#i now think that the item description and pictures were from a real old listing and this website just copied it

[cannibalisticskittles]

pretty sure i fell for a scam in my fervor to get a jacket i fell in love w/ at first sight

the wealth of pictures taken at every good angle and worn by a real person + a realistic sounding description (like 'i commissioned an etsy shop to embroider the back of this jacket so it's one of a kind, it's in great quality because I only used it for a few photoshoots!) got me

i feel reasonably certain that i can manage to get my money back but. what a fool i am.

[kingwiltcher]

The Smiling Critters Take Real Life!

Episode 1: The Package of A Lifetime

(Synopsis)

When Angel saw the listing, it was too good to be true, eight whole, vintage plushies, in excellent condition, for that low of a price? It had to be a scam.

But Angel bought them anyway, and of course, when they arrived, there was something very odd about them.

They were all alive.

(Story Below! Or click the link above for the AO3 entry. It has better tags)

Angel sat alone in their living room on a cloudy summer morning. They’d already eaten breakfast and weren’t planning on doing much else with their day. As of right now the most they were doing was laying on the couch and eating leftover pizza from last night while waiting on their Amazon delivery.

About a week ago, Angel was browsing Amazon for some new plushies when they saw something very, very interesting.

It was a listing for a bundle of plushies…but not just any plushies, it was the entire Smiling Critters collection from Playtime Inc. Angel was absolutely floored when they saw the listing, and even moreso floored when they saw the pictures of each plushie, showing how good of a condition they were all in. And Angel thought it wasn’t possible to be any more floored than they already were at that time, but then they laid eyes on the price for all of those plushies.

$14.56. For 8 plushies that hadn’t been released since the 80s, and were some of the most sought-after collectors items ever.

Angel didn’t think twice about snatching them up from that listing, and once they’d given up their credit card details, they finally took the time to look at the description of the listing. Just in case they’d missed something important…

“I bought all these a long time ago for my son, Liam.” The blurb began. “But times change, things grow different, and even after he left I’ve just been sort of holding onto them. But as of late I’ve been convinced to give them up finally, so to whoever buys these, I hope they bring you as much joy as they did to my son when he was still around!”

After reading that, Angel felt really guilty for mentally calling the seller an idiot for selling the plushies at such a low price…but oh well.

And today was the day the package was supposed to arrive. Angel never trusted Amazon’s projected arrival time, but they would be pleasantly surprised when the doorbell to their house would ring, and a notification would pop up on their phone signifying that the order had arrived.

In an instant they shot to their feet and strode over to the door and swung it open. The delivery driver was seemingly already long gone. Angel took a moment to applaud that before taking the package inside. Angel sat it down on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch, and once they did, they noticed a note taped to the top of the box…

Angel removed it from the box and squinted to look at it, as it was written in very old-style cursive that was almost illegible.

"These little guys just love to play, may these Smiling Critters bring some joy to your day!" Angel read the note aloud. They found it quite cheesy, but equally as endearing.

But then all of a sudden…the box began to shake…Angel froze up in startlement as their eyes locked onto the shifting box. It was as if there were several live beings moving around in there, trying to get out…Angel could even hear what sounded like muffled speaking from within it…no way these plushies could be alive like that…there must’ve been some kind of mix-up in the delivery.

Angel slowly and hesitantly moved over to the package and began to slowly peel off the tape…and once they fully peeled it off…

“HELLO!” A chorus of voices all rang out at once, all in a sing-songy voice as the package top burst open with all of the plushies jumping out at once.

Angel let out a horrifically loud scream and jumped back onto the couch in fear. “Wh-What the heck?! What in the- What?!” He sputtered out.

One of the plushies, that being Hoppy Hopscotch, looked over at Dogday, (Who was front and center in the box) with an expression of annoyance.

“Great plan Dogday…now he’s terrified of us.” She groaned.

Dogday frowned in exasperation and looked back to Hoppy before responding. “H-Hey! I thought it would be nice t-to surprise him!” He whimpered.

Bubba Bubbaphant cleared his throat before talking. “It was a nice thought Dogday…but uh, we kinda warned you that it wouldn’t turn out like you hoped it would-“

Dogday sighed in defeat and rubbed his head, then looked up towards Angel, who was holding a pillow in front of themselves defensively.

“Um…sorry for scaring you like that, mister. I thought it would be nice if we all…jumped out and surprised you.” Dogday apologized.

Angel slowly lowered the pillow. “You…you guys are alive?” They questioned.

Dogday scratched the back of his head and hopped out of the box…jumping right off the coffee table and landing flat on his face.

“Ow…” He squeaked pathetically. Angel unintentionally let out a snicker at that.

Meanwhile, all the other Smiling Critters rushed to the edge of the box, all crying out in concern for Dogday. Buuut as soon as they had all crowded around the edge, the box tipped over and sent them all careening down to the floor. With a comical plop, they all landed in a pile, and the empty box fell on top of the pile of critters. Angel let out another snicker.

The critters all began to move around inside the box, all going in different directions and walking and crawling on top of each other.

“H-Hey, I can’t see!”

“HOPPY GET YOUR FOOT OUT OF MY FACE-“

“GET YOUR BUTT OUT OF MINE!”

Dogday quickly got back to his feet and shoved the box off of his friends, freeing them from their ‘prison’.

“Thanks Dogday!” The critters all cried out in thankfulness.

Angel had been watching the scene the whole time, and while they’d initially found it creepy and unnatural, considering they were all plushies that had just come to life…now, Angel was beginning to find it pretty adorable.

After making sure all his friends were good and well and back on their feet, Dogday turned back towards Angel and cleared his throat. “To uh, answer your question sir, yep! We’re alive!” The dog said, placing his hands on his sides in a proud stance.

“Uhh…how though?” Angel asked, setting aside the pillow they were holding.

At Angel’s question, all of the critters slowly turned their heads towards Bubba Bubbaphant (Except Catnap, who had fallen asleep on the floor under the table).

Bubba made a noise of annoyance and glanced around at the other critters before clearing his throat and speaking. “Well…you read the note you got with the package, right?”

Angel nodded.

“There’s your answer!” Bubba said, nodding.

“Huh…so you’re like…voodoo creatures?” Angel stated, for they had watched Night Of The Living Dummy last night.

“Well I suppose so. If…that’s what you’d like to think.” Bubba mumbled the second part of his sentence.

“Well uh…how is this like…possible?” Angel asked.

Bubba held his hand up, preparing to say something, yet no words came out, and eventually he just put his hand back down in embarrassment.

Angel began to look to each of the critters one-by-one to see if he could get an answer from any of them, but no answers could be found in any of them.

“Hey man, if Bubba doesn’t know it, we don’t either.” Kickin Chicken said with a shrug.

“Alllllright then.” Angel sighed and tried to lean back on the pillow they were previously using, but then they felt something much, much different than the pillow meet their arm. Angel scrambled backwards, and saw that Catnap had somehow gotten onto the couch with nobody realizing, and was now laying up against the pillow comfortably.

“What the hel- heck?? How’d you get up here?” Angel sputtered out.

Catnap slowly inched his eyelids open and signed something out in sign language. Angel deflated at that, as they couldn’t understand sign language at all.

Dogday seemed to pick up on this, and tried and failed to jump onto the couch. He quickly gave up and just decided to talk from the floor again.

“He said you have really nice pillows!” Dogday translated.

“Uh, okay, but how did you get up here?” Angel questioned Catnap again.

In response, Catnap held an index finger over his mouth and shook his head, indicating that he wouldn’t tell.

Angel sighed and just patted Catnap’s head in response. Catnap purred in response.

By now, all of the Smiling Critters’ attentions had wandered elsewhere, and they were now beginning to explore Angel’s living room.

“W-Wow…this table is really pretty…” Craftycorn, who was underneath Angel’s coffee table and looking up through the glass.

Meanwhile, Hoppy and Kickin had began racing to climb up a bookshelf in the corner of the room.

And in that very moment, Angel came to a realization.

They had just adopted 8 ambiguously-aged plushie beings into their home.

How the hell was Angel going to manage all of this?

[employee052]

iswm x tsp au crossover dump dont mind me officer

i saw a writing prompt with a spaceship, an imaginary friend turned real, and an alien, and now i wanna combine the iswm brainrot with tsp brainrot but idk how

smth like: (note i did NOT proof read this and this is just me dumping a loose lore idea down, apologies to ppl who havent seen iswm) (also ill be using my captainsona for this just bc i need help visualising this au n why not use capn oz for it askjhd)

captain oz j unknown of the invincible ii. trapped within the confines of the wormhole and a dead and cold ship. no crewmates, no colonists.

he begins to scrape together materials to survive, raiding the food supply for meals, figuring out how to get some form of light around the dark hallways of the ship

imagining his head engineer hurt too much, imagining the other crew leads hurt just as much. so he begins to imagine someone new. someone who can banter with him, talk when he wanted to be enveloped in the deafening silence, be soft when he pictured all the dead bodies floating across the multiverse as a result of his carelessness, someone he can exist with.

and so. he comes up with something, a soothing british voice that interchanged from talking overhead as though from the ships speakers to being right in front of him, interacting with the world around him.

at some point, he thinks he really has gone crazy when he cant recall how his imaginary friend managed to do things he didnt imagine of, telling stories that he genuinely had no idea where it would go, and how he managed to pick up and use items in the ship

soon, his imaginary friend began weaving a tale for him to walk through, mind control rooms, warehouses, office buildings, still woefully empty but the yellow light of the candles around the ship made it feel like it had life of some kind.

eventually, the captain dies, alone, yet at least with the company of his imaginary friend to guide him.

the universe resets, or more rather, he gets taken into another universe, right at the precipice of when everything went to shit before.

he witnesses long forgotten crewmates live again, light on the ship that seemed almost blinding in comparison to the darkness before. and at some point, his imaginary friend slips from his mind.

he does end up meeting someone who reminded him of his old friend, but as he saw the quill he wrote in he knew that it was not him.

yet once the wormhole had vanished and what was left was him and his head engineer, the eternity of darkness he was once in seemed like a distant memory. a forgotten wisp of the past that he occasionally remembered whenever he gazed out into the ships halls during the night.

yet as preparations were made for the crew and colonists to finally make their way down into the new planet they will inhabit, the computer in all its digital glory, called out to him and the crew leads: ALERT, UNIDENTIFIED LIFEFORM ON THE SHIP.

the captain asked for a description, hoping it was just another alien visiting on behalf of the universal stability agency.

as the computer began to list off the entity's descriptions, the captains heart began to pace.

its got to be a trick, the universe liked to play tricks, he knew of it, perhaps it was just a coincidence that they were similar in presentation

yet as he ran to the location of the lifeform, a part of him hoped that it was his friend.

and incredibly, it was.

[biostudyblog]

Cognition

Models of Memory

Memory is an extremely difficult subject to study due to its subversive and subjective nature. Thus, many models have been proposed which describe how memories are processed by our brain. The two major ones are the three-box model and the levels of processing model. 

Three-box model

This model of memory is also known as the information-processing model. It describes how the brain processes information (hence the name). Our sensory memory processes external events. Some of that information is encoded by the short-term/working memory. Some of that information is then encoded by the long-term memory. 

Sensory Memory: The sensory memory only lasts for a fraction of a second and consists of the information you are processing right now. George Sperling demonstrated this memory with his experiment, where he would flash a 9 letter grid to subjects for a split second. The subjects were then asked to recall either the top middle or bottom row letters immediately after they appeared. They were able to recite the letters, showing that that information was being stored for a short amount of time. This type of sensory memory is called iconic memory- a short lived photograph of a scene. There is also echoic memory, which is another short lived memory for sounds rather than pictures. Events that are encoded into the working memory are encoded as visual codes (a visual), acoustic codes (a collection of sounds), or semantic codes (the meaning of the event). In order to decide which memories are encoded into the working memory, the brain depends on selective attention. This means that information that is important to us is encoded. This is why we are able to ignore certain stimuli such as the sound of a fan, or the feeling of our clothes because they are not being encoded into the working memory. This is what makes the cocktail party effect work. 

Short-term memory: Short-term memory is known as working memory because they’re the memories we’re working with in the present moment. They last longer than sensory memories, but not very long; usually around 10-30 seconds. Our short-term memory caps at around 7. In his experiments, George Miller found this number, and titled his research “The Magical Number 7, Plus or Minus Two.” So how do we improve the functionality of our short-term memory? One method is through chunking. Take psychology; there’s a lot of vocabulary to memories. If you try and memorise all of those words a couple nights before the exam, you’re not going to have much luck. Instead, it’s better to chunk that massive list into groups of 7. Another example of chunking is the famous mnemonic device; My Very Excellent Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas, where the names and order of the planets are chunked into the first letters of each word in the sentence. Another trick is to rehearse the information. Instead of staring at your vocabulary list, repeat the words you’ve chunked to yourself over and over again, thus maintaining that information in your short-term memory.

Long-term memory: These strategies are great for keeping information in our short-term memory, but the best strategies are ones that help encode that information into long-term memory, as it is our permanent storage. So far, it seems that long-term memories storage potential is unlimited. Once information makes it to our long-term memory, it stays- although it is subject to decay. It is stored in three different ways: 

Memories can be explicit of implicit. 

Explicit memories: Also known as declarative memories, these are usually what first come to our mind. They’re conscious memories that we actively try to remember. For example, at the moment, you’re trying to form explicit memories about psychology.

Implicit memories: Also known as non-declarative memories, these are memories we form unintentionally. You may realise when trying to cook lunch that you’ve managed to form an implicit memory on how to cook grandma’s famous pasta because you’ve watched her do it so many times.

An interesting phenomenon involves individuals with eidetic or photographic memory. Alexander Luria studied a patient who could repeat a list of 70 letters backwards, and could remember it as far as 15 years later. 

Levels of Processing Model

Instead of describing memory in steps, this theory maintains that memories are either deeply/elaboratively processed or shallowly/maintenance processed. If to study for an upcoming psychology exam, you repeat a list of vocabulary words to yourself over and over again, you’ve shallowly processed that information, and will go away soon after you’ve taken your test. If you, however study those vocabulary words and do intensive research into each term, you’ve deeply processed those words, and will most likely be able to remember them long after your exam. The more cognitive energy you expend trying to remember something, the longer that memory will last. This model explains why we remember stories and questions better than boring old recitation of events and statements. We find the former more interesting, and more deeply process them.

Retrieval

All memory models end with retrieval. It is the process of taking information out of memory so it can be useful to us. Recognition is a process where we match a fact with one we already have stored in our memory. (”Where have I heard that song?”) Recall is retrieving a memory based on an external cue. (”What did grandma’s pasta taste like?”) There are all kinds of things that change why we’re able to retrieve some memories and why we lose others.

One factor was found by the early psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus. He found that the order that things are presented in a list influence which things we remember. The primary effect states that we are more likely to remember the first few items on the list, while the recency effect states we are more likely to remember the last few items on that list. Both of these effects come together to form the serial position effect. The serial position effect indicates that we are the least likely to remember words in the middle of a list.

Another factor is context. Something that happens to all of us is the tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon. When I was taking my SAT Biology exam, I completely forgot the word “commensalism.” I sat there thinking facts that I knew about it; it’s a symbiotic relationship, it’s the relationship where one organism is helped and one isn’t hurt or helped” “I watched a youtube video about it” and although I remembered all these facts, it took me a second to remember the actual word. A theory that helps explain why this happens is the semantic network theory. This theory states that our brain forms new memories by joining their meaning and their context with those that already exist in our memory, forming an interlocking web full of memories. So when I was listing facts that I could remember about commensalism, I was making my way through the web, until I finally came across the word. Another phenomenon caused by context are flashbulb memories. When you ask someone who was conscious during 9/11, often they can give detailed descriptions of where they were and what they were doing. This is a flashbulb memory; where the importance causes us to encode more than we normally would.

The emotional context also affects retrieval. Mood-congruent memory is an interesting phenomenon, where you’re more likely to remember something when your mood matches the mood you were in at the time of the event. State-dependent memory is a similar phenomenon, where the state you’re in (for example, drowsy) allows you to retrieve memories from when you were in a similar state.

Constructive Memory

As much as we’d like to believe that it is, memory is not perfect. An example of this is the “recovered memory” phenomenon, where someone seems to “recover” a repressed memory that is actually a false memory based on outside influence. This phenomenon was discovered by Elizabeth Loftus. A constructed memory is a memory that contains false details of a real event, or a fake event altogether. This is why eyewitness accounts can prove to be problematic in police investigations. The way a policeman asks their question can completely change how the eyewitness remembers the event.

Forgetting

A number of things lead to forgetting. One example is decay where memories or connections that we don’t use a lot fade after a while. I used to be able to label every European country when I was younger, but now I’ll be lucky if I can get 15. These memories aren’t gone forever though; the relearning effect has shown that it takes less time recovering these memories than it took the first time. Another thing that causes forgetting is interference. There are two main types: retroactive interference and proactive interference. Retroactive interference is when learning something new hurts your ability to recall older information. Proactive interference is when something you learned a while ago interferes with your ability to learn newer information. A friend of mine told me a fun pneumonic that helps me remember the meaning of these two words: PORN- Proactive, Old interferes with new, Retroactive, New interferes with old.

How Memories are Stored

We know very little about the biological process of memory storage. Research performed on patients with brain damage has shown the hippocampus’ importance in encoding new memories. Patients with a damaged hippocampus had a condition known as anterograde amnesia, where new memories couldn’t form properly, but old memories could be recalled. Think of Dory from finding Nemo. Further connecting to Dory, remember how she could read but couldn’t remember that she could read? Researchers have found this phenomenon typical when studying anterograde amnesiacs, where they can learn and remember new skills but can’t remember learning that skill, showing that procedural memory is stored elsewhere in the brain. When studying memories, researchers tend to focus on long-term potentiation. As neurons fire more and more, their connections can strengthen, making the receiving neuron more sensitive to messages. 

Language

Elements of Language

All languages are built with morphemes and phonemes. Phonemes are the smallest unit of sound in a language. non-English speakers and non-Americans tend to have trouble with the American R- a phoneme that is particularly difficult to recreate. On the flip side, Americans tend to have trouble recreating the Spanish R, while a native Spanish speaker would find that phoneme easy to make. Morphemes are the smallest unit of meaning in a language. Morphemes can be words like “but” and “the” letter like “a” or “I” and prefixes and suffixes like “pre-” and “an-.” Phonemes make up morphemes, and morphemes make up words. The words are organised in a particular order which is known as syntax. Different languages have different syntaxes which can be difficult for non-native speakers to wrap their head around. In english, the order that adjectives are used to describe a word is very particular, and while unconscious for us, is extremely tricky for learners. When describing a dress that you just bought, would you say “my velvet, dinner, new dress? Or would you say “my new velvet dinner dress?” At the same time, in french, the syntax of adjectives can be very frustrating for us to learn. For example, the sentence: Ma ancienne lycée means the high school I formerly attended, while the sentence Ma lycée ancienne means my antique high school. 

Language Acquisition

Studies performed by developmental psychologists have shown that while babies who are learning different languages are developing, they move through the same basic stages. The first step of language acquisition is babbling, and occurs when the baby is typically around 4 months old. Babbling is innate, as shown by the fact that even deaf babies babble. Babbling is a babies way of experimenting with different phonemes, and at this point they can recreate all possible phonemes- this is why teaching a baby or very young child a new language can cause the accent to stick. As the baby continues to develop, the phonemes from its primary languages stick, and they lose the others. Babies will then move from babbling to single words (holophrases) which is aptly names the holophrastic/one-word stage, and normally occurs when the baby is one year old. The next milestone is telegraphic speech or the two-word stage. This typically is around 18 months. Toddlers will smash the words they know into basic commands; “No play!”-  They have meaning down (”I don’t want to play right now!”), but are still working on grammar and syntax rules. As they learn these rules, they tend to misapply them. For example, a toddler may learn that “ed” indicates past tense, and may say “I runned to the store!” This is known as overgeneralisation or overregularisation. 

The specifics of how we acquire language is a bit controversial. Behaviorists think that language is learnt through operant conditioning and shaping. If a baby makes a phoneme that exists in the parents language, or says a word, the parents will smile or pay more attention to the baby, reinforcing that behaviour. Cognitive psychologists challenge this idea. Noam Chomsky stated that humans are born with a language acquisition device. This is known as the nativist theory of language acquisition. He used children who had been deprived of language when they were young to show that there is a critical period for language learning. Today’s psychologists believe it is a combination of these two ideas.

Language and Cognition

How does language influence how we think? I know that personally, my personality changes when I am speaking French versus when I’m speaking English, and I know that I’m not alone. Benjamin Whorf theorised that the language we use affects and limits how we think. This is the linguistic relativity hypothesis. While studies have proven that language effects how we think about people, objects, and ideas, few have shown a drastic change in what we are able to think about.

Thinking and Creativity

Describing Thought

Describing thought is a monumental task; descriptions count as thoughts, so if I can get meta for a moment; we have to use thought to describe thought. It’s immensely difficult to create a global definition of thought, so psychologists tend to describe categories of thoughts instead. Concepts are similar to schemas. Everyone has cognitive rules we use to process our environments, and categorise objects, people, and ideas. We tend to base our concepts on prototypes, or what we think is most typical of a concept. Another kind of thought is an image, a mental picture we have in our mind of the world.

Problem Solving

There are two main kinds of problem solving, and like anything have their drawbacks and their advantages. Say you have a safe to open, and you don’t know the combination. There are two simple ways you can try and open it.

Algorithms: A simple, but arduous way to solve your safe problem is to try every single combination. This is an algorithm and is defined as a rule that guarantees the right solution by using a formula or other foolproof method.

Heuristics: If that safe combination is more than 2 numbers, you could be there all day just punching in numbers. Another thing you could try is using numbers that make up years you know are important to the owner of the safe. This is a heuristic. A heuristic isn’t foolproof and doesn’t guarantee a solution but can seriously shave down the time you spend solving your problem. There are severals of heuristics. Two of the main ones are representative heuristics and availability heuristics.

Heuristics can lead to overconfidence as we overestimate how good our judgements really are. This can lead to belief bias, and belief perseverance. Belief biases are illogical conclusions that we make to confirm preexisting beliefs. Belief perseverance is the tendency to maintain a belief even when evidence proves contradictory.

Impediments to problem solving: 

Rigidity/mental set: The tendency to fall back into comfortable thought patterns. People tend to use problem solving methods that worked in the past to solve a new problem- this can cause people to ignore new solutions. A specific example of rigidity is functional fixedness which is the inability to see a new use for a specific object. Books are for reading, cups are for drinking, and clothes are for wearing. One time I accidentally spilled my tea on my desk, and instead of using the old shirt that was sitting next to my desk, I ran to grab a towel, allowing the tea to get everywhere and nearly ruin my computer. 

Not breaking the problem into parts: Research has proven that by breaking a big problem down into smaller, manageable chunks, tackling the problem is significantly easier and tends to lead to success.

Confirmation bias: When we have made a conclusion about something, when researching it, we tend to ignore research that proves that conclusion wrong. This is why anti-vaxxers can spend hours scouring the internet and pull away one or two studies proving their point right, and completely ignore hundreds of articles that prove them wrong. 

Framing: The way a problem is framed can completely impact our ability to solve that problem. If I were to give you a tricky math problem and tell you “99% of people have solved this problem,” you’d likely go into it not expecting much difficulty, while if I told you “99% of people can’t solve this problem,” you’d likely go in expecting something really difficult. This can completely change how able you are to solve a problem.

Creativity

How do you define creativity? Even harder: how do you find a global definition for creativity? While we may agree on some events exemplifying someone’s creativity, people’s individual criteria for creativity varies massively.

 Some psychologists have delved into this problem. In his chimpanzee experiment, Wolfgang Kohler documented elements of insight by observing chimps get the banana from the ceiling. Research looking into creativity has found very little connection between creativity and intelligence. Research looking into creativity tends to look at convergent thinking; thinking pointed towards one solution, and divergent thinking; thinking pointed towards multiple possible solutions. Divergent thinking tends to be linked most closely with creativity.

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the January 2021 Edition

Tumblr’s gif search leaves a lot to be desired, so there’s no actual gif of her slamming the book shut, which is—y’know, disappointing. Still, the continued ability of the public library system to send books to my Kindle ensures that I continue to read every romantic comedy and fantasy story I can find. Of which I have plenty of thoughts and opinions. But, like, what’s the point of having thoughts and opinions if you’re not putting them on the internet? There isn’t one, obviously. Books and links and feelings and more ridiculous headlines all under the cut. 

BEST BOOK AWARD WINNER OF A VERY WEIRD JANUARY THAT HELPED DISTRACT FROM A VERY WEIRD JANUARY

The Wrath & the Dawn by Renee Ahdieh Every dawn brings horror to a different family in a land ruled by a killer. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, takes a new bride each night only to have her executed at sunrise. So it is a suspicious surprise when sixteen-year-old Shahrzad volunteers to marry Khalid. But she does so with a clever plan to stay alive and exact revenge on the Caliph for the murder of her best friend and countless other girls. Shazi’s wit and will, indeed, get her through to the dawn that no others have seen, but with a catch . . . she’s falling in love with the very boy who killed her dearest friend. She discovers that the murderous boy-king is not all that he seems and neither are the deaths of so many girls. Shazi is determined to uncover the reason for the murders and to break the cycle once and for all.

This was so good?!?! I finished the first book and them immediately started the sequel, like no break whatsoever?!! I wish they weren’t teenagers?!! But seriously I wish they hadn’t been teenagers. Like, I get it. It’s YA. That probably sells better, something about markets that I don’t understand. I don’t care. It was weird that they were teenagers. Also, some of the plot points just kind of...happened? And I’m not entirely sure they were ever resolved. (Although there are a bunch of short stories, so. Maybe I just haven’t gotten there yet.) Despite that, the writing was gorgeous, I remain as prone to swooning over sad boys patent pending as I was when I was sixteen and Shahrzad was a fantastic heroine. Nine out of ten (would have been ten if they weren’t teenagers) and have already put holds on other books Ahdieh has written. 

OBLIGATORY RAGE-INDUCING ROM-COM

Head Over Heads by  Hannah Orenstein The past seven years have been hard on Avery Abrams: After training her entire life to make the Olympic gymnastics team, a disastrous performance ended her athletic career for good. Her best friend and teammate, Jasmine, went on to become an Olympic champion, then committed the ultimate betrayal by marrying their emotionally abusive coach, Dimitri. Now, reeling from a breakup with her football star boyfriend, Avery returns to her Massachusetts hometown, where new coach Ryan asks her to help him train a promising young gymnast with Olympic aspirations. Despite her misgivings and worries about the memories it will evoke, Avery agrees. Back in the gym, she's surprised to find sparks flying with Ryan. But when a shocking scandal in the gymnastics world breaks, it has shattering effects not only for the sport but also for Avery and her old friend Jasmine.

I stopped reading it. Honestly. I got, like, 46% of the way through, kept complaining to Justin about how goddamn annoying Avery was and how no one had any personality and I wanted them all to fall off the beam and he was like—stop reading it, then? And I was like—I can do that? And then I did! Also, I understand it needed conflict, but the “shocking scandal” in the description is a sexual assault that was not only NOT my cup of tea, but felt like a massive attempt to be topical by using what happened at Michigan State without actually saying it was about Michigan state. 

PEOPLE WHO DON’T KNOW SPORTS WRITE SPORTS AND DO IT OK

Evvie Drake Starts Over by Linda Holmes In a sleepy seaside town in Maine, recently widowed Eveleth “Evvie” Drake rarely leaves her large, painfully empty house nearly a year after her husband’s death in a car crash. Everyone in town, even her best friend, Andy, thinks grief keeps her locked inside, and Evvie doesn’t correct them. Meanwhile, in New York City, Dean Tenney, former Major League pitcher and Andy’s childhood best friend, is wrestling with what miserable athletes living out their worst nightmares call the “yips”: he can’t throw straight anymore, and, even worse, he can’t figure out why. As the media storm heats up, an invitation from Andy to stay in Maine seems like the perfect chance to hit the reset button on Dean’s future. When he moves into an apartment at the back of Evvie’s house, the two make a deal: Dean won’t ask about Evvie’s late husband, and Evvie won’t ask about Dean’s baseball career. Rules, though, have a funny way of being broken—and what starts as an unexpected friendship soon turns into something more. To move forward, Evvie and Dean will have to reckon with their pasts—the friendships they’ve damaged, the secrets they’ve kept—but in life, as in baseball, there’s always a chance—up until the last out.

I am admittedly a sports snob. Writing about sports is my thing and I’m super particular about reading about it. But this sounded good and for the most part it was good. Emotional, too. Like, “jeepers, that was intense” kind of emotional. But also some of the things Dean talked about were just...not how sports work and that drives me nuts. Also another story that was, as mentioned, super emotional only to get tied up in this nice little bow. Which, cool, but also...not? Just felt rushed at the end. 

IN WHICH SHIPPING IS QUESTIONED AND I JUST LIKE BEN BARNES

Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo Soldier. Summoner. Saint. Orphaned and expendable, Alina Starkov is a soldier who knows she may not survive her first trek across the Shadow Fold—a swath of unnatural darkness crawling with monsters. But when her regiment is attacked, Alina unleashes dormant magic not even she knew she possessed. Now Alina will enter a lavish world of royalty and intrigue as she trains with the Grisha, her country's magical military elite—and falls under the spell of their notorious leader, the Darkling. He believes Alina can summon a force capable of destroying the Shadow Fold and reuniting their war-ravaged country, but only if she can master her untamed gift.As the threat to the kingdom mounts and Alina unlocks the secrets of her past, she will make a dangerous discovery that could threaten all she loves and the very future of a nation. Welcome to Ravka . . . a world of science and superstition where nothing is what it seems.

I wanted to like this so much. So, so much. And sometimes I did. Sometimes I did not. At all. World building is my weakness and this has got it in spades, but the characters are kind of—boring? I couldn’t really bring myself to care about Alina and I wanted to kick Mal in the shins sometimes. The only interesting one was The Darkling who’s like the embodiment of all evil and I am not here to ship-shame anyone, but it’s kinda weird to ship him and Alina. I pictured Ben Barnes the entire time. I’m still excited for the show. I’ll read the sequel at some point, probably. 

BEING A JERK IS NOT ROMANCE, YOU’RE JUST A JERK

Would Like to Meet by Rachel Winters It's Evie Summers's job to find out. Because if she can't convince her film agency's biggest client, Ezra Chester, to write the romantic-comedy screenplay he owes producers, her career will be over. The catch? Arrogant Ezra thinks rom-coms are unrealistic—and he'll only put pen to paper if Evie proves to him that it's possible to meet a man in real life the way it happens on the big screen. Cynical Evie might not believe in happily ever after, but she'll do what it takes to save the job that's been her lifeline . . . even if it means reenacting iconic rom-com scenes in public. Spilling orange juice on a cute stranger? No problem. Leaving her number in books all over London to see who calls? Done. With a little help from her well-meaning friends and the adorable father-daughter duo who keep witnessing her humiliations, Evie is determined to show Ezra she can meet a man the way Sally met Harry. But can a workaholic who's given up on love find a meet-cute of her very own?

I love cliches. Love ‘em. Want to read about ‘em, want to write about ‘em. Here for happily ever after. Much less here for the overused and antiquated cliche of dude doesn’t believe in love like girl does, dude ridicules girl’s belief, dude was secretly in love with her the whole time. It’s super dumb. And we should stop writing it. Also really done with rom com girl can’t figure out her life! she’s overworked! she doesn’t have time for her friends! Super duper dumb. I don’t know guys, this book happened. 

FAST-PACED ROMANCE ISN’T AS WEIRD WHEN IT’S WELL WRITTEN AND THERE’S A MOOSE INVOLVED

The Tourist Attraction by Sarah Morgenthaler He had a strict "no tourists" policy...until she broke all of his rules. When Graham Barnett named his diner The Tourist Trap, he meant it as a joke. Now he's stuck slinging reindeer dogs to an endless parade of resort visitors who couldn't interest him less. Not even the sweet, enthusiastic tourist in the corner who blushes every time he looks her way...

Two weeks in Alaska isn't just the top item on Zoey Caldwell's bucket list. It's the whole bucket. One look at the mountain town of Moose Springs and she's smitten. But when an act of kindness brings Zoey into Graham's world, she may just find there's more to the grumpy local than meets the eye...and more to love in Moose Springs than just the Alaskan wilderness.

This story of Alaska marries together all the things you didn't realize you needed: a whirlwind vacation, a friendly moose, a grumpy diner owner, a quirky tourist, plenty of restaurant humor, and a happy ending that'll take you away from it all.

I’m not one for slow burn, but I also have a hard time believing romances that happen in, like, a blink. Not the case here! It was so goddamn cute! There was a moose! Graham kept calling Zoey darlin’ and it made my heart try to explode in my chest! Stars Hollow-levels of small town with lots of side characters and a good plot and a restaurant that everyone always went to! You guys know I’m trash for everyone always going to hang out in the same restaurant! I’m reading the sequel now, so that’s how much I enjoyed it. 

AMAZON BOOKS THAT CONTINUE TO BE WAY BETTER THAN THEY SHOULD BE

Elodie of the Sea by Shari L. Tapscott (part of the Eldentimber Series) Eight years have passed since the marriage tournament that decided the fate of Princess Pippa of Lauramore and strengthened alliances between the kingdoms of Elden. The competitors have moved on with their lives. Some have found adventure; some have found love. Prince Bran of Triblue, however, has put his life on hold, preparing for his father's crown. Two days before Bran's winter coronation, just when the prince cannot afford distractions, a girl washes onto the Triblue shore. She has no memory of her past life, no clue who she is or where she belongs—nothing but a ring on her finger and a peculiar marking on her cheek. And the newly crowned king has more than a mysterious girl to worry about. The sea has become unpredictable. Storms claim ships in the dead of night, and sailors return with horrifying stories of monsters from the deep. It soon becomes clear the girl and the bizarre events are connected. The girl came from the sea... and the sea wants her back. But Bran isn't willing to give her or his kingdom up without a fight, even if it means he must request help from every corner of Elden.

Listen, sometimes you have to read about a mermaid who lost her memory and the soon-to-be-king who’s, like, immediately in love with her. I mentioned Tapscott’s books in the 2020 post and the sentiment remains the same. You ever read a book that reads like fic? Lots of banter, some romance, steady pacing. That’s what her books are like. There are five in the Eldentimber series, all about a different princess in a different kingdom, but they all connect so characters pop up again and again and then they kiss. It’s real good. 

[ladyknight33]

Hero of Numbani: A Review

So I finally got around to reading this book. In short it is cute. Written for grade school children much like Efi, age 12. A lovely dip into the Overwatch world for fans of the game by bringing in in-game interactions and voice lines. If you play the game you immediately get the characters’s voices in your head because of them. Also prolific use of current lore, mainly by way of the Overwatch Cookbook. The favorite foods of the characters liberally referred to throughout the pages.

The protagonist Efi is adorable in trying to balance the life of a genius with life as a child. The story is as much about this struggle as it is about the building of Orisa. The transformation and teaching of an OR-15 “Idina” is the catalyst for Efi’s growth as an individual. Without spoiling too much of the plot, Efi and her friends navigate the struggles of relationships, both with family and friends. The lessons learned are important for young people to learn early and this book allows its readers to experience such turmoil and joy across its pages.

Forewarning, I’m going to get a little critical here on out. 

While I enjoyed the attempt to expand Overwatch Lore and develop their characters with a backstory, it generally felt stilted. My initial takeaway thoughts were on why the Overwatch animated shorts and comics felt approachable to all ages but the Overwatch prose/short stories felt limited to school age children. 

My personal opinion, probably from reading too much epic fantasy by Robert Jordan and Elizabeth Haydon, was that the world Drayden wrote for Numbani relies heavily on the reader having played the game and experienced the Numbani map. Very little description is given to fill in the non Overwatch fan of this world 

Perhaps my favorite piece of description was for Efi’s iconic look. Drayden took the time to try to put into words the African clothing for us non-African readers. Trying to describe ethnic clothing for people who have never seen it before and have no idea what the items of dress are called is complicated and time consuming. I appreciate the effort and it will take me a few more readings to really understand what the items of dress actually look like. But for Efi, Drayden did more than that. She explained the personal history of each item Efi wears in the above picture. It gives the reader a clear sense Efi’s personality and what’s important to her. This is all for a purpose within the plot, but I felt these descriptions were among her best in the story.

Perhaps the most complicated part of writing is the pacing of the plot and warring with character development. Obviously Efi and Orisa are the protagonists and it is their growth that is most important to the story. The side characters such as Efi’s friends felt more like a list of names. While reading the story, I did not get a good sense of their personality or even their physical description. Efi’s cousin Dayo got the most attention of the group for his use of a cane and spectacular costume sense. Yet as a three demential character even he seems lacking.

This is easily justified by the story length and target audience. I’m clearly not part of the target audience. I read in-depth and get discouraged when reading works I cannot get lost in. For the target audience, this is appropriate but not challenging in its use of English. Again, I’m comparing my childhood favorites of Brian Jacques and Mickey Zucker Reichert to a totally different genre. Do not let it detract from the enjoyment of the Drayden’s story.

Another difficulty is making “baby” characters interesting. Both Efi and Orisa are children. They do not have the long complicated backstories that most of the Overwatch characters have. We’re reading their adventures as they happen. Nor do they fall easily into a hero trope. They do not have a lot of experience to draw upon, so we get to read about their mistakes and lessons learned. Some instances don’t seem plausible, but I had to remind myself that this is a future world and Efi is a genius so the power of the suspension of disbelief must be strong. 

The most troubling issue for me within this story, is how Efi does not seem to have a mentor. No guiding light beyond the collective memory of Gabrielle Adawe and the idealization of Overwatch. Efi sets out on her robotic misadventures without an elder to ask questions of. Sure this would make some of the misadventures impossible, but it also would make the world more believable. 

While building Orisa, Efi’s priorities seem scattered with no real plan. This leads to multiple failures. Efi takes on an insurmountable task for anyone much less a 12 year old. It would stand to reason one lesson to be learned is not to be afraid to ask for help. I don’t think this is conveyed through this story as there are many instances where Efi assumes full responsibility for problems beyond her control or capability. Again, I’m not the author so I do not know Drayden’s decisions beyond this might not be the story she wanted to tell.

Now we cannot have a story without discussing the antagonist. In some respects the obstacles Efi overcomes is her own family’s expectations and limitations. The clear conflict comes from Doomfist. His act of stealing back his Gauntlet and destroying the OR-15s is the beginning of Efi’s story. Everything before was setting the stage.

Doomfist does not receive much “screen time” within the book. He is a background threat. He shows up, causes chaos, and remains a haunting threat into the future. Drayden tries to set up his terror by comparing it to the previous Doomfist: The Scourge and to the Omnic Crisis. All of this through Efi’s view point of the scant memories she has of her family.

The Reader may not get a true sense of the threat and danger, but Drayden does well to describe it around the lens of a child who had been shielded during the worst of the terror.

Doomfist himself is a flat character within this story. The reader knows his story from his character release, not from Drayden’s The Hero of Numbani story. Efi and her friends mention the jail break, but there is little context to it. He serves only as the grand obstacle and test of Orisa’s abilities. 

Let’s not forget Lucio. 

He’s like the prize inside the cereal box. 

If Efi were ever to have a mentor, Lucio is a great fit. She idolizes him. Drayden wonderfully gets inside the mind of a “tween” to show how captivated she is about the music icon. He is the voice of reason and encouragement Efi needed through this whole story.

Lucio shows up much like a guest star. We get a greater sense of his character and personality through his interactions with Efi. Yet we are still left to develop out sense of him from the gameplay.

His purpose within this story is that of a “fairy-godmother.” To give the protagonists exactly what they need at exactly the right moment. This is a very useful tool in writing. Here I do not feel like it was well disguised at all. Time constraints or author’s choice; it is not a bad placement or use of character. Just not my preferred. 

If you have made it this far, thank you.

In short this story is cute and an easy summer read. It has all the charm of a child’s cartoon show. (Netflix, if you’re listening, this would be an excellent addition to your animated line of shows. I’d love to see it in the vein of the animated short for Doomfist’s reveal.) The dynamic of these over the top characters are perfect for the small screen. The brightly colored and exquisite atmosphere of Numani deserves center stage. 

Even with the heavy use of in-game dialogue and voice interactions rather than new developments, this story was worth the read. Not the masterpiece or lore rich epic I’m hoping for. Stylistically cute. A shout out to fans, but not a gateway to non-fans. If you read this book, you must have prior knowledge of the characters and setting from the game and character releases. 

All that said, I do hope there are more stories. The listing of The Hero of Numabi as Overwatch #1 gives me hope. I would love to see more lore rich stories that can stand alone without relying heavily on game play, where every other sentence seems like it is borrowed from the game.

Efi and Orisa may seem like periphery characters now, but they hold promise to boost the Overwatch world. 

Side note: I love the original Overwatch cast. But reading this story has made me want to see more Lucio in the future. Lucio feels like he could be the leader Overwatch needs and deserves in order to bring it back into respectful prominence. 

[thosequeenboys]

Oh, Baby (Ben Hardy and Joe Mazzello)

Summary:  On a visit to Ben’s film set, Joe witnesses Ben enjoying a baby for the first time, which gets each of them thinking...

A/N:  This was written for “First Time” prompt for Hardzzello Week.  During in my holiday shopping at a crafts fair, I saw items that inspired my descriptions of gifts, though the ‘piece de resistance’ was a real thing!! Other writings featuring Joe and Ben (together and individually) can be found in my Masterlist

Warnings:  A somewhat crass reference to baby making, but other than that, just fluff and love!

Joe woke up an hour before his alarm was set to go off.  As always, his first image upon waking was of Ben. Usually, he snuggled under the covers and flipped over, letting himself indulge in his mind’s reel showing highlights of their past times together and previews of their anticipated visits.  Today, was one of those visits; he was travelling to Montreal to see Ben as he finished taping The Voyeurs.  Joe set a record in getting ready, and 20 minutes later he was getting into his Uber, planning to catch an earlier flight.

The wheels touched down two hours before his expected arrival.  As the cab drove him through downtown Montreal, he saw an outdoor crafts fair, festively decorated, set up for the holiday season. He noted the cross streets in his phone and vowed to stop by for some Christmas shopping for his family.  His first priority though was seeing Ben.  He arrived at the set and checked in with the guard who found his name on visitor list.

He entered the cavernous sound stage where multiple scenes were being set up.  Cameras framed the perimeter.  Staff were moving props and equipment. He looked around for a wave of blond hair.  Walking around a corner to another set, off in the distance he saw the unmistakable handsome man in his life.  But, wait, what was he doing?  Joe did a double take.

Ben was standing next to a woman seated with a car seat and diaper bag beneath her.  He was holding a baby on his hip, one hand supporting the baby’s bottom, the other wrapped snuggly around its upper back, cradling its head against his shoulder. And what was particularly endearing was Ben masterfully and naturally doing The Baby Dance - shifting from leg to leg, swaying his hips loosely, giving the baby a little bounce and maintaining eye contact. He looked like a pro!   It was a new image of Ben.  At family events, Ben interacted with Joe’s older nieces and nephews warmly. He cracked jokes, played board games and kicked a soccer ball with them outside.  They loved his energy and humor.  But he had not interacted with the babies. Truth be told he seemed a little intimated at the prospect.

Staring at his love across the room holding a baby filled Joe with excitement and awe. His stomach tightened. He was thrilled to see Ben for the first time enjoying a baby. Occasionally, the topic of children came up, but they hadn’t seriously discussed it, though Ben knew that Joe was eager to have a family.   Joe wondered if maybe now Ben could envision them having a family too.  Joe breathed deeply and took in the sight a little longer before making his way over to Ben, who was now chatting with the seated woman, alternating between looking at her and cooing at the baby, who looked at him.

As Joe approached, Ben’s face lit up and he walked toward him.  “Ohmygod-you’re here early! What a nice surprise!  Hi, You!” Ben leaned over and kissed Joe’s cheek, proudly holding the baby and thrilled to see Joe.

“The early bird gets the worm.  Hopefully.” Joe couldn’t resist.  “Hmm. I see you found a substitute for my attention, though probably not as articulate and witty, I dare say.” Joe said in his charming, slightly haughty manner. He looked at the baby who appeared to be about four months old.  “And who is this charming fellow?” Joe asked, stroking the baby’s onesie-covered arm.

“This is Christopher. And this is his mom, Anna,” Ben said, turning toward Anna who gave a wave.  She’s a grip. Her nanny is only available in the afternoons for a few days, so Christopher has been our special guest on set.”

“Anna,” Ben said, shifting Christopher over to his other hip and resuming The Baby Dance, “This is my…Joe.  Joe Mazzello.”  

“Hi, My Joe,” Anna said with a laugh, and Joe and Ben joined in.  Joe and Ben locked eyes.  Though they were established as a couple in their social circle, they were still figuring out their positioning in the world.  Joe really hated the term ‘boyfriend,’ which tripped Ben up during introductions.  My Partner? My Man? Of course, it would be easier if it were just ‘ My Husband,’ Ben had thought lately.

Anna continued. “I’ve heard so much about you-and the great Uncle you are.  Ben’s been so helpful caring for Christopher between taping before my sitter arrives.  He’s such a natural, and Christopher has really taken to him.”

“My nieces and nephews always enjoy spending time with him.” Joe said beaming.  Ben was called for the final scene for the day. Once Ben finished work, the boys bid farewell to Anna and Christopher and headed out.  They settled into Ben’s rental car, Ben at the driver’s seat. Joe looked over at Ben. He couldn’t shake the image of Ben holding Christopher, and it filled him with a warm rush.  

“What?” Ben said, feeling Joe’s eyes on him, pausing before starting the car. “You’re worried about me driving?” he laughed.

“Well, there’s that, now that you mention it,” Joe said with a laugh.  Then he reached out and touched Ben’s hand, which was resting on his thigh, holding the car keys.

“No, actually, I keep picturing you holding Christopher.  It was just….so beautiful.  And you seemed to like it.  Did you?” Joe asked somewhat tentatively, concerned about the prospective answer.

“Yeah,” Ben responded. “I did.  I really did.  I mean, I was nervous at first.  Anna helped me feel more comfortable.  It was amazing having another person respond to you. Want you.  When he laughed at my antics, it made me melt. And, this sounds weird, but that feeling of holding him - It’s hard to describe. It was like no other physical connection.”

Joe smiled broadly, happiness overtaking him. “I totally get it.  I’ve felt the same way with my nieces and nephews. I think it would be stronger when…it’s yours. I mean, if…when you’re the father.”  

‘Yeah,’ Ben said, staring out the windshield.  “I’ve imagined it.”

“You, you have?” Joe asked, trying to contain his excitement, eagerly wanting to hear more.

‘Yes, at night, when I go back to my flat, you know, I picture this…story.  Where I have a baby.  WE have a baby,” He clarified, looking over to Joe.  “There are a few scenes.  First, I see us taking it home after it’s born and then staying up at night taking turns holding it, singing, reading, walking, trying to get it to sleep.”

“You were quite a rocker and a roller in your baby dance with Christopher,” Joe noted.

‘Yeah, it did seem to help keep him calm.” Ben said.

“What else did you imagine?” Joe asked, wanting to conjure the images too.

“Well, the baby was restless and nothing was working so finally, we put it between us in bed and we both held it.  We all fell asleep together.  Then, I fast forwarded to the baby being older and we went to the playground.  We pushed it in the swing. I was in the front of the swing, you were behind it.  Sometimes, I held its legs when the swing came forward, and you held the swing from the back so it was suspended, and the baby giggled. Then we sang Queen songs in time to the swinging, really getting into it, and the baby was clapping and laughing.   Like we were two cool, creative, fun dads.

“I bet we would be.” Joe said. “Wow, those are really nice images. It’s nice to hear you’ve thought about them.”  

Joe leaned over and kissed Ben softly on the lips.  Ben turned his body to Joe, and the keys slid off his lap as he moved his arms around Joe’s neck and deepened the kiss. They made out passionately until Joe pulled away, breathing heavily.  “It’s a good thing you can’t get pregnant, ‘cause I swear to God, I’d want to take you home right now and…”

“Really, Joseph,” Ben cut him off.  “Wouldn’t you want to make an honest man of me first?”  

“Yes, yes, absolutely, I would.” Joe said between pants.  “And I want to continue this make-out session, but…Seasonal topic change! I have to do some Christmas shopping, and I saw a cool crafts fair downtown.  I thought maybe we could stop there before heading home.”

“Sure,” Ben said, slightly out of breath. “I’m game.  May find a few things as well.”

After parking, Joe pulled up his Christmas shopping list on his phone. “Ok, let’s split up – I’ll be more efficient that way - and meet at the Hot Chocolate stand over there in 45 minutes,” Joe said, motioning to the little café area.

“Sounds good,” Ben said.

Joe made the rounds and found silver amethyst earrings for his sister, an intricate turquoise necklace for his mom, hair accessories and hand-decorated Girl Power journals for his nieces and a big stuffed dinosaur for his youngest nephew.   He walked by a stand with a hodgepodge of jewelry and eyed a rack of bracelets. His gaze gravitated to a thin, earthy brown leather bracelet with subtle streaks of gold.  He took it off the rack and put it on his wrist as he imagined giving it to Ben as an engagement ring of sorts.  Yes, he would make an honest man of him first.  Joe took off the bracelet and fingered it, playing out a scene of giving it to Ben on a sunset beach, though truthfully, he didn’t want to wait that long.  He made a mental note to Google most romantic places to propose in Montreal.  His reverie was interrupted by the saleswoman. “Oh, that’s a lovely choice, made by a local artist. Happy to give you his card.”

Joe checked his watch and made a bee line to the Hot Chocolate stand.  He was pleased that he got through most of his shopping list, but ecstatic by his last purchase.  He felt high thinking about them committing to each other in a formal way and….Suddenly, Ben ran up to him.  “I have to show you what I found!”  He pulled a garment out of one of his bags.  It was a white, long-sleeved baby onesie featuring a repeating montage of small beagle dogs engaged in different activities:  walking with a bone in its mouth, sitting wearing glasses reading a book, snuggling next to a dad dog with a tie, chasing a ball, sleeping with a teddy bear under its paw. Each image was drawn with fine black pen and featured a burst of a primary color-the bone was yellow, the book was blue, the tie was red,  the ball was orange and the bear was green.  Ben couldn’t contain is excitement, “Isn’t this the CUTEST thing? I got one for Christopher.  And another one.”  He looked at Joe. “In case, you know, we need another baby gift.”

“Very cute and good planning.” Joe said, touching the soft clothing.

“How did you do?”  Ben asked.

“Oh, I finished most of my shopping for the fam.  And an unexpected thing or two.   A successful expedition.” Joe said, feeling a wave of emotion thinking of the bracelet.

Joe reached for Ben’s hand, as they walked to the car, each of them looking forward to their visit -- and their newly-envisioned future.

 @warriorteam1924 @lapofthemusicgods @nightoftheland @heybuddy-drabbles @hey-holtzy @im-an-adult-ish @halfasleepoetry @roger-taylors-car

[rebellect-writes]

[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] An imaginary number! [b]What happened?:[/b] GH, she’s evil...and I like his hair.

[b]Name:[/b] Hunter Burnett. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b][LIST]Uncle Jordon. Jordan Burnett. Hunter Jordan. [/LIST][b]Age:[/b] 286 [b]Date of Birth:[/b] June 4th, 1725. [b]Age at Death:[/b] 28. [b]Gender:[/b] Male.   [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Questionable. [b]Occupation:[/b] Jack of all trades.

[b]Bloodline:[/b] Beast Master. [b]Power Level:[/b] Adult [s]Kiss[/s]. [b]Mind-Set:[/b] Both. [b]Animal to Call:[/b] None. [b]Powers:[/b] [LIST] [*] Heightened senses, reflexes, healing and strength. [*] Bite...If he enters the persons mind when feeding, he can make it less painful and more enjoyable. He doesn’t most of the time. [*] Empathy, he can smell some strong emotions like fear, rage, anger, lust. Since he’s of Padma’s bloodline, he’s also got a slight empathy to all animals. [*]Enthralling/rolling, he can only get this right with weaker shifters and normal humans. Anything stronger can break free. [*] Glamour, he can switch small things about him. Make his hair darker, eyes brighter, on will. [/LIST][b]Rank:[/b] Rogue. He can be tempted by the Kiss though.

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Gerard Way. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://i325.photobucket.com/albums/k361/Mychemicalromance55_photos/mychem313.jpg[/IMG] [i]Height:[/i] 5’10 [i]Weight:[/i] 151lbs [i]Eyes:[/i] Hazel brown. [i]Hair:[/i] He’s a dyer. Naturally, it’s [URL=http://img.buzznet.com/assets/imgx/7/5/3/9/1/6/1/orig-7539161.jpg]black, he’s [/URL] gone [URL=http://quizilla.teennick.com/user_images/A/AM/AMU/AMUANDIKUTO4EVA/1264970042_5386_full.jpeg]blonde[/URL] in the past, but he’s currently sporting [URL=http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/19400000/Gerard-way-my-chemical-romance-19400197-467-700.jpg]red.[/URL] [i]Build:[/i] Average and lean. [i]Visible marks:[/i] He has a Crucifix burn mark on his left shoulder. [i]Style:[/i] Hunter likes to be comfortable. Since he travels a lot, he’s ditched the formal wear that he used to love and taken to jeans, t-shirts, a nice pair of boots. You name it, he’ll wear it. That doesn’t mean he won’t go back to formal(ish) wear.

[b]Special Skills:[/b][LIST] [*] Can speak pretty decent Spanish and French, well enough to get him by. [*] Not so much a fighter, more of a scrapper when it comes to combat. [*] Good with a knife or any type of blade, if being armed is what's needed. [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b][LIST]Hunter isn’t as complicated as most people would think. He’s a fairly easy going guy that likes to have a laugh and being a vampire nearly 300 years old hasn’t changed that, and why should it? Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he has to be a mopey Annie, he enjoys his unlife. He doesn’t judge people right off the bat and he’s willing to give them a choice to show their true colours before passing judgement and moving on with his life. He just understands that not everyone choses to be who they’ve become, or what they’ve become. Caring and nurturing – it comes with raising a boisterous were-puppy -, he’s got the patience of a saint at times and it’s hard to push him into snapping but not impossible.

Other vampires, more to the point the older kind, scare him and because of that he respects them a hell of a lot. He’s fine with anyone younger but the older ones make the hair on the back of his neck crawl. He knows he’s got to play it careful with the elders of his kind, they could easily shred him a new one if they wanted and to top that off he’s trespassing on an occupied territory. In some places that would have ended with his heart and head removed. Shape shifters are awesome; he’d rather run with someone that was furry inclined then spend time around his own kind. Maybe it’s because of his bloodline, he’s never worked it out, but if Hunter comes across a shape shifter in need, he’ll lend a hand. Humans are the same, as long as they’re not trying to stick a bullet or stake into him, he’s dandy.

He’s extremely protective of Grey, and has bled for his “nephew”, to the point that he has killed for him. Hunter would walk over broken glass if he had to, to make sure that Grey was comfortable, and he’d go without clothes on his back to make sure that Grey had what he needs. Does he love him? Yes. He’s been there since day one, and while it may seem a little odd to some but that’s just the way it is and the hand that Hunter’s been dealt. They’re not related by blood after all so it’s nothing incestuous despite the fact that he regularly refers to Grey as his “nephew” outside of the few people that Hunter can call friend. There blames himself for the death of his “family”, and he believes that he failed his friend from all those years ago, and it gnaws at him at times when he’s not really paying attention to what’s going on around him. [/LIST][b]Likes:[/b][LIST] [*] Being alive...Well, undead and alive. You get the picture. [*] His [URL=http://www.musclecarclub.com/musclecars/pontiac-firebird/images/pontiac-firebird-1968c.jpg]car[/URL]...Well, technically it's Grey's car now. [*] Living under the radar. [*] Keeping Grey safe, even if Grey doesn't always know it. [*] Wandering the coast at night. [*] When it's not to hot or to cold. [*] Playing games on his phone when he's bored. [*] Watching people. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Following other people’s rules. [*] Wearing suits. Though he does it occasionally. [*] Being hunted like a dog. [*] Seeing Grey struggle with something. [*] Driving in the rain. [*] Seeing animals abused. (This includes shifters, as well.) [*] Pushing to get what he wants. [*] Being dragged into the spotlight, so to speak. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b][LIST] [*] Strong willed. [*] High pain tolerance. [*] Won't hesitate to get things done. [*] Grey. [*] Somehow manages to keep Grey calm when he's all worked up. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b][LIST] [*] Can't enter a person’s house without permission from the owner. Has killed because of this. [*] Normal vampire restrictions and weaknesses. Fire, sunlight, Holy items. [*] Grey! He failed his adopted family, he won't fail Grey. [*] Doesn't always feed right. A little taste here and there, just to hold him over. [*]Stubbornly persistent at times. It’s been known to get him into trouble. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]  

When former British Naval officer turned pirate William Morgan found out that the tavern wench, Carmella, that he visited regularly was pregnant with his supposed spawn, he up rooted the poor woman and dragged her all the way from her home in Maracaibo to his home city of London, and in the early summer of 1725, Hunter was pushed screaming into the world and was welcomed with somewhat open arms. Carmella died from a fever and child birth complicates according to the back street midwife that William had paid to help deliver his son, and she wasn’t mourned. William wanted a son, not a wife or a real family, and he already had plenty of mistresses across many main trade routes waiting for him so one whore dead was no skin off his nose to see her buried in an unmarked grave just outside of the city.

For Hunter though, it meant something different. Since William didn’t haul the boy out to sea with him, he was left from the moment he could walk with William’s sister, Cassandra. She was nice enough, and made sure that her brother’s son was fed and looked after, but that was it. There wasn’t a maternal bone in the woman’s body, and Hunter grew to know this very well, especially when he got hurt and all she did was pour boiling hot salt water over his cuts and scrapes and scolded him for being irresponsible before always telling him the same story about how his father would be so disappointed and when he came back from his trip then she would tell him of all the bad things that Hunter had done. If anything that was what made him wish for his father’s return all the more, simply so he could meet the man even if he was to be scolded for being a typical boy. He was nine when William came back to London, and upon first meeting him, Hunter was scared. Worse yet, Cassandra lied through her back teeth to get Hunter out of her house and William had no choice but to agree after giving the boy a beating for causing his beloved sister so much trouble. Fear turned to twisted joy, and the following day he was dragged out of one life and into something...better. He’d always wanted to see new places, meet new people and have an adventure. He wasn’t disappointed either, so he waved good bye to England and followed his father like a loyal little puppy.

By the time Hunter twenty one years old, he returned to London under an assumed name of Jordan Hunter. William had died in a raid on a tavern in Panama nearly two years previous and it was that loss that had him seeking something else. It was his father that had taught him everything that he had known, and without him, well, Hunter saw no point in staying on as a pirate and that was a bit cowardly in itself and went against everything in him for the most part. Besides, piracy had been a dying art for years before his father had taken him away from Cassandra at the age of nine, but it was well and truly dead by the time he returned those thirteen years later with more knowledge of the world and with more than a few secrets and tricks up his sleeves. No doubt there was a noose waiting for him somewhere as well. A few weeks upon his return, he found out that Cassandra had moved to the country because of her health, and instead of tracking her down, Hunter decided to stay in the city and it took a year of roughing it out, but eventually he found his feet so to speak in a classy tavern come whore house in South London. He was to look after the working girls, make sure that they were treated somewhat correctly and if a John thought he could get away with something that the Lady of the house didn’t like, and then he was to deal with it and make sure that it wouldn’t happen again. Simple, really. Right? Right! It was something he could do with little to no trouble, because half the time the punters abided by the rules and Hunter became somewhat of a ghost, only appearing when trouble kicked off over the next few years.

Twenty six, almost twenty seven years old, and surprised that he’d lasted that long in anyone one job, Hunter made the mistake of stepping in to stop some high Lord from doing some serious damage to a girl named Mary, a new addition to the household. She was a sweet lass that was a little ditzy in Hunt’s opinion but she didn’t deserve the ever living Hell kicked out of her because someone had shot his ... pistol ... too early and in the wrong place. Mary was only eighteen at the time. Not liking it, the gentleman turned on Hunter in a rage but the Mistress of the house stepped in before it got too out of hand and warned the male away with the threat that he’d no longer be welcome in any brothel in the city if he didn’t leave. Luckily, the gentleman had some sense and left. That night, after a talk with the Mistress, Hunter became the unofficial career for some of the younger girls and that suited him fine. The ‘business’ was changing after all; he’d seen it rise up from a tavern where anyone could get what they wanted to something more refined. The year following, Hunter got close to Mary and as unwise as it was, he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. They just clicked. However, the good times weren’t something that just wasn’t meant to be. Lord Jennings came back on evening with his friends and they flashed a lot of money around. The Mistress, Emily as she was known, had no choice but to serve the ingrates, but she warned Hunter to be on the lookout for trouble as well as the more senior girls and staff. Mary was one of the unlucky girls that were called on to serve the gentlemen and while Hunter didn’t particularly like it, he had no choice but to let it happen. It wasn’t until later that night that Jennings changed from a rich snob to something else, something from the pits of Hell itself when the Mistress refused him personal service. For poor Hunter, it was like some of the stories he’d heard on his ‘travel’ made real.

The Mistress and Jennings tore into each other with fangs, two of Jennings friends turned into monstrous wolf like beasts that lunged for the closest living body that was near them, another turned into a snake-man. If that wasn’t bad enough, some of the girls turned to. Great cats attacked the wolf men, and those that didn’t transform tore into them with fangs. It seemed that Hunter was the only human amidst the nightmare, and after a moment’s hesitation he was spurred into action by something that he considered even worse. Mary had been cornered by a rabid creature, some kind of man-dog thing and Hunter didn’t hesitate in trying to defend her. One almighty smack across the back of his head sent him flying into the path of another monstrosity. Jennings. The vampire male had split from the Mistress and left her bleeding and broken on the floor and took after the disorientated Hunter, and the last thing that Hunter saw before the world went black was Jennings fangs.

He woke up three nights later, chained at the wrists and ankles in the houses cellar with no idea what had happened to him or the others. He’d never been to the lower levels of the house before, hadn’t wanted to, but the coffins lining the wall made him tremble. If it hadn’t been for the Mistress Emily who was in a similar position to him and trying to calm him down, Hunter would have found a way to raise unholy hell. The hunger he felt would have driven him to doing it anyway, but from what he was being told there was just something distracting about it. Jennings had turned him to spite the Mistress, who was in fact Jennings own wife and his former fledgling. Talk about having your mind blown open. Hunter had worked for Mistress Emily for nearly a decade and he’d never once thought of her as someone’s wife. He certainly hadn’t thought of her as a vampire either! The nightly sightings had been written off as being selective with her cliental but that was it, especially since she had more than enough people working for her to get whatever was needed during the day done. It was so crazy that it actually made sense to him. Hunter just didn't accept it fully until Jennings finally gave both of his 'toys' an audience and by then it was too late for him and Mistress Emily as they both listened to the Master vampire rage about how he hadn't wanted to take over Emily's life again, but the insults that he got because of her reputation had been too much for him as it had started to affect his business dealings in the city. It was time to bring his wife to heel! Back to her place at his side, even if he had to destroy everything that she had built during their ‘separation’ as he called it.

After Emily was beaten into submission verbally by her husband, Jennings turned on Hunter, simply because he’d stood up for one of Emily’s girls. As a lesson to his new fledgling, Jennings tore the throat out of one of the girls that Hunter had promised to look after in front of both of his ‘children’. The scent of blood drove Hunter wild, pushed him past being human to a place where only the blood mattered. Jennings let him loose and the only thing that Hunter cared about was the blood that was draining from the girl’s throat and he fell on her, feeding on what was left. Emily tried to bring him back to her, back to being human, back to being Hunter, and she almost succeeded by sheer force of will but at the end of the day, Jennings had his claws in Hunter and he also had Emily right where he wanted her and it was like that for nearly twenty years before anything changed. He didn’t go around as Jennings ‘servant’, he became Hunter again, all because he found out that Mary – who had because Emily’s maid more than a prostitute – had become pregnant with a child to one of Jennings shape shifter friends, a weredog, just like she was. What made Hunter more surprised than suspicious was that Mary claimed she was in love with the male, and there hadn’t been any force involved. He had no option but to agree when he saw what she was like around him. If only he knew how Jennings would react ahead of time, maybe he’d have been able to stop his sire for doing something stupid.

The birth was complicated. Mistress Emily had taken over the proceedings as midwife while Lord Archibald paced in the hallway waiting to see if he had a son or a daughter. Hunter did as he was told, fetched water and towels and was the perfect little man servant. It was on his second trip up from the kitchens that he found Master Jennings had returned early from a business trip – much to everyone’s surprise – and had found out what was happening. He flew into a rage unlike Hunter had ever seen before, and turned on the vulnerable Mary screaming and cursing that she was ruining the bed. Archibald and Emily lunged to keep him away from the woman and Hunter was the one that had to finish delivering the baby and even though he had no idea what he was doing and there was a battle raging behind him, between him and Mary, the young shapeshifter was brought into the world kicking and screaming. It should’ve been a happy moment, and it was, in a way, but one moment Hunter was on his feet and the next he was collapsing and clutching at his chest. He didn’t know that Emily had taken Jennings head clean off his shoulders, leaving Archibald to deal with the rest. A life for a life, the baby was alive and Hunter was dying for a second time. It was a good exchange in Hunters eyes. However it wasn't in Emily's. She blood oathed him to herself in a last ditch attempt to save his life and she almost lost him. Almost. To them, Jennings had never returned home that day and the never mentioned him again.

Excitement over, the vampires became unspoken godparents to the child that had been named Thomas, and they watched as he grew up and his parents passed on seventy years later. Hunter was barely past his first century of un-life and could have done anything or gone anywhere, but a bond of friendship kept him there. Even after Emily finally grew bored with watching out for her friend’s children and their children’s children and moved on, Hunter stuck around keeping tabs on the closest thing that he had to a family. He became an unspoken Uncle. Sure, he was sad to see Emily go but he just couldn’t do it, and wouldn’t do it for all the tea in China. The only problem was that since his Mistress had left to find something else to occupy her, Hunter had to be careful. It wasn’t right for a “rogue” vampire to wander into Kiss’ territories unannounced, and feeding in a territory that was controlled by a Master vampire was even more dangerous for him. So he crept around the territory lines, nibbled rather than fed, and vanished when there was any sign of trouble headed his way. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was his to do with as he wished.

He travelled a bit even though he kept in contact since some of the weredog’s that came and went didn’t seem to like him being close to them or their kin. He dropped out of contact for sixty years at one point because he’d been focused on getting a job and getting some money put away in case he ever needed it, and he did get a bit put away for a rainy day. When he finally came back into contact with the dogs and a lot had changed, Hunter was only glad that he could come back in time to see Grey born and could be in the kids life from the start rather than coming in later and getting growled at by someone. He wouldn’t admit it, but Hunter had been growing tired of everything, those sixty years before Grey’s birth had been tiresome and Hunter hadn’t been able to see the point in trying anymore, but things were oddly different now. So he became Uncle Hunter to Grey and for the first year and a half everything was grand, there wasn’t any trouble that they couldn’t get passed. He should’ve known that it would change though, one night hunters tracked down the family of weredogs and slaughtered them all. Hunter had been out feeding in the main town, rather than staying at the family home that night. He got there too late to save anyone, but he did find Grey stashed away in the cupboard under the stairs. After leaving an anonymous 999 call, Hunter left with Grey; the only thing on his mind was how it would look if the police turned up and found him standing amongst the bodies of his family. It would’ve looked liked he’d done it rather than a roving gang of murderers that pretended to be on a mission from God to destroy monsters

So, they travelled for a bit together. Scotland, Ireland, the States, you name it. It was a bit tricky for Hunter, having to explain why Grey wasn’t in school and what not, but he passed it off as him being in private education. People tended to leave them alone once they heard that, but Hunter – who was going as Jordon at the time – dealt with it and made sure Grey wasn’t affected much. Around about the time that Grey hit fifteen years of age, the kid went through his first shape shift. Hunter was glad of this, even though Grey pretty much freaked out over the fact it was a dog form rather than something fancy like a wolf or bear, but that pretty much sorted itself out when Hunter told him that he turned into a [i]big[/i] dog. Since Hunter had pretty much dragged Grey to the states to make sure no one found out that he was a weredog and could connect him to the family tragedy, it was time to come back home to the UK but not before Hunter paid a few of his old Mistress’s ‘friends’ to find out what had happened all those years before. What was turned up was just a little disturbing to say the least. A rogue sect of Human against Vampires had killed Hunters family all that time ago because of him, and it tore him up inside to learn this.

Four years later, the nightmare came back to finish what was started. Grey was nineteen and Hunter was, well, typical dorky Hunter over a movie night when their little rented house was raided. Hunter told Grey to run as he took one of the humans out before swiftly following. It was only later when they met up on the outside of town to watch their house go up in flames that Hunter realized just how important Grey was to him. It was little too late though, the hunters found them and Hunter threw himself at the lot of them so Grey could runaway and that he’d catch up with him later. What Hunter didn’t want Grey to see was him tearing into the crew of slayers with a rage he didn’t even know existed until he saw their leering grins. Throats game out between fangs, silver bullets hit home weakening him more and more until eventually he was left broken on the floor. Rather than kill him out right like anyone sane would do, they hauled his mangled body to a lock up, told him that he was going to be used as an example for monsters in the area.

Now a vampire can take a lot of damage, they beat him, starved him, and threatened to burn his face off with holy water, you name it, and Hunter dealt with it. He even got a pretty cross shaped scar for mouthing off to a chick that obviously wasn’t getting any at home. It wasn’t until two weeks into this Hell that things got interesting. They started bringing in animals for him to feed off, dogs, cats, rats, hell even some idiot brought him a goat. Rather than feed though, he manipulated the animals even though it cost him. A dog would bite here; a cat would take a swipe at someone’s face. It was worth it because one of the punks came close enough for Hunter to snag him by the throat and tore into it, draining the life from the slayer. All he wanted was the blood at first, but the keys to the pretty jeep and his chains were a bonus. Using the animals as a diversion, Hunter got out of the waterside warehouse and the hell out of dodge. Even though it took him a couple of more weeks to track Grey down, he wasn’t in any state to confront the young weredog. He did however stick close to Grey, more a silent uncle that was heard rather than seen. While he was healing up and Grey was getting on with life, Hunter found out that HAV had found Grey in London. Seeing red, he went straight to Grey’s flat and broke in, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush and told Grey everything that he knew before dragging him out of there and telling Grey’s neighbours that there were trouble makers on the way and that they should call the police because there would be guns! Well, as you can imagine it wasn’t the best reunion and Hunter would’ve done anything to make it better except he couldn’t. All he could do was point Grey in the direction of Jackford with a promise that he’d follow him after he gave the slayers some new tails to chase, and he did.[/SIZE]

[halloweennut]

The Shipwreck Incident

In which we have a part three to the Felicity/Don Karnage nonsense, wherein both catch feelings and have to talk like adults about them. Some content warnings for: description of injuries and treatment thereof, needles, and suggestive make-out i guess. catch it under the read more! still cant write Karnage lmao

The last people had seen of Felicity Columbia had been just before a large, tropical storm had hit the shore of Cape Suzzette. She and a few company members had rented a small beach house and a boat for a week after a show had wrapped up as a way to relax and wind down. On the day of the storm, the small group had decided to take the boat out to sea to drink, dance, and lounge on the waves. The storm didn’t show up on any news weather radar until after they were over an hour out, and by then it was two late. A rescue party found the wrecked ship partially submerged on a sandbar close to shore, and almost all of the group was there, except for one swan.

The rescue party and coast guard scanned the sea for miles, and did the same for the shore, but to no avail. There was no sign of her there, and people began to assume the worst.

What they didn’t know is that Felicity had already been found.

---

The Airship blazed through the sky triumphantly after another heist, this time a large cargo ship full of goods they could easily sell on the black market.  After the normal round of critiques and nit-picks, the crew settled near happily into their standard positions. Peg-Leg Meg went to the helm, checking monitors for storms or pursuing ships and what have you, while the rest went to either sort loot, do repairs, or practice for the next robbery. Don Karnage looked over the cargo hold and at his crew with the vaguest sense of pride and accomplishment.

“Oh, we really dodged a bullet back home, Captain,” Meg said. “We just missed a huge storm.”

“And? We could have easily made it through,” Don Karnage scoffed. She checked another screen.

“A lot of boats are washing up. People are missing and search crews are out,” she added. Don Karnage hummed.

“Full speed then. I don’t want to run into any of them in case they think they can try and apprehend us,” He ordered. Meg quickly saluted and sent the command to the engine room. The ship began to speed up, and she returned to her post.

There was a tiny blip on the radar, far down below them and a few miles out in the water.  It echoed through the helm. Don Karnage’s ears perked up at the sound, and turned around the grab the monitor pulling it towards him on its swivel. If it was a ship, coast guard or something to rob, he wanted to know firsthand to expedite orders as soon as possible. The system was older, and couldn’t tell him what exactly it was except that it was small and in the water. Meg peeked up at the screen under his elbow.

“Captain?” She asked. “You don’t think it’s one of the missing people do ya?”

He shrugged, pushing the screen back into position. “We’ll be flying over soon enough. Bring us down a few clicks so we can see what it is. If it’s a person, we bring them aboard and hold them for ransom. If rubble, let it sink.”

The ship slowly began to drop, and slowed down slightly as it approached. One team of two flyers went out to check up close, finger on the button of a radio to confirm whatever it was in real time. Some of the crew waited in apprehension, having been caught up by Peg and the Captain. There was a buzz as the radio came to life.

“We’re not seein’ much o’ anythin’ cap,” one pilot said. “Are ya sure about the- hold on.”

The radio died for a few seconds, then buzzed back. “Blow me down, it’s a person. Bringing them aboard.”

A few minutes later the plane returned. The first pilot jumped out of their pit and over the second one behind him where the other pilot was, the soaked head of the person just jutting out above the edge of the cockpit.  “Mind her head, now.”

The two of them carefully maneuvered them out of the plane, the first pilot ended up taking the castaway in their arms. Initially, all Don Karnage saw was a mess of white feathers and soaked hair until they brought them closer, and he froze when he saw that it was the swan that had plagued him for weeks, the one his mind ran in circles about. The swan that he had - nevermind. That was not important. What was important was that people would be looking for her, and ransom could easily be gotten in exchange - she did have a small bit of fame to her name afterall.

Felicity, upon closer inspection, looked like death warmed over. She was paler, even with her white feathers, now mussed and in disarray, her arm and shoulder sat an odd angle, and there was a large bump on her head. The pilot’s hands shifted on her torso, and she let out a quiet whimper in pain as she shivered from the cold air on the ship. The injury list seemed to grow, and Don Karnage realized that she was in nothing but a flimsy swimsuit that did nothing but expose her to the chill and eyes of the crew.  

Without much of a thought, he shed his coat and rushed forward, wrapping it around her as he took Felicity from his crew member. With a bark to get out of his way, another to arrange for the ransom order to be sent and another for the crew doctor to be ready to attend her as soon as they reached their hideout, he booked it out of the hold and down into the belly of the ship to his bedroom. He remembered a similar scenario from weeks ago, but she was awake and fighting, dancing and tricking him. Right now, Felicity was curled against his chest and unconscious, but at least she was not longer shivering. Ocean water seeped into his shirt and his fur, rolling off her feathers and hair.

The door to his room couldn’t open fast enough, and he nearly nicked his head as he stormed in. Shifting her to one arm and wincing when she let out a noise of pain, he flung back the sheets on his bed and placed her delicately onto the plush surface. He removed his coat and threw the sheets back over her, carefully adjusting her head on a near threadbare pillow. It would have to do until they reached shore and the doctor was able to take care of her.

He made the first thought in his mind, as he hung his coat to dry, that her health was only important in regards to the ransom he could get for her. With a roll of his shoulders and a quick glance to watch the rise and fall of her chest, he made his way back to the helm to make sure his orders had been taken care of.

--

When Felicity woke up,  she was very confused and very much in pain. Her shoulder hurt, her ribs hurt, and her head hurt, and she could feel what felt like bruises all over her. She had no idea where she was either. All she could remember was the storm and then nothing. Felicity glanced around the best she could to see her new surroundings as she laid prone on the bed. The walls looked like carved stone, if not a cave, and was decorated with antique furniture. The door appeared to be from an old plane. The walls had a few pictures and framed items she couldn’t quite make out in the dim light, but the bed was soft and warm. As much as she would have loved to have fallen back asleep, the pain she felt was a bit much, and her mind was on high alert due the fact that 1. She had no idea where she was, and 2. She didn’t know who brought her here.

She attempted to sit up, carefully planting her one good hand on the bed and pushing herself up and back. Felicity let out a cry as shocks of pain ran through her shoulder and ribs, but forced herself to keep going until she was sitting up. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her jaw clenched. With tender fingers, she gently prodded her side and gasped at the ache - one of her ribs was broken. Another round of prodding at her arm confirmed that she had dislocated her shoulder, and judging by her headache and the the bump on her head, she more than likely had a concussion on top of all this. At the very least, whoever found her had put her into a large shirt that went down to her knees, covering her up since she was only in a swimsuit underneath. It was very old styled, like an 18th century gentleman’s, and smelled like metal, fur, and ocean water. The ocean water may have been her.

Felicity slowly lowered herself to lean back on the pillows behind her, hissing at the protest her body gave and took better stock of her situation. She was alive, but injured, and somewhere she hoped was safe. There had to be search crews looking for her, in in the worst case her body. If the person who saved her was a good person, they’d have called them by now and the coast guard would be on the way. She held onto that, and waited for anyone to come into the room. The only thing she heard was the quiet sound of chatter from another room, she supposed, and the sound of what might have been machinery. Where in the world was she?

She got her answer sooner than she thought, as the door opened and in strutted Don Karnage in all his bravado, followed by a smaller older man. She had finally stopped thinking about him and the - nevermind. Felicity hadn’t seen hide or hair of him since, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss their pas de deux.  She  bristled and instinctively moved back, wincing and missing the odd look Don Karnage had on his face. The older man skirted around the pirate captain to her side.

“Hello, miss, I’m Dr. Sawbones,” he said. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Felicity,” she gasped out. “Felicity Columbia. Please tell me that’s just a misnomer and not reflective of your -ow - practice.”

“No, just a name,” the doctor laughed. “The Captain insisted I tend you you as soon as possible. I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Really?” Felicity mumbled, looking up at Karnage. His look read disinterest, but he hovered by the bed nonetheless. The doctor nodded.

“Very concerned. But that may be for the ransom he’s asking for you,” Dr. Sawbones said, placing his medkit on the bed. Felicity stared at Don Karnage. “But I don’t know, just the doctor. “

“Ransom? Karnage, you no good, ill-begotten son of a - HNNG!” Felicity’s angry tirade ended with a groan of pain in protest of her moving and beginning to shout. She fell back with a strangled noise dying in her throat, and

gasped for air.

“Stay down, Felicity,” Karnage said. “You’ll hurt yourself more. And whoever pays your ransom won’t be thrilled.”

“Go walk the plank, pirate,” she snipped between breaths. The doctor ignored the spat, pulling back the covers of the bed, and gently began to lift the hem of the shirt to get a better look at her ribs. Felicity watched him, and out of the corner of her eye saw Karnage stand over him as the shirt came to rest just above where she thought the broken rib was. Felicity wanted to snap at him to keep his eyes to himself and if she wanted him to see her half-naked she’d ask, but considering her pain and the fact that he was mostly watching the doctor made the sentence die in her mouth. With practiced hands, Dr. Sawbones carefully pressed and prodded around the area, and she clenched her jaw to stop any sounds from escaping her. She couldn’t stop the tears rolling down the side of her face though. The doctor removed his hands.

“A broken rib and probably a few that are bruised,” he listed, grabbing a roll of bandages from his bag. “Can you - nevermind, Captain? May I ask for your assistance? Please support her sitting up so I can wrap her ribcage.”

Don Karnage looked like he wanted to grande jete out of the room. Felicity wanted to say that she could support herself, bum shoulder or not. But she said nothing and Karnage moved to the other side of the bed, getting behind her and carefully lifting her up to sitting. She winced at the movement, and absentmindedly grabbed at his fingers when the doctor wrapped the bandage around and round her ribs. He shifted behind her, letting her lean her weight against him fully. The doctor cut the bandage to size and secured it.

“Now, let’s get a look at that shoulder,” he said, lowering the hem of her shirt, and moving up to her arm. He barely had to touch or look to know it was dislocated. He carefully handled her arm by the bicep, with one hand on her shoulder. “We need to put this back in place. It’s going to hurt, so I suggest looking away, miss.”

Felicity braced herself, closing her eyes and biting her bottom beak. She felt Karnage shift again, holding her straighter and in place, but paid it no mind as she numbly felt her arm and shoulder shift, and then there was a rush of pressure and a sickening pop of bone and muscle realigning back in place. Felicity cried out, fresh tears coming forth as she turned her head to bury it into Karnage’s neck as she shook with pain. The doctor gently bent her arm at the elbow, and she felt Karnage hold it in place while Dr. Sawbones tied it in a sling.

Karnage was surprised that Felicity would, by all technicality, turn to him for comfort, but he’d had his ribs wrapped and shoulder popped back into place. It was painful as all get out, so all he found himself doing was letting her pinch his hand, bury her head into his fur, and all he did in return was hold her as she shook.

He looked up at the doctor, impatient. “What else is there for you to do?”

“I’m just going to wrap her head and give her something for the pain. No blood thinners, she probably has a concussion, so I will act like she does,” the doctor said. “Miss Columbia, can you raise your head for a moment please?”

Karnage felt her nod against his chest and he helped her lean forward again, gently supporting her back as the doctor cleaned scratches on her head, then wrapping a bandage around it, especially around the veritable goose egg above her temple.

“I hurt like hell,” Felicity murmured once he was said and done. The doctor nodded, and grabbed a small bottle of pain medication and a sterile sharp.

“This will pinch, but it’ll relieve the pain and you can go back to sleep, miss,”  he replied, injecting the needle into her arm. The effect was immediate as she sighed in relief and slumped backwards onto Karnage’s chest, breathing slowly evening out. Absentmindedly, he raised a hand and wiped a few remaining tears off her cheek, smoothing down a few ruffled feathers as the doctor packed up. Dr. Sawbones looked at him for a second and grinned to himself.

“What are you smiling about, old man?” Karnage snipped. The doctor raised his hands in defense.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing!” he replied with a chuckle. “Just...youth is all. Was it necessary to give her your quarters and one of your shirts, captain?”

Karnage scoffed, shifting so Felicity sat more comfortably on his shoulder. “Where else could I have put her? In the crew’s quarters in her condition and a ransom on her head? Nonsense. And what else was she going to wear? I wasn’t going to let her only be in a bikini!”

The doctor nodded to the miniature tirade. “Well, when she wakes up, we’ll make sure she gets some ice packs for the swelling and pain management. Let me know when that happens, please.”

“I’m not her keeper! Who told you that you could make orders, especially to your captain?” Karnage barked.

“I apologize, captain. I overstepped,” he replied, heading towards the door, casting one last look at the two of them in the bed. Felicity had fallen to sleep, head half-hidden in his captain’s neck, and he himself was holding her. It looked like a cover of a novel. Karnage glared at him. “I’ll be back to check in on her in a few hours. For now, she needs her rest, the poor thing.”

Karnage looked down at her as the door clicked shut, and hesitated for a moment before slipping out from behind her, lowering her head on to the pillows and bringing the sheets back up over her chest. He watched her for a moment, and sat down in a plush armchair a few feet away. He flung himself down with a huff, and rested his chin on a fist as he stared at no spot in particular and stewed in his thoughts. It was odd to she her sedate - he preferred her dancing and singing. Why did it have to be her that they found? Why of all the castaways, in all the oceans, in all the world did it have to be her?

---

Karnage, afterwards, was both constantly present and ever absent. He came in from time to time to grab something from his desk or clothing as the next few days passed, revealing to Felicity that it was not only his room and bed, she was in but also in his shirt. They would exchange few words, mostly scathing, offhand remarks and gloating peppered with inquiries into her injuries and her ransom. Then, Karnage would leave until he either found an excuse to come back in, the doctor coming to check on her or someone coming to bring her meals. He’d linger for a moment and leave.  It confused her. His conflicting concern and bravado over holding her captive and for ransom confused her, his lingering and not to mention the kiss a few weeks beforehand and the avoidance. As much as Felicity liked to banter and bite at him...she was confused about where she stood, where they both stood.

It meant that they would have to actual talk, like normal adults. Not a captive and a captor, nor a pirate and a songbird.

The next time he entered the room, they continued as normal - gloating remark, an insult, an question about her pain, a question about if her ransom had come in, etc. As Karnage turned to leave, Felicity quickened her resolve.

“Wait, Karnage?” she called out, quiet as she extended a hand, only to draw it back. He froze on a dime at the doorway, slowly turning to look at her. “Stay.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and threw on a cheap smirk as he walked to the side of the bed. The door closed with a click, and so did he boots as he came to a stop in front of her.

“I don’t like being commanded like a dog, songbird,” he chuckled. “But if my presence delights you so much, I’ll consider ignoring that and doing as you say.”

“Trust me, pirate, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t-” Felicity stopped herself, and sighed. “Listen, we need to talk.”

“Negotiations for your release or finally admitting defeat to me? Believe me, having you captured and for ransom,” Don Karnage bragged, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over her. “That’s a good start for my vengeance on you.”

She sighed, shifting on the pillows as she crossed her one good arm over the other. “No. And don’t count on that happening ever. Someone will either pay the ransom or daringly rescue me. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

Felicity looked away for a moment, then caught his eyes.  “We need to talk about the kiss. I - I’m confused by it and confused about what it meant and you doing….all of this...I need to know what’s going on here, and I think you do too.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. There’s nothing in general,” he mumbled. The bravado in his smirk and pose had died. Don Karnage snapped his head away, slouching as his crossed his arms.

“Then why did you kiss me?” she snapped, leaning forward, only to fall back as her ribs screamed in protest. Don Karnage knee-jerk lurched toward her, hands reaching out but quickly snapping back to fold across his chest.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, songbird,” he snapped, standing angrily. “I never explain myself to anyone, let alone you.”

“Karnage, please,” Felicity hated that she was pleading, and gently cradled her head. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it. I’ve tried to not dance with you in our pas de deux’s. God, I’ve tried to stop thinking about you in general, but mostly why you had to- What was so wrong with us dance-fighting that you had to go and mix all of-of this into it?”

She bit her bottom beak and looked back at him expectantly.  He stood defensively at the foot of the bed, fists clenched as he met her gaze. Don Karnage exhaled, almost defeated as his shoulders slumped and sat down at the foot of the bed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “After you stole the jewels back and jumped off the plane, I despised you. I hated how you had outsmarted and outperformed me. I wanted revenge. I wanted to out do you at whatever chance I could. Whenever we ran into each other and we danced…it felt like a fight.”

He sighed, leaning his head forward, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “I liked it. I like enjoyed how it made me think and react. I started to want to do more and more, and eventually it was less of a trying to out do you, but suddenly I wanted to impress you. Each time. I couldn’t stop thinking about it the performance, and then you. It was absolute madness.”

“What happened the last time?” Felicity asked. “You were acting different just before...is all of that why?”

Don Karnage nodded, almost in shame. “I hadn’t known you’d be there. It was chance for me to act, and I did, obviously, but I was unprepared. I couldn’t clear my head so when we danced...everything crashed together and kissing you seemed to be the best move I could have done.”

Felicity felt herself flush, and leaned back into the pillows further. “And that’s why I’ve barely seen you since? Because you felt conflicted.”

“I’m never conflicted. I always make the most decisive of decisions,” the bravado returned for a moment.

“Then how come you can’t decide whether you want to avoid me while I’m here or hover over me?” Felicity snipped, then gently placed a hand on his arm, ignoring the pain the stretch brought. “Karnage, I...I looked forward to the dances to. I liked the challenge and the improvisation, and the fact that it was all not choreographed or planned? It was nice. It was...nice dancing with you, and bantering was fun. But I haven’t gotten the kiss out of my head, nor the parts about whatever this is out either.”

He looked at her curiously, so she continued. “That whole day threw me through a loop. The dance was different. The script changed and…”

Felicity paused, falling back onto the cushions  but holding his gaze. “I liked it. I liked the change. I even liked the kiss. But it can’t last. It’s not sustainable. If anything, we both unfortunately are attracted to and infatuated with each other.”

“An infatuation,” he repeated and moved closer. “One we both share. You really enjoyed dancing with me? I’m not surprised, I am a good dancer, not to mention a good kisser, I’ve been told..”

“Yes, I did,” she said, annoyed that he slipped back into narcissism. “But I can’t act on it, and neither should you. We shouldn’t.”

“That’s a good idea. I’d like to go back to our old script as well,” Karnage said. “But, out of curiosity, why not?”   

  “For starters, it’s an infatuation. They never last,” Felicity continued, ignoring that Karnage had gotten closer. “For my part, there are aspects of you I cannot stand. The rampant narcissism, the stealing, the acts of vengeance, not to mention how you treat your crew, even if you claim it to be in their best interests.”

“I don’t like your sense of morality, songbird. I hate that you don’t let yourself have things but you are always so ready to take control,” Karnage bit back. “But damn you are one hell of a performer. I like that. I like how you fight back.”

“You’re not bad either, pirate. But only in that aspect,” she replied. “Okay granted, sometimes you’re charming but then you go and ruin it.”

“Based on that and my outstanding powers of understanding,” he said, gently leaning towards her, “We should simply nip it in the bud.”

Felicity felt her heartbeat quicken as he lowered a hand at her side, effectively closing in on her. Her face flushed again. “Yes. It wouldn’t work anyway. Let’s...let’s stick to our folie a deux and vengeance curses. There’s far too many differences for it to work. It would be madness.”

“Our folie a deux,” Karnage replied, placing a kiss on a non-bandaged section of shoulder that the sleeve of her -his - shirt had fallen off of. Felicity clasped a hand over her beak as he face grew warmer.  “My vengeance.”

He placed another kiss where her shoulder met neck, following with a slight nip, remembering the reaction from before. Felicity gasped, and she shivered underneath him.  He chuckled. “Our banter is always nice, but I think I like this better.”

“You’re terrible, pirate,” Felicity managed to say, grabbing the front of his jacket to hold him in place over her. Did his vengeance now consist of kissing her and driving her mad?  “This is the last time it can happen.”

“Obviously, songbird,” he replied, moving his attention up her neck to the side of her face, and brought a hand up to her non-injured side to hold her at her waist. “That’s why I plan on making it count.”

“Then do it,” she said breathlessly as she finally closed the gap between them. The second time around wasn’t a clash of beak and teeth but just as rushed as Felicity tried to claim his mouth as hers and hers alone. Careful of her bandages, Karnage pulled her close to his chest as the kiss deepened. Felicity pulled away, panting, and decided to go for the exposed bit of neck she had access to, kissing and nipping wherever she could place her beak.  Karnage found himself delightfully surprised by her initiative, and realized why she seemed to like it when he did the same thing. Felicity let herself have a proud little smile, much like the pirate’s, as she felt his hand on her waist tighten and the other move to rest heavy on her thigh. Placing one last kiss on his chest, she pulled back to look at his face. He was flushed and he stared at her with unexpected intensity.  

“It seems you’re taking the lead here,” Karnage grinned, his hand moving from her waist, tracing a thin trail up her spine to rest on the back of her head. “I do like it, but I’ll be taking that back.”

He pulled her forward, joining them in another kiss. Felicity raised her hand to his face, running his fingers through the soft fur before wrapping her arm over his shoulder, humming in enjoyment as he deepened it further. Absentmindedly, Karnage moved his hand up to rest on her side and to pull her ever closer to his chest, forgetting for a moment that she was still injured. Felicity pulled back with a cry and he nearly dropped her as he moved. Both of them gasping for air at the sudden shock and the break in lip-lock, they raked each other’s faces for answers.

“I, I am sorry. I forgot and I- so much for making it count, eh?” Karnage apologized, letting her adjust herself to sit up before he removed his hands from her. He was still extremely close to her, and she could feel heat radiate off of him. She laughed around the decreasing ache in her side, and placed her good hand on his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned into it, especially when she began to gently scratch the side of his head.

“Maybe we should hold off then,” she murmured. “Until my ribs and shoulder are healed. Then we can do this better and then finally end it.”

“Perhaps. But that will take a few weeks,” he replied. “My schedule is always in flux. I might not be able to at that time.”

“And I’ll have to return to rehearsals soon. Well, whenever we can then. We’ll finish what we started,” she said, pecking the corner of his mouth. “Then return to what we were.”

“And the folie a deux ends there,” Karnage murmured, pressing his forehead to her neck as she pulled them back onto the pillows. He heard her murmur a yes above him, draping a lazy arm over him. In turn he slid an arm behind her back, careful of her ribs this time.  They stayed like that for a few moments, and they both pretended it was normal - just a pirate and a songbird. As she laid there, absentmindedly stroking his fur, Felicity admitted to herself that things had changed completely in the opposite direction of how she had planned. All that was left to know was how either of them would change in response. Karnage suddenly spoke up again, strangely quiet. “You’re going to be bad for business, songbird, I can tell.”

“Good then, pirate,” she replied with a ghost of smirk.”I’m glad.”

---

No ransom came, but a rescue party did a few days later, a fight ensuing as she was hurried out of the cave system and back home. Felicity found herself in one of the nicer hospital rooms, wrapped in different bandages and just barely out of if from pain relievers after they had set her rib back in place to heal properly. The hospital smelled and felt sterile and clean, but her feathers still smelled like salt water, metal and fur. It was probably something she would find herself accustomed to, but she found herself smiling about it nonetheless.

[longforgottenunofficial]

Death is a Cabaret, Old Chum...

Time to get our noses out of the Ancient Near East and back into the Victorian era, where we find more direct sources of inspiration for the Haunted Mansion.  Back HERE I discussed briefly the Cabaret du Néant, with a link HERE to Cory's treatment of the subject, which is largely given over to quoting a lengthy passage from Bohemian Paris of To-day (J.B. Lippincott, 1900).  It was written by W. C. Morrow from notes by Edouard Cucuel (the book also includes Cucuel's sketches).  It's very good, very interesting, and a valuable source, but buyer beware; it's a second-hand account, and in places it's inaccurate.  However, there are descriptions of the C du N published in other sources too, plus a lot of photos. There is little doubt in my mind that the Cabaret du Néant was a direct source of inspiration for the Haunted Mansion.  My reasons for thinking so will emerge with a fresh description of the Néant experience, drawn from several sources, as well as a closer look at the special effects used in the Néant show.  I do not think these tricks have ever been explained accurately, so if you think you know the Cabaret well enough already—think again. A bit of background.  The pub originally opened in Brussels in 1892 as the "Cabaret de la Mort" (i.e. the Cabaret of Death), but it soon moved to the Montmartre district of Paris, where it was renamed the "Cabaret du Néant" ("néant" = nonexistence, obliteration, nothingness, death).  The Montmartre district was THE place to be if you were an artiste in the second half of the 19th c.  It seems like all of the important Impressionist painters lived there or hung out there.  In the 1890's, it was bursting at the seams with cabarets and theaters, including fully-themed nightclubs.  Practically across the street from the Cabaret du Néant, for example, were the "Cabaret of Heaven" and the "Cabaret of Hell," side by side.  The waiters dressed as angels in the former and devils in the latter.  Guess which one this is:

The famous Moulin Rouge cabaret is still there, but otherwise these pubs and theaters are all gone. . . . Come to the Cabaret.

Shall we pay a visit?  Oh, do let's.  The street façade of the CdN is like a house dressed for mourning in traditional French fashion, with austere black and white coverings, although there is a skull and crossbones on the front door.  There are two large, iron, torch-like lamps throwing yellowish-green light down on all who pass by.  That kind of colored light makes people look shockingly sick and corpse-like, so we're already getting in the mood. The unsmiling doorman is dressed exactly like a croquet-mort; that is, a professionalpall-bearer or undertaker's assistant.  The same is true for the waiters inside.

The doorman leads you through the low, narrow front door and down a short, dark corridor.  He opens some black drapes, allowing you to enter the first room.  It's dark, lit only by candles.  A chandelier in the center of the room is constructed of (real) human bones and nicknamed "Robert Macaire's chandelier," Macaire being a sort of all-purpose villain and bogeyman in France.  Upturned coffins serve as tables, with small thin candles available for illumination.                      

The walls are decorated with skulls (which serve as dim lamps), sculpture, and posters with grim slogans such as "Life is a folly which Death corrects," "To be or not to be," and "Requiescat in Pace," as well as No Smoking signs, price lists, and notices that candles are available for 10 cents.  More importantly, there are paintings all over the walls depicting death and carnage.  Battle scenes, a guillotine in action, and in later times, a painting of an automobile with a demonic driver, running people down—at least I think that's what this is:

It's similar to a cartoon that appeared in Punch, in 1903:

(hat tip to Craig Conley)

By the way, this was actually a common theme among cynics and satirists in those days. These new-fangled automobiles were extremely dangerous, to the point that they betrayed a contemptible indifference to human (and other) life. They were depicted as instruments of death, glamorous only to the foolish and the callous. Here's a wonderful example from Puck. Behold the demon, "Speed Mania":

(Puck 68/1756, Oct 26, 1910)

Anyway, back to the Cabaret. Upon entering the room, you are met with "Welcome, moribunds," or "Welcome, weary wanderer, to the kingdom of Death," or "Enter, mortals of this sinful world, enter into the mists and shadows of eternity," or some other greeting striking the same tone as "Welcome, foolish mortals."   Better get used to it.  You and your friends will be continually addressed as "mortals," "coffin worms" (asticots de cercueil), and "Maccabees," the latter term being a slang expression for anonymous cadavers found floating in the river.  In an account from 1931, it says that the staff at that time received guests by chanting a mass for the dead.  The staff are all instructed not to smile or do anything else to break the solemn atmosphere, much like HM butlers and maids.  That includes the waiter, who seems to mean it when he says "Name your poison."  The mixed drinks and the beer are all renamed after deadly microbes and bacteria of various diseases.  The waiter will plop them down before you, saying something like, "Drink, coffin worms.  Drink these loathsome poisons filled with the deadliest germs." A man in clerical garb eventually enters and gives a lengthy speech in morbid detail about the horrors of death, progressing from the variety of gruesome and agonizing ends awaiting individuals to the miserable fates of mankind in general. Here the place gets interesting. As he commences this portion of the lecture, the speaker points to a painting depicting a battle scene.  According to Morrow, it begins to glow, making its details clear (remember, it's pretty dark in there).  Then the glow fades away, and the painting has changed.  The human figures in it are now all skeletons.  The same thing happens with a painting of a guillotine chopping away.  When the glow fades, the figures are now skeletons.  Another painting shows a festive ball.  Glow and fade.  Now the dancers are all skeletons. In my earlier treatment I quoted without objection Albert Hopkins' explanation of this effect (written in 1901).  He suggests that the paintings are transparencies with one scene painted on one side and another on the other, the second one becoming visible when illumined from the rear.  I now think that explanation is inadequate.  It doesn't really account for the effect as described by Morrow.  The paintings light up and then fade back down, revealing a skeletonized version of the same scene.  How would you do that with a single, two-sided cloth?  The effect could be produced, however, by having two paintings layered very close to each other, much like the panes in a double-pane window.

The skeleton one is in front, painted on a thin cloth or on theatrical scrim.  The "normal" one is in back.  The paintings are already moderately illumined from the back when folks come in, showing the back painting through the transparent front one.  The lighting is further turned up during the lecture, at the appropriate time, and then faded down and extinguished, leaving the front painting visible for the first time.  This would be perfectly do-able in the 1890's (the CdN was fully electrified). In that earlier post, I drew a parallel between the CdN changing-painting effect and the attic wedding pictures and portrait hall paintings of the HM.  If the above explanation is acceptable as a more satisfactory accounting for the effect as described, then the parallel between the Cabaret du Néant and the current Disney versions is extremely close indeed. If you bought a drink while in the first room, you got a ticket entitling you to enter the Chambre de la Mort.  You now take your puny candle and follow a man in Capuchin monk's garb single file through an arched doorway (painted to look like stone), down a narrow flight of steps, with green and yellow lighting once again, making everyone look cadaverous.

At the end of the steps is an antechamber where you wait your turn.  The show repeats about every half hour, and only 15 or 20 are admitted at a time.  To amuse yourself while you wait, you can look through holes or niches in the brickwork at gruesome tableaux, "studies of cholera patients, of persons buried alive, and similar cheerful subjects" (NYT Apr 9, 1894).  Morrow (Cucuel) speaks of "bones, skulls, and fragments of human bodies."  At last a cowled figure with only his eyes visible comes in and produces a large iron key, unlocking the spiked iron gate at one end of the room and opening it with a harsh grating sound.  The monks mournfully announce that you have arrived at the Gates of Death, and in you go.  There is an item inside, near the entrance:  "By a clever arrangement of mirrors one sees one's self on entering reflected lying in a coffin" (NYT '94), which seems like a good idea since you can then see for the first time what you yourself look like under greenish-yellow lighting. This part of the Cabaret du Néant show is justly famous.  An upright coffin is visible in a narrow doorway at the far end of the room, which was hung in black in early years but later on left exposed, having been painted to look like stone vaulting.  Also in early years, a pretty young lady was already in the upright coffin when you came in. She would smile and wink and then grow silent.  While the monk guide kept up his groaning soliloquy about death and decay, she turned into a decaying corpse and finally a skeleton, right before your eyes.  The process was then reversed, but instead of the young lady a fat old man returned.  He would leave the coffin, and the monks would ask for a volunteer from the audience who would like to experience death.  In later times they went straight to this phase and skipped the earlier stunt.  Not missing a single detail, the Cabaret folks have a harmonium and an iron bell offstage somewhere, providing dirge music and solemn tolls at appropriate times. There are a lot of pictures of this trick.

I especially like this last set because it really shows the excellent trompe l'oeil work in this chamber, transforming blank wall into convincing arches and stonework through skillful use of the paintbrush.

The trick is done, of course, using the Pepper's Ghost illusion, which requires only a big sheet of glass and careful manipulation of the lighting.  But here again, I think Albert Hopkins' explanation is inadequate.  He's got a simple two-chamber set up, turning the coffin occupant into a skeleton and back again.  With this arrangement, the sense of gradual transformation would be enhanced through the use of colored light.  The light on the volunteer goes from normal to greenish-yellow before fading down, while the skeleton is gradually lit up.

Below is a simplified pair of diagrams.  When the coffin-with-occupant (#1) is illumined and the coffin-with-skeleton (#2) is dark, the audience sees only the first.  When coffin 1 goes dark and coffin 2 is lit up, you see only the second, but it looks like it's in the place of the first.  This is simple, rudimentary Pepper's Ghost illusioneering.

The problem with the Hopkins arrangement is that it does not account for the descriptions of the effect.  Morrow describes a slow dissolving of the face into a corrupt state of decomposition before finally becoming a dried skull:

Her face slowly became white and rigid; her eyes sank; her lips tightened across her teeth; her cheeks took on the hollowness of death,—she was dead.  But it did not end with that.  From white the face slowly grew livid...then purplish black.... The eyes visibly shrank into their greenish-yellow sockets. ...Slowly the hair fell away....The nose melted away into a purple putrid spot.  The whole face became a semi-liquid mass of corruption.  Presently all this had disappeared, and a gleaming skull shone where so recently had been the handsome face of a woman.

Well, Morrow is giving a flowery, second-hand description based on Cucuel's notes, so maybe this is all exaggerated.  But the 1894 New York Timesaccount also describes a three-stage process, although the stages are different: man, skeleton, vacant.  The shroud on the volunteer "by some trick gradually melted away, so did the flesh, or rather the man in the coffin, and a skeleton appeared in his stead.  There remained another experiment to be witnessed, namely, the crumbling away to dust of the bones." There may even be a photograph of the intermediate, rotted-corpse stage as described by Morrow:

The CdN gang may have had a much more sophisticated set-up than Hopkins describes. One possible way to add a step to the transformation is with two sheets of glass and a third, intermediate coffin.

For an alternate method, still using only a single glass, see the remarks by "John b" in the Comments (Aug 4, 2013). It involves rotating, back-to-back coffins. The only problem I see with it is that it would be hard to use genuine audience volunteers that way. You'd probably need stooges.

Why so fancy?  By the 1890's, Pepper's Ghost trickery had been in use for thirty years.  The Cabarets of Heaven and Hell, across the street from the CdN, used it in their floor shows.  Various traveling ghost show exhibits and theaters made heavy use of it, and Professor Pepper himself kept flogging it at the Royal Polytechnic Institute where he worked. 

Furthermore, there was no shortage of Victorian spoil-sports eager to inform the public how the illusion was done:

It stands to reason that showmen would be searching for clever new ways to use what was now an old-hat illusion, something to bring back the "how do they do that?" element.  The CdN boys seem just the kind who would tackle such a problem.  Besides, two-sheet Pepper's Ghost illusions were known, even if this illustration doesn't show them making any particularly good use of it.

Originally, the coffin gag was the end of the show at the CdN, but in 1900 or 1901 they added a whole third room, set up like a small theater, with another Pepper's Ghost illusion onstage.

This one was played strictly for farce, to judge by descriptions and photos.  The poor volunteer could not see what the audience saw:  ghosts moving around, mocking, doing stupid bunny tricks, acting in a lewd and lascivious manner (this is Paris, after all).  "[T]he solemnity which the lecturers invoke is of a most mock sort, and the audiences are continuously convulsed with laughter" (NYT 1896).  Time to go.

Rolly Crump and Yale Gracey were professional magicians, as noted in an earlier post, and they did research into things like the history of Pepper's Ghost.  There can hardly be any doubt that they knew about the Cabaret du Néant, which is mentioned in any decent survey of Pepper's.  Earlier, Ken Anderson had incorporated a Pepper's Ghost illusion in his proposed haunted house walk-thru, using a 45º angled glass pane, much like CdN:

Eventually, this horizontal version of Pepper's would be used in Phantom Manor to make Melanie appear in the Endless Hallway.  By the way, the CdN coffin gag was reproduced very closely, except it wasn't at Disneyland but at Knotts Berry Farm:

Besides the technical gimmicks, the CdN used a winning recipe of horror + stage magic + laughs, essentially the formula used for the Haunted Mansion.

Some time in the 1930s the Cabaret moved to a different location on the same street (#64 instead of #34) and continued to operate there for a long time. In November of 2012 we made a major discovery: The Cabaret du Néant was still open in September of 1969, in other words, still operating when the Haunted Mansion opened.

As a postscript, I should mention the apparent discrepancy between the photos of the coffin gag, in which the coffin looks like it's standing right in the doorway, and the actual set-up, which had it much further back.  It's simple:  these are staged photos, intended for post cards and publicity.  They moved the coffins up for the photo shoots.

Originally Posted: Tuesday, August 24, 2010 Original Link: [x]

[writing-frenzy]

I feel this soul deep (now that I have one)

I’d like to thank @crowsketches for helping to inspire this; if I wasn’t bouncing ideas with you, I probably would have never had the inspiration to write this! From this AU Idea, I bring you angst!

Warning: descriptions of violence, pain, and suffering along with some mental instability. If you can’t handle that well, be careful!

No own Cuphead!

It’s interesting, how the simplest of things can knock down, mess up, and even destroy the best laid plans of monsters and fools alike. An unexpected gust, a misplaced word, a little hope have more power than most would ever expect.

In this story, it was a simple observation that caused all the chaos that would change everything in it.

(And yet, sometimes it all just boils down to luck in the end, giving everyone a chance at least once.)

Letting the last of his parchments in his hands enter the hellish fires before him, one Mugman couldn’t have been more pleased with himself then he was now. They beat The Devil himself after all, that should more than enough be a reason to feel just a little proud here! Almost made the punishing chores Elder Kettle would surely give them for this stunt seem just a little more insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

...They did after all have to get into their grandpa’s potions, which were not cheap, or easy to make at all, especially since Peashooter was usually very expensive, if not one of the most expensive ones... So resupplying the old potioneer’s ingredient stash, as well as assisting in making them would be the least the boys can do for their grandfather after he stuck his livelihood out for them. Still, that did not mean it would be in any shape or form fun; there was a reason the old kettle either ordered out or hired professionals to get the things he needed for his concoctions… At least the brothers could now defend themselves as they did it...

Heh heh, heeh, oh, it was going to royally suck.

Sighing, Mugman decided to look around, to get his mind off his chore filled future as well as curious about his surroundings, having never seen an actual throne room and all, even if it was a demons. Seeing said demon still dazed as all those little explosions twirled around them from their throne, and that Cuphead was still burning his contracts, what with him holding more, the blue mug moved a bit, just to take in the vast hall all around them.

It really was ridiculously lavish, gold, marble and what the mug was sure was silk everywhere, with a high ceiling to fit it all in, maybe also show just how small a person was. The younger brother could see how a demon like the Devil could probably like it, seeing as it this space was probably needed to fit their ego. Chancing another look over at the said being, a familiar item on their side table caught his attention.

Was that? Could it really?... Hesitant, as it would put him in proximity to the demon again, yet curious all the same (especially if he was right), Mugman tiptoed over to the rather large table, for him, the mug managed to sneak a peek at the papers that caught his attention, his eyes widening as he took them in.

‘They are! There are more soul contracts!’ was Mugman’s thoughts, taking in the many papers on the table, all laid out before him, along with a number of binders prime and ready to be used.

‘The Devil must have been confident he would win, already planning how he would sort everything here and now…’ Mugman frowned, even as he narrowed his dark eyes at the tables contents. ‘Well, let’s just show him the error in that arrogance of his!’ and with that, the young man grabbed the contracts on the table, a slight smirk on his face as he took them over to Cuphead.

“Hey bro, look what I found!” Mugman nearly chirped, getting his bro’s attention easily, making him look up, seeing just what he had found.

“Ha, nice one Mugman! Whoa!” Cuphead said, before exclaiming as the one he grabbed let out a lot of dust with the rough grabbing movement. “Looks like some of these are pretty old; probably have to be careful not to get tetanus or something” the older brother frowned, glaring at the offending parchment.

“I rather doubt we’ll get something like that; surely they make sure to properly care for items such as these.” Mugman said, even as he threw a few of the contracts into the fire, making sure they burned.

“The Casino is run by the Devil, and is over a literal hell mouth; I doubt they have the best health regulations around.” Cuphead answered, getting his brother to blink over at him as they finally threw their own contracts into the flame.

“...You know, if you had more sensible moments like these, I might stop being surprised every time you say something that actually makes sense.”

“Ha ha, I’ll have you know I’m sensible all the time.”

“You bet our souls to the devil.”

“I SAID I WAS SORRY!”

“Still never gonna let that go bro; neither will Elder Kettle.”

“...Shit…”

“My thoughts exactly.”

One King Dice, Manager of the Devil’s Casino and right hand man of the being, knew he probably deserved some sort of reward for not drinking even one drop of alcohol the whole day.

And boy, if there was a day to get roaring drunk, it would certainly be today.

“Yes, I would like the schedule the reconstruction of the Devil’s Casino at your most convenient timing. Yes, you will be payed- No, we will not pay upfront- No, you will not be paid that mu- I can easily wait for assistance from the mainland, don’t think we can’t… You will be payed a fifth of the payment upfront, which should be enough for building supplies, and not a damn coin more, do we understand each other… Good, glad you see things my way.” King Dice finished, having to force those words through gritted teeth, his eyes green from frustration and anger. Letting out an even breath, the man allowed himself to sit down on a nearby barstool, a gloved hand going to rub at the tension gathering right above his eyes of his die. Unfortunately, this also allowed darker thoughts to start circling.

‘Would a ‘lacky’ be able to do this? Would a good for nothing be able to pull this dump back together again, piece by piece? That bastard better be glad I owe him for saving my ass, otherwise-’ Gritting his teeth, eyes bright green now, the die winced as the tension in his head spiked, having to close his eyes for a bit in pain as he did.

He… needed a moment. Just… To stop thinking for a bit; a distraction would very much be appreciated right now.

“Everything okay Sir?” was said, thankfully getting the manager’s attention, making him look over to the familiar stack of poker chips that was his co-worker.

“Hmph, it will be eventually Bettigan; the construction company will be here in the week, so the casino should be fixed up as good as new pretty soon… How is Wheezy doing?” Dice asked, the green finally leaving his now dark eyes, showing just how tired they were as they stared at the other man.

“A bit touch and go there for a bit Sir, but your quick thinking saved him in the end; with just a bit of rest, he should be okay.” Chips answered, voice in a soft drawl as they looked at their boss in concern and no little respect.

“Please, all I did was push him into his ash pile where he belonged; I just didn’t want to have to deal with the audits he would no doubt leave behind for me to handle.” Dice huffed, scowling even as he heard Chips chuckle in reply, though making sure to look innocent all the same.

“Sure boss, I’ll be sure to tell him that.” the texan drawled, even as he gave the most fake innocent smile to pair with his look, making King shake his head.

Really, sometimes he wondered about his employees.

“Anyone else damaged?”

“The Tispy Troop, along with Pip and Dot got out the lightest in battle, though they are still kicking themselves over the lost. Hopus’s magic went a bit wild for minute, but that’s been calmed easy with some carrot juice.” Chips started, closing his eyes as he thought of his coworkers, “Phear and Mr. Chimes both got out alright too, though they're still smarting over their damaged equipment; won’t be cheap to replace…” Chips grimaced, Dice doing so as well as the bills just kept on piling up.

Luckily they had insurance, even if that was going to be a bitch to go through later, it would make the hit the casino took at least a little less.

“Mangosteen and Pirouletta, next to Wheezy, are the runners up on this shit list; Mango got sick real bad, damaged a rib, while Letta broke her leg and some burns. They should both be fine in a week though, so there’s that if anything.” Chips explained, face grim even as he delivered the hard news, getting a sigh from Dice.

Thank hell for magic; made everything so much easier when it wasn’t being an utter pain in his ass.

“Good to know… Though you did forget someone in your report Bettigan.” Dice said, narrowing his dark eyes on the stack of poker chips, which blinked up at him in confusion, before understanding lit up their eyes.

“No worries here boss; might have looked bad, but I’m used to pulling myself back together easily. Second nature now.” Chips assured, even as his boss’s eyes started going green.

“Be that as it may, you will have a check up at the infirmary before the day is done, am I clear?”

“I’ll be right behind ya boss.” was the reply he got in turn, make the die roll his eyes.

“I am fine, so need to get your chips out of place over it.”

“That would be easier to believe sir if you didn’t look like you would pass out at any moment.” was the blunt reply the texan gave, getting a glare for his cheek.

Unfortunately, he did have a point; matching black eyes and a missing tooth, combined with his cracked die and rather tattered outfit probably didn’t paint the best picture. Not to mention he honestly felt how he looked, sore and tattered in places he hadn’t known existed; Bettigan was right in his observation, King Dice was not at his best right now, and could probably use an aspirin or two.

Did not mean he wanted it pointed out though.

“Thank you for your opinion, it has been noted; now, if you’re well enough to blather about, you can surely help with the paperwork.” Dice said, motioning to the rather large stack he had going on at one of the few intact tables, one he had been interrupted from with the construction company’s callback.

That managed to elicit a nervous chuckle, “You know what, maybe I should go for just a quick check in, never hurts to have someone else double check you know.” they managed, even as they backed away warily.

“Be sure that you do-” a sharp feeling in his chest cut him off, a gloved hand reaching there, even as he suddenly gagged, feeling as if something was choking him, strangling from his neck to chest.

“Boss!” was all he managed to hear, only for darkness to steal away his senses all together after that.

King Dice frowned, feeling at a lost as he stared into the inky blackness all around him, not even able to see his own hand in front of him, though at least able to feel it, judging by the pressure on his face.

This… was rather disconcerting… The die just opened his mouth, wondering if his hearing was just as impaired as his sight, when an utterly profound, painful, near awful feeling came over him. He couldn’t even scream, the pain so much in his simple flesh and blood, taking over everything thought, every action, every single point of focus in this all encompassing darkness.

And yet, despite the agony he was going through, despite all the pain that brought a wet heat to his eyes, Dice could never remember feeling so complete as he was now. Like fixing a dislocated limb, it was as if one were jamming a missing piece he had been unaware this whole time into his very being. The process ever so painful, and yet so filling it left the proud man in tears.

Oh,but it didn’t just end there; with this completed feeling, images soon came to join with the pain, some going so fast he could barely comprehend the emotions with them.

(somanyfacessomanysmilesjustforhimsmilinglaughingteasingloving.)

Others though seemed to slow down, letting the man actually take them in, savor their emotions for just a bit before they too were just as gone from his grasp.

(A smiling woman, so full of love, her hugs just as warm as a mother’s should be, always open for one more.)

Gasping, King grabbed at his head, curling into himself as the barrage continued, the slow/fast pace of it all nearly impossibly for his mind to handle.

(astrangerwithhoneyedwordsandmouthcharmingpromisingseducing.)

Until suddenly, it wasn’t just in his head anymore, the tide seemingly curbed for now as a glow in the darkness shined out, easily getting his attention. Despite the lingering ache his body was in, King forced himself forward, even as each step towards it seemed to rip and tear at his very being when finally, he made it to where the glow originated from.

Before him, what was shining was a mirror, barely being able to call it as such because it looked like just merely a reflective sheet of glass. No, what made it so was when Dice looked into it, it was as if he was staring into an amusement park one, the sight inside giving the man a shock.

Tired, yet glowing yellow-gold eyes stared hard back into pained glowing greens, twin faces similar in looks, though one done in purple while the reflection was red.

For this moment in time, Dice could only just stare at this other version of himself, so many thoughts and feeling welling up in him even as he did, so many questions as well accompanied them. Just as he was about to voice his confusion, the die blinked when his reflection beat him to the punch, their lips moving, yet no sound coming out.

It was more than enough for the master manipulator though, lip reading just one of their many skills.

You need to remember.

“What?” Dice couldn’t help but ask, only to take a hasty step back when he heard a thunderous crack, the mirror before him filling with them, even as the reflection continued to stare on forlornly.

Remember what is important. Was all the the red pip die was able to managed, just as they shattered before his very eyes.

And yet, even as he stared on, those shining shards of mirror falling all around the horrified die, Dice did.

He was remembering.

Two people, a young die and a handsome man, dancing under a fun moon’s glow, candlelight surrounding them even as they moved all around.

“Do you love me?”

“I do.”

“More than anything?”

“Of course!”

“How much?”

“I love you, with all my heart and soul- wha?”

“Haha, I was hoping you would say that.

“I-I don’t, whats?”

“Amazing really, the most damning things said in love.”

A youth running, hurrying, fast as they can, getting away from that monsterdemondevil on their tail.

“Can’t let him, I-I can’t let him get them…”

‘Have protect them’

“My-hack-family.”

‘Can’t let that bastard get to them; not now, not ever.’

“Gotta warn... them.”

‘No matter what.’

The two figures are back together again, except there is no tenderness here with a devil revealed, as the young die at their feet screamed, pain all but consuming them from the magic taking place here tonight.

“You have cost me most powerful souls, welp. For that, I will not forgive… But we will have time to make sure you learn your lesson, won’t we?”

Glowing yellow eyes burned bright up at their tormentor, even as slowly, inching deeper and deeper, a hypnotic green started filling them, much like an infection, the pips gaining a purplish color to them on the die’s head.

“Heh, yeah; you’ll have plenty of time to learn your place.

“...” Dice stared, just taking it all in, gathering as much thought as he could managed together even as he felt himself falling, falling, falling ever so slowly downward, upward, side to side.

His entire life was a lie… His loyalty, his trust, himself… Just a sham, a fake… Not even his memories were spared...

The Devil tricked him out of his soul, messed with his mind, and lied to him his own life...

Stunned as he was, shocked by what he had seen, the die didn’t even realize he was awake until he felt something wet on his face.

Blinking, the casino king brought a gloved hand to his face, trying to find the source of the dripping he was feeling. It took him an embarrassingly good chunk of time to realize he was the source, the wetness on his face tears.

That… That was new. Or at least, King couldn’t remember the last time he actually cried.

-waswhenthedeviltorturedhim- wincing at the pain, King closed his eyes, hissing between clenched teeth.

Oh, he was going to be in for one hell of a time, the die could already tell… Question was, just how was he going to spend the experience? Could he really stay at the casino, with-

NO.

King let out a full body shudder, not even needing to finish the thought; that had been a stupid question honestly.

(Who knew just what he would do to his old boss, if he saw them now?)

Looking around, King felt a bit of relief seeing that he was in the infirmary, as not only could he get some pain medication here before he left, it was conveniently close to the Casino’s back door entrance. Lucky him, it seems.

Getting up, cringing slightly as how even this simple movement brought him pain, the injures from before still there along with the painful ache of getting his soul back, Dice made his way to the medical supplies. Easily finding the aspirin and downing two dry before deciding to pocket the bottle, they paused at the sight of bit of red from the corner of his eye. Blinking, Dice turned slightly, wondering if he was bleeding, only to stop in his tracks as he fully registered what he was seeing.

It was the red pip die he had seen in his ‘dream’, except much older and injured than before, though those tired yellow glowing eyes were still the same. Bringing up a hand, Dice touched the reflection, with it mirroring his action in return.

...So, this is what he looked like with a soul…

(How was he suppose to feel about this? Happy? Angry? He really didn’t know.)

Shaking his head and turning to leave, Dice was only stopped by a pointed cough in the corner of the room. Frown now firmly in place, they turned yet again, only to blink in surprise at the familiar sight of one of his coworkers, Wheezy, in bed.

And boy, did they look like they needed it; a bit burnt out, and smoking slightly on the darker side, the cigar had a few more cuts to his name, with a paleness that would only disappear in time. And yet, even pained, those yellowed-red eyes were still sharp, narrowed in on his boss as they frowned right back, concern and worry easy to see in the lines of his face and brow.

Blinking slightly, Dice wondered at that, not remembering them being particularly close, but then again, while King’s always had a good ability of reading people and using it to his advantage, the reasons behind why and how they could come about were always a mystery to him…

(Then again, those without souls weren’t the best with emotions, understandably.)

And yet, he looked at Wheezy, and could see that the man respected him, cared for maybe, from how long they have worked together and all, so the worry wasn’t misplaced… In fact, it was returned, Dice just as concerned about his co-workers own damage as he was with his own...

Guess having one’s soul back brought out the emotions in people…

(Wasn’t sure he liked that or not.)

“Leaving already King? Not even a goodbye kiss to remember you by?” Wheezy rumbled, eyes unblinking, keeping an even stare with the man standing, playing casual even as their whole body was run through with tension and pain.

“Like you could even handle one in your state; you’d probably keel over before anything could even start.” Dice replied back automatically, grimacing slightly at the rather weak retort. He could usually come up with something more cutting than that, but considering his mind’s state right now, he’ll give himself a pass on it.  

At that, the Cigar gave him an unreadable look, gone so fast the die didn’t even get a chance to try and decipher it. The other let out a breath, dark smoke coming out heavily with it, twirling in the air and leaving the smell of spices and tobacco over the sterile environment, before motioning over to something on his left with an uninjured hand.  

“True enough there, but at least I don’t forget the essentials when I’m leaving a place; lucky you have some helping hands looking out for you.” The Cigar said, which was what prompted Dice to look over, eyebrows rising in surprise.

Right on the table next to what had to have been his bed, the sheets and pillows all in disarray, was his black suitcase, his gloves and cards jumping all about, but then standing to attention when they noticed they had his. But what really got his notice was a simple paper atop his case, already filled out and just needing a signature to finish it.

It was a resignation letter, just one simple page and written beautifully full of backhanded compliments and dry subtext.

Dice choked, hand going to his mouth even as he could feel those damn tears start up again. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, the former casino manager grabbed the pen on the table, writing his name down, surer in this then he was in anything else right now.

He knew it was best for him to leave; if nothing else, his mental health would need the time away… and yet, he still felt pained, the thought of leaving this hell.

(Amazing, the places one can grow fond of even as you hate them.)

“Dice.” was called, making the desired man look up, eyebrows raising as he saw Wheezy holding a paper of his own. “Make sure to keep in contact; if you get found in a ditch, who knows how that will impact the casino’s good name.”

“...Probably might just improve it, really.” Dice said dryly, a weak smile on his face, even as he went for the paper in the cigar’s hands, getting a laugh at his words.

Looks like he wasn’t as alone in this little misadventure; somehow, that made things look a little brighter at least..

Far away from the magic and chaos of Inkwell and a certain casino, a woman that could only be described as a goddess done up in reds, yellows, and black blinked, her wine colored eyes going to her glowing pendant on his chest. The shining sun that glowed in the garden she was in did not do anything to hide said glow, as the pendant shown red in the woman’s hands.

“My Lady Luck, is everything well?” a servant asked, even as they delivered a most lovely tea to the classy lady, only the best for such an elegant being.

“Oh, nothing to worry yourself; just a mother’s worry.” Lady Luck answered absentmindedly, the red jeweled die in her hands still giving off a light most ominous.

Whatever this would bode for in the future, the mother could only hope her child would make it through alright.

(She’s already lost him in spirit; she doesn’t want to lose him forever.)

[arplis]

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Nov 26, 2018- Entry hallway with a nice large sign and coat hooks. . “concept- sideboard in dining room w/ floating shelves above for display or pretty chine/pottery in lieu of art” . ‘With the craigslist score antique shaker coat rack and a well spent $25 for the (DIY Irish Blessing Sign and Entryway – via Bless’er House). Antique Wooden Coat Rack Vintage Reclaimed Handmade Cast Iron Hook Coat . Very nice product feel very strong compared to the usual monkey metal that . You searched for: coat hooks! Etsy is the home to thousands of handmade, vintage, and one-of-a-kind products and gifts related to your search. No matter what . Results 1 – 48 of 345 – PACK OF 5 HALLSTAND cast iron coat hooks rustic vintage old antique style. EUR 11.21. 4 left · Double Coat Hook Iron Antique Modern Cloakroom Vintage Black Grey Hat Rack Set 5 . THESE ARE VERY PRETTY HOOKS FOR THAT FRENCH LOOK, THEY HAVE BEEN AGED . on eBay Ireland. 29 ก.ค. 2560 – Perhaps nowhere was the concept of the shebeen more embraced than in . An old term of affection, from “a chuisle mo chroí” (“pulse of my heart”). Pretty self-explanatory if you’re Irish, from “cute”, as in sly, and “hoor”, as in whore. The hooks and frames were such a part of Dublin life that the city’s . 3 วันที่ผ่านมา – Add a touch of quirky glamour with these fabulous Gold Bee Hooks from Rees and Hunt. Perfect for hanging towels, coats, picture frames and even curtain hooks. . With this in mind, Irish Girl in Brooklyn offers unique pieces chosen for . A real showstopping gift for someone who adores authentic vintage . Come home to designs you love, made by us. We do quality, designer pieces that won’t break the bank. Shop Now. Open Field ROUGH TRADE Without the young and old folks, chanteuse . The Alchemy Index, Vols. l&ll:Fire&Water***y2 VAGRANT A post-emocore concept album . Teenager *** VIRGIN Irish lads still California dreaming on such a winter’s . pretty crafty tunesmiths: “This Year” features one of their most indelible hooks .

214 items – Shop from the widest range of new vintage coat hooks at DHgate New Zealand with free shipping. Browse through the online collections of yellow . You searched for: coat hooks! Etsy is the home to thousands of handmade, vintage, and one-of-a-kind products and gifts related to your search. No matter what . Thumbs Up Cast Iron Hook, Unique Hand Coat Hook. CastIronHooks Set of 4 Strong Iron Wall Hooks Antique Vintage Rustic Style Cast Iron Coat Hooks. new coat hooks, antique bronze style for sale on Trade Me, New Zealand’s #1 auction . pickup is available but we live Rural, in Whakamarama, just off sh2 (10 . vintage coat double hooks, black powdercoated metal for sale on Trade Me, New . Seller allows pick-ups; Seller location: Tauranga, Bay of Plenty, NZ . Coat racks for sale in New Zealand. Buy and . Clothes Stand Hat Coat Rack 12 Hooks Wooden White. $59.95 . Vintage Wall Hanging Coat Rack W/ 5 Hooks. Modern Hook MR12-SS-ES Medium Metal. Command . Hollow Wall Single Prong Hooks 145mm Black Plastic. Crawford . Flip-up Tool Rack 100x325mm Grey. Hat & Coat Hook. $12.60 ex GST. Hat & Coat Hook. $43.50 ex GST. Hat & Coat Hook. $18.80 ex GST. Hat & Coat Hook. $13.00 ex GST. Hat & Coat Hook. Products 1 – 24 of 227 – Get the hook! Hangers & hooks keep clothing off the floor; a scarf organizer or belt organizer helps stop the mad dash to get dressed .

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Results 1 – 48 of 1023 – Vintage Retro Cast Iron Coat Jacket Hanging Single Railway Spike . A Fantastic Reproduction Victorian Cast Iron Double Coat Hook. SUPERB LARGE CLOTHES OR COAT 3 & 4 HOOKS,WALL MOUNTED . decorative large antique key Antique Keys, Shabby Chic Decor, Chrome, Old Keys,. Looks fantastic, was bought for our sons bedroom, but we wanted to keep it for . Homyl 4 Colors Available Vintage Wall-Mounted Hook Clothes Single Coat . Vintage Solid brass coat hooks wall rack mount hat Victorian Jacket holder 3. $32.95. Buy It Now . 10 Pcs Cast Iron Wall Coat Hooks Hat Hook Hall Tree Brown Vintage Style Hardware. $12.19. Buy It Now . set of 2 Wonderful rustic hooks. 5 Pcs Vintage Style Rustic Cast Iron Wall Coat Hooks Hat Hook Hall Tree Hardware. $11.15. Buy It Now . 5Pcs Large Vintage Rustic Wall Mounted Coat Clothes Towel Hooks Rack Hall Tree. $8.99 set of 2 Wonderful rustic hooks. Buy products related to vintage coat hooks and see what customers say about . While technically the hooks are for coats AND hats, they’re great for hanging . Buy Rustic Cast Iron Coat Hat Wall Hooks School Farm Tack Closet Set of 8: Coat . Set of 4 Rustic, Cast Iron, Wall Mounted Hooks, Vintage Inspired, Perfect for . Tidy up your space in seconds with this wall-mounted coat rack. Made in the USA, it is crafted of oak wood and offers up a clean-lined design for a traditional . Stylish wall mounted coat hook set with 6 metal double hooks holding 12 items in This Home Vintage Giraffe Head Wall Coat Hook with a stunning antique .

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Make your hall way look more stylish with vintage coat hangers. . decor 26 Breathtaking DIY Vintage Decor Ideas – Old vintage farmhouse fence turned into . Set of 4 Strong Iron Wall Hooks Antique Vintage Rustic Style Cast Iron Coat Hooks. KatiesKitch pair of stunning vintage French iron and porcelain coat hooks. Find great deals on eBay for Victorian Coat Hooks in Antique Hooks and Brackets. Shop with . This beautiful handmade coat rack has gorgeous Victor. Results 1 – 48 of 56 – Large Antique Iron Coat Hook Hat Hanger Old Victorian French SALE X3 STUNNING FRENCH WROUGHT IRON COAT / WALL HOOKS. Antique Coat Hooks Old Railroad Spikes Wrought Iron Style Heavy Duty Shop Hanger. $8.95 In amazing condition with small amount of paint on hooks. Antique Wooden Coat Rack Vintage Reclaimed Handmade Cast Iron Hook Coat Hooks FULLY Amazing hooks , well worth the money , look fab . Shop Cast Iron Coat Hook 1883 Antique Iron Coat Rack Hooks Self Coloured . Amazing ! Delivered within a day , great and we’ll made . Highly recommend. This the channel share of: #diy #diyfurniture #lifehacks #Howtomake #Doityourself #interior #homedesign . Buy products related to antique copper coat hook products and see what customers say about antique copper coat hook products on . They are gorgeous.

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Find great deals on eBay for Vintage Coat Hooks in Antique Hooks and . 10 PCS Cast Iron Vintage Style Coat Hooks Hat Hook Rack Hall Tree . Buy It Now The bronze hooks are also a great fit for hanging hats, keys and other small . 4 Antique Vintage Solid Brass Coat, Hat, Towel Double Hooks with 6 sided . Small Wall Hooks Brass Tiny Hook Decorative Hooks Wall Hook Antique Bronze . Special offers. On sale Large Coat Hooks / Jewellery Storage / Vintage Style Metal Animal Hooks / Flamingo / Hare / Stag / Owl / Fox / Paris . Rustic hooks, Retro hooks, Vintage Hat and Coat Hooks, Iron Coat Hooks, Little metal hooks. Buy products related to vintage coat hooks and see what customers say about vintage coat hooks on . They really are small, so think about that size description. We offer the pinnacle of beauty and convenience, with dozens of gorgeous coat and hat hook designs meticulously rendered in quality metal . Our coat and hat . Items 1 – 36 of 388 – Reproduction vintage coat hooks available in a variety of styles and . High quality design and 10 year guarantee included with all coat hooks. . retro classic hat and coat hook peg – polished brass small single robe hook. This Is An Antique Item. Buy Details. VBH030218-09. $20.00. In Stock! Antique Wall Mounted Polished Nickel Small Shaving Strop Hook – Diamond Backplate. Select from our extensive collection of durable and stylish vintage coat hooks and hat hooks. All our decorative hooks are available in a variety of styles and . Home Vintage Style Wall Mounted Dual Hooks Clothes Coat Hanger Rack 3 Pcs . Home Metal Butterfly Vintage Design Wall Mounted Hanger Hook Bronze . Shop wall hooks at Chairish, the design lover’s marketplace for the best vintage and used furniture, decor and art. Make an offer today!

Heavy Duty Dual Coat Hooks Wall Mounted, 10 Pack Dual Prong Retro Double Utility Rustic Hooks with 30 Screws for Coat, Scarf, Bag, Towel, Key, Cap, Cup, . 5 x Cast Iron Wall Hooks. Vintage Style Bathroom Bath Towel Hooks. Retro Antique Old Style Hat & Coat Hooks School Classic Style~~ CH10(x5). Vintage Style 7″ x 5″ Cast Iron Hall Tree Double Hook Coat Hook Hat Hook . Classic Black Cast Iron Hook Black Coat Hook Colonial Hook DIY Decor . . Strap Hooks, Festiva Smiley Knobs, Classic Coat Hooks, Sienna Coat Hooks, . Ceramic Knob Coat & Hat Hook, Classic Coat Tree Hook, Bungalow Hooks, . 116 items – Antique Coat Hooks Wholesale Canada – Small Size – High Quality old . Wholesale-20pcs lot Antique copper Hook classical Wall Hook Hat Coat . Find great deals on eBay for Vintage Coat Hooks in Antique Hooks and Brackets. . 10PCS Coat Hooks Classic Vintage Style Iron Rack Hooks Hanger bronze . 15 เม.ย. 2552 – When it comes to hardware, we are (obviously) huge fans of vintage. . bits and pieces like cabinet knobs, dresser pulls, coat hooks and the like – we . Our classic dark bronze hook is now available in nickel too – great for the . Results 1 – 30 of 77 – Small Cast-Iron Acorn Double Coat Hook with Black Powder Coat (item #W . Iron Harness Double Hook with Lacquer Antique Finish (item . Products 1 – 48 of 394 – Wall hooks and hangers make hanging pictures, frames and . Take advantage of our unbeatable inventory and prices at the Home Depot Canada. . Command Large Forever Classic Metal Hook, FC13-BN-AWC, all- .

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Nov 26, 2018- Entry hallway with a nice large sign and coat hooks. . “concept- sideboard in dining room w/ floating shelves above for display or pretty chine/pottery in lieu of art” . ‘With the craigslist score antique shaker coat rack and a well spent $25 for the (DIY Irish Blessing Sign and Entryway – via Bless’er House). Antique Wooden Coat Rack Vintage Reclaimed Handmade Cast Iron Hook Coat . Very nice product feel very strong compared to the usual monkey metal that . You searched for: coat hooks! Etsy is the home to thousands of handmade, vintage, and one-of-a-kind products and gifts related to your search. No matter what . Results 1 – 48 of 345 – PACK OF 5 HALLSTAND cast iron coat hooks rustic vintage old antique style. EUR 11.21. 4 left · Double Coat Hook Iron Antique Modern Cloakroom Vintage Black Grey Hat Rack Set 5 . THESE ARE VERY PRETTY HOOKS FOR THAT FRENCH LOOK, THEY HAVE BEEN AGED . on eBay Ireland. 29 ก.ค. 2560 – Perhaps nowhere was the concept of the shebeen more embraced than in . An old term of affection, from “a chuisle mo chroí” (“pulse of my heart”). Pretty self-explanatory if you’re Irish, from “cute”, as in sly, and “hoor”, as in whore. The hooks and frames were such a part of Dublin life that the city’s . 3 วันที่ผ่านมา – Add a touch of quirky glamour with these fabulous Gold Bee Hooks from Rees and Hunt. Perfect for hanging towels, coats, picture frames and even curtain hooks. . With this in mind, Irish Girl in Brooklyn offers unique pieces chosen for . A real showstopping gift for someone who adores authentic vintage . Come home to designs you love, made by us. We do quality, designer pieces that won’t break the bank. Shop Now. Open Field ROUGH TRADE Without the young and old folks, chanteuse . The Alchemy Index, Vols. l&ll:Fire&Water***y2 VAGRANT A post-emocore concept album . Teenager *** VIRGIN Irish lads still California dreaming on such a winter’s . pretty crafty tunesmiths: “This Year” features one of their most indelible hooks .

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SONGMICS Coat Rack Wall Mounted with Storage Shelf, Wall Shelf with Hooks, Wall Display Shelf with Hanging Rail, 5 Hooks, for Entryway, Hallway, Bedroom, . Antique Vintage Style Coat Hook Rack With Shelf Cast Iron Coat Hook . Shabby Rustic Wood Hanging Wall Floating Shelf Vintage Storage Coat Hook Rack. Buy SONGMICS Vintage Coat Rack Shelf Wall Mounted, Coat Hooks Shelf with Hanging Rail, 5 Metal Removable Hooks and Storage Shelf for Entryway . 25 พ.ย. 2561 – delectable stone fireplace surrounds artistry licious . antique vintage style wall mounted coat hooks rack shelf . 3 วันที่ผ่านมา – Home Rack Vertical Hanging White Hanger Bench Shelf Manzanola Barker Antique . charming target antique rack wall manzanola plans vertical hooks gray depot white rack rolling plans licious hooks hanger coat gray . 45 นาทีที่ผ่านมา – Washer Amusing Decor Gallery Spaces Beautiful Diy Basement Vintage Storage Laundry Room Pictures Stackable Ideas Dryer For Designs . There was this old guy that’s been coming up to my country music show. wings, and an exceptional lamb dish with osso buco and a rack on the same plate. Visft the website for more Diva-licious Gifts. www.iamdiva.com THEA SEGAL . 28 พ.ย. 2561 – Wooden Black Dark Plans Shelf Bookshelf Wall Mount Wonderful Unfinished . into a tranquil showroom and guesthouse where the old meets the new in a curated and classy fashion. . wood licious ladder unit dark diy shelves mount reclaimed wooden black . Enchanting Diy Pallet Coat Rack Bench. Secure metal outdoor motorbike storage – insurance approved (LPCB level 1 certified) and police approved (Secured by Design) with 5 . Old Scoot Scooters, Rust, Lean To Roof, Vespas, Motor Scooters, Mopeds Vespa.scooter-licious.

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[thatishogwash]

Spelunking

Day 6: 19th August - Victories

Same Team AU

AO3

Iwaizumi walked into the hotel room without knocking.  Considering the real shitholes he’s had to stay in, this one was rather nice.  No questionable stains, no nasty odors, no strange holes in the walls.  A rather large bed took up the majority of the room, though there was a little side cart set up over the top of a mini fridge.  Even had a little desk shoved up in the corner of the room.

The room mattered very little to Iwaizumi, it was the figure standing in it that caught his attention.  Iwaizumi shut the door with his foot before sliding the chain into place.  Iwaizumi had kicked several doors down with that same type of lock so he knew it wouldn’t stand up to someone eager to get into the room, but it would allow both occupants a split second to better prepare themselves.

“Should I be afraid?”  Crow asked, glancing over at the glance with his almost ever-present smile.  Iwaizumi wasn’t even really sure if Crow was his real name, but that mattered about as much as the type of room they were in.  Only the man mattered.  The man who should still be in a hospital bed, not crawling around on a hotel floor to grab an item he had hidden beneath the floorboards.  Most hotels did not have real wood floors, it was most likely why Crow had chosen this one.

“You should be resting.”  Iwaizumi said gruffly as he looked the other man over.  The suit hid most of the wounds, though the purple and blue bruise covering the left side of his jaw stood out stark against his tanned skin.  Iwaizumi had seen the medical file, he knew Crow was suffering from a dislocated shoulder and several cracked ribs.

“Got a call, they want me back now.”  Crow started to walk towards the door but came up short when Iwaizumi didn’t move.

For some reason unknown to Iwaizumi, he had become a sort of liaison between agencies.  He worked with people from all over the globe and most of them he couldn’t wait to say goodbye too.  Like Terushima, an agent for the American-CIA and one of the most reckless, bullheaded people Iwaizumi had ever had the displeasure of working with.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure which alphabet soup agency Crow worked for, which made him a most excellent spy.  Iwaizumi had heard him speak three different languages and hadn’t noticed a single accent in any of them.  Despite what they showed on TV and in movies, agents typically didn’t have movie star good looks, those sort of things made people stand out.  Crow dressed like a businessman, and that’s exactly how he looked.  Most people wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd, and if he shot someone right in front of a group of people they would only be able to give a vague description.  Neither short nor tall.  Not ugly or beautiful.  He wasn’t skinny but he wasn’t overly muscular either.

Iwaizumi had breathed a sigh of relief when he worked with Crow for the first time, nearly five years prior.  He had seemed so normal and he didn’t mind taking orders.  Iwaizumi had almost been fooled into believing in the persona Crow presented to the world.  And then on their third job together Crow had presented his true colors.  He was just as steady and reliable as he appeared, easy to get along with and quick to adapt to new situations.  But there was something unbelievably cunning about him, sharp and dangerous.  Iwaizumi had almost preferred Terushima, at least with the blonde man he knew exactly what he was getting.

They had worked together sporadically over the years.  They made a good team, especially combined with other members of their agency.  But lately Iwaizumi’s heart beat a little faster whenever the other man walked into a room, and he knew what a problem that was.  Iwaizumi’s heartbeat remained the same when he was walking down the street or if he was getting shot at.  Iwaizumi was strong and sure and he didn’t fall in love with other agents.

“You should be wearing a sling.”  Iwaizumi said.

“Makes me too memorable.  Just going to the airport and back home, I’ll be fine.”  Crow’s smile slowly bloomed over his face.  “I promise I’ll wear a sling when I get back.  I’ll even take some time to myself.”

“And what do you do when you’re not tackling terrorists off of a third story building?”  Iwaizumi asked, he couldn’t help but smile back at the other man.  Crow took a step closer, looking over Iwaizumi’s face and he wondered what the other man saw.  Iwaizumi had been called handsome before, scary when he scowled or glared, ugly but only by Oikawa.  With dark brown eyes, a strong jaw, and the barest hint of freckles on his nose, Iwaizumi thought Crow was almost unbearably good looking.

“Sleep in late, read the news, golf?”  Crow couldn’t even say that with a straight face and Iwaizumi laughed.  “What do you think I do in my time off?”  Iwaizumi wanted to ask ‘me?’ but he wasn’t that brave.

“Probably something ridiculously reckless like hang gliding or, what the fuck is that thing called where you explore caves full of water?”  Iwaizumi asked, which caused Crow to laugh.

“Spelunking?”

“Of course you know what it’s called.”  Iwaizumi rolled his eyes skyward.

“It’s good for team building.”  Crow laughed again at Iwaizumi’s incredulous look.

“I can’t believe you made Hinata go spelunking, that poor bastard.”  To say the kid had nervous habits was a bit of an understatement.  Though Iwaizumi had to admit the kid bounced back quick.  Though calling him a kid wasn’t exactly right, he was well into his 20’s.  Iwaizumi suddenly felt quite old, but Crow was laughing again.  A soft sound that ended with a wince and him clutching his side.

“Don’t make me laugh.”  Crow complained.

“Don’t leave a fucking hospital with five cracked ribs.”  Iwaizumi said unrepentantly.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?”  Crow shot back and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but admit Kuroo was right, though he’d never admit it to that smug bastard.  Crow was a cunning one.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”  Iwaizumi glanced down at the bruised jaw, which had to hurt.

“That’s about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, Iwaizumi Hajime you big softie.”  Crow smiled but Iwaizumi saw the red tinging his cheeks.  It was barely there but Iwaizumi was close enough to tell the different.  And after that he really had no choice but to kiss Crow.

It started off soft, Iwaizumi really didn’t want to harm the other man any further, but it quickly became something heated.  Years of built up tension released into one long and warm kiss.  Iwaizumi only pulled back when Crow’s phone started to ring.

“Now I really do have to go.”  But he sounded reluctant as he leaned forward, kissing Iwaizumi hard and hot before quickly shifting their positions and making his way out of the room without a backwards glance.

Iwaizumi stared up at the ceiling, giving the other man plenty of time to take the elevator and disappear so they wouldn’t be seen together.  He knew it was likely that their agencies would team them up again, they worked well together so he would most likely be seeing Crow within the next couple months.  He hoped it was another job in the middle of nowhere like the one in Siberia, where they had shared a tiny little cabin and only had each other for company since any communication device didn’t work out there.  They had mostly played cards and drinking games together, but Iwaizumi thought of a few things that could occupy the time much more wisely.

Iwaizumi was halfway home when he was sent a message from Oikawa.  A private plane had crashed in the desert, they weren’t aware of any foul play, or at least the media hadn’t been made aware, but there had been no survivors.  Pictures and names were listed on the site Oikawa had directed him too.  The name was different but Iwaizumi knew that face.  The dark eyes, the strong jaw, the freckles couldn’t be made out from the grainy picture and his face looked far too somber but Iwaizumi knew it was Crow.

Iwaizumi turned off his phone and stared off into the distance, trying to keep his mind blank because he was on public transport at the moment.

Several hours later Iwaizumi arrived home to his house in Miyagi.  His dog, a big German Shepherd he had rescued from one of his missions, came bounding over to meet him.  Whoever wasn’t out on a mission on the team watched over his dog, though Iwaizumi had tried to pay them none of them accepted it.  Kyoutani was usually the first to volunteer.

“Hey handsome boy,” Iwaizumi pet him, already feeling some of the anger and sadness lift at the unquestionable love and happiness his dog showered him in.  “Let me shower and we’ll go for a walk, okay?”  Iwaizumi stopped in his kitchen.  There was a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on his counter.

Now his team had an odd sense of humor but it had been Yahaba watching over his dog during his assignment that time and Yahaba wouldn’t leave him flowers.  Especially such a wild assortment, the other man seemed like such a uniform type of guy.  But these were brilliant shades of orange, red, and yellows.  There was no card but a good sized crow dog toy sat leaning against the vase.  Iwaizumi picked it up and grinned at it, knowing it was a dog toy.  He held it to his dog, who sniffed at it experimentally before taking it nicely from Iwaizumi and leading the way towards Iwaizumi’s bedroom.

There, laying on Iwaizumi’s bed was Crow, or Sawamura Daichi if the news article had been right.  He was fast asleep with his arm in a sling and a magazine about caves in Japan open on his chest.

Iwaizumi covered his mouth, trying not to laugh or maybe cry with relief.  Iwaizumi guessed he would soon find out what Sawamura did in his off time.

[ebenvt]

Stockyard photos from Chicago

Images from the Union Stock Yards, Chicago, USA, and pork abattoir’s, from The Modern Packing House, by Nickerson and Collins Co., Chicago, 1905 and 1920.

Ham pump from the 1910’s

Wiltshire cut c 1920

Union Stock Yard, Chicago, USA, C 1920

Union Stock Yard, Chicago, USA, C 1920

Pork abattoir, c 1920

Pork abattoir, c 1920

Union Stock Yard, Chicago, USA, C 1920

Entrance to the Union Stock Yard, Chicago, USA, C 1920

Photos from Harris Bacon, Wiltshire, England

Harris photos from old newspapers and redrawn in Cape Town.

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Harris Bacon photos, courtesy of Susan Boddington, curator of the Calne Heritage Centre.

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Ancient photos from Germany

An old pic re-published in the doctoral dissertation of Klaus-Dieter Baja, University of Hamburg, on the changing face of the butches profession.

Vintage photos by Edward S Curtis

Drying Whale Meat – Hooper Bay (The North American Indian, V. XX. Norwood, MA, The PLIMPTON Press). Artist, Edward S Curtis.

Drying Meat, Flathead, 1910 – Hand colored vintage photogravure – 5 1/4 x 7 1/4 inches plate. Edward S. Curtis. From nygardgallery.com

An iconic photo by Curtis, Edward S., 1868-1952, created c1908 November 19, Two Dakota Indian women hanging meat to dry on poles, tent in background. Published in: The North American Indian / Edward S. Curtis. [Seattle, Wash.] : Edward S. Curtis, 1907-30, v. 3, p. 96.

Smokehouses

Meat Curing and Smokehouse – Built in Goria after plans by the United States Dep of Agriculture.  Photo – 1919 from Woodford County Journal (Eureka, Illinois), 20 Jan 1919, p 3.

Photos from Robert Goodrick

About this photo, he writes, “That was the year when we cleaned 900 pieces of poultry — I smelled like a turkey for weeks after :-(”

He says that “The bearded wonder in the center of the photo Quiet Waters Farm is yours truly 1974 I believe :)”

Robert remembers that “this is when ‘butchers’ was ‘real’ butchers 🙂 that Christmas we did over a 1000 birds which included a few ducks, geese, roasting chickens (6lb’ers) as well as a few (true) capons 9/10 lbs) — Largest turkey, if I remember right, was 55 lbs and the smallest was around 7/8 lbs — two of us cleaned the whole lot in about 12 hours”

“My third job in Vancouver British Columbia — My first lasted six weeks as I did not do the right handshake — another story for over a pint — Second lasted about six months as they were pulling the building down, so went down the street and joined this lot — ended up running the place for the owners :)”

How I love these stories!

Laurence Green’s references to Cape food.

From his work HARBOURS OF MEMORY (1969), published by Howard Timmins, Green makes the following references to meat and food recipes.  Many of his best stories he got in bars, drinking with old folks and from magazines and old pamphlets he collected from flea markets.  He was a journalist and an author and I think, if I recall correctly, at one point wrote for the Cape Argus or Cape Times.  His word pictures are priceless.  Here are a few nuggets.

The secret curry powder

From The Road to the Harbour he writes, “Hungry seamen paid sixpence for pea soup or fish, a shilling for roast beef or steak. Many generous hosts provided bread, cheese, and pickles free of charge. A favourite meal in many harbour taverns consisted of a plate of mulligatawny soup followed by sosaties and rice, curried fragments of mutton on bamboo skewers. This cost one shilling and sixpence, including a glass of wine.”

Curries of various sorts were favourite everyday meals in the seafaring quarter. If you passed down Waterkant or Bree Street between certain hours there were such pungent aromas of chilies and garlic, mustard oil and onions, that you might have been in Calcutta. Jacob Watermeyer, a Strand Street ship chandler, was the far-sighted businessman who transformed the curry and rice dishes of Cape Town. This remarkable episode brought him and his assistant a fortune. The master of a British sailing ship owed Watermeyer money for stores and he departed without paying the bill. Next time he called, however, the honest captain entered Watermeyer’s shop and announced: “I still can’t pay, but if you care to come down on board my ship I will show you something valuable.” Watermeyer and his assistant lunched in the saloon and were given the finest curry they had ever tasted. After lunch, the captain handed them a list of ingredients and showed them how to mix the curry powder which had made the lunch memorable. I do not pretend to know the exact amount of turmeric, ginger, chilies and other spices that went into the powder; it was a secret recipe. No one could say that it was dominated by this or that condiment. It was a true blend, and compared with the other curry powders of the period it seemed to have an almost magical effect on soups, pumpkin, beans, crawfish or snoek, eggs, chicken and meats. The captain revealed to Watermeyer the whole secret process and gave him a sealed barrel of the curry powder. Watermeyer canceled the debt, three hundred pounds, a substantial amount to write off in those golden days. He put the curry powder on the market in tins and Cape Town flocked to his store to buy more. Here was a powder with just the right bite. It gave a rich, almost mysterious stimulating quality to a thick stew. People glowed and perspired and declared that Watermeyer’s curry powder made them feel cool in the heat of summer. The assistant married Watermeyer’s daughter and inherited the secret. He built a store in Adderley Street far more ornate than the little ship chandler’s shop down on the waterfront. The store has gone but the curry powder survives and is still mixed just as that forgotten sea captain showed Jacob Watermeyer in the Indiaman’s saloon more than a century ago.

Few old people record their memories and I was lucky to hear the curry saga before the origin was lost. When an interesting person dies a whole page of the past is torn away. I am grateful to those who spoke to me and left their most vivid impressions

Picture from the Shambles – leopards and sand sharks

Leopards were still visiting the shambles at the foot of Adderley Street in search of offal when Hinton was a boy. Wharf Square, outside the old mainline railway station, was close to the wharf. The slaughterhouse, built long before the station, supplied meat to troops bound for India before the Suez Canal was built. Shortly after World War II an aged coloured man showed officials the door in this building where he had stood shovelling refuse into Table Bay. So many sand sharks gathered for the feast. that they called the place Haaibaai. Now the shambles has been demolished and the nearest sea is more than twelve hundred yards from Wharf Square.

Polony, existed from at least 1900’s with much older roots

“Butchers prepared fine mutton hams and polonies and these kept fresh in any climate. The polonies were a foot long, one inch in diameter, made of pork and other meats and fat with various spices; they were bound in bundles of twenty-four and sewn up in airtight bladders.”

See my article I did based on Greens description, The Origins of Polony.

Pigs in blankets were served as oysters, wrapped in bacon

About chef Luigi, he tells the following.  “So he served “pigs in blankets” (oysters wrapped in bacon and fried) or oysters au gratin, sole and oyster pie, oysters sweated in butter and served on hot fried bread, oyster soufflees, oysters with spinach, grilled oysters and fried oysters chopped and mixed with scrambled eggs.”

From Australia

The country of Australia holds some of the most iconic meat history.

Tim Westwood made me aware of this remarkable video.

Meat Hangers

Kevin Ahern took these pictures of Petroglyphs National Monuments in Albuquerque, NM, dating to between 800 and 1200 BP with the oldest dating to 2000 BCE.  He tells me that the images depict the Yucca bud.

“The uses of this plant are numerous, the least of which today being for textile use. The strikingly tall inflorescence stalks have long fibres in them that can be spun to make (incredibly uncomfortable) clothing, textiles, or rope. Yucca flowers are also edible, and are a deep-fried delicacy in some southern states in the US. Some species of the genus also have edible fruits, but this species isn’t one of them since the fruit walls are made up of very tough plant tissue.  (botanicalmusings)

The leaves of this plant (Yucca filamentosa; Adams needle) are also sometimes referred to as “meat hangers” since they are so tough they can pierce meat and can be knotted together to make a ring that can be hung on a tree branch to dry-cured meat.”  (botanicalmusings)

The reference to the hanging of meat for curing seems to originate from Small (1933) who recorded that “leaves of all southern species were used by pioneers to make rope and string for hanging up cured meats.”  Daniel F. Austin says that he found fishermen in the early 1970s on Great Inagua near the Bahamas still using cord made from Yucca to hang their bonefish to dry.  (Austin, 2004)

Yucca to the native tribe, Alabama was called tosiina istatakka (tosiina, from Spanish tocino for Bacon, ist-, it is, atakkaaka, hanging).  The name is derived from their use of the sharp point on the leaf and its fibers to hang meat for smoking (Sylestine, et al, 1993) (Austin, 2004)

Further Reading and Reference:

http://botanicalmusings.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-northern-agave-yucca.html

Austin, F. D..  2004.  Florida Ethnobotany.  CRC Press.

Old Meat Pictures from Мясо! Мясо! Колбаса

In July 2019 I was looking for old meat processing pictures for the deli stores concept we are launching in Johannesburg.  Robert kindly directed me to this amazing facebook site.  All photos were downloaded from this site where it was posted by members.  I wish to acknowledge them and members of the site as the source.

Chuck Vavra‘s Grandparents

Making sausages

Todd Young’s  photos

From South Africa

A photograph from L V Praagh, The Transvaal, and its Mines, 1906, p.321, of the curing room of a cold storage and butcher’s shop shows the importance of this imported European tradition in Johannesburg.

Sheepkraaling in the Karoo.  Late 1800’s.  From The Rise of Conservation in South Africa – Settlers, Livestock, and the Environment 1770-1950 by William Beinart.

Contributions

Please mail any contributions to ebenvt@gmail.com and help us preserve the rich heritage of our trade.

  Pic’s history of meat processing Stockyard photos from Chicago Images from the Union Stock Yards, Chicago, USA, and pork abattoir's, from…

[demisexualemmaswan]

The Hanging Tree [6/21]

Catch up on Tumblr

Catch up on Ao3

Tagging @gretelsmaias @literatiruinedme @lesbxdyke @messdress @goddiva@the-last-blapple @leatherrumandthesea @andiirivera @piratesbooty63fan@izzyd03 @writemyanchor @drunkenssoldier @looselipswontsinkships  @jump-on-winds-back  @justanotherflailgirl  @themrandmrscaptainswan @ohmakemeahercules @myideaaofperfect @karamelshipper  @winterbaby89 who have liked previous parts of THT

A/N: Minor descriptions/depictions of violence in the fifth to last paragraph! Enjoy! 

“Where does the king keep his armies?” Killian asked her as they headed downstairs to breakfast.

“Where?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow at him, knowing that the punchline was going to be absolutely terrible.

“In his sleevies,” Killian said with a grin, his eyes lighting up as she let out a giggle in spite of herself.

“Killian, that’s the worst joke I ever heard. Worse than Henry’s dead fish joke and that’s really saying something,” she complained as she sat down for breakfast. He laughed again, tilting his head back, and a pang of homesickness rose up within her.

Killian seemed to read her mind, and said softly, “I’m sure Henry’s well taken care of. He probably stayed up late, waiting to see if he can watch any footage of you on those screens that are in the town square. Or he’s working on a welcome home present for you when you come back.”

Emma nodded, finding her throat too closed up to respond. “Was an awful joke,” she finally muttered out in an attempt to bring some levity back into the room.

“I know, that’s why I told it,” he responded, pushing the last apple toward her. She took a bite out of it and watched him thoughtfully. “What, is there something on my face?” he asked, leaning in closer so she could inspect it.

“Yeah, your face,” Emma snorted, shoving him away.

“Now that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” Whale announced, sitting in between them. “I’m glad you two have made up because we have work to do.” He pointed at the bowl of fruit so Killian would eat something. “It’s training day. This is the first time all week you’ll mostly be left unsupervised with the other Tributes. You need to eat to keep up your strength.”

“What’s in the training center?” Killian asked.

“More weapons than you’ve ever seen in your life. Practice areas, hand to hand combat arenas, survival guides. Anything you could possibly imagine that you’d need to help you survive in the Games,” Whale rattled them off in what seemed like a practiced speech. His brow furrowed and his gaze sharpened when he looked at them. “It’s a real doozy of teenage hormones and aggression and I want you to partake in none of it.”

“Don’t we have to…y’know, train in the training center?” Emma asked, looking up at her mentor.

“That’s not what I meant, Bright Eyes,” Whale harrumphed. “What I mean is you need to be smart. A lot of the other Tributes will make the next few days about showing off their strength and you absolutely cannot do that.”

“Why?” Killian asked.

“They need to underestimate us,” Emma replied, looking over at Whale. He nearly dropped his flask and she grinned a little wider. “Well, if you watch the other games, a lot of underdogs made it to the top 8…that’s how you won, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Whale said with a strange little smile. “Well, color me impressed, cygnet. You do follow the advice I give you.”

“Cygnet?” Emma laughed. “What, like a baby swan? I’m not a baby, I’m seventeen.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Whale chuckled, sitting down in front of her to grab something to eat. In the end, he settled for a piece of toast and began rummaging through the cabinets. “Most of the people I hang out with are in their forties. Seventeen is nothing.”

“Really, I thought most of the people you hung out with are at least hundred years old because they’re all scotch,” Tinkerbelle said dryly, coming into the kitchen with her hair done up nicely. “Also, who are you calling forty?”

“I forgot, you’re actually like three hundred years old underneath all that makeup,” Whale said in a snarky voice, sipping at his drink.

“Make sure you drink some water before we go anywhere today,” Tinkerbelle replied, putting a water bottle down on the table in front of him. “Don’t want you having a heart attack and leaving our tributes mentorless. Although sufficed to say, they might actually stand a chance without you.”

“Oh my God…” Emma sighed, eating more fruit. “Kill me if I ever get like that with someone.”

“Careful, Swan. We could get close in the arena and then I’d have to kill you, and then all our bonding would be for not, wouldn’t it?” Killian murmured with a smirk. Emma laughed into her meal in spite of herself. “All right, how long do you think it’ll take before they stop arguing?”

“At least twenty minutes?” Emma offered.

And true to form, it took Whale and Tinkerbell about twenty-five minutes to stop arguing. The argument only stopped when the ceiling announced to them that they had only about half an hour before Emma and Killian needed to be down at training.

“So we watch,” Killian said to Whale as they walked down to the training center, trying to redirect the conversation. “Might we have a need to show off our strength at any given time? Isn’t it a good idea to do that?”

“Not unless it’s life or death,” Whale replied. “People have died in the training arena, though they take more and more steps each year to prevent that from happening. Emma and Killian’s eyes both widened and they looked at each other. “Usually they get killed by a Volunteer in one of the upper districts in a gruesome show of force. Again: a doozy of teenage hormones and aggression.”

Emma’s heart began to pound against her chest and she scooted closer to Killian. They both started to fall behind their mentor a little. “Shouldn’t we fight back then? Be able to defend ourselves?”

Whale rolled his eyes. “I’m the mentor here. I give the advice,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “Otherwise, they can figure out what you’re about. I don’t even know what you two are fully capable of.”

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re our mentor,” Emma said curiously. “Don’t you need to know what we can do? Y’know. So you can help us.” It was hard to repress the flare of irritation that rose within her. At every turn it seemed like the games were more and more against them. How were they supposed to survive if the one person who was required to keep them alive didn’t know everything about them?

Whale shook his head, a shadow passing over his face. “You never know what they’re gonna pull for next year’s Quarter Quell.”

“Who said you’re even making it to the Quarter Quell?” Tinkerbell called back from the front. “Your liver might give out before then.”

“Please. The ceiling wouldn’t let me die, would you, ceiling?”

“Victor Whale. Vital signs normal. Kidney function good. Liver trans—” the ceiling rattled off before Whale waved it silent.

“So what can we do for the next few days?” Emma asked, trying to hide the shakiness in her voice. Suddenly, all she could picture was Henry looking up hopefully at the screen for a face that would never show.

Oh, God. I need to get back to Henry. I need to.

Killian briefly slipped his hand in hers and she could feel his hand shaking. Whale stopped short and the two nearly crashed into him, never letting go of the other’s hand.

“First off, you have to breathe because they will eat you alive in there if they can see you’re afraid,” Whale said flatly, spinning around to look at them. “You’re allowed to be afraid, but for god’s sake, hide it, or I guarantee you they’ll be carrying you out in a body bag before the week is out.”

Emma nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Whale’s next words floated in and out of her ear, competing with the loud thumping against her chest. Every time she snuck a look over at Killian, he didn’t seem to fare much better.

 I don’t want to die.

“Any questions?” Whale asked, looking down at them. They both stared up at him blankly before he nodded and clapped his hands together. “All right. Have fun, stay alive, and don’t get beaten up too badly.” The Mistguards all but shoved Emma and Killian into the room. They both stumbled and took a look around them. Twenty-two other kids milled about the room, some uncertainly, some like they were ready to devour the room. Emma and Killian looked at one another as one of the Tributes was shoved to the floor by Felix, who stood menacingly over him.

“Scared?” Felix taunted, leaning over into the boy’s face. “Well you should be. Wait until I’m through with you.”

“Save it for the Arena,” a Mistguard called, stepping a little closer to the fray, but not close enough that he really could stop Felix from terrorizing any of the other Tributes. Emma stepped forward, shoulders squared and eyes blazing, ready for a fight. Killian grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly. “Emma, no. Remember what Whale said,” he said urgently. Emma tugged ineffectively at his hand, scowling at him for a moment before standing down.

“Tributes, there are several stations positioned throughout the room,” a booming voice announced. Several of the Tributes jumped, while others smirked and sneered. “There is a weapons arena with several specialized training regimens, a survival station, a digitized survival handbook, and a sparring arena. You may not bring items from one station to the next. If you do not comply with the rules and regulations, there will be consequences.”

“What could possibly be a greater consequence than being here?” Graham muttered, and there were a few snickers around the room

Emma’s eyes swept over the room, noting each thing the ceiling listed was in its own corner, lined up with at least two Mistguard. Though there were more doors lining the training arena, in case more needed to be called. She couldn’t see any of the Mistguard’s eyes through their shields, and she wasn’t sure if she was more grateful or unnerved. 

“You may begin Day 1 of 3 of your training,” the ceiling announced before it clicked off

Emma moved to start weapons training, when a soft “oomph” and a few snickers caught her attention. The girl tribute from 11 lay sprawled out on the floor, Walsh leaning over her menacingly. “You’re so tiny, I could gobble you up right now and still have room for lunch,” he growled in her face. The girl reached to scratch him, or punch him, of something to get away, and Walsh pinned her only hand above her head. 

“Leave her alone!” Killian said angrily, moving to stand in front of Walsh.

“Two one handed wonders?” Cruella asked with a sneer, coming to Walsh’s other side. “At least this one is easy on the eyes.” Felix and Walsh began circling around Killian, before they were joined by a boy with slicked back hair and imperious sneer.

Emma’s eyes flickered to the Mistguard, who didn’t seem to care. Hans raised his arm to strike, and she stepped forward to intervene on Killian’s behalf. But she didn’t need to. Before she even blinked, Killian and ducked beneath Hans’s raised arm, twisted the raised arm behind Hans’s back and forcibly shoved Hans to the floor. Cruella and Felix both moved, as if to strike Killian, as did the other girl tribute from Two. Emma tried to weave her way through the crowd to get closer to Killian, but a Mistguard stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Anyone else want to go?” Killian said in a breathless growl, leaning in closer to Walsh. Walsh uneasily looked away from Killian’s piercing stare. “Best let her up then, mate.”

“Get off of me!” Hans declared, trying to wriggle free from Killian’s strong hold, but found he couldn’t even budge. “You’re dead!” he screamed. “As soon as we get in that arena, you’re dead!”

“Very threatening with your voice muffled by the floor,” Killian snickered, and Emma felt her stomach unclench somewhat. “Are you going to let the girl up, Walsh, or—” But Killian didn’t need to finish his sentence as the girl in question took advantage of Walsh’s slack grip, elbowed him and bounced up triumphantly when Walsh keeled over, holding his stomach.

Killian got up of Hans, chortling to himself, and made his way back over to Emma. Felix shoved him in the back as he was walking, and Emma slipped through to grab Felix by the throat, pinning him against the wall. “Pretty low life thing to do, attack someone when their back is turned,” she muttered.

“Best listen to the lady, mate,” Killian replied, unable to hide the amused quirk to his mouth. Felix tore his head out of Emma’s grasp and walked away muttering to himself.

“All right, enough is enough,” a Mistguard finally intervened. “All of you, begin your training. The next person to start a fight will be escorted out of the training room and will be banned from entering here again.” The tributes began to shuffle away, trying to distance themselves from the alliance that was already forming. Hans, Cruella, Felix and Walsh immediately headed to the sparring ring, followed closely by the other

 “That was quite the show there, Swan.” There was a note of affectionate and surprise tinting his words. She wasn’t sure she could take in the look on his face that most likely matched them.

“Your back was turned,” Emma muttered, the tips of her ears turning pink. “So much for not being a part in all the hormones and aggression, huh?” She was determined to look anywhere but Killian’s surprised, yet affectionate, glance, when she noticed the girl from 11 holding her stump to her chest. “Hey, I think she’s really hurt.”

Killian and Emma both moved forward to see if they could help, when a boy stepped in front of them. The other tribute from Eleven glowered down at them, a good head taller than both of them, the light reflecting off his shaved, ochre brown head. “Imani is fine,” he muttered in a low voice. “She doesn’t need your help.”

“Mogarzea, my stump is bleeding and I don’t have it with me,” Imani piped up anxiously. The little girl turned to a Mistguard. “Excuse me,” she said, looking up at him. She seemed to fold into herself, clay in a potter’s hands as the Mistguard stood over her. “I have medicine in my room. May I fetch it?”

“No!” the Mistguard snapped, raising his baton over his head. Imani flinched and raised her arms to protect her head, her ebony curls swinging about her russet brown face. Morgarzea prepared to confront the Mistguard when Imani slipped her hand around his to calm him down. The two shared a long look before taking a step back. The Mistguard stalked away, and Emma couldn’t be entirely sure, but she felt like the man was smirking underneath his visor. She fidgeted uncomfortably, looking over at the man who was now talking in a low voice with other members of the Mistguard.

Killian moved closer to Imani, kneeling beside her. “There’s a wrap that you can make with fig leaves and aloe,” he told her in a low voice, showing her his stump. “There’s a type of plant that I use to cover it and help it heal in my district. May I show you? It’s probably in the survival station.”

Imani’s eyes lit up when her eyes landed on Killian’s stump and she nodded. “You’re like me,” she declared, her voice filled with wonder.

Killian offered his arm to her and Imani slipped hers in his. Emma couldn’t help but smile at the eagerness in his voice when he asked what she used in District 11 as a salve.

“We use honey and sugar at home. Can I show you? I don’t know if we’ll have it in the arena,” she could be heard saying as she and Killian walked together toward the survival station. “But it’s easy to make if you can find it. Where did you get your leather brace?”

It stole Emma’s breath away when she remembered that Imani was the same age as Henry.

“Emma! Emma! Emma!” Henry came barreling up the front steps, water flying all around him. Killian stood at their gate, giving Emma a little wave. 

“Kid, you are soaked!” Emma laughed, scooping her brother up into her arms. “What, did your sailing lesson turn into a swimming lesson?”

“Well, kinda, the boat hit a rock and I fell from the crow’s nest into the lake,” Henry admitted. Emma tightened her grip around him for a moment, bringing her hand around to cup the back of his head. It didn’t matter to her that her clothes were going to be soaked. Henry was always her number one priority.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly, scanning him for injuries. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but she had to make sure. “Did you hit your head or anything?”

Henry curled in closer to her and he added cheerfully, “It’s okay though! I was all freaked out for a moment and then Killian told me to count to ten. So I did and then I found I could swim again!”

He looked out, expecting Killian to be right behind him, and frowned when no one was there. Emma couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment inside her chest. “He was just right there…I wanted to thank him for helping me and invite him for dinner. We were trying to catch fish, but I didn’t get anything. What’s he gonna eat?” the boy murmured, frowning a little bit to himself.

“I’ll bring something by his boat in the morning. Now go inside and draw yourself a bath!” Emma commanded playfully, tickling her brother just to get to hear him giggle. “I won’t have any sailor under my roof freeze to death because their Captain didn’t have towels on his ship.” She kissed the top of his head and sent him inside.

She went to follow Henry to start on their dinner, but found her feet unwilling to cross the threshold. She looked around one more time, hoping to catch a glimpse of dark hair, or dark clothes. Her hand lay still on the door knob, looking out over her empty yard.

“I brought you something,” Killian called, running back up the street. In his arms was a long package, covered in a blanket. Emma rushed forward to take it from him, feeling the weight in her hands. Her brow furrowed with confusion. “I found this in the woods. The lad told me that you’d been looking for your father’s sword and I—”

Emma stopped him right there, her eyes wide as she unwrapped the sword. “How did you…where did you…” she asked in a wavering voice.

“Think nothing of it,” Killian said, scratching behind his ear. “Really, it was nothing.” A drop of rain fell on the tip of his nose and he scrunched it up. “I best get home before it really starts to come down on our heads. Good night, Swan.” He walked her up to her front door, only three feet from where they’d been standing in her front yard.

“Thank you, Killian,” she said softly, her hand still on the door. He started to get farther and farther away before she called out, “Hey! You have something to eat for dinner, right?”

He lifted a hand and kept walking. Soon, he became no more than a black speck on the horizon before he disappeared altogether.  

Shaking her head, Emma went over to the weapons arena. “Hello, Miss Swan,” the ceiling said pleasantly. “Based on your stature, district, and vital signs, might I recommend training with a bow and arrow?”

“No, I’m taking the sword,” Emma responded, coming over to a long row of swords. A green arrow appeared, pointing a sword in the middle and Emma picked it up, spinning it around a few times.

“Sword Beta 47. Used for training approximately one thousand and four hundred times. Notably used by victors David Nolan, Mulan Fa, and Blackbeard,” the ceiling told her. Emma lifted an eyebrow but said nothing as she stepped, taking a few more practice swings. “Would you like to begin a training sequence?”

“Uh, sure,” Emma said, wishing she could make eye contact with someone. She shifted from foot to foot, giving her head an irritable shake. “Start me off with something easy. It’s been awhile since I’ve used one of these.”

“Begin Training Sequence Alpha,” the ceiling announced. One holographic person appeared before her, its sword held high. “Your goal is to incapacitate one rival.”

Emma nodded. Three short beeps sounded and then a long beep. The hologram moved at her and she stepped out of the way, feeling the air of the sword come by her. When her opponent’s arms were both facing down, she raised her arms and struck the holograph’s arms with her sword.

It disappeared.

“Winner!” A screen popped up in front of her with little fireworks and confetti. “Winner! Would you like to try again?”

“Uh, can I try the next training level?” Emma asked, giving her sword another experimental thrust.

“You wish to begin training sequence Beta?” the ceiling asked.

“Sure,” Emma said, rolling her neck from side to side and squaring her shoulders.

“Begin Training Sequence Beta,” the ceiling announced. Emma took in a deep breath, leaning forward on her right foot. “Your goal is to incapacitate one rival.” Once again, the beeping noises sounded and the holograph appeared. It lunged at Emma and she blocked its parry.

The hologram stepped forward. She stepped back. It moved right and she moved left. The clash of the sword sounded as real as if she were fighting a real opponent. Stepping to the side she struck her opponent in the back of the head.

“Winner!” The screen popped up in front of again. “Winner! Would you like to try again?”                                                                                                            

“Next level,” Emma requested, not even out of breath. By now, she was starting to gather a small crowd around her, watching her training session with interest. It consisted of Killian, whose eyes were wide with shock; Imani, gazing up at her curiosity and thinly veiled delight, and Graham, whose expression she couldn’t read.

“Begin Training Sequence Gamma.” The ringing sound of metal seemed amplified as Emma twisted and turned away from her opponent. Her breath even seemed louder. Three times, Emma and her opponent struck blades before she kicked it away from her and sent it sprawling. With a cry, she struck her opponent, but hit didn’t disappear like the others. Pixelated orange dots began to fall from her holographic opponent. Through it, she could see Walsh leering at her, clearly eyeing her form, though now the form she wanted to be appreciated for.

Her eyes narrowed and she kicked her holographic opponent right between the legs before stabbing it in the throat. It disappeared in a puff of smoke. She jerked her chin up at Walsh, glowering at him. She was inwardly pleased when he seemed to no longer be smirking at him and let him know with a little smirk of her own.

“Bloody brilliant you are,” Killian told her when she came out of the ring, her head held high. He was grinning excitedly, his blue eyes on her and her only. “Incredible, lass. If the Tributes were all like that dummy, we’d be done for. Though, I can’t imagine the clean-up would be that easy. Come on, let’s take a bit of a break and fade back into the background.”

It was meant to be a jest, but a cold, swooping sensation passed through her stomach. Emma looked out helplessly over the other twenty-two children—Whale was right, they really were just children, weren’t they?—in the training center. Finally, her gaze settled on Killian, her chest twisting as she saw his lips moving to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear him.

The only thing she could hear was the question which seemed to echo louder and louder until it blocked out all else.

How am I supposed to kill any of them?