#in the meantime though check it out :D nice feets! proper feets!

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

I'm drawing various outfits for Karleeen (because what are you even doing if you aren't making digital paper dolls of your characters?) for the first time since about 2022. Back then I drew this pretty cute overalls design and I wanted to redraw it, compare!! (click to see full images)

[artnerd1123]

A Familiar World

Play Nice, Boys! (Journal Version) ——————————————

After being forced out of his home, a place to lay his head down is all Journal wants. He’s even willing to brave a new town to find such a place. But when he steps foot on busy streets, nothing seems as clear cut as he’d hoped. Especially when the apartment comes with a little more than he paid for…

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————

(note: this is a repost bc I updated and changed some stuff!)

after approximately 500 years read: 2 months, i finally finished Journal’s side of this fateful first encounter!!! it’s longer than aiden’s was, but Journal’s got a whole lot on his plate. Hope y’all enjoy~ Aiden’s perspective of this is back in the chapter post, right below this one!

oh, and there are mentions and brief memories of abuse in here. please be careful y’all!

                                                      ————

When Journal said he wanted to travel around the region, this was definitely not what he had in mind. His feet ached from walking so long in his old boots. His shoulder was painfully sore from carrying the weight of his burlap sack. His long, dark brown hair- up in a ponytail- stuck to his sweaty neck. The dust turned his red leggings maroon, left muddy stains on his white undershirt, and washed out his blackened tunic. He was lucky he’d grabbed some sun salve, or he’d be as red as his magic. As it was, he felt hot enough to be on the surface of the sun. He let out a soft groan as he readjusted his sack.  Next time I’m running from home, I’ll remember to grab a horse. Glancing down at the crumpled map in hand, Journal tried to judge just how much farther he’d have to go. The village he’d stayed in that night was far behind him; he’d been walking since early that morning. The red path marked on the map told him nothing new. It wound sideways towards the town Nettles had circled in blue. Why was it that he couldn’t travel as fast as her pencils could trace? The thought of his mentor made him pick up his pace. After hammering out travel plans with Nettles, she’d had him stay in the woods for a few days. She watched his old farm in the meantime. When his family was far enough from the house, she’d sent the younger sorcerer back to gather whatever else he wanted. It was still a pitiful amount of his life, but it was better than the almost nothing he’d had before. Nettles gave him a proper sack to hold his things in, and he’d hit the road on his own. The dull ache of miles spent on his feet was nothing compared to the sting still embedded in his chest. He knew there was no way to go back, but… how could he not miss everything he’d known? His town? His siblings? His old magic mentor? It was a bittersweet feeling. Painful, relieving, terrifying, and freeing. All wrapped up in a bundle of uncertainty. Journal still wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about this. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a lot of things. But, sure or not, he knew he had to keep moving. Getting to this town and finding a place to stay was the most important thing in the world. It was the only thing he had left, anyway. He tried not to scuff his boots on the ground as he kept walking. Another glance at the map told him a forest bordered the town. It was right along his path, and, if he was lucky, perhaps he could reach it by- A gasp slipped out of his throat. “Oh Revaew’s Web- trees!” Journal yelled hoarsely. A huge grin split his face as his pace jumped into a jog. More trees peeked over the horizon the faster he went. So he sped up. Faster, faster faster! Until, with a giddy laugh, he rushed right into the shade of the closest evergreen tree. It was cool, luxurious bliss. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. The sorcerer took a moment to just enjoy in the smell of pine and forest litter. I’m so close! He thought gleefully. Just through this forest, and I’ll be-! … I’ll... I’ll be… … somewhere new. And I’ll make it into my own home. Just you wait. 

                                                        ————

Journal’s walk through the forest turned out to be both longer and shorter than he imagined. Longer because he was terribly impatient to reach the town, but shorter because the sun barely seemed to have moved when buildings peeked through the trees. He picked up his pace at the sight, trying to ignore the aching soreness in his legs. He’d be able to sit down soon. Hell, he could even lie down soon if he wanted. He’d rented his own apartment. Well, almost his own. It had room for a roommate, but the landlord had said it might be a month or two until someone else showed up. That meant he had to pay for the entire apartment himself. But that also meant it was just his for now. A place of his very own, with nobody else to trample around and mess with his stuff. … and nobody there to be his company for awhile, either. He tried not to think about that. Walking faster, the buildings that loomed over the trees slowly came into view. And they weren’t the only things to slowly reveal themselves. Journal felt his stomach do a flip at the appearance of large, crowded streets, filled with all manners of people, stands, shops… When Nettles said town, I thought she meant like my town. Not a mini city. The sorcerer stood awkwardly in the middle of the path, just watching people scurry around from a distance. He tried to picture himself among the rush of people. Despite his imagination, he couldn’t quite fit himself in there. Just a misfit, his mind whispered. You’re not about to fit in here either. He shook his head, trying to ignore it. His hand had found its way to the bruise on his cheek; he forced it back to his side. I’m gonna fit. I’m gonna make it work. Anywhere is a better fit than there. Thus, the sorcerer sauntered off towards the town. All he needed to do now was find his apartment building. Piece of cake.

Striding down the streets actually turned out to be a bit of an agility exercise. People were literally everywhere. Ducking into shops, running off down the street, taking a stroll with their friends and familiars... avoiding them was like dancing through a field of thorns. Journal felt himself tense up every time someone bumped him. Nobody was out to get him here, but strangers brushing against him still sent an uncomfortable zing up his spine. If this was city life, he’d need to unlearn a lot of old habits. He jumped as a vendor suddenly shouted out next to him, nearly dropping his sack of things. “Ghh-! Geez…” That, and find a job somewhere quieter and calmer than the street. The yelling of vendors scattered around layered over the steady buzz of conversation, footsteps, doors opening and closing, and assorted other townish noises. There was just so much sound. He could barely bear it now; he couldn’t imagine working in it. A quick glance above heads told him the apartment building was close. A wave of relief washed over him. The sorcerer did his best to shoulder his way through a crowd headed in the opposite direction. Towards some bar, from the looks of another glance. Lively. I just hope this place has a library. After a few more minutes of painfully pushing through a sea of people, Journal found himself on the doorstep of an apartment building. He barely even spared his map a glance to check the address; his place or not, he needed off these Revaew damned streets. Ducking into the building, though, proved the crowds were harder to lose than previously thought. His face fell in dismay at the sight of a reception room chock full of travellers. The clerk was clear on the other side of the room, and looking quite busily frazzled. Why did there have to be so many people here? What in Revaew’s name is going on in this town?! He just wanted to get to his room. And, at this rate? He was willing to do anything to get there. Taking a deep breath and putting on his most determined face, he stepped into the room. Marching through a crowd was easy when you looked ticked enough to stomp right over people. He found himself in front of the counter quite quickly. The busy clerk didn’t notice him, though, until he rang the reception bell. The guy jumped; Journal would’ve felt sorry had he not been so out of sorts himself. “Uh, hey, I’m here to get my room key?” Journal huffed. “Wh- u-uh- of course, young man! Terribly sorry about the wait,” the clerk sputtered. He set down a huge stack of papers, and reached for a large book. Records, if Journal had to guess. “I-I’ll need your name, sir.” When Journal tried to answer automatically, it came out as a bit of a mess. “It’s Theo- er- no, Jour- I-I mean-” he stammered, tripping over his words. The clerk watched on as he floundered for a minute. The people behind him muttered in annoyance. Journal’s face was bright red before he took a breath to steady himself. Letting out a mildly strained chuckle, he flashed the clerk a quick showman’s smile. “... Last name Drapht. Do you have anyone with the last name ‘Drapht’ in there?” Ah, the joy of hating your given name. Journal felt himself bristling at the thought of it. He’d bought the apartment, and it was in a new town, where nobody knew him… but it was Nettles who had handled the paperwork. He didn’t know what name she’d put down. After all, he was sure nobody would rent an apartment to someone named after a notebook. Even if he’d rather be called one over ‘Theodore.’ The clerk muttered to himself as he quickly flipped around in his records. “Druft… droph… daft…? There’s to many ��d’ names here- oh- aha! There you are!” The clerk tapped a spot on his book. “Drapht, was it? I’ve got a room here for a Journal Drapht.” The rush of relief at hearing a simple nickname was immense. Journal silently thanked Nettles a thousand times over as he nodded. “Perfect!!!” the clerk chirped. It seemed Journal wasn’t the only one relieved by confirmation. The man snapped, a key appearing in a flash of orange sparks. He practically tossed it at Journal- the sorcerer barely had time to catch it before the clerk launched into a mini tirade. “That’s your room key, and it’s the only way anyone can have access to your room if nobody’s at the desk. Remember that there’s no refunds, and I apologize in advance if anything is messy; cleaning rooms has been a real hassle lately with so many people. Thank you, and enjoy your stay!” And with that, the sorcerer was shoved out of the way by the next person in line. Journal shot them a glare, but they didn’t see it. Too many people were moving towards the counter for anyone to see much of anything. He just turned towards the steps. He’d focus on whatever that clerk had said once he was out of that loud, pushing-and-shoving, no-concept-of-personal-space crowd. Journal was quite pleased to find the staircase empty. Even if he could still hear the buzz of people in the next room, he finally had breathing space. He leaned against the wall while he took quick stock of everything. His bag of things still hung over his shoulder. The map was in his pocket. The key to his room- his new home- was held tightly in his hand. He was here, in this building, and he’d made it there on his own. Good. Okay. … Hopefully I don’t need to worry about whatever the clerk said about refunds, he thought. This place was expensive.

The trip up the stairs and down the hall didn’t take too long. Journal was happy to find that the apartment was near the stairwell. At least he wouldn’t have to wander around the building for awhile to find his way out. He glanced down at the key in his hand as he stood in front of the doorway. The gold metal glinted up at him. ‘Room 213,’ the glowing orange numbers said. His new home. All he needed to do was unlock that door, and he’d be… … … Is it really home? A terrifying thought. But not one he’d let himself dwell on. Journal straightened up, squaring his shoulders. If it wasn’t his home now, he’d make it his home eventually. That was a promise. Without further thought, he stuck the key in the lock. One satisfying click and turn of a doorknob later, he’d walked into the middle of what looked like a living room. The wooden floor was bare, as were the yellow walls. One window, half covered by moth eaten curtains, was the only source of light in the dim space. It was sparsely furnished. A beat-up couch sat against one wall, its cushions worn from use. A coffee table sat in front of it. It was a rough looking, with its stains and chipped wood, but looked sturdy. A few empty book cases stood guard on either side of a hallway entrance. A pair of armchairs sat forlornly next to them. Other than those few things, the room was empty. The place felt lived in, but vacant. Homey, but foreign. Someplace he could… probably grow into. It was a start. “I should light this place up,” he muttered to himself. Journal crossed the room to set his sack of things down on the couch, tossing his cloak down next to it. The sorcerer made sure to open the curtains in front of the window. A peek outside showed the forest that bordered the town. Daylight shone softly against the floor and walls of the living room. The sight drained a bit of tension. … Better. He figured exploring the rest of the apartment would do him some good. For familiarity, and all that. The hallway was still dim, so he opted to check out the kitchen. Bare countertops, a lonely table and chairs, empty cabinets, and a quietly dripping sink greeted him. Aside from the woody brown of the floor, the only splash of color was the walls; still the same daffodil yellow as the living room. An air of silent emptiness hung like a mist over the room. At least there were more windows. He opened up their curtains quickly. Next was… whatever was down the hallway. He stood warily in front of the dark passage. Long dark hallways never added up to anything good in his legend books. He knew this one had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a closet, but he still didn’t like that long of a hallway. The shadows cast down there were… disconcerting.  … It’s fine. Nevertheless, the sorcerer held out his hand before him, letting a small red flame kindle in his palm. Nothing wrong with shedding a little light on the situation. As it turned out, the first door on his left was the bathroom. Dull white walls and cold white floor tiles, with the whole place starkly undecorated. Seemed reasonable enough. If not a tad unsettling when bathed in red firelight. There was a door across from the bathroom, but that ended up being some sort of storage closet. Going farther down the hall, Journal opened another door. This one was a bedroom. The bed was in the center of the room, along with a desk, and a few bookshelves. Why they were left all in a cluster was beyond him. But the sight perked him up. Here was the section of the apartment he could really call home! Not to mention it was so big. The sorcerer’s wide eyes slowly moved about the room, taking stock of just how much room there really was. He’d never had that much space to himself. Truly to himself! Even if he had to share the apartment down the line, he’d never have to share his room. He let out a low whistle. “Now this. This is what I’m talkin about,” he grinned. He had to get his stuff set up in there as soon as possible. Trotting back down the hall, the sorcerer certainly had some pep in his step. “Got a new room alllll to myself,” Journal hummed happily. “Just me ‘n my scepter ‘n books. No sharing with anyone at all~” When he reached for his sack, however, he noticed a strange tan stain on the cushions. He paused with one hand hovering over the fabric. His brows furrowed. Since when had ‘tan splotches’ been an interior design choice...? The answer came to him when his eyes wandered back over to his sack. The same tan splotches were all over it. Glancing down at himself, he saw the same shade all over his clothes and boots. … and the floor. Journal winced. Ah. Right. Road travel is… dusty. Guess I oughta take a shower then, huh…? He thought ruefully. The sorcerer gave an annoyed huff before tossing his sack over his shoulder. Might as well drop it off in his room before he goes to wash off…

                                                       ————

Steam floated lazily around the bathroom; beads of condensed water leaving streaks down the mirror. Journal stood motionless in front of it. Just silently staring. The shower had been warm. A little odd, since he wasn’t used to having hot water available for one. The towels, too, were nice and fluffy. It was all so refreshing. But shower and towel quality wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. The reflection in the glass before him was. Journal’s fingers had brushed against the bruise on his cheek before. He’d felt the impact of the hand that caused it. The soreness spiked when he made faces. He knew it was there. How could he not? What he hadn’t known was that it covered his whole cheek. Gently pulling back damp hair, the sorcerer stared at the purplish blue mark. The ugly mottled coloring gave him a sinking feeling in his gut. His blank expression shifted a bit as his brows furrowed. It was as if someone had branded him. Branded him with a reminder of the night he’d left. As if he’d ever forget it. He’d never get the sight of his parents standing amidst his things, holding up his scepter in utter disgust, out of his head. Or that of his writings, scattered around the floor, torn in a frenzy. He could still hear the wild smack of a raging palm, still feel the devastating sting, still see the utter disappointment of his father, and the furiously screaming face of his mother- With a jolt, he realized the bruise was the same shape as the hand that struck him. Branded for your failure, his mother’s voice seemed to hiss. “Shut up,” Journal mumbled, grimacing. He let his hair fall back in front of his cheek. The last thing he wanted to see was that stupid bruise.

                                                      ———— 

Once he’d magicked the dust from his clothes, restyled his hair, and redressed, the sorcerer decided to head back to his room. He figured the best cure for his rising feelings of discomfort was to start making one of the bedrooms his own. That way he’d have at least one island of familiarity.  He took stock of his furniture as he rolled up his sleeves. The bookshelves could go along one wall, and his desk against another. His bed, he could put in a corner. Yes. That’s it. He could already see it all coming together. All he needed now was to set his stuff out of the way. The sorcerer tried for a smile as he set his sack down on the bed. Let’s get things started, shall we? And with that, Journal started pushing his bookshelves towards the walls. The sound of wood on wood wasn’t exactly pleasant, but they moved easily enough. It was just a matter of making sure they got into place without squashing himself between furniture and a wall. It was all going well until he heard something over the sound of his work. The sound was like… floorboards creaking…? “... the hell…?” he muttered, pausing to listen. “... am I goin’ crazy, or did i jus hear-?” “Uh… hello?” a voice suddenly called. Journal practically jumped out of his skin, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled back. “What in Revaew’s web-?!” he yelped. Who the fuck is in my apartment?! Nervous, but determined to find out what was going on, the sorcerer quickly trotted over to the door. He peeked out into the hallway, wary suspicion painted all over his face. What he saw did nothing to clear up his confusion. A tall, heavyset blue haired man stood in the hall. A battered looking purple ribbon held the man’s hair back in a bun. He looked about as dusty as Journal had been before his shower, his purple cloak muddied and white shirt tanned. His pants and boots must have already been some shade of brown, because they didn’t look too bad. But the man was also holding what looked like some sort of… indigo... cat…? It wasn’t anything Journal had ever seen before. It just peeked warily at him from under a patchy brown cloak. In any case, the man and his cat looked just as shocked and apprehensive as Journal felt. Who are they…? His eyes slid over the two slowly, taking them in. He reached up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear, trying to buy himself time to think. Maybe they were just a couple employees or something. Haltingly, he spoke up.   “... um… can I… help you…?” The indigo cat fidgeted anxiously, and the blue haired stranger let it hide itself in his cloak. He cleared his throat, glancing Journal over. “Er… yes, I believe so. You’re living in room two thirteen?” the stranger asked hesitantly. “Yyyyyes…? I bought it a week ago,” Journal answered hesitantly, gaze flicking over the questor again. He could see the hesitance all over this guy’s face, but there was plenty of confusion too. Evidently he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t expecting company. “Alright. Well, I’m… sorry if you weren’t informed, but Roo and I are your new roommates,” he explained. “I wasn’t… uh… told you’d moved in. Or I would’ve knocked.” Wait, what? Journal’s mouth opened and shut a few times. Roommates? This soon? This soon? He straightened himself up indignantly, thoughts flicking from budding outrage and outright bafflement. “What-? I- really? So soon?” he sputtered. “Sorry if you weren’t expecting it,” the stranger said gently, “I’m sure we can wait a day if you need time to-” “No- no, you- that’s not the problem!” Journal broke in. Why hadn’t anyone told him about this?! Had he done something wrong at the desk? Checked in early? Or had they just shoved the first person who needed a place into his apartment? He huffed in annoyance, running a hand through his hair. “You two shouldn’t- this can’t be right. I was told I would have this place to myself for at least a month or two!” “Hey- hey, it’ll be alright,” the stranger tried, holding up a hand. “We can get all this sorted out. Maybe there was some miscommunication issue.” Journal wasn’t really listening. After all, he’d bought this apartment. With a huge chunk of his savings. And no matter how gently the stranger tried presenting it, a “miscommunication” was sounding less and less likely. He fought to keep panic down, just hanging tight to that bubbling outrage of such a thing happening in the first place. “But I paid for this room in full! On my own!” Journal cried. “I never would’ve done that if I’d known you’d be here so soon!” “That’s… that’s what we paid for, too,” the stranger said slowly. “And nobody told me this place already had someone moving in.” “I… I… ghhhh...”Journal’s shoulders slumped. He put a hand to his forehead. Of all the things… “What the hell. I do not need this right now.” “That’s how I’m feeling about this,” the stranger replied. He rubbed his face, sighing tiredly. Journal could see clearly that this had shaken him up as well. It seemed like neither of them could really believe the situation. But… what was he to do? It was just his luck for all this to come crashing down on him. He’d been planning on settling into his apartment on his own before tackling the rest of the town. He couldn’t even manage that now that someone else was here. He didn’t even know the guy. What if he was a shady jerk or something? Normally, he wouldn’t entertain the notion- especially since the guy hadn’t done much besides walk in and try to sort things out- but this wasn’t his town, wasn’t his house, and he wasn’t ready to go out in the streets if he had someone unfamiliar in the hous- “Hey, tell you what,” the stranger spoke up suddenly. Journal jumped a bit, jerked out of his thoughts. He shot the stranger a wary glance as he continued talking. “How about we go down and talk to the clerk? I’m sure I can get him to give us back half what we both paid.” Journal blinked. What? Had he really just… heard that? … maybe my luck’s turned a bit, some hopeful corner of his mind mumbled. He gave it a hard nudge. He’d just have to see how this worked out. “... are you sure...?” Journal asked a little bluntly. “I’m sure,” the stranger said firmly, waving in the door’s direction. “Someone needs to sort out this mess anyways, hm?” … He had a point. And the stranger looked… honest. Despite how hard he looked, he didn’t find any ill will in the stranger’s gentle gaze. “... yeah… yeah. ok,” Journal sighed. “Let’s… do this. Or whatever.” “Alright. Hopefully this won’t take too long.”

                                                     ————

It was half an hour before they could get ahold of the clerk. The stranger’s cat was up in the room, the two humans deciding to leave it out of the tense situation. Standing in front of the desk, they watched as the clerk frantically flicked through his paperwork. Journal crossed his arms, foot tapping in annoyance. Couldn’t he handle this any faster? “Roommates- I swear I didn’t- ohhh, where did I put those records-?!” The clerk stammered worriedly. “It’s alright, just take your time. We’re fine,” the stranger said gently. Journal shot him a biting look. They were most definitely not fine. How could he say that? “What were your names again?” The clerk asked miserably. “I’m so sorry. They’ve slipped my mind.” “Aiden Pingere. It may be in as just Pingere, I forget which.” “Theo- I mean- Journal. Journal Drapht.” “Thank you. One moment...” The clerk waved his hands, a soft orange mist appearing over his papers. He muttered under his breath as Journal and the stranger, Aiden, watched on. … geez… this day really had to get worse, didn’t it? He thought miserably. He thought he’d gotten somewhere safe for once. Somewhere all to his own. But here he was, watching the clerk shuffle papers for some early roommate mixup. He couldn’t even share his life with family anymore. And now he had a complete stranger shoved into his brand new apartment, way way ahead of time. Day one, and I’ve already messed up. Journal crossed his arms, just trying to ward off any more anxious thoughts. Maybe it would be ok. There would be another room for the stranger and his cat to stay in temporarily, or something. He wouldn’t have to worry about them until he was ready to have them move in. He’d… he’d be fine to just live on his own. By himself. In that big, dark apartment upstairs.   … who was he kidding? This whole thing was just a nightmare.   Just as he was about to step outside for some air, the clerk straightened up. Both he and Aiden looked to him expectantly. “Aha, right here! I’ve got your records.” The clerk paused. “... and it… it does say you both have room 213. Oh dear.” Aiden let out a loud sigh. Journal swore under his breath. “You’re serious? Isn’t there anything you can do to fix that?!” Journal asked helplessly. This was exactly the thing he was afraid of! He made a desperate gesture in Aiden’s direction, trying to gain some traction. “Neither of us paid for a room with a roommate!” “Is there another room one of us could take?” Aiden inquired. “Some place else one of us could stay?” “I’m afraid not,” the clerk replied. “I’ve sold out all my rooms for at least the next few months. You’ll just have to share the room you have, or try and get another down the street.” “Oh Revaew…” Aiden muttered. “Months…?” Journal echoed weakly. It was now that he remembered the policy on refunds was… nonexistent. His hand strayed to the nearly empty pouches of coins in his pocket. He had only a handful to his name after all this… There was no way he’d be able to get another room. Much less handle groceries for long, if he didn’t get a job. Could he, if he was worried about what was going on at the apartment? Preoccupation didn’t do you good when you were trying to seem friendly and open in an interview. What was he supposed to do? Before his thoughts could get any farther, though, Aiden spoke up again. “Listen, I don’t know if your superior planned this or not, but neither of us should’ve paid that much. Do you think you can help us out a bit?” “I- uh- maybe- dep- depends on what you want?” the clerk stammered uncertainly. Evidently, he wasn’t used to such upfront questions with a ‘no refunds’ sign on the desk. And… Journal wasn’t sure where Aiden was going with this. “I’d like you to halve the amount we both paid, and give us back what we’re owed,” he said simply. The clerk blinked. Journal’s mouth dropped open a bit in surprise. Aiden looked back at the clerk calmly. Had he really just…? “It’s only right, wouldn’t you think?” Aiden asked gently. Well, it sounded gentle. But his gaze was firm and unmovable. “I… uh… I suppose…” the clerk mumbled. Glancing around nervously, he tapped his pencil on his records paper. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can-?” “Sir, please. I promise we won’t bother you again.” “... no promises,” Journal mumbled, giving him a cold side-eye. With that sort of fuck up before, he wasn’t about to agree not to that. No matter how much sighing and nervous muttering the clerk did. Thankfully, it didn’t take the clerk nearly as long to rewrite their records and hand over the gold they were owed. When it was all over, Journal and Aiden gave each other an uncertain look. “... welp. Guess we better go get settled in,” Aiden said hesitantly. “... right,” Journal huffed sulkily. He hated how positive Aiden was trying to be about all this. He wasn’t about to get all “buddy buddy” with a guy he didn’t know. Even if they were stuck together. “You don’t touch my stuff, I won’t touch yours.” “Ooookay then… fair enough.” Good. And with that, Journal turned on his heel and left for the stairs. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer. Kicked out of home, stuck living in a loud town, with a complete stranger as his roommate… What in Revaew’s web had he gotten himself into…?

[porchwood]

THG Reread: Interesting Tidbits from Ch 1

Disclaimer: I’ve never taken part in any official THG reread/discussion and I essentially read the book in isolation, so anything I say in these posts may well have been discussed and dismissed years ago.

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and crawled in with our mother.

I find it interesting that Prim leaves Katniss to find comfort with their mother, especially since Katniss seems to see herself as Prim’s sole protector and provider. Are Prim and Mrs. Everdeen closer than Katniss realizes (having such an abrasive relationship with her mother as she does) or is it simply that Mom will always be Mom and in a moment of terror most children prefer the embrace of their mother over a sibling?

Also: sleeping directly on a rough canvas-covered mattress? Are bed sheets are that great a luxury in the Seam? :(

I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers…

So she gets out of bed and puts on her boots, then her trousers... So...girl’s a firefighter, right? :D

(Sorry for the crummy pics. Apparently the Tumblr presence of the Emergency! fandom is microscopic at best - I guess that happens with a ‘70s show :P - so these are screenshots I made from the S1 DVD, because yes, I’m that big of an Emergency! fangirl and you can never have too much Johnny Gage!)

It gives “girl on fire” a whole new meaning!! ;D

All merriment aside, we know that fire was a constant danger in the Seam, with its “old wooden homes embedded with coal dust,” so it’s entirely possible that residents slept with trousers and boots in readiness at the bedside, to be stepped into at a moment’s notice for a rapid escape if needed.

I…tuck my long dark braid up into a cap…

This has been discussed in previous rereads so it really isn’t news, but I’d love to see more Katniss-in-a-cap popping up in fics and fanart. THG opens in summertime and she’s still wearing the cap, so it was definitely a staple of her wardrobe! (And it brings us a little closer to the girl-disguised-as-a-boy trope, which is one of my all-time faves! :D)

(Behold this adorable @ghtlovesthg rendering!)

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour…

Somehow I had always (erroneously) assumed that there was just one twelve-hour shift that all the miners worked (ex. 6am-6pm). Since artificial light would be required inside the mines anyway, I suppose they could work around the clock with no regard to the sun and stars. Folks who live in/near coal mining communities: do they generally operate 24 hours a day or is there some arbitrary cut-off point in the evening? (I’m sorry I’m so ignorant about this!)

Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt…

Has anyone else figured out who these mysterious additional hunters are??

I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread. He could be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin, we even have the same gray eyes. But we’re not related, at least not closely.

First off: it truly befuddles me that Katniss’s hair color is stated on page 8 of THG (though, interestingly, never explicitly afterward) and yet it’s unusual - maybe even rare - to find fanart or even fics that depict her with black hair. Why is that? I was in love with her long black hair from moment one (truly black hair is unique, at least in my part of the world, and so striking to boot) so I probably belabor it a bit in my own writing, but it’s such an exquisite feature, why would you not?

Secondly: “He could be my brother.” That feels significant, and not merely in the “we look alike” sense. I’ve been working on a post about how Gale came into Katniss’s life in a very significant fashion after her beloved father’s death and she was drawn to him because of certain (I would venture to say striking) commonalities, but as I was wrapping it up last night (and sharing various details with my favorite sounding-board @ghtlovesthg), I realized there was a whole - vitally important - flipside to my theory that absolutely cannot be overlooked. So I might not get that finished till we’re on CF or even MJ. (No spoilers just in case someone pips me at the post - pun inadvertent ;) - but I think it’s pretty cool!)

And thirdly, because I can’t resist: I headcanon that Gale and Katniss are cousins through their great-great-grandfather (Galen Greenbrier, if anyone cares :D), who had two daughters (Aisling and Elspeth), who each had a daughter (Wren and Ashpet), who had Hazelle and Jack (Mr. Everdeen), who begat Gale and Katniss, respectively. Ergo: related but “not closely,” per canon. :)

With both of us hunting daily…

I’d always thought Gale and Katniss only hunted a few times a week, with Sundays being their largest haul/best trading day. (“Usually we devote all of Sunday to stocking up for the week.”) I know Twelve is an unusually permissive district at this point in time, but if two Seam kids were sneaking back and forth under the fence every single day and (forgive me) flaunting the fact by selling game in town (and when did they do this? before school, after, both?), surely, inevitably, the Peacekeepers would have been obliged to do something about it. Or were there some trips where Gale and Katniss only brought back enough for their own families, making their illegal activities not quite so blatant?

Cross-referencing with Catching Fire, I find Katniss saying, “Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the lines and hunt and gather and still get back to town to trade” - exactly what time did they get out of school and how late were they doing these trades (not to mention, when did anyone get homework done)?? - but she also says it’s “an hour-and-a-half trek” just to check the snare line. I guess it isn’t impossible, but it seems a much more extensive (and time-consuming!) arrangement than I would have thought they could get by with, even in Twelve.

We easily trade six of the fish for good bread…

Like the rest of you, I’m trying to figure out who’s selling this “good bread” at the Hob. For some odd reason, at one point I thought maybe the bakery’s day-olds were sold there, à la:

They could potentially sell said day-olds at less of a discount than merchant clientele would demand but the reduced prices would be low enough for some Seam clientele to afford, and of course, even day-old bakery bread would be superior to homemade tessera bread (and therefore: “good bread”). 

I’m not sure where I got the “bakery outlet” idea (I think it was all the early canonverse fics where Katniss ran into Peeta in the Hob, so I figured he was running a day-olds stall or something) but having been away from it for awhile, I actually kind of like it! :)

You become eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve.

I’m going to wax exceedingly about reaping ages in another post, but for the moment: I presume this rule means that anyone who turns twelve between reaping days becomes eligible for the subsequent reaping, correct? So if we arbitrarily set the reaping at, say, June 1, someone whose birthday is on June 2 wouldn’t be eligible till the following year. (Which would be especially terrible for your 18-yr-old reaping: being a day away from 19 and freedom, of a sort, but still having to go through one last reaping.) Now I think of it, it’s possible Career districts took advantage of this. Highly invested parents in a Career district could have planned their pregnancies with the intent of a late summer birth (i.e., a month or two after reaping day) so the resulting children would have the advantage of extra months up on other tributes in their same age group.   

On the flipside of this: Prim, whose birthday is in late May, would be an especially young tribute, since she’s only just turned twelve (think school kids with summer birthdays who don’t turn the “right age” for their grade till 1-3 months after school is out), and similarly Katniss, whose birthday is May 8, would be on the young side of the group of sixteens. 

“Pretty dress,” says Gale.

Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it’s a genuine compliment or if he’s just being ironic. It is a pretty dress, but she would never be wearing it ordinarily. She presses her lips together and then smiles. “Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don’t I?”

Now it’s Gale’s turn to be confused. Does she mean it? Or is she messing with him? I’m guessing the second.

Gaaah, so much going on here! I can’t decide if I want to make a proper Gadge post, so in the meantime, here’s some food for thought:

1) Why does Gale remark on her dress? Really - give me suggestions, because I’ve been turning it over in my head. If it’s meant to be ironic and she gives him sarcasm in reply (as seems to be the quintessential Gadge dynamic :D), it’s odd that he would be confused and not have a volley/riposte/etc of his own on deck. I mean, Katniss doesn’t seem to know (or at least, doesn’t clarify in her narration) whether or not it’s a compliment -

2) Which is interesting, because she guesses straightaway that Madge is “messing with him” in reply. ;)

3) Gale gives Madge what outwardly seems like a compliment and this is what ensues. One might surmise they’ve done this before... :D I mean, if there was no precedent, Madge would’ve just said “thank you” and exchanged money for berries. Since the mayor is such a valuable customer (being one of very few who can afford their asking price for strawberries), it’s interesting that Gale would antagonize Madge and risk losing the strawberry trade - not to mention bringing up the subject of tesserae at the mayor’s back door on reaping day! Does he take similar potshots at other merchants or is it just Madge? Is he irked (even threatened) by Katniss’s friendship with Madge? (I love that Katniss immediately defends Madge in the face of Gale’s tesserae rant. ♡) Does he feel like he can sound off at her (with impunity) because she’s Katniss’s friend? Or is he secretly crazy about her and resigned to the fact that he’ll never get her but the reminders of the impassable gap between them still incense him? Sorry, my hand slipped there for a sec. ;) 

Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected.

I didn’t recall this line from previous reading and it just makes me happy. :)

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. [...]  For a while I was so angry, I wouldn’t allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.

I’d never caught the “matching shoes” bit before! Do you suppose Katniss means dyed [blue] to match/covered with matching fabric (so that’s what they do at the shoe shop!) or simply that they go well with the dress? And if she means that the shoes literally match the dress: is this a particularly special dress (hence particularly special shoes) or is it customary for merchant girls to order shoes to match their dresses?

And further: why this year? It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Everdeen has offered one of her apothecary-era dresses before, which could have been due to Katniss’s repeated rebuffs, but still: why offer one of those very precious dresses this year? Did she have a feeling about this reaping? Or is she starting to see Katniss as a young woman, not just an angry, resourceful child? (Coupled with the fact that she subsequently puts Katniss’s hair up, the latter makes a lot of sense.) 

On a sidenote: Has anyone written meta on the significance/usage of braids in Twelve? (Notwithstanding WTM: Ch 13 and all that Mellark bridal braids/braid coils/engagement hairpin business.) Ex. Does a girl "graduate” from pigtails to a single braid around puberty and then to a crown braid as a young woman/wife, or does she/her mother simply style it however she feels on any given day? I’m just now realizing that I consistently picture reaping day!Prim in pigtails because of the film, but it doesn’t state in the text how her hair is styled, so it might be in a single braid or held back at the temples with a clip or even worn loose.

The square’s surrounded by shops, and on public market days, especially if there’s good weather, it has a holiday feel to it.

I’m really curious about “public market days,” since the Hob seems to be Twelve’s primary market - or at least, has become so in fanon - but Katniss makes a clear distinction between them (“Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades at the Hob, which is the black market where I make most of my money”). Is this public market like a farmer’s market or a craft fair - or a bit of both? Is it simply the “merchant version” of the Hob? How often are they held? Who gets to sell at this market, and what sort of wares are we talking about? (Is it just merchants bringing their product outside, like a sidewalk sale?) Does the Capitol/Justice Building collect a fee from everyone wanting a stall/booth/table?

Edit: While looking up details for a different post, I found this passage:

Gale and I went to the market on the square so that I could buy dress materials [for Prim].

So apparently they sold fabric and notions in the public market? (Not at, say, a mercantile/general store?) I’m wholly confused now!

[robertkstone]

2019 Hyundai Veloster N First Test Review

Hyundai products’ year-over-year progress seems to improve at an exponential rate rather than a linear or incremental one. The step between one generation of a model and its successor is much larger than most manufacturers achieve. Hyundai’s quality, dynamics, and even styling seem to skip a generation while advancing a generation. The Veloster is no exception. Of the first-generation Veloster, we said, “When Hyundai gives it the engine it desperately needs and tunes the suspension to deliver the sportiness the exterior suggests, [the Veloster] will be the hottest pocket-rocket in the segment.” Well, guess what? For 2019, Hyundai did those things and the Veloster advanced to our 2019 Car of the Year finalist round.

In the meantime, however, Honda sucked all the air out of the room by offering for the first time in the U.S. its enigmatic Civic Type R. After setting numerous front-wheel-drive lap records the world over, including at our 2018 Best Driver’s Car competition, it also earned finalist status in our 2018 Car of the Year contest. If that weren’t enough, in a sport compact comparison test against a Ford Focus RS, Subaru WRX STI Type RA, and a Volkswagen Golf R, we named it the winner and called the Civic Type R “the new world-standard hot hatch.” Does the 2019 Hyundai Veloster N have the goods and the aim to take down the king?

First the Details

From technical director Frank Markus’s exhaustive first drive of the entire three-door hatchback Veloster lineup, we learn that for 2019, the Veloster gets updated styling inside and out as well as new engines, transmissions, and suspensions. The new Veloster is 0.8 inch longer and 0.4 inch wider (the N is another 0.4 inch wider), yet the car rides on the same 104.3-inch wheelbase. “Without changing the [nominal] height,” Markus writes, “the roof slopes more steeply, but savvy packaging adds 0.6 inch of headroom, and seats-up cargo space balloons from 15.5 cubic feet to a CUV-ish 19.9 cubes. And, although the stylists have resculpted the flanks, revised the nose, added LED jewelry, and applied the latest aerodynamic tricks like air curtains at the front and rear tires, nobody will mistake this rig for anything but a Veloster.” So true, but now it actually drives like it looks. Visually, the N is distinguished, riding 0.2 inch lower, with exclusive Performance Blue paint (others include Ultra Black, Chalk White, and Racing Red), a mesh grille with a red front splitter, side sills, and red brake calipers. The triangular brake light located on the N-exclusive hatchback spoiler also differentiates it from any other Veloster. It’s a matter of taste, but the Veloster N’s attention to details doesn’t get out of hand compared to the undisputed hot-hatch benchmark, the Honda Civic Type R, which some say has overwrought styling.

The Veloster N’s $27,785 base price nets a high level of equipment. Highlights include a proximity key with push-button ignition, height-adjustable driver’s seat, 60/40 split folding rear seats, automatic headlights, an LED shift-timing indicator, an intuitive 8.0-inch touchscreen display, an eight-speaker Infinity premium audio system with satellite radio, Apple CarPlay/Android Auto, Bluetooth, dual USB and one aux port, a rearview camera with guiding lines, and drive mode selections including Normal, Eco, Sport, and track-focused N. A feature also allows custom calibration of each tunable performance setting from suspension to throttle response. The infotainment system also has cool performance graphics, including G force, turbo boost, torque, and power readings, suspension settings, and a built-in timer. Yet the quality of the apex Veloster’s interior doesn’t quite impress us as much as the quantity of stuff. There are numerous hard plastic surfaces, and the cloth sport seats don’t look or feel any more special than those in lower-tier Velosters. Perhaps a little less restraint and more color and excitement would be nice inside the car.

The only option available on the Veloster N is a thorough and worthwhile $2,100 Performance Pack that ups the 2.0-liter twin-scroll turbo-four’s horsepower from 250 to 275 hp at 6,000 rpm, while torque remains the same at a stout 260 lb-ft at 1,450 rpm. A sportier multi-mode exhaust lets us hear it all better, too. Also included is more aggressive gearing in its six-speed manual transmission and a limited-slip differential that does an excellent job sending power to the proper front wheels. Instead of 18-inch Michelin Pilot Super Sport tires, the package substitutes 19-inch Pirelli P Zero HN tires and bigger brakes front and back, adding vented discs out back. Lastly, electronically adjustable dampers and a smaller-diameter front anti-roll bar are added to quell understeer.

A Short Detour

The first time any of us drove the Veloster N was on the infamous Nurburgring. That’s one heck of a debut and explains one half of its namesake. (N is also the first letter of Namyang, Korea, the location of Hyundai’s global R&D facility, where it was created.) With searing envy, we read features editor Scott Evans’ take on the hottest of the Velosters: “In the two laps I drove at the ’Ring, the Veloster N equipped with the Performance Package felt at home. The Veloster N is fun and confidence-inspiring in corners, and my excitement grew to a different level when I hit the autobahn. The light traffic on a Saturday morning in the countryside made it the perfect day to go fast. How fast? The speedo’s needle moved past an indicated 160 mph, though Hyundai pegs the car’s top speed at 155 mph.” Lucky duck.

Stateside, we first tested the 2019 Veloster N during our 2019 Car of the Year program on its home court, the Hyundai Proving Ground in California City. Alongside the base 2.0, 1.6T, and R-Spec Turbo trims, the N was clearly at the pointy end of the Veloster lineup: quickest to 60 mph, fastest in the quarter mile, grippiest on the skidpad, and most nimble over our industry-exclusive figure-eight test. We needed to get one back and test it on our turf, and in more favorable conditions than the high desert offered.

Testing

Our first stop was the test track where the first order of business was the braking test. In addition to our usual 60–0 mph stops, with high-performance cars, we add a 100–0 stop in every other direction and slice out the 60–0 part. We also use these 100–0 stops to generate half of those telling 0–100–0 times. During brake testing, I found the Veloster N’s attitude flat and straight, its pedal firm, the ABS quick-cycling and smooth, but the car’s attitude rather skittish and skatey. There was a lot of movement happening in the rear that, while it was controlled, wasn’t entirely confidence inspiring. However, the vented discs provided good heat capacity and no brake-pad odor, so there was little fade, even with those 100–0 mph tests added in. In order, the car required 112, 115, 111, and 111 feet to stop from 60, and 4.2 seconds to stop from 100 mph. The Civic Type R needs just 99 feet to stop from 60, and 3.9 seconds to stop from 100 mph.

On the drag strip with the most aggressive “N” mode on and traction control disabled, I found it difficult to carry enough initial wheelspin from a standstill. At first I thought traction control was not fully defeated but soon realized it was due to the immense grip of the P Zero tires. With the engine revving in first gear, coming off the clutch quickly would spin the tires slightly, but then they’d bite and bog the engine down. I found I had to really zing the revs it to produce a smooth, controlled launch with that telltale ch-ch-ch-chirp confirmation. That’s what it needs/wants, and the times improved by 0.5 second—all in the launch. As they say, “drive it like ya stole it.” The clutch pedal’s bite-point is good, but not as intuitive as a Civic Type R’s. The shifter and linkage, too, are good, not great. The Hyundai’s shifter itself is a further reach and the throws between gears are also longer. The results of getting it all just right are 0–60 in 5.9 seconds, 0–100 in 14.0 seconds, and a best quarter-mile pass of 14.3 seconds at 101.0 mph—a slight improvement over the high-desert results but still no match for the Civic Type R with its 5.0-second sprint to 60, and 13.7-second at 105.9 mph quarter-mile pass. The Veloster N’s theoretical 0–100–0 mph time computes to 18.2 seconds, whereas the Civic Type R does it in 16.3 seconds.

The next stop was our figure-eight course, orchestrated by testing director Kim Reynolds. He had a different take on the very same car. Kim said he observed “plenty of understeer, but also several tons of Velcro-like grip.” That’s a good start, and he added, “Power is good, torque is solid, shifter is short and precise (rivals a Miata for sure).” High praise, but he continued, “My only concern is that the brakes aren’t quite a match for the rest of it. I repeatedly overshot after what I thought was a sensible brake point. So I started to intentionally brake a little early.”

We see this sort of thing in some really fast sports cars; because they arrive at the left and right corners at such a high rate of speed, it feels like the brakes aren’t up to the task of slowing for the skidpad. I just checked the data, and Kim was going 71.4 mph before standing on the brake pedal. Any speed over 70 mph is considered pretty exceptional. Kim concluded, “The mid-corner understeer is inescapable but probably safer for the average Hyundai road warrior.” For his efforts, the Veloster N generated a 24.9-second lap and left-right average lateral acceleration was 0.95 g. Again, that’s a slight improvement over its previous results but no match for the Civic with its 73.4-mph V-max, 24.3-second lap, and 1.01-g lateral acceleration figure.

L.A.-L.A. Land

Heading out into the real world of L.A.’s freeways, city streets, and twisting foothills, we get a bigger picture of the Veloster N’s practicality, abilities, and liabilities. We appreciate the whimsy of an unconventional three-door body configuration, but the coolness factor went away as soon as four people wanted to ride in the car, one of whom had to crawl across the back seat. That slightly vague clutch uptake we noticed in testing became more problematic in bumper-to-bumper traffic, as did the shifter throws with wider-than-ideal gates. On the highway, tire and wind noise are well isolated, but so is the better-than-Civic exhaust note. However, roads we once thought smooth grew suddenly bumpier. Even in the softest, Normal mode in the Veloster N, there was too much vertical motion in the cabin. Neither car deals well with sharp tire impacts, but at least the Civic, also with multi-mode dampers, manages to better smooth ripples and undulations, remarkably well, in fact. Lastly, taking on any of the numerous squiggly roads that lead into the hills surrounding L.A. is always a joy in a sporty car—and so it was with the Veloster N. We appreciated the power, the steering, the brakes, and the grip, yet there was just something missing. It’s that sense of unique discovery, like you’re the only one who knows what a great car the Veloster N is. It’s really good, but it didn’t rise to the level of special or extraordinary in the way we had hoped it would. It certainly stands at the top of the Veloster pack, but not by as much as we’d expected it would or should. It turns out its biggest problem is not the Civic Type R, but the Veloster R-Spec.

What About the Veloster R-Spec?

At $23,785, some $6,100 (or about 20 percent) below the price of this N, the R-Spec (pictured in red below) offers about 95 percent the performance of the supposed apex trim, rides far better, and has a more interesting interior. Also with a six-speed manual, the lighter, 201-hp R-Spec is about a half second behind in acceleration, stops just as short or shorter, is just 0.02 g below on the skidpad, and but 0.3 second behind on the figure-eight. It’s hard to justify the Veloster N when the R-Spec is nipping at its heels.

Then, obviously, the $5,710 (or about 20 percent) jump from Veloster N Performance Pack to a Civic Type R is equally big, and one could argue against it for the same reasons: Why get a Civic Type R if its performance isn’t that much better? The way it accelerates is similar, but it’s about a full second quicker across the board, which feels absolutely bonkers in a front-drive car. The Civic’s supercar-like lateral grip and 60–0 braking are noticeable, too, even to non-car people. And the Type R’s shifter, like the one in the long-gone S2000, is one for the ages. The difference is that the 306-hp Civic Type R is in an altogether different class of hot hatch. We’ve called it a game changer and still stand by that judgment.

2018 Honda Civic Type R 2019 Hyundai Veloster N 2019 Hyundai Veloster R-Spec Turbo DRIVETRAIN LAYOUT Front-engine, FWD Front-engine, FWD Front-engine, FWD ENGINE TYPE Turbocharged I-4, alum block/head Turbocharged I-4 alum block/head Turbocharged I-4, alum block/head VALVETRAIN DOHC, 4 valves/cyl DOHC, 4 valves/cyl DOHC, 4 valves/cyl DI from PerformanceJunk WP Feed 3 https://ift.tt/2T1sglX via IFTTT