Shion says. “And try to make it as symmetric as possible. For Safu.”

            Like she really cares, Nezumi thinks, but instead he says, “Hey, maybe you should be wearing some gloves. Your hands are freezing.”

            “Oh. I hadn’t noticed.”

            “Hadn’t noticed? Jeez, what an airhead you are. Would you not notice yourself freezing to death unless I said so?”

            “Of course not. I was just…caught up in the moment.”

            “Don’t be so ‘caught up in the moment’ you get frostbite.”

            “We’re almost done. I’ll be fine.”

            Nezumi clicks his tongue. “Stubborn, this one.”

            “You seem like you’re in a worse mood than usual today,” Shion notes.

            Suddenly, without prompting, Safu’s voice enters Nezumi’s head then: Dummy. It would be easier if you had a better attitude.

“Who has fun out in the freezing cold like this?” Nezumi defends, jamming the apricot Shion gave him into the right side of the snowman’s face.

            Shion places the left eye on. Then starts putting the mouth pieces below. “It’s possible. But you have a point.”

            As Shion places the apricots on one by one, Nezumi can’t stop staring at his hands. As Shion places the last one, Nezumi reaches out, on impulse, automatically and without thinking, to grab Shion’s still-frozen hand.

            “Let’s go somewhere warmer,” he says, tightening his grip on Shion’s hand, “before the both of us start freezing to death.”

            Shion holds his gaze a moment before saying, “You really hate the cold, huh.”

            “Of course I hate the—” Nezumi starts. Almost sighs, doesn’t. “We finished the snowman, didn’t we? Let’s go somewhere else now.”

            Shion snaps a picture of the snowman on his phone with his free hand. For Safu, Nezumi thinks, finding it amusing that Shion was misinterpreting Safu’s interest in the snowman for interest in the thing itself, and not her interest in Shion. Though of course he thought that way. It was Shion.

            “If you’re cold, I know a place we can go that’s really warm,” Shion says, reciprocating Nezumi’s hand squeeze.

            Nezumi’s first instinct is to argue, to be the one to take the lead, choose the place, but he remembers his earlier sharp remarks, remembers Safu’s voice in his head, and he decides Shion can at least choose the place, and Nezumi could figure out what to do there, as long as they were out of the damp snow and frigid air.

            So he says, “Alright,” and Shion starts leading him away from the snowman, their hands still linked, slightly warmer than before.

***

            “And this one is a Golden Retriever—obviously, ‘cause its fur is gold—and this one is one of our warmest, a Bernese mountain dog, bred and raised in the Bernese mountains themselves—”

            Inukashi is going on and on about all their different dogs, proud, smug, Safu grinning, amused, by their side, Nezumi and Shion standing in their doorway, a crowd of dogs surrounding them, eager to greet the new guests. Shion is kneeling on the floor to pet some of the smaller puppies. Safu sits on the stairs with a Pomeranian in her lap. Nezumi is looking off to the side, nonplussed, his hands in his pockets.

            Inukashi is holding some light brown fluffy puppy, saying, “This is some mutt, not even Safu could tell, but she thinks it’s some kind of lab mix—”

            “Shion, we really had to come here? We just escaped them,” Nezumi says in a low tone.

            “There’s no place warmer than Inukashi’s,” Shion says, as one of the dogs Inukashi recently identified as a Chow Chow licks his face.

            “And this one—”

            “We’re just here to warm up,” Nezumi interrupts. “So if you would kindly show us your warmest, furriest pooch, that’d be great.”

            Inukashi, still excited over their newfound knowledge, ignores Nezumi’s rudeness and says, “That would be this ol’ boy,” patting a large, white and very fluffy dog. “He’s a Great Pyr—Great Pire?—Great—”

            “Pyrenees,” Safu helps.

            “Great Pyrenees!”

            “We’ll take him,” Nezumi says.

            “Then take him and go. You’re the one who interrupted us. Me and Princess Science were having a perfectly good time without you, you know.”

            Nezumi sees Safu blush slightly at the nickname, and he can’t help but be amused. For all her haughtiness and brainy-ness, there were times where she was strikingly girlish, and the book-smart rich kid melted away to reveal the normal teenage girl she was underneath. Shion was like that sometimes, too, rattling off complicated theories one second, caught up in something small and human the next.

            Safu catches him looking at her, and her expression changes from sheepish to annoyed. She looks like she wants to say, What are you doing here, anyway?

            Nezumi smirks, ignores Inukashi, turns back to Shion. “Shion, do you hear any yapping from a tiny, unruly pup?”

            Shion looks up, distracted, from the growing crowd of puppies at his feet. “What? No, all the puppies here are so well-behaved. I’m impressed!”

            Nezumi facepalms. Inukashi laughs.

            The Great Pyrenees, now in front of Nezumi, gives a low, soft, “Boof!”

            “The old man’s waiting on ya,” Inukashi says.

Without hesitation, Nezumi nods to the stairs, says, “Let’s go.”

            The old dog slowly leads them up the stairs, into the guest bedroom, used to the routine. He stops, looks back at them, and once they’ve entered the room, plops itself not on the soft mattress of the guest bed or the plump love seat in the corner, but on the floor.

            “Cheapskate.” Nezumi clicks his tongue. “Only one dog for two people, and it wants us to sit on the floor.”

            “Don’t complain. It’s better than being outside in the cold still, right?” Shion sits up against the wall on the floor by the dog, and the dog moves over to Shion and licks his hand, his face, then promptly sits on him. Then looks expectantly at Nezumi.

            Nezumi, still feeling stubborn, doesn’t want to sit on the floor, but quickly it dawns on him that they’re finally alone (not counting the dog), and even if the pup and Safu are in the same place, they’re downstairs  and away from them, and this is probably the closest they’re getting to alone time today.

            “Alright, old man, you don’t have to give me those puppy eyes.” Nezumi sits down next to Shion, and the dog adjusts itself so it’s now spread out on both of them, a cloud of cotton puff. Nezumi and Shion are shoulder to shoulder, Shion’s arm moving up against Nezumi’s as he pets the dog.

            ���Petting dogs is relaxing. If you pet him, maybe it’ll help your bad mood. It’s scientifically proven.”

            “I’m so sure.”

            “It is.”

            “I’m not in a bad mood today,” Nezumi asserts. “This is my normal self.”

            “You’re usually grumpy, that’s true. But today you seem even grumpier.”

            “It’s that damn Inukashi’s fault. And Safu’s. Their stupid snowman trial.”

            “Like I said earlier, there’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

            “I’m not ashamed.” Nezumi sighs. Why was he in such a bad mood today? It was Inukashi and Safu’s antics, and layered beyond that, all the previous prodding from Safu about Shion, that Nezumi should be doing something more for him. Something like what? Something to meet her standards, her romantic ideal for Shion? What did she know, anyway? He thought she would give up once he and Shion got together, but ever the perfectionist, she seemed bent on making sure Shion was happy in the way she wanted. As if she could tell him what to do? Screw that. She can take her controlling, pretentious ideas and shove them—

            Suddenly, Nezumi felt something warm on his hand. It was Shion, taking his hand and bringing it to the dog’s fur. “Then relax. Pet a dog. We might as well enjoy it while we’re here.”

            Their hands joined again, Nezumi is brought back to the moment, here at Inukashi’s, under their dog, because Shion brought them here. Swept away from one thing to another, first in Safu and Inukashi’s plans, then Shion’s. So much for him taking the lead. His hand between the smoothness of Shion’s skin and the softness of the dog’s fur, he notices Shion’s hand is much warmer now, and relenting a bit, he’s glad they came here. After all, he wanted Shion warm, wanted them alone, and here they were, ready for Nezumi to finally do as he wished.

            So Nezumi slides his hand out from under Shion’s, gently lifts Shion’s fingertips with his own, kisses Shion’s knuckles. “As you wish.”

            Shion’s ears redden. The dog on top of them yawns, stretches, nods off to sleep. Silence lingers a few moments, and Nezumi begins to retract his hand, but Shion quickly grabs tight onto his fingers. Without words, they’re holding hands again, wrists resting on the dogs back, moving slightly with the dog’s steady breathing.

            Shion leans into Nezumi. Nezumi places a subtle, quick kiss onto Shion’s forehead. Then he says, “Next time, however, I want to be alone. Completely. Not even in the same house with someone else.”

            “No argument. But when we are with the others, try to at least be civil.”

            “No promises.”

            “Nezumi—”

            “Okay, okay. I’ll try. But only if they do.”

            Shion sighs. Rubs his thumb along Nezumi’s hand. Nezumi tenses slightly at the gentle motion, then lets himself relax. An innocuous gesture. An innocuous desire for civility. So simple, so silly, so breakable, vulnerable, fragile. Safu is in Nezumi’s head again, telling him to do more for Shion, telling him to have a better attitude. In this quietude, this warmth, with Shion idly resting beside him, his guard loosens, and he starts to think: she’s right.

            Not that Nezumi’s done anything wrong, exactly. But maybe Safu has a point.

            Because when Shion’s desires are simple, to make a snowman, for peace among loved ones, to relax and be together, maybe Nezumi can try to comply a little easier, without fighting everything first, without trying to escape.

            Muffled, he hears Inukashi’s raucous laughter downstairs, Safu’s Hey! followed by a few dogs barking excitedly. Here, in the guest room, tucked away from it all, shoulder to shoulder with Shion, Nezumi finally gives in.

            “Man, I’m beat,” he says. “This pooch really is warm. I could take a nap.”

            “You never take naps.”

            “True. But I wouldn’t mind staying here, until this guy wakes up.” Nezumi pauses. “Or…for as long as you want.”

            He waits for a response. Gets none. He looks to Shion, wondering if he’s said something strange—at the very least, he’s said something uncharacteristic.

            But Shion is asleep now, breathing steadily in time with the dog. Nezumi sighs.

            Oh well. Screw it, he thinks. Giving in, he closes his eyes, too, rests his head against Shion’s, letting himself relax into the warmth of the two sleeping bodies. Oh well…

[charmingpplincardigans]

Here are some things that I love:

Crowley

This Kiki Smith sculpture that I spent A LOT of time staring at while it was at the MFA in Boston

Crowley and Aziraphale’s combined post-Apocalypse love language being a desire to meet each other in the middle of their respective becomings and still having to work out all the kinks in that. 

There is no purpose to this and I don’t even know if it’s worth putting on AO3, but here, for people who also like it when angels and demons discuss art. 

. . . 

They hadn't properly been to a museum together in a couple of years. Of all the places the two of them met up during the anti-christ years, museums had been Crowley’s favorite. As spaces they were just so...human. Not that there were many places you could go on the planet to escape humanity if you wanted to, but museums tended to be one of those places of unguarded emotion. It was enough to make a demon reconsider his place in the world, which he supposed was the point. 

Crowley had been to a few opening nights at galleries without Aziraphale, but those pit stops hadn't been about Art so much as they'd been about the stark distinction between the solace art can bring to a soul and the greed, avarice, and lust that usually floated around circles of artists. Easy temptations as those things went. 

Strictly speaking, whenever Crowley met Aziraphale at a gallery before the Apocalyse That Wasn't, that had not been about Art either, but distracting Aziraphale and coaxing him into a contemplative mood about the nature of humanity as represented in chaotic drip and splatter paintings or calm, staid blocks of color was an even easier temptation than the ones he pulled on the artists. Probably because he knew Aziraphale so very well and was well-versed in his opinion on wine and canapes to be had at quaint little bars inside museums. The angel's opinion was, almost unwaveringly, strongly in favor.

This time it was about the art. Outwardly and ostensibly, anyway. Inwardly it was also about the itch that had been working its way down Crowley's back like the universe’s slowest drop of infernal sweat for the last month or so. Once a being became used to looking over their shoulder they would be doing it for the rest of their life. Just because the thing they expected to find there had stopped looking at them did not mean the being could just accept they were free and move on with their lives sans hunted and haunted feeling. Crowley and Aziraphale had effectively scared off Heaven and Hell for the time being, but that didn't mean they'd scared them off forever, and there were ever so many seconds between now and forever when Crowley's growing paranoia might prove itself well-founded. 

(Update, now on AO3 after all, if you prefer to read there.)

Because of this, staying in one place became harder and harder every day. He had not yet successfully convinced Aziraphale to truly get out of dodge, though he’d floated many tempting destinations: the cusp of the aurora borealis, a dynamic volcano range on Venus, Iceland. The angel resisted every invitation. He claimed he needed to do inventory on the newly restored bookshop, which quickly turned into what might be a several year long effort to re-read everything in it and check Adam's handiwork for discrepancies. But even with this undertaking Crowley had successfully gotten him out of the shop a few times. 

Usually that happened when Crowley became so tired of sitting in patches of sun and pretending to be interested in Foucault that he threatened to go somewhere else on his own and Aziraphale, who had been reluctant to let the demon out of his sight since they'd been returned to Earth more or less unharmed, promptly closed up the shop and offered to come with him. Crowley was still working out how he felt about this development, but for now he more or less approved. 

They didn't have to hide anything anymore, which meant he didn't have to hide how important their shared history was to him and how much genuine pleasure he got from luring Aziraphale out on small adventures. Which was how they now found themselves in an art museum looking at a sculpture titled Lilith and comparing it to their memory of the real thing. 

"She looks hungry," Aziraphale said. "Did that girl ever look so hungry to you? Do you remember?"

He had his head tilted back to look up at where the life sized sculpture was mounted above them on the wall. His left hand rested in the front pocket of his overcoat, but his right arm hung at his side, pinky just barely brushing against the back of Crowley's hand, a gentle reminder that they were both still there. 

"They were all made hungry at first, weren't they? For each other and for the horizon? Insurance, I’d say."

Crowley had his right arm crossed behind his back, holding the elbow of his left close to his side. It was to keep himself in check. As much as Aziraphale did not like to take his eyes of Crowley in this shiny new world, Crowley did not like to take his hands off Aziraphale. 

They were both fighting millennia of incompatible conditioning in their own ways. Some days it resulted in time spent pressed together and getting so wrapped up in each other's bodies they forgot to speak. Some days it resulted in arguments neither of them knew how not to have. It was all very different from the bickering and careless touching that had come before. The weight of their changing relationship was heavily yoked across Crowley's shoulders, but it was a weight he welcomed.

"To make sure the hard work was appreciated, you mean?" Aziraphale asked.

"To make sure everything got kicked off. You don't think They had us make all of that just to let Their creation be contained to one small walled in oasis in the desert? Come on, angel. You know better than that."

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Why shouldn't I believe She wanted them to be happy, to revel in the beauty gifted them?"

"Angel," Crowley said.

It was half admonishment and half question. After everything, finally, Aziraphale had to know that the Almighty's intentions weren't universally good for those in Their charge. The two of them were proof of that. Or, at the very least, they were proof that just because machinations had been put into place, that didn't mean they were worthy of being seen through. Or that the beings doing the overseeing wouldn't twist them to their own ends when left to their own, bloodthirsty druthers. 

He turned his head to look at Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale's blue eyes were staring steadily into the blue eyes of the sculpture. It really was very lifelike, with its clear, piercing eyes and the smoked, charred appearance of the bent and crouching body. One hand ground itself to the wall and one hand ended at the wrist as if it was meant to be disappearing into the boundary between them. 

Myths circulated among some of the humans that Lilith had somehow straddled realms, that she conquered angels and birthed demons. Of course, no demons had been born of another body. All of them, to Crowley's knowledge, had been born of only the fault lines that ran through their own cracked shells. Crowley, who had many faults, had also once been charred all black and shadowed with the red of his wounds.

“The very making of them was a promise,” Aziraphale insisted. 

“To who?” Crowley asked, incredulous. “There wasn’t anything to it. Here, have some green things and some new creatures and some teeth. Gnaw your way through the world, you’ll figure it out.”

“That was faith,” Aziraphale said. “And faith is perhaps the most important thing a being can have.” 

He looked at Crowley with a fierceness in his eyes that reminded Crowley of kneeling on a tarmac and wondering, for just a second, what part of him was going to end up with a flaming sword in it. He still felt a little guilty for that fear, for being afraid of Aziraphale of all beings, but in his defense, a lot of acutely predicted unpredictable things had happened up to that point and he had quite lost his grip on the way things were supposed to be.

“Don’t know from faith,” Crowley grumbled. “The only thing I believe in is you.”

Aziraphale’s gaze softened considerably. “There was good to be found in Heaven when we were building,” he said. “Surely you remember that. And if there ever was good I think there still must be.” 

“Good and altruism are not the same thing,” Crowley said. “Good can mean anything, depending.” They both knew that to be true. It was in fact the truth The Arrangement was predicated on. 

"I'm just having a hard time of it, my dear," Aziraphale whispered. "I feel so...alone without all the rest of them, even after everything. Cut out, something has been cut out of me and while it is still hurting, it doesn't help when you gloat."

"I wasn't– " Crowley started, but he bit himself off. 

Of course he was, though he hadn't meant to be. Not that his intention mattered when it was his utter certainty in the fallibility of Heaven that rubbed Aziraphale raw. 

Crowley had tried for thousands of years to get Aziraphale to believe that they themselves were all they really had, and now they were. In theory he had won, but in practice they had both lost a lot. And while Crowley had never believed in Hell—because by its very nature Hell did not give demons things to believe in so much as it gave them a shared enemy in Heaven—Aziraphale had believed in Heaven. Wholly. With every part of himself. 

Aziraphale was a creature of love so purposeful that he believed all angels were creatures of love, and that love was meant to be their purpose. Even when confronted with proof of the contrary, he never stopped believing his brethren could be better. Crowley was positive that Gabriel, for instance, would not be able to pick love out of a lineup if it offered itself up with an explanation, a prayer, and a perfectly tailored pair of trousers. Aziraphale, in contrast, didn't know how to let love go. He loved when it was a celebration and he loved when it was a wake. Aziraphale loved Crowley, against all odds, or maybe because of them. Maybe because of how odd the pair of them were, because they'd lived so long in each other's pockets it couldn't be helped. 

Crowley loved Aziraphale because, well, the list was very long, but one of the bullets was definitely the way he was currently standing in a public art museum, eyes misting under the pressure of their new lives catching up to him. The new absences in both of them were heavy, but they were free to feel that heaviness, and wasn’t that something. 

They could, perhaps in time, come to fill those absences with each other, but it would have to be done carefully, deliberately, and with the knowledge that it was impossible to make another being your whole world. It was also unfair. At the very least you needed to take up some of that space yourself. Just to give your beloved a place to come home to. 

Crowley released his grip on his own elbow. He bumped Aziraphale's hand with his to warn him that there was movement incoming. Then he reached out, wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's shoulder, and pulled him close so that he could press a quick kiss to his forehead before letting Aziraphale tuck his face into Crowley's black, padded shoulder. 

"I don't mean to gloat," he said. "But I won't lie to you either."

"No," Aziraphale said, voice muffled in Crowley's jacket collar. "I don't want you to. You never have have you?"

"Not when it mattered," Crowley said. 

Aziraphale wiped at his eyes with a quick, small movement that Crowley pretended not to see. 

"Do you remember what happened to her?” he asked. “I'm afraid I never made it a point to check up."

"Just as well. I'm sure she'd had enough of angels there by the time she'd been replaced. But yeah, she did alright. She survived for a time."

"They're all so very good at that," Aziraphale said. "They look fragile, but they're all so very resilient."

"So are we," Crowley said. "It's hard to tell sometimes whose image any of us were really made in."

Aziraphale reached across Crowley and grabbed a hold of his free hand. He squeezed it tight before loosening back into a more relaxed grip. They stood like that for another fifteen or so minutes while Aziraphale composed himself. He let out a few shaky breaths that Crowley would never mention, tilted his head up to kiss Crowley's cheek, and then pulled away.

The sudden emptiness at his side reminded Crowley that they likely weren't alone, but when he turned to survey their surroundings none of the handful of museum goers were paying them any mind. 

"Where to now, angel?" Crowley said. 

Aziraphale pulled the map from his pocket and studied it. “Oh look, he said, as he pointed to a purple square. “They have some Monets.” 

Crowley sighed. “Fine. But I did tell him, I said Claude, if I see another water lily for the rest of my life it will be too soon.” 

Aziraphale folded the map and slid it back into his pocket. “And what did he say to that?”

“That’s quite the point,” Crowley said, mimicking a French accent. “And then he went into that cathedral because he knew I couldn’t follow. The bastard.” 

“Ah, Rouen,” Aziraphale said. “Well, you can’t argue with an impending sense of mortality anyway.” He stepped away from Crowley to move on to the next gallery. 

Crowley took one last look at the frozen Lilith and then followed. “I’ll have you know I can argue with anything. Those were some nice sunsets though. He captured that alright.” 

“Mmm, I remember Mesopotamia, right before the clouds rolled in. A sunset always could still that forked tongue of yours.” 

“I’ll sssstill my tongue on you.”

Aziraphale laughed. The sound of it startled both Crowley and the humans near them. “Oh yes, I’m sure,” he said. “But let’s save that for later.”

Crowley trailed after Aziraphale and thought that, of all the promises available in the world, the promise of a later was his absolute favorite.

[olympusintelligence]

Part 1 Chapter 3

6/6/2018  13:00 (Hong Kong Time) St. Raphael’s Catholic Cemetery

Helen’s funeral was held two weeks after the explosion.

Her parents passed away long ago, so only her brother Christian handled her funeral. He  did not allow Kyle to help, and only invited him, his parents and few of his colleagues to attend it.

They met for very few times, but they were like water to fire. Kyle never got in his way, but after their first meeting he just started a quarrel with him for no apparent reason whenever they met. In every conflict Helen was torn in the middle, persuading both men to compromise.

Fortunately he did not work in Hong Kong, otherwise Kyle would have no single good day. He only knew Christian was an Undersecretary of a bureau inside the Department of State, which meant he had to work in the US and overseas for a long time, but having little knowledge of civil service in the US, he did not really know his actual rank, position and job duties. By the way, he always provoked him to quarrel with him when he visited Helen, or encountered him in Hong Kong or Los Angeles during his business trips or holidays.

Though Kyle was truly furious at his brother-in-law for his hostility towards him, he did not dare to complain this time.

He lost his lover, while he lost his only family member on earth.

**

21/5/2018 0:00 (Hong Kong time) Kyle’s home

Kyle tried to call Christian, who was somewhere in the world, but similar to the past Christian never answered or returned a call, and never responded to his Whatsapp message either. After a thorough thought, Kyle finally texted him, and very rarely within thirty seconds he replied, “Thanks. I’ll come ASAP.”

After the DVIU notified him the time and location of verifying the victim’s corpse, he texted his brother-in-law again. Four days later, his brother-in-law arrived at the morgue fifteen minutes earlier. Though he did dress up, he looked languid, as if he had had insomnia for days. Black circles were below the similar beautiful honey brown eyes, and his face was almost sickly pale. It was the first time Kyle witnessed his brother-in-law being so wretched. Helen’s death had clearly crushed him. 

In his impression, no matter how Christian had been picky towards him, he was a soft-spoken gentleman. Perhaps due to his long years in diplomacy, he was very concerned about his image. Whenever Kyle met him, he had dressed himself like a reliable executive - there must be a fine tailored suit, with a Kenneth  Cole automatic watch or smartwatch on his right wrist, and dashing leather shoes . Helen was certainly a beauty, and with the similar facial features and clear pale skin, Christian was just handsome. He was about eight years older than Helen, but as a man reaching the middle age, no signs of  fatigue  could be spotted on him. He had a well-proportioned figure, and a mature man’s charisma.

That’s why Kyle often suspected Christian only judged him based on his appearance. His average appearance and his daily T-shirt and jeans outfit might have offended him. Kyle had discussed this with Helen before, but she just briefly said, ‘Well, it only shows that he has recognized you as part of our family. He’s not that direct when he rebukes his subordinates.’ Kyle really did not know how to react to her, and she just smiled coyly.

He had doubts about Christian’s identity. He should only be a civilian official in the  Department of State, but during a dinner they had together, he noticed calluses had been developed all over his left palm, indicating he was a frequent firearm user. In the age of Web 2.0, he still had not opened any other social network accounts. And when they invited him to their engagement party, he only claimed he was too busy to show up, but during their video conference, when Kyle asked him whether he could record a video clip to convey his blessing to them instead, the siblings strangely responded that he could not attend any public function or have his appearance recorded on any camera. Still Kyle at that time just sensed that Christian had never wholeheartedly recognized him as his brother-in-law, so he did not bother to attend the engagement party or give them his blessing.

But everything became trivial soon after Helen died.

Christian followed the forensic technician to enter the morgue after waiting for Kyle. With strong restraint he just drily said to him, ‘I hope it’s not my sis.’

However, in less than ten minutes, Kyle heard a melancholic scream from afar, which he recognized was from his seemingly calm brother-in-law. At that moment, Kyle knew there was no miracle on earth. His fiancee was really in that morgue. 

Ten minutes later, Christian came back with a ghastly pale face. He warned him, ‘You really shouldn’t go in. I fear you can’t live with it.’

Kyle had the resolve to see her one last time. He had already been this far. Of course he would not back down. Following the forensic technician, he stepped into the world of the dead through the entrance of the morgue. The forensic technician cautiously reminded him, ‘I heard you’re her fiance. You must be mentally prepared for what comes next. Shall we proceed?’ 

‘Yes.’ With no regrets.

The forensic technician sighed and brought him into the unusually cold morgue. The corpses were stored in their own refrigerators. Kyle’s thin jacket could not shield him from the coldness that belonged to the dead. It sent shivers down his spine.

They both reached an open room. When Kyle looked inside, his eyes widened in fear…...

Helen’s corpse was placed on a steel bed. Perhaps it was not her entire corpse…...They were just burnt pieces. Only a well-trained, experienced forensic pathologist could distinguish which piece belonged to which part of her body. Even after a few days, they still contained the smell of burnt ashes.

He knew why his brother-in-law collapsed. The sight was too devastating for any of her loved ones to bear. When she was still alive she was such a sweet beauty, but after she passed away…...

Out of the blue, he became drowsy. His unconsciousness seemed to have filtered out many details. He could neither see the forensic technician and another forensic scientist who just arrived at the room nor hear their words clearly. As if escaping from the grip of a beast, he just ran away.  And he only kneeled on the floor and cried out loud when he finally reached a corridor.

Kyle did not notice his brother-in-law also staying on the corridor. He had hid himself at a corner about two meters away from him, but he did not plan to wait for him. Instead he intently studied his facial expressions and behavior. Every expression on his countenance and every tear could not escape his eagle eye. He no longer appeared traumatized after Kyle made his way into the morgue, and Kyle, the forensic technician and the forensic pathologist still did not find out he had been acting all along.

**

6/6/2018  14:30 (Hong Kong Time) St Raphael’s Catholic Cemetery

Christian arranged a Christian funeral for his sister, and he only invited four of her fellow classmates to join. Strangely he did not invite any of her colleagues at her gallery. He spoke little with Kyle, except simply greeted him. Kyle’s parents also felt he was too cold and resentful, but they did not reprimand him, as it was after all his sister’s funeral.

The weather was too good, and the sun was too bright for a funeral. 

The priest was reciting Catholic hymns and prayers while the attendees were listening in silence.

Kyle was still preoccupied with deep melancholy. Kyle’s parents tried to console him, but they could not come up with any appropriate words.

Kyle was actually still alert of his surroundings . He still acutely sensed a man among the attendees glared at him. It did not just indicate animosity alone, but it might be an intent to murder him.

When every one placed their flowers on his fiancee’s grave, he finally located the man. The Caucasian man ia serious-looking black suit was about the same age as Helen, and he had a rather boyish face, with an all-back dark brown hair. However, his azure eyes with the shape of an almond displayed a feature distinct from his youth - They seemed to be the embodiment of  the deep ocean itself.

Kyle thought only those men who witnessed too much darkness in their lives had such eyes, but he did not look slightly like a soul who had been through numerous tests of hardship. In fact, they never knew each other. How could he be hostile to him?

Having offered a bouquet of lilies on the grave, he courteously spoke with Christian a bit. Then he just emotionlessly said to him, ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ In a rather detached manner , he introduced himself as Andrew Hector, Helen’s classmate in Caltech.

Kyle put his suspicions aside, as it seemed Andrew just perceived him as a stranger.

After  the funeral ended, many attendees left. Kyle withdrew himself from getting immersed in his melancholy. He glanced around but neither Christian nor Andrew was in his sight . 

Worried about his mental state, Benny and Kyle’s parents proposed to escort him home. Still he had a gut feeling that he might be able to dig up some leads, so he calmly turned it down, and just mentioned he hoped to stay with Helen for a bit longer. As the trio knew Kyle had made up his mind, they chose to respect him, and only reminded him to call them whenever he needed them. They were quite worried that he might become mad when he was alone, so before they left  they let him take care of Toby, a fat corgi his parents had been taking care of, with the hope that it may bring him some solace. 

His instinct was right. When he led the always slow Toby to crawl towards a chapel, he spotted two bodyguards guarding its main entrance. He took another path to find its backdoor, but again he noticed another bodyguard stationed there. Such cautious security measures must be meant to bar anyone from entering the chapel and eavesdropping whatever took place inside.

**

Inside the chapel

‘Your status is too sensitive. Why haven’t you brought anyone with you?’ asked Andrew. His dark blue eyes showed earnest concern for Christian. Both men sat on the same bench, but kept some distance between them.

They were neither Christians nor Catholics. They knew too well they had committed crimes, and there was no need to see a statue of Mary or Jesus to be reminded of that.  They only met at such time in such place for a secret, secure exchange of intelligence.

‘I’m on bereavement and I’m only here for the funeral. There’s no need to bring anyone with me. I’m not going to intervene in the station’s operation here. The other side won’t dare to bug me as they are too preoccupied with the explosion case. Our French friends have been busy from the start, so they won’t keep an eye on me at all.’ Christian did not thank him for his  concerns, and instead responded with a sardonic smile. ‘But your organization’s methods are way too brutal. That’s why you must have at least three bodyguards with you wherever you go.’ 

‘Your ‘firm’ is the major beneficiary of our work,’ rebuffed Andrew. ‘I tried to persuade our boss not to go too far, but as you know, an old man is reluctant to change his ways.’ 

‘Oh, is he really an old man? Ha! Please don’t let him know you’ve talked behind his back in front of me.’ Christian found it hard to take in Andrew’s comments. He knew too well no matter how old was his organization’s leader, he was never an average old man.

‘No matter what happened in the past, at least we’re on the same side now, and I’ve always been on your side. If your ‘firm’ or my boss knows about this, we’ll have to contain a hurricane.’ Andrew looked at Christian with sincerity. 

‘As long as there’s no new evidence, it must only stay between us .’ Both men seemed to have reached consensus, but Christian quickly switched the turn of the conversation. , ‘Still was that explosion from our side or your side? I can see you’ll have much trouble ahead.’

‘And Kyle is just a layman. He doesn’t know a damn thing about us. I’m warning you not to do anything to him. I’ve just noticed you really wish him dead.’ 

He did not forget to warn Andrew, as he knew too well the young man was scheming, and he had kept his desire to murder Kyle well-hidden for a long time. 

**

20 minutes later

Kyle was a few meters away from the church and waited patiently for twenty minutes until the three bodyguards left to escort the mysterious Andrew outside. Together they boarded a black SUV and left. Five minutes later, Christian also left the church and drove his own white SUV away.

Well, what kind of relationship do these two men have? Kyle and Toby glanced at each other. He could not think of any answer.

Later he searched for Andrew Hector’s background on the search engine -He was the founder and CEO of Vid, a startup unicorn that operated the recently popular social media app VidChat. It was headquartered in the US, and as a private company it had an estimate valuation of at least US$2 billion. He seemed to be a low-profile talented tech tycoon who mostly stayed away from any public occasions.

What kind of connection does a tech tycoon share with a diplomat in the Department of State?

—

@whataremetaphor @pilipalea @ill-write-when-im-dead @requiemesque @adie-dee @things-waiting-to-be-written

[crystalized-dreams]

So, we ended up going to Tennessee last weekend to see some friends (And well, go to Worlds while there anyway), which if you check my Twitter or are subscribed to my Youtube channel, you likely already knew 😛 But anyway, it was nice to go somewhere new. I had never been to Tennessee so I had fun just enjoying Nashville.

Before we get into the general trip stuff, I’ll talk about Pokemon and Pokemon Worlds a bit 🙂

So, we picked up our badges on Thursday afternoon. Figured it was best to get that and the shop out of the way ASAP. I think I generally liked the colors/theme of the Worlds 2017 stuff better, but I still really liked the lanyard at least. I loved all the Pokemon with the different instruments. I kind of wished there was more merchandise featuring all the Pokemon for this over just Pikachu. They did, however, give out this free poster which was perfect (And we were even given a few extras!):

So, while we didn’t really buy any of the exclusive stuff, we did get these adorable plushies: And here’s the bag by itself:

We also got some packs of cards with our spectator badges and these were essentially the highlights from our pack openings: I did not get nearly as nice cards from opening the digital versions 😛

They also had a demo station for the Let’s Go games! I was really excited to try them out:

And even got this cute Pokeball stress ball for playing:

I actually had a lot of fun with it. I really like the look of the game and how Pokemon show up and just exploring. The world feels so much more alive which is really nice. The Pokeball controller worked well, though, I found I accidentally would hit the button versus moving it sometimes, but I think that’s more just because I was getting used to it. It also reacted fairly well, but I couldn’t figure out exactly where the timing was for Pokemon who move around a lot and sadly, my time with the demo ended before I could play around with it more.

I’m really looking forward to it though. Now to just… finish Ultra Moon.

But yes, some pictures from the Pokemon Center, the main room, and where it was being held: #gallery-0-9 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-9 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-9 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-9 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

The view was so nice.

The Prize Wall

I want one of these in my house.

One of the various stands around. Meloetta was the Pokemon available to download. If only it was able to come with a ribbon…

Part of the Stage! I love the building names.

All the set-ups were genuinely really neat.

They’re really nice. But honestly, the card artwork is my favorite.

I really love these so much

I was so tempted to buy one of these, but $50 was too much for me… 😦

I really loved the stage. I love the buildings being all Pokemon world themed and it just really makes me wish there was some big combined Pokemon game of all the various cities and things we’ve gotten from every game. The Pokemon World is already so huge and there’s so much to see and I wish they’d actually use that versus constant new regions. At this point, I’m just kind of tired of new regions and new Pokemon. I’d mind a new region less if we could visit it alongside familiar ones, but I think there’s plenty of Pokemon at this point 😦

Moving a bit more outside the convention center, I wish we got to do more in Pokemon GO, honestly. We seemed to manage to miss every single raid, there weren’t too many Pokestops actually in the main room, my GPS was constantly a bit finnicky, and I just didn’t have much luck with spawns either. I at least finally got a Sneasel and I did get a shiny Sunkern:

Also Tom traded me one of the Shiny Mareep he caught when we had visited back in April so yay 😀 And I at least got a lot of gifts to send back to people. Since I don’t go out much (and sometimes just can’t especially with the weather lately), I don’t usually have many chances to give gifts out 😦

But yes, as to one of the biggest reasons for going, it was to pick up this from a very amazing friend:

This was one of the prizes for the first winner of the Sylveon Girls Battle in 2016 in Japan and one of my most wanted items that featured Mega Audino T~T My next big goal will be Mega Audino Ddakji:

So, if you’re in Korea or know someone who could maybe help with those, let me know! ❤

Going into general Tennessee, it’s time for various random tourist-y pictures and food tours 😛 #gallery-0-10 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-10 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-10 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-10 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

I couldn’t help but take pictures of some of the things at the airport when we landed

This was in the center of the hotel’s main entrance. Though, this was taken as we were leaving…

Close-up because of the cute bird in the tree!

Fireplace in the lobby.

Flowers in the hall.

Our hotel room!

The breakfast at the hotel! It was nice.

The hotel actually occasionally had stuff for dinner too though.

And for lunch as well!

And they switched it up a bit. Some nachos with chili and cheese! They also always had cookies–chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin.

Our very first meal was at the Corner Bakery Cafe that was right at the corner of the hotel. I had a Club Panini with Chicken Carbonara.

My husband had the BBLT with the Asian Wonton Salad. The drink was a Hibiscus Lemonade. I actually really liked this place, but due to the hours, we didn’t manage to go there again sadly.

This pig was near the entrance of Martin’s Bar-B-Que Joint. You’ll see we ate there a few times 😛 As it was my husband’s favorite and pretty much everything we had there was good. I wonder if this pig has a name. I will name him Sir Pig for now.

Meanwhile, I got a sausage sandwich and potato salad

My husband’s pulled pork and corn bread~

Dessert! I got pecan pie while he got their fried pie to try.

On another day, my husband got the “redneck taco” and potato salad.

Meanwhile, I got the sausage platter with hush puppies and cornbread.

On our final day, I had actually still been sick from the day before and so, we didn’t have lunch (paired with just not many people being open on Sunday). In combination with that and it being our last day and my husband still wanting to try a lot, we kind of overdid it a bit. I got a brisket sandwich with a side of mac & cheese and a baked potato. He got the the Brisket Burger with the cornbread, and then Loaded Fries and Catfish for sharing. And a strawberry cake for dessert.

They also had homemade brownies. I miss this brownie.

Also cheesy bread to share.

And olives! My only issue is only some were pitted and it wasn’t even just like… one specific type that wasn’t pitted. It was a bit random.

My husband’s pizza~

This is from Hot Diggity Dogs 🙂 I got a normal hotdog and the Polish Sausage while my husband got the Nashville and Bratwurst. Also cheese fries.

Straight down from the convention center was Al Taglio, a pizza place. I got an all cheese pizza.

Wild Bill’s was essentially a soda stand in the convention center. They had all kinds of different soda’s and if you got one of their special cups, you could get free refills on Friday and Saturday. While soda isn’t really my thing, my husband enjoyed it.

One thing we saw a lot was a Party Bike. Which was like a Party Bus… but with a group of people biking. They were always kind of amusing to see.

Butterfly we saw at the airport!

But yeah, I had more fun than I would have expected and there’s definitely more I would like to do and see so hopefully we have time to go again. And hopefully we won’t have another person pulling the fire alarm or another super hot day that destroys me because those were really the only bad things.

As for Pokemon Worlds next year… We don’t have too many plans, but Washington DC is a pretty good location for us, so maybe~

A Trip to Tennessee! (Pokemon Worlds and Goals) So, we ended up going to Tennessee last weekend to see some friends (And well, go to Worlds while there anyway), which if you check my Twitter or are subscribed to my Youtube channel, you likely already knew 😛 But anyway, it was nice to go somewhere new.

[headless-heart]

Goretober Day 2: On Pins and Needles 

Maybe consider not messing with the weird kid at school 

Warnings/Tags: mentioned past self harm/past suicide attempt, monsters, magic, torture, needles, revenge, original characters, original story

The school’s hallways are lined with alcoves, which was probably designed to improve the school’s Aesthetic™ or something but mostly lends itself to places for students to stash chewed up gum and various trash from the cafeteria. Rumors also went around that the older kids skipped class to hook up there, but all the cameras made that pretty unlikely. There’s one toward the end of the hallway, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the classrooms, and Krexx claimed that one freshman year. Most of the other students leave him to it, which is ideal for everyone involved.

He’s sitting with knees drawn up to his chest, staring intently at a poorly sewn plushie that looks like a strange hybrid of a dragon and an english bulldog. He has it held tightly in his hands, head tilted slightly to the side as he meets its gaze. Eventually he huffs out a long sigh and rests his head against a knee. “I don’t know buddy. I don’t think that’ll work.” There’s a pause as he seems to contemplate the toy. “I mean maybe…”

“Hey freak!” There’s laughter as Krexx slowly turns his head to look at the bodies blocking his light.

“Can I help you?” he asks softly.

“Help me what? Learn to be a freak like you?” No one said high school bullies are an intelligent breed, and this particular specimen is of the insecure meathead variety. Krexx normally wouldn’t waste his time, but being trapped in an alcove limits one’s options a bit. Teachers can’t be bothered to intervene of course, they’re too busy teaching the masses or whatever nonsense they sell to the school board.

Krexx draws his plush toward his chest, sitting with legs crossed and looking calmly up at his schoolmate. “I would like it if you would leave,” he states plainly.

There’s a scowl on the boy’s face. His arms are crossed and he’s glaring down at Krexx like he’s nothing more than dirt under his heel. “And I’d like it if you did us all a favor and actually fucking offed yourself this time.”

He sighs, leaning back harder against the wall and gazing up through his bangs. “See the thing is,” he pauses to fiddle with the plushie’s undersized wings. “I don’t… particularly care what you think.”

Turns out meathead jocks move pretty fast once you piss them off. Up close he spells like steroid injections and man pain. There’s a sadistic grin on his face though, and that’s a bit concerning. “I should rip your fucking stitches open you gothic piece of shit.”

Expressionless, Krexx reaches one hand down and pulls up a long, tattered sleeve to reveal angry raised scars starting at his wrist and extending beyond what the fabric reveals. “Afraid you’re too late for that,” he quips, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. It’s a little easier to fight the oncoming smile when he’s slammed into the wall and the air knocks out of his lungs.

The other boy is practically spitting his words. “Do you fucking know who you’re messing with?”

He does. Not that he wants to obviously, but it’s a little hard not to know when half the school, including teachers, is constantly fawning over the guy. Nicholas Vanderbilt-Owens, Gallery High’s star football player and a town favorite. Apparently he comes from one of those “big deal” sort of families. Whatever. It’s not that impressive when you consider the fact the kid’s so insecure he has to push others around just to feel manly enough to maintain his rank in the high school pecking order. Krexx shrugs, receiving another hit against the wall for his efforts. “Are you done?”

There’s a pregnant pause before Owens relents, dropping Krexx back down on the floor. Krexx rubs at the spot his head collided with the wall and watches silently as the other boy starts to pace back and forth like an angry animal. Finally Owens stops, makes a grab for the plush toy, and Krexx wraps both hands around one of the boy’s wrists, trying in vain to keep him from snatching the toy. There’s a grin splitting the bully’s face now that Krexx’s calm demeanor has finally started to crack. “What’s wrong, can’t give up your faggy little toy?” A single yank and Krexx is gazing up in horror as his beloved companion is hoisted far out of his reach.

“Give. Him. Back!” the words are dripping with venom, but the bully seems unphased. He’s able to hold the full force of the smaller boy’s body back with one hand, much to Krexx’s dismay. He watches powerless as Owens lifts the toy up, rips the seams apart, and throws the pieces down by Krexx’s boots.

Everything looks a little hazy as Krexx reaches out and touches the fabric with shaking fingers. Owens is laughing, throws a middle finger over his shoulder and stalks over to torture the next kid he deems somehow lesser than himself. Krexx glares after him, feeling his heartbeat strangling his lungs. Everything feels dark and heavy, and he’s not sure if he’s more pissed off at Owens for being a piece of shit or himself for being a mouthy fuck.

By the time the bell rings he’s propped up on the handicap toilet, tongue stuck out in concentration as he works diligently to close the seams that oaf so carelessly destroyed. “It’s okay Glow,” he mutters absent-mindedly. “I’ll get you all fixed up.”

“Don’t know why you bother with that,” a deep voice grumbles, reverberating off the walls of the stall.

Krexx smiles softly down at the monster curled up at his feet, tail softly tapping against the floor. “Have to have somewhere for you to hang out when I’m at school, right?”

The snort is accompanied by a thin trail of smoke. “They can’t see me.”

A shrug as he continues his work. “I know buddy, but I don’t want them to think I’m crazy talking to myself either, you know?” He ignores the unspoken judgement from his companion that follows that statement.

Some time later Glausach lets out a low grown. “Shouldn’t let them treat you like that.”

Krexx turns slowly, a wide grin splitting his lips. “Oh I won’t,” he responds cheerily. There’s a crudely constructed poppet in one hand a needle in the other. The monster’s laughter sounds like the creaking of floorboards and Krexx can’t help but grin wider. It’s been a long time since either of them had the chance to play.

- - - 

“The fuck are you doing here?” What a rude greeting, especially after all the trouble they’d gone through to track him down. Owens is spread out on a worn down couch, eyes bloodshot from the joint he’d been smoking before their arrival.

Krexx strides purposefully into the room, plopping down on a rickety rocking chair and propping his feet up on the table. “Just came to see what you’re up to,” he says with a smile, head tilted slightly to stare down at Owens. The plushie is propped under his arm, warm and comfortable in his grasp. “Killing more brain cells I see.”

“Weed don’t kill your brain cells,” Owens scoffs, leaning back in his chair. It’s late and he’s high, probably think he’s dreaming. It’s funny how people tend to justify the abnormalities in their lives. Krexx watches him struggle to relight the joint for a moment before snatching the lighter from his hand and holding the flame steady. Owens nods at him in thanks and takes a long drag before holding the joint out to Krexx. Grin widening, Krexx slides a hand over Owens’, slowly reaching for the drug before he stops just short, flicking his wrist and laughing outright when Owens jumps back in shock. “The fuck you just do?”

The poppet is back in his hand, finger running over the rough surface of it a few times before he thrusts the bloody pin into the thing’s heart. Owens is still staring at him in slack-jawed confusion, which honestly makes Krexx wonder if this is going to be any fun or if the idiot is too stupid to comprehend what’s happening to him. Krexx drops a handful of multi-colored pins onto the end-table beside him, shifting into a more comfortable position. Glausach’s vessel is nestled in his lap, the monster’s purring offering a pleasing background to the otherwise annoying silence.

“What’s th- AGH! What the fuck?” Owens’ fingers come away from his cheek bloody. He glances quickly down at them and back up to Krexx who is shrugging innocently, another pin in one hand and the poppet in another.

“You know~” Krexx coos, holding the pin so it’s hovering just over the poppet’s surface. “It’s a bit, hm… What’s the word? Rude, I suppose, to ruin other people’s things.”

“You- FUCK!” He’s clutching at his leg, breath coming quicker as the panic starts to set in.

A soft chuckle floats out of Krexx’s throat as he strokes a finger lovingly down the poppet’s leg. There’s a needle sticking partially in it, which is probably causing Owens a decent bit of pain. Still, it’s not quite the level of torment the bully had put others through, was it? “How much,” Krexx begins, looking up to meet Owens’ gaze. “Do you like playing football exactly?”

“I-I… What?” Owens is still pawing at his own leg, trying to figure out what’s causing the sharp pain in the center of his calf.

“Probably quite a bit considering it’s all you’re good at,” Krexx muses, head tilting from one side to another. “It’d be a shame if you lost out on this season, wouldn’t it?”

He twists the poppet’s leg and flinches back when Owens starts screaming bloody murder. He’s so loud he could wake the dead, and no one wants that. Krexx shares a look with Glausach, whose aura extends and reaches around the trio, effectively encasing them in a pearlescent barrier.

There are tears rushing down Owens cheeks and he’s staring at Krexx in horror. “What the fuck did you do to my leg you freaky fuck?”

Krexx waves his hand dismissively. “You’ll be fine, you big baby. You’ll probably only lose a season or two. Then again,” he pauses, a finger tapping at his chin. “I’m not a doctor, so maybe I’m wrong.”

“Y-you’re not g-guh! Gonna fucking,” Owens grits out through his teeth. “Gonna fucking get away with this you s-sick fuck!”

One, two slow blinks of his eyes. “Do… What?” he asks in mock confusion. He gives it a beat to sink in before he grins and dangles the poppet in front of Owens’ face. The jock tries to reach for it, but Krexx snatches it back before he has the chance. “Ah-ah!” he chides. “Wouldn’t want to do any unplanned damage now would we?”

Owens is breathing slowly in through his nose, out through his mouth. He’s blinking back the tears and seems to be gathering his strength to attempt to… Well something, anyway, and that won’t do. Krexx picks up another pin, running it lightly along the surface of the doll and watching thin pink lines appear on Owens’ skin. Owens flinches, but otherwise doesn’t react. Cute. He seems to think without a reaction, Krexx won’t continue. Amazing how the bullies will turn that rhetoric on its head.

“What do you say we get matching scars?” Krexx asks excitedly. “Since you were so concerned with mine and all.”

“Don’t you fuckin-”

“SHUT UP!” Krexx bellows, eyes glowing softly in the darkness of the basement. “You don’t have the power here. I do.”

Glow’s tail taps against the back of Krexx’s hand and the boy shakes his head once, twice, eyes returning to normal and refocusing on the task ahead. He wanted to do this right after-all, and rushing through would be no good. He plants the poppet firmly on the table and smirks slightly at the horror in Owens’ eyes once he realizes he suddenly couldn’t move.

“N-no. No. No, please!” Begging? Really? After everything he’d put the school “losers” though he has the audacity to beg? Pathetic.

The needle drags slowly over the poppets face, a wide gash splitting open on Owens’ face with the movement. He’s screaming and thrashing, and trying all the things his pea-sized brain can think of to get away. To no avail, of course. No, they’re just getting started. Krexx picks up a few pins from the table and plants them in the puppets tiny arm, dragging them up, up, up until there’s blood splattering the floor and he’s laughing over the screams.

[shannrussell-blog1]

When you say ‘Coober Pedy’, three things usually come to mind. Firstly, opals. It’s the opal capital of the world. Secondly, hot and remote. And finally, it makes a convenient stop on your way to Uluru or somewhere else you actually want to go. And all of those things are true.

What’s also true is Coober Pedy actually makes a pretty good base to do some serious exploring in the region. A one trick pony it ain’t – it’s a genuine destination in itself if you’re prepared to look a little further afield and don’t mind getting dusty.

I recently drove up for the Kanku-Breakaways Marathon and that’s where my adventure started.

The view of the Kanku-Breakaways. 

Do you need a 4WD for this trip?

The Kanku-Breakaways is about 30km north of Coober Pedy. The road in is unsealed, but fine with a 2WD. It’s worth mentioning, any unsealed road can have issues in wet weather though, so an SUV would be preferable, but a 4WD is the best and safest option. In good conditions though, a 2WD will get you where you need to go. Eventually.

You can take a 2WD, but a 4WD would be preferable. 

Gear to take

When I’m on the go like this and lightweight gear isn’t required, I go for extreme comfort and sleep in the back of my SUV with an Exped Megamat and the Coleman Pilbara C-5 sleeping bag. It may be warm during the day, but at night it can get down to around zero, so you’ll want something that keeps you warm.

Are there opportunities for hikes or walks?

There aren’t really any hikes or opportunities to explore on foot at the Kanku-Breakaways, it’s very much a case of driving in and stopping at a few lookouts to take in the views. Which are awesome. There are two main lookouts and a few places to stop throughout the park, including the dingo fence and the Moon Plains – an unbelievably barren landscape that, as the name suggests, looks not unlike the moon. This spot has been used in a number of films including Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome and The Red Planet.

You can do a round trip, entering off the highway and coming back to town via the unsealed Kempe Road. It’ll take half-a-day tops and only a few hours if you’re on a mission.

If you want to head off on foot, you can explore the Moon Plains. 

Exploring the town

My next stop was to do some exploring around town. I’m not big on tourist attractions as such but I figured I’d take in some of the sights. In half a day I visited Tom’s Opal Mine and did a self-guided tour.

You’d probably get more information on a hosted group tour, but a quick self-tour is also fun and more my speed. They even lend you a blue light to spot opal in the mine walls which is very cool.

The grass-less golf course is one of the things to see in Coober Pedy.

Crocodile Harry’s

I’m not one for golf, but driving past the local golf course with not a blade of grass in sight is a good reminder of the Aussie sense of humour.

And, a visit to Crocodile Harry’s Underground Nest is a good reminder that heat can fry your brain. Crocodile Harry was an actual crocodile hunter in the Northern Territory before moving to Coober Pedy where there’s a distant lack of crocodiles, so he started hunting gemstones instead. He ended up building one of the whackiest houses you’re every likely to see. And trust me, I’ve seen a few.

Like a lot of miner’s homes in the area, his is underground. What’s not like other miner’s homes, is his home decoration skills which are off the charts. Well worth a look and a laugh. Both are only a few minutes out of town.

Crocodile Harry’s is a unique tourist destination in the town of Coober Pedy. 

Sightseeing in Coober Pedy

If you’re up for more sightseeing around town, there’s Faye’s Underground Home, the underground Catacomb Church, the underground Serbian Orthodox Church, the underground bookshop and if you’re hungry, John’s Pizza which weirdly enough, isn’t underground.

Equally weird, they claim to have once been included in a list of the top ten pizza places in Australia, but I’m yet to work out if that’s for real, or another quirk of the Aussie sense of humour. Much like their ‘Coat of Arms’ pizza which has emu and kangaroo from the Australian coat of arms. I kid you not.

Galleries to visit when in the town

Back in town, you could visit any number of galleries offering various indigenous art, but Josephine’s is the one to go to because it’s also a kangaroo orphanage and…baby kangaroos are awesome! They close the gallery and feed the roos twice a day, so get there on time, or get locked out.

Josephine’s – the gallery and kangaroo orphanage is the best one to visit in town. 

Accommodation in the area

There’s plenty of accommodation options in town including numerous underground hotels. I was on a budget, so I opted for a cabin at the caravan park, opposite the drive-in. Yes, there’s a drive-in that usually operates on weekends.

Day trip to the Painted Desert

If you’re up for some more serious exploring, The Painted Desert is a full day trip. You could do it on your way to somewhere else, but I did it as a loop ending up back in Coober Pedy. I went there via Kempe Road, an unsealed road directly out of town then turned off to Arckaringa station, and came back via Painted Desert Road.

You’ll need a full day to check out the Painted Desert. 

It’s definitely do-able in an SUV but I’m not gonna lie, a few pieces broke off my car as it was so rocky and rough in places. If you go slow or have a real 4WD maybe it won’t be an issue, but this area is remote and the roads can be pretty rough in places.

You could do this trip on the way to Oodnadatta, or pop out on the highway about 150km north of town and be on your way up to the NT.

Due to the rough roads, it would pay to be in a 4WD. 

The Painted Hills

Breaking your trip up and staying the night at Arckaringa probably isn’t such a bad idea either. I’m usually travelling with time restrictions and so I squeezed this trip into half a day, driving back down the highway after dark – which is not something I’d really recommend with sheep, cattle, wild brumby and roos on the road.

The Painted Desert itself is quite spread out. There’s a lookout area, and a few kilometres away, a short walk you can do which is pretty cool.

It’s worth checking out Wright’s Air for a tour of the Painted Hills.

As good as the Painted Desert is, I can’t help but feel it’s the poor cousin to the similarly named Painted Hills, south-east of Coober Pedy. I’m almost certain you can’t actually drive there regardless of the vehicle you have unless that vehicle happens to be a light aircraft. If you don’t have one of those, hit Wrights Air up for a tour.

They’ve just worked out a few of their light aircraft can land nearby, and have started doing tours in the area. Although all I did was fly over, this looks like total bucket list stuff to land, and go in for a wander. I’m sure it’s only matter of time before you can access it by road, but for now, it’s by air only.

Visiting Lake Eyre

And, if you’re going to jump in a light aircraft, you may as well check out some of the other local sights including Lake Eyre which, right now is one of the rare times it’s filling up with water courtesy of the Queensland floods a few months back.

As great as it was to see Lake Eyre filling up with water, the true highlight for me was simply the landscapes from above. They were absolutely mesmerising. The shapes. The colours. The textures. The patterns. I literally could not take my eyes off of any of it. It was incredible.

I know a tour in a light aircraft won’t be in everyone’s budget, but I cannot recommend highly enough that you find a way to do it at least once.

The view flying over Lake Eyre was incredible.

Stopping over in Woomera

Finally, there’s the trip between Adelaide and Coober Pedy. I went up via the highway, stopping in Woomera for the night. It’s where the rocket base was back in the 60s. Unfortunately, there’s really not many accommodation choices there or anything else for that matter, although, there’s an outdoor space museum which is well worth a half-hour look.

I stayed at Mt Ive Sheep Station on the way home. 

Mt Ive Station

On the way back, I headed inland into Kingoonya and down the west side of Lake Gairdner, staying the night at Mt Ive (sheep) Station. Even a few weeks later, my teeth are still rattling from the drive as some of the unsealed roads are super corrugated, but the landscape was amazing, and there was plenty of wildlife along the way including emus, kangaroos and wombats.

I went there because Mt Ive has direct access to nearby Lake Gairdner, the salt lake where the Dry Lake Racers have Speedweek in March every year. Mt Ive Station has camping, basic ‘Shearer’s Quarters’ accommodation, and if you’re lucky and it’s available, ’the princess suite’ – a restored, stand-alone cottage with air conditioning – which is where Miranda Kerr stayed when doing a photoshoot in the area.

All in all, my trip to Coober Pedy and the Kanku-Breakaways Park was a good one. 

Coober Pedy is a dry and remote location, but it’s still a seriously cool place to explore if you don’t mind the dust and you’re ready for an open road adventure.

Are you thinking of heading off on a spontaneous road trip to the arid and scenic Coober Pedy?

  The post Coober Pedy’s Travel Secrets – More than just Opals & Mines appeared first on Snowys Blog.

[nxrcissamxlfoy]

uptown girl

pairing : charlie x daphne word count : ~2.7k prompt : "uptown girl” billy joel | modern muggle au for : @petuniaevans and the @slytherdornet & @hprarepairnet love song challenge [an: there will be a part two if anyone’s interested]

The the cyan blue pool skimmer is entrancing.

The muscles in Charlie’s arms fall into a fluid rhythm as he drags it back and forth, leaving a serpentine pattern of ripples in the sparkling water. He’s so mesmerized and calm that he doesn’t hear the gate behind him open, but he does hear it slam shut. He winces, remembering the

“Where’s Richard?” comes a snooty voice. “And who are you?”

Well, he had to at least give them credit for remembering Richard’s name. Most of the families who require the company’s services don’t bother to even look at the help, let alone know their names.

“I’m Charlie,” he says, removing the skimmer from the water and resting the tip on the cement at his feet. “And Richard moved.” He finally turns but is a little surprise at the sight of her; disheveled blonde hair, giant sunglasses, smeared lipstick, and shoes in her hand. She had all the signs of a late night rager.

She frowns and her eyebrows dip behind her glasses as she pulls a bit of her bottom lip into her mouth. He feels as though he’s being harshly scrutinized and his spine instinctively straightens.

“Well, if anyone asks, you haven’t seen me. Any time anyone ever asks, I’m in the pool house as far as you’re concerned.” She walks by him, nose in the air and feet slapping on the wet concrete as she heads for the pool house, a smaller but still no doubt extravagant version of the main house.

“You want me to lie for you, then?”

She stops and turns her head over her shoulder but doesn’t actually look at him. “You will if you know what’s good for you.”

For the next few weeks it’s more of the same. No matter when he starts his shift, she seems to stumble home not long after. But charlie is observant, and finds information in even the most predictable of routines.

He learns that her name is daphne, but that she often gives the boys who drop her off a fake name; hayley, anna, marie. He learns that she actually lives in the pool house in an attempt to pub distance between her and her family. He learns not to say anything when she walks by, because he will only either be snapped at or completely ignored. He learns that her father is rarely home and that her mother is an overbearing, insufferable perfectionist, a hawk of a woman for whom nothing is ever good enough. He learns that she loves pissing her mother off. He learns that she is smarter than she appears, and that she knows how to play people to get exactly what she wants. He learns that her party girl persona is a facade. He learns that she’s bored, even if she doesn’t realize it.

Worst of all, though, he learns that he is more intrigued than he should be and that he may just even like her.

She comes in through the back gate, closing the tall privacy fence in the face of a still drunk boy. “I’ll call you, June. I swear I will,” he slurs. She leans against the fence, he head falling back with a thud, and lets out a scoff and an eye roll.

Charlie stays silent, keeps fiddling with the pool pump as if she’s not there. He glances up just as she walks by him, but returns his gaze to his work when she stops at the door.

“What is this?” she asks, completely disgusted at the glass of brown sludge sitting on the table by the door.

“Cure for your hangover,” he says, snapping the piece he was cleaning back into place.

“It’s abhorrent,” she sneers.

He shrugs. “But it works.” He looks up when the door slams and smiles when he sees the glass is gone too.

“All right, what’s in it?” she asks a few days later, when he’s made her another one.

He smiles as he winds the garden hose around his arm. “Old family secret, sorry.”

“What am I supposed to do when you’re not here then?”

He shifts the spool of hose up to his shoulder and walks by her to put it up. “Not drink so much?”

“Ass,” she spits, and disappears inside.

But things start thawing after that. He continues to leave her his miracle hangover cure and she starts warning him when her mother is in an extra foul mood, so he can make sure his work is flawless and get out of there before the beratement starts. They still never exchange more than a few short words, but a thin veil of friendship starts to settle between them.

Then one day he’s cleaning off the patio furniture when her mother shows up before she does. Mrs. Greengrass has a list of things for him to do and as she’s verbally assault if him for doing everything wrong before he’s even started on it, he sees Daphne sneaking into the gate behind her.

Mrs. Greengrass is just about to turn and spot her when he does the first thing that comes to mind and leans too hard on the edge of the glass table next to him. Tt tips, falls, shatters.

There’s a screech and a string of insults but in the commotion Daphne gets safely into the pool house. “You will pick up every single shard by hand, replace the table, and find somewhere else to work!” Mrs. Greengrass demands as she storms off with a haughty and indignant flurry.

“Bitch,” he mumbles with a sigh. He rights the frame of the table but knows there’s no way in hell he’s picking up the glass.

“Thank you,” comes a quiet voice behind him. “You don’t have to pay for that table,” she adds quickly.

“How generous,” he quips, but there’s no bitterness to his tone. If he were being honest with himself, he was glad to be rid of Mrs. Greengrass’ shrill demands.

She bites her lip. “I’m sorry you lost the job,” she mumbles, and it’s almost as if it hurts her to be so nice. “If there’s anything I can do...”

He waves her off but then spots his bag by the gate and eyes her for a moment. “You probably have, what, like hundreds of insta followers?”

She raises an offended eyebrow. “Thousands,” she corrects.

A smile slowly spreads across his face. “I have an exhibition Friday night,” he starts, heading for his bag to dig out a flyer. “Come, snap a few pics and rave over everything. Maybe I’ll get a sale or two out of it.”

“Exhibition?” she asks, looking over the slip he hands her. “You’re a sculptor?”

“Metalsmith, in between jobs anyway. And now I have one less of those so...” He looks at her for an answer and sees her frown at the address in a less than shining part of town. But she sighs and nods.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

It’s not so much an art gallery as it is an abandoned old factory, full of dust and debris and probably rats. But there are lights on and music blaring and Daphne reassures her driver that yes, this is the right spot, and no, she doesn’t him to escort her in. As the car pulls away she takes a deep breath and pulls out her phone to snap a picture, wondering if there was a creepy murder factory emoji.

Inside it’s louder, and she sees the DJ set up in the loft in the back. There are people everywhere, some dressed as though they found their clothes in the dumpster out back and other dressed in loud and creative nearly avant garde outfits.

She takes a deep breath, and in one corner spots Charlie, his red hair shining like a lighthouse in a storm. She snaps another quick picture of the DJ and heads his way. He’s chatting with a few people but upon seeing her he excuses himself and meets her with a smile. He has on dark, well fitted jeans, and a deep red button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, different than the baggy shorts and loose t-shirt he wore while cleaning her pool. He holds out his arms, gesturing to the warehouse and all the art and she could see his muscles shifting under his tight sleeves.

It was much different than the baggy clothes he’d worn to work.

“What do you think?” he asks, looking at her expectantly.

She looks around and nods. “Yeah, it’s definitely... something all right.” She watches his face fall just a little, into something less friendly and more business like, as though he’s realized what kind of night it was going to be. “Which one’s yours?” she adds quickly.

He eyes her for a moment, his eyes squinting like he’s trying to figure her out and she notes just how expressive his face is even if he doesn’t realize it. He nods behind her and she turns.

She doesn’t know what to say, because to her it just looks like a bunch of metal strips, twisted and spiraling and standing up right. “It’s...” she starts, but falters.

“Not meant to be viewed from one angle,” he picks up, his low voice right in her ear. A chill runs up her spine and she feels his body heat on her back and curses herself for choosing a nearly backless blouse. Hiis hand touches her shoulder, it’s rough and calloused but the touch is gentle and it nudges her in the right direction.

As she walks around the sculpture it morphs and changes, the metal weaving around itself, darker in some areas, lighter in other, creating more depth and optical illusions. Some parts even look like they’re moving thanks to the ribbing hand etched into the sides. She reaches a hand out to touch it but stops, thinking that maybe she’s not allowed so she looks back up to Charlie, who gives a half nod and a shrug as permission.

“You made this?” she asks, running her fingers along the groove, trying to ignore how he’s staring at her. she stops when she reaches her starting point and looks up at him and realizes just how blue his eyes are. “You have to show me more.”

His shop is small and dirty and hot, even though the forge in the center isn’t currently lit.

"You really didn’t have to leave your exhibition,” she says as he rolls up the large metal door in the back, letting in a stream of moonlight.

“S’all right, I’ve already got four emails thanks to your post.” He flips a switch and a few lights come on, most of them hanging above the multiple heavy worktables along one wall.

Well aware of his gaze on her back, she walked over towards the tables, upon which all manner of smaller projects along with scraps and tools lay scattered. her eyes fall on a small collection in one corner. faces, formed with flat metal strips made to look like they were pressed onto a face by the wind, leaving the ends flying behind them. There are eight of them, two women and six men.

“My family,” Charlie explains, leaning on the other end of the table.

She sets down the one she’d picked up, in all likelihood his mother, and turned to face him. “Do me,” she says.

Charlie's hand slips and he almost smacks his elbow on the table. “What?” he coughs and Daphne realizes what she's just said and laughs.

“My face, I want a sculpture of my face.”

“Oh,” he breathes but he looks unsure. “Well, the thing is… they really take a lot of time and work and-”

“I'll pay you.” Daphne crosses her arms like she's won but he scratches his jaw and still looks contemplative. “I'll pay you very well.”

“I mean, that sounds great but…” He sighs. “I'd have to sketch you, a lot. And you'd have to visit the shop at least once a week so I can make sure I'm getting your features right.”

She frowns and looks around, notices the face he makes, like he knows he's right, like he knows she won't want to spend time in a dirty old place like this. So she shrugs, a practiced nonchalant motion. “Okay. We can do twice a week if it helps.”

“Um, yeah.” He smiles and her heart shifts gears. “Okay then,” he nods, “I guess you can come by Monday?”

“Monday it is,” she says, wondering why it’s suddenly so hard to breathe.

Monday morning Charlie finds himself pacing the floor of his workshop. He’s already pulled out his sketch book and even neatly organized all of his pencils and erasers, he’s straightened up his shop and tried to finagle the lights just so. But she still hasn’t shown. Finally, he fires up the forge, planning to work on a few smaller projects until she arrives, hoping it’ll take his mind off it.

This is what he was worried about, that she’d lose interest and stop coming, wasting his time and energy. He just didn’t think it would be so soon, though he supposes he should be grateful that she has blown him off so early and saved him the trouble.

The forge is nearly ready and he’s pulled up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face when he hears her.

“It is literally hotter than hell in here.”

He lowers his shirt just in time to see her swallow and avert her eyes. She drops her bag on to the floor by the door and fans herself with her hand. “I can not sit in here.”

He sighs, reaches over to turn the vent fan up higher, then grabs his rake. “There’s a breeze out back,” he says, starting to pull at the coals with the rake, spreading them out so they can die out. “Grab a stool.”

It’s not much cooler outside, but there’s shade, and an occasional breeze to make it bearable. “Better?” he asks, flipping to an empty spot in his book.

Daphne sighs. “Marginally.”

He lets out a small huff of a laugh and shakes his head, wondering if anything is ever more than marginally acceptable for her, but then he catches a brief glimpse of the corners of her lips and sees them twitch up ever so slightly.

“You don’t need to pose,” he says as she straightens her spine and pulls her shoulders back, sticking her chin in the air. She blushes a little and nods, relaxing and brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m just going to focus on your eyes today,” he explains.

He holds the pencil above the sketchbook and peeks over the top of it to get started but pauses at the sight of her. She looks nearly like an angel, with the sunlight is trickling in from the trees, kissing her cheeks and reflecting in her eyes.

“What?” she asks as he smiles.

“Nothing. You’re just… not wearing any make up.”

She shrugs. “I thought it would be better, if I wanted it to look like me, anyway.” 

“Makes sense,” he nods, and looks back to his book. He starts sketching and even though he’s trying to focus on just her eyes, he can’t help but notice the subtle differences in her face. Her cheeks have a natural slight pink tint to them, and they’re rounder than they’ve always appeared. There are even a few light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.

They sit in silence for a little while, and Charlie is on his third rendition of her eyes when she finally breaks through it. “So, do you do anything else?”

“What’s that?” he asks, not looking up.

“Besides sketching, and sculpting. Do you paint? Or work with anything other than metal?”

“No, not really. I really only even sketch to help with my sculpting.”

“Oh.”

He finally glances up at her and she’s looking around, up at the trees and he decides to start a new sketch, a set of her eyes looking upwards. “What about you?” he asks, starting with the pupil.

She laughs. It’s only a small burst but it’s the most he’s ever heard from her and he finds himself instantly eager to elicit another one from her. “I’m not artistic at all.”

“Well, any hobbies then?”

She shifts on her stool. “I read a lot. So, I guess that’s a hobby?”

“Yeah, definitely. What are you reading now?”

“Taber’s War of the Flea,” she says, not missing a beat.

His hand stops, he glances up to see a small smile on her face and it brings about one to his. “Remind me to never start a dictatorship in your country.”

[daisydaring]

Cape Town Art Fair Questionnaire :

1. Blank- I recognised some of the artists I had seen before at their gallery like Bronwyn Katz and Igshaan Adams. I also recognised the gallerist Tyra Naidoo. The booth kept to their minimalist style and I felt there were quite a few hanging pieces. I also found it interesting that they had paintings as I’ve never seen that medium in their gallery. 

 Stevenson- At the booth, I recognised Zander Blom’s and Kemang Wa Lehulere’s work. A similarity to the gallery, I noted, was the use of lots of colour. They also had quite a few paintings. 

Goodman- I could not really get a grasp of what was similar and what was not similar to the gallery as I felt there was a lot going on. The booth displayed quite a few different mediums, from sculptural works to photography. The booth felt quite cramped compared to their spacious gallery space. 

2. Works I liked:

Cinga Samson 

Uboya benye (i)

2019

I always love Cinga’s portraits as I feel they draw the viewer in. The dark, monochromatic palette makes the work feel quite mysterious and spiritual which creates a curiosity around the figure. There is always a delicacy that contrasts the darkness like the use of flowers and the attention to detail of the clothes. The painting makes me think of youth, masculinity and beauty. 

Tabita Rezaire 

INNER FIRE: Shadelicious, 2017

Diasec print 

170 x 100 cm

Edition of 2/5

I really really liked Tabita’s series of prints and I found them quite refreshing compared to a lot of the works at the art fair. I was first drawn to them because of the kitschiness of the bright colour and iconography but I also love how their works explores the format of memes as a way to address gender, racial and political issues. 

Gitte Möller

Pushy passion, 2018

Oil and collage on panel 

120 x 120 cm

I think Gitte has a very unique painting style and I admire her attention to detail. I think she explores the use of symbolism in an interesting way to create these alternative video game-like worlds. This specific work is very satisfying to me as the composition and use of colour is completely balanced. The linear perspective and symmetry draws all the attention to the bleeding out heart in the centre of the painting which makes the work feel quite vulnerable and even a bit sad.

Works I disliked:

Afshin Pirhashemi

Power , 2013

Oil on canvas

78 7/10 × 118 1/10 in

200 × 300 cm

I struggled with this work because I really did not like the use of colour and painting style. The artist’s work always depicts what I assume to be women from Dubai and this gallery did not have any labels so I assumed the artist was a woman. I thought it was interesting that the fair was showing a woman artist from Dubai who was addressing women’s roles in the country. However, I then later researched the gallery to find out more information about the work only to find out that the work was actually done by a man. With this new knowledge I disliked the work even more. 

Kilmany-Jo Liversage

MACHINIKA119

198cm x 198cm

R170 000

Instagram: kilmany_jo

www.worldart.co.za 

When I see brightly coloured work painted in a graffiti-like, gestural style my mind just automatically puts into a category of work that I do not like. I just find this kind of work so overrated and commercially driven to the point that I do not even want to engage with it. 

Rory Emmett

Future Remnant II

Oil and acrylic on canvas 

120 x 90 cm

I did not like how the artist tried to bring colour into this black and white painting. I found this piece quite boring and it kind of remind of something an art student would do in high school. The style is something that at one point was maybe fresh and innovative but now it is overdone and quite out of fashion. To be honest the work felt quite cheap and not in a good way.

3.  I found that there were a lot of hanging sculptural pieces similar to Igshaan’s work and quite a few works made with found objects. I also always think there will be a large amount of paintings.

4. Some booths choose to create smaller enclosed spaces will others have one big space. The majority of the booths have white spaces but some choose to have colorful walls. I observed that Smac’s booth furniture resembled wooden school furniture but the rest of booths mostly had slick black or white furniture. 

5. Some labels where placed on the floor, some where written in pencil and some where classic placard labels. Quite a few of the labels where placed in perspex with screws and the rest were either stickers or stuck down with double-sided tape or prestick. I found it strange when the labels only gave the name of the artist and not the title of the work. Some label information went into quite detail with dimensions and price.

6. The fair felt bigger than last year but I think that is a result of the layout being more open. The layout of the fair and the signs want the viewer to turn right when coming through the entrance but I felt overwhelmed with which way to go. The main commercial galleries are in the centre of the fair which I think is because the fair knows buyers are coming to see the big names. This allows for people to see the whole fair without heading straight for one areas. The layout also insured there was hardly any congestion. However I also think the layout is designed to guide people to the food and drink areas. 

7. The lighting of the fair was neutral but each booth had direct lighting on the hanging works.

8. People visiting the fair were dresses fashionably but formally. Bright colours seemed to be the trend. As for the gallerists and assistants, black, white and neutral colours seemed to be the required dress ware. I think this for them to blend into the booths and to not distract from the work. 

9. I would say that the fair is aimed at upperclass art lovers who can afford the expensive food and drink, and maybe even an artwork or two. The types of products being sold were food, drink, art books, art magazines, apparel and accessories relating to the art, and of course the art itself. The fair is targeting wealthy tourists and locals who have the means to indulge in art paraphernalia. 

10. Athi-Patra Ruga 

     The Ever Promised Erection I, 2019

     High-density foam, artificial flowers and jewels

     Multiple 3 of 3

     Approx 126 x 74 x 64 cm

   For one, I know Athi’s work sells for large sums of money and the work itself exudes an air of    wealth and luxury.  The fact that this piece had its own booth tells us that this work is valuable and important. Even though the sculpture is made of artificial flowers and jewels, it feels expensive and the way the light catches on the beads and glitter holds the viewer’s attention. I also witnessed quite a few tour guides stopping at this piece and I found it hard to get a picture of it with the amount of people that surrounded it. 

  11. Tabita Rezaire 

INNER FIRE: Shadelicious, 2017

Diasec print 

170 x 100 cm

Edition of 2/5

Tabita’s work in general felt very different from the general work that was showing at the art fair. People I spoke to it about either loved it or thought it was absolutely terrible and that it did not deserve its place at the fair. I feel their work does not fit in because they are using newish form of art that not many people understand or appreciate. The kitschiness of the meme-like text and format is not something you see often in the art world. 

12. With a group of peers I found it very easy to ask for prices. I was speaking to Tyra Naidoo, who works at Blank, and she was saying that is not unusual for people to ask for prices and that it is her job to provide that sort of information. However, I found some of the foreign galleries were a bit taken back by us asking prices, as if it was slightly taboo. The prices we gathered were:

     Marina Abramovic

       Victory 

       1997

       R80 000

    Pierre Fouche

   Net Ons 

   2019

   R250 000

13. The main sponsor of the art fair is Investec which is an international company which deals with specialist banking and asset management. The sponsorship for food and drink was from Boschendal which is a wine estate. 

The target market for Investec could be almost anyone attending the fair, even the tourists as it is an international company. Boschendal’s clientele is most likely wealthy locals and tourists and therefore the art fair is a perfect place for them to promote their brand. Investec can benefit from promoting an art fair because it expresses their support for African culture. It shows that they are invested in the future of South Africa which benefits them as it promotes the idea that Investic is invested in their clienteles future. It also implies that investec is interested in what their clientele is interested in which creates a personal connection.

14.  The Cape Town International Convention Centre is a convenient place to hold an event such as the art fair because it has the means to host such a huge event. It is also placed in a accessible location close by to many hotels that could host potential guests from around South Africa and the rest of the world. The centre also hosts events like Comic Con, Cape Town Jazz Festival and various conferences. 

15. I actually struggled to find old artworks this year. I think the oldest work I could find, which was somewhere in the 1930s, was in the Norval Foundation booth but I forgot to right down the label information. So I will go with a work from 1952 which was by Albert Newall, ’Untitled’,

watercolour and ink on paper.

16. The youngest artist I knew of was Talia Ramkilawan, 23, who was showing at Smith. I found Smith often takes artists who are straight out of Michaelis. 

17. I felt the solo booths were obviously more cohesive as it was one artist’s work. I sometimes felt like the gallery booths were a bit overwhelming or chaotic, where as the solo booths were more effective in the engagement of the artists’ concepts. 

18. I think the big names that kept popping up this year were very similar to last year. Georgina Gratrix seemed to be one of the most sought after artists right now. Her work is very on trend, as her use of brightly coloured oil paints makes for an aesthetically pleasing centre piece. I think her thick application of oil paint and her abstraction of the figure intrigues viewers. Her work sits on the line of bad art which makes it so good. 

Ed Young is someone who seems to be getting quite a lot of attention this year. The fact that his balloon intervention/performance was the first thing that guests experience when entering the fair shows that he is a trusted enough artist to set the tone for the fair. 

19. I think identity as a subject matter is always something you will see a lot of in art fairs because artists often look to themselves to draw inspiration from. I found there was a lot of abstract pieces which focused more on the use of material than on subject. The use of found objects such as toothpicks, dice, and bindis seems to be a common trend this year. I think this is due to the fact that in a postmodern world people are fascinated by using objects and materials for a different purpose than their intended function.

20. I think I would like to be represented by Smith gallery because I like the fact that they are not afraid to take on young artists who are coming straight out of art school. I actually think by doing this their range of work is much more varied and unique because their artists have not yet been manipulated and influenced by the commercial art world.  

21. I think I would want to work for Smith based on the fact that they represent a lot of young, emerging artists. I think it would be easier to engage with artists who are of similar ages to me as there will be more of a relatable understanding of what it is like to be an emerging artist in 2019. I think I would want work directly with the artist and the work, so maybe as a curator.

22. A question that came up for me was, why do some galleries choose to not label the work?

23. I think I would want my gallery to show at the fair because it is a great way to get recognition and to network. I like the idea of having one or two solo booths, alongside the main booth, to push artists who have more potential. I think I would play around with different hanging techniques and paint one or two walls a colour that compliments the work. Like Smac, I found it more interesting when the booths felt like multiple spaces and not one empty room. At first I found it quite annoying with some of the galleries created nooks in their booths but I actually think it is a good way to get the viewers to engage with their surroundings and get closer to the art. 

[notgonnarememberthis]

A Better Tomorrow- Chapter 4

1. I’m sorry for the terrible delay on this. I am in the middle of show choir competition season and I keep finding myself without the electronics to publish anything solid. That on top of I just got out of tech week for our most recent show and I am just exhausted. 2. I’m sorry for this lack luster chapter but this was a sort of get over the hump chapter cause I was stuck on this whole interaction with Mack. It seems very rushed and sloppily put together but I didn’t just want to throw away Mack’s story entirely.

“What’s next?” Daisy’s voice is hoarse and emotionless. No doubt she’d cried herself to sleep the night before much like her. Melinda simply sighs gathering supplies from the cabinets that were left open in an hasty escape.

“We’re going to find a mechanic.” Melinda says.

“Very descript.”

“His name is Mack. He’ll help us get a car and find Maria. That’s all there is to it.”

“Mack? Like Mack and Cheese?”

“Like Alphonso Mackenzie.” Melinda frowns. “But don’t let him hear you calling him that.”

“So how did you meet this mechanic?” Melinda flinches at the memory. Three kids running through her backyard.

“I knew him when he was a kid.” She sighs, it isn’t the entire truth but it’s not a lie. Melinda’s mind was beginning to feel heavy with every lie she told her.

“Cool.” She feels her chest lighten a bit at the lack of curiosity for once. She’s not sure she could take another onslaught of memories.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“No!” Melinda shouts suddenly as they’re making their way towards the garage. Daisy looks back at her startled but very much alive, thanks to her. “Come back to me.” She urges wearily. Though staring at her like she’s insane, Daisy does as she says. Melinda kicks a rock to the place Daisy had almost crossed and sure enough an explosion ripped from the ground where she’d almost stepped.

“Jesus.” Daisy breathes. “Thanks for that.” The younger girl’s eyes avoid hers. That had been the first thing she said the entire trip here. She could feel the accusatory eyes on her the entire way. Daisy was still harboring a grudge for not saving Phil. She had every right to. She should have saved him.

“Just follow me. Make sure you step exactly where I do.” Melinda is careful and precise as she steps. Each one is as calculated as the last. The air is still besides the gentle sound of gravel shifting beneath their worn boots. Her body tenses as the silence is interrupted. It’s soft at first, almost indistinguishable from Daisy trying to keep her balance. Soft clicks bounce off of the walls, inching closer

“Why’d you stop?” The brunette questions. Sure enough her voice is loud enough to echo through the still air. Six figures emerge from where they had come, their faces mutated with infection. Their heads sprouting mushrooms and other fungus. They were blind to the world but the explosion must’ve attracted them, Daisy’s voice assuring them of their location. Their mouths open in horrific screeching. Morphed bodies now tripping over themselves, charging at them.

“Daisy, watch me and run. I need you to trust me.” Melinda says hurriedly. Then she takes off. Each footstep precise and sure. She hears explosions echoing behind her. She can’t even look back to make sure it’s not Daisy. Her throat burns as she races at her top speed towards the garage door.

Suddenly the door yanks itself open, a large figure looming in front. Melinda dives to the ground as she spies him. Daisy does the same, however a little less gracefully, landing with a heavy thud and a pained groan. Two loud blasts echo from his shotgun taking out the remaining clickers who hadn’t been decimated by an explosion. Melinda scatters to her feet ducking inside. Daisy is hot on her heels.

“Hey, thanks. We really got-” Daisy’s voice is interrupted when Mack catches Melinda by the arm handcuffing her to a pipe on the wall. He hits Daisy in the back of the knees with the handle of his shotgun forcing her to fall.

“Hands on your head!” He shouts. The glint of the axe teases her in the dusty light of the garage. Of course he had handcrafted his own weapon. One she hadn’t trained herself against. “Have you been bitten? Got anything growing on you?” Melinda can’t let him find that bite on her arm. That man won’t listen to reason. Just shoot. Melinda blocks out Daisy’s fervent denials focusing on herself. She sucks in a breath before dislocating her thumb and freeing herself from the handcuff.

“What the hell?” Daisy practically screeches at the sound. Melinda leaps on his back before he can turn. She manages to get an arm around his neck securing him in a headlock.

“Mack it’s me! It’s Melinda May. Bobbi’s mother!” With mention of Bobbi the man freezes. Melinda takes the opportunity to release hold of him and jump off of his back. He turns slowly, his gun still poised and ready. “We aren’t infected.”

“May,” He whispers, “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Can’t say the same for you.” Melinda sighs. “Last time I saw you we were carpooling across the country and you were about sixty pounds smaller.”

“Hey your training did me good.” He smiles easily.

“You’re kidding me right?” Daisy pants from her spot on the ground. “He just handcuffed you to a pipe and pointed a shotgun at my head and now you’re being nostalgic.”

“Shotgun axe.” Mack corrects

“Cause that makes it any better.” Daisy sighs laying down.

“How’s Coulson?” Melinda adverts her eyes for a second. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Melinda’s voice is stolid and devoid of emotion. “Look, we need a car. I need to get her to Maria.”

“Maria? She’s at the Hub!” He exclaims. It was a two day trip by car. All the way across the country.

“And?” Melinda asks raising an eyebrow. “You’re the best mechanic I know. Surely you can fix up one of these junk rats.”

“Don’t you think if I could I would have by now?” Melinda only answers him with a questioning glare. “Fine. But you’re helping.”

“It’s like her glare is magic or something.” Daisy groans from the floor.

“Who’s she?”

“Her name is Daisy. Andrew assigned Phil and I to escort her to a trade off with SHIELD in exchange for weapons that Garrett stole from us.” Melinda explains. “We were ambushed… Phil got bitten and we were surrounded by Hydra.” She takes a breath biting the inside of her cheek. “He stayed behind.”

“What does SHIELD want with her?”

“No idea. That’s why I’m taking her to Maria.” Again not entirely the truth but not entirely a lie either. She’s no idea what they plan on doing with her. Taking her to Maria just means Maria will know where she’s supposed to go. She can leave Maria to take her from there.

“Fair enough. Let’s get to work.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She had just rested her eyes for a second when she wakes to the sound of Daisy’s laugh. The sound was something to be treasured. If she closes her eyes again she can almost pretend it’s him. That none of this happened. That they’re back in their apartment. That they never took this mission.

Melinda pulls herself from her prone position making her way to the small living room. Daisy and Mack are looking through a bunch of photos lying around. Melinda’s able to spy over their shoulders. It’s a photo of Mack and another man, his smile is brighter than the midday light pouring in through the cracks of the wood covering windows.

“That’s Trip.” Mack smiles. “He’s something special. Maybe he’ll come around and you’ll be able to meet him.”

“Come around?” Daisy asks.

“We got into a dispute. He wanted to ditch this place. I said what’s wrong with moving from somewhere that’s safe.” Mack shrugs putting the photo down. “He’ll come around eventually.”

“How long has it been since he left?”

“Just a day.” Mack sighs. “He’s stayed away longer.”

“What’s he like?”

“Funny, charismatic. He could charm the pants off a total stranger.”

“Didn’t work on me.” Melinda speaks up breaking the small moment.

“Well we know you’re not just anyone aren’t you May?” Mack jokes lightly. Melinda allows herself a small indulgent smile for a second. Then she’s solemn once more.

“We need to get to work.” Daisy groans for a second before forcing herself to pull away from the gallery set before them.

“You know who she reminds me of.”

“Don’t.” Melinda warns him tensely.

“I’m just saying.” The glare silences him once more.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. But if she lost her again Melinda’s not sure if she could recover from this one.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“I’m sorry for giving you the cold shoulder.” Daisy says suddenly as they’re working. “I know there’s not anything you could’ve done.”

“That’s not true.” Melinda mutters.

“Not if Mack’s stories are true.” She pushes. “Apparently he was as stubborn as you are.” She smiles sadly.

“He was.” She sighs sparing herself a look at the younger girl. “We once spent two days ignoring each other because we refused to admit the other was right.”

“Two days? What were you fighting about?” She asks curiously.

“God I don’t even remember.” Melinda chuckles lightly. What she wouldn’t give to take back those two days… To talk to him one more time.

“If it’s worth it, I’m thankful that it was you two.” Daisy looks towards the ground. “I wish what had happened, didn’t but I’m glad I met you guys.” Melinda parts her lips to respond when Mack interrupts.

“Looks like I’m caving in first Tremors.” He states. “I need a spare part fro Trip so we’re making a journey.”

“Tremors?” Melinda asks.

“It’s best if you don’t ask.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The journey is quiet and careful. Clickers litter their small little area and they can’t even spare a single shot wasted lest it bring forth ten more. Mack’s axe could only get them so far in quiet killings. They find the building quickly. It’s not that far from the garage. Apparently they had designated places to get away from each other as well. The other only knowing said locations in case of emergencies.

“Here we are.” Mack states opening the door without even knocking. “Hey!” He shouts into the small complex. His muscles tense as he takes in the sight in front of him. Melinda has to resist the urge to advert Daisy’s gaze away from the situation. In the middle of the room a body dangles from the ceiling. A noose is secured tightly around the neck of the man she recognizes as Trip.

“Oh god.” Daisy whispers.

“No…” Mack numbly walks over to the body. He uses the knife strapped to his side to cut his friend down. Melinda feels bile building in the back of her throat as she spies the bite mark on the arm of the corpse. The blood looks like it hadn’t dried more than two hours ago. He hadn’t been dead long. He’d given his life for the same reason as Phil.

“Mack…”

“I didn’t even get to apologize.” He mutters numbly.

Melinda leaves the room quickly to retrieve the things they need. She loots the kitchen just to be safe. She lingers for a little bit allowing the man she had known for so long time to grieve. They could take their time. Whatever had gotten to Trip was long gone and as long as they were quiet they would be safe. What feels like an eternity passes before Daisy shows up in the room, eyes partially glazed over and face blotchy from tears. She wasn’t the only one who had been reminded of Phil.

“We’re leaving.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Melinda startles away with the shuffling beside her. Quickly she grabs her weapon pointing in at the shadow looming next to the space where she was sleeping. The shadow raises its hands. In the dim light she can make out the familiar shape of Mack. He was reaching for his shotgun laying dormant against the wall by her head. She narrows her eyes at him nodding towards the kitchen. She looks over at the young girl whose hand reaches towards her body. Still sleeping, good. She didn’t need to hear this.

Melinda carefully makes her way towards the kitchen being careful to keep her footsteps light.

“See you’re still as light of a sleeper as always.” Mack tries a half hearted attempt at a joke. Melinda doesn’t answer him as she lights the lantern lying on the counter. “May I-”

“So you’re leaving.” She surmises shortly.

“Your car is ready. You don’t need me anymore... Did you expect me to stay?”

“Daisy’s really taken a liking to you. She’d want you to stay with us. Not to mention we need the manpower. She’s not exactly trained to be wielding a weapon.”

“You always did like a challenge.” Mack tries again only being answered with a glare. “I need to do this.”

“No you don’t.” She frowns. “You’re being selfish because of how you found Trip.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes I can.” She keeps her voice quiet looking back towards the area where Daisy had been sleeping. “When Phil died I didn’t abandon her.”

“You have an obligation to her. I don’t.” He scoffs.

“No I don’t.”

“You really don’t see it do you?” Mack asks exasperated.

“See what?”

“She’s just like them.” He states. “Phil and Bobbi.”

“Don’t.” Her voice curls out of her throat like a deadly growl.

“Her attitude, the way she speaks. No wonder you feel indebted to her. You couldn’t save them.”

“Stop!” This is the first time Melinda raises her voice.

“Her determination is Bobbi. The way she wants to save everyone is so Phil it’s sickening. I know you saw her toying with Bobbi’s old laptops or flipping through his comics.”

“They’re gone!” Melinda shouts.

“Do you think you’re the only one who lost her?” Mack shouts back grabbing her by the shoulders.

Three children dash through her yard. Bobbi’s blonde pigtail braids bounce on her shoulders as she lets out a laugh. Two boys run from her, their laughter filling the air along with hers. Melinda smiles slightly watching the three children play.

“Bobbi, Hunter, Mack!” She calls. “Dinner!” She can see alarm and dread fill the three faces. “I ordered Chinese.” She rolls her eyes at their exaggeration. One time she sets the microwave on fire and she’s marked for life. The three rush in excitedly grabbing their food.

“Mom? Can Lance and Mack spend the night tonight?”

Melinda sighs, she had warned Bobbi of this. “No Bob, I told you I work late tonight.”

That had been the night everything had gone to shit. A little boy with a mischievous smile gone with a spark of flames. Brilliant eyes of a young girl with so much potential snatched away without warning.

“I should have been with her! We should have been with her!”

“Why?” Melinda snaps pushing him against the wall with a surprising amount of strength to push back a man with his stature. “So you could watch her die in your arms? Or so I could have more blood on my hands?” She seethes.

“May.” He sinks as she snatches herself away, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Get out.” She whispers.

“I’m not leaving you here.” He says.

“I said get out!” She screams aiming her gun at him. “You want more blood on my hands so badly?” She accuses. “Leave or I’ll shoot.” Wordlessly he grabs his gun he’d abandoned on the counter. He slams the door shut behind him. She had a feeling she wouldn’t been seeing him again.

“He left.” Daisy whispers.

“How much did you hear.” Melinda deadpans.

“Enough.” She sighs, “Do you feel indebted to me? Do I remind you of them?”

Melinda looks her in the eyes, the girl is shaking, her face stained with tears. “You’re nothing like them.” Her tongue is heavy with the lie.

“Good.”

[chitarra10]

Wait... Moriarty couldn’t have died on St. Bart’s rooftop and Mary was part elephant... or have I missed something? X-)

Seriously, if I’ve missed something here, please let me know because this is kinda bugging me. X-)  But I wanna preface this by saying that even if everything I’m about to say is correct, it really doesn’t make any difference in my opinion of Sherlock as a show in general… in fact, I seem to be in the minority that really enjoyed season 4 and is really hoping that we’re gonna get season 5 and beyond. :-)  I love it, and even if these things are the case, I’m still gonna continue to love it. :-)  But I also can be a stickler for details sometimes, so I just need to work this out… like I said, tell me if I missed anything that changes things. X-)

So at what point in time do the episodes of season 4 actually happen?  Cuz I’m kinda thinking it all happens in the future as of this point in time… this point in time being 22nd January, 2017.  But that seems to pose a bit of a timeline problem because if it does, then that means that either Moriarty had to have died somewhere other than St. Bart’s rooftop somewhere around 2 years after TRF, or he’s not actually dead.  Not only that, it means that Mary had the longest pregnancy in the history of life itself, spanning almost 3 years.  I’m not snarking or anything, I’m just trying to work out when all this stuff happened because of the conundrum it poses.

At the end of TLD, John wishes Sherlock a happy birthday, the date of which can be found on the Baker Street Wikia page as 6th January, 1977 according to the gravestone in TRF.  You have to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page just before the Gallery section… it says the “Casebook” gives his birth year as 1981, but the gravestone says it’s 1977, and since the gravestone is seen in the show, I’m going with 1977 (either way, though, it’s mostly the 6th January that makes the difference here).  So according to that, Sherlock would be 40 years old as of today’s date.  However, John would’ve had to be wishing him a happy 41st birthday in January of 2018… the events of TLD would have to have taken place after John had been mourning Mary’s death for about a year.

It has to be because Rosie’s birth announcement was published in the actual Telegraph newspaper IRL on 12th December 2016, which means Rosie would be just about 2 months old as of today’s date, and she would’ve been born about 3 weeks before Sherlock’s 40th birthday.  However, Rosie is shown to be significantly older than that in TST in the scene where Sherlock tries to reason with her about not throwing the rattle and then she throws it in his face (my favorite scene of the entire episode, btw, I love it so much :-)).  She’s quite a bit bigger and more physically grown and developed than a 2-month-old at that point.  It takes at least 4 to 6 months for a baby to even hold their own head up without neck support, and we see her sitting upright in a baby seat on John’s chair.  She seems to be still in that same age range when Molly is holding her at the end of the episode while having that devastating conversation with Sherlock about John not wanting his help.

This all happening in the future would be perfectly fine if it wasn’t for the fact that it means Mary was pregnant for almost 3 years.  That’s longer than an elephant.  I’ll get to Moriarty’s questionable death momentarily.  But first…

What’s making me think this is that back in HLV, when Magnussen was at 221B talking to Sherlock about Lady Smallwood’s case, his “mind palace” files show that Sherlock was officially deceased for two years, which we see on the screen were from 2011 to 2013.  And we know Sherlock was pretending to be dead for 2 years from tons of canon references, among them being John raging at him, “Two years!!” when he interrupted his marriage proposal to Mary, and then again in TLD when Sherlock tries to tell John he’s never been a malingerer (well… ACD!Sherlock kinda was in The Reigate Squire, but that was just to solve a case, but I digress X-)), and John responds by shouting about the time that he’d pretended to be dead for 2 years.

Sherlock came back to London just in time for “Remember, remember the 5th of November,” and if he was gone for 2 years, then that makes this 5th November 2013.  So that puts John and Mary’s wedding in May of 2014.  It was at the wedding that Sherlock figured out that Mary was pregnant, however she wasn’t showing at all, so she would’ve had to be less than 3 months pregnant.  If she was between newly pregnant and 3 months along at the time, then biologically speaking, Rosie’s birth would have to be between November 2014 and February 2015, which would mean the events of TST happened 2 years ago, give or take a couple of months.

But then we have the problem of Rosie’s birth being announced in the real life Telegraph newspaper on 12th December 2016.  And even still, if that’s not enough to prove Rosie was born in 2016, don’t forget about the scene in TLD where Lady Smallwood asks Mycroft on a date… she tells him that she’s going to go home “unless she calls.”  Mycroft elaborates that “she” is the Prime Minister.  Theresa May became Prime Minister on 13th July 2016, and before that, from 2010 when the show first began up to then, the Prime Minister was a “he,” David Cameron.  So if this was all happening before July 2016, Lady Smallwood would’ve said “unless he calls.”  So all this is in fact happening in 2018.  With that being the case, a little bit of mathematical gymnastics that included an online conception date calculator says that Mary would’ve have to be pregnant for 2 years, 8 months, and about 3 weeks.  Almost 3 years.  That’s 4-6 months longer than an elephant.

So what gives? X-)

And that brings me to Moriarty’s death.  If he died, then it was on the same day in 2011, just moments before, in fact, that Sherlock, Molly, and Mycroft initiated Project Lazarus and Sherlock was declared officially deceased.  And we already know by the working of the timeline of Mary’s inhumanly long pregnancy and Rosie’s canonically established birth date that these events are taking place in 2018 when Rosie is about a year old.  Hence the conundrum… Moriarty met Mycroft and Eurus at Sherrinford 5 years previous to the events of TFP, which obviously happen after TLD, which would’ve been in 2013.  If he died in 2011, how did he manage to meet Mycroft and Eurus in 2013?  The only way he could have done is if he didn’t die on St. Bart’s roof 2 years earlier.  Either he died at some point by means unkown between 2013 when he met with Mycroft and Eurus and 2014 when Sherlock insists in TAB that Moriarty is definitely dead, or he’s not actually dead.

So which is it? X-)

Anyone have any details that might be able to clear this up for me? X-)

[ciathyzareposts]

Abandoned Places: Won! (with Summary and Rating)

          Abandoned Places: A Time for Heroes

Hungary

ArtGame (developer); Electronic Zoo (publisher)

Released 1992 for Amiga and DOS

Date Started: 15 May 2020

Date Ended: 4 June 2020

Total Hours: 33

Difficulty: Moderate (3/5) but very imbalanced

Final Rating: (to come later)

Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

         Summary:

The first game from a Hungarian developer, Abandoned Places offers typical Dungeon Master-style exploration, combat, and mechanical puzzle solving in a series of tiled 22 x 22 dungeons and dungeon levels. These locations are tied loosely together by a top-down overworld in which characters can visit a variety of menu towns and similar locations. The mostly-irrelevant story has four resurrected heroes from ancient times trying to stop the return of an ancient evil named Bronakh. The full game requires the party to defeat 27 dungeon levels, but different players will encounter different levels early in the game depending on where they pick up the main quest thread.  

*****

Bronakh’s volcanic lair ended up being nine more levels, pitched in difficulty somewhere between the earlier, easy dungeons and the difficult Halls of Rage. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded if the game had just consisted of the Halls of Rage and Bronakh’s fortress, maybe with a menu town on top. It would have been a tighter, more challenging game without a lot of wasted time before the main event.

           As I mentioned in my penultimate entry, Bronakh whisked us directly from the Halls of Rage to his fortress without giving us a chance to level up. It turned out that I could just turn around, go up the stairs, and exit the volcano. In fact, the general theme of Bronakh’s nine-level lair was to require full exploration of each level, but ultimately in service of finding a key that unlocked a down staircase rather close to the up staircase. Thus, even deep in the fortress, a return to town was possible with minimal effort. 

     Bronakh’s levels were more challenging than the rest of the game, but I still wouldn’t say they were as challenging as Dungeon Master or even Eye of the Beholder. They were perhaps deadlier, in that fireballs and lightning bolts came flinging at my party it seems like every third step. I eventually got to the point where I just shrugged off the fact that my characters seemed to be taking constant damage for no visible reason. I reloaded a lot and took advantage of safe spaces to rest multiple times. My cleric got a resurrection spell eventually, and between that and “Heal,” I could deal with most problems as long as he kept his spell points up.

             Wandering into the wrong room in Bronakh’s lair.

                      As I explored, I tried to make a full accounting of the different mechanical devices that the game uses. They include:

            Wall switches, some activated by hands, some by keys, that open walls and doors in other parts of the dungeon.

Floor plates that open walls and doors in other parts of the dungeon.

Illusory walls. Generally, you can just walk through them but “Detect Illusion” lets you see through them entirely.

         This was a rare illusory door that looked like a regular wall until I cast the spell.

         Doors that require finding keys.

Doors that have switches.

Multiple doors whose switches open each other rather than the doors they’re attached to.

Traps that cause fireballs or lightning bolts to hit you from the nearest wall.

Fireballs and lightning bolts that fly out of the walls and corridors around you in absence of any trigger. Sometimes you can block these with plants, statues, or temporary walls created with the “Create Wall” spell.

Teleportation squares, including those that teleport you in a sequence around a particular part of the dungeon, so it’s like you’re on a never-ending conveyor belt.

Anti-magic squares.

Spinners, some of which spin continually, some of which turn you once or twice. It got to the point that every major intersection in Bronakh’s had one of these.

Water squares, for which you must cast “Swimming” to keep from taking damage.

Squares perpetually on fire, for which you must cast “Walk on Fire” to keep from taking damage.

              Here we have water and fire in a row.

          Cobwebs, which must be destroyed with the “Fire Path” spell, which turns them into fire squares.

Potted plants (some of them hostile) and statues that you have to push and pull to clear paths or reveal hidden keys.

Pits that lead to small lower areas of the same level. You can use ropes to lower yourself without damage and “Climb” to get back up, or “Levitate” to avoid them entirely.

            Notably absent from this list are pressure plates, and the types of puzzles that require you to weigh down those plates, either with characters or monsters. You also can’t throw items into teleporters–just yourself–which limits some of the fun puzzles other games in this subgenre have allowed.

         Through most of the game, the wall/door/switch ratio was 1:1 and one-directional, so that every time you found a switch, you could confidently activate it, knowing that it would open a door or wall that you needed open. Bronakh’s got a little more fiendish by having some of its switches close areas that you needed open. It took me a while to learn to stop activating switches and instead to treat the game more like Dungeon Master where you explore first and slowly, carefully work on your switches later.

     Both the Halls of Rage and Bronakh’s did a good job of stringing these multiple options together. For instance, one of the levels has a series of pits that you needed to cross with “Levitate,” only to put an anti-magic square on the pit in the middle. This caused “Levitate” to snuff out and drop me through to a waiting fire square below. I had to “Jump” to avoid this particular square..

              Usually the game makes you fail once to figure it out, but this time it gave me a hint.

               I don’t love this kind of gameplay but I can appreciate it, and thus my only major complaint is that a couple of levels had keys allocated in such a way that you could put yourself in a “walking dead” situation if you didn’t open doors in a particular order. There’s never any excuse for that.

        Enemies weren’t pushovers, but the continued to be the least important part of navigating the dungeon levels, at least until Level 8, where several of the enemies were capable of frequent, high-damage fireballs. It turns out that the creators anticipated the experience imbalance between fighters and spellcasters and thus set the level requirements much lower for the latter. Everyone reached the end of the game at their maximum levels, which was 8. Inventory rewards mostly stopped after the Halls of Rage, and I found I didn’t need any money after that. I only needed to retreat to town to get my last levels.

          These dino-looking things were pretty tough.

         The ninth and last level was large and mostly open, though with a few corridors and pillars to use for hiding and regrouping. Bronakh was the only enemy–a robed figure without much menace or character. He hit hard with spells, though, and took a long time to kill–so long that when I finally managed to kill him but had two of my own characters dead, I declined to reload and just moved forward through the final door.

          Casting a “Toxic Cloud” at Bronakh while he hammers me with something or other.

         The endgame cinematic showed the same sage who had resurrected the heroes sitting at his desk.

           And so with the fall of Bronakh, the Kalynthian Empire is ready for a new age of peace and harmony: the age of union–when the lands of the world will at last be rejoined. For you it will be a time to build a new life, to meet new friends and remember old ones lost. And to watch and wait for the evil that can never sleep and must never be forgotten. The time of heroes will come again.

          As the final words disappear, the door behind the sage opens to reveal a skeletal figure with glowing eyes just before we return to the main menu.

          We never did find out who this guy was.

         In the GIMLET, the game earns:

            3 points for the game world. I found the framing narrative derivative and poorly reflected in the game itself. The map was mostly wasted.

3 points for character creation and development. There’s no “creation” as such–just a selection from a gallery of heroes. Development is moderately satisfying, particularly in the acquisition of new spells, but forcing every player to have two warriors, a cleric, and a mage just reduces replayability.

1 point for a minor amount of NPC interaction to guide the quest.

5 points for encounters and foes. The game’s enemies are maddeningly unnamed, and while they do have some special attacks and defenses that you might want to plan tactics around, each enemy type lasts for such a brief time that it’s hardly worth analyzing them. I use this category for the quality of puzzles, which we’ve mostly already covered

5 points for magic and combat. I like that the spells were integrated with puzzle-solving. While the game makes good use of the “cool down” system of Dungeon Master, it lacks some of the timing and punch of other games of its ilk, and for most of the game it was too easy.

            Fighting some kind of goofy flying thing.

         4 points for equipment. You get the basics: two hand slots, armor, a ring, and a necklace or amulet. There weren’t many upgrades, especially towards the end. There’s no way to see weapon statistics, but at least the ability to sell weapons imparts some estimate of relative worth.

2 points for the economy. The game has one, but it’s not very well done. I sold a lot but hardly bought anything.

3 points for quests. It has a main quest, of course, and there are a couple of different paths through the early dungeons, although which you take is more a matter of luck than “choice.”

3 points for graphics, sound, and interface. It gets 1 for each. I thought the graphics and sound effects were only okay, and for everything I liked about the interface (e.g., the use of function keys to execute attacks), there was something I didn’t like (e.g., having to scroll slowly through the spell list). The automap, which you don’t acquire until the third dungeon, stopped working in all of the later dungeons.

3 points for gameplay. I have to give it a small amount of credit for some nonlinearity and some replayability, but the difficulty was too imbalanced and the pacing was horrible. 

        That gives us a subtotal of 32, from which I subtract 1 for bugs, for a final score of 31. The “invulnerability” bug dogged me throughout the final dungeon. It seemed like whenever the processor got overwhelmed by too much happening on the screen–too many spells or flying lightning bolts or whatever–enemies just froze in place. They stopped attacking, but they were also impossible to kill and were blocking the corridors. On the positive side, I never encountered any of the bugs some other players report, such as an inability to ever find some of the dungeons.

It doesn’t appear that the game ever had a North American release, and thus all the reviews are from European magazines, particularly Amiga magazines. I rubbed my hands and got ready to excoriate British Amiga reviewers for getting everything wrong, but they mostly gave the game a fair shake. Amiga Power said in February 1992 that: “[It] may not represent the new standard in RPGs–it’s a bit too scrappy in certain areas for that–but you can bet your bottom dollar it’ll be responsible for a great many hours of lost sleep among the die-hard D&D fraternity.” Overall, the magazine gave it an 80. Reviews from CU Amiga in March 1992 (83), Amiga Action in March 1992 (82), and Amiga Format in February 1992 (80), all basically said the same things: the graphics are a bit rough and the game is a bit too easy, but otherwise it wasn’t a bad experience. None of them seem to have made it all the way to the Halls of Rage before their reviews, however, which I imagine would have changed things. Continental reviews were less charitable, mostly in the 60s and 70s. The worst came from the German PC Player (37), but they didn’t get to it until August 1993, at which point they were comparing it to Ultima Underworld and Betrayal at Krondor.

           Some of the reviews mention bits of marketing from Electronic Zoo that said the game had “over 100” levels. Even accounting for the extra early-game dungeons that you don’t experience if you take different paths, the only way that is true is if you count the little interconnected sections of dungeon levels and not the entirety of the levels. It’s a disingenuous bit of marketing. Electronic Zoo also advertised that it would take more than two months to finish. It took me three weeks, but I don’t really see how it makes sense to measure playing time in months anyway.

          Abandoned Places was one of three games from Hungarian developer ArtGame. Abandoned Places 2 came along in 1993 and Piracy on the High Seas was published in 1992; it features an overworld interface very similar to Abandoned Places. Screenshots from the sequel show improved monster graphics, a redesigned interface, and first-person exploration of the overworld.

          Travel in Piracy uses an interface nearly identical to Places.

            If I can trust a few sites, the principals of ArtGame–including Ferenc Staengler, István Fábián, Sandor Hadas, and György Dragon–were university students when they met and decided to make games. An initial version of the game failed to find a publisher, although Electronic Arts expressed interest if the team came up with better graphics. They spent several months on a graphical overhaul, but by the time they resubmitted, EA had already agreed to publish Raven Software’s Black Crypt and didn’t want two games in the same subgenre at the same time. They ultimately struck a deal with United Kingdom-based publisher Electronic Zoo.

On a page in which Abandoned Places 2 is offered for free, Staengler recounts how he and his colleagues were treated by International Computer Entertainment, which bought the ailing Electronic Zoo and published the sequel. I’m not sure how much of this story (e.g., receiving no royalties) has anything to do with the original game and original publisher, so I’ll leave off any more history until next year, when I cover the sequel and hopefully have managed to make contact with Staengler or one of the other developers. It is worth noting that even in the first game’s manual, the publisher apparently made the developers anglicize their names: Ferenc Staengler became “Francis” Staengler, István Fábián became “Steve Fabian,” and György Dragon was rendered as “George Dragon.”

       I found Abandoned Places underwhelming for most of its run, particularly in comparison to the better games of its sub-genre, but I do like that it tried to integrate Dungeon Master with an overworld, towns, an economy, and other features from outside the typical Dungeon Master line. There’s no reason that a good dungeon crawl has to be 15 levels straight down; you can enjoy the same mechanics while still pausing for story elements and while allowing the characters to spend a night in a tavern. Abandoned Places didn’t do it particularly well, but I’m glad that it tried to do it at all. I look forward to seeing if the sequel improves.

          We’ll head back to The Legacy next, of course, but whether the next game after that is a return to Ultima VII or a look at Mythos 1 depends on how far I get retracing my steps in the former.           ***********         Trying something. Let’s assume I have a Famicom Disk System (FDS) file and an IPS patch for it. How do I put them together? I can find all kinds of instructions for doing it with an SNES file, but not for an FDS file.

     source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/abandoned-places-won-with-summary-and-rating/

[siobhanoleary-blog]

interning in another language; my thoughts after my first three months

I’m an intern, and it’s a hot Friday in July, which in French workplaces means that you’re either in your car on the way to your family country home, or you’re at work wondering why you’re not.

My office is Parisian perfection.

It takes up a floor of a Hausmannian building just by Place Vendome. Dark, almost black floorboards contrast with white painted walls. The desks are white and are pushed together to create a semi-communal workspace. My section of the floor has another secondary office with clear glass sliding doors which separate us. At the end of the office, right next to where I am sitting, is a wall lined with windows that lead onto a balcony which overlooks the Rue de la Paix. If I step out onto the balcony - as I often do in the mornings with an espresso -  I can see the Vendôme column to my left, Palais Garnier to my right, and if I look straight ahead, the top of the Eiffel Tower that pokes out above the Hotel Mansart.

As I write this, there is a wealth of conversations happening around me. Here, it’s a constant hum of stylish and attractive french people passionately taking phone calls and delivering high speed “qu’est ce qui a?”’s to each other, yet I can’t understand most of it. That’s because I’m an 18 year old Australian currently interning at a prestigious French film production company in Paris, yet I don’t have any experience in the film industry, nor know anyone who works in it, don’t study film production (or anything at all for that matter), and I don’t speak French… I never really considered that I might work somewhere where learning on the job would encompass so much more than just the work itself. What am I doing here, you (or we all) might ask?

When I arrived in Paris I was just an eighteen year old, who really knew nothing of the world, and who had no idea what she wanted to do with it. Only two of those things have changed since then and one of them is that I am now nineteen. In fact I actually never seriously considered working in the film industry until… well… until I realised it was the perfect hybrid of creation and intellectualism. At the time, I was telling my friend that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, she then gave me a great quip of advice; ‘Find someone who has the life that you want, and do what they do’. French directors have cool lives, take it from me.

I’ve always been an avid watcher of films, and always had a creative side that I wasn’t willing to forfeit for the wholly academic careers I knew I could pursue. Directing to me seemed a really fantastic amalgamation of the two.

When my 3 month french course was starting to draw to a close I got worried. I was going to run out of money, and would need to be employed as soon as I finished the course or risk having to go back to Australia with my tail between my legs. After the horror of the incessant hospitality work that I did before I moved over here, I felt almost sick at the thought of having to make coffee and clean for hours on end again.

In Australia, there isn’t really an internship culture. You don’t hear of people as interns like you do in Paris. The idea of interning was not on my radar at all before moving here, and I always thought that really it meant collecting coffees with no pay. To my surprise, in Paris usually only one of those things is true. There is a massive intern culture; it’s a requirement of many university courses to complete one ranging anywhere between 3-6 months, and its French law that you have to be paid. After I found out about this wonderful, life changing world of the intern, I began to email a copy of my CV and a lengthy, passionate and unnecessarily emotive cover letter to every film production company in Paris that I could find from a google search. I think in total I emailed over thirty companies.

I got no response from most of them. Some of them replied saying they already had an intern, and others asked me if I spoke french to which I decided not to reply at all in an attempt to not affect my very volatile, very important mental state; wherein I was convincing myself that I was wholly capable of doing what I wanted to do. Then, one day, I received a response from a producer working at a company that I thought was far too established and professional to take on a monolingual teenager for no apparent reason. She requested an interview with me.

The day of the interview I was shitting bricks. I had about a month left of my course, with no guarantee that I was going to be able to survive in the city after its end. Unsurprisingly, my money was going down faster than I had anticipated, and I was having panic attacks that would wake me from my sleep with such an intense feeling of dread that I thought I was dying. My dad is a doctor, and I actually asked him if he thought it was possible that I could have a brain tumour. I would be sound asleep, dreaming, when all of a sudden everything would become corrupted, and I would wake up, desperately looking around my studio trying to figure out what exactly I was so afraid of. There was nothing there, of course, just the sound of my exasperated breath.

I was totally taken aback when I arrived at the office. It seemed unreal. I thought how I could ever be so blessed as to be able to go to this incredible place every day, and belong there. Everyone there would know I belonged there because I was employed there just like they were employed there. If I saw one of them on the street outside of work, we might say hello to each other. Maybe they’d be with someone who would ask who I was and they’d say ‘oh she’s from work’, and that would be a sufficient explanation. I could not conceive of it.

The interview was surprisingly relaxed and went well. The producer was young, and lovely, and basically said to me that she was happy to take me on and didn’t see why not. There were a lot of why nots, however, but we didn’t really consider them at the time.

Later that day, after I had called both of my parents in an unprecedented state of glee whilst strolling through the glory of the second arrondissement, high on life thinking I was some kind of prodigy, I received a follow up email.

The email stated that I would have to prove that I can understand and work in french before they would accept me. I would be given a month to improve before meeting with the production coordinator alone, where the secondary interview would be conducted in french. Fuck. To be perfectly honest I couldn’t speak an eloquent word in french.

It’s actually really difficult to gage someones proficiency in a language properly, and I seemed to have inflated my own in my head. I could say the basics, and had broken knowledge of certain aspects, but certainly nothing that would allow me to work in a french only workplace.

I passed that month in a near constant state of stress. I was at a flatline state of feeling like I’d left my phone on the metro. It was terrible. Well, that’s a bit much actually in the meantime I was enjoying Paris if you get my gist.

When the day of the interview arrived I had no more stress to give. Until I was just outside the door, knocking. The longer it took for someone to answer the more time I had to realise what was about to happen. It reminded me of when my dad told me about his medical final. Everyone was waiting outside the locked doors of the exam auditorium, and as the minutes continued to tick on he yelled ‘LET US IN! EVERY SECOND A VITAL PIECE OF INFORMATION SLIPS OUT OF MY BRAIN!'

From the moment she opened the door I really realised the voracity of my global move. I could understand maybe every 10th or 20th word she said. I was in a state of complete absorption, willing my ears and my brain to pull it together for the team, cos we don’t have another plan. By the end of it, I had grasped the most important thing: she basically said ‘why not?’ and that we would have a trial period and see how it goes. How long would the trial period be? No clue. Would I get paid? No idea. How much? Je ne sais pas du tout. All these questions and I didn’t want to even try to ask one, fearing that it might be the rectangle of wood that pulls the whole jenga tower down.

That was nearly three months ago now. I could tell you that its all been fine and dandy, because I’m still here, but the reality is that it has been really, really, really hard. I actually had been offered an english speaking internship with an art gallery at the same time, that I turned down for this position. So when things were getting really tough - namely when I was pulled aside and told I was really ‘timide’, which I found a little frustrating seeing that in order for me to be outgoing without speaking french I’d have to seem like a mute and, I guess, use extreme facial expressions or something - I wondered why the fuck I’d decided to make things so hard for myself. I have an amazing law and politics degree waiting for me in Australia, in a language I really love and have the hang of. And yet no, I decided to come here, and struggle, with all my knowledge and opinions tucked away under this disability of not being bilingual.  

I have had many moments of being on the verge of tears. It’s incredibly difficult - and humbling, I might add - to go from an environment (high school, in my case), where you thrived because of your academic ability to one where you can barely ask for the time. And where no one would bother to ask you for it, knowing the difficulty and awkwardness that might arise from you not being able to understand.

No one wanted to talk to me, and I actually found myself hoping that they wouldn’t. I was scared to even make eye contact, fearing that if I did, someone might actually try to engage with me. Breaking into the social scene of a new work place is hard enough, and I have found it nearly impossible in another language. This is not to say that my employers and fellow employees have not been accommodating, truly it is far from that. My own lack of self confidence and insecurity, my own fear of seeming dumb and incapable, is what has disabled me the most.

Only now do I find myself increasingly able to laugh at the office jokes, answer questions, and engage in French. Sometimes I feel despondent that maybe it’s become too late for me in this work place to make up for what my estimation became after my first few weeks. Too late for me to finally be able to inquire about other aspects of the company and work that I am interested in. Too late for me to ask more questions. But I have to force myself not to think like this.

This experience has been the hardest, yet most rewarding of any experience in my life so far. The personal growth I have experienced cannot be underestimated, but I do have a long way to go. But I think that is a good thing.

If I had no where to go, well then I’d just be nowhere.

[lexxikitty-blog1]

Songs Unfinished by Holly Stratimore Read: April 2016 Rating: 4.75 Stars

This is my first book by this author, and, unless something got misfiled somewhere, this is also the first book by this author. I've read many stories involving people in the entertainment industry, which includes actors, musicians, dancers, novelists, and others (I could change it to 'creative industry' or some term like that, to include the gallery owners, and artists characters I've read). This book here contains two musicians as the co-leads (and a budding novelist side character). Most of those books that I've read that involve the entertainment industry involve people who are: (a) comfortably established in their field interacting with people comfortably established in their field (that one book by Selina Rosen that I read, and loved, that others tended to be less enamored with, involved a famous/formerly successful musician and a successful actress (and musician); the 'attempting to restart their career, reluctantly' is something of a sub-genre of this 'entertainment industry' field); (b) comfortably established in their field characters interacting with those just starting out in the entertainment industry (which includes, as my example, Brayden's 'Waiting in the Wings'); (c) two characters who have been in the entertainment industry for a while, and neither have exactly comfortably established themselves yet (strangely, I've never read a book/story in this category, until now. Until this book. While it is true that Jaymi and Shawn are not at the same success point, it is true that neither is 'just starting out' nor 'comfortably established. Jaymi's band is regionally known, and just on the cusp of stardom (though they've been on the cusp before and, for personal family reasons, didn't make the transition to stardom; while Shawn's been in the business for 7 years and is still at the open mic stage of her career); (d) everyone involved is just starting out in the entertainment industry (oddly, while I'm somewhat sure I might have read something like this at some point, I do not specifically recall any story/book that falls into this category). Characters Jaymi Del Harmon is a musician and band member of 'Passion Fruit' (I could be wrong about the band name, though I know Passion is in the name). She is a college graduate, and the band itself formed while she was in college. Formed after she meet and set up an arrangement with one Nikki while at college. Nikki would help Jaymi become comfortable on stage, while Jaymi would help Nikki become better with the guitar. The two then went on to form the band that incorporated two further members (Kay being a friend of Nikki's, and . . . Brian? being Jaymi's cousin). All of this back-story occurred before start of the book. The band went west to find their fame and fortune (as in went to California). While there they bumped into Shawn Davies out at open mic gigs. But I'm way far down the plot section now so I'll move on. The band was on the cusp of success when two things happened at once (well, first: Jaymi's mother needed her because the mother had cancer; second: slightly after news of the need of Jaymi's need to return to the east coast, and possibly in reaction to it, Jaymi's long time girlfriend (who actually had been showing signs of distance before the cancer issue came up) was caught cheating (possibly on purpose). Jaymi returned to New Hampshire. The band, not wishing to give up on Jaymi, followed her back east. Jaymi spent time helping her mother. Then the mother died. Eventually, and I think this is two years later, the band started up again and as of the start of the book, are on the cusp of stardom. Again. At the very least, they have some regional celebrity status, and their songs are on regional independent radio stations. Of Importance: the other band members, Devin (journalist and budding novelist - linked to Sara; friends with Jaymi) & Sara (...; linked to Devin; friends with Jaymi), Alice & Peter (old family friends of Jaymi's mother who allow Jaymi to live in the apartment over their horse barn when Jaymi returned east). Randi - through Nikki, as she's friends with Nikki & is a police officer). Shawn Davies is a musician who has mostly failed in her attempts to have a live as a musician. Just after high school, Shawn headed west (as in to California). She was somewhat nervous and clumsy on stage, but a musician she bumped into at open mic gigs helped her gain some confidence. This musician being Jaymi. Shawn was out west without any support structure, and with very poor abilities to hold a job. Relatively quickly in the process she descended to a form of homelessness - using one-night stands to find a place to sleep at night; or sleeping in her car - more often using one-night stands. The book opens with Shawn fleeing California to head back home. She's fleeing homelessness, failure, and, the real reason for her flight, fleeing a brutal attack. Of Importance: the ghost of her dead mother (not literally, figuratively), her basterd father, an old girlfriend from high school named Mel, a dead aunt. Others: Others are of importance, but through their connections to the lead characters (both of whom have alternating points of view). I've mentioned several up above. There's two entities though, who become significant later in the story-line: Shawn's bitchy boss (once she actually finds a job back east), and Jaymi's stalker. Plot Everything I've mentioned above, for the most part, happened before the start of this book. The book opens with a woman fleeing a brutal attack. Grabbing all of her belongings, and heading from California back to New Hampshire. Along the way, for gas money, she basically performs on the street. If the takings are good, she'd stay for a week or so (no more than). If not, she'd hurry along the road. Eventually she arrived back in New Hampshire. Drives up to her aunt’s home. Sees a car in the driveway but can't seem to get a reaction from her aunt. While prowling around looking in the windows, a neighbor yells at Shawn (who I just notice I didn't yet mention in this paragraph as the woman fleeing California). Before he calls the cops, Shawn notes who she is and why she is there. Only to be informed that her aunt died the month before. Her one good connection to home has been severed. And she hadn't been in a good position to learn of this issue until just then. So. She's hungry and tired and eventually will need to put gas in the gas tank. Reluctantly she turns towards her actual former home. She somewhat timidly knocks on the door. A man answers. Screams at her, asking why she is there. Shawn begs to stay the night. The man screams at her again then slams the door. Shawn dejectedly leaves her father's house, after making some comment about how the man still blames her for Shawn's mother's death. Gets back in her car. Drives. Seriously contemplates parking on some railroad tracks. Turns on the radio. Hears a familiar band on. And learns they are performing nearby. That band being the band Jaymi performs in. Shawn heads in that direction instead of towards the train tracks. POV shifts to Jaymi. She's exiting the 'gig' and is in the process of attempting to start her truck and go home. But the engine only sputters. She looks around. Sees a car start to head her direction. She's vaguely nervous. Eventually she learns that the young women in the car will help her. And that she knows this woman - it's Shawn. Who she hasn't seen in about 2 years. One thing leads to another and Jaymi offers the use of her guest room to Shawn until Shawn can find a job and get her own place. They somewhat nervously circle each other but the strings of their earlier friendship rejoin. Romance is not, yet, on either's minds. Jaymi can't have the complications and distractions of a romance right then and there, not right when the band is on the cusp of stardom. Shawn needs to re...um . . revive her life. Reform? Something like that. Romance Jaymi has certain feelings for Shawn that she knows she can't do anything about (because of her own need to devote time to her career; and because Shawn isn't in a great place at the moment, is vulnerable). Shawn has fancied Jaymi since she first meet her two years ago. But doesn't want to fall into the trap of 'using' her. She wants something more. But isn't in a good position to ask for more at the moment. So tries to keep things on the friendship level. So - things are a slow burn. Yes, they become friends first (and/or rekindle the friendship); but both separately, and with a certain amount of awareness of the other's feelings, 'burn' for the other. They kind of fall into a pattern of one being in a vulnerable position, making a pass at the other, the other wanting to lean into this flirtation, this possible love making, but not wishing to take advantage, and pulling/pushing back. And yes, both find themselves in both roles - the vulnerable one making the pass; the one being flirted with who must be strong. First occasion, I think it's the first occasion, involves Jaymi being tipsy from wine and attempting to 'get with' Shawn. Another occasion finds Shawn being the tipsy one. Overall There are a lot of complications and 'issues' that pop up, but things flow rather well - nothing seems contrived (well, the stalker subplot bordered on almost falling into annoying territory, though skidded just short of that). Things flowed nicely. I don't mean their lives flowed smoothly, I mean the writing and plot seemed to flow nicely. No, their lives were not smooth. But bumpy. Overall - a satisfying book by a writer who I had not read before. I'm not actually sure how I'd stumbled upon her - I just know that I had two disappointing books in a role (as in attempted to start reading them, and paused both) and saw this as a sample on my Kindle and read the sample. Then read the book. Overall, to overuse a word, I'd give the book a rating of something approaching 5 out of 5 stars (maybe 4.75?) April 12 2016

[oldman-speaks]

The Story_Part 11

Abdullah drove back to the first bungalow that we saw when we noticed the entry statement to Kampung Tampin Tengah. He parked his car slightly in front of the second house, on a small roadside compound.

The front gate of the house was shut but not locked. And as Abdullah wished, he would be the only one who would greet salaam. It was like the same approach we applied earlier at the police station since two strangers at the same time might cause ‘an alarm’. Therefore, I would duly be waiting in the car with the window on my side pulled down, and would join Abdullah only if he let me.

Nobody from the first house returned Abdullah’s salaam even though all his three greetings were very loud and clear. And there was also at least a pause of a few minutes between salaams. And like always, Abdullah would not make the fourth attempt. He would always respect the host’s decision. Maybe the occupants were inside but they did not want to be disturbed at that time.

So Abdullah walked to the next house, which front gate was open wide. There were two cars on the side porch. From my side, I could not see anyone outside of the house or in the front compound. But Abdullah greeted salaam anyway. It was loud and clear. He stood in the middle of the driveway, a few feet outside of the boundary.

We waited for a few minutes, but nobody answered Abdullah’s first salaam.

All of a sudden, I had the feeling of a déjà vu, remembering the time I was right in front of Abdullah’s house on my fourth and final attempt to ask for his forgiveness. That was several years ago, and I did not think this time it was a kind of payback. Abdullah stood still, and let his arms down as if signaling a gesture that ‘the stranger’ came in peace.

Like several years ago, this time I also prayed profusely for a reply to come from inside the house.

Finally, a teenage girl appeared from a window after Abdullah greeted the second salaam. She answered the greeting well and asked Abdullah to wait for a while as her father would come out and see him. It was such a huge relief. We would be meeting the last person, who, hopefully, would be our ‘savior’.

Minutes later, a man about our age came out to see Abdullah. Wearing a t-shirt and clad in a sarong, I believed the man might have been resting or taking an afternoon nap before we showed up. Both of them greeted each other and shaking hands, and then Abdullah waved at me to get out of the car and join them.

Abdullah introduced me to the man, Halim. While I was shaking hands with Halim, Abdullah started telling him our little morning and afternoon adventures and how finally we ended up at his door gate. Halim told us that he has been residing in Tampin all his life, the fact that significantly raised our hope to finally be able to meet Haji Hassan and his wife.

“So you drove all the way here from Bangi?” Halim asked us in a mixed tone of both disbelief and respectful. He was friendly, just like the women we met earlier at the eatery. Perhaps most Tampin folks are friendly.

“Yes. We are looking for a couple. An ex-policeman by the name Haji Hassan and his wife,” Abdullah replied and then told Halim all he knew about the couple. The exact information that he shared with me at the mosque earlier.

Halim was seen trying to recall if he knew the couple. It seemed that Abdullah’s scant information did not ring a bell to Halim. And after quite a while, he answered,

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I knew the man,”

From the look on his face, I knew Halim was clearly not happy with his answer. I believed he was simply trying his best to help us. He knew how far we had come before we finally met him. He knew that he was also our last hope.

And like several years ago, that was not the answer that I anticipated. And I believed it was not Abdullah’s either.

“Oh!” Abdullah’s and my response came out almost at the same time. It was followed by a long despairing sigh.

I did not know how Abdullah was feeling at that moment. As for me, it was another bitter déjà vu. Another failure, but this time it was not as painful as that was several years ago. Perhaps this time it was more of Abdullah’s disappointment than mine. Maybe I was missing the point or maybe I was not looking into a bigger picture at that moment. I found the disappointment was somewhat bearable.

I saw Abdullah fully covered his face with two hands as he took a look at me, and then slide them down a bit so that his eyes could see the sky when he slowly titled up his head. Abdullah then stared blankly at Halim while gradually sliding down his hands until they just covered his mouth and chin. At the moments that followed, Abdullah simply stopped moving and he did not say even a word.

Maybe, just like me, Abdullah had finally run out of ideas. Halim was our last hope, and we had inexplicably put a great trust that he could help us find the couple. In all honesty, we did not expect to hear such an answer from our ‘savior’. We did not believe it was scripted this way. A failed mission. It felt like the enemies had finally won, and Sergeant "Chip" Saunders was shot dead. All of the platoons were killed. Not even one’s life was spared.

‘We could plan any way we wish, but in the end, God is the Best and Ultimate Planner’.

Abdullah’s stare somehow made Halim a bit awkward. I knew it was not intentional. Abdullah was still thinking or perhaps he was whispering prayers for a divine help. I saw Halim then slowly bowed his head and started tossing his right foot left and right, along with it rubbing grass off its roots. I sensed that Halim also was still thinking, figuring out if there was any other way to help us. I watched the whole silent episode while trying to make a sensible way out of the current circumstance.

Nobody spoke.

“That’s alright, brother Halim. Maybe it was not meant to be,” moments later I broke the silence in order to make the whole situation less awkward. I had already accepted the failure and had believed that was the time we finally should say goodbye.

I looked at Abdullah and then at Halim. But neither looked back at me. And now I started to feel more awkward. Moments of silence resumed.

“Wait,” suddenly Halim replied. I looked back at Halim, waiting for him to continue. Abdullah did not respond. I saw him staring at Halim’s house, but I believed his mind was somewhere else, still thinking of any possible final idea.

“If the couple is locals, I should have known their children. Maybe we went to the same school,” Halim continued.

I thought it was purely brilliant. Perhaps the last grasp lifeline to our mission.

I had never thought of it before since Abdullah had never revealed the name of his new friend to me. I had asked Abdullah once this morning, but he did not answer my question. It looked like this time, Abdullah had no other choices.

Slowly and steadily Abdullah turned his head and looked straight at Halim. Judging by the look on Abdullah’s face, it seemed that he was taken aback by Halim’s words. Then, in almost a slow motion, Abdullah looked at me as he planted a cunning smile on his face.

I stared back at Abdullah and returned him with a broad smile of my own. It was a kind of satisfyingly sweet smile, the one that implied his best-kept secret could not be concealed anymore.

But Abdullah has always been a very shrewd person and has a full bag of tricks with him. At least he has always been two steps ahead of me most of the times. So, Abdullah came closer to Halim and whispered the name into his ear. He then looked back at me with another sly smile on his face.

I felt like screaming at Abdullah. It was not nice of him to do what he just did to me.

“Oh Bud-lee,” somehow the name came out from Halim’s mouth. I could hear it clearly.

That afternoon alone, it felt like the past kept repeating itself. For me, it was another déjà vu. If several years ago I was the one who repeated Alif’s name so that all my friends could hear it, this time it was Halim who said out loud the name which Abdullah hesitated to reveal in the first place. On both occasions, Abdullah was on the receiving ends.

Several years ago Abdullah resented me for what had happened. My friends mocked his name. But because of that incident, we, subsequently, ended up as best friends. This time I simply would not care whatever Abdullah’s reaction would be. Somehow, I believed the outcome would be a lot better for our friendship.

I was flabbergasted upon hearing the name because my new friend also has the same name. It is a unique name. Bud-lee. If it is Badlishah, I came to know a few persons with that name. But this is Bud-lee. Could he be the same person? I simply had no answer to the question at that moment.

“Oh, then I knew Haji Hassan. He was an ex-serviceman for the Police Field Force, not the Police Force as you mentioned,” Halim continued as he looked at Abdullah. Abdullah looked at Halim with a blank expressionless face.

“Abdullah, do you have any photo of Bud-lee?” I asked Abdullah to ascertain that Halim referred to the same person whose parents were the couple we had been looking for since this morning.

Abdullah shook his head. He looked as if he was not satisfied with how his secret was finally unraveled.

I took my handphone and started scrolling on photograph images inside its gallery. Of hundreds or maybe thousands images saved in my handphone that I had never bothered to erase, I believed the one I took with my friend in front of my house would be there. It was taken in July when my friend and his lovely wife came to our Eid Fitri open house.

Halim replied with a definite ‘yes’ when I showed the photographed image to both of them. And as for Abdullah, he nodded without saying a word.

“It is difficult to direct you to his (Haji Hassan’s) house from here. There will be a lot of corners and intersections. Give me a few minutes to change cloth so that afterward I can lead you to his house,” Halim said to both of us.

“Thank you very much. We have caused a lot of troubles to you,” I replied while trying to control my emotion.

“No. It’s really my pleasure,” Halim continued and almost immediately he returned to his house.

The count reads:

The persons: nil.

The places: no more left.

And I did not know which side of me would be confronting Abdullah.