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philtstone · 1 year ago

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Arunmozhi & Nandini smile

after 2 months of being too mentally exhausted to write anything i produce this in 3 days .... sometimes i impress even myself if the words "modern road trip fix it au" make sense all together in a sentence, that's what this is. sorry 2 all the mutuals who have not watched six hours of convoluted 10th century south indian soap opera historical epic tragic romance adventure story. but also you should do that, so we can all adopt new and delightfully insane blorbos together. also: this is not meant to be serious. which means the geography is a mess. apologies in advance.

“… so what is it? Two rooms or three? I can’t keep asking this front desk idiot questions, his little head will explode from all the brain power needed to answer.”

Arunmozhi wishes he hadn’t misplaced his favourite bucket hat back in Kodaikkarai. The sun is hot and directly on his head, which makes it harder to focus on the dual task of listening to the person on the phone, and keeping track of the debacle that has developed by the Pazhaiyarai route gas station bathroom, the door of which Kundavai is still attempting to lecture through.

“Well,” he says. “You’ll have to give me a minute to think about it. Something of a situation has developed.”

He has known Poonguzhali for just long enough that he can tell by the sound of her breathing how she feels about something. Now, for example, it comes across as distinctly suspicious across the mobile connection.

“Why do I get the feeling this was an entirely predictable situation,” she says.

Arunmozhi admits this might be true, though not aloud.

“The rooms, Madam Detective.”

“Look, it’s either one room with two beds or two rooms with one bed each. Idiots! You’d think they’d have three rooms available! No one but us wants to stay in this dump, I bet. Only a man such as this one would think so highly of himself to presume he had clientele.”

There is the faint sound of an older male voice protesting over the line.

“Even we don’t want to stay in this dump,” says Arunmozhi pleasantly, at the same time Poonguzhali deems it fit to remind him in a declarative voice, “I’m a private investigator, you know, not a miracle worker!“

He’s waylaid in coming up with a fun and possibly clever response because Kundavai has reached such a point of despair in her lecturing that she turns away from the locked bathroom door, pins her flashing eyes on Arunmozhi, and says,

“Tell your idiot brother to unlock the bloody door!”

Arunmozhi grimaces. Aditha is only ever his idiot brother when circumstances are truly clownish. Most of the rest of the time Kundavai is content enough to claim ownership of the both of them, no matter how useless she thinks they are being.

“Here,” he mutters sheepishly into the phone. “Talk to Vandiyadevan for a moment, I’ve got to deal with something.”

He hands over the phone to Vandiyadevan before either party can protest.

Then he surveys The Situation.

They are at a gas station on the road to Thanjavur, one of those with nothing but the gas and a little snack stand and yellow dust masquerading as the road. There are clucking chickens in front of the snack stand, and also occupying the poorly-tiled bathroom roof. The flies are terrible. Arunmozhi arrived this morning, traveling North from South, via Poonghuzali’s van — he had met her fortuitously while exploring the coast, and thought they could only benefit from the assistance of a private investigator whose own aunt he was trying to locate — and with a motorcycle in tow. It is he who orchestrated the rendezvous. Kundavai had been up due North to fetch their eldest sibling, and is now here in her rental, acquired because driving Aditha’s sports car down towards Lanka would be the opposite of inconspicuous. The rental is already a filthy disaster. In theory this should help them in their incognito quest, but Arunmozhi is willing to acknowledge that what he had originally supposed would be a hiccupless development in the journey might instead be putting their multipurpose attempt to save the family business and uncover the truth wholly at risk. At this point, dirty rental cars are neither here nor there.

In the quest, at the very least, they are all united: understanding the truth about their entangled pasts seems somehow significant to thwarting the various family members now vying for a slice of the proverbial Chola Incorporated throne, to say nothing of the lurking specter of their father’s old political rival, who seems to be in dire enough financial straits that he has been setting up easily traceable Zoom meetings with Chola Inc secretaries who are bored enough to be looking for drama.

Considering the circumstances, Arunmozhi is comforted by the idea that they have discovered a capable ally. The problem is, it won’t amount to much if they never leave this gas station.

He strokes his beard a little, the way their father sometimes does, and once again wishes for his trusty bucket hat. It is, of course, very practical — this is what he tells Kundavai every time she protests it — but he also thinks it is a brilliant piece of fashion. He’d much rather look like the normal hip youths than dress up fancily in the stuffy attire of an ailing business mogul’s son.

The business in question currently being in the throes of potential jeopardy. And there is all this sticky secretive stuff of past love affairs. Arunmozhi is convinced it will all come together somehow, if only they probe a little. He has really made great strides, armed with his Regular University Student’s attire (the bucket hat) and canvas backpack, a simple nobody traveling around to find himself after finishing his degree. All one has to do is consider The Situation in front of them, to see the clear fruits of his labour.

But, ah: The Situation.

It is, he supposes, his fault. He sighs and refocuses.

The bathroom is more of an outhouse, really, with only one functional capability (its locking door), and it is within this vestibule that Aditha, about fifteen minutes ago now, had dramatically locked himself. In front of the bathroom door stands their brilliant sister, her perfect bun starting to undo and frizz, her expensive t-shirt (Kundavai cannot help but look expensive, even when she is trying very hard not to) developing sweaty stains under the armpits, and her aristocratic chin inching higher and higher in consternation. Behind her, naturally to Arunmozhi’s side, is Aditha’s old university friend — Arunmozhi’s current best friend — Vandiyadevan. He wears an old Vanar Men’s Cricket jersey and sandals, and is unsuccessfully ignoring Poonguzhali, who has started in her favorite pastime of bickering with him over the phone loudly enough that the sound carries. He’s wisely chosen to remain silent about The Situation so far; even with his clever tongue he’d surely only make things worse. In between swapping insults with their intrepid PI, Vandiyadevan keeps peering with concern at the bathroom door, fiddling with the tangled fake beard he had used to sneak into the Thenupuriswarar temple that morning (it is still adorning his handsome face), and gazing mournfully at the passing cars and buses, as if the necessary choice to leave his ornery Tata Nano behind when they crossed the river is truly haunting him.

And, in the middle of them all, perched against the seat of her motorcycle and with her arms very tightly crossed, is Nandini.

When Arunmozhi ran into her in the Periodicals section of that Sri Lankan library, desperately clutching the same fading birth announcements column he had been looking for, she had appeared – he’d thought, not uncharitably – in true mental distress. Things could not possibly be more different now.

Unlike Kundavai, Nandini remains perfectly coiffed after multiple hours of travel in the heat and dust. Her braid is sleek and glossy, her jewelry sparkles, the delicate material of her floral dress flutters genteelly in the nonexistent wind, and every manicured fingernail — now beginning to tap impatiently against her arm — displays nothing but absolute composure. She wears dainty gold bangles on her wrists and a thick oversized motorcycle jacket that must be sweltering in the heat, and has her luminous face turned lazily in the opposite direction as the outhouse. One of the chickens clucks at her feet, rooting around for worms.

Indeed, since they arrived, Nandini has been so very good at feigning indifference that even Arunmozhi could believe her utterly unaffected. It’s only now that, after a full fifteen minutes of locked bathroom door, he can see her expression become less and less dignified and — perhaps to the detriment of the collective — more and more irate.

Hm.

Arunmozhi knocks on the bathroom door with a bit more haste than originally planned.

“Go away!” comes the expected growl from within. “Won’t you let a man shit in peace?”

He has to hand it to his brother: it has the expected reaction. Kundavai puts her face into her hands and Nandini cracks just enough to roll her eyes before determinedly reverting to lofty silence. Vandiyadevan, of course, wisely smothers his snort of laughter behind a cough; he’s taken to holding the phone an arm’s length away from his ear, while Poonghuzali, true to form, has now started interrogating the motel owner about tax breaks on the other end of the line.

Diplomatically, Vandiyadevan says, “Well, if he really does just need a minute …”

“Please,” says Kundavai, “Please, come out of the toilet. For once in your life, be normal about this.”

“I’m being very normal,” says the voice of Aditha. “I am meditating on the mysteries of life. It will take me a while, so I will stay here for now, and then meet you all again in Thanjavur later.”

“You’re being a coward!” says Kundavai.

“Oof,” Vandiyadevan winces.

“Vandiyadevan,” says Kundavai, as close to pleading as she will ever get, “you talk to him. You’re good with words. Here, I’ll take the phone.”

Vandiyadevan, who as usual seems to lose some of his easy suavity whenever Kundavai turns the full force of her general presence on him, manages to say, “I got my degree in journalism, not politics. My charms only work on the ladies.”

This is more than enough to unite the warring factions of the group; Kundavai, Nandini, and the tinny mobile voice of Poonguzhali all scoff loudly and in harmony. Even Aditha seems to make a mild noise of amusement, though that could just as well have been the harangued motel owner on Poonguzhali’s end of the line, so muffled is the sound.

“Useless then. Aditha, I’ll knock down the door with our terrible rental car.”

“Don’t do that; you’ll owe the insurance man. Look here, Kundavai, didn’t your illustrious cards say anything about this?”

“I am not in the mood to be teased, Mr. Journalist. Your beard is melting, by the way.”

“Will it really be that bad if you came out, eh?” asks Vandiyadevan, concerned for both Kundavai’s nerves and his handy accessory. He frowns as Poonghuzali says something over the phone. “Oh — the lummox wants to know whether we’re planning on renting any rooms at all. Ayyo, no, I meant the desk clerk —!”

“She clearly has you all under her thrall,” interrupts Aditha, melodramatically from behind his door, cutting through the irate exclamations emitting from the phone. “You don’t know her like I do! I don’t care what anyone says. She’s lying.”

“She hasn’t said anything yet,” growls Kundavai, still with more dignity and poise than majority of the population might have on a good day. She tosses an acid look in Nandini’s direction. Nandini glares back coolly.

“It’s all part of her plan. She’s tricking us into complacence. Or have you forgotten that the person sitting on that bike is actually a – a – a –”

Aditha seems to have run out of words.

“She-snake?” offers Vandiyadevan tentatively.

“Poisonous witch,” recites Kundavai in a tired voice.

“Demoness,” remembers Arunmozhi, “oh, that was a good one.”

Nandini, whose indifference has since fully morphed into glaring daggers at Kundavai, pauses now to hum in contemplation, like a woman good naturedly unable to deny her many titles.

Kundavai, on the other hand, has reached her wits’ end.

“Four,” she says, turning to Arunmozhi and gesturing very specifically at her hairline. “Four grey hairs. Can you see them? One, two, three, four. Dearest little brother, I hope you considered my four grey hairs when you concocted this plan. This is really it. We’re going to be stuck in this gas station forever, and our pathetic cousin will take over the family business.” She raises her voice, “Do you hear that, Aditha! And then who’ll stop that scumbag Pandian from buying out all of his shares and blowing our family’s legacy trying to create God via chatbot? The bloody thing keeps advocating for users to kill enemies of the faith! And it’ll all be your doing!”

Oof – Arunmozhi is the one who thinks it this time. As far as accusations go, that one is a little harsh. After all, it was Kundavai who meddled enough for the maligned couple to break up in the first place. Sure, Aditha then went and exposed a measure of Veera Pandian’s scumminess to the press a year later, out of spite, on Nandini’s birthday, which blew up rather spectacularly in his face. But there’s no need to be rubbing even more salt in old wounds, thinks Arunmozhi.

Giving Kundavai a look which he hopes she takes to mean Relax, I got this, Arunmozhi steps forward and knocks a second time on the bathroom door.

“I told you, I won’t be lectured into participating in treason,” comes Aditha’s muffled voice, admittedly somewhat more cowed than before. “Against me, no less. Wow.”

“It’s not Kundavai,” says Arunmozhi, “it’s me.”

A long, rather mulish moment of silence follows. “Oh.”

“Yes,” says Arunmozhi, taking this to be an opening. “Won’t you unlock the door? Vandiyadevan’s disguise beard is melting in this heat. It would be a shame to have to hold a funeral for it.”

“I don’t have any other disguise beards on hand,” agrees Vandiyadevan helpfully. “I’d have to call Nambi up for one, and then I couldn’t show my face in the office for a week.”

Arunmozhi quite likes Nambi, though he’d never tell Vandiyadevan that — they work for rival newspapers — and now wonders if perhaps involving the older, nosier man at this juncture is the right call, as Nandini seems to soften wistfully in demeanour every time his name is brought up. Then again, maybe that will complicate things further, and instead of making her more agreeable, will result in another reaction hitherto unexpected. Unwisely perhaps, nobody really believed that Aditha would take one look at his ex-girlfriend, go white as a sheet, and promptly barricade himself behind the nearest locking door.

Who knows what Nandini might do with her own version of a curveball.

“I can’t believe this is your fault,” Aditha says finally, referring to Arunmozhi but sounding like he’s talking to himself. “Of course, she’d never be able to poison you. I’m just very hurt, you know.”

Kundavai throws up her hands into the sky. Vandiyadevan pinches the bridge of his nose in two fingers. Nandini, on the other hand, once more raises her eyebrows as though contemplatively conceding Aditha’s point.

Arunmozhi sighs.

“Yes,” he says. “There is that. I am sorry, Anna. Only, don’t you want to hear what she’s got to say?”

“No,” comes the finite response. Then, more despondently, “I don’t deserve it. She’ll never forgive me. I will go back to Kanchi and continue in the only honourable profession I’ve ever had.”

“For the hundredth time,” says Kundavai, breaking her silence. “Children’s camp counsellor is not a profession. Anyone can do arts and crafts and coach football. If you got your teaching degree, maybe.”

Privately, Arunmozhi thinks Aditha is uniquely good at facilitating the diligent creation of bead bracelets amongst 5 to 10 year olds. He also gets very competitive about football in a way that inspires excellence. Observing Kundavai’s twitching eyebrow, however, Arunmozhi chooses to keep these thoughts to himself.

“I already have a business degree!” says Aditha, from within the outhouse.

“Which you refuse to put to practice!”

“This is my one use in the world, Kundavai!”

Vandiyadevan and Poonguzhali have recently given up arguing over the motel, and the former now solemnly holds the phone out microphone first so that the illustrious investigator can listen in on the proceedings. Kundavai begins lecturing again. Even the chickens seem to be clucking with exasperation rather than neutrality. It is here that Arumozhi chooses to look at Nandini. While everyone else groans at the reminder of Aditha’s derailed career trajectory, on Nandini’s face there is a sudden and even startled expression of tenderness.

It must be terribly difficult, Arunmozhi thinks, to show up to what’s become one of the more chaotic family road trips in Tamil Nadu's history, clasp one’s hands together, and say, Well, you see, I’ve only just found out that my adoptive father is my real father and he is really quite a piece of work, factually speaking, even putting aside his God-bot delusions and general tax evasion, and the only way to find my mother, who has been alive this whole time, is with your help. But she seems fully committed to it all. It is very brave of her.

More importantly – resourceful as Nandini is, Arunmozhi has no doubts that she already knew about the children’s camp, and the arts and crafts, and most definitely the football. So that tender little look cannot have been one of pure surprise.

He smiles to himself. Maybe he wasn’t so misled in his instincts after all.

“Anna,” he tells the door quietly, in a tone he knows his brother – ever his protector, defender, and supporter, ready to take him seriously even when in the throes of his own early-life crisis – will catch. “I really think if we all work together on this, we have a shot at fixing many wrongs. I really am sorry for springing this on you. Both of you – you know.” When there is no response, he adds, “Look – maybe there will be a silver lining. You keep complaining that you haven’t had anyone to play a good match of chess with in a while.”

There is another prolonged moment of quiet; Arunmozhi imagines Aditha, the mass of his long hair tied out of his face as usual, proud profile turned towards the wall, his arms probably crossed in a close mirror of Nandini’s far more delicate posture. Nandini’s own expression remains stuck on whatever momentary ache passed through her, but now morphed into a complicated middle ground, unsure of whether she wishes to remain thawed or to remember the many wounds that led them to this somewhat silly juncture.

“Alright,” comes Aditha’s sudden, gruff voice.

Vandiyadevan’s mouth drops open. Kundavai freezes still as a statue in relief. Nandini, still astride the motorcycle, straightens imperceptibly; if Arunmozhi were really looking, a faint, almost imperceptible quiver of hope passes through her brows –

“But first,” Aditha continues, “I demand she return my stolen property.”

Oh, no, Arunmozhi thinks, a split second before, in front of their despairing and disbelieving eyes, some intangible stronghold of assumed dignity snaps within Nandini’s depths.

“Stolen property?” she shrieks. The chickens scatter, clucking for their lives. An innocent farmer filling up his truck’s tank ten feet away jumps violently and covers himself in gasoline. Nandini’s beautiful face has gone the colour of chalk. “Stolen property?!”

“Yes! It is mine, and you are wearing it!”

“You gifted me this jacket, you absolute jackass!”

“Well, I am ungifting it!” yells Aditha, through the door. “Give it back!”

“I’ll kill him!” Nandini howls, springing to her feet. Her eyes shimmer with a sort of impotent rage. It’s not quite clear who she is talking to – the collective, perhaps, or the divine, or even her own self – “Do you hear me?! Your death will be at my hands, Karikalan!”

“So do it then!” comes the equally theatrical roar from the outhouse’s depths. “FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED!”

“YOU JUST TRY TO TAKE MY JACKET BACK YOURSELF, YOU GUTLESS WORM –”

As everyone scrambles to prevent physical violence (Vandiyadevan has the wherewithal to yell for Poonghuzali-on-the-phone to go ahead and book the one room, as they’ll probably all be dead before the sun sets anyway), Arunmozhi reconsiders his intuition.

… Perhaps making this work will be a little bit harder than he thought.

Rubbing a hand over his overheated head, he steps into the fray.

#my writing #ponniyin selvan #arunmozhi varman #aditha karikalan #nandini #vandiyadevan #kundavai #poonghuzali #aditha x nandini #vandiyadevan x kundavai #i wanted to include some lines about vanathi but there simply was not a good opening :(#but we do stan an anxious constantly fainting queen

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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Since February 24, 2022, no country has donated a larger share of its GDP to the Ukrainian war effort than Estonia has. Given the tiny Baltic state’s Soviet-era experience of life under Moscow’s domination, that level of generosity is not difficult to understand. The Insider recently traveled with two high-level Estonian officials on a tour of the front in Ukraine. The experience underscored just how deeply Russia’s other neighbors understand that the failure to properly arm Ukraine is already placing the European Union’s security in jeopardy.

“If all countries did what Estonia was doing, we’d be in Moscow by now,” Mikhail, the commander of a Ukrainian infantry unit currently deployed in Robotyne, told The Insider, only half joking. We’re meeting Mikhail at an undisclosed location to the north of his unit’s positions, roughly 20 kilometers behind the frontline.

It’s one of the last stops on a three-day tour of the front, with The Insider joining Estonia’s Ambassador to Ukraine, Annely Kolk, and Marko Mihkelson, Chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Estonian Parliament. The trip coincides with what one Ukrainian officer described as the “toughest fighting since the beginning of the full-scale invasion.” As we saw and heard for ourselves, Ukrainian forces are suffering acute ammunition shortages while attempting to hold off an enemy that is stubbornly determined to advance, regardless of the human cost.

The trip has been arranged by a Ukrainian-Estonian group of volunteers, who run the “One Team, One Fight Foundation.'' They’ve been delivering non-lethal military aid to Ukrainian soldiers across the country for nearly two years. The foundation’s director, Dmitro Drey is an affable Ukrainian originally from Luhansk who speaks the heavily accented Russian common for a native of the Donbas region; its co-founder is Harri, an Estonian ex-soldier. Both men have traveled hundreds of thousands of kilometers across Ukraine delivering desperately needed military equipment to frontline units.

Most foreign dignitaries, understandably, will never come as close to the fighting as Drey and Harri do. Many of them would never leave Kyiv or Lviv to travel incognito in inconspicuous, unarmoured vehicles without a security escort. But for both Kolk and Mihkelson, the importance of speaking to Ukrainian troops in person — to get a firsthand understanding of the war — outweighs the not inconsiderable risk. For long periods of time, we were well within Russian artillery range, and the sound of incoming shelling was a disconcerting constant.

For Mihkelson, a reserve officer in the Estonian armed forces, speaking directly to Ukrainian soldiers enables him to better understand the situation on the battlefield, enabling him to be a more effective advocate for the increased provision of Western aid. For Kolk, trips like this one are part of her diplomatic mission. “I’m ambassador to all of Ukraine, not just the capital,” she says. “Sitting in Kyiv gives you an unrepresentative picture of this war.”

And the ambassador is right. Unlike last winter, this year Kyiv has experienced no blackouts and no loss of water supply. The atmosphere on the streets remains relatively calm. If it weren’t for the air attacks — which rarely penetrate the excellent Western-supplied air defense network guarding Ukraine’s largest city — a visitor could be forgiven for forgetting that Kyiv is the capital of a country fighting for its survival.

It’s different in Druzhkovka, 20 kilometers from the battle. Here the sound of artillery is constant, and yet, as in Kyiv, people continue to go about their lives the best they can under the circumstances. A mother and her child walk in a nearby park, while city maintenance workers prune trees. It is a surreal picture. Military aid is distributed to soldiers that have recently come back from their positions in nearby Chasiv Yar, and Kolk and Mihkelson get to hear about the situation in the trenches.

The situation is bleak. Nearly every unit we speak to says that Ukrainian troops are outmanned and outgunned, facing extreme ammunition shortages as they attempt to hold the line against an enemy with an almost suicidal determination to advance.

It’s not difficult to make the direct connection between broken Western promises and the current difficulties on the front line. According to Mihkelson, a lack of Western strategic vision is also to blame. “There’s no clear understanding of how this war should end in Washington or Berlin,” he argues. “We rarely hear that Russia must be defeated on the battlefield.” The constant slow-walking and incremental provision of aid, particularly from the United States, clearly frustrates him. “Why don’t they send some of their own F-16s? They have so many!” Mihkelson says, referring to the American decision not to supply their own fighter jets to Ukraine, instead relying on European allies such as Norway, Denmark, and The Netherlands. “Or the ATACMS missiles that are just sitting in warehouses waiting to be decommissioned.”

The limitations and conditions under which the West has supplied weapons to Ukraine also come in for criticism. In Mihkelson’s words, demands that Kyiv refrain from using Western-supplied weapons to strike targets inside Russia’s internationally recognized borders is akin to asking Ukraine to “fight this war with both hands behind their backs.” It is an opinion commonly shared amongst the Ukrainian troops we spoke to.

As infantry commander Mikhail noted near Robotyne, Estonia’s commitment to the Ukrainian cause stands out. The Baltic country of less than 1.5 million has donated a staggering 3.6% of its GDP in bilateral aid to Ukraine since January 24, 2022, easily the most generous country by this metric (for comparison, the United States has donated 0.32%). “We know this war is existential,” Kolk tells The Insider, explaining Estonia’s high level of support. It is an understanding that permeates every level of the Estonian government. Given the country’s direct experience of Russian imperialism, there is a widespread belief in Tallinn that if Putin is not stopped in Ukraine, Estonia could very well be his next target.

The same is true for Estonia’s neighbors Latvia and Lithuania, both of which have also donated significant amounts of military support to Ukraine while imploring their European and NATO allies to take the threat of further Russian aggression more seriously. For years, the NATO strategy for defending the Baltic states followed the “tripwire” approach — having small numbers of international troops forward deployed to the alliance’s eastern flank not in order to successfully defend against an invasion, but to ensure that any Russian incursion would risk inflicting casualties on British and American active duty personnel, thus bringing the full force of those two military powers into the conflict. But of course, in the event of an actual Russian invasion, the arrival of help from points further west could not have come immediately. “The ‘tripwire’ policy would have left our country occupied by Russian forces,” Mihkelson explains.

The experience of Ukraine under Russian occupation, along with the effectiveness with which Russia has used threats of nuclear “escalation” to delay Western aid deliveries — from the United States and Germany in particular, Mihkelson notes — have led the Baltic States to begin constructing a defensive line of bunkers and fortifications along their countries’ borders with Russia. The importance of Russia not being allowed to quickly take territory, illegally annex it, and then hide behind a nuclear shield is now well understood. Questions of whether an American President would risk nuclear retaliation to support a European NATO ally date back to the Cold War, and the defensive line currently under construction is an attempt to prevent that question from ever having to be answered.

Both Kolk and Mihkelson express frustration at how long it has taken some of Estonia’s allies to appreciate the danger Russia presents to its neighbors. “The West has massively underestimated the threat Russia poses, at all levels,” Kolk argues, paying particular attention to the Kremlin’s information warfare operations. “Here in the Baltics we’ve seen it for years. Russia tries to claim Russian speakers are ‘oppressed’ in our countries, but the truth is Russians living in Estonia have more rights than Russians living in Russia.”

Mihkelson highlights the pattern of Western passivity towards Russia that, in his estimation, led to the current full-scale war in Ukraine. “There seems to be little understanding in many Western capitals that Russia is fundamentally attempting to overturn the current world order,” he says. “This is not only about Ukraine,” he adds, drawing lessons from recent history. “We’ve seen continued weakness in the West’s response to Russia, from the invasion of Georgia, to Obama’s ‘red line’ in response to chemical weapons attacks in Syria. That was clearly a moment when Putin detected weakness.” He notes that, when confronted, Russia has almost always backed down. “We’ve seen so many ‘red lines’ Russia themselves have set down, and then backed away from, when they’ve been crossed,” Mihkelson says.

Towards the end of our tour of the frontline, we arrive at a position close to the town of Orikhiv, north of the highly contested settlement of Robotyne. As we pull up, an M142 HIMARS rolls out towards its firing position. In a testament to the ammunition shortage, only one of its six launch tubes is loaded with a GMLRS rocket. Several groups of Ukrainian soldiers arrive at the meeting point simultaneously. Two young servicemen who hadn’t seen each other for months hug upon realizing that the other is still alive.

Kolk clearly finds the experience emotional. “At that moment I felt I couldn’t hold back tears anymore. My own son is 21,” she says. “I cannot imagine him greeting his friends in such a way.” Except if Estonia’s continuing support for Ukraine demonstrates anything, it is that Kolk, Mihkelson, and hundreds of thousands of other Estonians can all too well imagine that, if Ukraine does not receive the military aid it needs, then the ambassador’s son really could be greeting his friends in exactly the same way in the not-too-distant future.

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ask-de-writer · 1 year ago

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WIND MEETS THE ROM : Part 10 of 27 :

MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

WIND MEETS THE ROM

Part 10 of 27

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by @wind-the-mama-cat

54212 words

Writing begun 06/01/18

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from Part 1, here!

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While she was speaking, her soft midnight blue magic, shot through with stars, had picked up her half of the double tree and was expertly securing her harness to it.

Wind complimented, “That is a beautiful harness. The leather work is superb. Is it an heirloom?”

Midnight chuckled, “I hope not. I made this one about fifty years ago. It is possible that I may gift it on to some deserving horse, but not yet. When I do, THEN it will become an heirloom.”

It was only a few more minutes before all of the Rom were hitched up in the caravan and ready to take to the road.

It was Tia who called the starting cadence, “Lean Left! Lean Right! Pull Left! Pull Right! Pull! Pull!” The whole caravan moved forward smoothly onto the road. She called, “Two Green Vines!”

The Rom began to sing the first of the many road songs that helped the kilometers pass under hoof and wheel.

Besides singing along, Wind listened with care. Far more than simple vocabulary and pronunciation was revealed in those songs. The Rom's very attitudes and ways of thinking were revealed as the songs unfolded.

She was fascinated by the fact that, though the Guards did send one pegasus flying ahead to scout for potential threats, they stayed quietly and inconspicuously following behind. They did have their battle kit carried at the ready.

Almost predictably, she could hear Greenforest griping about how they should be marching up in front, to clear the road of undesirables. She smiled to herself as she figuratively patted herself on the back for being able to follow both the Gyptian of the Road Songs and without effort, also follow the Equestrian of the Guards.

The afternoon was passing uneventfully when they came to the Haymarket Royal Road Section Gate. One of the ponies watching the gate made a fuss as his supervisor reached past him and tripped the gate opening mechanism.

He reminded his counterpart, “Rom are always free, Curly Fries. You know that. Trying to get a toll from them is a fool's game. YOU WILL GET CAUGHT. Besides, the Royal Road Police Station is just over there to make sure that you would not get away with it.”

They passed through without incident. Wind giggled as Curly Fries noticed, “They got a detachment of the Royal Guard! Why would the Guard be with these Rom?”

And the laconic answer, “Because, somewhere in one or two of those harnesses there is a Royal Princess or two, going incognito, that's why!”

At the first Wayside of the Haymarket Road Section, they found a blue pony with a gray mane and tail waiting for them. “Evening, there, Marchhare's band, right? I got a bit of problem with my wagon, if you could spare the time to look at it.

“Whether you can or not, I got a bag of dried apricots to contribute to dinner if you are willing to share.”

It was Hanar, in the position of lead for the whole caravan who smiled and replied, “Sure, Waller. We can do that. Is it a bad wheel or something else?”

She turned into the Wayside without hesitation and as she did, informed Wind, “This is Waller Left Leg. He is always polite, though sometimes a bit plain spoken. Nearly always has something to add to the dinner too. We would rather be late to a fair than leave him stranded by the road.”

While they were breaking down the hitches and stowing the parts, Wind saw that Waller was pitching in to help them and no horse had any problem with it.

Soon camp was set up and dinner baking was underway. One stallion, a dapple gray with black mane and tail gave Rose a kiss and stated, “I need the foals for now. They need to learn about repairing pony made things.”

Rose chuckled as she replied, “Take them, then. I know that you will teach them well, husband of mine.”

He turned to Waller and asked, “Shall we look over your caravan? Is it the wheels again, so soon?”

Waller shrugged, “Wish it was. The main load support beam under the box is cracked pretty bad. If I have to have it done in Haymarket, it will set me back at least 70, maybe 80 golden bits. They will have to take the box off and craft a new beam to fit.”

“I see. We will certainly look at it and get you at least a temporary fix. Might possibly be able to do a full repair. Can't say for sure until I see it, OK, Waller?”

The blue pony shrugged. “Got to be. At least I am not in a hurry with this load. Seed grain for next year's planting. On my way to Haymarket. Was going to drop by the Fair too.”

“You know the drill, Waller. The foals all have to watch. It is part of their education.” The dappled stallion let out a sharp whistle.

All over the camp, foals stopped what they were doing and gathered about. The stallion gestured for Wind to join them. “Marchhare has you with the foals for now, Wind. Come and watch, along with them, while we see how we can help Waller.”

As they got close, Wind's eye was taken at once by the rough weathered grain standing up along the boards of Waller's wagon. It had some knots in the wood, too. She quietly absorbed her first lesson about the difference in woodwork between pony and Rom. All of the Rom woodwork was smooth and perfect, with no knots or imperfections of any sort.

The true meaning of a minor swear word that she had been hearing from time to time slowly sank in. She saw at first hand what they meant when they said, “As bad as a pony made wheel,” except that Waller's wheels, while quite differently made from the wheels of the Rom, were sort of mixed. From the hubs out, the spokes and rims were the rough looking work of ponies. The hubs showed the smooth and perfect work of the Rom.

Quietly nudging Hanar, Wind asked in Gyptian, “Why are his hubs so well done but the rest of his wheels so rough?”

Hanar agreed, “We rebuilt his hubs and axles, doing it the pony way, except that we put in sleeve bushings of polished iron on both the axle ends and in the hubs. We did it only a few months ago. I see that he is being careful to properly grease them. If he stays that careful, they should last him for several years.”

Wind nodded her understanding.

The dappled stallion lowered himself carefully and angled his head to get his horn under the wagon. Wind saw his magic brought into play in some fashion.

He eased himself out from under the box and told the foals, “First, each of you examine the big beam running down the center of the caravan. Then tell me what you see.”

It only took a short time because the foals crowded under, three at a time! “How could they have done that? The grain is flat ways! It has to run up and down for any real strength!” “Did you feel the size of that crack? Near a third the length of the beam!” “It has knots near the middle, where they will most weaken it.”

“Right! All of you. Now, it is Wind's turn. I do not know if you have magic to help you spot problems or not, but let me know if you find anything that the others might have missed.”

Nodding, Wind scooted under the failing wagon. She took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the night vision that was her cat's heritage. She reported, “I do not see anything about the beam that the others did not. However, three of the bottom boards of the box show signs of cracking. If you can fix them too, it would be a good idea.”

The stallion smiled his praise as he told the rest, “Did you hear what Wind spotted? Anytime that there is damage to a part of a caravan, always look to see if it has caused other problems too.

“If this problem is not fixed, Waller could lose a lot of his load onto the road.”

One of the colts snorted, “We could have harvested the grain from the road, next year after it sprouted!”

The stallion snickered and then, in Equestrian, told Waller, “We can repair the beam. You have three boards of the bottom of the caravan's box that are cracking. We can repair them too, if you want us to.”

Waller nodded slowly. “Do what you think is needful. I trust you to do it right, Myest.”

Myest began ordering the foals, “Shehan, go and bring my pot of the special glue and its brush. Callin, go and bring me my second kit of planks, the centimeter and a half ones. Hanar, bring me two caravan jacks. Sando, go and bring me a lot of the fire wood to use as supports and braces.”

Foals scattered to their errands. From his saddlebag, Myest pulled a large case. Opened, it showed an astonishing array of razor sharp wood working tools, neatly held in lightly oiled leather.

Hanar was one of the first back. She leaned the stout caravan jacks against the side of Waller's wagon. Without being asked, and clearly not showing off, she used her magic to lift the whole side of the wagon, tilting it to a good working angle and setting the jacks.

Young Sando came trotting up, many balks of firewood carried in his magic. Myest began showing him where to set them and how to brace them to hold the work that was to come safely stable.

Wind was watching closely too. This was all new to her. In her adventures, she had used wagons from time to time, but she just harnessed a beast of burden and drove them to where she needed them. She had never had occasion to see how they were made.

Myest began to chop out a substantial part of the beam using a chisel and adze. He cut it away in steps, so that each step had a longish overlap to the beam. The last cut left about a centimeter and a half of the original beam.

Wind sensed that something was off a bit when he announced in Equestrian, “OK, we can just glue this part back together.” The brush slopped busily and he applied clamps across the beam to hold the cracked part together. He ran his hoof over the whole area where the crack had been. Wind noticed that it had become invisible. He released those clamps and cut and fitted a board into the next step out. He repeated what Wind was now certain was a ruse with the glue. When he was done running his hoof over it, the joints were invisible except at the outside edges, where she now deduced, he was leaving signs that the beam was repaired. He repeated the trick several times to finish fixing the beam.

He cut patch boards to fit over the bed cracks that Wind had spotted, using the same ruse about the special glue.

He left those boards solidly braced by balks of firewood and told Waller, “We need to leave it like it is overnight so that the glue can finish setting up. We will let it down in the morning and you can be on your way right after breakfast.”

Wind had noticed an absence of sorts. The Royal Guard were not making a nuisance of themselves. Even Greenforest was being quiet.

The evening devolved into what Wind was coming to accept as a typical Rom evening. Some were playing several sizes of lyre, flutes and those deceptively simple seeming double drums while others were dancing. Wind snickered to herself as she saw that they were working on her slide step in their dances.

Off to one side, Wind saw that Rose and Marchhare had benches set up and were industriously working at crafts. Rose had many sheets of thin wood in a wide variety of colors and grains. She was carefully trimming them and forming them into neat boxes of many sizes and styles. Some had trays with dividers or other set ups inside. Wind was impressed by the sheer speed and skill with which Rose created her boxes.

Respectfully examining one, Wind commented, “I can't see any joint except where the design shows one. I watched you make this one. I did not see you use any glue. How did you do it?”

<== PREVIOUS ~ NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#WIND MEETS THE ROM #Part 10 of 27 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer

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sterlingarcher23 · 2 years ago

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ElMax goes Back to the Future 2

The girl on the poster runs towards the clock, not away. That's not Max running away from Vecna in "Dear Billy", that's Max so to speak driving the DeLorean before the lightning bolt hits the clock tower and stops it.

Also read part 1:

- The clock in Mrs Kelly's office -

Poor Mrs Kelly has been accused of being a henchman of Vecna and that the key necklace is the key to open of the Grandfather clock's window ... She never was and the key isn't. The necklace doesn't even have the right color nor shape to fit into the Grandfather clock. (which is why this idea was never convincing)

The clock-key necklace however stands symbolically for "The clocks are the key" - like for example the clock in her office which points to 12 and 1.

121... 1.21

And of course the girl on the poster runs towards the clock. The interpretation that this is forshadowing Max running away from Vecna was never convincing to me. - She runs towards the 1.21. This is Marty who drives before the lightning bolt hits the clock tower to then travel into the future.

- The Starcourt Clock -

The clock in Starcourt has 8 single lines and 8 lines in pairs. Making it 88 - a reference to 88 miles per hour. (There's also an 88 hidden in the promo artwork of the Creel house rose)

And the clock's hands are placed in a specific way, the short hand marks the point and the long hand the end, reading as 1.21

- Vecna's clock -

Vecna's clock that Max sees points to XII and I ; the thin lines of the Xs are very, very thin which highlights the thick lines. So it looks like the long hand points to a \ and the short hand marks the end because it is between 1 and 2 which isn't right (at this position the long hand should be at 6). This reads as \ II I or you translate the Roman numbers into Arabic numbers 12 1. Again a reference to 1.21 Gigawatts.

- The lightning bolt hit at 10:04 -

Lightning struck with 1.21 Gigawatts by 88 mph when the 4th victim of 00I died and El then initiated the time jump, placing Max "Outatime" in a timeless dimension "Like when Eleven sent One into another dimension."

The clock tower stopped at exactly 10:04... Mirrored 4 001

All the clocks are in one specific way pointing to 1.21, A) hinting at a time jump and B) that Max's mind is displaced into a timeless dimension because the lightning stopped the clock which is still held at 10:04 in the future of 2015 in Back to the future 2.

- Skateboard, Snowball, Shades & Eyes -

And don't forget that Marty is a skateboarder.

He has a Madrid brand skateboard. That's very specific. Why not just any skateboard? They chose skateboards on which you can clearly read the brand?

Marty starts to vanish from existence - Max wishes to disappear and her mind does so when she's revived by El (transported into another dimension like Henry and temporally displaced because those dimensions are timeless). The decoration of the Snowball also looks exactly like the backdrop of the stage in Back to the Future.

That's Marty playing incognito in Back to the future 2 like a young teen imagines "That's super inconspicuous:

Right is Max playing incognito in Season 3 (right after this scene she pulls off the sunglasses) , foreshadowing her using sunglasses but not because she's blind but to hide her eyes from others.

Note the sunglasses - Max tries two other ones before picking the one with the red frame. Except for the color, both sunglasses look very identical.

There's an interesting detail in Back to the future 2. Both Marty (Michael J. Fox) and Biff (Thomas F. Wilson) have blue eyes. Both actors also play Marty Jr. and Griff (Biff's grandson) but with brown contact lenses. A tiny forgettable detail we only notice subconsciously that something is different. It's a detail the Duffers used in Season 2 of Stranger Things: while being possessed Will's eyes turn from green to brown.

Usually people who are possessed have a very notable eye change in the horror and Scifi genre, sometimes permanent, sometimes just quick flashes of for example black shadows or something alike, so using this very specific eye color you may not even really notice consciously the first time watching is not just odd but a very deliberate choice by the Duffers.

It's these details that once used makes the audience subconsciously wonder, however used blatantly that's a different thing. So, there is precedence inside of Stranger Things itself. Why use it just once and also in a forgettable way? As so many things, this is placed to be used later again.

Turning Max's eyes brown for example as a sign of being possessed, although by a benevolent force such as El, would also give this line from the song Angel by Madonna a new meaning and that's probably why they chose this song:

"You are an angel in disguise (El inside of Max), I can see it in your eyes.(Max having brown eyes)"

- Mr Fusion -

Anyway, we do have some blatant reference of Back to the Future, not just the clocks, brands, set decorations and scenes but it's mentioned by Steve as well. "The one with the DeLorean and Alex P Keaton."

And likely referred to by Dr Brenner when he says to El: "If you want to stop One... You will need to fly." In terms of Back to the future that's the DeLorean flying powered by: Mr Fusion.

Fusion... time jump. Linking arms, disappearing and reappearing together in front of a JC Penney, fully linked.

Someone really thinking that this is just a huge coincidence?

They technically put in the events of Season 4 into the riddle site Brenner is doing his crosswords, mentioning additionally a birthday and it there was a huge uproar that Will "accidentally" forgot his own birthday. It was not an accident.

They copy the way these franchises work. Back to the future itself made references you don't notice and foreshadowed in smaller and bigger scale certain events. (Pay attention to the shirt Doc Brown is wearing in BttF 2.

Although not made from scratch for the show, the Grandfather clock was according to sources modified by the production team. So, it's very likely that the main dial was altered and only the outer shape was actually used and reproduced

#max mayfield #elmax #elmax nation #elmax supremacy #stranger things #elmax my beloved #el hopper #elmax is real #elumax #lumax

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survivingpierce · 2 years ago

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This AU has two variations for interactions. One is set in the present time, and the other is set for interactions in past times (compatible with Bridgerton among others).

In each of these variants, her birth name is Katerina Ilana Nikolina Petrova and she was born a princess.

Present Time:

Katerina spent her late youth and subsequent years as an adult abroad, where she graduated incognito and now completed several internships. After reaching the age of 25, the royal court wants her to return home and fulfill her royal duties.

Katherine - as Katerina calls herself abroad - is not at all enthusiastic about it and enjoys being a normal citizen. She therefore repeatedly makes excuses for why she cannot return, always making sure that she is not recognized and that her secret is kept.

Most people know her as Katherine Pierce in his variation of the AU.

Past Time:

Long before Katerina had reached the marriageable age, the most advantageous marriage was sought for her. As the first-born daughter, the young princess was a coveted game.

After Katerina had grown up, a pre-selection was made for her without her knowledge, which should be presented to her inconspicuously.

Katerina, who is a romantic at heart and yearns for true love, is not at all enthusiastic about the prospect of an arranged marriage.

Her status required her to accompany her parents on trips. This was primarily so that the preferred marriage candidates selected by her parents could take a look at her. But Katerina also used these trips to sneak away unrecognized (while her parents had to attend other activities) and to mix with the other nobles preferably during the social season.

Most of them do not know her so that she can at least temporarily experience what it theoretically feels like to be able to make her own decisions regarding her future life.

In this variation of the AU, Katerina is similar to the ghost of Cinderella who has to disappear around midnight so that her absence is not detected by her parents.

tag: ♕ the secret princess ▬ au

#♕ the secret princess ▬ au

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cynthiaandsamus · 2 years ago

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Excerpt From “My Best Friends’ Child Will Kill Me!”: The Fleeting Looper

This is a short story chapter from a story whose premise is Demon King Malfino Malthus takes on the human persona of ‘Mel’ to stop two humans he accidentally befriended, Adventurer Samantha and Baker Alex, from having a child since it’s been prophecized that their child will be the Chosen One who will slay the Demon King, the story focuses on his misadventures trying to halt their seemingly fated romantic progress, though this particular chapter takes an unexpected turn when he meets a girl that says she’s been reliving the same day over and over...

“Did you hear?” Sam asked, handing Mel one of the trays of freshly sculpted dough to be loaded onto the wagon for baking at Alex’s bakery. “Someone killed some sort of warlock out by the farms. They found the body but no one’s sure who that plot of land belongs to, so they don’t know who did it.”

“Killing a warlock is bad luck, superstition aside they have literal magic that goes beyond their deaths.” Mel sighed, the incognito Demon King loading the trays onto the wagon as they were handed off.

“Maahybe dat’s huhy dey kn’t fyind da ownah. Maybe they’re already spirited away or something.” Sam had inconspicuously slipped part of the uncooked dough from some of the unfinished cinnamon buns in her mouth, swallowing it mid-sentence and handing Mel the very conspicuously half-eaten tray.

The man looked down at the tray with a scowl. “Did you just agree to help Alex make these so you can munch on them? At least wait till they’re done, he always gives you the extras anyway.” Mel sighed, putting the tray off to the side so as not to send off a bun with a bite in it for baking. While he was turned Sam had already thrust the next tray towards him so when he came back to face the way he was going it rammed into his chest and clattered out of Sam’s hand.

“Shit! Sorry!!” The huntress’s quick reflexes scrambled to try and not waste another tray of buns, though oddly enough even before she had tried to catch it, a shiver of something went up Mel’s back, sending him to his knees in a flash, eye level with the falling tray as he reached out to catch it, gripping it tight and moving it gently to balance every uncooked bun as they fell in a disheveled but safe pile back onto the tray in his hands. “Wow, good catch.” Sam blinked.

Mel was equally dumbfounded, it was often that he had to hide his demonic nature from his two friends but he wasn’t used to being able to react before even Sam had a chance to, but he was glad Alex’s buns were safe at least. “Think that’s the last of them, you go tell Alex why this one’s not going to the oven.” He handed her the tray with a teasing glance. “I’ve got to meet up with Harold.”

“You’re gonna put my buns to the fire like that!?” Sam gasped, feigning despair as she took back the partial tray. “Fine, fine. You boys take care. Tell him I said hi.”

--------------------------------------

“Are you sure it’s wise to give Sam and Alex more alone time My Lord?” The squat demon masquerading as a squat human looked up at Mel with some concern.

“I can’t be there to interfere with every interaction they ever have, I doubt they’re going to just hook up in the middle of the bakery after she ate an eighth of his cinnamon bun stock.” Mel sighed and shook his head. “Besides, if I get too pushy with them, they’ll start getting concerned and try to set me up with a human woman again, I’d rather not have the speed dating incident repeat itself.” The disguised Demon King took on a tone of more confidence in front of his disguised underling as he and ‘Harold’ walked down the street.

“By the way sir, you’re being followed.” Harold offered without looking back, earning a nod from Mel.

“Yeah I noticed, it’s why I wanted to get away from Alex’s bakery.” Mel shrugged his shoulders, also not acknowledging their guest with any sort of glance or physical recognition. The two disguised demons reached a more empty part of town, filled with older houses in disrepair, most everyone that lived there moved towards the center of town during the day or worked nights and was sleeping, the perfect spot to not draw any attention from confronting the person tailing them.

“Do you need any assistance with them My Lord?” Harold asked, stopping on the spot, drawing Mel to do the same.

“Doubt it, seems like a normal human.” Mel cracked his knuckles. If this mystery person knew they were demons, they’d have to be eliminated, but if it was something that could be smoothed out, he’d rather smooth it out. “If you’re worried about Sam and Alex getting chummy, go check on them, I’ll deal with this myself.”

“Yes sir!” Harold nodded, rushing back the way they came, letting Mel finally organically look behind him to spot their little stalker.

The human woman jumped a bit, obviously trying not to look suspicious as Mel turned her way. The hidden Demon King’s eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down. She was fit but not as toned as an Adventurer like Sam, dressed in a simple dress with some extra padding to keep her warm, short brown hair not styled in any particular away and large, tired eyes that vacantly focused on him. She seemed to debate hiding behind something to keep her cover for a moment but realized how suspicious she already looked and decided to stay put.

“Why are you following me?” Mel clenched his fist, readying his magical energy to focus towards his palm in case this was actually some sort of trap.

“You’re different.” The girl said quietly, a tone without fear or pride, weary but confident all the same. “It’s been a long time since someone’s been different.”

“What do you mean?” The only reason she hadn’t already been engulfed in the purple hellfire of his signature spell was because there was still a chance this was a misunderstanding and cleaning up a body based on a mixup was more effort than he was willing to expend at the moment.

The girl bit her lip, seemingly struggling to think of a way to sensibly elaborate. She didn’t seem to find one and took a deep breath ready to just come out with it.

“My name is Rachel Eisen, today is the twenty-first of the month of Stormwade and this is my forty one thousand two hundred and eighth time experiencing this day.”

--------------------------------------

“You really expect me to believe that?” After a bit of time walking together in silence, Mel looked over at Rachel. Now that defending himself from an ambush seemed off the table, they were walking back towards the active districts of town at a leisurely pace, both seemingly stunned into quiet for a while after her bold declaration.

“Time Loop Magic is rare but it exists, most people know that. And since you’re different you must have some kind of great affinity for magic, so you definitely know it’s possible.” Rachel huffed indignantly; she seemed to know it was a hard sell but still feigned offense to save some face.

“You keep saying I’m different, how do I know this isn’t just a ploy to get a confession out of me?” He was playing it close to the vest, if this girl didn’t know he was the Demon King there was no reason to tell her, but if she did or was working for someone that was trying to confirm it, life in this peaceful town could get very messy for a lot of people, including his closest friends.

“Confession? Are you a criminal or something?” She quirked a brow.

“Just tell me what makes you think I’m different.” He gave an exasperated sigh.

“You caught the tray.”

“…what?”

“Every day I go by that bakery and every day for the past forty thousand days, your Adventurer friend there has dropped that tray and those buns fell into the dirt. It’s how I get my breakfast to be honest, I don’t exactly have money and nobody seems to mind someone scooping up some dirt buns.” Rachel gave a disinterested shrug. “But today you caught them. Things aren’t usually different unless I directly interact with them, but you changed something.”

Mel grit his teeth a bit in thought, nodding softly. “Time Loop Magic doesn’t really Loop Time, even for a great Wizard bending all of Time into a circle for the sake of one person is far too great a task. Instead it de-syncs the target’s perception of time with everyone else’s. Usually beings perceive time in more or less the same way, but Loopers perceive time on a much smaller, repeating scale, cut off from the grand perception of time shared by everyone else but contained within a very specific part of it.” He rubbed his wrists and shook his head. “It’s a notoriously rare and obtuse form of magic. If you’re hoping I can break you out of the loop I wouldn’t get too excited. Loops essentially run on an energy ring that feeds off itself, the energy expelled by the events in the loop are fed back into it to keep it contained.”

“I know, I’ve had over a hundred years to think about it, it’s extremely rare I come across anyone different, and you’re the first one I’ve been able to pin down in any substantial way.” She rubbed the back of her head, acknowledging how aggressive her stalking had been.

“So does this mean I’m caught in your time loop now? Now that my perception of time and yours are synced?”

“No, I doubt it anyway. It’s like water. If you pour it into a bucket all the drops become one body, but when you pour it out, they’re droplets again. Things like this connect and disband so easily, at least that’s how it’s been before.”

It was growing more plausible in Mel’s mind that she was telling the truth based on what she knew, but he still couldn’t rule out this all being a show to get him to reveal himself. “Prove it then, show me something that only a looper would know.”

“Fine, come here.” Rachel grabbed his hand, seemingly getting a little frustrated with the task of convincing him but excitement in her voice at the idea he might soon believe her. She led him to one of the main courtyards of town, scanning the bustling crowds of people running errands and making a note of each. “There, in a moment the wind’s going to blow this way and blow exactly four bill notes out of Old Lady Gretel’s hands and this guy here will catch them but only return three and quietly pocket the last one.” Her eyes shrewdly watched the people Mel could scarcely make out in the crowd.

Though to his surprise, he did feel the wind blow past him and heard a shout as the woman’s money slipped out of her hand. The young man with shady eyes that Rachel had pointed to seemed to have them blow right into him to his own surprise. And just as was foretold, three of the bill made it back to the woman as the boy faked a polite face and discretely slipped the last into his pocket while making a show of returning the bulk of the old woman’s money to her and getting a fresh cookie from the woman’s bag for his heroic endeavor.

“I’ll admit that’s far too specific to be a coincidence…” Mel mused, even if she could stage such a thing with some sort of remote Wind Magic and had the young man as a plant, knowing the exact number of bills was a step too far even for his own cautious skepticism. Though when he looked to accept Rachel’s proposition, he noticed she was already next to the shady young man, deftly plucking his wallet out of his back pocket while he was engaged with reveling over stealing the pocket change from the elderly woman and getting rewarded for it. He supposed her stealing from a supposed plant was another strike against them being in cahoots after all.

“See? What I tell ya?” Rachel grinned from ear to ear, the pride of offering indisputable proof and her own thievery overriding the tired apathy she’d be displaying until then.

“I guess you think stealing from a thief is alright then?” He crossed his arms and looked at her with a mild expression of judgment.

“He’ll have his wallet back tomorrow, time loop, remember?” She pouted.

“If I’m not in the time loop I’d prefer if you didn’t start a crime wave through my perception of time.” Mel sighed, pulling the wallet out of her hands with two fingers and pulling two bills out of it, sliding them into Gretel’s bag before giving the young boy his wallet back. “Here, think you dropped this, everyone should keep a good hold on their money, right?” He gave a slightly ominous smirk to the boy that made him scamper off no questions asked after taking back his wallet. Mel shoved his hands in his pockets, turning back to Rachel. “Come on, I’ll buy you a snack myself, something better than dirt buns.”

----------------------------------------------------

After grabbing a pair of hot cheese danishes from Alex’s Bakery, Mel came back to where Rachel asked him to meet her, a small arched stone bridge not far from the bakery just a bit downstream from the mill. “You wanted to show me something here?” He asked, handing her one of the danishes.

“Yeah!” Rachel nodded enthusiastically, engulfing half of the Danish in one bite with the gusto of a demonic gravel centipede. She led him under the bridge, a surprisingly serene-looking sight, the arch made into a makeshift dwelling with a straw mat made from a nearby hay bale and a simple pillow and blanket. Along the underside of the bridge the water shimmered and reflected against the stones in small uneven oval patterns, the liquid sloshing quietly echoing inside the arch.

It took a moment for Mel’s eyes to adjust but once they did he saw the underside of the bridge was covered in scratches, small lines marked along the arch that despite their minute size still took up over half the length of the bridge itself. “What are all these…?”

“This is how long I’ve been looping. They disappear every day so I take some time in the morning to re-etch them when I feel like it, I use the cobblestones as guidelines and keep track of how many I made last time.” Rachel sat down, taking another chunk out of her Danish. “I can’t get back to my house from here and I always wake up in the street nearby so I made this my home base since I can get the hay and stuff pretty quickly.”

“How did you end up looping? Or I mean why can’t you get back home?” Mel pressed his back to the arch of the bridge and slid down to sit beside her, shivering softly from the cool moisture coming from the river, though Rachel didn’t seem to mind it.

“Over a hundred years ago… or for you, yesterday: I killed a warlock that was threatening my farm. He was stronger than me but I got the jump on him to protect my land. Still, I was hurt from the fight and stumbled into town to get some medical attention. When I woke up, I was passed out in an alley and couldn’t leave the town border. Every time I try I just end up on the other side of town like I just walked around in a circle. And what’s worse no matter who I tell, they all forget and everything returns to how it was by sunrise the next day… or the same day, you know.”

“So that’s the Warlock Sam was talking about… you may have been better off just letting him have your farm, the spells Warlocks cast on their deathbed are far more powerful than any living mage.” Mel took a bite out of his own Danish, breaking it in half and handing it to Rachel who snatched it up without a word.

“You sure know a lot about this stuff, I gave you my story so it’s time for you to dish.” Rachel huffed, mouth half full of cheesy pastry. “What makes you so special to suddenly be synced to my perception of time?”

Mel thought for a long moment, Rachel had come out with everything even though it was unlikely he’d believe her and even though it wouldn’t change anything, she’d just come out and said it. He supposed it was his turn to do the same.

“I’m the Demon King.”

Rachel choked on her Danish, beating her chest as she looked over at him with a newly wary glance. “You’re the Demon King!? As in Malfino Malthus, THAT Demon King!?”

“That’s me…”

“And the best you could come up with for a human name was ‘Mel’…?”

“It wasn’t exactly something I chose for myself…” he snarled.

Her eyes lowered to the water as something dawned on her, a sad grumble crawling its way out of her lips. “I guess the only reason you’re telling me that is because you’re sure I’ll never be able to tell anyone, huh? You really can’t break me out of the loop…”

“I already told you that.” He said matter-of-factly, but as gently as he could. “It’s only fair I be honest with you, though if you go trying to tell anyone before you loop again we’re going to have a problem.”

“So what’s the Demon King doing around here? You spying on us to get ready and blow this place up? Maybe being looped isn’t so bad if that’s the case…” She finished off the last bites of the half of Mel’s Danish she took.

“No, that’s not it. The Adventurer I was with and the owner of that Bakery, they’re my best friends. I was injured and they mistook me for a human and took me in, I’ve been living a double life since then, I honestly do care about them and treasure my time with them.” He leaned his head back against the cool stone and closed his eyes. “But my Seer also prophesized their child will be the Chosen One who will kill me and end the Malthus bloodline forever. I can’t bear to kill them but I also don’t want to die, so me and my henchdemon Harold have been trying to keep their relationship from becoming romantic so they never have a child.”

“Those lovebirds? Good luck with that, I’m just a street urchin that mooches dirtbuns off the guy and I can see they’re already halfway to being an item. Besides, the bakery guy’s huge AND makes awesome sweets like this? Can’t really keep women away from that.”

“I’ve noticed… it’s a… difficult process.” Mel let some of his frustration show as he shook his head. “If you know this day so well can’t you find something better than dirtbuns to eat?”

“Well I can, but this is the easiest I’ve found.” The looping girl shrugged. “I didn’t exactly take my wallet into town while I was bleeding out so if I need to buy something I’ve got to hold someone up, which sometimes works, sometimes doesn’t, even if it goes badly though I still wake up right back in the alley where I passed out before.” She sighed. “Scooping up free slightly used buns is better than flipping a coin about whether someone I try to rob will be able to see I don’t have a real weapon or not.”

“I suppose mugging is a rather stressful activity to start off your day with.” Mel conceded.

“It’s hard, some days I don’t bother eating at all, it’s not like I’ll die of hunger from one day without food, but it does get uncomfortable. Some days I just decide to end early so I don’t have to bother with anything.”

“How do you end a day ear-oh…” Mel stopped himself, letting the implication hang in the air like lead.

Rachel nodded softly after a stretch of silence that felt much longer than it probably was. “Yeah, not that it helps much, whether I do that or let the day play out, I still end up back where I started so it’s not like I get to sleep it off. I was actually thinking about ending today early too, but decided not to.”

He gave her an inquisitive glance. “Why not?”

“I met you.” She gave a serene smile back at him, making him feel more than a little awkward but letting the moment stay nice despite his cynicism. “It’s been a long time since anything different has happened, and even longer since I had any hope of someone remembering me past today. Anything I tell anyone else just gets reset.”

“And what happens once sunrise comes?” An earnest look of concern crossed Mel’s face despite himself.

“Same thing that always happens, life goes on. Except you’ll have tomorrow, and I won’t.”

“Yeah, I guess so…” He cast his eyes downwards a bit in her direction.

She took a more guarded sitting position, moving to cover part of her body with the blanket from her bedding as if to protect from his glance. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m dying.”

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach, he hadn’t been conscious of it but that’s what it had felt like talking to her, knowing he was speaking to someone that wasn’t going to see the next day with him. “Sorry…” He quietly managed, turning back to the water.

They sat in silence for a bit longer, Rachel idly throwing loose bits of gravel into the river so they could both listen to the sounds of the sploosh and watch the ripples cross the surface.

“I wish there was something I could do for you.” He finally said.

“Whatever it is, you’re doing it now.” She let a small grin tug at the corners of her mouth. “Somehow I feel better knowing you’ll still remember me in the morning, and who would’ve thought a farmgirl from nowhere would be eating danishes with the Demon King?”

He let a small chuckle escape his lips and shook his head. “So what do you plan to do with eternity?”

“I dunno, there’s some things I’ve gotten pretty good at, skipping rocks, helping Old Lady Gretel bake cookies, reading whatever books I can find in the library, there’s a lot I can do now that I couldn’t before.” She smiled to herself. “If that punk that robbed Gretel carried more in his wallet I’d be able to eat better without gambling so much on the muggings, it’s hard trying to hold someone up in the exact same way each time, if you’re tone’s off the whole thing goes sideways.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll learn more about the people here, it’s painful knowing no one will remember what I say, so I stopped talking to people so I wouldn’t contradict what I knew about them from past loops and freak them out. But maybe it’s worth the effort, find out about more of them, like I had no idea you were the Demon King after all, who knows what everyone else is hiding?” She chuckled, trying to find great joy in the simple acts of human interaction.

Mel quietly gathered some of the nearby sticks and hay and ignited his palm with purple demonic fire, passing the flames to the sticks where they turned a natural orange, keeping the two of them warm and bright as the sky got darker outside. “As long as you’re keeping busy.” He smiled faintly.

“That and…” She paused for a moment before nodding to herself. “I don’t think I’ll be cutting my days short anymore.”

“Oh really?” He mused, poking the fledgling fire with a stick.

“Yeah, I thought there was nothing new left for me under the sun, but if I’d cut today short I’d have missed a day like this.” She smiled. “Even if I’ve seen it thousands of times, there’s no such thing as complete certainty, is there?”

“Heh, guess not…” He shook his head softly. “I’ll be right back, don’t fall asleep on me, okay?” He stood up, walking out from under the bridge and running a small errand. When he got back the fire was a far sight better than the fledgling embers he’d left her with, apparently Rachel was much better at tending to it than he was.

He held two mugs of steaming hot chocolate in his hands as well as two slices of Alex’s famous cheesecake, both topped with a generous helping of whipped cream. “I was going to say this’ll help keep you warm but I guess you’re pretty good with the fire, huh?” The incognito demon king looked over at the girl curled up in her blanket poking the roaring yet firmly manageable blaze.

“I’ve gotten used to the cold under here but it helps to know how to take care of one of these.” She said without facing him, turning and spotting the mugs. “Oh no way, gimme!” She cackled as she grabbed the hot mug and started chugging it, giving a small scream as the tip of her tongue turned red. “ACK!!!”

“Told you it’s hot…” Mel stared at her blankly. “Dip your tongue in the whipped cream it’ll feel better.” He calmly set the cheesecake beside her and took gentle sips from his own mug. Despite her talk of getting to know people better, he had a feeling it would be better if she eased into that on her own rather than spending the one day she had with someone that would remember her awkwardly making smalltalk with the admittedly chatty patrons of Alex’s bakery.

Rachel eagerly cooled off her tongue with the whipped cream and started digging into the cheesecake for a similar effect, alternating between the drink and the cake to keep it at a mellow yet warm temperature. “Man she’s gotta marry that guy, he makes some amazing sweets.”

“You know if she does I’m as good as dead, right?” Mel grumbled through a mouthful of his own crumbly cheesecake crust.

“Oh yeah, so that’s a disguise right? I didn’t know demons could look like humans.” She glanced over at him curiously.

“It wouldn’t be much of an infiltration tactic if everyone knew about it.” He could count the number of humans actually aware of the transformation potion on one hand, and most of them were either business partners of the demonic forces or otherwise not in positions where spilling the secret would be in any way wise.

“So… can I see what you really look like? It’s not like anyone’s going to come down here this late.” She gave a teasing chuckle, nudging him softly. “Come on, one request for the looping girl you’re never gonna see again.”

“You got a danish and a half, hot chocolate and cheesecake out of me, don’t act like I owe you.” He said, sounding more pouty than he intended as he finished off his hot chocolate. The light of the fire didn’t extend far beyond the edge of the bridge, anyone looking in probably wouldn’t be able to see even from a ways off. He gave a deep sigh and relented. “Fine…”

Rachel gave a half-genuine squeal of delight as she turned to face Mel. “Alright, lemme see!”

Mel took a deep breath, actively using his native magic senses to purge the active ingredients from the disguise potion out of his pores. Slowly his dark hair took on more of a gray hue, his pale skin turned to a grayish blue color and horns and fangs grew from his head and teeth. His fingernails grew slightly, features noticeably but subtly elongating to make a similar pastiche to his human self but one that was befitting of the young lord that was the King of Demons.

“Huh…”

“What do you mean ‘huh’!? I’m the Demon King here and that’s all you have to say!?” Malthus nearly fell on his face out of shock.

“No, no it’s just… you don’t look as different from your human self as I thought you would. Aside from the skin color and fangs you look pretty similar, just kind of more… stressed out.” She teased softly.

He grumbled and leaned back against the back of the bridge. He hadn’t really thought about it before, when he projected himself as a demon, he had subconsciously thought to carry himself with the air of demonic strength befitting his bloodline that had been beaten into him from a young age. He knew he’d enjoyed the escape from such responsibility that hanging out with Sam and Alex provided, but he’d never thought of himself as more ‘relaxed’ as a human, was he really becoming more comfortable as a human than as a demon?

“Here, you’re already blue, can’t have you freezing.” Rachel interrupted his thoughts by draping the other half of her blanket over him.

“Thanks…” He pulled the blanket more over himself, slightly skittish about how close that pulled him to her, like a squirming housecat he wasn’t quite sure what to do about the physical contact but didn’t reject the added warmth of feeling her beside him.

“Everyone talks about demons like they’re so different from us, and yet here you are right under everyone’s nose and no one can tell the difference. Guess that demons really are just like humans huh?”

“Or humans are just like demons…” He huffed.

She gave a short laugh and nodded. “I’ve seen enough bad things from both to think that might be true.” She too leaned against the back of the bridge, sliding over and leaning against his shoulder softly. “Still there are lots of good things too, cheesecake, danishes, a warm fire, a good talk with someone who understands you… I thought my life didn’t have any point if it was the same thing over and over again, but there’s still so much to enjoy…” Her words trailed off and her eyes fluttered. “All this time… it’s not wasted as long as it’s fun, right? Even if a lot of it isn’t?”

“Hey, don’t go to sleep, we’re supposed to make it to sunrise, right?” Malthus huffed, feeling his own eyelids start to droop, digging his fingernails into his palm to draw blood and give himself a jolt to stay awake despite being so cozy.

“Yeah, I’m not going to sleep I’m just…” She was interrupted by a loud yawn. “I’m glad I kept going into town… throwing myself against that wall one more time… I’m glad I kept trying…”

“Don’t stop trying… okay?” Malthus squeezed his palm tighter, trying to keep the pain coming to will himself awake but feeling the warmth of the bedding and being cuddled up to Rachel force his fatigue to set in.

“Yeah… I’ll keep going…”

----------------------------------------------------

The next morning Mel shot awake, the fire from the night before merely dead coals at this point, the air still dim with the quiet orange stillness of a newly risen sun. He felt the blanket wrapped tightly around himself, but no longer felt any tug from Rachel on the other end. He frantically looked around the area. “Rachel! Rachel I swear to god if you’re here this isn’t funny!” He called out, hearing his voice echoing under the bridge into the still nothingness of morning before any humans were out and about.

“No…”

“DAMNIT!!” He slammed his hand into the underside of the bridge, the dried blood caked in his palm and under his fingernails from trying to stay awake. The blanket hung off his shoulder limply as he let his tears fall into the river and become ripples before being swept away by the flow.

Had there been any better use of their time? Maybe he should have done more to actively try and break her out of her cycle or introduced her to more people in the vain hope they’d remember her after yesterday. There had to have been something he could’ve done for her besides talk and eat sweets, he was sure of it. But that is what had happened, and now the version of him in her perception of time would no longer remember her. He hadn’t even thought of that, from her perspective now she had someone she knew would remember her but she wouldn’t be able to see that progression herself and would instead be taunted by a reset shell of what he had been yesterday.

“It’s not fair…” He sobbed quietly to himself, left only with the gentle sounds of morning and the quiet flow of the river that never stopped.

----------------------------------------------------

“Girl? I don’t remember seeing you with a girl…” Harold said after Mel met back up with his disguised henchdemon, both in their human forms again. It seemed anything different from the flow of time shared by the majority of people wasn’t remembered by them, as if she hadn’t existed at all. He was now back in the Grand Flow, the time of being a separate droplet of water as fleeting as a teardrop.

Mel gave a sigh of exasperation and shook his head as the two of them crossed overtop Rachel’s bridge, looking under and seeing all the tally marks she’d made still under there. At least that much had still occurred, he’d hoped to see another mark appear so he could know Rachel was still doing alright with her loops, but it wasn’t as if the bridge itself was magic, it just still bore the scars of the brief foray into another perception of time it was now separated from just as he was.

“Wow, someone sure graffiti’d up this place, huh?” Harold looked around the bridge’s underside with a low whistle. “Darn kids…” He shook his head. “Anyway, yesterday’s plan to push Sam and Alex apart was a bust, he just shrugged off her eating his buns, that guy’s just way too good natured to piss off like that. We need to think of something better if we’re going to stop them from having a kid, we don’t have much time.”

“No, we don’t have much time.” Mel picked up a stone from the ground, dragging it across the cobblestone of the bridge next to where Rachel had made her marks to make one more of his own. “Not much time at all. But we have today.”

#ooc #writing #My Best Friends' Child Will Kill Me!#Working Title

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lowenzahhn · 2 years ago

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@chiselight -- ;

"It could be true. My people were nomadic, so if there were some Thamudians in my family tree, it could be where my eyes come from."

Not that she was entirely certain it was true, but in her search for clues on the Muratans' past, Venti had suggested that the newly liberated Land of Wisdom would be a good place to begin that search. Given how Lord Buer was still getting back on her feet from a young revolution, Venti had thought sending Vennessa as a diplomatic gesture of goodwill between their countries would be a good place to start, the younger god's own intentions aside. Aaru Village had proven to be the most hospitable thus far, and with a sandstorm raging outside, it wasn't as though she could resume her inconspicuous flight through the desert.

When the tavern host announced a new, unexpected arrival, the half-dozen people she shared a table with, herself included, moved aside so they could partake in the smorgasbord of dishes they all freely helped themselves to. Once everyone was settled again, the day guard, Fodil, seemed to have another tale at hand, the incognito god eager to listen.

#chiselight #MAIN.#it won't let me @ you for some reason orz #i hope this works tho! ^^

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portmanlouis2 · 4 months ago

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Choosing Braces in Miami, FL: What You Need to Know

Miami, Florida, with its vibrant culture, diverse population, and sunny climate, is home to a wide array of orthodontic options for those seeking to straighten their teeth. Whether you're a local resident or visiting the area, navigating the landscape of braces in Miami can be a daunting task. From traditional metal braces to more discreet alternatives, the choices can be overwhelming. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the various types of braces available in Miami, their benefits, and the factors to consider when making your selection.

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In recent years, clear aligners have emerged as a popular alternative to traditional braces. These custom-made, transparent trays are worn over the teeth, gradually shifting them into the desired position. Clear aligners, such as Invisalign, offer a removable and virtually invisible solution, making them a popular choice for adults and image-conscious individuals in Miami.

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Treatment Duration

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For many patients, the appearance of their braces is a significant factor in their decision-making process. If you're concerned about the visibility of your orthodontic appliance, options like ceramic braces or clear aligners can provide a more discreet and aesthetically pleasing solution.

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Maintaining proper oral hygiene during orthodontic treatment is crucial, as the braces can make it more challenging to clean your teeth effectively. Some braces, such as lingual braces or clear aligners, may require more diligent brushing and flossing, while traditional metal braces may be easier to navigate with the right tools and techniques.

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The cost of braces in Miami can vary depending on the type of treatment, the complexity of your case, and the experience of your orthodontist. It's important to discuss the financial aspects of your treatment with your chosen practitioner and explore any available payment plans or insurance coverage.

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Selecting an experienced and reputable orthodontist in Miami is essential for achieving the best possible results. Look for practitioners with a proven track record of successful treatments, specialized training in the type of braces you're considering, and a commitment to personalized care and patient satisfaction.

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#braces miami fl

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