#i would be drawing but i lost my Apple Pencil somewhere in the seats

[yellowsubmarinesystem]

hello lumpygrab community im moving to this blog so j can post silly drawings

[thedivinedemom]

This has literally been in my wallet for a few days waiting for me to transcribe it. It's not great but hopefully it'll kick off my writing habit again.

Working title: Blue Eyes

As strange as it may have seemed Steve had never been upstate. Not really. Albany, sure. There and every other State capital and major city of his day.

Shipped cross country, from city to city, to be paraded about like some circus chimp to sell warnings. Never allowed to explore the cities outside the theaters.  Not without an appointment and full escort at least. He was the "property of the United States government" after all. They could not risk losing such a valuable asset because he wanted to go sightseeing. Much less taking a look outside them.

Sealed away in a train car, rushing to show after show, he rarely had the chance to take in the countryside. To enjoy the greenery or the scenery. He could honestly say that he had seen more of France and Germany then he had his own country.

Easing his bike down the turnpike he found that the early afternoon made the roads deceptively quiet. There were only a handful of vehicles out at the hour, mostly big rigs, and it gave an almost serene feeling to the drive. The silence of it gobbled up and ate away at the muffled roar of his engine. Though not enough to avoid startling some poor deer as he rode past. A chuckle bubbled out of Steve at that. How long had it been since he had last seen a deer? Decades? It all  depended on how one counted the years.

Making his way down an exit he caught the first glimpse of his destination. The greenhouses of the Gardens were gleaming in the sunlight. A series of crystal heels arranged across a thick pasture. A small field surrounded the buildings, filled with apple orchards and raspberry bushes.

Beautiful, likely to be more so on the inside. The Gardens were home to a number of rare, exotic, and even mutated plants from across the globe. Tony claimed that the Fantastic Four had donated a few of their more benign experiments to the facility. Sparking the interests of more than just Steve.

Locking his helmet away in his bike's compartment he walked in, his either art bag strapped tight to his back. The lobby was as fancy and sophisticated as one would imagine; filled sleek plastic, flat screens, and linoleum tiles. Even the ticket booth was digital.

Everything seemed to be electric nowadays. It was helpful, amazingly so. There should be ballads written about the wonders of the internet. Yet it was all so different. He was in the same country but it had a different feel to it. Like a teen who was growing into a man. Still going through the growing pains but becoming all the finer from it.

But Steve could barely recognize the land he was born in. Everyone spoke differently, they dressed differently, and there was even a change in the way they walked. It was all so radically different and Steve couldn't be prouder, for the most part.

Easing himself passed the ticket booth he found himself in the middle of a controlled jungle. Thick bushes of deep and vivid color lined the paths. Leading people deeper into the greenhouse filled with tropical flowers and temperate trees. How both could be in the same room he hadn't a clue, another wonder of the future surely, but it was all wonderfully arranged.

Casting his eyes about he looked.forma place to set up. A task easier said than done as what few benches he could see were occupied, taken before he had even arrived. He had hoped by coming in the middle of the week he would have avoided the crowds. A vein wish as it turned out to be.

After a moment, once his eyes finished their second lap of the area, he decided to change his plans. With how crowded things were he would not be able to sketch out the Gardens section by section as he planned. Instead he would have to treat it as a puzzle, taking it one area at a time as.he worked for the full image.

Up along the path he finally found a place to sit, deeper than he would have liked but he had to start somewhere. He did not fancy drawing standing up, he could do it but it would be annoying. The first bench he found put him firmly in the 'Mutated' section. It was an area filled with genetic anomalies ranging from crossbreeds to lab experiments to ability generated. The plant in front of him, according to its placard, was of the last category. The ever shifting colors of the petal was a fairly large hint for that.

Steve would have preferred to have started with something a little more mundane. Something familiar and simple that he could have warmed up on. Something that did not sway on its own or tangle its vines along anything within reach. It would be a challenge, especially so early into his day, but as with most challenges he jumped in feet first.

Eyeing the plant he began. Carefully he started with an outline of the stem. He made it sway on the page, letting it curve in three separate places before moving onto the creeping vines. These he only gave the vaguest of outlines, a matter to fill in later. Once the focus of his drawing was done.

Being as engaged as he was with his work he barely noticed someone approaching his bench. She took a seat without so much as a word, sipping at her coffee as Steve gave her a quick glance.

Lacking for better words Steve could only describe the woman beautiful. To do more would have left his tongue tied and his face red. It was a sensation he was intimately familiar with from his youth, not something he wanted to experience again. Still, he took a second look.

Amused, she caught him staring. Her blue eyes dancing as they met his own. She gave him a small indulgent smile and an inclination of her chin worthy of a queen. And Steve would know, he had met more than a few members of royalty in his time. She even gestured like one, giving a grand arch of her arm as she waved towards the plant he was sketching.

"Cassandra, one of my students, made this." She said, her voice accented and her smile more genuine. "She is very proud."

Keeping his head on his shoulders Steve managed to smile back. "She's not the only one who sounds proud."

Letting out a laugh she nodded. "I suppose. She worked very hard to get the colors just so. All semester in fact. She would be happy to know someone drove all the way to the Gardens to sketch them." She said, her accent twisted through her words and niggled at his brain. It was familiar to him. The curve of her words struck a chord in his memory. The way her vowels weaved away from her words in incriminates and popped away was throwing him off. He knew he had heard it before, and he did have an ear for these things, but he just could not place it.

"If you want she can have this when it's done." He offered, tilting the half finished sketch towards her. "It would just be gathering dust in my portfolio anyway."

"Very well." She said after a moment and a long searching look. "I think she would enjoy that." She paused for a moment longer. "Would you mind if I waited here until it is done? If it wouldn't be a bother."

Eyeballing his drawing Steve gave it another ten to fifteen minutes until he was finished, more or less. It wouldn't be his best work, not when it was his first sketch of the day, but it would still be up to his usual quality. Which he would modestly admit was exceptional.

So, Steve nodded his head. "It shouldn't take too long, Miss -"

"Monroe." She introduced, offering him another smile. This one was bright and full of genuine warmth, unlike her first smile. "But please, call me Ororo. Hearing Miss Munroe makes me think I'm back at the Institute."

"Ah, " he said, finally realizing how.rude.he was being. Once he wiped it free of pencil smudges he offered her his hand to shake. "Steve, please. It's a pleasure to meet you. Though if you don't mind me asking, where are you from? I can't seem to place your accent."

Taking his hand she gave him a firm shake, little callouses scraping against his palm as she pulled away. "I'm not surprised. I had a… diverse childhood. Though I am fairly certain my accent is some combination of Manhattan, Cario, and rural Kenya." Her tone lost some of its warmth, her voice worn as she answered. Likely because she answered that question in some form a thousand times before.

Though Steve barely noticed this. Instead, he felt a pang of excitement as things clicked into place. "<Ah! I knew your accent sounded familiar! The Manhattan in your consonants must have been what threw me off but I can hear it now.>"

Eyes wide Ororo leaned in, her voice excited as she asked, "<You can speak Arabic?>"

"<Roughly>," he said, shifting in his seat. "<I spent a few months in Egypt on my tour and some of the locals taught me. I'm sure my grammar is horrible. My French and German is much better but my Cantonese is barely passable.>"

Though Steve was fairly sure his grammatical and structural errors were more due to the lingual shift of the better part of a century passing by. He had a few missteps in his first months after the thaw with English. Steve could not imagine his secondary languages faired any better.

Ororo, unaware of his thoughts, simply nodded his head. Completely agreeing with his assessment. "<A few words do seem off. Perhaps they taught you a different dialect? You are speaking very well." She paused here, considering him for a long moment. Longer than before, as if she was only then getting the full picture of him. "<If you would like we could practice your language skills while we are here. Walk around the Gardens, perhaps a bite to eat. It has been so long since I've spoken Arabic with someone."

"Ororo, " He said, enjoying the feel of her name, "<It would be my genuine pleasure.>"

An:

Again, not happy with it. I've been reading a lot of high/sword & sorcery fantasy lately and I think it has an effect on my prose. I'm likely to just redo the entire snip.

I honestly like the pairing of Ororo and Steve, largely because they have each have been called the 'perfect person' as well as being strong leaders in their own rights even if they have different styles. Plus I can see them bonding over nature and trying things neither are familiar with, as well as her constantly making him blush (see swimsuits of the 1940s and compare to Storm's preferred swimwear).

And yes, I like the idea of neither putting two and two together for a while. Adds spice/grounds the relationship. Part of my handmade is that while Steve has worked with the XMen before the was the Original 5 and he hasn't met the new team yet. For Ororo Steve wasn't part of her history books besides a brief mention before the earthquake happened, and Steve is a common white boy name.

Oh, and before I forget, the first letter of every paragraph. Donate to your preferred cause.

[mistiedwagonfyre]

M(erry) Monday: Just Some Get to Know You Stuff...

So I got these from moonysmind so I should probably @ them... 

@moonysmind-blog

Ok, let's get this party started! 

1. Do you prefer writing with black or blue pen?

Blue if I'm writing something, black if I'm outlining a paper. But overall, black pens are my go-to just because I have more of them. I seriously need to stock up on blue pens... Also, who uses a red pen for anything other than corrections just because that's the way they've been taught? 

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or the city?

The Country. Or somewhere in the middle. I just feel like I'd be able to manage less people over more people and get to know them more personally. And, let's be honest, the country has gorgeous skies and sprawling fields and meadows. And it feels like you could take a deep breath and just absorb the atmosphere. 

3. If you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

Balance. It would help in everything because yours truly is a ball of clumsy fluff.

4. Do you drink your tea or coffee with sugar?

Heh, I drink hot chocolate with marshmallows so...

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

Anything I could get my hands on. I. Love. Books. My favorite series as a kindergartener was the Magic Tree House tho.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

Depends on my mood. Baths are for when I've got tons of time to just relax  and get my mind off things and showers remind me of rain and I love them too. I take showers more often but that doesn't mean anything.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which would you choose?

This is a hard one cuz I love all things mystical and magical... 

My immediate thought was a dragon but they get killed a lot in the myths and they're almost always stuck guarding something. Then I was like, ok then. What about a phoenix? So ya, I'd be a phoenix. Don't get me wrong, I'd totally go with all the mythical creatures and just cycle through them all, just if I had to choose just one it'd be a phoenix. Maybe, since I'd technically live forever, I could meet every single mythical creature ever. That'd be pwetty cool...

8. Do you prefer reading paper or electronic books?

Paper. It's what I've grown up with. I know, classy me. Also, there is nothing quite like the smell of a new book. Just sayin'.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

Punny t-shirts. All I'm gonna say.

10. Do you like your name? Would you ever change it?

Yes. If I had to change it, I'd love to be Reyna or Luna. Otherwise, I'm keeping it.

11. Who is a mentor to you?

Mostly myself. I taught myself to draw, anyhow. If not me, my mom or my newest art teacher or my neighbor. 

12. Would you ever want to be famous? If so, what for?

Yes and no. I want to inspire people (whether with art or my quirky personality) but don't want the pressure that popularity and fame brings. 

13. Are you a restless sleeper? 

If being a night owl counts as restless, then yes. If being a deep sleeper when I am actually asleep doesn't, then no.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic?

Considering I like guys who are chivalrous and funny... yes?

15. Which element best represents you?

Water. I'm chill until all my suppressed emotions rush out. You can't hold back the ocean forever. And you can't prevent the inevitable: Me being weird. Just ask my sister, she thinks I'm insane (which is probably accurate). Also, I may seem shallow on the surface, but I can actually be very deep sometimes. I could go on and on about my relationship with water, but that's a tale for another time.

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

Everyone. I love strengthening relationships with people. It makes the group stronger as a whole.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

Always.

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

I'd love too, but then storyteller Mistie will appear and this list will become infinitely longer. You'll have to ask me in my questions tab if you really want to hear one. 

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

Can't decide which is weirder: Watermelon with taco seasoning or raw onion with mustard... Both are equally delicious in the summertime at a BBQ.

20. What can you see outside your bedroom window?

A ladder, some rocks, and a dead vole. My old room had a much better view... 

21. What are you most thankful for?

My Savior

22. Do you like spicy food?

Not particularly, no. 

23. Have you ever met someone famous?

Alex Boyé. He went to a really unsanitary restaurant before he came to our house one time and puked all over our newly waxed floors. I feel bad for him. Everyone but him knew not to eat at that runofthemill A&W on the way up. He still put on a mini concert for us tho and that was pretty considerate of him, because he did it even though he can't have felt like doing it.

24. Do you keep a diary or journal?

Yup. I've got entries from back in kindergarten, amazingly. Granted, back then I wrote in pictures.

25. Do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

Pencil. I'm human, I make mistakes.

26. What is your star sign?

Well, I was a Pisces. But then they discovered that there are more stars in the sky, just like there are more fishes in the sea, and just bunched a bunch of Pisces together so now I'm Aquarius. I'm still a Pisces at heart tho.

27. Do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?

Crunchy. Better texture. Soggy cereal is oatmeal in my mind and if you want oatmeal, you actually make oatmeal, not let your cereal sit out for who knows how long. 

28. What would you want your legacy to be?

Legacy is a tricky thing. You've gotta know what people are gonna think of you down the line. I want mine to be simple: she wasn't afraid of who she was and what others would think of that. She was herself, and that's all that matters. I feel like that's the best legacy I could have for the future generations who will grow up in a world of trial and tribulation.

29. Do you like reading? What was the last thing you read?

ABSOLUTELY! I just finished Lodestar from Keeper of the Lost Cities. I shoulda read these books years ago but they're still fan-freaking-tastic! 

30. How do you show someone you love them?

I guess my love language is acts of service or whatever. So I'd probably serve them and do tons of sweet things for them. 

31. Do you like ice in your drinks?

No, it makes it all watery. Blegh.

32. What are you afraid of?

Lots of things. I just only realize when they come along and forget what they are afterwards. Sure, it may seem nice, but it makes the terror of coming into contact with them once more infinitely more terrorizing. But bugs are extremely horrifying. And so are arachnids.

33. What is your favourite scent?

Rain with freshly mowed grass and newly printed books at a campfire with Smores by the seashore. No one will ever be able to create this magnificent scent. 

34. Do you address older people by their first or last name?

Depends on how close we are.

35. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

Does this mean that everything is free? Well I'm gonna stockpile food and stuff and then ship them off to 3rd world countries. I'd try to save as many lives as possible. Or I could go there in person to deliver said goods... Yup. I've decided that that's what I'm gonna do!

36. Do you prefer swimming in pools or in the ocean?

Pools have a veil of safety but the ocean is much more beautiful and alive. Also, the smell of chlorine is gross. And the taste. Blegh.

37. What would you do if you found $50 on the ground?

If it looks old and worn and dirty like it's been there a while, imma take it. Chances are whoever lost it has been long gone so I can actually take that $50 w/o feeling guilty. Otherwise I'd leave it there.

38. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Did you make a wish?

Heh, I used to wish on airplanes, satellites, and planets because I thought they were 'special stars'.

39. What is one thing you would want to teach your children?

To be kind, even when it is inconvenient. I don't know how many times someone has held the door open for me even when it seemed much more convenient for them to just go inside where it is warm and just let me open the stupid door on my own. 

Maybe I'd teach them that even the smallest acts can have the biggest impact. One of the two. Probably both.

40. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

Heh, you're talkin' to the girl who doesn't want her ears pierced. No way in heck am I getting a tattoo.

41. What can you hear right now?

Music and the sound of my thoughts.

42. Where do you feel the safest?

In a book.

43. What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

Darkness and fear.

44. If you could travel back to any era, which would you choose?

The one with Michelangelo, Leonardo, and all those other guys that the ninja turtles were named after.

45. What is your most used emoji?

It's not even an emoji. It is literally XD. Either that or (^^) 

46. What is your favourite season? Why?

Torn between winter (snow), spring (life coming into bloom), and fall (all the pwetty colors).

47. How would you spend your ideal day?

On a window seat during a thunderstorm either sketching or reading a book all wrapped up in a blanket. Preferably with a cat. Sipping warm apple cider or hot chocolate with marshmallows.

48. Describe yourself using one word.

Me.

49. What do you regret the most?

Not realizing certain things sooner.

50. Invent your own word. What does it mean?

Crushyblushy (adj. n.)

The general mannerisms an individual enacts around people that they like (specifically in crush and/or love situations).

syn: awkward, quirky, shy, blushy

ant: confident, flirty, aplomb, able

[virmillion]

Some Kind of Magical - Chapter 8

Chapter 7 / Chapter 9 / Masterpost / ao3

Warnings: Blood mention (not severe), food mention, fighting a monster animal, let me know if you have any more

Words: 4708

    The last time Roman was awake this early, Pib had accidentally set their shared room on fire with a flaming fox experiment. They swore the mixture was controlled and the equations foolproof, but the charred remains of Roman’s closet door said otherwise. Long story short, Roman was out of the house before the sun rose, and he did not much appreciate it.

    They don’t share a room anymore.

    “Thyrrak, in the name of all that Ceth gazes upon, I am going to hang you by your feet on the board if you don’t pay attention.” Myjhyrr Pentheon taps a pencil on the board meaningfully, drawing a circle around an equation. “The answer, if you would.”

    “It represents the average change in velocity from time ‘t’ equals three to time ‘t’ equals seven.” Roman allows a bored tone, perfected through years of practice, to slip into his voice. He may not understand a word of what he’s saying, but sure as Ceth shines bright in the night can he fake it. If nothing else, it’s nice for people to think he’s smart and focused, even if he’s more concerned with running his thumbnail over the folded piece of paper in his pocket.

    “Oh. Okay. Well, yes. Very nice, Thyrrak. Thank you.” With a wink and a shrug, Roman’s attention returns to the notes on his desk. Entirely blank, mind you, save for the lazy doodles in the margins. To even call them doodles is mostly lip service—they’re more like vain attempts at putting pencil to paper while fighting the urge to fall asleep. In case it wasn’t blatantly obvious, Roman is losing that fight. Miserably.

    Roman continues to lose this fight several times over, his eyes nearly crusted shut by the time lunch rolls around. Thinking back to that lost breakfast apple, his stomach floods with hunger and remorse. He should have at least grabbed a banana to go with it while he had the chance, since Pib is certain to tear through them all once they find the basket, leaving Roman empty handed.

    When he finally makes it to the trudging lunch line, all of the bananas are gone. Such is the way of life.

    “Thanks so much,” Roman says, pulling his loaded tray from the counter. Making his way to the usual table, he swerves his shoulders to and fro in a desperate effort to keep the precarious stack upright. Just as he reaches his seat, the whole thing crashes down, containers and utensils flying every which way.

    “Need some help there?” Patton asks. He sweeps an arm over the table, knocking debris from past uncleaned lunches aside. “Here’s your fruit cup, your milk carton, and your obligatory napkin that no one uses.” Roman barely manages to grunt his gratitude, which his tired mind assumes to be an acceptable medium of appreciation. “How’s your day been, kiddo?”

    “Everything sucks and I want to go home.” Propping his chin on the table, Roman slouches and listlessly drags a spoon in circles around his styrofoam tray. “Why were you and Logan up so early, anyway?”

    “That’s on a need to know basis,” Logan says, appearing out of nowhere with his own tray. “Do you need to? No.”

    “Maybe you should leave the wordplay to Patton,” Roman says. His opinion loses all credibility as Patton bounces in his seat.

    “Logan, you just made a joke based on the pronunciation of hodoprones!”

    “I think you mean homophone, and no, I did nothing of the sort. You’ve no evidence to insinuate the mere possibility that I, a well-respected member of society, could ever even fathom doing such a thing, let alone carry it out.”

    “The lad doth protest too much, methinks,” Virgil mutters. He drops into the seat beside Patton, ignoring the hope on Patton’s face and turning to Logan. “Admit you made a pun and move on with it.”

    Patton bites his lip, glancing at Virgil’s hands as he picks at a tray full of sandwiches, fruits, and chocolate chip cookies. “Virgil, I wanted to apologize for—”

    “Water over the bridge, Pat.”

    Logan holds up a finger, tilting his head to the side. “It’s supposed to be water under—”

    “I know what I said.” Virgil stabs at a piece of fruit, clearly not interested in pursuing Patton’s apology.

    Never one to be outdone with topic jumps, Roman talks over Logan’s frustrated rambling on the semantics of idioms. “More importantly, why hasn’t my question been answered? Waking me up that early has to be, like, some sort of crime. Punishable by giving me a cookie.”

    Virgil smacks away Patton’s hand, which is already extended to offer one. “Your reward for surviving such an atrocity can be me not murdering you in your sleep, of which you obviously need so much.” The threat is accompanied by a truly fearsome transfer of food from tray to mouth.

    “Oh, I’m so scared.” Roman raises his hands in mock terror, idly wondering whether Virgil can tell how much genuine fear his threat incurred. When he lowers them once more, his fingers come to rest on the outline of the folded paper in his pocket. He jolts.

    “Says the guys who didn’t think to come back and get me.” Virgil raps the table, trying to swallow around a thick wad of cookie dough as protests erupt from everyone else. “Hold your horses, be stable, quit horsing around and what have you, I know you knew I’d get here eventually. Nothing personal.”

    Patton takes a shot at dominating the conversation again, allowing a brief reprieve for Virgil to eat his lunch in peace. While the latter sets about peeling a banana—much to Roman’s chagrin—Patton changes topics. Roman’s protests about the apparent reappearance of the banana basket after her went through the line are ignored. “So, we’ve survived this much of the school year already. How are we gonna make it through the rest, and who do I need to schmooze to get us there? I’m armed to the teeth with candy bundles, and I’m willing to part with at least three. Maybe four, if someone else tosses in a few brownies for collateral.”

    “Start by saying hello to this kid. Hope you guys don’t mind.” Logan gestures with his elbow as someone shuffles up to the table, their shoulders looking more like oversized earrings than independent body parts.

    Roman, for all his outer glory and self importance, can’t find it in himself not to let his gaze linger on the newcomer. Their hair drops long and straight to their thighs, which would probably sound more impressive were it not for their barely scraping the bar at five feet tall. The dark green shock streaking the otherwise obsidian hair is rivaled only by the faint twinkle of mischief in their sage green eyes. They brush their hair aside as they draw near, revealing a parade of piercings marching up their ear. Where the line ends at the lobe is a lime green T.

    “Everyone, this is Trilyo. Trilyo, this is Virgil, Patton and Roman.” Logan points at everyone in turn, shuffling his belongings aside when he finishes. Roman reaches for his pocket—and the paper inside—as discreetly as he can, trying to think of a polite exit strategy.

    “Hi. Just so, um, just so you know, the T means, uh, it means to call me Trilyo. And they. Please.” In a voice hardly above a whisper, they continue, “on S-days, it’s Sage and she. Oh, and, um, Helsyirr and he. For H-days, I mean.” Their words gain strength as they start to defend themself from unasked questions. “If people want to get on my case about those things, then I’d, um, I want to make it less difficult than I—than it has to be.”

    “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Roman says, “but feel free to take my seat. I actually just remembered, I’ve got something to take care of. With someone. Somewhere else.” He slides his chair out, patting the seat like an invitation for Trilyo. “Don’t let these guys starve, okay? I hear that’s not always the best first impression. Don’t quote me on that, either.”

    As soon as he’s through the doors and out of the building, Roman allows himself a disgusted groan. If he’d sounded any more stiff or closed off, Trilyo probably could have mistaken him for someone’s parent, trying to seem cool with the kids having none of it. Were it not for the unwitting damage control his friends would have to do now, Trilyo would probably never want to speak to him again. That’s the only foreseeable outcome within reason, as far as Roman is concerned.

    He draws his jacket closer against the faint breeze, careful not to crumple the paper in his pocket any more than it already is. Whenever fall decides to officially announce itself, he’ll switch over to a heavy coat, but until that happens, a stubborn pout is all he can offer. The stubborn pout quickly turns to a displeased scowl as someone else appears at his side. Roman allows his eyes to slip shut, curious if it might deter any unwelcome conversation.

    “Hey, Roman.”

    Evidently not.

    “Hey, Than.” His words are hardly more than a mumble, drowned out by a sudden gust of wind, which promptly whacks him in the face with a leaf. “Don’t tell me it was you.” The paper crinkles in his pocket.

    “So you found my letter, I gather?” Than’s footfalls are accompanied by the soft crunch of dead grass under his feet. The breeze echoes his words. “The grass is going away quite quickly this year.”

    “Don’t make me say it.” The answering silence is prompt enough. “Ceth, man, you’re really gonna make me say it?” More silence. More wind. A storm cloud grumbles in the distance. “Fine. Whatever. I’m not even mad. I don’t even care. The river reaps souls and swallows hopes.”

    “All because it flows backwards.” Than exhales, an almost laugh that Roman doesn’t return. For all of the hassle Virgil’s been through with Than, the guy sure is thorough.

    Roman has long since learned to take pride in his acting skills. Be it hiding a grade to not disappoint Pib or hiding a TryMyts to avoid disappointing his parents, he’s gotten arguably decent at putting up an unshakeable front. The latest obstacle from Than, however, has provided considerably more difficulty. Nothing Roman can’t handle, of course.

    Coming home to a cold house has always been Roman’s reality. Operating separate from his family has always been Roman’s reality. Working his tail off for no reward has always been Roman’s reality. Finding random letters in his bag, even, has always been Roman’s reality—he’d once offered to be the middleman for hopeless romantics around the school. Long story short, the service petered off around the time he entered his junior year. Everything from senseless pining to obsessive stalking, he’d helped facilitate and, when the situation called for it, de-escalate.

    Unmarked letters would appear on occasion. That wasn’t Roman’s concern. His concern was more in the contents of this particular letter. Sealed with a silvery dragon silhouette and scrawled in gold ink, he would have had to be a fool not to open it. Even now, knowing he was the recipient of thoughtful scribing from the likes of Than, Roman can’t really say he regrets opening it.

    “The grass is going away

    Quite quickly this year,” I’ll say

    So just for me

    If you’ll agree

    Kindly answer in this way:

    I know the line may fit many tropes

    And writing this makes me seem a dope

    But kindly answer

    Thou fair romancer

    “The river reaps souls and swallows hopes”

    Roman smiles to himself, the harsh wind yanking him out of his ponderings. He holds up the letter from his pocket between two fingers, examining the crisply pressed fold. “You know, writing ‘tomorrow at lunch’ at the bottom was really ambiguous. What if I didn’t know where to go? What if I didn’t find it on the right day? Why are you demonizing the river?” Cracking an eye open, he glances at Than. “And ‘fair romancer?’ Really?”

    “Don’t attack the messenger, I just needed a clever way to let you know that the magic is going haywire in more places than just the barriers by that zburator cave.”

    “Yeah, I already—” Roman’s other eye shoots open as he whips his head around to stare at Than. “You saw the cave? How did I not see you? When were you there? By the brightest flickers of Cethyphyirr itself, Than, what happened to your face?”

    Than grins, running the back of his fingers over his scarring cheek. “It’s healing nicely, don’t you think? I suspect it’s something to do with all this wind, making new barriers, sending rivers flowing backwards, all that manner of speaking.”

    “Get to your point, Than, because I know you didn’t lure me out here to flirt over your limerick skills.”

    “To tell the truth, I knew you weren’t about to talk to me of your own volition.”

    “That’s fair.”

    “But with the reversed rivers and the increased zburator activity, not to mention the storm situation over there, I figured someone with more swaying power than me ought to know.” Roman shuts his eyes again, quite finished with the painfully slow progress of said impending clouds. “Logan would have been my first choice, him being so smart and all, plus our mutual connection through Virgil, but I’d never get the chance to talk to him, even if I wanted to. He’s rebuffed every attempt at conversation I’ve ever made since he started talking to Virgil, so I was hoping you might be willing to—”

    Roman backhands Than’s chest, halting whatever he was trying to request. At Than’s protests, he hisses a shushing sound. “Did you hear that?” The building behind them remains calm, save for the regular lunchtime bustle. The same dead grass making the same crunching sounds under the same relentless wind. “It sounded like a yell.” In the hushed silence, a distant shout. Roman casts a pained glance back to the school, from which the warning bell to end lunch chimes. Without giving himself a chance to reconsider, he shoves past Than and sprints in the opposite direction.

    The few scraggly trees ringing the school property offer virtually no resistance as Roman surges past them. With the almost imperceptible cover of the leaves between him and the building, he traces his way around to what’s essentially the school’s backyard. By sheer luck or mere happenstance, he manages to avoid the hawk eyes of the teachers, who always seem relatively Kryntyk-bent on corralling everyone into a ridiculously cramped building. This has never quite made sense to Roman, who’s always been of the mindset that open doors allow for an open mind—that’s the polite way of giving his opinion, at least.

    “You know,” a voice mumbles at his shoulder, “the teachers don’t care as long as you tell them you’re just skipping for TryMyts stuff. You don’t need to sneak around.”

    Roman nearly leaps out of his skin, delivering a harsh elbow to Than’s stomach. “Warn a guy next time, why don’t you? And shut up for a hot second, I lost the source of the shouting.” As if in answer to his latest observation, the faint calls return, more of an echo than a discernible voice. Roman feels his ear twitch. “This way.”

    With reluctance abundantly evident in his posture, Roman tugs Than along behind him, heading for the line of full trees closing the circle of dead ones. The yells crescendo, almost tangible by the time Roman yanks Than through the last of the green. Just on the other side stands a trembling Trilyo, their back to the boys. They raise a shaky hand before them, and that’s when Roman notices the demonic mockery of a bird perched on a branch above them.

    “Why in the name of Ceth itself is a jynthykryk on school grounds?” Roman whispers, his voice a hushed mixture of awe and horror. Calling the creature would be flattery at best, and detailing just how utterly wrong it looks would be an offense in and of itself. Roman’s strongest repulsion is, always has been, and always will be that glaring quintet of eyes, the perimeters just barely distanced enough not to be a trio. Even if the one in the middle, alight in hues of gold, weren’t staring them down, the four framing it are unnerving enough on their own. They’re less like four pupils and more like two diamonds split through the middle and crammed into four separate sockets. All are gold, all are angular, and all ar staring intently down at Trilyo as if they were its next meal. Its head cranes at an unnatural angle, showing off its glinting silver beak in a gaping yawn, which reveals five teeth that may as well be knives crowding around a five-pronged golden tongue. The latter flicks in and out, in and out, as those piercing eyes size up Trilyo.

    “Okay, you get Trilyo out of here, and I’ll go for the jynthykryk,” Roman murmurs. He regrets phrasing it like an order the moment the words leave his mouth.

    “Are you kidding? Bossing me around?” Than huffs with what Roman finds to be an unnecessary amount of self importance. “I think not. Back it up, buddy, and take after me.” With his arms over his head, Than barges in front of Trilyo, easily commandeering the jynthykryk’s attention. “Over here, you pathetic excuse for a bird! What, did Ceth forget what a bird looked like when it spat you out of the sky?”

    Grabbing its attention was the wrong move. Waving his arms about was the wrong move. Daring to make a sound in the first place was the wrong move. Taking all of this into consideration, the absolute worst thing to have done was to compare that monstrosity to a bird, especially to its face. Whether it understands words is largely unimportant—the wrathful gleam in its eyes is far more concerning.

    With a sickening screech, it flares up a wing, showing off a coat of razor-sharp black feathers tipped in silver. The prongs crowning each wing boast gold talons, sharp enough to make Roman’s stomach hurt just from looking at them. It rises on stalked legs, which end in prickling gold claws that could easily tear out Roman’s throat at a moment’s notice. He swallows thickly.

    “Get down!” The words rip out of Roman before he can stop them, his mouth reacting before his brain can finish comprehending what it doesn’t want to register. At another screech, the jynthykryk takes wing, swooping down from the trees to claw at Trilyo’s head. Tha shoves them to the ground, throwing his body over theirs like a shield. With his best imitation of bravery, Roman gives a shout, throwing his arms up to snag its attention.

    To Roman’s dismay, it works.

    The creature whips its head toward him, careening down from the sky to snap at his hair. Roman ducks, catching the plumage of its blade of a tail in his fist. Shards of glass would score his hands less, but it’s enough to faze the animal.

    For a moment.

    Than is no help whatsoever, still yelling directions over a clearly terrified Trilyo. In one of his rare moments of silence, during which Roman is still screaming bloody murder, they manage to scrabble under the cover of the trees. The leaves shimmer at the edges, just enough to declare the presence of magic. Taking this in stride as the reason for why no teachers have come to investigate the hollering yet, Roman returns his focus to Than and the jynthykryk.

    As it ascends for another diving attack, Roman waves Than to his side, ignoring his protests and curses. “If we coordinate our idiocy, we might actually survive this thing, but that isn’t gonna happen unless you work with me and we get our acts together. So look up, keep up, and don’t you dare shut up, not on your life.” Roman wills the fires of Kryntyk into his eyes as he draws Than in by the collar. “If you endanger even one life in that school then so help me, as Ceth is my witness, I will end you. Go.”

    He shoves Than back into the clearing, and he waits. Its feathers shower shreds of leaves down as it literally slices through the enchanted trees, its five eyes all focused solely on Than. Perfect for Roman, who darts out at the last possible moment and latches onto the sharp tail with all his might. The jynthykryk screeches, such a horrible sound to grate against Roman’s ears as it whips into the air. Than watches, stunned just before the point of silence, as it lifts Roman higher and higher, so high up that a fall could very well be deadly. Such is a fact of which Roman is all too aware. He digs his nails in deeper, yanking out more knife feathers as the tail whips him around. Too focused on keeping a tight grip, Roman hardly notices his ears ringing as his teeth knock together—certainly an ache he’ll feel tenfold later.

    That’s when the tail snaps back up, too fast for him to adjust, and he loses his grip.

    Roman feels himself tumbling through empty air, the only purchase his hands can find being the loose blade feathers he’s crushing in a death grip. As the ground rushes up, too fast, nowhere near fast enough, he can just barely make out Than’s voice, splitting the air to reach him. Having no idea what he’s yelling, Roman curls into a ball and sends out every prayer he can think of to Ceth, to another Ejnathryk, even to Kryntyk. How the enchanted trees have gone unnoticed for so long, and still work to this extent, is beyond Roman. He allows himself to uncurl a little as the jynthykryk speeds past him, its eyes locked onto the still ranting Than. Still screaming. Still diverting attention. Just like Roman asked.

    Roman shoots out a hand, snatching the creature by its tail once more, but he’s prepared this time. As the trees thicken with the rising ground, he hooks his shoes around what looks to be a sturdy enough branch, and pulls up with muscles he didn’t even know he had. The jynthykryk hesitates for only a moment before beating its wings with a renewed vigor. The branch snaps.

    Spurred on by Than’s incessant yelling, Roman manages to right his head, this time bracing his sole on the next branch and not waiting to yank. The one oversized feather in his left fist, shining in various hues of silver and gold, lashes about dangerously. In all likelihood, this is just an identifying feather—identifeather, he wants to joke, but no, this isn’t the time—a feather that indicates the jynthykryk’s gender. Nevertheless, something tells Roman to pull it out. He can’t.

    The branch bows under the added force of a teenager fighting a demon monster bird, coming far too close to breaking for Roman’s comfort. That fifth gleaming tooth, curved and poised to attack, gets ever closer to Than’s face, which is bright red for a number of reasons. As the silver beak creaks open and the slithering tongue flicks toward Than, the feather bites jewels of red from Roman’s fingers. He could let go. He should let go. He does not.

    As he screams out to “duck!” from the deepest recesses of his throat, finally, finally, the feather comes out. Roman finds himself launched into the air as his potential energy shatters into kinetic chaos, his stomach taking refuge in his throat. The jynthykryk, obviously unprepared for the sudden shift and the loss of a relatively significant feather, crashes beak first into the dirt. Than. who managed to listen to two whole instructions, is crouched over himself not three feet from where the creature’s scrabbling legs poke out of the ground. This is when Roman remembers that he is not, in fact, on the ground yet. By some miracle, the last branch he’d hassled was close to the dirt, but that little tidbit doesn’t keep his gut from trying to consume itself as he hurtles back down. Than breaks Roman’s fall—against both of their wills.

    Trilyo appears from between the trees, their streak of green tangled in the surrounding leaves. They dart out to meet Roman, snatching the prominent feather in a sleeve-covered hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d managed to hang on to it, instead rolling over to hold his stomach and groan. Than follows suit, burying his face in his knees as he curls into a ball.

    Without so much as a warning to either of the boys, Trilyo latches a hand around the blades ringing the jynthykryk’s neck and frees its head with ease. Trilyo doesn’t even allow it the mercy of one final screech before the plunge the feather tip into its center eye. The creature vanishes with less flair than a puff of smoke, leaving only the sharpest dagger of a feather in Trilyo’s hands. Every other blade-edged feather, from those in Than’s hair to the ones Roman stuck through his skin, every last one disappears. Trilyo turns to head back to the school.

    “Woah, woah, wait, don’t you think we deserve an explanation?” Than demands. He lurches to his feet, curving over his core as he grabs feebly at their shoulder.

    “The biggest and deadliest feather is, um, it’s the only thing that can destroy jynthykryks, and it has to be their own, in the, ah, in the center eye. Make it a set of six to split up the continuity of the, um, the quintets to destroy the creature.” Trilyo tosses their hair over their shoulder. “Everybody knows that.”

    “Okay, but why were you dealing with a jynthykryk in the first place? How did you even know to go through the tree line? Ceth’s sake, Trilyo, I literally just saw you at lunch not twenty minutes ago!” Roman wrings his hands together, wishing he had enough strength left in his arms to tear his hair out.

    “What, you’re really stuck on that? I don’t want to—I mean, I’m not about to just give it away. I don’t want to worry about people, um, about other people stealing—taking, I mean, taking my TryMyts idea. I can’t exactly have that, now, can I?” Ignoring Than’s demands and Roman’s pleas, Trilyo leaves.

    “I guess that could’ve gone better,” Than admits. “But it could’ve gone a lot worse, too. For one, the majority of my face is still intact. At least, what was intact to begin with. I’d rather not think about how much worse it would be if I hadn’t already lost feeling from all those burns.”

    “What Trytsu are you even aiming for, Than?” Roman turns from where Trilyo was to scrutinize his companion, ignoring how his knees ache from kneeling. It hurts too much to stand. “I know it’s out of nowhere, but it’s a fair question. I wouldn’t call that rescuing the creature, it definitely wasn’t hands off, and I’d be lying if I said that constituted actual fighting. If anything, you just covered for me. What Trytsu do you honestly believe is right for you?”

    Than shrugs, letting his hands drift to his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll stick with undecided, work with Virgil and Myjhyrr Senthyirr. Don’t forget, impossible though it may be to believe, Thriyv did have a life before he walked into yours.” He pauses on his way to the trees, one hand resting on a trunk. “And I really hope you’ll pass on that stuff about the magic going haywire. I’m sure you and your friends can do way more with it than me.”

    Roman watches in silence as Than vanishes, gone just like any trace of the jynthykryk. Something in him wants to call after the guy, to demand an answer, to apologize for misjudging him, to thank him for his help, but no. Roman says nothing. Alone again, still picking feathers from his skin, he goes inside.

Chapter 7 / Chapter 9 / Masterpost / ao3

[ermahgerdthenerd]

wot. a. trip.

Shrouded misty skies, light snowfall, and hands clenched tightly onto warm blankets. This was my spring break. It was a far cry from the normal: driving to PCB, getting drunk and attempting to hook up with strangers. Yet it was incredibly insightful and I would be foolish to forget it so I'm giving myself the task of writing it down. At least one day of it. 

To start, the cabin was atop a secluded peak near Blue Ridge overlooking a scenic view of the surrounding area. I distinctly remember opening the sliding door to the back porch and being struck with the quiet delicateness of the scene before me. I stopped and I listened. I heard the wind rustle bare branches, the calm river flowing below, and bursts of laughter from my best friends. I was, and still am, in awe that such deep friendships could forge in only a year. Smiling to myself, I walked back inside anticipating the next few days. This spring break was unique in its own regard because two of my best friends, Owen and David, took acid for the first time and it was my duty to keep them grounded in reality (while being blazed out of my mind from an edible, details to come). I’ve never taken a psychedelic drug, so needless to say I did not know what to expect from them. Out of the eight people (nine including one guy who dropped in): two took acid, five ingested edibles, and the remaining two were sober. We decided to take everything together ensuring we’d all begin the high simultaneously. Cheers.

As time passed, our collective excitement skyrocketed. I felt as though I was dreaming in a way, constantly asking Owen and David if they had seen anything unusual while giggling uncontrollably waiting for the gradual high to peak. Owen and I shared a bowl out of pure impatience as David took it easy watching the tree line. I felt like I kept asking and asking to the point of annoyance but I persisted because I wanted to experience what they were feeling. Once they began the trip, it was as if I were on the same trip as they were but a wall was between us. Or rather a wall of reality had shifted for them but mine was still standing. I attempted to transcend this wall as every pattern they explained I envisioned and every dilemma they faced I challenged alongside them. Sitting on the porch was an experience like no other, marveling at the earth with my two best friends who were filled with a childlike innocence perplexed and amazed by anything they laid eyes on. The happiness and euphoria they felt, I felt as well. I had a purpose that day and I felt appreciated. It was bliss. 

Eventually we all took a long walk down the winding driveway to the river I mentioned before. It was strange, I could almost sense a divide in the group. Owen, David, and I cheerfully led the way eager to reach the destination while the rest lagged behind sluggishly. The sharp cold of the air filling my lungs and the greenery of the forest egging me on. As we arrived at the river, tears pricked my eyes but I quickly wiped them away. The river was beyond beautiful, it was otherworldly in my eyes. The firecracker finally properly digesting, I hit a new level. We all took our places around the rock and the divide between us diminished as we settled into our own minds. Watching Owen and David, their backs kissing the wet earth beneath them, smile into to sky lifted my spirits further. The clouds separated revealing the richest blue we’d ever seen, and the sun’s rays caressed our skin with a palpable warmth. It happened, my high was peaking as the edible steadily digested. So much so, that my overly-sensitive nervous system couldn't keep up and I experienced the urge to pass out. I shimmied down the face of the rock and melted into the earth next to David. Owen, a little further over, lost in his perceived reality. I noticed then that Owen wasn't taking the trip as easily as David was but the thought quickly flitted away as my mind was enveloped in the high. Once I was flat against the earth, my nervous system calmed and David and I began chatting about a fallen bridge and the shimmering ripples on the surface of the water. It was wonderful that such a simple thing could be so fulfilling in its brevity. Just existing was nirvana. We were lost in our heads somewhere around two hours before we made the journey back to the cabin.   

Inside the cabin was a different story entirely. The inevitable cotton mouth had arrived and it was vengeful so I took a seat on the couch with David and Owen. Amidst struggling to breath out of my mouth (my nose was congested from a cold) without sounding like a dying animal, I attempted to draw. I chose my friend Michael while David drew Grant, who were both fading into sleep from the edibles. It was amusing watching David lose the ability to remove colored pencils from their case and even more so when the array of choices overwhelmed his incapacitated state of mind. I give both David and Owen credit for their ability to keep in touch with reality while tripping because I know it would be a difficult task for me. Drawing was demanding (simply being high), as being an avid drawer made the process all the more tedious. I got the outline of the head after a few minutes but was tiring quickly. Owen would periodically show us his cartoonish doodles which to my delight fully encompassed his silly personality in a few colorful strokes. David’s drawing took a simpler form but it was art to me nonetheless. The last thing I remember is falling asleep to their laughter.

When I awoke, I was still noticeably high as the edible continued to digest in waves of extreme potency. I looked around the room to see the rest of the group peacefully napping. I sliced an apple and ate it with heavy dollops of creamy peanut butter and softly talked with Michael. This was around the time I remembered I had an important job to do and found both David and Owen swinging on the porch. I was happy to see them using the blanket I brought and took my place on the far right of the swing next to Owen. Again, I asked them questions and they both had equally interesting answers and analogies to how their perceptions were altered by the drug. I recall fervently explaining how we separate reality and define truth (thanks sociology). With music playing in the background, we gently swung from side to side, the three of us completely in sync. Owen relaxed his head onto my shoulder and David followed suit. Although I was uncomfortably squished into the wood of the swing, my happiness couldn't be touched in those moments.

As the sun set and the chill of the air closed in, we made our way inside for dinner. Everyone was still lethargic from earlier but pizza helped. I noticed that Owen and David hadn’t eaten much but they explained the drug altered their feelings of hunger and thirst, regardless it was unusual eating more than they did. After some debate as to how to end the night, we decide to play the VHS version of Home Alone on the ancient television in the living room. The picture quality was absurd and I still can't fathom how I made it through the entirety of the movie without losing my shit, let alone those on acid. In the end, we all said our goodnights and went to bed. I fell asleep to the buzz in my head still going strong surrounded by people I care about. And that is the recollection of one of the most relaxing and fulfilling days of my life.    

[cpeacephoto]

               If you remember from back in my first post, way back when I used to enjoy writing. I don’t know if I was any good at it, but I enjoyed it. It was a way to pass the time and live in some other world for a bit. Sometimes it was a way to process thoughts and feelings. When I met my old friend and we first started connecting at the beginning, it was one of the things we bonded over. They began to draw things from the things I wrote, all of which I still have and treasure. The two of us would begin talking about stories we made up together. I miss having that connection with someone and haven’t found it since.

               Sadly by the time we parted ways, I had lost myself. And writing was one of the things I stopped doing. There have been times in my life when I’ve wondered “who am I”. And there have been times when I’ve wondered if I was ever fortunate enough to reconnect with my old friend again, what would we talk about? Would I remember who I am? Would I have anything to offer?

               As I’ve gotten older and found more of myself I’ve begun writing again. Particularly at work when we’ve got longer periods of slow and not much to do. So I’ve been writing lately about a guy who lives out in the middle of nowhere using his camera to make money. On his property is a moose by the name of Clarence.

               I apologize in advance that nothing you read is going to be coherent or run in a time line. You’re going to read “woke up that morning” a lot. They aren’t one single story. Just parts of a story that I wrote while at work, and then some other day part of some other story using the same characters. It’s a start anyways. And I promise more photos are coming. Enjoy.

Story 1               7:30 am. What an exhausting time of day. But it’s worth handling because it’s also one of the few times of day that you associate with waffles. And anytime it is waffle time is a good time indeed.               Even though there’s no one around for miles I still sleep with the shades down to block out the sun. You’d think it was well into mid-day by the blaring spot light outside but really the chickadees are just starting their games. It is Alaska after all and the sun has been out now for hours. I make my way downstairs towards the breakfast nook. Really just a small 5 piece dining set next to a window in the corner. It magically transforms to my dining room in the evenings as well. All the while half asleep and still thinking lustful thoughts of that mistress called my pillow who held me so tight all through the night. My morning trek away from her motivated by a primal desire. “….coffee…”. “…waffles….”. It doesn’t escape me for a moment how awesome it would be if somehow there was a clever combination of the two. But I resign to pin that thought until later when waffle fueled heads could prevail.               I turn on the coffee pot and the waffle maker debating for moment if I should give them names or if that’s too much of a relationship to form with a $20 coffee pot. What if it fails and I have to replace it? Will any Mr. Coffee be like Kristen? And do the things she does for me? Or will it be some cheap knock off? Something young and complicated that doesn’t have the curves, the experience, or the understanding of how my mind works.               I grab my coffee and my waffles and sit down at the nook finally able to glance out into the day and enjoy this warm moment of existence. Outside munching away on something was Clarence. All 1,000 lbs., 7 feet of him standing in my yard as if he were posing for a picture. I swear you give a guy an apple one time and suddenly your new best friend is a moose. I opened the window a bit and called out to him, “Morning Clarence”. He just turned his head a little and kept on munching.               I’m sure he’d been up longer than I had but clearly he was still a little out of it too. That or I just wasn’t that interesting yet. After breakfast though I grabbed another cup of coffee and made my way out to the deck. It was right about then I became pretty interesting and he made himself a little more friendly walking up to the deck and giving me a good look over. I knew what he wanted and I was happy to oblige him. I rolled him an old apple I grabbed on my way out. “Well morning Clarence. Anything new today?” He just munched away. “Going to take another dip in the lake this morning?” I don’t know why I asked as I knew the answer.               Every morning he’d take a dip in the lake and make his way over to a shallow side to munch on the grasses that grew there. He just got in the habit of checking with me first for his sweet tooth addiction. It was strange really. To see something that large just go into the water like it was nothing. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was practicing for the local swim team. Somehow I didn’t think they make swim caps in his size though. Seems like the antlers would get in the way.               Sure enough though after he had taken his time to get every last enjoyable moment out of that apple he meandered his way over to the lake and just walked in. 9am, right on time Clarence. This meant I had about 15 minutes to get back in the house and dressed or my other little friend Harold would start throwing a fit and tapping at the back door.  Harold was a duck with an attitude. 

Story 2             Got up this morning and drove the old ford into town. Despite her age she isn’t a bad little truck. Sure she’s loud and has a tendency to kick like a mule every once in a while. Has a tendency to eat like one too. Put any other gas in her from any other station than Al’s down on Mile marker 246 and she’ll cause one hell of a fuss.             Still, if you get her a little time, attention and love, let her warm up a little, she’s probably the most dependable soul on my property. Doesn’t ask for too much, simple, still keeps it together no matter how rough things get. You can’t ask for much more than that.             Had to go into town this morning because we were running low on supplies. I needed some groceries, some bolts and parts, and Clarence needed some more apples. Every now and then I think about throwing him a curve ball and giving him something new like a pear. Just to spice things up a bit. But I’m sure if I did he’d just look at me for a long minute with that “what in the world……yeah alright, this one time” stare. If he was anything it was a creature of habit.             Harold came with me and sat in the passenger seat only making fuss whenever the truck unexpectedly kicked. I had started to let him in the truck when I left for town because he’s too stubborn to accept “no” and I worried about his safety. As soon as I would start the truck he’d hear it and fly into the bed or if he had a good shot and an open window right into the cab. This being Alaska a trip into town was going to be a day venture driving several hours there and several back.             It was probably best he stay in the cab anyways I suppose. What if I ran over a bump too hard and he got knocked out of the bed of the truck? I sure as hell didn’t want to be responsible for that. And by the time I noticed we’d be far apart. Besides, when I got into town he stayed out of trouble. Just sits there watching people go by. If any of them get a little too close for comfort he makes a noise. The way I figure it he’s the best security system I can buy for just a few grains of corn.             I arrived in town somewhere just north of 10. The diner was open and serving morning coffee and the general store was open. The two main places I needed to be. Being this early in the morning the diner was first. The need for coffee was strong and the diner was the best place to pick up local news. Sure I could have grabbed a paper but if you want to know what’s really going on, the diner is where you need to be.             “Morning Jen”, I told the waitress “can I get coffee with cream?” “Sure thing” she said as she proceeded to get my coffee. “Heard anything new?” I asked. “Nah, nothing much. The Army Corps office across the street isn’t open yet. They’ve got some new commander and he’s a little less friendly with the public. He’s not married either. Makes ya’ wonder what went wrong, man his age not married.” She retorted. “You don’t say” I replied rather inquisitively “I’ll have to check that out”. I didn’t care much about his marital status but the news of a new commander was of interest. I’ve been selling my photographs and surveys to them for years and this change could prove interesting. “Thanks for the coffee Jen. Stay beautiful.” I said as I got up to leave after drinking my coffee, placing a few bucks on the counter for the coffee and her time. The thought of a new commander rolled through my head a while. I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.             Over at the general store Dave was busy stocking cans on a shelf. He was the kind of guy that really enjoyed “fixing” things and putting them back into order. The kind of person that loves to organize, label, and keep books of spreadsheets on things. Everything had a home and a system and he spent a lot of energy keeping everything balanced and where it needed to be. He worked at the general store along with his daughter Martha who was at the moment suspiciously nowhere to be found.             As Dave got up from his cans and walked behind the checkout counter he asked me, “What’ll it be?” “Oh, much of the same. I need a box of 2 inch 10 penny nails, some more mix for making waffles, a carton of eggs if you’ve got them, some milk, another big tin of coffee, a box of regular pencils, and another bundle of old apples if you’ve got them. For Clarence” I replied to his inquiry. “You know, you’re the only one who wants these old apples. I can’t believe you pay for them either. Just trash” he said with bewildered look as he started to gather up items. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure Dave. It’s not much to you or I but to Clarence this is gold” I assured him.             I stood there for a moment as he gathered cans and boxes putting them into a bag, just looking out the window at the Amy Corps headquarters. Finally I asked him, “What do you know about the new Commander over there at HQ?” “For such a small town there’s been surprisingly little chatter to be honest” he said. “Lately not many people come in and out of there unless they have a uniform. And they don’t seem to talk much about him other than that he’s from out east. Which isn’t saying much because everyone here is from out east. Some more than others. Though I will say the guys that have come in here have been buying a lot of nonperishable items like can goods. So maybe they are gearing up for another project or something” he added.             It caught me a little weird that no one seemed to know anything. No talk yet of what projects were going on, where he was from, why he was here, what he was like, or even a name. Sooner or later I was going to have to check in. Get a feel for things myself.             It was right about then as Dave was beginning to ring up my bill when Martha burst in from the back office, doing her damnedest to keep control of this loud rumbling box. “Look Papa!” the child exclaimed to his horror. Apparently sometime recently “Mr. Bojangles” the family cat, had kittens. This was by far the last thing Dave wanted. More mess, more noise, more chaos, more reason for Martha to not help with the store. “Martha! Don’t bring those dirty little things in here. They are vermin. And don’t get too attached to them neither. I don’t need any pests around my store chasing away customers.” Dave barked at her while trying to still seem calm and professional.             The enthusiasm had fallen out of her voice when she asked, “well what do I do now?” Dave smiled at me for a moment politely before turning to her and sternly retorting, “Just take them back to the office. I’ll deal with them after work. I have to cross the old north bridge anyways.” I knew what he meant. Last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. Still, I couldn’t just stand here and let innocence be thrown off a bridge.             The words came out like sludge, “how much?” “What?” Dave asked me a little surprised. “For a kitten. How much?” I was more assertive that time and the words flowed a little easier. “I’ll give you a dollar for one. Whichever one seems to be the most hassle.” Martha quickly reached in the box and pulled out a little gray kitten who was been busy bouncing and tackling everyone else in the box. “And I’ll take out a 3 line ad in the Denali Daily.” Dave a little shocked seemed pleasantly surprised by my sudden sales. At least the part about the ad in the local newsletter, the Denali Daily. “Wonderful! What would you like the ad to say?” Dave inquired while finishing ringing up my bill. I just looked down at my money as I handed it over, a little sadden to see it go and said softly, “Free to good home. Kittens. See Martha.��� The joy on Dave’s face lessened a bit, but he took my money anyways.             The whole ride home Harold didn’t know what to make of this tiny, noisy, anxious thing crawling about the floor boards of the truck. Anytime it got a little too close to the seat he’d have to readjust himself.             I’m pretty confident once Harold realized the kitten wasn’t going to eat him or otherwise hurt him he calmed down a bit. Never took his eye off it but definitely wasn’t worth making a big fuss over. “Don’t worry Harold” I assured him. “Having a lady around the place will be a good change. Maybe we’ll have to start picking up after ourselves a little better.” Harold seemed unimpressed though I’ll admit ducks can sometimes be hard to read.             On the long drive home I had decided to name the kitten Rebecca, after someone I used to know. A life lesson as to why sometimes compassion, patience, and a little faith in people can go a long way. Why some things just can’t, or shouldn’t, be caged. And how any cage whether you like it or not will both keep something in and something out at the same time. Worst part is I had to make that mistake a few times before I even caught on it was a mistake. I had to make that mistake a few times more to figure out how not to. It also didn’t escape me none how cats can sometimes be a bit of a smart ass. So it seemed suiting. And yes, before I got in the truck back in town I looked to make sure we avoid the “Mr. Bojangles” naming accident. So the name was appropriate.             Pulled up to my long drive way late in the evening. About half way down the old dirt driveway stood Clarence casually chewing away at something. It was unusual to see him so far from the main house and not at the lake. If he was just doing his daily business he’d be busy munching on a tree, resting under a shady tree, taking a swim, or if he was truly bored wandering the woods on the other side of the house. To be in the drive way, something caught his attention.             My mind quickly raced to thoughts of wolves and bears. To hunters in the area, or thieves. To whatever damage may have been done to the property while I was away. Finally, to concerns that an old photograph I keep upstairs was still safe.             As I rolled up the drive way slowly I reached under my seat and felt around for my gun. I didn’t like guns, and I wasn’t really good with one. But this was Alaska. And no matter how big you think you are, there’s always something bigger than you. Especially trouble. As I pulled up to the house however I was pleasantly surprised to see an Army vehicle parked out front. Whatever they were here for, it wasn’t going to be dangerous so the gun made its way back home.             The brakes squeaked as I rolled to a stop and put the truck in park. As I got out I waited half a second for Harold to jump out after me. He waddled off towards the lake for the evening talking to himself the whole time. After Harold was gone I rolled the window down an inch for air and quickly shut the door. Rebecca didn’t need to be outside just yet.             Two men in uniform sat in chairs I had left on my deck. They sat forward in their chairs ready to get up at any moment, holding on their hats in their hands. They both had a symbol of a castle on their uniforms which wasn’t uncommon in this part of the country. The older of the two gentlemen had two solid silver bars on his shirt showing a Captain’s rank. Looking right at him I asked about his business. “Commander. What brings you this way?” He stood up from his chair and walked to the end the porch. “I’m here to introduce myself. And to talk to you a little about your camera.” He said. His voice carried a certain weight and confidence to it. Clearly someone who was familiar to being in charge and not to being told no.             “Well you should have told me you were coming. I could have saved you a trip. I was just in town today and I could have met you there.” I’m always cautious with new people, but I spoke friendly enough. As I approached him I held out my hand and he said “Daniels. Captain Daniels” and shook it. “Well you might as well as come inside. No sense in staying out here and feeding the mosquitoes.” I said as I entered the house. The two gentlemen happily followed.

Story 3

            People like to personify fear as being this big nasty snarling creature that comes up from behind like a lurch in an alley and consumes you. Some sort of proverbial boogyman that since the days of cavemen has been our biggest rival and predator. But anything that primal, that basic an entity into the lives of living creatures is going to be so much more sophisticated in its simplicity and cunning.

            After all, you evolved the ability to have fear because fear can keep you alive. Fear tells you when to run, when to fight, when to avoid, and when to hide. Fear is the thing we invoke and tempt when we do things purely for the rush like skydiving or driving fast.

            No fear is not some snarling monster. Fear is that the attractive person from across the room whom with a glance and a slight raise of their brow you instantly know is trouble. Yet you stay. Maybe because you arrogantly think you’ll be different from everyone else, you’ll be able to control it. Maybe because your mother didn’t really ever teach you how to prepare for this moment.

            But with their careful and confident walk over to you they have your attention and you can’t look away. They immediately come up close and invade your personal space, putting on hand on your waist and sliding it up your back between your shoulders. An action that makes it hard to get away. As they slide their hand up your back, to your shoulders, by your neck, they move their hand to your chest as if by magic without you noticing. Sliding their hand down your shirt to change your breathing, touching your skin and slowly applying more and more pressure they pull it back out. At their closest point they whisper in your ear, “run”. And as much as you may want to, you can’t. If they were to whisper anything else you’d do it without question, as if you weren’t yourself anymore. Your heart races as you stay stuck between excitement, anxiety, confusion, and empty thoughts. A victim to the spider’s web. That is fear.

            I awoke that morning much like any other. Far too early to the persistent nudging and purring of my live in roommate. No matter how many times I tried to gently push the snooze button on my fuzzy alarm I was still met with an eager, “yeow”. Like so many mornings before this was clearly a battle I was not meant to win. I dragged myself out of bed, and went into the kitchen where I lit the old stove and put some coffee on to drip. All the while my little friend ran figure eights in my legs. “yeowl!” she proclaimed as apparently I was not moving fast enough. “Yes Rebecca I know” I tried to assure her to no avail. Quickly I reached in the cupboard and put some cat food in a bowl. No sooner as I placed it on the flood was someone eating like a good little piglet.

            Outside the sun had already risen. There was a cool in the air as the new day’s sun had not warmed it yet. This left a slight mist or fog out in the field. And there at the top of the hill nibbling on the one apple tree was Clarence. If I ever needed to I swear I could tell time by the current location of that boy as he moved like clockwork. He stopped for just a moment to look at me as if to say hello or good morning and then went back about his day. I tried bringing him a banana I bought once from town but he didn’t seem to care for it. Apparently the boy just doesn’t like bananas. But in his defense there’s not really a conceivable reason why a wild moose in the middle of Alaska would ever come across a banana before.

            Clarence had been on the property since long before I bought it several years ago. In ancient days someone might have had a peacock, a donkey, or a llama on their property as an early warning system of something bad. I had Clarence without even asking, and the best part was depending on what the trouble was he’d even defend. Standing near 7 or 8 feet tall at the shoulder and not even considering the antlers he had Clarence was a force to be reckoned with. I still remember the day I bought the property I asked about him to the previous owner. His advice to me was “you just leave him be and he’ll leave you be”. Seemed simple enough but rather folksy. Then that night came when a bear looking for food came a little too close to the house and was trying to figure out how doorknobs work a little too well for my comfort, if it hadn’t been for Clarence chasing him off things could have gotten ugly fast.

            So yeah he stood up there in the morning dew munching away at the apple tree. As far as I was concerned that was his apple tree. No matter how many time he or the previous winters killed it I’ll always make sure there’s another one for him.

            Other than my usual wakeup call the morning was relatively uneventful. Rebecca immediately disappeared to find herself some trouble or chase the morning sunspot as soon as she got what she wanted. Clarence made his way from the apple tree at the hill to the birches on the far side of the field. As the day progressed he’d eventually wander down my long gravel road to the lake for a swim before coming back in the cool of the evening. This left me ample opportunity to finish my coffee and get dressed before loading up the old truck with some camera gear and heading into town to look for work. Something to keep me busy.

            The Army Corps of Engineers had made their way to this part of Alaska within the last few years to complete several projects and surveys. Things like bridges, roads, runways, that sort of thing. Part of their projects were more community based such as the bridge they built over the river past the valley. Others projects like most of these surveys, seemed to be more military oriented. Not sure really what they were looking for but they kept it close to the vest like military people do. I’d made a habit of driving into town and checking in on things. Sometimes the Captain had a survey job where he needed some photographs taken, other times the local print shop and newspaper would need images of an event in the area. Either way you got to talking to people and that always lead to learning something you hadn’t known before.

            I arrived into town still early and stopped like I usually do at the only thing open, Donna’s Diner. It just also happened to be the hub and heartbeat for everything going on in a 5 mile radius of town and Moose Lake. As soon as I walked in Donna poured me a cup of coffee, said hello, and told me to stay out of trouble. I wasn’t sure how to take that, but the smirk on her face suggested with a grain of salt. I sat at my usual stool and ordered a bagel with cheese.

            As we got past the usual pleasantries and daily routines I had gotten a chance to ask Donna if she’d heard anything interesting lately from people passing on through. “As a matter of fact” she said, “I did have a strange group of young men come through recently. Privates from the base who seemed a little rattled by something. Kept mentioning D.C. for some reason. I walked by them three times before any of them noticed I was there and ordered something.” It could have been nothing but it was worth looking into.

            After breakfast I made my way down the street on foot the Amy office to await the arrival Captain Wheeler shortly after they opened to the public for the day. The Captain always struck me as a reserved but open minded and clear headed guy. He wasn’t always quick to act and he could be persuaded, assuming you had a logical argument and enough hard evidence to support it. Being a soldier he also knew that sometimes you have to just do what you’re told and put your own views and feelings aside. And that sometimes meant once you make a commitment, you keep it.

            His lieutenant on the other hand was a young man who came across and loathing this assignment. I always got the impression he was looking to be a hero somewhere face in the dirt of some god awful forgotten piece of earth. Off bravely fighting and defending against fascists, or communists, or anarchists, or some other form of “ists”. Instead he was here surrounded by civilians whom he saw as the worst kinds of “ists”; pacifists.

            What he was, was a young man who didn’t know how well he had gotten it. It’s easy to mentally glorify war in the imagination, it’s another to endure it. Death much like birth isn’t pretty, and about 80% of it comes with an unexpected shit.

            The Army office opened without much ceremonial hub-to-do. As I heard the door unlock like it does this time every morning I reached for the handle of the big wooden door. Before I could grab it the door immediately swung open and I had stumbled backwards as to not be in the way and bump into the person making their departure. “Yes Captain. Understood. Until then.” They said in a soft voice looking back. It was Elizabeth, a local chemist in the area. As soon as she looked forward and I saw her face it all hit me. Just as it always does. Memories of days spent talking and laughing at Donna’s Diner. Social get togethers where out of the middle of nowhere she’d do something odd like lick the side of my face just to watch me squirm. Moon lit nights of passion and sex which were less about sex and more about just being as close to each other as physically possible. And new dawn mornings of her standing in the door way looking at the field wearing nothing but her underwear bottoms and my dirty button up shirt she had picked up off the floor. .

            The kind of comfort where underwear stops matching and becomes cotton whatevers, people don’t shave every day, you keep a few things over at their place, and your first and last thought is of them. Just assuming they’ll be there. Like a fool. As well as memories of her scream the night the car hit that ditch on the old road, or fights about nothing because neither of us really wanted to say what we thought.

            My gaze caught hers for only a minute before she hastily looked away. “Hi” she said with speed and at an almost inaudible volume. “Hi” I said, but the words were slow to arrive in my mouth and by the time I spoke she was already gone. We both knew inside, there would be a reckoning between us someday. Neither of us wanted to address it as we were both afraid of what it might do. To each other and to ourselves. So we just avoided each other as best we could for now, and hoped it never needed to happen.

            Despite my startling arrival I made my way inside the Army office where the Captain was already busy working at his desk. I didn’t inquire about Elizabeth’s business there though I wanted to. Instead I chose to ask if he had heard anything about D.C. lately which raised a brow. “Not that I know of” he replied. I knew he was hiding something but that was also part of his job. I told him the story I had heard about some personnel who arrived to the diner who seemed spooked. That I didn’t know if I should be here today as a photographer for him or for the paper down the street. And if there was anything he could clear up for me. He glanced briefly at a letter on his desk. I knew it was trouble. But he quickly kept up with his story that nothing was up or should be concerning. Instead he chose to change the subject and asked me to photograph a ravine in the area and to do so with haste as they needed to do some civil engineering models soon. With reluctance I took the job and made my way out of town. It’s where I’d end up spending my day.

            I arrived home late evening to find Clarence by the house laying underneath a tree I usually park my truck under. I honked once at him to make sure he knew I was there but he just looked at me for a moment before looking away and flicking one ear. Clearly the honk was being taken under advisement and was simply deemed not interested. So I pulled off to the side and walked the rest of the way. He was still wet from coming out of the lake and not far off. I could still hear ducks arguing over their giant intruder. All the while I couldn’t help but think about the morning and my interaction with the Captain. 9 times out of 10 if it feels like someone is trying to get rid of you or keep you busy, they are. Something didn’t smell right.

            The next morning I awoke to much my same routine. When I got to the kitchen however something just felt, wrong. The world seemed fine but it was off just a little bit. Looking around for some clue or note I found myself gazing out the window when it hit me. Clarence wasn’t at his tree. Clarence is never late. I began to panic just a little bit.

            There was a commotion near the front of the house. To my discovery it was Clarence. He was upset as his little tail moved and he looked on guard. His fur glistened sun for a moment before suddenly I knew with a sinking feeling. He was injured. Before I could make it to the door wolves come out from the tree line to stage what I could only assume was another attack.

            Everything just sort of happened in automatic mode from that moment.

            I went back into the kitchen and scooped up Rebecca mid chomp into some food. I carried her into my bedroom and shut her in my closet. Quickly I ran back into the living room still dressed for sleep and grabbed the truck keys. Slowly I made my way outside and to the truck. My hands shook and under my breath I repeated the words, “this is stupid, this is stupid”. My friend was in danger though and I had to act. As soon as the key was in the ignition and the engine turned I slammed the truck into reverse without looking and floored it. There was a loud “ka-chunk” and the truck shook. In front of me lay an injured wolf who quickly got up and made a break for the tree line. I looked at my mirrors frantically.

            Clarence was okay and making his way down the road. I knew he needed help still. Throwing the truck in drive and spinning out the back end swung around and I raced down the road past Clarence. If he got back into the tree line he was dead. Something just made me feel like he couldn’t leave.

            Near the end of the roadway I slammed the emergency break swinging the back end around to a 90 degrees and perpendicular to the road. Clarence was in no mood. At full speed he proceeded to ram the truck and crush my door. Glass exploded into cab and the wheels on that side lifted off the ground for a moment. Clarence shook his head for a moment and snorted what I could only assume was, “get out of my way old man”. In a frantic I began looking around the cab for anything that might send him another direction. With a wild turn of the dial the radio came on at full volume and started him back towards the house. He’d make his way up the hill to hide out by the apple tree.

            Upon arriving back at the house a scared and startled Rebecca who’s stomach didn’t appreciate the sudden grab had puked all over my shoes in the closet. One more thing I’d have to get fixed. I wanted to make a special stop in town today for some gauze, medical tape, and to see if the local vet had any tranquilizers for livestock. My hope was maybe I could slip something in an apple and while he slept, clean and bandage Clarence’s wound a bit. He’d look pretty dopey standing on that hill with a white square on his shoulder, but at least he’d be at the hill.

Story 4

          He stopped chewing his meal for a moment and looked up. His expression was one of alert inquiry. There was a faint smell of something burning slowly drifting in from the distance. Not a bird could be heard. Deep within him he knew, something was not right here. As he looked out ahead into the horizon he thought to himself, “war is coming” with the knowledge soon enough it would come for him. These moments would be the calm before storm for soon he would do battle.

          At least, that’s what I assume was the scenario that played out in Clarence’s head as he munched on pumpkins. In actuality his thoughts were probably more along the lines of, “mmm, yes, this is SO good”. Pumpkins are something that don’t grow naturally here and are only brought up from below for Halloween and maybe Thanksgiving. When the holiday is over it’s just a free buffet of goodness for the likes of a moose. Still it was amusing to me to think of him preparing for some mighty arctic war. Galloping bravely into battle with his coat of dwarven armor. Fear not creatures of this land for the might of the deer family has arrived. It was a lot nicer a thought than the realization I was going to have to clean up that pumpkin carcass when he was done with it. Or the nuggets he left me in the middle of the drive.