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bevioletskies · 3 years ago

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if you’re ever in my arms again

summary: Out of everything Ryunosuke expected to do as a defense attorney, traveling to a distant crime scene via overnight train wasn’t one of them. Sharing a bed with Kazuma on the way there wasn’t exactly what he’d anticipated, either.

word count: 4.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week, day two of seven (prompt: “only one bed”). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Sherlock and Iris. Warning for brief mentions of blood.

Fic title is from the song If You’re Ever In My Arms Again by Peabo Bryson.

“Oi! ‘Oddo, are you even listenin’ to me, or is your ‘ead still up in them clouds?”

Ryunosuke ducked before Gina could thrust an accusatory finger in his direction - or simply just shove Toby in his face, something he wasn’t looking forward to happening again anytime soon despite the inherent adorableness of the little pup. “Sorry, what is it? What did I miss?”

“We’ve finally got our tickets, see,” Gina said, holding them up triumphantly, though she didn’t seem too happy about it. “But the Yard’s gone and made a bloomin’ mistake. They only booked us two beds, and last I checked, there was four of us!”

“...what,” Ryunosuke said, flatter this time.

Susato shot Ryunosuke an apologetic smile from where she was stood by their luggage, cradling Toby in her arms. “I’m afraid Gina is right, Mr Naruhodo. It seems our trip to Scotland will not be as comfortable as we’d hoped.” Her head bowed, somewhat disappointed. “I was very much looking forward to traveling in a sleeping car for the first time, too.”

“Oh, I think we’ll live,” Gina drawled with a flippant wave of her hand. “But I’ve got a bone to pick with that great detective, draggin’ us ‘alfway across the bloody world, and for wot - ”

“I’d think Tokyo is a little more ‘halfway across the world’ from London than Aberdeen, Inspector,” Ryunosuke reminded her. “And I must say, I still find it unbelievable that Mr Holmes and Iris made it all the way there without Miss Susato or myself noticing they were even gone. He really does have the strangest connections in the strangest places, doesn’t he?”

“As he should,” Susato said, nodding eagerly, her eyes considerably brighter than they had been a minute ago. It hadn’t escaped Ryunosuke’s attention that she’d tucked the latest issue of Randst Magazine in her sleeve just moments before they left Baker Street. “Ah, and there’s Kazuma-sama now! I knew he would make it on time.”

Ryunosuke turned on his heel, his heart in his throat at the sight of his best friend further down the platform, expertly navigating his way through the crowd. He rarely saw Kazuma in anything but his suspiciously tight uniform, so to see him dressed down in a shirt, vest, and slacks - with his sabre still on his hip, no less - was a welcome, if somewhat distracting sight. “My apologies for making you all wait,” Kazuma said once he’d joined them, offering them a short bow and a rueful smile. “I’d received a last-minute telegram from Lord van Zieks, asking if I could stop by the office before we left. I ignored it, of course.”

“Of course,” Ryunosuke echoed, trying not to snort. Despite their excellent working relationship, they never did quite see eye-to-eye even now. “Gina and Miss Susato were just telling me that Scotland Yard made a mistake when they made our reservations - two beds, not four.”

Kazuma’s brow furrowed, worrying at his bottom lip in a way that immediately drew Ryunosuke’s eyes to his mouth. “I see. So we’ll have to share, then?”

“I - oh. I didn’t even consider that,” Ryunosuke admitted, scratching the back of his neck. His face immediately warmed when he realized what it implied. “Wait, does that mean, er…”

“Me an’ Sooze, and you an’ Soggy, o’ course,” Gina said, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, ‘Oddo, you couldn’t ‘ave figured that out earlier?”

Kazuma let out a weary, irritable sigh. “Inspector Lestrade, please, my name is Asogi - ”

“Yeah, yeah, wotever,” Gina said, waving her hand yet again. “Fine, Mr Asogi, can we just get on with it already? My feet ‘urt.” Toby yipped in solidarity, his tail thumping eagerly against Susato’s cheek.

It wasn’t long before the train was fully boarded, with everyone settled comfortably in their compartments. The compartment itself was quite spacious, with enough room for the four of them to move about without constantly elbowing or kicking each other, though they had to be mindful of Toby and his habit of getting under their feet if he so pleased. The front half of the compartment had two long bench seats and a small table between them, allowing them to comfortably sit and talk. Ryunosuke’s eyes kept wandering towards the back half of the compartment where their beds were located, taking note of how narrow they were, how little space there was for two people to do anything but press right up against each other, arms and legs and bodies tangled together for comfort. He shivered at the thought, the kind of thought that could lead to other kinds of thoughts if he wasn’t careful.

“Ryunosuke?”

He turned, slightly startled by the sound of his given name. Out of everyone he knew and talked to regularly, between “Ryu” and “Mr Naruhodo”, “Naruhodo-san” and “‘Oddo”, Kazuma was still the only person who called him that. Despite it simply being his first name, nothing more, he found that there was a strange intimacy there, almost as if it were a private nickname all on its own. “I - yes, what is it?”

“Interesting,” Kazuma hummed with a sly smile from where he was seated opposite, one leg folded neatly over the other. “I see you’re just as distracted as Susato-san told me you were. Are you worried about the case?”

“No, nothing like that,” Ryunosuke replied, picking at the hem of his sleeve. “I simply just...didn’t get enough sleep last night. My mind seems to be wandering more than usual, almost as if it were already in Scotland all on its own.”

“Let’s hope the lull of the train will help you sleep, then. You’ll need to be well-rested if you want to do right by your client,” Kazuma said. Now it was his turn to look at the beds, continuing to hum as if he were in deep thought. “I’m not sure how we’ll fit, though. Susato-san and Inspector Lestrade are relatively small in stature, but you and I are...well…” He trailed off, gesturing wordlessly between the two of them. While neither of them were particularly tall, they were both more broad-shouldered than their respective frames would suggest.

“Maybe if...one of us were to sleep with their head at the foot of the bed?” Ryunosuke suggested feebly; it sounded ridiculous the moment it left his mouth. “Only that would leave one of us without a pillow, and both of us quite literally faced with feet.”

“Pillows are hardly a problem; we can just fold up one of our coats,” Kazuma said airily. “Though...now that I’m really looking at it, we might be fine as it is. We’ve shared a bed before, after all.”

“You ‘ave?” They both looked up to see Gina standing over them with a mouthful of biscuit and a stunned expression.

“Yes,” Kazuma said, his expression faltering very briefly. “We...on the SS Burya, when I had Ryunosuke hidden away in my cabin.”

Ryunosuke couldn’t help but smile bittersweetly at the memory, at how it felt like it had happened many lifetimes ago. He supposed for Kazuma, it felt like another life entirely. “You still remember those first two weeks, do you?”

“Of course,” Kazuma replied. His face was softer now, a little less poised, a little less composed. It was the sort of expression that Ryunosuke liked best, the ones where Kazuma looked more boyish, more free, or at least, that’s how he hoped Kazuma felt. Even now - or maybe especially now - he never knew exactly what Kazuma was thinking. “Inspector, did Ryunosuke ever tell you the story of how he came to be in Great Britain?”

“Once or twice, I think, but I’d like to ‘ear it from both of you, if I’m bein’ ‘onest,” Gina admitted, plopping down beside Ryunosuke and jostling him and his cup of tea in the process. “Go on, then, tell me all about it.”

_____

After spending the remainder of their day exchanging stories and laughter, their foggy London afternoon slowly but surely melted into a rather hazy evening, rendering all of them pleasantly sleepy by the time they were to turn in for the night. “I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable tonight, Naruhodo-san, Kazuma-sama,” Susato said with a sympathetic grimace. “At least neither of you are as tall as Mr Holmes or Lord van Zieks.”

“Yes, small miracles,” Ryunosuke drawled, shuddering. He often found Sherlock sleeping in the strangest of places in the strangest of positions at the strangest of times - halfway sprawled up the stairs with his pipe still in his mouth, face-down on the floor with his coat inexplicably draped over his prone form, draped artfully over the back of the couch with his arms spread wide - so he could only imagine what it would be like to share a bed with the man. He suddenly found himself feeling very sorry for Professor Mikotoba. “Goodnight, Susato-san.”

“And please feel free to wake us if you need anything from your luggage,” Kazuma added. “I’d rather not have something suddenly drop on my head in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, of course,” Susato promised with a gentle chuckle. “Good night, and sleep well.” She then bowed and drew the curtain that hung between the two beds, leaving Ryunosuke and Kazuma to themselves.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence seemed to linger in the air, neither of them wanting to make the first move. Ryunosuke felt as if he had to hold his breath for some inexplicable reason, his face heating from the effort. Then, Kazuma smiled drowsily in Ryunosuke’s direction. “Let me guess - you’d like to be on the inside so you don’t risk falling off?”

“You know me so well,” Ryunosuke said, laughing awkwardly. Nodding, Kazuma moved aside so Ryunosuke could get into bed first, then extinguished the last of the compartment’s lights before crawling in after him. Ryunosuke swallowed a gasp the moment Kazuma moved in close; it was just as tight of a fit as he’d dreaded, what with Kazuma’s chest pressed against his back, Kazuma’s soft breath lingering near his ear, making the hairs on his arms prickle in discomfort. He was warm, too warm, smelling of ink and incense and tea, leaving Ryunosuke dizzy, almost overwhelmed.

“You’re shaking, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Are you cold? I have an extra jumper in my luggage if you’re in need of a - ”

“No, no, I-I’m fine,” Ryunosuke said a little too quickly; he could barely hear himself over the rapid thumping of his own heart. “Well...g’night, Kazuma.”

Even in the darkness, he could sense Kazuma raising an eyebrow at the abrupt dismissal. “...yes, good night.”

The next few minutes felt like hours, where all Ryunosuke could do was listen to the sound of Kazuma’s breath slowly, but surely even out as he fell asleep. He envied Kazuma’s ability to drift off so quickly, especially in a situation like this. Usually, the gentle, rhythmic click-clack of the train tracks would’ve put him right to sleep, but all Ryunosuke could think about now was how solid Kazuma was, how firm he felt, his stomach pressed perfectly against the small of Ryunosuke’s back. He didn’t dare turn over to look, even with Kazuma fast asleep, knowing his barely feigned composure would fall apart in an instant.

Resigning himself to yet another restless night, Ryunosuke squirmed closer to the wall in the hopes that he could put at least a little distance between him and Kazuma, fruitless as his efforts might be. To his dismay, all he managed to do was move too quickly, accidentally smashing his nose against said wall, causing him to cry out in pain. “Ah!”

“Ryunosuke?” Kazuma had stirred instantly, albeit sleepily. “What happened, are you alright?”

“Fide,” Ryunosuke managed to say, clutching his face. To his horror, he felt the unmistakable rush of blood start to seep between the spread of his fingers. “I’m fide, I just - I got a liddle too close to the wall and hid my dose.”

“Well, you certainly don’t sound ‘fide’,” Kazuma sighed, yawning. He grabbed Ryunosuke by the shoulders without warning, hauling him upright. Then, he pulled a handkerchief out of seemingly nowhere and began to gingerly wipe Ryunosuke’s face. “Let’s clean you up first, then I’ll see if anything’s broken.”

“I’m sure it’s - ” But the words died on Ryunosuke’s lips the moment Kazuma’s other hand was on his face, tenderly cradling his jaw so he could hold him in place. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see Kazuma somewhat clearly, saw the concentrated furrow of his brow and the irritated pull of his mouth. “So...how does it look?”

“Bruised, naturally,” Kazuma replied with yet another disapproving sigh. “But nothing’s broken. You really need to be more careful, Ryunosuke. This is you clipping your ear with your bowstring all over again.”

“Yes, yes, nothing I haven’t heard before,” Ryunosuke grumbled. He then managed a small, apologetic smile. “...sorry for waking you, Kazuma.”

Kazuma’s expression softened. “It’s alright. I’d only been asleep for ten minutes; was I supposed to let you bleed out beside me?”

“You make it sound so dramatic. It was only a little bit of blood, nothing I couldn’t have taken care of myself,” Ryunosuke chuckled, his cheeks warming nonetheless. It was only then that he realized Kazuma was still holding him, their legs intertwined beneath them. Suddenly, he became very aware of each and every point of contact - Kazuma’s calloused fingers pressed along the underside of his jaw, Kazuma’s elbows grazing the tops of his legs, Kazuma’s knee pressed against the inside of his thigh - it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Ryunosuke inwardly cursed himself for thinking of such things at a time like this, at a time when they were about to resume lying beside each other while trying their best not to touch. Or, he supposed, that was what he was trying not to do. Kazuma, on the other hand, was clearly unbothered, unaffected.

“Ryunosuke?”

“Hm?” Ryunosuke blinked. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“You really are absent-minded today, aren’t you?” Kazuma murmured, laughing softly, lifting his other hand to brush Ryunosuke’s hair out of his face. Ryunosuke shivered. “Is there anything I can do to help you sleep? If you need more tea, or maybe something to use as another blanket...”

“Oh, er...no, I’m alright,” Ryunosuke said, clumsily slipping out of Kazuma’s grasp with a sharp jerk of his head. “It’s, ah, very warm with both of us in here, so.”

Kazuma cocked his head, looking at him curiously. “Is it now?” Ryunosuke opened his mouth, then closed it; he wasn’t sure what to make of Kazuma’s soft, raspy voice, nor of his dark, inquisitive gaze. Then, Kazuma’s eyes seem to flicker downwards, lingering on Ryunosuke’s bottom lip. “Ryunosuke…”

Ryunosuke swallowed thickly. “We really should get to sleep, or else neither of us will be alert enough to take this case seriously.”

Kazuma went quiet for a moment, thinking. He leaned back onto his hands, his gaze drifting elsewhere. “Should I...sleep on the floor?” he asked; it was the most tentative he’d ever sounded.

“Wh...what?” Ryunosuke’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, I - why would you even ask that?”

“Because I’m clearly making you uncomfortable,” Kazuma said sharply, now sounding the complete opposite of how he’d been just moments ago. Even in the pitch black of the sleeping car, Ryunosuke could see how much his eyes had hardened, had narrowed to slits. “So naturally, I should sleep elsewhere.”

“But the floor, it’s…” Ryunosuke trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say. Once again, he found himself at a loss as to what Kazuma was really thinking. “And I’m not uncomfortable, just...warm. Please, Kazuma, don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf.”

“And you shouldn’t make yourself uncomfortable on mine,” Kazuma retorted somewhat childishly, frowning. “For whatever reason, you obviously don’t want to be anywhere near me, so…”

“That’s not - ” Ryunosuke let out a frustrated groan; the conversation was starting to move too quickly for him, especially in his barely conscious state. It didn’t help that their surroundings were deathly quiet, save for the sound of Susato and Gina’s breathing and the click-clack of the train, leaving him with nothing but Kazuma’s piercing stare and his own too-loud thoughts. “Let’s just go back to sleep, alright? We have work to do, first thing in the morning.”

Still scowling, Kazuma lowered himself back down onto the mattress, his head hitting the pillow rather forcefully, with Ryunosuke following suit. He could practically feel Kazuma’s irritation rolling off his body in waves. For a moment, everything was silent, so silent that Ryunosuke worried that Kazuma was genuinely angry with him. Then, he spoke again. “...we weren’t like this on the SS Burya.”

Ryunosuke hesitated. Then, he turned over, bringing himself face-to-face with Kazuma. He looked wounded somehow, but Ryunosuke couldn’t quite fathom why. “Things were so...different, Kazuma. We were so different.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Kazuma’s voice had dropped to a barely-there whisper. “I told you, you...you never change.” Then, he visibly swallowed. “And that’s what I like about you.”

“Kazuma…” Ryunosuke only just managed to avert his gaze; he felt that if his eyes lingered on Kazuma’s any longer, things would start to feel decidedly more dangerous. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that…” Kazuma took a deep breath, then exhaled, warm air ghosting across Ryunosuke’s skin. “...that I still think about those conversations we shared, after I’d managed to convince you that no one would find out if you were to sleep in my bed. Things we’d never dared to talk about since.”

“For a good reason - many reasons, actually,” Ryunosuke reminded him with a wan smile. “We’d never found the right time.”

“What about now, hm?” Just like that, Kazuma’s hand was cupping his jaw again, his thumb lightly pressed against the corner of Ryunosuke’s mouth. “Or...am I right in thinking that you have changed, and you don’t want to talk about this anymore?”

“Is that really what you think?” Ryunosuke asked uncertainly, his heartbeat pulsing erratically in his throat. “Is that why you offered to sleep on the floor?”

“I certainly wouldn’t blame you for changing your mind,” Kazuma said wryly, though the bite in his voice didn’t quite match the resignation in his eyes. Ryunosuke hated that he was getting used to this, to this defeated expression that didn’t suit Kazuma one bit. “After all, I’m...I’m hardly the person you thought I was.”

“Perhaps.” Ryunosuke inched the slightest bit closer, clasping his hand over Kazuma’s. Kazuma’s breath hitched, surprised. “Or perhaps you’re still the same person I thought you were at your core. And just like you, I...I still think about those nights all the time. Those conversations we had, those memories we shared...Kazuma, even after everything that’s happened since then, I...I...I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Ryunosuke,” Kazuma murmured; he almost sounded afraid. His other hand was now pressed against Ryunosuke’s chest, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, like he hadn’t yet decided whether to push him away or pull him right in. “You’re not saying…”

“Th-that’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.” Ryunosuke huffed out a quiet laugh. “My feelings for you never changed, even if we have.”

And then, as if his resolve had crumbled away entirely, Kazuma pulled Ryunosuke close, their lips crashing together rather violently, passionately, like they’d been waiting their entire lives to meet. Kazuma swallowed Ryunosuke’s gasp before he could let it escape, his fingers now tangled in Ryunosuke’s hair. It took Ryunosuke a moment to find his footing, his arms winding around Kazuma’s shoulders as he pulled him even closer, lips parting so he could deepen the kiss. Then, Kazuma shifted his body weight so he could turn them over, pinning Ryunosuke to the bed; their mouths only separated for a split second before colliding once more.

“Ryu,” Kazuma said breathlessly after some time; Ryunosuke couldn’t help but feel a little thrill go up his spine at the sight of Kazuma’s kiss-bitten mouth, illuminated by just a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the car window. “You’re so...you should really see yourself.”

Ryunosuke’s cheeks flushed, pleased. “I’d have to say the same to you,” he said softly, reaching up to trace his thumb across the fullness of Kazuma’s bottom lip. Kazuma’s mouth seemed to fall open automatically, his eyes darkening as it did. Ryunosuke shuddered again, his toes curling with anticipation, knowing exactly what that look was supposed to mean. “Kazuma…”

“I know, I know.” Kazuma half-collapsed into Ryunosuke’s side, his knee tucked between Ryunosuke’s thighs. He began running his fingers through Ryunosuke’s hair, gentler now. Slowly, but surely, the hungry look in his eyes started to soften into something a little sweeter. “If we were alone, then...but even so, perhaps it’s for the best that we take things slow. You’ve only been back in London for a few months, after all. We have time to...to have those conversations again.”

Ryunosuke offered him a hopeful smile. “As we should.” Still, he leaned back in to kiss him, more chastely this time, his hands slipping underneath the hem of Kazuma’s shirt so he could feel his warmth. Kazuma seemed to instinctively lean into his touch, the curve of his stomach fitting perfectly into Ryunosuke’s palm. “And here I was worried that you changed your mind, or that...that you might not have meant any of it in the first place.”

“Never,” Kazuma promised, squeezing Ryunosuke’s hip. “I swear on my honor, Ryunosuke, that I meant every last word.” Satisfied, Ryunosuke kissed him yet again before eventually pulling away with a yawn. Kazuma smirked, pinching him. “Have I worn you out that easily, then? Is this what the rest of our relationship is going to be like?”

“Quiet, you,” Ryunosuke chuckled, nudging him affectionately. Kazuma had to bite his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. “I really do mean it this time; we need to sleep. Gina and Susato-san will definitely notice if we’re both swaying on our feet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Kazuma said airily, wrapping his arms around Ryunosuke’s midsection, his face pressed into his neck. Ryunosuke let out a long, contented sigh, sinking into Kazuma’s embrace in return. A moment or two of comfortable silence soon settled over them, a moment that felt more like an hour, only this time, Ryunosuke would’ve liked to remain where he was for as long as he could. “How about now, partner, are you still too warm?”

“You’re terrible,” Ryunosuke informed him, grinning. “Don’t make me strike everything I’ve just said from the record.” He felt as if he were past the point of exhaustion now, his mind half-delirious, half-ecstatic, his body pliant and snug against Kazuma’s, like it was supposed to be there all along.

Beaming, clearly pleased with himself, Kazuma dropped one last kiss on Ryunosuke’s temple before settling back onto the pillow. “Good night, Ryunosuke.”

Ryunosuke’s eyelids fluttered shut, content. “Good night, Kazuma.”

_____

Hours later, Ryunosuke stirred from what felt like the deepest sleep he’d had in months, feeling rather groggy and sluggish, barely able to lift a finger more than an inch above the mattress at most. Yet, at the same time, he also felt safe, secure, likely because of the arms wrapped protectively around him, the legs that were intertwined with his, the head half-buried in his chest, with warm, slow, even breaths tickling the bare skin of Ryunosuke’s neck. It took Ryunosuke a moment to realize he also felt something wet, like someone had run a damp washcloth over his cheeks. Short of his nose bleeding again in the middle of the night and Kazuma cleaning him up without waking him, he couldn’t fathom why.

“Well, don’t you two look all cozied up, eh?” Ryunosuke looked up, blinking blearily into the early morning sun, to see Gina standing over him with a smug smirk that rivaled Kazuma’s, Toby in her arms as per usual, his little pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. He yipped happily the moment Ryunosuke looked at him; Ryunosuke, on the other hand, recoiled in realization. “Sleep well, ‘Oddo?”

“...yes, quite well, thank you,” Ryunosuke said, slowly pushing himself up into a seated position. “Miss Susato, could I trouble you to wet that cloth you’re holding so I can clean my face?”

Susato glanced over from where she was standing, currently in the midst of wiping down their teacups, brows furrowed in confusion. Then, she let out a tiny gasp upon seeing his face. “Oh, Mr Naruhodo! Your nose is all bruised! What happened, are you alright?”

“I’d...rather not talk about it,” Ryunosuke replied, wilting somewhat. With a reluctant nod, Susato poured a little bit of water onto the cloth, then handed it to him, her eyes softening when she noticed Kazuma still sleeping soundly behind Ryunosuke, one of his arms draped loosely across Ryunosuke’s lap.

“We’ve another hour before we arrive, if you’d like to lie down for a while longer,” Susato offered, looking at him pointedly. “Gina and I will be taking Toby for a walk, just up and down the train corridor.”

Ryunosuke smiled softly. “Thank you, Miss Susato. I think I’d like that a lot.” Minutes later, Susato, Gina, and Toby left their compartment - against Gina’s will, it seemed; she was clearly desperate to poke fun at Ryunosuke’s expense, but Susato practically dragged her out by her jacket collar - leaving Ryunosuke to settle back down onto the bed, having finally wiped the dog drool off his face. He turned onto his side so he could look at Kazuma, who, much to his dismay, really only ever looked truly at ease when he was asleep. Sighing, Ryunosuke brushed Kazuma’s hair out of his eyes, quietly admiring the length of his eyelashes, the softness of his skin. He found himself greatly preferring the gentle click-clack of the train over the lurching, creaking cacophony of the SS Burya.

Then, Kazuma blinked, stirring at Ryunosuke’s touch, his expression unusually vulnerable. “...Ryunosuke?”

“Go back to sleep, Kazuma,” Ryunosuke murmured. “We won’t be in Aberdeen for another hour or so.”

“I see.” Kazuma then lifted an arm, offering Ryunosuke a drowsy smile. “Come, then, I’d like my pillow back.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Ryunosuke teased, sinking back into Kazuma’s embrace once more with a happy hum. This time, it was he who laid his head against Kazuma’s chest, his grin softening at the sound of Kazuma’s steady heartbeat beneath his cheek.

Kazuma chuckled, then leaned down to kiss him sweetly. “Never, Ryunosuke. You’re...you’ve always been so, so much more.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my second entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! I still believe absolutely no one when they say Ryunosuke was just in the wardrobe the entire time; you cannot convince me that Kazuma wouldn't insist on sharing the bed after all that fuss they made about not being able to open the locked cabin door from outside. As with any short(er) fic, I can totally see myself turning this into a full-blown case fic where they also solve a murder on the train à la Agatha Christie, but that probably won't happen until a long, long time from now, if ever.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#asoryuu #asoryuu week 2021 #ace attorney #asoryuu fic #dai gyakuten saiban #the great ace attorney #ace attorney spoilers #dgs spoilers #tgaa spoilers #tgaac spoilers #myfic #long post #decided to go in a slightly different direction since i figured most people are doing ss burya fics #i need to practice writing gina so i can include her in more things

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cleverwordsandotherstuffilike · 3 years ago

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January 1911. South Pittston, Pennsylvania. "A view of the Pennsylvania Breaker. 'Breaker boys' remove rocks and other debris from the coal by hand as it passes beneath them. The dust is so dense at times as to obscure the view and penetrates the utmost recesses of the boys' lungs." Photo by Lewis Wickes Hine.

From the 1906 book The Bitter Cry of the Children by labor reformer John Spargo:

Work in the coal breakers is exceedingly hard and dangerous. Crouched over the chutes, the boys sit hour after hour, picking out the pieces of slate and other refuse from the coal as it rushes past to the washers. From the cramped position they have to assume, most of them become more or less deformed and bent-backed like old men. When a boy has been working for some time and begins to get round-shouldered, his fellows say that “He’s got his boy to carry round wherever he goes.”

The coal is hard, and accidents to the hands, such as cut, broken, or crushed fingers, are common among the boys. Sometimes there is a worse accident: a terrified shriek is heard, and a boy is mangled and torn in the machinery, or disappears in the chute to be picked out later smothered and dead. Clouds of dust fill the breakers and are inhaled by the boys, laying the foundations for asthma and miners’ consumption.

I once stood in a breaker for half an hour and tried to do the work a 12-year-old boy was doing day after day, for 10 hours at a stretch, for 60 cents a day. The gloom of the breaker appalled me. Outside the sun shone brightly, the air was pellucid, and the birds sang in chorus with the trees and the rivers. Within the breaker there was blackness, clouds of deadly dust enfolded everything, the harsh, grinding roar of the machinery and the ceaseless rushing of coal through the chutes filled the ears. I tried to pick out the pieces of slate from the hurrying stream of coal, often missing them; my hands were bruised and cut in a few minutes; I was covered from head to foot with coal dust, and for many hours afterwards I was expectorating some of the small particles of anthracite I had swallowed.

I could not do that work and live, but there were boys of 10 and 12 years of age doing it for 50 and 60 cents a day. Some of them had never been inside of a school; few of them could read a child’s primer. True, some of them attended the night schools, but after working 10 hours in the breaker the educational results from attending school were practically nil. “We goes fer a good time, an’ we keeps de guys wot’s dere hoppin’ all de time,” said little Owen Jones, whose work I had been trying to do.

From the breakers the boys graduate to the mine depths, where they become door tenders, switch boys, or mule drivers. Here, far below the surface, work is still more dangerous. At 14 or 15 the boys assume the same risks as the men, and are surrounded by the same perils. Nor is it in Pennsylvania only that these conditions exist. In the bituminous mines of West Virginia, boys of 9 or 10 are frequently employed. I met one little fellow 10 years old in Mount Carbon, West Virginia, last year, who was employed as a “trap boy.” Think of what it means to be a trap boy at 10 years of age. It means to sit alone in a dark mine passage hour after hour, with no human soul near; to see no living creature except the mules as they pass with their loads, or a rat or two seeking to share one’s meal; to stand in water or mud that covers the ankles, chilled to the marrow by the cold draughts that rush in when you open the trap door for the mules to pass through; to work for 14 hours — waiting — opening and shutting a door — then waiting again for 60 cents; to reach the surface when all is wrapped in the mantle of night, and to fall to the earth exhausted and have to be carried away to the nearest “shack” to be revived before it is possible to walk to the farther shack called “home.”

Boys 12 years of age may be legally employed in the mines of West Virginia, by day or by night, and for as many hours as the employers care to make them toil or their bodies will stand the strain. Where the disregard of child life is such that this may be done openly and with legal sanction, it is easy to believe what miners have again and again told me — that there are hundreds of little boys of 9 and 10 years of age employed in the coal mines of this state.

https://www.shorpy.com/node/32

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lolo314 · 5 years ago

Text

Soma Week Day 1: Dare

@soulxmakaweek

I love these idiots so I figured I’d try my hand at this whole Soma week thing, lol.

Title: The Dare. (so creative).

Notes: It’s a college au so the drinking is totally legal.

Summary: Drunk idiot makes bad decisions.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23988775

Also sending love to @friday1221 for making an awesome art for this fic.<3

Maka didn’t expect her day to end like this, her lips on Soul’s in an urgent kiss.

When she woke up that morning, it was like any other Saturday. Soul slept way past noon with the excuse of it being a weekend, Maka made breakfast and worked on her assignments for the next week before their paths crossed for what was her lunch and his breakfast.

“Blackstar says to take a cab. Apparently we’ll be too drunk to drive after. “he said in between large bites. Their friend had been harassing them about a small get-together he had planned since Monday, ensuring them they’d have a great time. Maka had been hesitant, knowing the aftermath of Blackstar’s idea of fun, but reluctantly agreed, promising herself she wouldn’t wake up the next day with a hangover.

“I’ll drive us. I’m not planning to drink anyways.” she already felt tired thinking about taming a drunk Soul.

“That’s… How about I drive us for once?” she scuffed, carrying her empty place to the sink.

“I’m not paying a ticket for drunk driving.” He opened his mouth but she cut him off with her hand.

“Its fine, Soul. I don’t mind.” She smiled before sitting herself on the couch, picking up a

book to get lost in until it was time to get ready. They didn’t talk much after that. She could tell something was on his mind as he moved about the apartment, but he didn’t seem ready to share it.

The low rumbling of the engine was the only sound breaking the silence of the car ride to Blackstar’s and Tsubaki’s apartment.

“Hey, Maka. “he was fidgeting with a lose string of his T-Shirt, his gaze on the passing view.

“I hope you don’t drink because you hate the taste of alcohol and not because you have to deal with me when I’m drunk.” When he turned to look at her she could tell he had thought about this a lot. That’s what he’s been thinking about all day?

“It’s fine, Soul. Don’t worry about it.” She was smiling, but he didn’t seem convinced.

“Don’t ruin your fun on my account. It’s a Saturday night. Live a little. “she considered him for a few minutes, running her options through her head. She didn’t want to ruin his night by making him worry about her having fun, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it would be messy if they both let loose.

“So you want me to not think about you? You’re weird.” He laughed, looking relieved the atmosphere had shifted into something brighter.

“Okay then. I’ll try to relax.” He exhaled, before smiling widely.

“You know it’s ridiculous that we need to have a conversation about you letting loose at a party, right?”

“What can I say? I’m just that special.” They both laughed as the approached their friend’s house, both oblivious to what awaited them.

”Let’s play truth or dare!” Backstar’s voice stood out among all the chattering. He and Liz were drunk by hour two of the small party, only half aware of what was happening.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Tsubaki pulled a half empty cup of beer from Blackstar’s hand.

“Last time we played you ended up crying…” Maka could clearly remember the memory Tsubaki was referencing. Soul and Liz had ended up dumping him in a bathtub full of water to sober him up, and maybe get a laugh out of it.

“Huh?” his face twisted in confusion.

“Don’t you remember? When you asked if it was true that I am single?” fear masked his features.

“You’re not?” he seemed ready to cry.

“Star..We’ve been dating for two years. Honestly, how much did you drink?” his face lit up.

“Who cares? Let’s play!” he sat himself on the floor , dragging Tsubaki down with him and gesturing for everyone to follow him. When everyone had taken their seats, the game begun.

“I’ll start!” Liz’s hand shot up and her eyes fell on Kid.

“Truth or Dare?” he weighed his options, considering her past challenges when drunk.

“Truth.” She frowned.

“You’re no fun… Truth it is. Is it true that I’m the best girlfriend you’ve ever had?”

“You’re the only girlfriend I’ve had. I can’t compare. “she pushed herself towards him and flicked his forehead.

“ You’re supposed to say yes!” he only laughed, placing a comforting hand around her shoulders.”

After a few turns, Blackstar turned to Maka.

“Truth or Dare?” Soul’s words flashed in her mind as she weighed her options.

“Dare.” A devious smile spread across his face.

“Now we’re talking! Maka, I dare you to chug that entire cup.” He pointed to the untouched alcohol. Live a little. She took a deep breath and pulled the cup to her lips, taking it all in one swift motion. Cheers erupted around her. She laughed, her head spinning and her throat burning by the sudden intrusion. She glanced at Soul, who was clapping along with everyone else.

After a lot more rounds, during which everyone, particularly Maka, had gotten considerably drunker.

“I dare you to Kiss Soul!” Liz’s words were slightly slurred when she pointed at Maka.

“Naaah. She wot do t. I’v ased bfore.” Blackstar’s head shook dramatically as he spat out broken words. Maka looked at Blackstar, clearly expecting her to take another shot. She looked at Soul, who seemed to agree with their friend.

She could faintly hear a voice in the back of her mind screaming as she crawled toward him. Her body moved on its own and she was too tipsy to stop herself from taking his face in her hands and crashing her lips against his, ignoring any consequences it would have on their relationship. The moment their lips locked, she momentarily forgot about the game. Something felt right and she didn’t want to stop, but her mind finally caught up with her and she pulled way, now facing a completely shocked Soul.

“Damn! That was intense!” Liz was giggling as she clapped and yelled. She moved back to her seat, trying to ignore Soul, whose cheeks were a deep shade of red, his mouth hanging open. She smiled as she took another sip of her drink, only faintly aware that she’d regret everything the next day.

When Maka woke up the next morning her head throbbed. She blinked a few times, trying to adjust her eyes to the light. Memories slowly came back to her. The party, truth or dare, drinking. A lot of drinking, kissing Soul. Wait… What?! Her body shot up, instantly regretting the action. Her vision blurred, her head spun.

“You’re awake?” Soul’s head peeked through the door before he walked in with a tray in his hands. She took her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to remember the details. I kissed Soul… It was for a dare… but I kissed him… and… I liked it? She mentally slapped herself, hard. Don’t be stupid. He’s your best friend.

“I’m guessing you feel like shit… I’ve been there.” He ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze.

“I, uh, brought you some toast and some water. You’re probably dehydrated… I also brought some aspirin… Take that too...” he stood awkwardly, waiting for her brain to go back to its original place. She avoided his gaze as she took the water in her hands, putting the aspirin in her mouth. She took a deep breath and dared a look at him, soon realizing that was a mistake.

“Shit.” She ran to the bathroom, unloading everything that entered her body in the last 24 hours. Soul run after her, holding her hair back until she was done.

The next few hours had been hell. Her stomach turned, her head felt like it was about to bust and even so, her brain found in impossible to stop replaying the scene in her head. His lips on hers, the taste of his mouth. Shut up!

His presence didn’t help. He had been taking care of her all day, trying to help her get through her hangover as smoothly as possible. She hadn’t spoken any word to him other than a thank you here and there, too ashamed to say anything else.

“Are you feeling any better?” he sat himself on the edge of the couch, as if trying not to disturb anything around her.

“Not really… Seriously... I promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk but…” he smiled apologetically. What is he sorry for?

“I’m sorry… I should’ve probably stopped you before you got completely out of it… It’s just… you looked like you were having fun…” she shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. It was my fault..” she looked at the cup of water in her hands, trying to find the right words to apologize.

“I’m sorry about this…” she could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him.

“Don’t be. Think of it as payback for making you take care of me when I’m hangover.” He laughed, trying to ease the tension. She looked away, feeling terrible that he saw it that way. She took care of him because she wanted to, not because she felt obligated to do so. She jumped when she felt his hands on her shoulder.

“Hey, Maka Look at me.” She took a deep breath and turned her face, trying to avert her eyes from his lips, focusing on his eyes instead.

“It’s fine. Seriously. “ his hand dropped and he retreated to his seat. An awkward silence engulfed them. She had done it. She had broken the connection. The comfort. Stupid Maka… She desperately tried to think of a way to take things back the way they were.

“How come you’re not hangover? Didn’t you drink?” he shook his head.

“Nah. Didn’t feel like it.” Her heart dropped. He would never admit it, but she could read between the lines. Someone had to take care of you… Not only did you ruin your friendship… you also ruined his night…

“Sorry… Did I give you a hard time last night? I don’t really remember what happened after that drink … after…” her voice trailed off, refusing to name it. He nodded in understanding.

“No… you kind of just fell asleep..” her eyes widened.

“I fell asleep? So… how did I get here?” she wanted to take the words back the moment they left her mouth. She already knew what was coming and it only worsened her guilt.

“I carried you… Uh.. yeah… Do you need more water?” he rose from the seat and practically sprinted to the kitchen, leaving her alone with her thoughts. I’ve done it… I’ve ruined us…

#soulxmakaweek #somaweek2020 #soul eater #soul x maka #soma

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peaky-malachai · 5 years ago

Text

﹒☼﹒

UPON RETURN ⎟ T. SHELBY

﹒♱﹒

✒︎requested: no i just loved the gif ✒︎warnings: swearing & narcotics + mentions of blood, bruises & violence && lots of tension ✒︎word count: 5000+ ✒︎season set: 1

[originally posted on my wattpad, bc idk how to post via tumblr but we tryin’. feedback majorly appreciated x]

﹒♱﹒

You took a deep breath as you lifted your bruised and dried bloody knuckle to the oh so familiar door. A thousand thoughts racing through your mind as you tapped your foot, both with impatience and disconcertment of what consequences would follow.

You had moved to Small Heath at the age of seven, give or take, your father had got a job promotion which meant moving up country. When you first arrived you were known as 'The Cockneys At The Bottom Of Watery Lane'. You weren't even from London. You just happened to live near the capital. Not that anyone cared.

When you started school it was the same, only worse. All the girls would pick on you for speaking funny and the boys would pick on you for being too 'brash'. It wasn't your fault your parents had raised you to not take any shit. With your fathers line of work, he wasn't around an awful lot which mean you and your mother had to do a lot of things yourself. Which you, of course, didn't mind but it did mean that a lot of people would be confused and usually straight up rude.

They'd say things along the lines of, 'Whys a women doing this' and, 'Are women even capable of doing that', and so on, when you and your mother were doing the simplest of things.

Anyway, when you joined the school in Small Heath you found that being a girl with her head held high and strong arms wasn't easy.

One day you were minding your own business under the oak tree in the corner of the playground, reading Oliver Twist, if you remember correctly. When out of nowhere a group of kids made their way over to you; three girls and about five boys, all looking irritated.

"Wot ya doing, girl?", a boy with a scarf on asked you.

You rolled your eyes, turning to look at him as you put your bookmark in your book, "I have a name, you know?".

The boy scowled, "I don't care".

'What do you want?', you asked again, looking at the rest of them, "I'm busy".

A girl took a step forward, her hands behind her back as her plaits fell in front of her shoulders, "Just wanted to know why you're such a freak?".

You laughed, "I'm not a freak", you stood up.

"Yeah you are", a little boy from the back spoke up, "Ya read all the time n wear trousers". Another girl nodded, "Yeah girls don't wear trousers, they're for boys, ya freak".

"Girls can wear trousers too, you know?", you crossed your arms, "They're actually really comfortable".

The first boy that spoke to you shook his head, "I bet you wear trousers coz your mum n dad can't afford dresses, ay?", he said as he turned to look at his friends.

You didn't think twice before you lunged forward and brought the boy to the ground, "Fuck did you just say?", you spat as his friends gasped. When the boy didn't answer you shook him by his collar a little, "Didn't hear you".

"I said", he spoke, "You're poor and a freak of a girl", he sniggered.

You narrowed your eyes and lifted your fist before hitting him in the nose. He yelled and pushed you, knocking you slightly but you didn't fall over.

The kids started shouting "Fight... Fight... Fight...", causing a crowd of other kids to come running.

Soon enough you had hit him about four times before you heard an older voice, "Wots going on 'ere then?". You turned around to see three boys in flat caps, the voice belonging to the tallest.

"Wot's it look like?", you said, "I'm beating him u-", you were cut off as the boy beneath you grabbed one of your braids, yanking you down to the floor with him.

You quickly kicked him in the stomach before the three boys grabbed you and held you back, the other boy groaning in pain.

Walking you away as you shouted the boys laughed.

"Wot's your name then?", the smallest one asked as they sat you on a bench. You kept your chin up as you studied them, "Y/N", you narrowed your eyes, " 'ho uh you's then?".

The other two boys looked at each-other and chuckled before turning back to you, "That", they motioned to the smallest boy, "Is John". You nodded. "I'm Arthur", the tallest said before turning to the boy in the middle, "And this is-".

"I'm Tommy", he said as he held his hand out for you to shake, "These are my brothers".

You shook his hand and sat up straighter, "So Wot?", you began, "Yous the topdogs 'ere or sumin?", you asked.

They laughed as John spoke, "Yeah! We're the best here". Tommy gently shoved his brother, "Shut up, John", he said and looked back to you, "We're not yet, but no one messes with us if that's what you mean".

You nodded again, "So can I join your little gang?".

Arthur laughed, "Well you're not a Shel-", his brother Tommy cut him off.

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about actually, Y/N".

You smiled, "So that's a yes?".

John looked over to his older brothers, "Oh please, she's funny!".

Arthur looked back to you, "Where'd you live?", he asked you.

"Wa'ery Lane", you told him, "'bout a month now".

"Oh you're that girl", he said, "She's the cockney down the bottom of the Lane", he nudged Tommy.

"Alright we'll come and see you after school and you can join us", Tommy smiled.

You jumped to your feet and stood on your tippy-toes to be at the same height as Tommy, "Nah", you simply said as you watched his eyebrows furrow, "I'll meet yous, by the bridge at 'alf three", alright?".

Tommy sighed, "Deal". The two of you spat on your hand and shook on it.

The rest was history. You and the three brother became best friends. Wherever you went, they followed and whoever they met up with, so did you.

You and John were the same age, you two were practically the same, it was hilarious. As you grew up you and John would always be playing pranks on the others and messing around with baby Micheal. No one left the two of you alone because they knew something would end up alight.

As for Arthur and Tommy, you all got on well. Whenever anyone messes with you, a seldom occurrence, they wouldn't mind paying them a quick visit. You helped Arthur with his maths and various other things as often as you could, although you didn't tell everyone about that, he wasn't proud.

As for Tommy, you two always loved to talk about the bigger picture and such. Often you two would walk down to the Canal or Charlie's Yard and spend a good few hours just talking about life and theories and your life aspirations.

By the time you and John were 18 your life had changed a lot, along with his. Of course you were still close friends but what with work and relationships you didn't see him as much as you would've liked. The same with Arthur, he always seemed to be busy, doing what you weren't sure exactly but when you did see him you'd always stop for a chat.

You saw Tommy most, he always made a point of stopping into the Newsagents you worked at, just to say good morning. You appreciated the gesture but couldn't help but feel as if you were wasting his time, you were always so busy trying to set up for the day you never got a minute to sit and chat with him.

As you had grown older, yours and Tommy's relationship had shifted slightly. Not that either of you dared to acknowledge, but you knew. You were both guilty of finding excuses to be around each-other and touch one another. Purposely bickering to clear a room of Shelby's out so that you were alone. Stealing glances whilst the other weren't paying attention. Just silly little things that you would try and pass off as platonic intimacy as you laid in bed at night overthinking every single word you said to the man that day... and every other day you'd ever known him.

Of course you wondered if he felt the same. It felt like he did but you could just be imagining that. And you weren't prepared to ruin what you had just because of some silly crush.

However come the end of 1913 your father was now too old to do the job he had moved here to do. And your mother missed her home town and family and as one thing led to another and they decided it was time to move back.

Of course you were devastated, you loved your job even though it was more than trouble then it was worth and you loved your friends. But you were also excited to go back, of course you had been back, Christmas and Easter and what not. But you missed living there, the bustle, the accents, the opportunities and fast changing trends.

So that's what happened, you spent your last few weeks making the most of it with the Shelby's and your job before the day you left came around. You promised you'd visit, and of course you would. You promised to write, and of course you went out and brought new writing pens and paper.

By the time you were settled back into your hometown war had broken out and it seemed almost every man you knew here was off to war. The brothers back in Birmingham as well. You couldn't bare to think about the consequences of that. You still kept in touch with all three of them though.

Until you didn't.

Around a month after the boys were back from the war the letters stopped coming. You weren't sure why or how but they did. So you stopped writing. Your pride was to big to just simply write to Aunt Pol and ask if everyone was ok incase they were and they just didn't like you.

So how did you get to knocking on their betting shop front doors at 11 o'clock at night?

The door opened after you had began knocking constantly after a minute of waiting.

"The fock do ya wan-", a deep voice began before releasing who they were speaking to.

You looked up, almost shocked, "Fuckin' 'ell, Arthur, you ain't 'alf grown since a last saw ya", you let out a strained chuckle as you looked at the man who seemed to be stunned.

"You gunna let me in or should I just bleed out over your shop front?", you joked dryly, "Don't think it'd be good for business".

"Uh yeah", he said as he shook his head, "No come in, yeah, just watch your step, it's busy". You furrowed your eyebrows as you stepped past him, it was 11 at night why would it be busy?

It was though. The entire room was full of people racing back and forward, counting money, writing numbers, sneaking an extra line now that Arthur had his back turned.

"There's a race tomorrow", Arthur told you as he placed a hand around your shoulder, "Now come on, let's get you fixed up, and then you can tell me what the fock happened to ya hands".

You nodded and followed him through the busy shop, keeping your head. Avoiding catching anyone's eye. Someone's eye.

"Polly!", Arthur shouted as he closed the green doors behind you, "Ay! Polly! Ada! Get down 'ere!".

"Sorry, am I causing you trouble, I didn't mean to end up here I just sort of- did?", you mumbled to Arthur, nervously.

"Wot you on about? You're always welcome here Y/N, you know that", he smiled before shouting for Polly once more. "And besides, this is a great time coz Tommy needs a fucking cheering up", he said as he pulled out a chair at the table for you to sit at.

You looked down at the table as you carefully held your hands above it, trying not to ruin it, "Is that so", you began, "dunno if I can help with that mate".

Arthur reached forwards and tilted your chin up to face him, "I hope for both our sakes that ain't true, you're the only hope left, Y/N", he said honestly.

"Wot do'ya mean?", you asked quietly.

Before he could reply you heard two squeals from behind Arthur. Looking up you saw Polly and Ada, and a little boy following behind.

"Y/N!", Polly said as she lifted her hands in the air, "You're here! You're well", she smiled as she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your side.

"Oh my god", Ada said as she walked over to the other side of you.

"Wot the fuck happened to ya-" Polly asked as she grabbed an old tea towel and placed it carefully under your hands.

"To make a long story short", you forced a smile, "I thought it would be a good idea to find the man that burgled my parents", you cut yourself off with a 'fuck' as Ada began tending to your bruises, "And let's just say.. it wasn't".

Arthur sat up straight, "Can't be that bad", he laughed, "What'd'ya kill him or something", he joked, making light of the situation.

You licked your bottom lip, not saying anything for a moment before looking up from your hands to Arthur's face with a gulp.

"Wait you-", he began.

"You fucking killed someone!", Ada raised her voice in shock.

"Who's killed who then?", A chirpy voice asked as they walked in the room. You knew that voice from a mile off.

"John?", you called out, "John is that you, come 'ere", you said as you tried your best to turn towards the direction of the voice but Ada and Polly were blocking your view.

"Oh fuck off", John said as he pulled out a chair next to Arthur and next to you, "You didn't come and see me first! I'm offended" he joked, "When did you get back?", he beamed as he leant onto the table, hands clasped, "How are you? Any crazy stories to tell me coz I've got loads and- The fock happened to your hand?", John besieged you with questions.

You laughed, "Yeah, missed you too, mate", you said simply as you looked back down at your hands which were stinging now as Polly cleaned them with neat alcohol.

"So do you wanna go down the Garrison after this then?", John simply asked you, ignoring the fact you were being patched up and hadn't seen him since 1913. It was as if you hadn't even spend half an hour apart let alone five or so years.

You looked up with a beaming smile across your red lips, "Fuck kind of a question is that .. of course I do, John".

Arthur cheered as he got up and reached up on top of the kitchen cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whisky. Finding a few small glasses he poured out some drinks, passing them around. John holding yours as both your hands were currently being worked on.

"To this one", Arthur said as he ruffled your hair slightly, just like he had to when you were kids (which you hated, but now it seemed comforting), before everyone cheered slightly and downed their drink.

"Who we toasting to this time then, ay?", a quite deep voice spoke from across the room. Arthur turned around in shock, spilling the bottle of whiskey over that he had brought over and left on the table. "Oh fuck sake Tommy, look what you made me do!", he shouted.

"You fucking idiot", Polly complained as she looked up, "I brought that whiskey to drink, not wash the floor with!".

John burst out laughing as he watched Arthur scuttle around trying to find something to soak it up with. As Ada left your side to help her brother, you looked up back to where the voice had come from.

Thomas.

You gulped softly, running your eyes over the man across the room. He seemed colder, more mature but rather in a sense that he had lost any grip on hope or joy. A contrast to how John seemed. As you looked back up to his face you blushed as you realised he was already staring back at you.

He walked over as he took his cap off, shoving it into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette.

He sat down at the table, stealing Arthur's seat, who was still trying to apologise to Polly for spilling her drink.

"Bet you're glad to be back", Tommy joked dryly as he placed his cigarette in his mouth and nodded in your direction as he pulled out out a light.

You smiled, "Yeah, I definitely missed this", you said sincerely, looking over at everyone, "Whatever 'this' is", you laughed, looking back over at Tommy.

Everyone pretended to still be busy as they all secretly listened in on the exchange between the two of you - amazed that Tommy had even cracked a smile.

"Right, well that should be fine now", Polly tapped your shoulder, "Just don't get into any fights for about a week, at least", she smiled before walking off, taking Ada and Arthur with her. Leaving John who was playing with his thumbs.

"So the Garrison yeah?", you looked over at your best mate, "tonight?".

"Yeah", he smiled, "I'll buy the first round".

You tilted your head with narrowed eyes, "Don't you practically own the pub", you asked as the smell of Tommy's cigarette filled your nose, in a weird sense it was comforting to you.

John nodded with a shrug, "So you won't be buying it then, will you?", you laughed, "And I will".

"Yeah something like that", he laugh as he stood up, "That's what you get for leavin' us".

"Yeah, coz it's not like you went away to war or anything anyway", you shouted after him as he walked off, acting offended. You let out a quiet snort as you watched.

"Why didn't ya visit?", Tommy spoke after a moment, "Y'know, when we got back".

"Yous stopped writing", you said plainly, "So I thought yuh didn't wanna see me", you shrugged as you looked down at your bruised hands.

"We didn't stop.. you stopped", Tommy leant back in his chair.

"Um, No", you furrowed your eyebrows, "I didn't stop writing first, why would I've done that", you argued.

Tommy shook his head slightly, blowing smoke out as he rubbed his temples, "I know what happened". You looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain. "Someone stopped delivering our letters and stealing yours when they got here", he leant forward, looking down at your hands, clenching his jaw, "Wot happened?".

"But- But why would someone do that?", you asked, ignoring his question.

"Dunno", he said and thought for a moment, "I'll ask Finn, he used to collect our post and such".

"Finn?", you raised your eyebrows, "Oh my god, is Finn the boy that- oh my god he's so grown up now!", you gasped.

Tommy smiled, "Shot up when we all went away, didn't he?". You nodded, shifting in your seat, turning towards Tommy slightly as you leant back.

"What happened?", Tommy asked again, in reference to your hands. You watched as he brushed away any dirt on the table, not wanting anything to get lodged in your cuts even if they were now covered and treated. You studied his hands now, all the small marks left from old cuts and gashes.

"Um", you didn't know where to start, "Just after the war ended, y'know, everyone settling back in best they could, everyone still disorientated", you absentmindedly began tapping your foot under the table as you continued. Tommy noticed but kept quite. "Well this man, I knew him actually — right cock'ead, worked at the butchers and spied on all the school girls when they walked 'ome", you grimaced, "So yeah anyway, it was a Wednesday evening, I'd popped round to me parents 'ouse, just two roads away from mine, and um", you licked your bottom lip, lightly biting the skin on the inside.

"When I got- when I got there they were both knocked out cold, only just fuckin' breathin'", you shook your head as you remembered, your tapping growing louder, "That's when I realised someone was in thee 'ouse". Tommy held his chin high as he tried to contain his displeasure, not only had this mysterious man caused you pain but also your parents - who he knew well and respected.

"So I goes up stairs and the pig is filing though my mothers jewellery box ain't he?", you laughed dryly to yourself, "Only to realise everything is sentimental and barely worth a fuckin' thing", you cursed.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what to say but he wanted to comfort you, even if he was a little late. He didn't get the chance as you began speaking again, the anger in your voice more present.

"I mean what the fuck did he think was gonna be there? Fucking Faberge Eggs? We're livin' on the outskirts of London for fucks sake", you wanted to clench your fists but it would ruin everything Polly had just achieved, instead you decided to throw your head back and angrily shout 'fuck'.

Tommy stifled a laugh as he watched you so desperately want to lash out, "So what did you do?".

You lifted your head back up slowly and looked over at Tommy, dead in the eyes, "I told him to fuck off and never come back", you simply said, adding, "With a butchers knife in my hand, and a pistol in the other".

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette as he looked at you, "And people say I'm threatening", he joked.

Shrugging with a small smirk you leant forward, crossing your legs in hopes of stopping yourself from tapping them. "Anyway, he left with his hands up and then I never saw him again".

Tommy butted his cigarette in the ashtray and folded his arms, ready to hear the gruesome end to your story.

"That was until I obviously tracked him down, I wasn't going to let him get away with hurting my parents".

"Did it take long?".

"No", you looked down at your hands once more, "I found him in a day or two, moved up to Coventry .. I went up to visit him once a month— secretly of course, just to make sure he was still there and what no", you raised your eyebrows before you spoke, "And then today I decided he was finally comfortable, my threats of finding him finally at the back of his mind".

Tommy looked you over as you sat, one leg still bouncing as your thumbs rolled over one another, your bottom lip a piece of meat to your top teeth as little bits of your lipstick began to wear off.

"I'll spare you the gore but let's just say he got more then I intended to give him and now he's resting in his own fire pit", you smiled sinisterly as you looked up to Tommy. "I feel bad of course, I guess", your smile faded, "But he deserved it, and it wasn't as if he had any family that cared about him".

Tommy took a short breath, straightening his back and smoothing his waistcoat down before looking at you with a concerned look.

"Wot?", you asked as you saw the look in his eye, "Look, if you're going to ask any questions about my well being- don't .. I'm clearly fine, aren't I?".

"What about the stuff that's not obvious", Tommy said lowly, "Why are you really here? Hmm?", he leant forward, adjusting your bloodied shirt cuffs, "I'm sure you could find many people to patch you up, and better then Pol too", he joked.

"Ay don't discredit Pol, she did a great job", you changed the subject. "And anyway", you carefully stood up, standing behind your hair as you pushed it under the table with your hip, "It's easy to hide in plain sight here".

Tommy watched you as you walked over to their sink, turning on the tap and bending to drink the water. The prospect of filling and holding a cup in your bandages wasn't looking fun right now. Tommy held back a giggle as he raised a brow at your behaviour, "How so?".

You turned around, leaning on the kitchen surface, "Well not only do I just have to put some coal on me and call it day, my best mate is the leader of arguably one of the most powerful organised gangs in the country, no one would dare give me up", you smirked.

"You reckon John's in charge?", Tommy stood up, leaving his chair untucked as he walked over to you, placing his hands either side of your waist, "Is is that what he's told you".

You gulped with a playful expression still on your face, "Well Arthur's too hot-headed and you're too collected, Johns a mix of both", you half lied, just to test Tommy's patience. He narrowed his eyes with a sly smirk upon his lip.

"You don't think that", he said simply.

"Says who?".

"You".

"Well I literally just said the opposite so I don't exactly understan-".

Tommy cut you off as he leant closer, his hands subconsciously moving closer to your body as they glided across the surface edge, "Your body language", he said as if it was obvious, "Your heart".

You let out a loud dry laugh, trying to outwit him as you held your chin high, feigning confidence, "What do they say then? Because my brain is saying that you're embarrassed by my opinions".

"Well for starters you've ended up in my old house, pinned to a surface by me", Tommy took a shallow breath as he stood up straight, now his chest was practically touching yours, "Not John", he looked down into your eyes, holding your gaze, "Not Arthur, and not Jack from down the lane who used to flirt with you every fockin' chance he got".

You bit your lip, praying that no one would interrupt this, wanting to see how far it could go.

Of course you had thought about this before. You and Tommy. The way you both bounced off of eachother so well, the way you never felt awkward around eachother, the way you just understood eachother. Tommy and You. Of course you had thought about his lips on yours before, his hands on your waist- around your neck. The two of you cuddled up after a long day of running the betting shop. It had occupied the small space at the back of your mind since you were fourteen. You ignored it best you could though.

But over time that small space had become bigger, migrating to the front of your brain. And after all of your hard work getting it to shut up whilst you were back home, you had to come back to Birmingham and run into him. He had to ruin it and make you fall for his rubbish all over again.

Or maybe you came to Birmingham for that exact reason. Shit. He was right.

"No, you're in front of me", He said as you looked back into his eyes, "And I think we both know why".

"Do we?".

Tommy narrowed his eyes a playful smirk grew upon his lips, he chuckled to himself quietly, just above a whisper, "You know what your problem is?", he asked.

You shook your head a little, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid you would give in to him first.

"You're too stubborn, your ego is the size of a circus".

You furrow you're eyebrows with a gasp, "Am not!", you childishly defended yourself, "What makes me stubborn then, huh?".

"The fact you won't admit you've come here to see me".

"Well in actual fact, if I had come to see anyone, it would be John", you raised an eyebrow, "But as I said, I just ended up here and I'm glad I did because Polly is the only other person besides from my mum that I'd trust to patch me up".

Tommy returned back to his infamous imperturbable expression as he looked at you, "Why aren't you with John Boy now then? Ay?", he pressed, "Why aren't you terrorising Harry with him down at the Garrison?".

You shrugged, "Maybe", you smirked, "Maybe because you've trapped me in this godforsaken little kitchen because you're to scared to admit that you fancy me", you flushed a little as you finished your sentence, your heart racing as you wondered if this was the end of you and Tommy. Whatever you and Tommy was.

Tommy clenched his jaw, his eyes darting from your eyes, to your chest, to your hands, to your lips. "Well go on then", he stepped back, leaving you just enough space to walk away, "Go off and play with John then".

You frowned, eyes narrowed as you wondered if he was being serious, it was hard to tell with him.

You pushed yourself off of the counter, closing the gap between you both again as you stood as tall as you could. Your nose practically touching his chin as you looked up to him. "Fine", you said coldly, "I'll see you later then, after I'm done catching up with John", you quickly turned and headed for the front door before you could fall victim to Tommy's eyes again.

"And my Gin", you shouted before the door slammed shut behind you.

Damn both of your conceit.

﹒♱﹒

✒︎author note: part two? + plus plz comment any spelling mistakes etc ✒︎requests: open 09/2019

~ published: 29.10.2019 ~

﹒☼﹒

#tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #imagines #peaky #fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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incorrect-sweenett · 5 years ago

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Fear and Rejection

Sweeney woke up confused to an empty house. The shop was closed and Nellie was no where to be seen. He sat in his demon chair for the better part of the day re reading the the note over and over again.

Sweeney,

We both know that life is not fair. Things happen that cause people a lot of pain and unwanted emotions. I'm leaving for a long while because of this. Take care of yourself, please.

All my love,

Nellie

What the hell does that mean? Sweeney thought. He ran his hand through his hair as he paced back and forth, anxiety building in his chest. He had to find her. Sure he wasn't the best person to live with, but they had gotten on well recently. Why would she leave? He needed her there with him.

He tried to think of where she would go and all the relatives she had that were still around. He couldn't think of any. A journal perhaps? He thought. Walking down the stairs he went to her bedroom and ransacked the drawers frantically looking for anything of the sort. He had almost given up hope on any sign from her until he dug through the last drawer of the dresser. Picking up a black leather book he smiled when he flipped through the pages and saw Nellie's handwriting.

"Nellie! My darling girl! This is a surprise!"

"Hello auntie" Nellie smiled giving her aunt a big hug. Aunt Nettie was a kind, loving woman of fifty who practically raised Nellie. And by the looks they shared, people often thought they were mother and daughter.

"Wot brings you all the way out here?" Nettie asked as they entered the house.

Should she tell her? She would have to eventually.

"I missed you and I thought the air by the sea would do me some good." She beamed. Nettie smiled at her niece.

"Well you want sea air, let us sit outside and chat."

Nellie set her trunk down by the door and followed her aunt through the beautiful seaside home to the back porch. It was a

One story house with 4 bedrooms, a porch in the front and one in the back with a swing on the deck that looked out to the sand and the sea. As Nettie and Nellie sat down Nellie closed her eyes and took a deep breath letting the air absorb her anxiety and calm her nerves. Nettie looked to her niece and studied her carefully. She looked healthy, maybe even a glow about her but she knew Something wasn't right and she intended to find out what.

"Well, my dear this is a lovely surprise. How long do you plan on staying with me?"

Nellie snapped out of her moment of solitude and shrugged her shoulders.

"Until you get sick of me" she said with a smile. Nettie laughed.

"I would never get sick of you now tell me, what's wrong?"

Nellie sat quietly for a moment looking out to the water before finally answering her aunt.

Two weeks. Sweeney was forced to wait to weeks until he could attempt to see Nellie again. The train to Aunt Nettie's took off every two weeks because of how far it was and how seldom people traveled there this time of the year. It all became so obvious to Sweeney once he found Nellie's journal. He felt foolish to not have thought about her aunt and realized that's where she must have gone considering how often she spoke about her. Another piece of writing that troubled him was the reason why she left. It made his heart ache and made him hurt even more.

It was unseasonably warm for the middle of March. In the two weeks she spent with her aunt she and Nettie would often sit on the back porch and go for walks in the small seaside town. Nellie sat in her usual spot on the porch swing just as the sun was coming up. She sat with a hand on her stomach that was covered by her nightgown and robe. She could do this by herself couldn't she? She could buy a shop near her aunts and work to take care of herself and child.

Nellie always loved the sea. Maybe it was because Nettie had always lived there and she was practically her mother. She thought of her mother who'd passed away five years prior. The things she would say to her if she knew about her situation. Unmarried, pregnant, and running away from the father. Nellie laughed. How ridiculous everything was. Getting up to go back into the house she heard footsteps coming up the stairs that were added on at the side of the house. Securing her robe around her she peaked her head around the corner. Tears pricked her eyes as she saw Sweeney walking back down the steps and in her direction. Do I go back inside or stay out here? She debated. She sat back down on the swing and waited for him to come around. When he did, he smiled when he saw her. She didn't know what to do. She was surprised he found her, but she was still afraid of what might happen. She had to say something. All she could muster was a faint "hi"

"Hello" Sweeney replied.

"How did you know I'd be 'ere?" She asked.

"Well," he started," I sort of found your journal. I'm ashamed I couldn't think of this place myself." He spoke quietly. She said nothing in return. He looked for her. He cared enough to find her. That had to mean something. She was on the verge of tears.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

And here they come. The tears fell and she quickly wiped her eyes and sniffled.

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me or the baby."

Sweeney dropped the duffle bag he carried on his shoulder and immediately went to Nellie kneeling down and engulfing her in his arms.

She responded right away wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. He rubbed her back gently and held her tight.

"You're all I have and everything I need." He spoke quietly.

Nellie picked her head up and looked at him. The hope in her eyes made Sweeney smile.

"Do you mean that?" She asked.

He wiped her tears away with his thumbs before cradling her cheek as their lips met. A few feet away Aunt Nettie walked away from the window with a smile on her face. Her niece was always the over dramatic type.

#sweeney todd #johnny depp #helena bonham carter #nellie lovett #tim burton #sweenett #fanfic #stephen sondheim #mrs lovett #mine

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butterflydm · 1 year ago

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wot rewatch 1x5: blood calls blood

spoilers through season 1 of WoT plus some of the spoilers for the beginning of s2, including the new teaser scene, and through The Fires of Heaven in the books.

I love the bookends here of the two funerals. Just... all of the added rituals make the cultures and world feel more rich and grounded. The ceremonies and how they're tied into the world that we're given. Plus, we see the impact of these rituals on the characters -- Lan and Moiraine here reacting to seeing Stepin's emptiness after they lay Kerene to rest.

Then we get our traveling time-skip, where everyone begins to arrive in/near Tar Valon. I wonder if Moiraine not seeing the White Tower as home is going to be contrasted against Egwene primarily seeing the White Tower as her home after she's been taken away from it.

Poor Mat is looking rough. And him snapping at a kid shows how much worse he's gotten in the last month, along with Rand's clear concern. We also basically confirm that they've been sleeping rough since they left the Grinwell farm, likely worried that they would bring death to anyone else who might host them.

Love the shots of Dragonmount behind Tar Valon; and how noisy and varied the city is.

Rand trying to share his food with Mat. Awww. And not going to the White Tower right away because he's worried about Mat's 'obvious signs' of being a male channeler. And reassuring Mat that he didn't murder that family. Just... everything about how kind and gentle and worried that Rand is over Mat. I suspect that we're going to see echoes of this side of Rand when we catch up with him in S2, going by the spoilers. But it's got a personal touch here.

Moiraine trying to warn Nynaeve but not quite able to connect with her. Nynaeve's green and yellow outfit, I love so much. Our fighty healer. <3

Moiraine's speech here pretty much applies to all the ta'veren, even the ones who can't channel. They're all connected to something bigger and more dangerous, something that has pulled them away from the lives that they led before.

The Tuatha'an are taking the longest to get to Tar Valon out of all of the groups because they are chill and like to take their time. Egwene is so bouncy and has been enjoying her time with the Tuatha'an a lot, but she's also so thrilled to be in sight of the White Tower.

And immediately acting to do their best to protect Perrin and Egwene, but in the way that reflects their own philosophy and culture.

Hi Loial! <3 Anyway, I don't mind the bad reaction to Loial being moved to Tar Valon instead of Caemlyn -- it implies some interesting things about it having been longer since the Ogier have been out of the Stedding than they were in the books. And poor Rand getting his denial poked at. It's Rand's turn again to remind us about the Rand & Egwene relationship here, when he picks up Jain Farstrider and it makes him melancholy.

I can't believe that people got mad at Rand for going after Mat to try to make sure nothing bad is going to happen rather than waiting for Loial. That's his friend that he is justifiably very worried about. He has literally just met Loial.

Oh, hi, Fain! I 100% missed you on my first watch and didn't realize you were in Tar Valon until people pointed it out online. Fain is really the main thing that makes me think Liandrin is probably already a Darkfriend, because I think he's her "friend in North Harbor" that gets mentioned in the next episode, and I think that he got the ruby dagger from her (assuming that Moiraine took it to the White Tower to get safely locked up after she breaks Mat's connection to it, or believes that she breaks it, depending on where s2 takes us on that).

Logain here does, I think, absolutely notice Rand, but Mat's paranoia amplifies his reaction in Mat's mind and focuses it towards Mat (update: confirmed in latest s2 teaser).

This conversation with Mat and Rand! Also, Mat has been very consistent throughout the season in not caring/believing in all the Dragon-related prophecy stuff, but he does worry about hurting people/people getting hurt. (I really hope we get the Mat & Rand reunion in S2 and don't have to wait until S3)

Everything about Stepin is there to give us more knowledge about the Warder bond! Which connects strongly to both Moiraine and Lan, but also gives us a lot of set up for the eventual coup, because now Warders actually have a subculture of their own. It's important!

Feel like we're going to get a similar 'dehumanization' scene for Egwene in s2 with the Seanchan that she got here with the Whitecloaks and it's going to hurt so much. I do think we're doing to get some major Whitecloaks-Seanchan parallels alongside the Darkfriends-Seanchan parallels. I wish Egwene a happy "blow up lots of Seanchan" in the s2 finale.

17. As awful as the Whitecloaks are here, the Seanchan are going to be agonizing to watch on-screen. Egwene does get some useful information here in that she doesn't need her hands to channel.

18. Oof, this stuff is hard to watch. And the Seanchan stuff is going to be even tougher to watch, I imagine.

19. Nynaeve just wanting to help but she can't truly help Stepin. There's so much great stuff in all these White Tower sections for Nynaeve, Lan, and Moiraine.

20. I've said it before and I'll say it again: what Liandrin says here about "much of the world" being controlled by men who are not kind to little girls is true of the books as well, it's just that Jordan didn't realize he was writing it that way half of the time when he did it because it was just steeped into him via his culture.

21. Rand's ta'veren coincidences bring Nynaeve to him and Mat via Loial. This reunion is so sweet (and sad, when he snaps at her) and then sweet again.

22. Rand does believe at this point that it's Mat, because he doesn't have any other explanation for the way that Mat is collapsing in on himself. Nynaeve's moment of reassuring Rand here is a wonderful little moment. Nynaeve reassures Rand, informs about Egwene's strength of character, and is also a hint at Nynaeve channeling when she was younger by doing the miracle healing.

23. Perrin confessing to Egwene because he wants to convince her that he's the one who deserves death and not Egwene -- genuinely so emotional (and we hear wolves in the background!). And Egwene being very clever here, by letting Valda think that she's given in and failing but actually releasing Perrin (so, question: I wonder if Valda thinks that Perrin might be able to channel too?) Wolf-friends helping out! <3

24. Our Forsaken dolls. Much speculation has been spilled over them. Graendal being the tits-out doll does crack me up.

25. Show!Alanna is such a likable character. She's a sweetie.

26. The Stepin storyline is genuinely very sad but it's also incredibly informative. We learn tons of lore through a narrative rather than through an infodump. There are so many lore tidbits that we learn over the course of his short arc.

#wot #wheel of time #wot on prime #wot rewatch #wot book spoilers #wot s2 spoilers #wheel of time s2 spoilers #the fires of heaven

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wot-tidbits · 3 years ago

Note

OMG! I am so hyped about the TV series! It is gonna be amazing! Are you excited as well? I can’t wait! What are your feelings?

Hello, anon.

I am happy for you. And also little jealous that you can experience what I cannot at right that moment.

I left your ask open for several days as I didn’t know how to respond. Do I want to hide behind some fake mask or to answer you in honest? And this question itself shows my current mental status. I have never been a fake personality even on the tempting Internet so … what I feel is apathy. These are some of the most exciting times for the Wheel of Time fandom and I am empty inside. Weird, right? I tried to find some answer why this is. What ruined the exciting journey for me? What changed the hype train to apathy and disinterest?

So far I have figured out the following possible reasons:

1. The Wheel of No Communication living up to its name. In complete circle of irony the thing from the books that has been mocked the most, it turned out to be real life experience. People stopped communicating and started shouting on the Internet. The WOT fandom is obviously divided and one part of it doesn’t have any will for debate and any will to understand. It is only labels up and down. There are so many liars in this fandom and for some sick reason these people are part of the WOT community. When we had debates in the past we could use the books as tool for our many and various opinions. Nowadays books don’t matter. Such shit is tiring to talk to a wall of hypocrites. I tried to participate in the conversation in the past and I have learnt the lesson – there is no communication, only people who want the books to burn in fire for their personal gain. This can drive a person insane. Well, I only suffer from apathy for now.

2. The Betrayal. This year I have experienced an unexpected moment which surprisingly affected me strongly and it is the more likely reason for my state of mind. People who I have considered as long-time WOT friends betrayed me and left me in shock by their malice and accusations hitting me as sharp knives.

Don’t get me wrong. If somehow you have the hours to lurk on my blog’s dramas, you can find that I have experienced what is to be viciously attacked on the Internet several times through the years on this very place. But all these past incidents have been done by strangers assuming lies about me. Nothing unusual. Lies cannot affect me when I know myself. But what it seemed to affect me is the same lies repeated by people who had the time and the opportunity to know me better and to see who I truly am. (It is not like I am hiding my true self or anything but this blog is not the best platform for that than the personal contact.) By people who gained my trust, my loyalty, my will to do anything for them and my open heart.

So this betrayal raised the question why I should bother anyway with the fandom? Do I want to open myself to next friendship and being mentally devastated again in the future? Such doubts and worries can drive you insane. Well, I am actually blessed that I know what a strong and loyal friendship truly means and that person (my WOT bestie) has been helping me in the last decade showing me that I am not the insane one. I will met new people in the future of course and I will have the opportunity to call them friends but still it won’t be the same ever again as that bad memory will always lurk in the corner of my mind what “friends” are capable to do for their own gain.

3. A third reason why I am not insane by all the bullshit spread around in the fandom is the Pattern itself. I have mentioned that I have some interesting dilemma with the release of the Cowboy Bebop TV series on the same bloody day. Cowboy Bebop is my biggest second obsession after WOT.

I don’t know how many of you follow their production process but I can assure you – the Bebop fandom suffers the same fate as WOT cause of the production of the TV series also decided to play liberties with the adaptation. They are also deeply divided, they are also bickering and telling people how to watch the series and labeling each other with ease. So it won’t be surprise to anyone when I tell you that I am sharing the same whining, spreading the same toxic…

Actually no, scratch that, I AM SUPER HYPED UP for the show. I think it will be great show and I fully support Daniella Pineda as Faye Valentine. I don’t expect from her to be some beautiful doll with big tits but the masterfully developed character beyond her sexy image. I am much more excited and optimistic for the Bebop series rather than the WOT series. According to perverted logic of one vocal part of the WOT fandom this shouldn’t be possible. On that logic while being labeled “racist” for just pointing out the books, I should whine, cry and complain about the change of race for black Jack, asian Spike and latina Faye (the main characters). But you won’t hear any of that by me here. Because labels suck. You think that I don’t see the change? I don’t care about that change. As a matter of fact I share the same “I don’t care” attitude for the WOT TV series. Whoever pays, they order the music. I am not the person who will tell Netflix and Amazon how to do their job. And they will face the consequence of their political decision.

But how is that possible? How I can be racist for the WOT casting but praising the casting of Bebop despite the change of race for both shows? Because I am not against the actors and what I am up against to is the manipulation of the source material. And for that I will always be vocal. Only in some delusional minds the arguments based on the books are “racist”. Labels suck. The Pattern blessed me to have Bebop at the exact same time with the exact same issue so I can see through the lies in the WOT fandom. I will enjoy Bebop while acknowledging the change and the lies, about what strangers assume who I am, cannot affect me.

What is the difference then? Why I feel apathy for WOT but excitement about the Cowboy Bebop in contrast as again they share the same issue and the same division. I think I have the answer. No one tries to change the anime series to fit the new narrative. No one tries to burn the anime series in the fire for their own personal gain. No lies about the source material and no blatant manipulations to destroy its core themes. (I make difference for headcanon and I dont talk about it here.) I can always have a conversation with any Bebop fan about the TV series and I don’t have to fear that I have a liar in front of me. Something that I don’t experience anymore with the WOT fandom.

I am sure the state of apathy is just a phase and it will fade away eventually soon or later. Most probably with the first episode. But what won’t fade away is the anger that the WOT fandom pushed me to that phase.

I hope you can forgive my attempt to share my feelings with this lengthy (not exactly) answer and this is not what you expected, anon.

Let the Light keep you safe.

LightOne

#wheel of time #the wheel of time #my post

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parsleysagerosemarytimemachine · 5 years ago

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Cutting the cast of The Wheel of Time

So, the Wheel of Time… I used to be real deep into this fandom, and what with the new TV show news going around, there’s things that are making me think about it. Specifically, right now, there’s discussion of ‘OMG, did they cut Thom?!’ because he didn’t show up in the early cast photos and hasn’t been announced. So that got me to thinking – if you wanted to make an adaptation that had the fewest possible characters, but was still recognizably The Wheel of Time, how would you go about it?

(And then I’m hiding the rest behind a cut because frankly, you deserve the choice not to scroll through my thoughts on cutting down a cast with literally dozens of main characters, especially if you’re not into this yourself. :)

First, some guidelines, which is to say that because I’m going for a minimalist character list, it’d end up something that feels absolutely “based on” the WoT story that we know, and keeping only the essence. I’m not even going to touch on the hundreds of minor characters, except to say that if I can get away with it, the Aes Sedai would wear literal masks over their faces so that you couldn’t tell which one was which.

So, big ones first – there are three boys we’re introduced to at the start of the books, each with an important destiny. This is too many. There’s one now, and his name is RandPerrin. (Because Mat is getting merged with Lan; we’ll get to that.) He’s got a destiny, and it’s to be the reincarnated possible-savior, possible-destroyer of the world. Perrin’s great (for definitions of great), but if we let Rand come home occasionally, he can do the reawakening of the Two Rivers, and we can cut all of the wolf stuff entirely; if there’s some regret over this, one of their reincarnation powers can become talking to animals, and we can play up the fear of losing yourself in someone other by the tug between animal-self and past-self.

Living in town with RandPerrin is NyneaveEgwene, the village wise woman, and older-sister-friend. Egwene’s got a good strong arc, but I think it’s more important at the start for him to have the mentor from home than the maybe-girlfriend that’s never happening, and then both have journeys to becoming Aes Sedai that can be folded together. She can still fall in love with Lan, and then be torn even more between love and duty as she advances and he belongs to someone else.

Speaking of, coming to town to pluck out the destined child are MoiraineVerin and LanMat. Adding Verin to Moiraine’s character is an obvious choice; she stays full of cryptic guidance but doesn’t have to disappear halfway through the story (Rand is not going to obsess over dead women, because it’s frankly unnecessary), and it makes her late-series reveal even more shocking. Lan, as last king of a fallen nation, gets Mat’s weird battle-memories and starts recruiting for a personal army along the way because this story is going to move, and we’re not going to keep waiting for things to happen. Also, it means we can cut the Seanchan entirely. Apologies to any fans, but if we’re chopping things, they’re an obvious choice. Lan as wandering stateless king can do all the other pulling-nations-together that Rand doesn’t have time to do.

Thom is gone entirely, so sorry. :) So is Loial, even more sadly, but there are still going to be Ogier scholars in the backgrounds of things. (The one exception being if he’s the framing device, and the voice of the ‘last time on…’ but even then he’s not getting more than a minute’s screen time.)

Shortly after leaving, they meet the last of the central characters, AviendhaElayneMin. She’s part of an heir/hostage exchange between the distant Aiel and the Andoran kingdom, she’s a warrior, and she’s training in a different magical tradition. She and Rand can fall in love, once they stop being mutually tsundere towards each other. Min’s the easiest to lose, by folding her visions into the Aiel channeling skills; once we’ve done that, it’s just which of the other two wins out, and I think the Aiel are important enough to have as a distant land, that we’ll introduce them now through Aviendha. She can still ‘rescue’ Brigitte, and this probably makes her the Hornblower too, but we do lose the polyamory; we’ll make up for it by making Rand bi and giving him on-screen make-outs with FainLanfear before he finds out that they’re evil. (Plus lots more explicit queerness; Rand has two dads now, farmer-dad and sword-dad, in the one instance of my _adding_ a character, and both of them are going to live.)

Speaking of evil, thirteen Chosen is interesting thematically, but also a lot. Ishamael is the only survivor of the chopping block, and a lady now, but explicitly not Lanfear; probably a mix of philosophical evil and personal antagonism as she plots to finally break the Wheel of Time. There’s also FainLanfear, who is probably Rand’s old ex-boyfriend from Taren Ferry before stumbling into a different ancient evil when they try to follow Rand out of town; they actually need more screen time to set up the final conflicts and we can give them some of the missing Chosen’s plots as they try to both destroy Rand and destroy Ishamael for trying to destroy Rand.

Other notes would be that the Black Tower will still exist, along with the False Dragons, but I think entirely as a plot of Ishamael’s; they’re important as a mistake for Rand to make, but we don’t need Logain or any of the others as characters. Similarly, the Whitecloaks become the Andoran national army, Galad and Gawain never appear, and their core conflict is resolved between Niall and Brigitte in the background of Aviendha’s scenes. The White Tower has a lot of people, but Nynaeve’s going to make it to the top by a combination of strength and browbeating, rather than personally impressing each Aes Sedai, so we’re really going to focus in on her as the student and Moiraine as the teacher.

So that makes a core cast of seven, which is a respectable winnowing from an original twenty or so. I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone that’s important to some plot or another, but that also probably means I’m safe cutting them out. :) That said, I’d love to hear anyone else’s thoughts on this too.

#Wheel of Time #WoT tv show #fandom geekery #it's been so long the current community is as much fans of the fandom #as they are of the books #so it's going to be interesting to see the new stuff coming along #I'm absolutely putting Aes Sedai behind masks the next time I write a fic though #and I really want to see a scene of sword-dad coming home from the war #and farmer-dad's reaction to being told 'Look! I brought you a baby!'#you could do a respectable three-seasons epic fantasy with this #without getting too bloated along the way

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neuxue · 6 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 39

VERIN!

Chapter 39: A Visit from Verin Sedai

Where were we? Oh yes.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

“You never held the Oath Rod,” Egwene accused her.

Odd that that’s the first conclusion she jumps to. Verin has the ageless face, after all; she must have sworn oaths of some sort. Then again, I suppose Egwene can be forgiven for being thrown a little by that reveal. And for not wanting to jump to the other conclusion that might immediately come to mind.

“I don’t trust you,” Egwene found herself blurting. I don’t think I ever have.” “Very wise,” Verin said, sipping her tea. It was not a scent Egwene recognised. “I am, after all, of the Black Ajah.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She!

She just!

Did that!

Just came right out and said it. I waited ELEVEN BOOKS to find out what her deal was. ELEVEN BOOKS of wondering and suspecting and second-guessing and she just SAYS IT. LIKE THAT. RIGHT THERE.

WELL NOW WE KNOW, I GUESS.

Just. Well played. So very, very well played. One of the characters who held her cards closest to the chest all series, one of the most difficult to pin down, and so of coursethe reveal is on her own terms, direct and straightforward and stunning even if it’s not completely surprising.

Well. Played.

Also I’m suspicious of how often and pointedly the tea she’s drinking has been mentioned. The scent you don’t recognise is called foreshadowing, Egwene.

Egwene felt a sudden chill, like an ice cold spike pounded directly through her back and down into her chest.

Damn it Brandon get your hemalurgy out of my WoT.

Verin was Black. Light!

Nice forced juxtaposition in the phrasing there.

Those eyes that always had seemed to know too much. What better way to hide than as an unassuming Brown, constantly dismissed by the other sisters because of your distracted, scholarly ways?

Indeed. Who looks too closely at the absentminded scholar? Who suspects duplicity of a plump older woman with ink smudges on her dress? Who thinks too hard on disturbing comments made by a distracted Brown with little attention to tact? Verin, and people like Verin, are so easily…not even overlookedso much as set aside. I wonder, sometimes, why we’re so quick in times of crisis or uncertainty to disregard those who have made it the subject of their life’s work and study. Why we hold so strongly to this notion that scholarship means setting oneself aside from the ‘real world’, even when, without the real world, there would be nothing to study.

It’s my whole thing with the ‘lol the mapmaker can’t actually navigate’ nonsense with Roidelle a few chapters back. Like listen, fuck you, I can read and use just about any map you give me. I can navigate by the stars in either hemisphere. You think I spent my Ivory Tower Years studying the earth without getting my hands dirty? I did not haul a literal bucket full of shit through a jungle in volcano-melted shoes for this.

(Yes, there are parts of academia that are, to put it kindly, Out Of Touch, and whose publications are more self-referential and inbred than your average European monarchy. But the ease with which we write off ‘scholars’ and ‘academics’ as hopeless in all matters relating to the Real World is kind of mind-boggling.)

Anyway. Rather than diving headfirst into an essay on the insidious nature of anti-intellectualism, I’ll just say…Verin really did have the perfect disguise.

Not quite as much to the reader – it’s been very much made clear that she was up to something and that the distracted-and-muddled act was very much an act – but in-world? Even in ourworld, without the insight given by the narrative, who would have looked twice?

Verin, of course, just responds to Egwene’s shock with possibly the most English thing she could possibly say aside from ‘shit weather we’re having, isn’t it?’:

“My, but this is good tea.”

I love her.

What a troll.

She just SHOWED UP IN EGWENE’S ROOM, DRINKING TEA, AND ANNOUNCED THAT SHE’S BLACK AJAH. AFTER ELEVEN BOOKS. OF GIVING AWAY NOTHING. EVEN IN HER THOUGHTS.

She is, truly, On Another Level.

I’m also just running through everything she’s ever done or said or thought in the last eleven books with the certainty of hindsight and my brain feels a little bit like one of those flipbooks you play with as a kid.

Just…*shakes head* well fucking played, Verin.

“I would offer you some tea, but I sincerely doubt you want any of what I’m having.”

Even I don’t mention tea as frequently as it’s been mentioned in these last two or three pages. What exactly is in that tea, Verin?

Egwene’s still in panic mode, and I love the way this is played out, with her thoughts scattered and frantic, juxtaposed against Verin’s calm, collected, and utterly shocking matter-of-fact, conversational, mild statements.

But while Egwene – I suppose understandably – sees Verin immediately as a threat after that admission, I…don’t.

“I compliment you on what you’ve done here, Egwene.”

‘I’m Black Ajah, but more importantly, I love what you’ve done with the room! Such a good eye for colour, and the minimalist style is so in right now. Tea?’

When you get an opportunity like this, you don’t squander it. And she is making the absolute most of her chance here, and I honestly don’t even blame her. She could say something reassuring, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Verin has always dealt in truths, not platitudes.

I love her, you guys. I love her so much.

“It was more important to continue my research and keep an eye on young al’Thor. He’s a fiery one”

TOO. SOON.

That was rude. Fuck. Wow. Okay.

“I’m not certain he understands how the Great Lord works. Not all evil is as…obvious as the Chosen. The Forsaken, as you’d call them.”

Two things here. One: there is absolutely no way Verin is truly aligned with the Shadow. Two: she gets it. She understands what’s going on, with Rand and even, I think, with how the Shadow is manipulating him without ever having to truly turn him.

“I’m convinced that it isn’t intelligence, craftiness, or skill that makes one Chosen—though of course, those things are important. No, I believe it is selfishness the Great Lord seeks in his greatest leaders.”

YES. THIS.

THIS, EXACTLY.

Of course Verin is the one to put it into words so clearly. With one exception, they are so focused on their own power and their own promised rewards and their own plans and successes and positions of favour that they don’t even see the game they’re truly playing. They serve themselves, not a cause, and because they are intelligent and crafty and skilled, they become incredibly effective pawns in that game, set on a board they hardly understand and let loose to serve a purpose they never truly consider because they are so hell-bent on their own. And so they will destroy the world and themselves with it and never notice until their own flames consume them.

It’s also an interesting statement to consider in the context of Rand, given that Verin has just voiced her worries that he doesn’t understand how the Great Lord works.

Because Rand has an…interesting relationship with selfishness and altruism. Especially now. He has pushed himself into a state of literal selflessness – total denial of the existence of a self – but for the sake of self-preservation. He did it because it hurt too much to hold on to anything of who he was, to let himself feel. So it’s a selfish motivator…and yet, the motivation behind that is a layer of altruism, because that need for survival arises from a need to fulfil his duty to a selfless cause.

And so we go around and around in circles; is he selfish or selfless in his choice to leave his humanity and life and redemption behind? Is it more selfish to seek death or survival, to martyr himself or to endure, to live for something or to die for it?

Listen, I’m a scientist and a programmer and an atheist, and also I cannot get enough of spiralling questions of eschatology and metaphysics and fate in fiction. It’s a thing.

(And that’s not even getting into my obsession with divinity as an entire concept).

But back to the Forsaken. I think Verin has it absolutely right here – power and cunning and other abilities are all well and good, but if you want a group of people you can control and predict and move around like the pawns they are (while they believe themselves to be the players, and masters of the game), selfishness is a perfect trait to select for.

Wise of Verin to see that.

And, back to Rand for just a moment here, maybe that’s part of where he struggles: he’s too close to the Forsaken in his knowledge of them from Lews Therin’s memories to take that step back and view them as an outside observer, yet at the same time he’s so far on the other side of the spectrum in terms of motivations to see this unifying trait and understand how it works and how to use it.

“The Chosen are predictable, but the Great Lord is anything but. Even after decades of study, I can’t be certain exactly what he wants or why he wants it.”

Because, unless you’re Moridin, I think it would break your mind to truly understand what it is he wants. None of the Chosen seem to fully understand it either, because if they did, would they still fight for it? Total destruction of everything, a world remade in the image of chaos, wouldn’t serve any of their goals. And yet because of that selfishness, they are made to serve precisely that cause, and are kept blind by their own narrow ambitions to what end they truly work towards.

“And what does this have to do with me?” Egwene asked.

“Not much,” Verin said, tsking at herself. “I’m afraid I let myself get sidetracked.”

In which Verin’s tangents are more insightful than many character’s introspection. Not to mention about a hundred times more communicative, suddenly. I love when an enigma of a character finally decides it’s time to spill her secrets. It’s so satisfying.

Verin’s so proud of Egwene for what she’s done with the Tower. It’s lovely to see, not just to have someone in a position to recognise and appreciate what Egwene has managed to do, but to have it be someone who’s known Egwene since even before she went to Tar Valon, someone who watched her first learnings and chided her for her early mistakes, and also who knows and understands what’s going on, on a level that seems to be far deeper than most Aes Sedai. Verin sees. And so her praise is worth far more than most. Especially now, when she seems to be so sure that time is short, when she’s making her final play.

Egwene’s still trying to figure out what the hell is even going on here, and…

Oh.

“A number of years ago, I faced a decision. I found myself in a position where I could either take the oaths to the Dark One, or I could reveal that I had actually never wanted—or intended—to do so, whereupon I would have been executed.”

ALL THE SECRETS COME OUT.

DOUBLE AGENT VERIN.

So this was the mistake she alluded to in her thoughts. This is why she’s thought so many times about how sometimes you just have to make the best of the situation you’re given.

“Many would have simply opted for death. I, however, saw this as an opportunity. You see, one rarely has such a chance as this, to study a beast from inside its heart, to see really what makes the blood flow. To discover where all of the little veins and vessels lead. Quite an extraordinary experience.”

“Wait,” Egwene said. “You joined the Black Ajah to study them?”

YES!!!!!!!!!!

VERINNNNN!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The scholar driven by a desire for knowledge, faced with the consequences of that search, and choosing to push forward anyway, to sacrifice herself not by dying but by living, and swearing herself to a cause she never wanted to join, and seeing it as an opportunity. To keep studying them. HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS SHE?

“Tomas. Does he know what you’ve done?”

“He was a Darkfriend himself, child,” Verin said. “Wanting a way out. Well, there really isn’t a way out, not once the Great Lord has his claws in you. But there was a way to fight, to make up a little of what you’ve done. I offered that chance to Tomas, and I believe he was quite grateful to me for it.”

No man can walk so long in the Shadow…I wonder if Ingtar knew.

It’s such a lovely little addition to this whole reveal; Tomas is a fairly minor character, but it adds that extra bit of depth to an already fantastic scene that she found a way to offer him some small form of redemption, by joining her in hers. It ties everything together just that little bit more. There may not be a way out, but there is a way to go forwards, a way to fight.

Verin was a Darkfriend…but not one at the same time.

It’s not so different from Ingtar’s choice, really. It’s just the timeframe that’s different.

“You said he ‘was’ quite grateful to you?”

And, like Ingtar’s choice, I don’t think there’s much chance of this not being a fatal one.

“The oaths one makes to the Great Lord are quite specific,” she finally continued. “And, when they are placed upon one who can channel, they are quite binding. Impossible to break. You can double-cross other Darkfriends, you can turn against the Chosen if you can justify it. Selfishness must be preserved. But you can never betray him.”

I just love the way she gets so cleanly to the heart of it with her observations of the role of selfishness. It explains so much, so neatly. And yet they are all bound, though they claim to set themselves above everyone else; all of them must serve, in the end, but they are so easily manipulated into believing that they rule.

She looked up, meeting Egwene’s eyes. “‘I sear not to betray the Great Lord, to keep my secrets until the hour of my death.’ That was what I promised. Do you see?”

…oh.

Oh, Verin.

The tea is poison and this is her final play. Killing herself in order to betray all of her secrets, because it’s the one loophole open to her. The only way to share the knowledge she spent decades collecting.

Decades of secrecy and evasion, of hiding behind that distracted scholarly mask, of observing, unseen, from within. And it all ends here, in a single hour of honesty, with the captive Amyrlin she can look at and be proud of.

VEEEEEERRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

She joined them to stay alive because the alternative was death and now she’s choosing her own death as a way of allowing herself to betray them THIS IS TOO MUCH.

“A curious hole in the oaths,” Verin said softly. “To allow one to effect a betrayal in the final hour of one’s life. I cannot help wondering if the Great Lord knows of it. Why wouldn’t he close that hole?”

Because no one selfish enough to serve him would ever think to use it. Because to use it would be an act of absolute altruism, anathema to any in a position to do so.

Except Verin.

“Perhaps he doesn’t see it as threatening,” Egwene said, opening her eyes. “After all, what kind of Darkfriend would kill themselves in order to advance the greater good? It doesn’t seem the kind of thing his followers would consider.”

What she said.

Or…maybe it’s almost meant as a taunt, a cruel reminder of the cost of betrayal. A way of saying to those who might be considering it, who might be regretting their choice, ‘you can betray me but to do so demands your death’. A loophole kept as a warning sign, and a way of making any who might be wavering turn back.

Egwene shook her head. It seemed such a tragedy. “You come to me to confess, killing yourself in a final quest for redemption?”

Not quite, I don’t think. She wouldn’t waste all those years just to gain peace of mind in a confession. She’s come to share knowledge.

IN THE FORM OF HER NOTEBOOKS.

ALL HER NOTES.

THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD.

“Every woman in the Brown,” Verin said, “seeks to produce something lasting. Research or study that will be meaningful. Others often accuse us of ignoring the world around us. They think we only look backward. Well, that is inaccurate. If we are distracted, it is because we look forward, toward those who will come. And the information, the knowledge we gather…we leave it for them. The other Ajahs worry about making today better; we yearn to make tomorrow better.”

That, right there, is a perfect and utterly lovely redemption of the stereotype of the scholar. Thank you for this.

The desire to leave something lasting, to not just know but to share that knowledge with those who come after, to lay the foundations for future generations to learn from and to learn beyond. A distractedness that comes not from ignoring the world but from looking to its future. A study of the past or the present for the purpose of that future. This is absolutely beautiful. I want it framed on my wall.

I love Verin so much.

“That tome is the…work. My work. The work of my life.”

The work she is quite literally giving her life for. It’s sad but there’s this sense of absolute triumph to it as well.

“Names, locations, explanations,” Verin said. “Everything I learned about them. About the leaders among the Darkfriends, about the Black Ajah. The prophecies they believe, the goals and motivations of the separate factions. Along with a list, at the back, of every Black Ajah sister I could identify.”

And with that one book, with this one hour, with this single but incredible act of betrayal that should be impossible, she’s just dealt a potentially crippling blow to the Shadow.

It costs her life, but she’s done what so many aspire to: created something that could change the future. All that knowledge she gained, all those years of studying, and now she can leave it in the hands of someone who can use it. She can quite literally hand it to the next generation, leave the knowledge she gathered in the hands of the one who will shape the future. It’s a quite victory, witnessed only by Egwene, but what a victory it is.

I. LOVE. VERIN. SO. MUCH.

I just.

I love this tone of triumphant sadness, of a sacrifice that is the exact opposite of in vain. She’s dying for this, but in doing so she’s achieving the the epitome of her Ajah’s ideals. She’s carrying out the most thorough betrayal the Shadow has perhaps ever seen, and handing Egwene information no other Aes Sedai has even come close to managing to uncover.

Her life’s work is thorough and practical and meaningful and could quite literally help save the world.

“I doubt I caught them all,” Verin said, smiling. “But I think I got the large majority of them. I promise you, Egwene. I can be quitethorough.”

And this is one of those things that could so easily tip over into deus ex machina territory – handing a protagonist a list of everyone in the secret evil organisation that’s been causing problems for the whole series and also several centuries previously, right as we move into the final act? Giving her a list that multiple characters and plotlines have been spent trying to find even part of? – and yet manages to avoid that entirely because of how perfectly Verin’s character has been written since the beginning.

Because this doesn’t even remotely come out of nowhere. This has been seeded from the very start, even if I never would have been able to say that this is specifically what it was going to come to. Verin’s been there almost from the beginning, and she’s been so clearly up to something, yet in a way that never quite reveals exactly what…but the fact that she’s been around, and keeping the reader guessing, makes this kind of reveal work. Because you know that somekind of reveal must be coming. And everything she’s done up until now fits so perfectly in hindsight, and makes absolute sense, and it all feels like a natural and surprising-yet-inevitable end to her storyline.

It doesn’t come out of nowhere; it just finishes and ties off what has been there all along.

Egwene looked down at the books with awe. Incredible! Light, but this was a treasure greater than any king’s hoard. A treasure as great as the Horn of Valere itself. She looked up, tears in her eyes, imagining a life spent among the Black, always watching, recording, and working for the good of all.

“Oh, don’t go doing that,” Verin said.

I mean, if I were someone who cried at books, I’m pretty sure I’d be doing the same.

I’m glad that not only does Verin see and understand and and appreciate all that Egwene has done, when so few others are really in a position to, but Egwene understands just how much Verin has done and sacrificed, and what it means.

“This is worth one woman’s life. Few people have had a chance to create something as useful, and as wonderful, as that book you hold. We all seek to change the future, Egwene. I think I might just have a chance at doing so.”

And I’m glad that Verin herself understands just how much of a victory this is, and sees it as such. This is worth her death, and she knows it, and so there is a sense of peace and acceptance rather than tragedy.

Magic bookmark! I want one.

“I will admit that the poison was a backup plan,” Verin said. “I am not eager for death; there are still things I need to do. Fortunately, I have set several of them in motion to be…seen to, in case I do not return. Regardless, my first plan was to find the Oath Rod, then see if I could use it to remove the Great Lord’s oaths. The Oath Rod appears to have gone missing, unfortunately.”

Saerin, Egwene thought, and the others.

How beautifully ironic. They’re using the Oath Rod to try to find the Black Ajah, but because they have it, a Black Ajah double agent couldn’t use it to free herself of the oaths preventing her from betraying the Black Ajah without killing herself.

Also, the Oath Rod itself seems like a bigger loophole than the ‘hour of my death’ phrasing. Or would a Black sister not be able to voluntarily free herself from her oaths because to do so would be a betrayal of the Dark One? Maybe it only worked with Talene and any others because they didn’t decide to renounce all oaths that bound them; they were forced to? Otherwise it seems like a huge vulnerability, to swear Black Ajah members to these binding oaths but leave them free to unbind themselves should they so choose.

Verin, at least, seems to think it might not have worked, even if she hoped it would.

What are the other oaths they take, I wonder?

“One of the Chosen is in the Tower, child. It’s Mesaana, I’m certain of it. I had hoped to be able to bring you the name she was hiding under, but the two times I met with her, she was shrouded to the point that I couldn’t tell.”

I mean, I think you can be forgiven for not uncovering the secret identity of the Forsaken you’ve identified in the Tower, given everything else you’ve done, Verin. I’m also anything but sure of who Mesaana’s hiding as. I suspected the Brown who helped Elaida with the coup, but now I can’t even remember her name (which is kind of unlike me; I have crap memory for people’s names IRL but I’m great with fictional characters) so that tells you how sure I am.

“So many decisions you must make, for one so young.” […]

“Thank you, Verin. Thank you for choosing me to carry this burden.”

Verin smiled faintly. “You did very well with the previous tidbits I gave you. That was quite the interesting situation. The Amyrlin commanded that I give you information to hunt the Black sisters who fled the Tower, so I had to comply, even though the leadership of the Black was frustrated by the order. I wasn’t supposed to give you the dreaming ter’angreal, you know. But I’ve always had a feeling about you.”

It is a lovely way of bringing so many things full circle here. Egwene being set to hunt the Black Ajah all the way back in TDR, and Verin giving her the information, and choosing to trust her with the dream ter’angreal…and now Verin coming to her, and choosing to trust her with her life’s work and her secret and her redemption, and handing her the key to the puzzle she was set to all that time ago.

And this whole scene has been full of this sense of mutual recognition and understanding and respect between them; Verin of what Egwene has done and Egwene of what Verin is doing here, with her last act, and what it means.

So much trust, and oh, how it is rewarded.

Trust usually is, in these books, on the rare occasions that it happens.

“You will be Amyrlin. I’m confident of it. And an Amyrlin should be well armed with knowledge. That, among all things, is the most sacred duty of the Brown—to arm the world with knowledge.”

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT LOVE THIS? BECAUSE I LOVE THIS. THIS IS SO GOOD. It’s just a slight…shifting of angles, in a sense, on the usual perception of Browns, but it casts so much in a different light, and it’s beautiful. We’ve almost exclusively seen the Brown from an outside perspective, and they almost always are portrayed as distracted, esoteric, intelligent but more caught up in knowledge than in anything ‘useful’, absentminded…and Verin doesn’t contradict that so much as shine a light on everything behind it. She gives the Brown Ajah depth, and with that, purpose and meaning and value. To arm the world with knowledge. That is a sacred duty, and a necessary one, whatever the knowledge may be.

It’s what Rand himself was trying to do, by setting up his schools in order to try to preserve something against another Breaking of the World.

And it’s just so, so nice to see, after twelve books of fond disdain for the Brown Ajah. To have them redeemed this way, illuminated this way. To have the narrative itself illustrate the fallacy of such a limited view of scholarship and knowledge.

“I’m still one of them. Please see that they know, although the word Black may brand my name forever, my soul is Brown. Tell them…”

“I will, Verin,” Egwene promised. “But your soul is not Brown. I can see it.” Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Egwene’s, a frown creasing her forehead.

“Your soul is of a pure white, Verin,” Egwene said softly, “Like the Light itself.”

Verin smiled, and her eyes closed.

Ahhhhhhhh.

What a perfect farewell to such a fantastic character.

It’s a completely different context and manner of death, but it still puts me in mind of Ingtar, and his final redemption. The way his last words were ‘for the Light, and Shinowa’ as he turned at last away from the Shadow, after Rand offered him understanding and his blessing and, through that, redemption. Egwene does something similar here, in promising to let the others know the truth—and what a beautifully sad last request that is, to have done so much and to just want it known that she was truly of her Ajah, that she did what she did in the service of the Light—and in that last evocation of the Light, and the sense of peace it brings.

Goodbye, Verin. You were every kind of awesome and you will be missed. But damn, what a way to go.

It felt callous to double-check, but there were some poisons which could make one appear to be dead and breathe only very shallowly, and if Verin had wanted to trick Egwene and point a finger at the wrong sisters, this would have been a wonderful method. Callous indeed to double-check, and it made Egwene feel sick, but she was Amyrlin. She did that which was difficult and considered all possibilities.

Callous, but good to be certain. She trusts Verin, and admits and accepts that trust…but that doesn’t stop her from doing the pragmatic thing just in case. And yet – perhaps more importantly – her ability to do the pragmatic thing, and her consideration of all possibilities, does not prevent her from trusting. She doesn’t step across that line into paranoia; she’ll check because it’s a possibility she should be sure to eliminate, but she will also trust. She’ll do the callous thing when necessary, but she doesn’t allow that callousness to become her only mode.

Her heart trusted Verin, although her mind wanted to be certain.

That’s a good way of putting it, actually. And she can balance those two, rather than blocking one off. No point not double-checking, but she can use that as a way to affirm her instinctive want to trust, rather than as a way of rejecting it completely.

All in all, they’re each incredibly lucky the other turned out to be worthy of that trust, aren’t they? If Verin were Black Ajah in purpose as well as in name, or if Egwene were truly powerless or incompetent, that could have gone very badly for one or both of them.

And now she has a babysitter again. Good timing, all things considered; she could have shown up five minutes ago and then where would they be? Still, I can absolutely sympathise with Egwene’s annoyance at someone interrupting what otherwise promises to be a solid chunk of reading time.

Slow clap to Egwene for managing to hide a bodyin half-truths.

She would simply have to wait. And read.

And RAFO.

Kind of literally.

She shoved aside the longing to embrace the Power and create a ball of light by which to read. She’d have to be satisfied with the single candle’s flame.

There’s something about this that feels rather…fitting. Symbolic, even. The Amyrlin Seat, the Flame of Tar Valon, dedicated to the victory of the Light, imprisoned and effectively powerless but for a single candle’s flame, with which to reveal the secrets that will help her bring down the Shadow. She doesn’t need enormous power, or a force of light; she will make do with a single candle’s flame. One candle against the Shadow, but it can be enough.

Especially contrasted against Natrin’s Barrow, just before this. Where all the light the Dragon Reborn with the Choedan Kal could summon couldn’t seem to keep the Shadow at bay and, if anything, seemed only to help it.

I just like the contrast of images, and of the moods the evoke. Rand, illuminated to the extent that he looks like little more than Power and light made flesh, and yet everything about it is cold and frightening and ominous. And then Egwene, quiet and unable to channel and alone in a dark room with nothing but a candle, and yet there is a sense of hope and energy and victory, of a much-needed true victory for the Light. Even if it is only a small candle against so much darkness, it is enough.

She’s gone straight to the list of names at the back of the book—I guess Egwene doesn’t share my aversion to spoilers.

Katerine, Alviarin, Elza, Galina, Sheriam…all names we already know, so far.

Steel yourself, Egwene, she thought, continuing to read down the list.

Steel yourself, as she reads through a list of women’s names. How…perfect. That has to be deliberate.

(A list of dead women’s names, one could argue; it seems unlikely most of them will be allowed to live).

She worked through the feelings of betrayal, the bitterness and the regret. She would not let emotions get in the way of her duty.

Here, again, we have a slight similarity to Rand that is actually more of a difference. True, she steels herself against the names on the list, hardens herself to face them. But more accurate, perhaps, to say she prepares herself to face them. She knows it will be hard, knows it will hurt – it already does; some of those names are already shocking or painful. This is not an easy task. And she also knows she can’t let emotion overcome her, or get in the way.

But she doesn’t shut it out. She works through the feelings of betrayal. She allows them to exist, and processes them, acknowledges them before setting them aside. She lets herself feel, even as she reminds herself to not let that get in the way of what she must do. It’s not a binary switch, a complete suppression of emotion to the point where she denies even its existence. She’s just…doing something difficult, but something that must be done. It hurts, and that’s part of it, and she can steel herself against it to some extent, but she doesn’t try to block it off entirely. She just has to get through it.

There’s a difference between setting aside emotion in order to approach something rationally and trying to shut it off altogether in an attempt to avoid the pain it causes.

Her role as Amyrlin demands that she read these names, and deal with the truths they reveal, and figure out what to do about it. And so she will, and she’ll do that even though it hurts Egwene to have to read them. But she doesn’t deny that part of her that is Egwene, that part of her that does hurt. She just works through it and puts it to one side for now, because now is a time for being Amyrlin.

Moria? Isn’t she the one who convinced the rebel Hall to vote in favour of an alliance with the Black Tower? Damn. I liked her; that was a good speech.

Each name was like a thorn through Egwene’s skin.

At least it’s not (yet) a white-hot line of fire across her soul.

I have to say, it’s not easy to make a character reading a list into an interesting or engaging scene, but this is well done. There’s a palpable sense of tension running through this whole section, even if most of it is simply names strung together with brief interludes of Egwene’s thoughts on them. It draws the reader’s focus alongside Egwene’s; we’re seeing these names through her eyes, an relentless assault of name after name that she has to confront, some of which area easy or mean very little, and some of which are harder, but she can’t dwell on them. The fact that we do only get those brief thoughts from her, before returning to the list of names, helps drive this feeling of urgency and also of…Egwene trying to hold herself together, in a way. Of pushing through and steeling herself and having to just keep reading, keep confronting truth after truth, trying to keep herself rational and calm and together.

So Elaida is not Black Ajah. Or at least, Verin was all but sure she isn’t. That’s no more surprising to me than it is to Egwene, but it’s good to have sort-of-confirmation.

Hi Nicola. Perfect timing yet again – both interruptions have come exactly when they’ll be the least incriminating or disruptive. First right after Verin died, and now right as Egwene has finished reading and hidden the books.

Hidden notes in the food; we’re deep into intrigue territory now.

And now Meidani stops by…and the ruse is up. Verin is very obviously dead and Meidani is understandably a bit ‘um what the fuck why is there a dead Aes Sedai in your bed’.

“Verin Sedai was poisoned by a Darkfriend shortly before her conversation with me. She was aware of the poison, and came to pass on some important information to me during her last moments.”

I love half-truths. An elegant lie spoken with not a single untrue word is honestly a thing of beauty.

Meidani paled, then looked at Egwene, likely wondering how she could be so callous. Good. Let her see the collected, determined Amyrlin. As long as she didn’t see a hint of the grief, confusion, and anxiety inside.

She can be that collected, determined Amyrlin…but she also doesn’t deny that the rest exists beneath that surface, even as she maintains it. She can hold a separation that isn’t a true denial or suppression. She can be callous when necessary, but she can also still feel that grief and confusion and anxiety.

And she also doesn’t spend time hating herself for having to be callous when callousness is necessary, because she accepts that necessity. She may not like it, but she doesn’t turn it against herself, doesn’t direct that pain inwards as some kind of punishment. Whereas I think part of the reason Rand has reached a point where the only way he can endure is to deny all feeling whatsoever, and simply accept that he is damned and there’s no point trying to save any part of himself, is that he internalised too much of that anger and pain at what he had to do, turned it into self-loathing and used it to punish himself for what he must do. And so now the only way he can be callous when needed and do what is necessary is by becoming that entirely; otherwise, the pain of his self-hatred at having to do any of it becomes too much. Easier to just accept that he’s damned and have done with it; he still hates himself but now he doesn’t have to fight against it.

Whereas Egwene doesn’t allow necessity to develop into that sharp-edged self-hatred, because she understands that it is simply necessity, and that she, Egwene, is still there beneath it. She can work through the emotions she feels and set them aside when needed, but she doesn’t spend time inflicting pain on herself as punishment for what she must do. Instead she embraces the pain she must endure, because she can hold onto the knowledge that she is doing all of this for a purpose, that there is a reason for both the pain and for the harder things she has to do, and that it will be worth it. That she’s fighting for something important enough to make those things worthwhile.

That all makes far more sense in my head than I can seem to get it to on paper but I tried.

Meidani’s basically here to act as a news feed: Elaida’s still Amyrlin but the Hall is pissed off, mostly.

“They informed Elaida that the Amyrlin was not an absolute ruler, and that she couldn’t continue to make decrees and demands without consulting them.”

Must—not—make—political—analogy—

“[Saerin] also noted that your own insistence that the Red Ajah not be allowed to fall—spread by a group of novices who overheard you—was part of what kept Elaida from being deposed.”

Sucks when doing the right thing makes your life harder. And yet she couldn’t have done anything else; she is here to heal the Tower and she cannot let another Ajah be broken apart if she is to do that. This is just a test of her resolve, really.

It smelled of a compromise; Elaida had probably met in closed conference with the head of the Red Ajah—whoever that was, now that Galina had vanished—hashing out the details. Silviana wuld still be punished, although not as strongly, but Elaida would submit to the will of the Hall.

But at least the government will remain open and the Aes Sedai won’t have to work without pay.

So not a perfect outcome, but it definitely seems as if things are tipping, slowly but more and more, towards Egwene. Though this may have played out too soon; it wasn’t quite enough to push Elaida over completely, and now the issue has been resolved, so there will have to be something else to push them again.

Luckily – for a given definition of luck – Tuon seems to have set something in motion that could do precisely that…

Given just a little more time, Egwene was confident she could get the woman overturned and the Tower reunited. But dared she spend that time?

She glanced at the table, where the precious books lay hidden from eyes. If she staged a mass assault on the Black Ajah, would that precipitate a battle?

Somehow I don’t think you’re going to be given the chance to find out. I’m not precisely sure how Egwene’s timeline lines up with Tuon and Rand’s, but I rather doubt, given the pace this book is setting, that Egwene’s going to be given much time to consider how to proceed before events decide it for her.

“I want you to report to the others. They must take Alviarin into captivity and test her with the Oath Rod. Tell them to take any reasonable risk to achieve it.”

Or not. Alright then. Egwene’s not wasting any time.

She may not be able to act on all of Verin’s information immediately, but she certainly isn’t going to just sit on it and wait for some sort of opportune moment. Fair enough; this is important enough and bigger than any personal goals she may have. Once again she’s putting the Tower ahead of herself: it’s not about becoming Amyrlin or gaining power for her own ends; it’s about healing the Tower and part of that, now, means taking the steps she is now in a position to take to eliminate the Black Ajah if she can. She’s not going to wait until it would give her a strategic advantage if she can do something about it now. And that is impressive. It would be so easy to hold everything back, to wait and make it part of a play for power. And maybe it still will be, but if it is, it won’t be because she’s withholding information or delaying acting for the sake of her own goals. It will be because that coincides with what she can do for the Tower in any given moment.

“It’s well known that [Nicola]’s one of your greatest advocates among the novices.”

It was odd to hear that of a woman who had effectively betrayed her, but the girl couldn’t really be blamed for that, all things considered.

How easily she can brush off that betrayal, now.

It’s growth even from Honey in the Tea, when the thing that broke Egwene’s determined calm was seeing Beonin and thinking Beonin must have been the one to betray her. Now, she’s moved past the point where it matters who betrayed her and why, because because again, it’s not about her, and holding a grudge against a novice won’t help the Tower, so what’s the point?

So Egwene sets Meidani to the task of ensuring that Alviarin is captured…and then just tells her essentially ‘oh and hide the body on your way out’. Bless.

And then she puts herself to sleep for a quick dream visit. Now that her bed is vacated of the corpse. I just…wow, Egwene. Wow. She has things to do and a Tower to heal, and she’s not going to let anything stand in her way. Or lay down and die in her way, as the case may be.

While she waits, she’s following all the possible trains of thought regarding Sheriam being Black Ajah, which basically results in a mess of what-ifs pretty much designed to cause system overload.

I do like the way we get a full three paragraphs of it; it conveys the full sense of both how tangled everything can get when you know even one person is Black Ajah, and the sense of panicked back-tracking trying to find all the possible places that could have had an effect, and also the sheer overwhelming impossibility of doing any such thing…but the difficulty of switching off that line of thinking, once you’ve started it.

What of Egwene’s own rise to power? How many of the Shadow’s strings did she dance on without knowing it?

That way lies madness, Egwene.

This is an exercise in futility, she told herself firmly. Don’t go down that path.

I should have just turned the page. But yes, that. It’s so easy to get caught up in that tangle of hypotheticals to the point where you paralyse yourself in terms of doing anything at all for fear of making things worse…but that’s not going to help anyone. She can’t look back; all she can do is look forward with more information now than she had before, and try to make the most of the situation she finds herself in. Trying to figure out all the possible ways in which she was pushed into it is tempting, but ultimately isn’t going to help her get anywhere. Find the winning move based on where the pieces are now, rather than wasting time trying to figure out how they got there.

For a moment, she felt herself to be the country girl many thought her to be. If Elaida had been a pawn for the Blacks, then so had she. Light! How the Dark One must have laughed to see two rival Amyrlins, each with one of his loyal minions at her side, pitting them against one another.

It is good that she can recognise this, though. She can’t afford to dwell on it, but she’s not arrogant enough to think that she’s somehow exempt from this manipulation. And there is a bit of anger at herself here…but she fairly quickly shifts it and refocuses it outwards rather than inwards, into determination rather than self-destruction:

Whatever his plan, she would fight him. Resist him. Spit in his eye, even if he won, just as the Aiel said.

There’s nothing she can do about what has already happened except learn from it and keep fighting, and find a way to move forward, find a way to turn what she has now into a position of strength.

“Siuan,” she said curtly. “You may want to summon yourself a chair. Something has happened.”

Siuan frowned. “What?”

“First off, Sheriam and Moria are Black Ajah.”

Don’t waste any time there. She did tell Siuan to summon up a chair, I suppose she figures that’s warning enough. I’m with you, Egwene, I hate small talk when there’s shit to be done.

“I need time to plan and think, an evening perhaps.”

An evening to process several decades’ worth of spying and research and a near-comprehensive list of hundreds of Aes Sedai who secretly serve the Shadow and to figure out how best to deal with all of that doesn’t seemlike too much to ask, especially as she’s not even getting any kind of overtime pay, but this genre being what it is…not sure you’re even going to get that much, Egwene. Think fast.

“This could be dangerous.”

And the award for UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE AGE goes to SIUAN FUCKING SANCHE.

“Are you still captive?”

“Not exactly. Elaida has—” Egwene hesitated, frowning to herself. Something was wrong.

You’ll have to be more specific, Egwene. The list of things that are wrong could fill Verin’s journals several times over.

Oh.

Shit.

She didn’t even get ten minutes, much less an evening.

Nicola shaking her arm. “Mother,” she was saying. “Mother!”

The girl had a bloody gash on her cheek. Egwene sat up sharply, and at that moment the entire Tower shook as if from an explosion.

And it was shaping up to be such a quiet, relaxing, peaceful evening.

Oh shit she can’t channel, can she? That’s uh….Bad.

It wasn’t Tarmon Gai’don, but it was nearly as bad. The Seanchan had finally attacked the White Tower, just as Egwene had Dreamed.

And she couldn’t channel enough Power to light a candle, let alone fight back.

GODDAMN IT SANDERSON THESE CLIFFHANGER CHAPTER ENDINGS ARE KILLING ME. Have some mercy for those of us who make terrible life choices and decide to liveblog these books!

Next (TGS ch 40) Previous (TGS ch 38)

#WHAT DID I EVER DO TO DESERVE THESE CLIFFHANGERS #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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ittookthelightforever · 6 years ago

Text

Tell Me Why - chapter 7

Hi,

I have come to the conclusion that I love the Drama because I watched too many soap operas when I was a kids, latin ones at that. Oh well... I dedicate the extra drama in this one to my dear friend, @taqueriaonamoon.

Also, this whole tumblr link bug is so disappointing and just plain ugh! Hope it gets fixed soon!

Love, Lina.

(Chapter 1) -- (Chapter 2) – (Chapter 3) – (Chapter 4) – (Chapter 5) -- (chapter 6)

Source

The bus makes a special detour to leave Charlie at her sister’s house and she honestly can’t wait any longer to be reunited with her family, “Charleh, yeh are ‘ere!! Boys, c’mere, Aunty Charleh is ‘ere!” Emily engulfs her sister in a hug, pulling her inside, “Hi, Em. ‘ow are yeh guys?” Em pulls away and takes a good look at Charlie, “yeh look different.” Charlie brushes her off and turns to great her nephews, “Nate darling, can you take aunty Charlotte’s bag to her room? Help him, Vi.” Emily pats her children in the back and they grunt before disappearing inside with Charlie’s things. The older woman pulls her inside and into the kitchen, closing the door, “There is something off with you.”

Emily squints at her, regarding Charlie from head to toe, “Em, stop being weird. Well, weirder than normal.” Emily shakes her head, sniffing Charlie’s shoulder and ultimately squeezing her breast, “Em, wot the fook?” Emily smiles broadly, “You are pregnant.” Charlie’s face falls and her posture falters, “W-What? ‘ave you lost yehr mind?” Emily crosses her arms in front of her chest, “Yeh can’t lie to meh, Charlie, I’ve ‘ad two kids. ‘ow maneh weeks?” Charlie gives up and sits at the kitchen table, “Almost 12.” Emily sits next to her sister, rubbing her back, “ ‘ey,mardy bum, wot’s wrong? Aren’t yeh ‘appeh?” Charlie sighs, pushing her hair away from her face, “I-I am, i-it’s joost I ddin’t want anehone to know yet. I-I’m not readeh.”

As she is pulled into another tight hug, Charlie chooses to snuggle close to her sister, cherishing the sense of home she carried, “ It’s gunna be alreight, love… Do yeh know who’s the father?” Charlie only nods in response, “Do I know ‘im?” The thing about Emily and Charlotte’s relationship was that being born only two years apart the girls grew very close, and even though they hadn’t lived together for more than 10 years now, they were very attuned to each other’s feelings and emotions, “Y-Yes…” Charlie’s voice is barely a whisper and in turn Emily sighs and hugs her closer, rocking her lightly in a soothing manner, almost as if Charlie was a small child herself.

“Is he from Sheff?” Charlie nods again, tears sprouting from her eyes, “Oh Charleh, I thought it’d been years since yeh two…” And for the first time since she found out about the pregnancy Charlie truly let herself breakdown, in the arms of her beloved sister, “Oh Charleh, it’s gunna be okeh.” The sobs rake through her slight body, emerging from deep with Charlotte, from all the doubts, and fears, and pain she’d kept bottled inside these past weeks, “Love, look at meh, yeh’ll end up making yehrself sick.” Charlie raises her head from her sister’s bossom and Emily wipes her face gently, “I’ll make yeh sum tea, ‘elp yeh calm down and we’ll talk about it, eh?” Charlie nods weakly, still sobbing lightly.

Emily gets up, swiftly putting the kettle on and setting up a plate of biscuits, “Yeh look joost like mum.” Remarks Chalie, nibbling on a chocolate digestive, “Well, I’ll take tha’ as a compliment.” Emily had indeed followed in their mother’s footsteps, from having two children to taking over the family’s beauty salon, “ ‘ere yeh go, joost as yeh like it.” Charlie blows into the steaming mug before taking a sip, appreciating a small token of warmth and homeliness, “I’ll never learn yerh way.”

“It’s love. Speakin’ of which…” Charlie rolls her eyes, “Don’t act like yerh the expert.” Fueled by her anger and lack of sleep Charlie has spoken without a second thought, “Em, I’m sorreh, yeh are only tryin’ to ‘elp and I’m being an asshole.” Emily waves her off, “I’ll let this one go, yeh are ‘urting. Plus, what ‘appened between Michael and I ‘as nofing to do wiv yehrs and Alex’s relationship.” The sound of his name brings back the near constant nausea in the pit of Charlie’s stomach, “Wot’s tha’ face? Charlie yous two ‘ave been in love with each other since yous were kids. Mike and I were a silly high school romance. All of ‘igh Green ‘as been waiting anxiously for their golden children to be togetha’.” Charlie cringes at her sister’s words.

“Emily, stop wiv tha’’ nonsense. Alex and I love each other as friends, this was a one off fing. ‘e were ‘urting and needed meh.” Emily scoffs, “Tell meh anotha’ lie, please. Alex were ‘urting so yeh shagged? When did it ‘appen?” Charlie blushes as she remembers the night, how detached still so connected they were, “After ‘e broke up wiv the witch.” Emily raises an eyebrow dramatically, “So ‘e’s free for the first time in three years and the first fing ‘e does is shag yeh? Yeh, tha’ boy realleh loves yeh like a sister.” Tears come back to Charlie’s eyes as if they’d found their permanent place on her face, “If ‘e loves meh so mooch then why does ‘e alreadeh ‘ave a new girlfriend, huh?”

Emily is at a loss, “Yeah, ‘ow the fook do I tell ‘im I’m pregnant when it was just anotha’ mindless shag in ‘is book? I can’t lose ‘im in meh life, specially not now!” Charlie feared Alex’s reaction would break her, his presence in her life was a constant she wasn’t ready to lose, ever. She couldn’t remember an important day in her life that he hadn’t been a part of and the mere thought of his rejection made her crumble. “I need time, Em. To figure this fing out.” Emily nods gravely, “ ‘Course, we’ll get through this. Together.” They hug once more for a brief moment, “Ok, now let’s move. Yeh should ‘ave sum time for a nap before the big luncheon, ugh.” They roll their eyes simultaneously, for different reasons.

The Monkey’s mothers had organized a welcome luncheon, taking advantage that the band had arrived a day early, at the Turner’s and Helders’ backyards which were adjacent and could be opened for big events like this. All families were invited for an afternoon of good old group fun, which both sisters dreaded. Charlie for Alex related reasons, whereas Emily had her own problems to deal with. Her former husband, Michael Cook, would be in attendance this afternoon and since the divorce the pair hadn’t been in the best terms. Emily put on a brave face in front of the kids, but she’d never imagined she’d end up in this situation where she couldn’t even have a civil conversation with the man who had been her partner for 10 years.

Emily leads her upstairs to her old room, which had become more of a guest room in recent years and soon Charlie is fast asleep, the stress of the last couple of days having taken it’s toll on her. However, her nap is short as soon Emily wakes her, “Charleh, wake up. We ‘ave to get going.” Charlie groans and turns away from her sister, “C’mon love, I’ve a surprise for yeh.” That perks her attention and Charlie raises her head, “Wot?” Emily groans, knowing the word surprise would get her sister’s attention, “It’s in the living room, come down and see. Get ready first, tho.”

Once Emily has left, Charlie gets up and diggs through her bag for an outfit and makeup. She changes into a simple sky blue tea length dress with a fluffy white cardigan on top, and after a quick brush of her hair and some light makeup, Charlie slips in her ballet flats and heads downstairs. As she turns into the living room Charlie finds her mum and dad sat on the couch, “Mum! Dad!” She is filled with joy at the sight of her parents sitting on the couch, “Charleh, me babeh!” Her mum, Margaret, gets up from the couch and embraces her youngest daughter tenderly.

“What are yeh guys doing ‘ere?” They pull apart so Charlie can hurt her dad, Pete, “We hadn’t seen yeh girls in forevah, yehr dad and I thought this was the perfect opportuniteh.” Emily emerges from the kitchen, “Kids, come down. We ‘ave to go.” Nate and Violet run downstairs and so the Jones family goes, walking the three blocks over to the celebration. Margaret walks arm in arm with Charlie, “Yeh look skinneh babeh, is everyfing okeh?” Charlie nods, giving her a hopefully reassuring smile, “Yes mum, ‘m perfect. Promise.” Her mum tuts.

“Yehr ‘air on tha’ other ‘and, it’s awfully long, Charlotte.” And so the motherly remarks begin, “I know mum, I’ll ‘ave Em cut it for meh before I leave.” Margaret stops them for a sec, taking charlie’s chin in her hand and inspecting her, “Yeh look different, there’s this… Glow about yeh, is there anything going on?” Charlie takes the hand away from her chin gently, “It’s just meh makeup, mum.” She moves them along and thankfully once they reach the celebration Margaret is distracted by her friends.

Charlie immediately spots Eily heading with the kids towards Jamie, Katie and Forrest who were talking to Alex and Louise. She excuses herself from her parents and heads over, “Hi guys.” Charlie gives Katie, who was chatting with Emily already, a hug since Jamie and Alex were too excited talking to Nate about music and guitars. Jamie had gotten him one for the past x-mas and since then that’s all the kid had been able to talk about. She kneels down to Forrest’s height, the small boy was being entertained by his cousin Vi and Louise, “Hey For, can aunty Charlie get a hug?” He notices and opens a wide smiles, “Aunty Charlie!”

The toddler throws himself into her arms, causing Charlie to nearly stumble back, “Story, story, story!” She chuckles, kissing his soft cheeks, “Later, love. Aunty promises.” Since Forrest mostly saw her at the bookstore for story time, or when she babysat for the Cooks, he had linked her to storytime, “Before your nap, baby.” Katie intervenes to avoid a tantrum and the toddler is soon distracted. Charlie stands up, “You are so good with him, Char, you’ll be a great mum someday.” Emily chokes on her drink and Charlie has to hold herself back not to glare at her sister.

Luckily everyone is distracted by a new arrival, “Mike’s ‘ere.” The kids noticed too and start running towards their dad. Charlie stands back, between Alex and Emily, linking arms with her sister. “ ‘ow long’s it been?” Emily downs her drink before answering, “Almost two months.” Charlie huffs and Alex takes her hand, squeezing it once, and she is thankful for his support. Michael reaches them with an arm around Nate’s shoulders and Violet hanging from the other, both kids beside themselves to have their dad there, “ ‘ello, ‘ello.” He is visibly altered, at 2pm in the afternoon, at a family event, “Hey Mike, I have to feed Forrest right now. Kids, do you want to come with us?” Katie had sensed the incoming conflict and picked up her son, asking her nephews to join them brought some relief to Emily, “Go babehs, try and find yehr grandparents.”

Alex also felt the fight brewing, as he was well aware of the Cook’s temperament, “Babeh, why don’t yeh go wiv them? I’ll be reight there.” Louise took her queue and follows after Katie, “What were yeh thinking, Michael?” Showing up to a family event plastered liked this?” Michael moves towards Emily, “Yeh are no longer meh wife, Emily. So shut the fook up and go back to yehr silly little chats about ‘air or shite.” Charlie can see jamie’s hands curling up into fists and moves closer to Emily.

“It’s not about meh, yeh wanker. It’s about our kids, who ‘adn’t seen their poor excuse of a dad for nearly two months!” The next few seconds happened in slow motion for Charlotte. She sees Michael charge towards Emily and steps in front of her sister, receiving the slap that had been intended for her. The whole party quiets down as she is thrown into her sister’s arms and Alex grips Michael by the collar, throwing a punch to his nose. Before the fight started Jamie held Michael back and their parents intervened.

Margaret takes a hysterical Emily into the Helders’, while Jamie and his father drag Michael away from the whole thing. Alex and Charlie are herded by Penny into her kitchen, where she takes care of them just like when they were kids and scraped their knees biking. Charlie is sitting at the table with a ice pack against her cheek and hand over her stomach, daydreaming about what happened, “Is everything alreight, Charleh?” She snaps out of it and looks up at Alex, who was leaning against the counter as his mum tended to his split knuckles.

Charlie had been worrying about the baby, even though she knew nothing could’ve possibly happened, “Yeah, ‘m just ‘ungry I fink.” Penny finishes wrapping his hand and gives him an ice pack, “You two stay ‘ere, I’ll get yeh some plates. It’s best yeh eat in ‘ere, just until the ice melts down. Especialleh yeh mister, yeh’ve work to do tomorrow.” They chuckle in unison as Penny goes back outsied, “Are yeh realleh okay, love? That wanker gave yeh quite the blow.” Alex is clearly still agitated so Charlie pats the seat next to her, “C’mere Al.” He sits down and takes her hand, “I’m okay. Just worried about Em and the kids.” Alex pulls her ice pack away to peak at the swollen skin and grimaces, “I know Char, but we’ll ‘elp Em make through this, okay? I promise.” Charlotte smiles despite the pain on her right cheek.

This was her Alex, he was always there to save her and everyone she loved. In that moment she almost blurted out about the pregnancy, but their mums walk into the room and ruin the moment, “Oh Penny, don’t they look adorable?” Charlie and Alex roll their eyes simultaneously, “Yes Maggie, I just wish they’d get together alreadeh and save meh the trouble of all these girls Alex keeps bringing ‘ome.” Alex objects, “Oi mum, can yeh not, please?” Charlie holds back her giggles as Penny tuts, “They are all beautiful to look at, son. But they are not for yeh, next to our Charleh they don’t stand a chance.”

They were used to their mothers comments by now, so they try to ignore them and go on with their meal. Once Charlie and Alex are both fed and their ice packs have melted they venture back outside, where Charlie is quickly pulled away to read a book for the kids.

Alex stays back to watch and is quickly approached by his grandma, “ ‘ey Nanna.” She hugs him from behind, keeping an arm wrapped around his waist, “ ‘ow are yeh, son?” He hums a positive response, eyes trained on Charlie as she entertains the kids, “She really is summat, innit?” Alex looks down to his grandma smiling and agrees, placing his injured hand on top of hers.

“Weh never realleh understood why yehs two didn’t end up together. I, personally, blame yehr father.” He pulls a face, “Nanna, tha’s awful! Besides, Charleh’s way too good for meh. She deserves better.” He looks back to his friend, catching a moment when she’d just read a funny line and all the children were laughing with her, making Charlie shine with a special glow. Nanna notices the look on his face and smiles sadly, “Whatever you say, love.”

—//—//—//—//—

Once the kids and their parents are sound asleep in their beds, as Charlie had given her room to their parents, she and Emily head to the living room for a nice sisterly chat, just like old times. While Em enjoyed a cup of red wine, Charlie resigned herself to curling up on the love seat with a warm cup of tea, “Today was…Quite the day, huh.” Ponders Emily taking a sip of her wine and sloshing the liquid around in her mouth.“I ‘ave to tell ‘im, don’t I?” Emily nods and Charlie sighs, “I’m so scared. I-I love ‘im as a friend above everyfing and to… Lose ‘im, I don’t know if I can.”

“You are scared of losing him like I lost Michael?” Charlie only whispers a word of agreement, “Char, you and Alex ‘ave ‘ad the perfect friendship for 30 years, yeh never fight. The worst fights Mike and I had, and still have are about money and that’s not an issue you and Alex will have.” Charlie grimaces at her sisters words, “I’m not gonna let Alex pay everyfing and spoil the kid at random.” Emily waves her off, “I know, love. But Michael and I were two broke kids, wiv not even a college degree, trying to handle two kids. The only reason I even ‘ave a ‘ouse today is because mum and dad left it to meh when they retired. Yeh ‘ave yehr own place and business, even if yeh raised this kid by yehrself, which I find highly unlikely, you’d still be good and not have to bother fighting wiv the father.”

Charlie takes another sip of her tea, trying to figure out how to voice her next question, “Em, did Michael… Did he ever hit yeh?” Emily looks down into her wine glass, as if she could find an alternative answer at the bottom, “Hmm, once… The week he left.” Charlie reaches out to grip her sister’s hand, fighting the instincts to storm out and find the man that hurt her sister, “Tha’s when I knew there was no going back, tha’ we was done.” Charlie reaches out to hold her sister’s hand, “Tell ‘im, Charleh. Worrying about it won’t change the fact that you are ‘aving ‘is baby.”

Emily finishes her wine and bids her goodnight, but Charlie can’t go to sleep yet, there was too much going on in her head so she falls back on an old habit. She takes her coat that was hanging by the door and slips into her boots, ready for a late night stroll around the neighborhood, where the cold air would hopefully help her sort through her thoughts.

Charlie wraps her coat tighter around herself as she takes a turn and to her surprise Alex is standing in front of his parent’s house, smoking a cigarette just like old times. She approaches him, “Can’t sleep?” He asks as she stops by his side, “Nope… I feel like we’re 16 again.” He chuckles, “Reight… ‘ow are yeh, Char?” She sighs, taking the cigarette he offered, thankful for the cold night as she takes a fake drag.

“I’m fine, Alex.” He shakes his head, knowing how stubborn she could be, “Me mum finks yeh’re depressed again. Are yeh?” Charlie looks down, kicking the gravel beneath her feet, “No. Are yeh? Yeh’ve been acting weird too.” He throws the cigarette butt on the ground, stepping on it, “No Charlie, ‘m not. But yeh’d tell me if there were summat wrong, reight?” Charlie turns to face him, “Yes, Alexander. I should go back ‘ome, it’s late.” She moves past him, going back towards her house, “Night, Charlotte. I love yeh.” She has to dig her nails into her hands to keep from crying as she turns back to face him, “Love you too, Turner.”

#alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner #alex turner fanfiction #arctic monkeys #arctic monkeys fanfic #ittookthelightforever #arctic monkeys fanfiction #arctic monkeys imagine #tell me why

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arbitrarygreay · 6 years ago

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Morning Musume in NYC 2018, Friday

In the wee morning hours, I took the various trains to my hotel, and the walk from the nearest station to the hotel was a miserable affair, slogging through the slush on the sidewalk as rain poured down and the wind blew in what seemed like every direction at once, with my arms and hands in awkward positions, as I had to handle an umbrella, luggage, and a cane all at once. I met up with my friend at the hotel around 7AM, and we checked in our luggage (which cost money, because NYC), and had a discussion that, surely, no one would be mad enough to queue in this weather this early. The con had even issued an email saying that no one should queue until 9, due to the weather. I decided to scout out Javits, though, because I knew that wota gonna wot, meaning queuing stupid early no matter what. Sure enough, there was a nice line already growing at the convention center, so we joined the line around 7:30. This still put us in a good position, within the first 15-20 of the Mega line. We got to talking with a girl from Texas, and it became fairly clear that mosmt of the early queuers were MM fans, though though there were a few fans of the other artists. During all this time, rain and wind waxed and waned, so sometimes it wasn't too bad, and other times there was a bad chill. Friday did not get off to a good start, for setting impressions of Anime NYC. We had a cramped schedule, as the MM autograph session and the concert guests panel were nearly back-to-back, and then our press interview with MM was scheduled almost right before the autograph session, and all of that was almost right after doors would open. So it was going to be critical that we got into the doors to get our autograph tickets ASAP, or we might lose the window to get our press credentials and hold the interview. Well, doors opened significantly late. And then they had the Mega holders sit in line for the autograph tickets for about half an hour until all Mega and General attendees had been admitted and General had picked up their badges and then gotten in line for autograph tickets, so they could have a guy orally tell us the rules for tickets just one time (even though obviously people would show up after he did so). This meant we nervously watched the clock tick by and they refused to let us get autograph tickets for no good reason (just post the rules right by the table! It was all already in the con app, website, and booklet anyways!), getting ever closer to the time were we would just have to forfeit getting autograph tickets or forfeit the interview. Finally, they let the ticket gathering begin, and it's a damned good thing we queued early, as we grabbed our tickets and sprinted to the press office with just minutes to spare. Our fellow press members, who had waited until 8 or so to queue, did indeed arrive a few minutes late, though the guest staff handling us for the interview was extremely gracious to allow the delay. Apparently, the complaints about this nonsense were so noticeable that the con issued an apology that night and said that they would be changing their procedure for the autograph ticket queuing for the next day. So that shows that they do take feedback, which is much more promising. We were informed that we would only be interviewing a subset of the group, as they were rotating members amongst the various press outlets. And then we did our interview, and it was pretty magical. Will link the result when it comes out. UFA retained editorial power over anything we'll publish, as usual. But one of the things that happened was that my friend was wearing a 12th gen FC shirt, which Chel honed in on and gushed over a bit. My friend and I then rushed to prep for the autograph session: getting into cosplay. She went as Yokoyan in Minmin Rock n Roll, complete with pinning printouts of the cartoon cicadas from the MV all over. There are pics of her on Twitter! Originally, I was going to match her as an improbably tall Funaki, but then the Furari Ginza MV came out, and I just knew that I had to take advantage of the timeliness to be dapper!Dii. Unfortunately, having to change from "camp in miserable weather" clothes to cosplay clothes in the half hour between the interview and the autograph session meant that we couldn't bag-check, and couldn't get through the merch line, either. I ended up having the girls sign a Houston shirt. My friend, though, stole the session just about, by having the girls sign some musical photobooks. As the line was in seniority order, she started by explaining to each girl that they had signed the Lilium photobook last time (in Houston), but she wanted to finish it out with Dii's signature, so in the mean time, they could sign this year's Snefuru book instead. And not only did every girl recognize my friend's cosplay (many even starting to sing the Minmikimikimikimiki intro lol), they just lost it every time at the photobook pic of baby!KSS!Lilium!Dii. It was great. Chel also had a moment of "wait, you were wearing a 12th gen shirt before???" and my friend reassured her that she was still wearing it under the safari shirt. The girls did recognize my cosplay as well, but I didn't have much to say to them, to my regret. I did ask Chel if she watches any American TV, and she said she had watched Spongebob just that morning. And I got Sakura to do the Furari Ginza dab with me. Talking to everyone else about the autograph session, it appears that the girls (and management) were surprisingly accommodating, and most of us had really great interactions with them. Unfortunately, this meant that the line moved slowly, and they ended up running out of time, and some people with tickets could not get an autograph. Ultimately, I feel that I would have been okay with going down the line faster, so that more people would get their time with the girls, so I hope the managers keep stricter track of time in the future. From there, we spent some time with the merch (they were selling the new single, fall tour T-shirts and towels, a NYC exclusive photoset, and member key holders), before queuing for the panel. We were early enough to get within the first 3 rows, and I sussed out from looking at the chair setup on which side that MM was going to sit, so we were very very close to the girls for the panel, and I feel like the girls recognized us. Plus, an audience member brought their baby on our side, so the girls kept looking over in our area. I liked most of the decisions the con took with the panel. A moderator (an ANN writer) asking her own questions, and then selecting from a shortlist of questions submitted by audience members earlier. In the first rounds, she asked the same question of each guest (picking a single member from MM to answer each time). When MM introduced themselves, they each gave their names, and then their favorite anime. Maachan said "My favorite anime is Disney Channel," L O L. Later, a non-MM fan said that they had mass respect for the girl who said Re: Zero was their favorite, as most of the other picks were mainstream rather than late-night stuff. Shokotan really showed why she's a fan favorite, being so very enthusiastic and earnest with every answer, fully engaging the audience and sweeping them up into her energy. More importantly, she and Harunan professed their love for each other as fellow otaku. None for you, Dii. Eripon talked about how, in contrast to the other guests, this wasn't their first time in NYC. But they were still surprised by the snow, lol. She also noted that MM doesn't really have anisongs, even though this concert was Anisong World Matsuri, lol. Ayumi talked about what we should expect at the live, and especially pointed out the fist raise gesture she wanted us to do for not-Furari-Ginza. Maria talked about what makes the Colorful lineup unique within MM's history, and she said that it was about the hot energy of their lives. Hagababy talked about the hardest bit of dancing she had to learn, which was how to do turns properly. And SOMEHOW they didn't let Chel talk. What. Maachan was heavily jetlagged. And despite not getting to answer a question, she still stole a few great moments, besides the above meme-worth introduction. At one point, when they were passing the mic from Ayumi to Maria, the cord got in her face and she let out a cute squeak. Later, when the panel was discussing how Kageyama had been in the industry for decades, he mentioned that he first joined a band 40 years ago, and Maa started trying to count on her fingers what year/decade that would be, and Sakura was like "just stop that, that's embarassing," lol. One thing that tainted the panel, though, was that all of the translators weren't great. Lots of answers were really clearly truncated, missing half of the material or more, and a few were outright bungled, giving the opposite of what the guests had said. Bleh. And that concluded the MM activities for the day! We browsed the dealer's hall a bit, including picking up some Lady Kaga onsen flyers, and taking pictures in our cosplays with the big MM picture set up there. I was just beyond pooped and sleep deprived at that point, so after having a mid-afternoon dinner, we retired to the hotel.

#morning musume #morning musume 18 #morning musume '18 #mm in nyc #anime nyc #category: idols #category: fandom

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newsiesarchive · 2 years ago

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FF.Net Back Up: Breaking Old Ties by Gaelicchick

Originally Published Apr. 25, 2000

Part Three of the "East Meets West" series- An old friend's ties to the Irish mafia put Maggie and the rest of the house in danger.

Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 13,792 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 3 - Published: Apr 25, 2000 - id: 21653

Breaking Old Ties

Maggie O'Rourke sat hunched over a table in the back room of O'Connor's pub. She screwed her face up tight and frowned as she went over the figures in the account book for the ten thousandth time.

"Douglas! Douglas!" After a moment a large, burly six foot red headed and red bearded Irishman entered. Douglas O'Connor owned the pub, and Maggie had taken it upon herself, for a small addition to her wages of course, to help him keep the books in order.

"Douglas, is dis right? Ders got ta be a mistake here." She pointed with her pencil to the expenditures of the last month. Douglas frowned,

"No, looks right ta me lass."

'Do ye mind tellin me den, what the devil yer doin spending dat much on rum and whiskey?"

"Look around ye girl, dis is a bar." Maggie gave him a look that showed she was clearly not amused.

"Douglas, look at these two pages. Dese are da costs when ya let me make da run, and dese are da costs when ya leave it ta Colin, Marcus, or yerself. Do we see a pattern?" Upon inspection, it was revealed that the costs when Maggie bought the liquor were drastically lower.

Douglas gave her a look, "An what do ye mean ta say by all dis? I should let you buy da beer, is dat wot ye want."

Maggie put her hand on his shoulder, "No no no, yer doin just fine with da Guinness. I'm jest sayin dat I tink as so far as de hard liqour is concerned, I get better deals. And ye know dat I kind find da best stuff to, none of dat watered down "fixed up" shite."

"Dis wouldn't have anytin ta do wit da run I was plannin on sendin da boys on tanite, wold it Maggie my love?" Maggie grinned.

"What a great idea! Yer a genius Douglas O'Connor. I'll be back by seven."

With that Maggie hopped off her stool and sprinted through the doors out into the main room. She hopped over the bar to take off her apron and grab Colin's old coat, worn out at he elbows and too long, but it was warm. Douglas was waiting by the bar, a piece of paper and a small sack of cash in his hand.

"Here take it, there is enough in der fer me ta buy all I need, so I'm sure ye'll leave plenty in der if yer as good as ye tink. An 'heres da list. We're low on brandy, whiskey and rum. Don't ferget da vodka and sherry, Sam's back in town. Plenty a gin too, the Martin's jest had a another boy." Maggie glanced over the list and shoved it in her pocket. She headed towards the door.

"Wait!," Douglas seemed a little bit nervous. "I hate ta ask it, but where are ya planin on buyin dis?"

Maggie smiled, "I figured Sullivan and Finn's fer da whiskey an vodka and da Red Dog fer da sherry."

"What about da rest?"

Maggie gave Douglas a condescending glance. "Ya know fer yer own good I can't tell ya about dat."

Douglas groaned. "Maggie! Ye can't be buyin liquor from da bloody mafia! Do ya want ta get me killed? Want ta see me hangin by me own entrails from de streetlamp? Me, with a wife an children ta support, who'll mourn me an be farced ta live in de streets."

A shout came from upstairs. "Don't ye listen ta his belly-achin Maggie! I never wanted him ta start a tavern! A nice little boardin 'ouse, dats all I wanted!"

Douglas glared at the ceiling. "Bernadette! Kindly stay outta tings dat don't concern you!" The only response was a curse muttered in Gaelic and a bang as something was thrown against the wall. Maggie rolled her eyes.

"Relax, Douglas. Go back an finish with da books, I'll have ta get workin when I get back." She headed for the door. Douglas grabbed his hair in both fists and looked up to the heavens.

"Relax she tells me! All right! I'll relax! But you'll be sorry when dey are comin in here and choppin off me fingers all because me cheeky little slip of a bar girl insulted on of der boys. Just you wait!"

Maggie shook her head, very amused. "Douglas, you have nothin ta worry about. Yer fingers are perfectly safe." She opened the door and walked out, calling over her shoulder as she left, "Dey take yer toes first!"

Maggie whistled and skipped out into the afternoon sun. She headed out of Brooklyn Heights and across the Brooklyn Bridge. She cut over to 2nd avenue, following it as far as 42nd street and cutting through Mid Town till she hit 8th avenue and was in the Kitchen.

Hell's Kitchen had been, since the civil war, a den of the sleaziest, dirtiest, mist despicable criminals in New York. Even some of the underground leaders avoided it. But it was the place to go if you wanted good liquor. All you needed was an in, and Maggie had one. She took 9th Avenue up to 47th street. About halfway down the block there was a dirty, rusty metal door with the number 314 painted on in chipping white paint. Maggie passed the door and went down the ally. The side door to the kitchen was open, and she slipped in. She nodded to Julio, the head chef, and went about finding the busboys.

She happened upon Bobby Francia as he was dumping a load of dishes into the sink. She snuck up behind him, covering his eyes. "Guess who?"

"Maggie, there are other ways of starting a conversation you know." Bobby never had been one for jokes. Maggie shrugged as he turned around,

"Sorry, I'm here on business, and I'm kind of in a hurry." Bobby nodded, waiting for her to go on. "Have you seen Patty tanite?" Bobby shook his head.

"Nope, haven't seen him. But we did get a request from table 7 to bring them some..." He stopped shuffling in his pocket, "Here it is. They wanted some 'bloody corned beef and cabbage and don't burn it this time you bunch of limey bastards.' And about three gallons of Guinness have gone out that way too." Maggie grinned,

"Sounds like my Patty. Thanks Bobby!" With that she scooped up a tray and entered the main room, heading straight for the table for two in the back where Patty met his clients. Luckily, he was alone. Maggie put the tray on the table and slid into the seat. Patty looked up, surprised, but not too surprised.

"Good Evenin Maggie my girl. What can I do ye fer?"

Maggie produced the list. "I need brandy, gin and rum. I'd say about a weeks worth. But an Irish weeks worth. Plus we've got Sammy in town and another addition to the Martin clan."

Patty looked up, "Ya mean Shamus has another one? Jesus, like bloody rabbits dey are." He took another swig of his beer, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "All right, come wit me. A large order like dat I'll need ya ta make de selections."

Maggie was dwarfed by the big dark haired Irishman. Patty had been a friend of her father's, and she had known him since she was a toddler in Doolin. Unfortunately, while in Dublin Patty had found a talent that paid more than fishing. And it was his job with the Irish mob that got him sent to America a year before Maggie's family came. In the time since, unsatisfied with being owned by Mickey Flynn, Patty went freelance, and though he promised Maggie that the infamous hitman in the headlines wasn't him, he still kept to the shadows.

As they walked they came upon a group of men arguing the street. They wore long black coats and appeared to be dragging a man across the street into a building.

Maggie looked up at Patty, whose mouth was set in a firm line.

"Friends of yours?"

"Jest keep yer eyes straight ahead an keep walkin." Maggie frowned and did as she was told.

They reached a shop that said "William's Antiques", Patty opened the door and held it open for Maggie to walk in. He nodded to a man behind the counter, who walked ahead of them to an old clothes press against the back wall. He took out a set of keys; first opening the press, then stepping in and opening a small door in the back of the press. He motioned for the two to step inside.

They entered a room not seen by the general public. An exclusive liquor store that Patty's profession gave him access to. He and Maggie strolled along the racks, Maggie surveying and then deciding on which brands and vintages she wanted. Patty called over Wemick, the clerk. An aging man, Wemick recognized the two immediately.

"Mr. Donegal, and Miss Kerry, so nice to see you." Donegal and Kerry were what Patty and Maggie were called when doing business of this sort. Most people knew who Patty really was, but he had enough fear of him to keep him safe. No one knew Maggie's real identity, and Patty intended to keep it that way. Here she was considered his niece.

"What can I do for you today?"

Maggie piped up. "Oh, its a small gathering, some intimate friends. We'll need a case a dis an half a case a dis and dis." As she said this she indicated the bottles on the shelves. Wemick noted the vintage and brand.

"Excellent, excellent. And you Donegal, anything today?"

"Now dat ye mention it, I do have a few gifts I'd like ta buy. Ye can handle yerself can't ye now love?" Maggie nodded.

"Here you are miss," Wemick handed her the paper with her order, "Now all you have to do is settle with Bill over there about the, er, bill." Maggie nodded and left him to help Patty.

At the end of the rows of bottles, there was a small window, much like a ticket window, but it was entirely black. There was a large slit along the bottom, and a bell. Maggie rang the bell and waited. Presently, a small slate board and piece of chalk were passed through the slit. Maggie took the chalk, placed her paper order on the board, and pushed it back under. After a few seconds, the board came back with a figure on it. It was incredibly high for what Maggie had bought. She crossed it out, and wrote what she was willing to pay, and pushed the board back.

On the other side of the window was Silent Bill. Rumor was that he had once cheated the head of one of the crime rings on an order, charged them too much for watered down wine and brandy. As a punishment, they had found Bill, and cut out his tongue. But since Bill still had the connections to get the best alcohol, they let him keep his shop, even hiding it and bringing him exclusive business. They were the ones who paid for Wemick to be a front man. But Bill was still a cheapskate, and he drove a tough bargain for his wares.

The other rumor was that Bill's face was disfigured when police tried to interrogate him about his customers. That was why the window had been painted black, but he always seemed to know who was on the other side anyway.

Finally, Maggie wrote down another price, and underlined it, meaning she was pulling her order soon if they didn't agree. The slate came back, the number circled. Maggie put the money on the slate. It came back to her with two tags with numbers on them, the numbers of the crates her order was in. Written on the slate was, "Nice doing business with you again Maggie."

Maggie smiled, wrote a little note back, and took her tags. She got Patty's attention, and they walked toward the back exit. They came out on the waterfront, and at the bottom of the stairs Maggie handed her tags to a rather large brutish man. He nodded, disappeared inside, and came back, handing her two small crates.

"Ugh," she groaned picking them up. "Patty, yer givin me a ride, I can't carry dese all day way back."

Patty looked a little uncomfortable. "I can't exactly go into Brooklyn fer a while lass."

"Patty you didn't!"

"Keep yer voice down! I can get ye as far as de bridge, but yer carryin from der."

Maggie sighed and nodded, it wasn't too far.

Patty, true to his word, got them a cab as far as the bridge, then promptly disappeared after giving Maggie a kiss and dropping her on the Brooklyn side. That put Maggie right in Brooklyn Heights, so it wasn't that far a walk.

Or it wouldn't have been if she hadn't been stopped.

"And just what is dat youse smugglin inta heah?" Maggie kept walking past the finger docks where the voice came from. Before she knew where he came from, a thin boy in pink suspenders was in front of her, blocking her way.

"I said, whats in deah?" He emphasized his words by rapping sharply on the crates with his cane.

"Keep yer bloody stick off me property! An get outta me way!"

Spot showed no sign of moving. "Are ye daft? I said get outta me way, ye got no cause ta stop me."

"Oh yes I do. You'se is in my territory. An any kid bringing liquor inta my territory gots ta pay da toll. So come on, pay up."

Maggie was slightly puzzled how he knew what was in the crates, but she had no intention of giving him her loot. "Over my dead body." Spot raised his eyebrow, Maggie spit in his face.

Spots face grew red in anger. Maggie slowly lowered the cases to the ground.

"Dat," Spot growld as he wiped his face, "was a very big mistake. Now, I'se not in da habit a hittin young dewdrops like yerself but-"

"Well, allow me ta make it easier for ya ye Yankee bastard." With that Maggie slapped Spot open palm across the face. He looked like a stunned fish. He made to swing at Maggie, but she wasn't there, instead he felt his legs buckle as she swiped under him with her leg. He scrambled to his feet, but again she wasn't there. He didn't turn around, but heard her footsteps and made a grab for her as she ran up behind him, but instead of sending her sprawling, she tucked into a roll and sprang up laughing.

Spot grinned, this was becoming fun. He made to punch her in the stomach, but she sidestepped and grabbed his arm, whirling him around and sending him flying towards a pile of empty crates. He ducked into a roll and sprang up rather than hitting them, and made a rush for her. She had lost him in the dark and he caught her by behind, but she reversed the hold and had him in a feeble headlock. He reversed it on her just as somewhere the clock struck seven.

"Shite! I'm gonna be late, sorry-" With that she kneed him in the groin and laid a well delivered right cross to his right eye. Then she grabbed her coat and the crates and raced off, as fast as anyone could with that much to carry.

"Get up! Get up! Time ta sell the papes get outta bed!" Kloppman dodged as a pillow flew across the room full force. It sailed past his head and down the stairs, hitting Race as he, groggy eyed and half awake, was shuffling into the washroom.

"Hey! Leave me outta dis!" He chucked the pillow back at Kloppman who chuckled. He tossed the pillow across the room onto the top bunk.

"Good Mornin to you too Maggie." Smiling to himself, he walked back downstairs.

"Dis, is an ungodly hour of da mornin ta be wakin up." Maggie swung her legs over the bunk and hopped down to the floor.

Emma, who was a big morning person, sailed by her. "It wouldn't be so hard on you if ye hadn't been out till midnight Maggie." Maggie glared at her as she pulled on her pants and searched for her vest.

"It wasn't as if I was out galavantin around da city, I was werkin!" She stomped after Emma down the stairs, shouting to be heard over the din of the boys getting ready.

"So you were, but couldn't you persuade Douglas to let you go earlier? Why do you need to stay so long?"

Maggie couldn't answer her because she had plunged her face into a sink of cold water. She snatched a towel from Racetrack and quickly dried off, speaking as she did so. "Emma, darlin, I love ya, but ye need ta get out more. Tings don't really get goin der until ten o'clock. An the good tips don't come in till the tables with da largest tabs leave, and dey stay the latest. I'm not leavin me tables fer Colin an Marcus to collect from!"

Through all of this, Emma's head had been under water. She lifted it up during Maggie's last sentence, "What are you talking about?"

Maggie muttered a curse, lifted her eyes and her hands to the ceiling, and stomped out of the room. "Abba help me I've got her praying again!" Emma moaned as she followed Maggie out of the room, down the stairs, and out onto Duane Street.

Maggie and Lacey moved down 9th avenue towards 48th street, each on a separate side of the street.

"Read all about it! Mass grave discovered in Crown Heights! Police involvement suspected in da murders! Tank ye sir, tank ye 'mam, tank ye sir, 'mam." Maggie smiled at the pennies in her pockets. That article about a rats nest being fumigated under the police station had been helping her all day.

She nodded as Lacey moved a little further down the street. Maggie stayed on her corner. Or at least, she was planning on doing that when an arm reached out and pulled her into an alley.

Maggie struggled against her unseen captor, biting and clawing. She managed to get a good knee in to the groin, and was abruptly released.

"Bloody hell girl! What did ya do dat fer?"

Maggie turned and looked back. A ray of light filtering through the laundry above hit upon the face of a boy of about 20, of slight build, but tall, with fiery red hair. She stared at him, not believing what she was seeing.

"Aiden?" She whispered, not trusting her eyes. "Aiden, is dat really you?"

The boy looked up, still clutching his stomach, revealing light blue eyes. He smiled. "Well, if I had any doubts about who you were, yer greeting sure put dem ta rest. It's me Maggie."

Maggie squealed, and launched herself into Aiden's arms. He caught her, chuckling deep in his throat, then picking her up in a hug so strong she thought her ribs would crack, but she didn't care.

Aiden Murphy had been a friend of Maggie's since childhood. His family, like her mother's, had come from the Aran islands, a part of Ireland very set in tradition. Aiden and his father had left Doolin with Maggie's family to find work, and the two had never parted until the O'Rourke's left for America following the death of Maggie's mother. They'd been as close as brother and sister, and leaving Aiden had been one of the most painful parts of leaving home for Maggie. She couldn't believe he was here, and she told him so.

"I never expected ta foind you, I admit. But den I herd dis voice in da street yesterday, and I knew. I knew dat was my Maggie. I couldn't foind ya den, but I waited all day taday hopin you'de be back."

Maggie pulled away from her friend, not daring to believe he was really there. "I can't believe it, its jest not possible. How on earth did ya get yer da ta leave? An yer mother? Lord! Dey must be shakin der fingers back on da islands, two families lost ta da sin an curuption of da cursed new world!" She laughed, but Aiden only managed a forced smile. Maggie's face fell, she became concerned.

"Aiden?...Everytin's all right, isn't it?" Aiden looked away for a minute, but when he turned back she could see his face full of pain, she knew that look, she'd worn it herself.

"No..." she shook her head, not wanting to hear this.

Aiden nodded. "He died two winters ago Maggie. Yer right, der wasn't a power on earth dat coulda got him off dat island. An it killed him-" He broke off, and Maggie wrapped her arms around him. She sat down on a box in the alley, Aiden's head in her lap.

"It's all right, I know, I know what its like, believe me..." She sort of rocked him there for a moment, and he recovered himself and sat up on the box with her.

"I don't know how I can say dat in front of you. You lost yer whole family in less den a year. You were da only one left on yer own in a country full a strangers..."

Maggie shook her head. "It doesn't make losin a parent any easier no matter where ye are...Where's yer ma? An da twins? Are dey-"

"Oh, der fine, tank da Lord. After da died, ma left Dublin fer the islands, she took Sean and Marie with her. I stayed ta work."

"Ya shouldn't have isolated yerself Aiden."

"An what should I ha done, gone back ta da Arans? Ye know dat place too well Maggie, modern thinkin has no place in it. I wasn't goin back ta be told dat everytin I believed in was wrong jest because it was different!"

Maggie nodded, she had grown up around the isles where her grandparents lived, they were steeped in tradition; her grandmother refused to speak English, on principle.

They sat in silence a moment, then Maggie tried to clear the air. "So how long have ye been 'ere? An how did ye know what part a da city I was in?"

Aiden paused, and avoided eye contact with Maggie. "I uh, I been here about two months."

"Two months! What took ye so long?"

"It's complicated Maggie. I had certen obligations ta fill..."

Maggie stared at Aiden, hard. This wasn't sounding good. "What kind a obligations, an ye still haven't told me how ye found me where-a-bouts."

"Well Patty said-"

"Patty! Patty O'Brien? What in da name a all dats holy were ya doin around Patty O'Brien?"

Aiden started at her excitement, but he had a guilty look on his face, he was hiding something and Maggie knew it. "Nothin girl! I jest sorta bumped inta him when I got here an-"

"Harse shite."

"What?"

Maggie was standing up now, staring the sitting Aiden right in the eye, hands on her hips, eyes wild. "Dat's harse shite Aiden an you know it. No one, no one jest 'bumps in' ta Patty O'Brien. He makes sure a dat. Jesus, Aiden do ye know what kinda werk dat man is inta-" She stopped, and stared at Aiden long and hard, a shadow of sudden realization crossing over her face. She backed up from him slowly, shaking her head.

"Aiden, Aiden tell me ya don't know anytin about da kind a business Patty's in. Jest tell me dat an we'll ferget all dis. Tell me, please." Her voice had grown very soft, pleading. But Aiden wouldn't meet her eyes. Maggie's face darkened, "Jesus Mary an Joseph," she breathed. Then she exploded.

"Jesus! Aiden how could ya be so stupid! What da hell are ya doin in dat line a werk! Do ye want ta get yerself killed? Want yer ma ta lose all da men in her family? Want me ta lose da best feckin friend I ever had right after I found him again? What da hell are ye doin?" Now Aiden was starting to get angry.

'What do you know Maggie? Huh? Ye been livin here fer almost seven feckin years. You never had ta scrape a livin outta da streets a Dublin. I couldn't support meself let alone me ma on werkin in da factory. I was shinin shoes before-"

"What do I know? What do I know?" Maggie's voice grew louder with every word. "What do ye tink happened ta me when me da died Aiden? Ye tink I was taken in? I was kicked outta me house, an me tings were eider stolen or sold. I had a roof over me head fer tree years because a some kind nuns! An den what happened? It burned Aiden! Da whole feckin place burned ta da ground. I lived on da street fer four years! I scraped a livin together by sleepin on da streets with four other girls. An we had a child ta take care of besides. An dats not feckin easy ta do in a city where dey "don't hire Irish". We're a disease ta dem Aiden, a feckin disease. I had ta sell newspapers fer a penny a piece. An den, ya want ta know what happened last winter Aiden, do ya? Da feckin factory burned down! Burned! Ta da ground! We lived in a boxcar in da middle of winter, I almost died from bloody pneumonia, an ye tink I never had ta scrape a livin tagether? Jesus Aiden, I had it every bit as tough as you. I won't show you me scars where I been beaten. But I never had ta turn ta da bloody mafia ta make ends meet."

Aiden just stared at her for a long time. Maggie stared back breathing heavily, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm sorry Maggie. I never knew it was dat bad, I jest assumed-"

"Don't assume anytin in dis city Aiden. Dats how people get hurt." Aiden nodded. Maggie looked at him, relented, and wrapped her arms around his waist. They stayed that way for a long time, then Maggie pulled him out into the sunlight of the street.

"Come on, I'll take ya ta Tibby's, ye can get a good meal. Not Irish fare a course, but decent."

Aiden looked uncomfortable. "I don't tink dats sech a good idea Maggie." Maggie looked puzzled, "Why?"

Aiden finally spit it out. "Dey keep kinda a tight eye on us ya know. If ye took me ta where ye spend a lot a time, dey'll follow."

Maggie's eyes darted around. "Whose 'dey' Aiden?"

He had to tell her, "Flynn's goons."

Maggie's eyes opened wide in fear, and her voice shook, "Ya mean Mickey Flynn's goons? Why would dey be here, Mickey runs outta Dublin an Belfast."

Aiden shook his head, "Not anymore."

"Ye mean he's here?"

Aiden nodded, "Dats how I came over ya see, I was part a da group he brought."

Maggie sucked in her breath. "Aiden ye have ta get out. Ye can't be werkin fer him."

"Don't ya tink I've tried Maggie? I'm gonna talk with Patty, I tink he can help. But till den I'm gonna have ta lay low an do as I'm told. I don't want ye mixed up in dis."

Maggie looked over Aidens shoulder, "Jesus Aiden I already am."

"What?"

"Dat man, behind you. I know who he is, an he's one of Mickey's, ye've been followed. An he's seen me."

"Jesus Maggie, I didn't tink dey'de find me so fast. I never ment ta get ye in danger."

Maggie kept her eyes on the man and put a finger to Aiden's lips. "Hush now, I can take care a meself, I had practice dodgin da's creditors. Ye jest be sure ta go home by yer normal route, nothin out a de ordinary. I'll go somewhere else an hide fer a few hours. I'll be fine."

Aiden nodded. "How will I find you?"

"Use Patty, he's better at dis den you are."

"Hey!"

"Well, it's true!" She laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then slipped into the alley and disappeared from sight.

Maggie walked fast, and in circles for the better part of a half hour, but whenever she looked over her shoulder, she saw one of Mickey's hired hands. Their brutality was notorious, rumor was Mickey helped them escape from prison, and they'll be sent back or killed if they don't complete their job to satisfaction.

All the more reason for Maggie to walk quickly.

One thing was for certain, she couldn't go back to Duane Street, not tonight. There was no way she was going to lead Mickey's nose toward the Lodging House. She knew what the man could do. Her father had gambled his life away in Dublin taverns after her mother's death. He had been so crushed he didn't care when he ended up owing money to the underground. But they didn't come after Charlie O'Rourke, they came after his children. They would follow Maggie and her two little brothers, Sean and Daniel, all over the city, scaring them. Sometimes more. Maggie had a scar across her right arm from the time the thugs had used a knife to persuade them to force their father to pay up.

Yes, if it was one thing all that had taught her, it was that you didn't let those people anywhere near the ones you loved. And Maggie didn't intend to.

Maggie's wandering had taken her to the far east side of the island. What the hell, she thought, staring across the river, it's just as easy to get lost in Brooklyn as in Manhattan, and it's farther from home. She set out across the bridge.

"Well, well what do we have- you!"

Maggie's head whipped around, the voice, it was familiar...She glanced back over her shoulder, her shadow was still there, a little closer.

"Hey, you deah! Come 'ere, we ain't finished!"

Maggie didn't have time for this. A fight would be an easy way for the thug to overtake her, and a scuffle with this boy might pull him into the whole mess. She had only one option left, and her pride screamed as she decided she had to take it

She ran; as fast and as hard as she could. She shot past Spot, although not in time to miss his stick clipping her across the shins, she kept going. Spot followed her, idiot, but there was nothing that could be done. She glanced back, and saw her tail sprinting through the crowd. He had longer legs, and was going to overtake her in a matter of moments. She ducked away from the river into an alley, kicking trash cans over behind her to block the pursuit. She burst out into the street, ran a block, and darted back down another alley, back towards the water. If she could hop onto a boat, or lose him in the bridge traffic... *BAM* She slammed into someone. She pushed herself off to keep on going, but the someone wasn't letting go. She looked up, damn. It was the pink suspendered boy from the other night. She really didn't need this. She fought against his grasp, but he was strong. Maggie was used to that though, and Patty had taught her how to slip out of the flimsy hold he had on her. But no sooner had she broke free than another boy stood in her way, and another. About five of them in all, and clearly none was interested in letting her go.

Maggie looked beyond them, where was the shadow? She couldn't find him. Either he had become a better hider, or she had lost him. For now. And if she stayed out here in the open, he was just going to find her. She had to get out of sight. She turned back to the boy.

"All right, you win. But if ya intend ta do anytin udder den let me go, can we please go somewhere a little more private please? Fer reasons a mine own, I don't really want ta be seen right now."

Spot stared at her. Something was strange. This was the same girl who had laughed out loud during the fight last night, but now, when she was barely being touched..what was it? Then he realized: she was afraid, really afraid. What was the girl so terrified of? And why was she darting her gaze around like that? Whatever the cause, she was skittish as a racehorse right now, he'd never get anything out of her.

He stared at her, hard. "If I take youse somewheres hidden, an I let all dese boys go, I need your solemn woid dat you won't run." Maggie nodded, spit on her hand, and held it out. Spot sealed the spitshake, nodded to the boys to depart, and with a hand firmly on Maggie's arm, pulled her towards a tenement building, up the fire escape, to the roof.

"Dis is de most private I can do." Maggie looked around warily, then, satisfied, she turned to Spot.

"All right. If ye want ta threaten or fight or whatever its fine, jest as long as we do it here."

Spot couldn't figure it out. This girl was bizarre, but he knew he didn't want to fight, although that had been kinda fun last night. He just wanted to find out who she was, and what she was doing sneaking around his docks.

Spot stuck out his hand, "Spot, Spot Conlon, greatest most powerful newsie in New Yawk." Maggie grinned, amused at Spots modest opinion of himself. She shook his hand, "Maggie, Maggie O'Rourke, newsie and rum runner fer O'Connor's pub. Its a pleasure, really."

Now it was Spot's turn to grin. "Wait a sec, youse," he looked her up and down, "youse is a newsie?"

Maggie just nodded, "Dats right, live in da Duane Street house in Manhattan."

"Well dat explains it, only Jacky-boy coulda-" The look she was giving him made Spot a tad uncomfortable, so he stopped before he said something he would regret. It only lasted a minute, and she was back to staring at people down on the street, trying to find someone. Crazy, he thought, only Jack woulda toined outa newsie like dis.

"Hey, a I hate ta ask ya dis, but dis is my territory an I gotta know, did ya steal dat alcohol you was bringin in last night?"

If she'd been closer she would have slapped him in the face, as it was, her face just grew dark and angry, but she held on to her temper, not wanting to attract attention from below.

"No," she said in a voice that was too soft and controlled, "I didn't steal it. I bought it."

Spot didn't believe her. "Whats a little thing like you need with two cases a dat stuff, you trowin a party?"

Maggie clenched her fists, don't make a scene now. "If its any ayer business, which I doubt, I bought it because dats my job. I werk at a pub, an we needed more liquor, so I went an I bought some. Do ye have a problem with dat?"

Spot gave her a look, "Deys sendin a goil ta buy dem beah? Dat don't sound-"

"Dey sent me because none of dem have da bargaining skills ta get god prices, or da contacts ta get quality merchandise, an dats all I'm goin ta say on da subject."

Spot backed of for a minute, but he had more questions. He perched himself on the edge and looked over, den back at Maggie. "So if youse didn't steal anytin, whose you runnin from?'

"Dats none of yer business an ye wouldn't want ta know anyway."

Spot hopped off the ledge and moved toward her, "Oh, but it is my business ya see. I got Jacky-boy draggin scum from all over da city, an no doubt da woild, inta my territory. I ain't gonna stand fer dat. I'm da leaduh around here, an its my job ta get all dat pollution outta Brooklyn."

Now, in his little speech, Spot had meant the "scum" and "pollution" to refer to the thugs that were chasing Maggie. But the "scum form all over the city and the world" part resonated in Maggie's ears. She'd been called that often enough. Her fists clenched tighter, and no matter how she told herself to calm down, all she saw was red. She wasn't going to O'Conner's tonight anyway, not with that shadow still lurking. So why stay, there were plenty of hiding places in Manhattan, just as many as here.

She advanced slowly, till she was right at the edge of the roof, nose to nose with Spot. "After all of yer kindly hospitality, I'd hate ta inconvenience ya in anyway. So I'll jest take me scummy, polluted arse an get back where I belong. Dats what you want, isn't it? I tot so, dats what you all want. Well ye aren't goin ta get rid o me like a rat, I choose where I go an no one else. Don't bother lookin fer me at da Lodgin' House either, I can't go home, it ain't safe, not here or der. An yer right, dis place is polluted, an full of scum," she stared right at Spot as she said this, "an fer da sakea keepin yer precious territory clean, I'm leavin." And with that, she jumped off the roof.

She had seen the wagon full of rugs and carpets earlier, and landed right on top of it, with little or no bruises. She leaped off it at a run, never giving Spot a backward glance.

"Wait!" Spot called, "I didn't mean-" by now she was too far away to hear him. He turned toward the fire escape muttering, "I didn't mean you."

"Hey Jackey-boy, we need ta tawk." Jack looked up as Spot came into Tibby's. It was the beginning of the lunch hour and newsies were filtering in. Jack raised his eyebrows and shoved over in the booth, Spot dropped into it. He grabbed a glass of water, not caring whose, and drank it down in one gulp. He finished and turned to Jack and David, who was sitting on the opposite side of the booth.

"Listen Jack, we gots a woikin relationship, an I tot we coulds all respect dat. So why is you sendin youse newsies inta Brooklyn? I tot we-"

"Hold on Spot. Wadda ya mean I'm sendin kids inta Brooklyn. I ain't doin dat. All myse newsies stay on Manhattan, like we agreed."

"Den how comes I gots Manhattan newsies assaultin my shores by night an day?"

Jack and David looked at each other, confused. "What?"

"Its very simple Jack. You ain't doin your job. Last night I got in a tumble wiv some goil from Manhattan sneakin two crates a Perelli inta my territory, an she won't pay da tax. An dis mornin, I got da same goil slippin over da bridge, wid papes, an ta boot she's got some wacko followin her, so now I gots ta be on me guard fer dose guys too. Can't ye control yer own Jack?"

David interrupted, "Spot, Jack can't be responsible for what one newsie is doing on their own, at least not when he doesn't even know they're going to Brooklyn. Since when has going to Brooklyn be a crime?"

Mush's voice floated over from the next booth, "Yeah, its only a crime a bad taste!" Spot threw a salt shaker at him.

David rolled his eyes and went on. "Spot, did the girl actually sell any papers while she was in Brooklyn?"

Spot thought for a moment, "Well, no, come ta tink of it, she was too busy runnin from dis big guy. No she didn't sell anytin."

"Den she wasn't breakin da contract." Jack said. "Ya know newsies enough dat date people in Brooklyn, an deys nevuh had a problem goin over der. I tink youse is just over reactin Spot, have sometin ta eat."

David looked a little more concerned, he turned to Jack. "Jack, if one of the newsies is running from someone, shouldn't we know who it is so we can help them? Maybe have them sell with someone else, somewhere else." Jack nodded.

"Spot, can you tell me which one of da goils it was?" He motioned to the news girls sitting in booths and tables around the room.

Spot shook his head. "She ain't heah Jack. She told me so, sometin about it not bein safe ta go home. Den she ran off, I ain't got a clue where she is."

Jack looked around the room hard, "David, who'se missin?"

Just as they began to scan the room, Lacey came in the door. She looked very concerned. She immediately crossed the room to a table with the rest of her friends, Emma, Kats, Gloria, and little Annie. She talked rapidly, using her hands, sometimes slipping into Italian, but the girls all understood, and looked concerned. They got up and spread out, going around to tables, asking questions. The disappointed looks on there faces made it clear they weren't getting the answers they hoped for.

Lacey came over to the booth next to Jack's, where Mush, Kid Blink, and Racetrack were eating.

Racetrack piped up as soon as he saw Lacey come over. "So, whats goin on goygeous?" But unlike normally, Lacey wasn't returning Race's flirting.

"Have any a you seen Maggie taday?"

"I tot she sold wid you?"

"She did-does, dats just da problem. I was on one side a da street an she was on de other, an the next thing I know she's gone. I looked all over da kitchen, all over da west side an part of mid town, niente" She snapped her fingers to emphasize the point.

Spot leaned over the back of the booth and stared at Lacey. "Did you say da goil you was lookin for was named Maggie?"

"Have you seen her?"

"Well, I met a Maggie. She was rude, loud, insultin' and a helluva runner. Sound like da right one?"

Jack leaned into the table, "If this was Maggie we may have more than we bargained for. Dat goil has a bad habit a gettin herself into trouble."

Lacey sat down in their booth, her large dark eyes focused on Spot. "Ya better tell me da whole story."

By the time Spot was done, the rest of Maggie's "family"; Emma, Kats, Gloria, and Annie, had pulled up chairs or crammed into booths to hear. When he finished, they all looked at each other. It was as if they could communicate without speaking. Lacey thanked Spot curtly and they all got up to leave.

"Wait!" David called, "Where are you going?"

Gloria called back, "If anyone can find her in this city we can." David slipped out of the booth and joined them.

"Then I'm coming with you." Emma shrugged, "As long as you can keep up." And with that they all exited Tibby's and took off down the street.

It was late, very late. They had stopped by the Lodging House a few hours ago to drop off Annie, who had been falling asleep on her feet. Spot had left for Brooklyn with orders to tell them immediately if he saw Maggie, and he went off muttering about being a slave to Jack.

They had searched every place imaginable with no luck. They decided to split up about half an hour ago, and David was on his own. He found himself on the Lower East side, near the docks, and decided to check one last place before he went home.

The boxcar was still there, oddly enough. He figured it would have been torn off the tracks by now. He tried the door, it was shut tight. He almost gave it up and went home, but he noticed a bucket of fresh water by the door. Some one was inside. He knocked on the door, but received no answer. He kept trying to pull it open, but the door was stuck fast.

"I tink it must ha rusted shut. Dats why I had ta sleep on da roof." He jerked his head up to see Maggie peering back at him over the edge. "What can I do fer ya dis evenin David?"

"Why didn't you come back to the House? The girls have been looking all over for you."

Concern crept over Maggie's face. "I wanted ta leave ward, but I couldn't risk comin back ta da house so soon. Tell dem not ta worry, I'll be fine. I'll see 'em tomorrow mornin."

David stared up at her, straining to see her in the faint light. "Maggie, what's going on? Spot said someone was chasing you in Brooklyn today." There was a pause.

"So ye met dat arrogant little bastard did ya?" David smiled, it wasn't the first time someone had said that about Spot.

"Actually, I've know him quite awhile, and your description isn't all that inaccurate. But you didn't answer my question."

Another pause, "David, I'll be all right tanite, I promise. If ya still need ta know tomorrow I'll tell ya, but right know I'm tired an I want ta go ta sleep."

David thought a moment, then took off his coat and threw it up to her. "What's dis?"

"My coat, you'll be a lot more comfortable tonight if you have it."

"I don't want your charity David, I'm fine-"

"Think of it as insurance. If you have my coat, them you have to come back and return it soon." He heard her chuckle.

"Never made you out ta be a swindler David Jacobs. I'll see ya in de mornin, I promise. Don't ferget ta let dem know at da Lodgin House dat I'm all right."

David promised and turned to walk back home.

True to her word, Maggie was back at the distribution center early the next morning. She was met with anxious looks and hugs from her friends, but she never really told anyone what had happened. What she did tell them was that she needed to sell alone today.

"Like hell you is." She turned over her shoulder to see Jack standing over her.

"I'll sell wid who I please Jack, an taday I have ta sell by meself."

"You had da whole house woiked up ovah wheah you was last night, an youse is responsible fer gettin Spot Conlon on me case as well- By da way, what is dis about you pickin a fight wid him?- In any case, da least youse can do is give us some piece a mind, let one a da guys sell wid ya."

"First of all, he picked a fight wid me, an he's jest sore because he lost. Second, if I could ha got ward to ya I would hav, but I couldn't. An tird, dis is bigger den anytin you've dealt wid Jack. Dis concerns people from a part a dis city ya don't know anytin about. Ye'de jest put me in danger, any a ya would."

She looked around at the faces gathered about. Jack look like a landed fish, most of the boys just looked confused, but Emma was nodding. She understood sometimes where Maggie went, she couldn't follow. It was the same with Lacey when she was calling on her 'other family', sometimes you had to do things on your own.

David picked that moment to run up. "Hey Jack! Maggie I-" he stopped seeing the blank stares and noting the silence.

"Here's yer jacket David, tanks." Maggie took the moment to toss David coat, which he caught numbly, and push through the crowd and down the street.

"Where's she going?"

David ran down the street after Maggie, and quickly fell into step with her. She turned to him, 'An jest what in de warld do ya tink yer doin?"

David shrugged, but he wasn't smiling. "Well, Jack just stormed off cursing, none of the girls will talk like, its there under some kind of oath, and no one else has a clue whats going on. So if I'm going to find it out, it'll have to be from you. And your going to tell me."

Maggie stared at him, "I don't have ta tell ya anytin."

David's face was cold. "You're right, you don't. But do I have to remind you that there is a whole house full of people back there that care about you? That Annie didn't sleep last night because she was afraid you'de been put in another factory and weren't coming back? That Race and Mush didn't come home till dawn, and this time they weren't out at the track or the poker hall. They were out looking for you. Because your one of us. Whether you like it or not when you join us you're part of a family, and we look out for each other. Right now I ought to be selling papers, but I am trotting after you, because all we can figure out is that you are in some sort of trouble, but you won't turn to us for help. If you really have to take care of this on your own and you know you can, fine. Go ahead! Do it! But give them the consideration of letting them know whats going on. Because you have people that worry when you don't come home at night. And you have people that'll be crushed if you don't come home again. So think about that, all right?"

With that, David stopped and turned around. Maggie stopped and stared after him. If ye could only understand David. I have ta do dis because I do care. Dis is de only way I can keep all of ye safe. I'm sorry.

Maggie took her papers down to the Lower East side that day to sell. She decided staying a good distance from the Kitchen was a smart plan. She had sold a bunch to ferry goers and tourists, and was done a little after lunch. Seeing as Tibby's was out of the question, she decided to head over to O'Conners and start the afternoon shift.

She crossed the bridge cautiously, watching both behind her, for any tails, and in front, in case that bastard of a newsie Spot decided to show his ugly face. Fortunately she managed to cross without any problems, but she took a long route to O'Conner's, just in case she was followed.

She had never been to O'Connor's in the afternoon before, and the place was altogether too clean. The tables hadn't yet been pushed back for dancing and fighting, there wasn't any sawdust down yet, and the bar was sparkling. It was a completely different atmosphere.

"Maggie! Maggie my love! Come 'ere won't ya. Jest sit on me lap a bit, show us why we were all mad ta leave Ireland behind."

Maggie grinned at the cat calls, but the same clientele. Glancing at the old men in the corner table, Maggie wondered if they ever went home. She smiled and went into the back room, where Douglas was puzzling over the account books. He was startled to hear someone enter the room, but relaxed when he realized it was Maggie.

"Jesus, I thought ye were Bernadette. Sweet Bridgett, I love da woman, but she'll be tha deah o me yet jest ye wait!" He paused, scratching his beard, "What are ya doin here so early girl? Yer shift don't start till-"

"I know Douglas. Did anyone, by chance, come in here lookin fer me taday?

Douglas looked thoughtful and rubbed his beard. "Come ta tink of it, a tall gentleman, wid a dark coat an peculiar manner came in bout an hour ago askin fer ya. Told him ye wouldn't be in till later, an would he care ta leave a note."

"Well, did he?"

"No, he did talk wit Colin a bit do, better ta ask him."

He hadn't finished his sentence before Maggie was out the door and into the kitchen

Maggie found Colin peeling potatoes in the back near the fire. She sat down on the hearth next to him, grabbing a knife and a spud and began to work "Colin, did anyone ask fer me taday?"

Colin, a tall, lanky boy with dark hair and green eyes looked at her uncharacteristic seriousness. "Aye, Patty came lookin fer ya around noon."

Maggie's head shot up, an she nearly cut herself with the knife in her surprise. "Watch yerself!" Colin warned. Maggie nodded and went back to work.

"So," she tried to keep the tone light, "jest what did he have ta say fer himself?"

Colin looked around for a moment and lowered his voice, "He wanted ta talk wit ya about somebody named Aiden. Said dat he's sorry about dat, an not ta worry, he'd take care a everytin."

Maggie didn't relax, "When Patty takes care o tings, people get hert. I jest hope dey both use der heads." Colin sighed and peeled his potato, "especially since Patty don't have much o one in da first place." That made Maggie smile, and for the rest of the afternoon they sat peeling and telling jokes, until Marcus came in to say that drinks needed to be served and that Maggie had a visitor.

Maggie hadn't realized that so much time had passed. It was dark outside and the main room was filling up when she came out of the kitchen. It was so full she couldn't even see the door. And getting to it took some time since every table between the back of the room and the front had to stop her to greet her and order their drinks. She broke free breathless, slamming a pad full of drink orders onto the bar in front of Douglas, that was when she saw David.

A puzzled smile came over her face as she waved to him and he came over. She gave him a hug and then hoped backwards onto the bar. "I don't meanta be rude David, but what are ye doin here?"

David grinned and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, not to put too fine a point on things, Jack wanted someone to keep an eye on you. And Lacey said that you'de most likely be here."

Maggie made to protest, "I can take-" David cut her off

"Care of yourself thank you very much. I know, I know. Don't get all defensive." he grinned devilishly and leaned against the bar, "Actually, we were more worried you might hurt somebody, or burn down a building. You have a nasty habit of doing that when you get mad you know." Maggie made a face and threw a dish towel at him. "See? See? You've got one hell of a temper there, and mighty vicious too!"

"You have no idea." Maggie turned to scowl at the new voice. Douglas was standing behind her, an unopened bottle of gin in his hand. "Why don'tcha intraduce me ta yer friend Half Pint?"

Maggie grinned. "Douglas, dis is David Jacobs, he sells newspapers in Manhattan. David, dis is Douglas O'Connor, owner and manager of dis fine establishment."

Douglas held out his massive paw, "Any friend a Maggie's is a friend a mine. Welcome ta O'Connor's lad." David smiled, a bit taken aback by the large man, and shook his hand, "Pleased to meet you sir."

Douglas nodded, and turned to Maggie, holding out the bottle. "As much as I love ye lass, we got patrons ta serve and Colin won't be out ta help till Marcus comes back from buying da beer, so you have a full room ta werk." Maggie nodded, and turned apologetically to David.

"I'm afraid he's right. Will ye be all right here if I go and take care a tings?" She inclined her head toward the crowded room. David nodded, and at that moment, Douglas leaned over Maggie's shoulder.

"Ya know girl, if yer friend ain't doin anytin, we could always use a pair 'o hands in da kitchen." Maggie swatted him with the dish towel.

"Ye keep yer mouth shut, he ain't here ta work for you!" She grinned mischievously, "If ye really need the help I could run upstairs an call Bernadette..."

"Bite you tongue girl! Fine, fine, I jest tot it might keep the boy from gettin bored."

"You thought it would be a quick way to get some cheep labor, admit it!"

At this point David butted in, "If you need the help I wouldn't mind-"

"There ya see? I told you he wouldn't mind!" Maggie shot Douglas a look, and he retreated to the other end of the bar, grinning and chuckling to himself.

Maggie turned back to David, "ye don't have ta, but if ye want da kitchen's back der. Colin's in der an he probably could use a hand dryin da dishes."

David shrugged, "I don't mind. Beats sitting here lookin like a bodyguard." Maggie smiled, of all the newsies, David was the last one she'd expect to be a bodyguard. She led David into the kitchen and introduced him to Colin. The two were laughing and joking when the door shut behind her.

"So, how long have you know Maggie?" Colin was up to his elbows in wash water, scrubbing while David dried. David finished wiping the last glass and reach for another.

"Not all that long. She and her friends turned up at out distribution center a couple of months ago, just after Christmas."

Colin nodded, and smiled as he said, "So what do ye think of her?"

David shrugged, "To tell the truth, don't know her very well. See, I live at home, not at the Lodging House, so I don't see her as often as the others. And since she's always working here, I don't see her much at Tibby's either."

Colin nodded, "I know what ya ,mean, dat girl doesn't leave much time fer lazin about. I can hardly get her ta take a shift off, she's hell bent on saving enough money to bring whats left of her family here. If it weren't fer dancin she'd work herself from dawn till dusk."

David cast a strange look at Colin, "Dancing? Maggie...dances?" It just didn't seem to fit, but Colin nodded enthusiastically.

"She and I have a sort of runnin competition as ta who's the best. But ya have to remember, Maggie spent most of her childhood sittin around in pubs, keeping an eye on her da. She learned all sorts a things in der, an one of em was how ta dance, and dance well. She's the reigning champ around here, an we have a competition every couple a months for Irish from all over New Yark. Anyways, all ya have ta do is get da band ta play one of her favorites or a real fast jig or a reel and she's gone. Only t'ing I know of dat Maggie enjays more den cursin' is dat." Colin smiled, "Dat was actually part 'a da' reason dat-"

Colin was cut off by the sound of a table crashing to the floor and glasses shattering. "Jesus Mary an Joseph! Ye would 'tink de'yed wait a couple a hours before goin' at it!" With this ripped off his apron, wiping his hand on the back of his pants as he burst out through the swinging kitchen doors, a bewildered David right behind him.

In the middle of the room a table had been knocked over and chairs were strewn everywhere. In the middle of the rucus two men were rolling on the floor trying to hit each other. They were easily as big as Douglas, and the man himself was trying to separate them. Colin ran into the thick of it to assist him, but it wasn't much use. David saw Maggie standing to one side shaking her head, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Then, raising her hands to the sky she walked over to the stairs and shouted something. Moments later a wiry woman with jet black hair pulled back in a tight bun with a few wisps of white came down the stairs. Maggie pointed to the rucus and the two of them strode up to the fight with dark, glacial expressions on their faces. Neither were very tall, so Maggie stood on one table and the woman stepped up on the chair next to her. They looked at each other, and Maggie made a half bow, motioning with her arms for the woman to go first. The woman nodded in acknowledgment, and turned back to the fight. No one had noticed her presence.

Yet. "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!" It did not seem possible that such a huge sound that filled the entire room, carrying over the din of the brawl, could come from such a little woman. The men, all of them, froze.

The woman began again. "As if it ain't bad enough on me poor weary soul dat I 'have ta live with da thot' dat my husband owns a pub. Dat I have ta listen to da god awful rantin' an ravin' from dawn till dusk. But Lord, ye don't seem ta 'tink dat's enough punishment for me sins, so ye send me dese boys. Dese foolish rowdy godless souls dat tear me 'home apart? What have I done Lord? What have I done ta deserve dis? Why..." The woman buried her head in her hands, winking and nodding to Maggie to continue.

Maggie stared in utter disgust and disapproval at the two men at her feet. She just stared at them for a moment, then said ever so softy, "Shamus...Dermot...what do ye have ta say fer yourselves? Eh? Look at what you've done to dis poor woman, look" She pointed at the woman who still held her head in her hands, occasionally lifting it to talk to pray to the ceiling. "What has Bernadette ever done ta either a you? She's cooked yer meals an served yer gin? An 'how many 'tings has she agreed not ta tell yer wives? Hmm? Shamus, do ye really want Mary ta know about da time yer were so drunk ye went into da Haggerty's house an fell asleep in da kitchen? An Dermot, how do ya 'tink Karen will react when she heard yer not always at Saturday evenin' mass, but here instead? Bernadette has done so much fer both a ya, an look how ye treat her. Oh ye should be ashamed, ashamed, ashamed. Satan is heatin his pokers for ye, ya heartless bastards!

A this point both Dermot and Shamus were very worried

"Aw Maggie, we meant no harm, honest. Please don't tell Mary, I promise it won't happen again."

"Ye know we'd never do anytin' ta hurt ya on purpose Bernadette, please don't mention dis ta Karen!"

A small smile crept over Maggie's face. "Very well, yer forgiven. But yer gonna sweep an mop and clean up dis mess, I'm not gonna get stuck here at another horrible hour because a your shenanigans. Now apologize ta Bernadette an get on wid it."

The men quickly rose to their feet and practically groveled in front of Bernadette, who was doing a fine job dredging up tears. Then Maggie helped her off the table and pretended to support the distraught woman as far as the stairs. They passed Douglas, who gave his wife a kiss and a knowing smile, and the two could barely reach the stairs before they burst into laughter.

Colin was laughing so hard there were tears coming out of his eyes, he stumbled backward against the wall next the David, bent over. "Look at 'em! Dey don't have da combined body weight a one a dose two an still dey put da fear a god in 'em! It gets me every time!"

David looked at him, incredulous, "You mean they do this all the time?"

That sent Colin into another fit. He managed to speak after a few seconds, still chuckling and wiping tears out of his eyes, "Are ye kiddin? Douglas hired her cause she had a mouth like a sewer an wouldn't think twice about shootin' it off to the customers! Its saved me an him a couple thousand black eyes!"

David couldn't help but grin, especially watching Maggie standing over the men making sure they cleaned up, like a queen, except for when she was throwing drinks in peoples faces and wiping up the bar.

They had just finished righting the room when the door burst open and Patty rushed into the room. Maggie dropped her dishtowel and ran over to where he stopped, out of breath, leaning against the doorframe. He took her aside and talked to her in a low voice. Neither Colin or David could make out what was said, but it wasn't more than a minute before Maggies eyes flew open wide in alarm. She hopped over the bar, grabbed her coat, and was out the door at such speed Patty could barely follow her. David made to go after her, but both Douglas and Colin grabbed him.

"Ye can't do anytin' ta help lad. Where Patty's takin her its likely only she an Patty will get through. We've all tried ta help. But now I'm afraid all we can do is wait." David looked up at Douglas to protest, but he saw the frustration and concern that was in his eyes mirrored in those of Colin and Douglas. Indeed, everyone in the room looked a bit uneasy. If none of them could help her, it was unlikely that he would; and especially not in Brooklyn.

"What do ye mean he took yer bleedin' advice? What did ye tell him?" Maggie barely looked back at Patty as she ran along the side streets and back allies of East New York, not far from Canarsie.

Patty was panting, and used a faint gesture to their right to indicate to Maggie which way to go. "Jesus Maggie I don't know..I didn't tink he was gonna do dis. I thought he was tryin ta work his way up I never thought he'd try ta pull out so quick. I told him who I went to when I wanted outta Mickey's business. An he jest took off, didn't listen. Fer Christ's sake Maggie, I had to beat the life outta the Wringer ta get me freedom, an he dished out almost as much as he took. If Aiden isn't tinking straight-"

"He's never tinking straight. And he's gotten worse since he realized he pulled me into it, he wanted out as fast as he could. Damnit! Why did he have ta have sucha think skull?"

"He's a Murphy, his father was exactly the same way, god rest his soul."

"Well his son's goin ta end up jest like him if we don't-" Patty clamped his hand over her mouth. He pointed across the street to an abandoned factory, dingy and green with chipped and rusted paint.

"We're here, dats where he went in, or so de old boy netwerk told me." Maggie nodded.

"Ye stay here Patty."

"Are ye outta yer bloody mind? What can you do in der?"

"I can slip in trew da windows easier den you can, an if anyone has ta come to da rescue, I'd rather have it be you rescuin me den de other way around." Patty nodded.

He pointed to a door down the ally. "Dats da back room, if he's not be'in questioned in the main room dey'de trow him in der. Careful now girl." Maggie gave his hand a squeeze and crept across the street and into the ally.

The ally was dark, and the light from the streetlamp barely illuminated the dingy gray door. There was a window just above her head, wide enough for her to squeeze through. She carefully balanced on top of two empty crates stacked on top of each other. She lifted the window open and threw her leg over the sill, then another, then slid through, dropping softly to the floor in a crouch.

There was light filtering through the crack underneath another door on the opposite wall. It didn't provide much, but that and the light from the window cast vague shadows of objects. Maggie sucked in her breath as she recognized an object by the door, Aiden.

She crept over to him, "Aiden?...Aiden? Wake up Aiden, please!" She shook him gently, he started to shout but she covered his mouth with her hand. "It's Maggie Aiden, hush!"

"Maggie?...What are ye doin here?" Aiden sat up stiffly and rubbed his head, Maggie couldn't tell what had happened but his head looked pretty banged up.

"I came ta fetch ya, what else? Its about time fer da singin contest down at O'Connor's an dey got tired a waitin fer ya." She forced a smile, and Aiden tried to return it.

Maggie gestured to the window, "So I figure dats da best way ta get us out, the other door is chained an locked on both sides." Aiden struggled to stand, "Dats goin ta take a little work."

"All the more reason fer us ta start quickly, before anyone comes back." A look of fear flickered across Aiden's face. He got to his feet quickly and surveyed the window.

"Looks like one of us'll have ta boost de other an den the other'll have ta pull dem-"

He froze at the sound of footsteps. Someone was coming down the hall. "Maggie!" He whispered, "hide! Yer not supposed ta be here!"

Maggie was already by the window, "Come on Aiden we can make it!"

"Go!"

"Without you? Have ye lost what little part a yer brain ye have?"

"Maggie!"

Just then the door burst open and a large man with a stick and ring of keys in his hand stood framed in the light from the doorway. Maggie and Aiden's faces were both caught in the glow.

"And who the hell are you? Nevermind, yer comin along den. The Wringer wants another few words with you Murphy," he turned from Aiden to rake his eyes up and down Maggie's form, "And I'm sure we can find some use for your little friend."

Maggie tried to dart but the man had her about the waist, and he kept Aiden moving along with threats and prods in the kidneys.

He usherd them harshly across the vast empty floor of what used to be a cannery, and into the office at the far end. Inside the smoke-filled room was a wiry man of average height sitting behind a desk. Maggie could only guess that this was The Wringer.

The Wringer leaned back and took a puff of his cigar, his eyes focusing on Maggie. "And who is this?" His voice hissed like a snake. He gestured for the goon to bring her closer, and a punch in the kidneys sent Maggie stumbling toward the desk.

"Found her tryin ta bust our Murphy sir. Thought you might like ta see her."

"Hmmm, yes, very nice. A little dirty, but if we clean her up she could fetch a fine price."

Maggie spit in his face. The Wringer automatically drew back his hand and gave Maggie such a fierce backhand blow she fell to the floor in a sprawl. Her father's pocket watch fell out of her coat pocket.

The Wringer saw it and snapped his fingers, "Bring that here, perhaps I can sell that too."

The goon picked it up and placed it in his outstretched hand. The thin, scaly hands turned the watch over and over again. "Why does this look so familiar..." he rubbed away some of the tarnish on the back, enough to read the name "Frances O'Rourke" Maggie's grandfather.

"O'Rourke...Charlie O'Rourke! The god damn Irishman who couldn't pay his debts. The one that died and still didn't leave enough!" He smiled cruelly at Maggie on the floor. "So nice of you to return to pay your debt Miss O'Rourke, I'm sure Mr. Flynn is much obliged to you. Now you can pay right along with your friend."

When Maggie awoke she was bound hand and foot, and she hurt more than she could ever remember. More than the caning in the factory, more than the beating with the Kat, this was a deep throbbing pain. Her right shoulder was on fire, but the majority of the pain seemed to come from bruises, at least she wouldn't have too many more scars.

It was the memory of what the men had done to amused themselves once Aiden passed out and she was the only one conscious that made her want to throw up. She had never felt so powerless in all her life as she had when they were playing their little "games". She tried to shut the memory out but still it came.

Focus girl, she thought to herself, get yerself out of here an deal with dat later. She looked around for Aiden, and saw him still crumpled on the floor. He had lost a lot more blood then she, and she didn't know how much he had lost before she came. She had to get them out of here. They'd been left for dead, that she knew. There was no reason to keep either one alive, she'd heard that much discussed between the Wringer and his goons before she blacked out.

Please God don't let dem try ta burn dis place down, I can't take another fire. Maggie grimly remembered how every other situation in her life was tied to fire somehow. She cursed up a storm getting to her feet, and hopped over to a broken pane of glass, using it to cut her bonds.

Of course, if they just disappeared, it wouldn't be long until they came looking for them again. Maggie sighed, one way or another, the building would probably end up a bit singed. Just enough to overcome the two unfortunate individuals inside. She though to herself. She didn't have long to brood when she heard footsteps. She crouched behind a crate with the glass in her hand, waiting to jump a goon or the Wringer. She jumped on Patty instead.

"Patty! What in da world?"

Patty managed a tight smile. "I'm sorry it took so long darlin. But seein as you were probably out cold, I took da liberty a getting some supplies." He opened a bag containing a long fuse, several beer bottles, a bottle of whisky, and a small barrel of gunpowder. "Wha do ye 'tink we can cook up with dis stuff?" Maggie actually grinned.

About half an hour later they were done. The abandoned building had been full of enough flammable material to keep a small fire going, enough to create billows of smoke that would lead to the "death" of two individuals. Patty was taking care of that detail, something about how not only Blackpool and Flynn could pay off cops and reporters. So Aiden lit the fuse and Maggie and Patty hurled the Maltov cocktails through the windows, and the three took off down the street.

A very tired Maggie trudged through the door of O'Connor's, helping an equally tired Patty carry a very unconscious Aiden into the room and lay him down on the floor. Bernadette O'Connor was already tending to him before Maggie and Patty could pull away. Maggie just sat down and pulled Aiden's head into her lap, stroking his hair as Douglas' wife took care of the wounds that were bleeding.

Patty stayed until it was certain Aiden was out of the woods, then he whispered a goodbye to Maggie and slipped out into the night.

Maggie didn't leave her friend's side until all of Bernadette's work was done. Aiden had come to an hour before and assured her he wasn't going anywhere. Maggie stayed with him a little longer, but when pearly pink rays started to glimmer across the horizon, she decided she had better head home. Patty had assured her his "whispering" network would have had news out three hours ago that the bodies of a young boy and girl were taken from the building and immediately cremated and placed in a potter's field, no one would be looking for her.

Wearily, she got to her feet, bid goodbye to the O'Connor's and started down the street. She hadn't moved more than twelve feet before she got dizzy, the world spun, she began to sway...

David caught her before she fell, scooping her into his arms with an uncanny feeling of deja voo. He smiled to himself as he set off toward the bridge.

He hadn't gotten far before a voice called out "You!" He looked around to see Spot Conlon marching down the street, pointing at him.

"What do you want Spot?"

"I don't want anytin ta do wid you Mouth, its dat little witch!"

David looked down at the bundle in his arms, "Spot, I don't really think this is the time to talk to her about that..."

"Aww shut up David. Dat goil is notin but troubles. Whats a mattah wid hoir dat she can't walk into my territory and not burn down a buildin, huh? And don't boddah telling me dat ain't her handiwoik south a Bushwick. Its god damn nearly right next ta da last place she boind ta da ground. Well, go boin down Manhattan from now on will yas? Dis place is crawlin wid da bulls now, how am I supposed ta carry on business?"

Maggie had woken up during all this. She wiggled out of David's arms and got shakily to her feet. "All right," she muttered through half closed eyes, "Come on, take yer best shot."

Spot looked at her, "Whatta you tawkin about?"

Maggie gave a sigh, "If ye wanna fight, den come on, lets go. If yer jest goin ta run yer mouth den wait till later I'm too tired at da moment. What'll it be?"

Spot just looked at her, then threw up his hands. "I can't get no respect in my own territory. All right I'm lettin you off on dis one, but dis ain't over Irish, I promise."

Maggie was already asleep. "Have a nice day Spot!" David called to him too cheerfully as he took off with his burden down the street.

David reached the Lodging House just before the full sun broke through. Fortunately, Kloppman was awake, and he silently admitted David and pointed him up to the girls' room.

David pushed the door open with his toes, and carried Maggie to her bed, gently lifting her onto her top bunk. He took her shoes and coat off, grimacing at the bruises on her arms, legs, and face. He softly pulled the sheets over her and tucked them in. He smiled as he looked down on her, you would never tell from her serene face that she was such a spitfire when she was awake. He noticed the open window and decided not to go back down and disturb the whole house. He silently bent over Maggie and gave her a kiss on the forehead, then began to slip out onto the fire escape.

"Good night David, an tanks fer everyting."

David's head shot up, had Maggie said that to him or just in her sleep? He shrugged, figuring it must have been a mix of both.

"Sleep well Maggie, try to stay out of trouble." He though he heard a faint laugh as he made his way down towards the street.

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