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rocksandrobots · 4 years ago

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Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 14 - Bot Fighting

Varian stood outside the convenience store next to the trolley stop, bags in hand. He had run out of minutes on his cell phone and Wasabi had lent him some money to buy a new phone card and a few other items he needed.

Varian gave a frustrated sigh and looked at his watch. The tram was running late and he was getting tired of standing in the heat of the day. But he was even more annoyed that he had to ask to borough money again.

Varian had been in this new world for three weeks now, and while the full scholarship Professor Granville had given him granted most of the necessities he needed, such as student housing, free meals at the school cafeteria, free credit at the college store for school supplies and textbooks, and even a student pass for the city's public transit, it didn't cover extras like his phone bill or anything else he might want to buy.

He had tried to get a part-time job like his friends, but that was proving to be a difficult task. Most of the applications he'd had put in online he wouldn't ever hear back from and the few he'd applied to in person got turned down almost immediately. Usually either citing his age or his student visa as cause for not hiring him.

He was just thinking of some other options to make money when a man dressed in leather and riding on a motorcycle pulled up. The man parked the bike, got up, and taped a piece of paper to the pole of the bus sign.

Curious Varian peered over the man's shoulder to read the flier.

BOT FIGHT TONIGHT

WINNER

$5,000 GRAND PRIZE

Call 'Louie' for details.

"Uh, excuse me, but are you 'Louie?' Varian politely asked.

"Who wants to know?" Was the man's reply.

"Well, umm, what's a bot fight?"

The man looked surprised. "You really don't know?"

Varian shook his head.

The other man narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't be pulling my leg now would ya?"

Varian shook his head no a second time.

"It's a competition. Competitors pit the robots they've built against each other. First robot down or destroyed loses."

"Can anyone join?"

"So long as you got a ‘bot and some cash you can."

"Cash? You mean like for an entry fee?" Varian grew disappointed. He was sure he could win a competition like that with ease but he didn't have much money left. "How much money do you need?" Varian asked against all hope.

"Depends, how much do ya got?"

Varian dug into his pocket. "Uh… Ten dollars."

"Hmm… well that's a start anyways. Here ya go kid and good luck."

The man gave Varian a small business card with the name of a restaurant, directions, and a phone number.

"It starts at 6 PM, but get there earlier if possible to sign up." And with that the man got back on his bike and drove away.

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

Varian raced back to his lab as soon as the bus let him off. He had called the number on the business card and the woman over the phone told him the rules of the game. Turns out there was a height and weight limit to the robots allowed to enter, so he would only need to build a small automaton to fight with. He could whip one up in a couple of hours, he was sure.

Once he had finished crafting the miniaturized war machine he headed back to the dorms to drop off his purchases and prepare to head out. Wasabi wasn’t there when Varian arrived, otherwise Varian would have invited him along. His friend apparently had a group project that he was working on after school. So Varian simply left him a note telling the other teen where he had gone.

“Hey Ruddgier, sorry to keep you cooped up here all day but I’m afraid they won't allow raccoons at the bot fight.” Varian scratched behind his pet’s ears. “But I did get you a present while I was out.”

Varian pulled out a bag full of apples and Ruddiger practically crawled all over him trying to get at his favorite treat.

“Okay, Okay,” Varian laughed. “You can have some.” He put the bag inside the kennel. He didn’t have the heart to lock the cage’s door though. He hoped the fruit would be enough to keep his pet busy and out of trouble until Wasabi returned that afternoon.

“I gotta go now, so be good, okay, buddy.” Varian ordered, and with that he grabbed his coat and mini automaton and headed out the door.

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

“Guys, we have a problem!” Wasabi burst through the Big Hero Six headquarters waving a note in the air.

“I’ll say, Roddy still hasn’t finished the wiring!” Fred said ruefully, not paying attention to his friend.

“Hey, you can’t rush fine craftsmanship.” Said a large man hanging from the rafters. He was dressed in overalls and had a bushy red beard. In his hands were wires and a soldering iron.

Fred had been insisting that the gang needed a HQ to work out of for months. None of the other members had thought it necessary, but they finally relented when Fred offered to pay for the whole thing using an old abandoned candy factory his family owned and a well respected architect known for building superhero lairs named Roddy. The jury was still out on whether or not this was a good decision but it tended to keep Fred out of trouble so the gang thought it worth it in the end.

“No not that! This!” Wasabi yelled and shoved the note into Fred’s face.

“Dear Wasabi, gone to a bot fight. Would have invited you but you were busy. See you later tonight. Signed Varian.” Fred read.

“Oh no.” Gogo groaned. “He doesn't know ‘bot fights are illegal.”

‘We have to find him,” Hiro said with determination, ”before he gets himself into trouble.”

“Should we suit up?” Honey Lemon asked.

Hiro turned down the idea. “No, we don't wanna start a fight and risk having Varian or others caught in the middle.”

The rest of the gang huddled around him as he strategized a plan. “Now they tend to rotate where the fights are held into order to evade the police so we’re going to need to split up. There’s at least five possible places in Good Luck Alley alone so, Gogo you take the Red Room. Wasabi hit up the Union Sports Bar. Honey Lemon, I need you to check out the Koi; that’s like a spa but it’s got a hidden arena underneath. Fred there’s the usual warehouse on second street and Baymax and I will head to Louie’s. They know me there so it’ll be easier for me to get in.”

“And remember, we’re only going there to get Varian, so find him and then leave. Nothing else.” Gogo admonished looking right at Hiro when she said this.

Hiro looked hurt but he understood where Gogo was coming from. He loved the sport, but it had caused enough trouble in his life and he didn't need any more of that.

“Okay, any more questions? Good. Then we’ll meet back up in front of the Good Luck Arcade and then go from there.” And with that the gang headed out to search for their friend.

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Hiro peered around the corner of the building and down a short alleyway to see the flashing neon sign advertising the restaurant. A burly man guarded the doorway and was checking individuals over before allowing them in.

“Okay, Baymax,” Hiro said turning back to his faithful companion, “I don't think the bouncer is going to let you in so you wait right here and if I’m not out in an hour call the others, alright?”

“I do not think it is a good idea for you to go in alone, but if you insist I will wait right here.” The robot blinked his coal black eyes and dutifully stood to attention on the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry, they know me here, it’ll be fine. Thanks Baymax.” And with that Hiro walked over towards the guard.

“Ya here to fight or to watch?” Asked the tall man.

“Watch; I wanna get to know the competition.” Hiro lied. This seemed to satisfy the bouncer and after paying the man ten bucks Hiro was allowed entrance.

The restaurant was crowded with spectators and dimly lit. Chairs were sacked and tables were pushed out of the way to make room for the event, with a single spot light hanging down on a short stage at the back. Though Hiro couldn’t see who was competing at the moment due to all the people standing in the way.

“What are you doing here?” came an annoyed voice behind him, and Hiro turned around to see who it was. A tall, lanky woman with an eye patch and hair piled high up on her head in a bun glowered over him.

“Hi Fujita.” Hiro gulped. “Look I’m not here to cause any trouble, I’m just looking for a friend. Have you seen him? He’s about my age, so high, has black hair with a blue streak in it, and he usually wears goggles.”

The woman rolled her eyes as she recognized the description. “You mean the new champ? He’s on stage right now.” She stuck her thumb out and gestured towards the back before walking off to collect bets for the next match.

Hiro thanked her and started to push his way through the crowd. He saw Varian sitting cross legged on the small stage, with a pile of cash next to him and fiddling with a bot. Varian spotted him as soon as he made it to the edge of the platform.

‘Oh, Hiro! Hey!” Varian exclaimed a huge grin splitting his face. “I’m glad you could make it. Look how much money I made!” He gleefully held up a wad of cash. “Now I got a enough money to pay everyone back; for everything, the phone, the clothes, and even that book you bought me. Here.”

Varian handed Hiro the money and Hiro was at a loss for words. His new friend was so earnest, so sincere, and so completely oblivious to the den of debauchery he was currently in. It would have been comical if not for the fact that Hiro knew first hand just how quickly things could go wrong here.

“What!? No! First, that was a present, you don't need to pay me back, and second we need to get out of here, now.” Hiro said firmly.

Varian looked at him with wide eyes. ”But why? I’m winning!” He laughed.

Hiro, made to answer, but was interrupted by Fujita coming up on stage and announcing the next match.

“Now folks, it’s time for the final round!’ She enthusiastically yelled. “Yama versus the new kid, Varian!” The crowd cheered as a large heavy set man dressed in a sweat suit appeared from behind the curtain.

Hiro’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the mob boss. Things were getting out of hand now; time to call back up. Hiro stepped off to the side and pulled out his phone to text Wasabi when a muscle bound goon stanched it out of his hand.

“Hey! Give it back!” He yelled and jumped up to make a grab for it. But the thug was too tall for the short teen and held the device high above his head.

“No cell phones.” He growled and Hiro slunk back over to the stage.

His despondent mood turned quickly to curiosity though when he saw what Varian was up to.

The time-displaced teen was winding up a crank on the back of his robot. He set the machine down and it began to jerkily walk forward as a creepy music box like melody played.

youtube

Yama stared at the dinky looking bot for a moment before bursting out in raucous laughter. “You gotta be kidding me. You’re going to fight me with a little wind up doll!? Bwahaha. What is this a bot fight or a toy tournament!? Someone get me a real competitor.”

Varian gave the man a smirk. “What’s the matter? A big man like you afraid of a little toy?” He sarcastically taunted and Yama looked like he was about to burst a vein in anger.

“It’s on, you little twerp!” The mob boss roared and Hiro grimaced. This wasn’t going to end well.

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

Baymax stood dutifully on the sidewalk corner. His internal clock ticked down the minutes until the hour was up, when he would then be needed to call upon the others. Hiro still had a good twenty minutes left though and Baymax's hadn't been alerted to any other emergencies.

Just then the robot's auditory sensors picked up the whirring sound of sirens coming closer. Three patrol cars pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant he was standing next to.

"Oh no." Baymax bemoaned.

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

Hiro was beside himself. On the one hand, Varian was winning. On the other hand, Varian was winning.

Yama was a sore loser who got to the top by stepping on others. If Varian lost the fight he would owe money that he simply didn't have. If he won, then Yama would probably tell his goons to beat them both up and take the money anyway. Either outcome more or less ended with a trip to the emergency room for one of them unless Hiro could get his friend out of there quickly.

That was easier said than done since all eyes were on the young alchemist at the moment, including Hiro's.

Varian's robot was a marvel. Hiro didn't know what the thing was made of but it was near indestructible. It ran on pre-programmed instructions and didn't need the use of a remote unlike the other bots. Therefore it's movements were more clunky but it's blows hit harder. Just chipping away chucks of its opponent with each connecting hit. Moreover, on the rare occasions Yama's bot was able to land in it's own blow, it would only wind up damaging itself in the process while Varian's bot remained unscathed.

Soon enough Yama's robot sputtered and sparked and then shut down and Varian was proclaimed the winner.

"Awe, too bad." The goggle wearing teen gloated while he shoveled money into his pockets. "Maybe you'll win next time, hun?"

Yama just glared at Varian from across the stage and Hiro could sense the mob boss's thugs crowding closer around them. Hiro climbed up on the stage and started to tug at his friend's sleeve.

"Okaay. Time to get going then." He nervously said while his friend still gathered up his things.

“What’s the rush?” Said the minion who had stolen Hiro’s phone earlier. He now stood right behind the two boys blocking their exit.

“Oh no rush, but it’s not like he has anything left to fight with?” Varian snickered, still unaware of the danger they were in.

“Oh don’t I?” Yama replied, cracking his knuckles into a fist and standing to his full height.

Varian visibly shrank at the sight, “Heeey, now, I thought this was just a friendly competition.” He nervously laughed. “No need to get bent out of shape. Am I right, Louie?” Varian turned to the tall goon behind them, looking for backup. None came.

Varian gulped, “Fujita?”. But the tall woman made no move to help either. He looked around wide eyed, desperately hunting for a friendly face.

“Sorry, kid nothing personal,” said ‘Louie’, “but Yama pays the light bill.”

“Oh.” Varian hollowly said as realization finally dawned on him.

Hiro stepped in, “Look, you can keep the money. We just don't want any trouble.”

“Awe, too bad,” Yama threw back Varian’s words, “but, hey maybe next time you’ll know better?” And with that Varian and Hiro braced themselves as the gang started to surround them.

Just when Hiro thought things couldn’t get worse, the cops busted down the door.

“Everyone, hands up! This is a raid!”

#varian #hiro #yama #big hero 6 #bh6 #BH6 the series #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tts #rta

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thenekosimon · 4 years ago

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Simon was so excited today. He was able to get carrots from the kitchen which meant he would be able to find his bunny friends and see them all happy eating their snack. The cat grabbed the bag in his mouth and took off in the direction that the bunnies lived. It was a small group of bunnies that he figured were some sort of family since they all seemed to stay together. He had been spending a lot of time with them since winter was on its way. Simon often fed them and helped to find stuff to keep their dens warm. Sometimes it meant sneaking hay from the kennels or blankets. But the castle wouldn’t miss such small things.

The cat was giddy as he loved watching their little noses twitch as they ate, maybe he would ask for a pet bunny. As he got closer the cat immediately halted. He could smell iron in the air. Blood iron. He growled a bit and got into crouching mode. He slinked along the trees and bushes as he approached the area with the bunnies. The slave was worried, but he needed to be careful. However, when he got to the spot what he saw wiped all good behavior from him. The wild protective animal side of him took hold.

There was a bear, and his little bunny friends were no longer alive. He growled and hissed as this four foot tall cat dropped the bag of carrots and attacked. His claws out, teeth showing, and aggression like never before. He was aiming to kill out of vengeance.

@garethbradbury

#:Gareth #just for the visual of his attack XD

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years ago

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The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 58 - The Bear and the Falcon

Chapter Rating: Explicit Chapter Warnings: Animal cruelty, Sexual Threat, Canon-Typical Violence (incl. Torture) Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cousland Feels

Read on AO3 Or start at Chapter 1

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An ache in her arms; cool, damp stone against her cheek that held a faint, sour-animal odour; darkness. Her throat burned with thirst. The quality of the silence told her she was inside, and – after a few more careful breaths with her eyes still closed and tension forced out of her body – alone. Her heart throbbed, but the terror it compelled would be of no use to her until she knew more about her surroundings, so she swallowed it back and forced her attention elsewhere, to her arms bound behind her back and the pins and needles in her leg. Bruises, but nothing broken.

Finally, she cracked an eye and levered her protesting body up into a sitting position, flinching when her back met cold iron bars. Her oilskin and gambeson had been removed, along with her weapons, but as her examination passed from her self to her surroundings, she noted with a sick kind of relief that her shirt was still tucked into her breeches and the laces fastened neatly. Even so, it meant little considering who had taken her.

To distract herself, she examined her cage, and the rest of her prison beyond it. Light fell dimly through a grated door at the end of the room, just enough to reveal a narrow space with a low, vaulted ceiling above her, and more rows of iron bars stretching away from her into the darkness. Small windows were set high into the walls, but the pitch dark outside offered no help. It was night, then – but which one? Was it days, or merely a few hours since the battle at the cove? She couldn’t remember seeing Windcaller escape, only Cuno lunging for one of Howe’s soldiers, and Alistair –

No, she told herself firmly. Don’t think about it – either of them. She could worry about them later, once she had a better hold on her situation. Forcing a deep breath, she turned her attention back to her bound wrists, and the clink of the cuffs against the bars that told her she would never get them off. They still allowed a bit of slack, however, enough that if she curled her spine and wriggled, she might be able slip them down the backs of her legs and bring them in front of her. It wouldn’t be much, but it would improve her chances until she could snatch a key.

As she worked, the nagging familiarity of her prison resolved itself in a moment part elation and part panic: she was in Castle Cousland, in the kennel run that stretched under the eastern side of the curtain wall between the keep and the Marl-land Tower. Cuno had imprinted on her in the whelping den at the end of the row. They were fools to bring her here. A childhood of running the roofs and hiding from Nan’s temper had given her every secret in the place, from the nooks in the ramparts left over from ages of building to the best handholds to climb the walls and reach them. Even if Windcaller hadn’t made it, a chance for Cailan’s plan still lay with her, and if nothing else, she would finish Howe.

She had almost managed to squeeze her arms past her hips when the bolt on the door snapped back and the latch turned. She threw herself back onto her side just as light spilled across the far wall. Heavy, booted feet made a slow approach, every step jangling with the telltale sound of mail, and she tracked it until it stopped outside her cell, behind her, and every nerve in her body screamed against the need to lie still, limp like a plucked daisy, and wait for a chance.

Leather creaked as the guard squatted down. “My lady!” His voice emerged as a hiss, panicked and urgent. “Lady Rosslyn, wake up – there’s not much time.”

A hand reached through the bars to shake her shoulder, but when she kept still, whoever it was cursed and retreated, and then she heard a rattle of keys, something settled on the floor, and the door groaned inward. She waited. The guard loomed over her, hesitating.

“My lady?”

As soon as his touch landed again she launched upward, throwing herself bodily against him regardless of the sharp jab of pain in her side as unprotected flesh collided with the sharp points on his armour. Before he could do much more than yelp his surprise she twisted, kicked out, braced her back against the wall of her cell so she could jam her boot against his throat.

“Please – my lady –” he gasped, clawing at her foot. “I’m here to help – help you –” His helmet fell back, revealing a round face and a mess of dirty blond hair.

“You’re Master Darion’s boy,” she realised, letting up the pressure in her shock. His name was Gareth. She had gone months thinking everyone in the castle had been killed in the attack, and yet here was a boy who had trained next to her in the lists, followed after her through the summer orchards. Blazing with the orange and white of Amaranthine.

He saw the moment her eyes settled on the Bear on his surcoat, and raised his hands as if to ward her away, but the cage door still stood open, unnoticed, and freedom just a few hundred feet beyond. She feinted towards him, got her feet under her. He flinched. She used the distraction to bolt for the door.

“No!” He tackled her before she made it three steps, bringing her hard to the ground with an impact that jarred all the way to her teeth.

“Traitor!” She spat, and lashed out hard.

A grunt of pain met her ears, but he didn’t let go. “You’ve got’a listen to us - Lowan’s sent for you, there’s not much time –”

“My parents were murdered by Howe and now you’re here in his colours, and I should listen to you?”

“It wasn’t just you! They killed everyone. Me Da, Canavan, Gilmore, all of ‘em what he thought would be loyal to you. Please – just listen –”

With a final heave, she kicked away from him and rose into a crouch, hating the limitation on her arms. “Get me out of these manacles,” she demanded. “If you are loyal.”

The kennelmaster’s son scrubbed a hand down his face, then across the reddened skin at his throat. “I canna. It’s a different key, Lowan’s got the only one. I’m sorry.”

“How are you still alive?”

He held up a hand again, asking patience. “After he killed the officers, the rest of us was given a choice – serve, or have the same thing happen to us. We knew you were out there, that you might need our help, so we let ‘im think he’d won, and waited for you to come back.” When she didn’t reply, he ducked his head and pointed to the lantern he had left just outside the cage. “I brought you water. And there’s some bread and cheese there, an’ all. It’s nowt fancy, but you’ve been out a few hours now. Can I –?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded, and he scurried across to pick up a small horn cup and a parcel of food wrapped in a napkin. As much as she disliked being fed like a child, her current state allowed for little choice. Some of the water dribbled down her chin as she gulped it down, more eager than she had realised for the rush of cool liquid, but Gareth held the cup steady against her lips and the spillage was minimal. When there was none left, she wiped her mouth on her shoulder.

“None of us knew what’a do when they said they’d brought you in,” he said as he unfolded the parcel of food. “Reckon you’re lucky Howe’s got a bigger fish fryin’ him right now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Loghain, my lady.” When she stared at him, his eyes widened. “Din’ you know? He’s here with his entire army waiting out in the orchard by the west gate.”

“We thought he was still on the road,” she muttered. “That means the king is walking into a trap… Tell me, is Queen Anora here?”

He frowned. “Anora? I don’t know about her… but there was someone brought in ‘bout a month back and put in the southwest room on the top floor, guarded day and night. The servers take meals up, but they never see who it is – the guards take the trays and say bugger all that’s not snide comments. My lady, what’s –”

“Gareth!” A voice thundered from outside. “Is that bitch awake or not? What are you doing in there?”

“It’s Commander Lowan!”

“Get rid of the cup,” she hissed. “And the rest of the food.” The bread had been little more than a scrap of crust, the cheese sharp, but her empty stomach was grateful all the same. She watched as Gareth stuffed the evidence out of sight beneath a mouldy pile of straw, their time slipping away with every growing echo of boots along the corridor.

“He’ll think you’re still out of it, so you’d best –”

“Listen to me,” she interrupted. “I wasn’t alone when I was caught. I have over a dozen soldiers who will be coming up the secret passage through the pantry to help. No matter what happens to me, you must make sure the queen makes it safely away and that the king’s army can get in through the gate.”

He shook his head. “My lady, I can’t just –”

“Gareth!”

“Just getting her up – that bloody second-rate apostate kept her too far under!” he shouted as he knelt next to her and hooked his hands under her arms. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you out, soon as we can.”

The door slammed against the wall. Gareth flinched from the sound, and squeaked an instant later as he was knocked out of the way by a hand clad in a gauntlet made of stiff, scratched leather. Rosslyn let herself sag as that same hand grabbed her shoulder and hauled her off the floor. The rough action tore at her joints, but she refused to stand under her own weight – if he wanted to take her anywhere she would bloody well make him work for it.

“On your feet. Teyrn Howe wants a word.”

She rolled her head back to look at him through heavy eyelids, a man with close-cropped grey hair and deep lines around his eyes, and a jagged, poorly-healed scar down the left side of his face. “I don’t recognise anyone with that title.”

“Too bad for you,” Lowan snapped as he dragged her into the corridor. “If he didn’t want to play with you himself, you would’ve woken up in far less comfort than you did, girlie.”

“This day will end with his head on a spike and yours next to it,” she snarled.

That made him pause. He turned to her with a leer, his grip on her arm bruising as he leaned close enough for her to see the broken capillaries in his cheeks. “I told him he should’ve passed a blade across your throat before you woke, but with that defiance? It’s going to be fun watching him break you.”

Revulsion coiled in her stomach as he reached up to wind a lock of her hair around his fingers. Every inch of him radiated the smug superiority particular to those who think themselves untouchable, and her lip curled. Baudrillard had been the same.

“And maybe after he gets bored, he’ll let the rest of us have the leftovers.”

She lunged forward and headbutted him in the face.

“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, as Gareth came forward to catch her. Blood was already pouring from his nose. “Get her out of here.”

She allowed herself a moment to admire her handiwork before she was pulled away, an ugly smirk still lingering at the corner of her mouth. She might face retaliation for it later, but even a small victory sent a message; she would not be cowed, not inside her own keep.

“Been wanting to do that for months,” Gareth muttered in her ear. He guided her down the corridor to the room that usually stored harnesses for dogs, though now the nooks set into the walls were empty. More men in Amaranthine colours waited for her there, and none offered anything but blank stares as her gaze flicked between them, no sign they could be trusted. Apart from the soldiers, she recognised the scrawny, mousy-haired man standing in the corner as the apostate from the beach. Several days’ patchy growth of beard disguised the weak line of his chin, and his dark robes cut off at his elbows to reveal forearms wrapped in fresh bandages and criss-crossed with lines of pale scarring, some more faded than others. He looked anxious.

She turned her attention away. Voices were growing beyond the door at the far end of the room. One held a gravelled quality, clipped with irritation, while the other was a thin, nasally whine she recognised from years of backhanded disapproval and family dinners. Gareth tightened his grip on her shoulder as her face tightened into s snarl, and she remembered just in time that she was meant to be helpless.

The door opened as she was forced into a chair in the middle of the room, and the conversation cut short. Gareth blocked her view, catching her gaze just once as he linked her manacles to a chain set into the back of the seat, far more loosely than he should have done; her legs were left free. He gave her the barest nod before he scurried away, full of trepidation, a last flash of solidarity before the storm descended upon her.

“Well, well, Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire!” Howe cried. “Finally awake! All grown up and playing the soldier, I see.”

As her mother taught her, she straightened and wiped her face clean of emotion, of the hatred surging like fire in her blood. Her eyes fixed unfocused on the far wall, but she could imagine his smile, spreading like the spill of lamp oil over water. Before he could say anything further, however, Lowan clattered in pinching the bridge of his nose, a torn rag held over the bottom half of his face that did little to stem the mess of blood pouring from his nose. She must have broken it.

“What happened to you?” Howe demanded.

Lowan spared her a glance, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Nothing, Your Lordship.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Lowan’s scowl deepened but he did as he was told, ducking past his master with only a perfunctory murmur of deference to the man standing next to him. It was Loghain, Rosslyn realised. He looked terrible, hardly recognisable as the proud advisor who had stood beside the throne at every Landsmeet she could remember. His once military bearing was sunken, gaunt, his cheeks bloodless as tallow and his unkempt hair worn with grey where it wasn’t thinning completely. Only his eyes retained their vigour, but even then, when he fixed his gaze on her, something in them reminded her of the dead at South Reach.

“An interrogation now is useless,” he said, with only a thin veneer of patience. “There is nothing she could tell us we do not already know.”

“I disagree, sire.” Howe still had his smile. “And I’ll remind you she is my prisoner, to do with as I choose.”

“Your petty vengeances do not come before the task at hand,” Loghain snapped. “Cailan is already here, and only waits for the morning. You have until I have spoken to my daughter to deal with this, and no longer. Anything else will wait until after I have that fool boy in my grasp.”

“Of course, sire.”

The old general turned to go, only pausing in the doorway to spare Rosslyn a glance before whatever he wished to say was swallowed up by his better judgement, and he left without a word. Without him, Howe unfolded himself from his servile crouch, the sycophantic tilt if his head curdled into a sneer, and though she squashed it down, her fists clenched with the awareness of being surrounded by enemies commanded by a man who wished her nothing but ill intention. Only her rage kept her shielded against the chill in her spine, so she stoked it, channelled it, anything to keep the worm in her chest from clawing its way up her throat.

“Are you quite comfortable, my dear?” her enemy asked.

She gave him her most disdainful stare. “You should address me with my proper title, Arl Howe. I am the Teyrna of Highever.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You are nothing, you’re the last of nothing. Your parents died begging, your brother’s body rots where no one will ever find it, and his brat was burned on the scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife. There’s no king coming to save you, no prince charming.” At that, he grinned, and her heart faltered. “The way you threw yourself after him on the beach meant nothing, and in the morning, the last of those who claim loyalty to you will be swept from the face of Thedas once and for all. You’ve lost.”

She struggled to control her breath, and heat pricked at the back of her eyes, but she had learned her lessons well. She kept her voice level as she replied, “And yet you’re still scared of me.”

“What?”

“I count four guards,” she mocked, straightening. “Not including your right-hand, who you no doubt wanted present, and a blood mage. Why else would you need them all around one chained woman if you weren’t afraid?”

The soldiers glanced at each other. Howe saw it. He advanced on her, fury contorting his features, and though she saw the slap coming – braced for it – the strike sent her reeling, ears ringing, blinking away the sting.

“You are entirely at my mercy, you pathetic little whelp, and you will learn it sooner or later,” he spat.

She probed her cheek. Blood welled from a cut, but all of her teeth were still in place.

“The more you fight, the more I’ll enjoy it, but you will submit. And through you, my claim on these lands will go beyond anyone’s doubt.” The manic grin came back. “The regent will approve the match, no doubt.”

For an instant, cold terror held her in its grip, the knowledge that her only help lay beyond guarded walls twenty feet thick, that her crew was scattered, that Alistair was…

But she was the Seawolf’s daughter; she had faced down the dead. Rolling her shoulders, she turned away from Howe and casually spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

“Don’t make threats you can’t keep,” she sneered, fixing him in her glare once more. “Everyone at court knows how your poor wife had to find her comfort elsewhere because her husband was impotent. The horsemaster, the cook –” Her lip curled. “And don’t think it went unnoticed how much Thomas looked so much more like the Vigil’s seneschal than he did you. We all knew, everyone knew, and everyone laughed at you for it.”

She saw it, the moment her barb struck its mark, in the wild flicker of his gaze around the room and the lift of a snarl over his teeth, and her battle blood rose in response. He wouldn’t win this battle of wills between them; she wouldn’t let him. And then, she would kill him. But even as she thought it, his shoulders lost their tension, and the scowl smoothed from his face as if she hadn’t scored a point at all.

“There it is, right there,” he murmured. “That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. Your father would be proud. I, however, intend to wipe that defiance away once and for all.” He smiled, and her fingers itched for a weapon. “Bring in the animal.”

One of the soldiers nodded and hurried out. Rosslyn watched him go warily, aware of Howe’s smug expression and the anxious way the others shifted on their feet. Soon, a burst of shouted curses carried through, almost drowned out by the rattle of chains and the monstrous snarling of some enraged beast. Behind her, Gareth stirred in his place in the corner, as if to intervene, but his courage failed him and he stayed silent.

The wait took longer than it should have, but eventually two burly men in heavily quilted jackets with thick leather shields on their arms squeezed through door, dragging chains behind them. The creature on the other end was Cuno. He thrashed and snapped against the restraints cutting into the thick muscle of his neck, trying at once to twist free and attack the guards holding him captive, to fight, but two others hung on behind him, so that he couldn’t lunge in any direction without being wrestled back by the other three. Foam lathered in his gaping jaws, his breath wheezed from his throat in ever more desperate gasps as he threw himself against his enemies, and as she took in the blood staining his flanks, Rosslyn’s hatred of Howe set into a cold, hard ball in her gut.

“Put him over there,” he pointed, as if directing nothing more dangerous than a new piece of furniture. “And you,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “will learn. there is nothing you can do but watch.”

“What are you going to do?” Gareth asked. His eyes were wide on the dog he had known since puppyhood, and who had now seen his mistress was in danger and broken into new ferocity as he tried to get at Howe.

“What is always done with uncontrollable beasts,” he replied as the first guard returned with a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. “Unless you want to tell him to be a good boy?” he asked of Rosslyn.

She stared at him. Her own thoughts were drowned out by the drum of her heart, Cuno’s mad barking, the desperation that surely there must be something she could do. He wanted her to beg. The glint in his eye told her it wouldn’t make a difference. Cuno launched himself forward again, jerked back by the end of the chains, his breath harsher than ever, trying to get to her, to help her, and her nails dug so hard into her palms she was sure they would bleed.

“Void take you,” she hissed, and spat in Howe’s face.

He grabbed her jaw. His fingers dug into her skin like claws as he moved within inches of her face, his eyes greedy in anticipation of what was about to happen. “I said, you will watch this. Hold it still.”

“Your Lordship, you can’t –”

“I’ll deal with you later,” he snapped at Gareth. “Take aim.”

For Rosslyn, the world slowed. Every click of the ratchet drawing back the string, the guards straining, the flecks of blood and saliva cast to the floor as the dog tried to reach her. The bolter raised the crossbow. Cuno roared. Her gaze turned to Howe, to his sneer and his eagerness and every line of cruelty held in the slack, sallow mouth.

The rage took her so quickly she didn’t have time to think. Past the first stirring of it, her mind went blank. She felt her body coil, felt the snarl curling at her lips, and before she registered the movement she threw herself at her enemy, blind instinct, raw fire, nothing but a snap of energy bent into pure vengeance. Greasy cartilage caught between her teeth. She twisted, tore her head away and kicked out in a spray of red and a scream. There was a thud of metal hitting flesh, a yelp. The chair back hit her legs as it fell over. It didn’t matter that her hands were still bound. All she could see was Howe, writhing on the floor, clutching the side of his head She was insensible even to the hands that grabbed at her shoulders to keep her from him, to keep her from ripping him apart with her teeth if she had to.

“Get her out of here!” someone shouted. “And get a healer!”

She spat out his ear at his feet. “That was your last mistake. There’s nowhere you can go, nothing you can do that will save you. I’ll kill you.”

The words caught hold of her, worked through her sinews like roots as the guards wrestled her back, out of sight and down into the bowels of the castle. She didn’t know where they came from, but they rang through her head, burned in her throat, reverberated in her bones like the clarion notes of a horn in an empty hall.

“Whatever you do, I won’t yield!” she bellowed as they hauled her away. “Not until your head is mounted on a wall! There is nothing left you can take from me – run to the far corners of Thedas and I’ll find you! Set an army against me and I’ll slaughter them all to get to you! Even if you kill me, I will crawl back through the Fade over broken shards of glass to make sure you suffer. You won’t escape – do you hear me, Howe? You will never be rid of me!”

The screams echoed off the walls of the dungeon, distorted through the thick stone and hollowed until the words were lost beyond the guards’ curses. There was a lot of screaming these days. For those who had months since lost their hope, it made pity a distant thing. The noise disturbed the prisoner’s rest, that was all, and he resented being pulled from the meditative oblivion that these days came to him almost as naturally as his own breath as he waited for death to claim him. He shut his eyes in the near-complete darkness as the woman – more the shame – was dragged past his door, and with nothing else he could do he turned his head away.

Something moved on the other side of his cell. He could still hear screaming, but it was muffled behind doors and walls, and far more immediate was the sense of another body, betrayed perhaps by the rustle of cloth, or a breath, or the clink of a chain as whoever it was shifted into wakefulness, little more than a half-imagined outline in the gloom. A spark of curiosity lit in the prisoner’s mind. It was a novelty in itself, the first emotion to break through his despair in months.

“Who’s there?” A male voice, and then a groan. “Is someone there?”

The prisoner leaned forward, licked cracked lips, and in a voice scratchy with disuse, told the stranger his name.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #cousland #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #alistair and rosslyn #the falcon and the rose

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brianjaeger · 5 years ago

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2020 Academy Award Best Picture Nominees Guide For Those Who Haven’t Actually Watched Them

The 92nd Oscars are here and it’s time yet again for all of us to lord over one year’s worth of millions of people’s passions with the certainty of a judge at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show (which ironically takes places one day later) and say aloud, “This art is and forever shall be known as better than that other art!”

Throw the notion that expression through the medium of film can exist simply to reflect a myriad of emotions and varied experiences right into the wind. We gotta know what that BEST art is, son!

So with mere hours left before Sunday’s spectacle, you’re probably asking yourself one question. “Brian, why do you keep doing this?” No, not that one. “Brian, Tumblr? Really? Does that still exist? Why don’t you spend the slightest amount of time to find a better medium for this?” No, not that one either. “But Brian, I haven’t actually watched any of these films. What am I going to do?!” Ah, now that’s the one. But fear not. I’ve got you covered. For the 6th time, I’m here to give you a rundown of what I think all of these movies are about without actually seeing them, along with some pithy little talking points to take into your Oscar parties to sound like a goddamn genius.

Ford V Ferrari

In this epic clash of man vs. nature set in the den of Harrison Ford’s summer home in Plano, Texas, the extremely hungry aging star has just had a large pie from Ferrari’s Pizzeria, located at 3949 Legacy Drive, delivered…and now it is time for battle. On the About Us section of their website, Ferrari’s Pizzeria makes a “promise to our customers to provide the best Italian food using recipes handed down from our Italian grandmothers.” Hold on to your Italian grandmothers, kids - that promise is about to be put to the test. (Yeah, it’s real.)

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

That cameo by Mater from Cars is really what pushed this film into Oscar contention.

Christian Bale's car in Ford V Ferrari is also an unwavering method actor and remained in character as a car for the entirety of production.

Who won? I'll give you a hint, in the long run, it was not the quality of life for the American working class!

The Irishman

In this gritty thriller, Lucky the Leprechaun’s father, Frank Leprechaun, an immigrant who worked as a farrier making horseshoes in Ireland before coming to America, wishes on a shooting star for a way to make a better life for his family. He finds that chance by doing hits for the mob and we see his first job take place under a pale moon, when he shoots a diamond store clerk in the heart, blood red ballooning out onto the green grass, like crimson and clover. Later, an aging Frank Leprechaun kills union leader Jimmy Hoffa and as he dies, he divulges the secret that Hoffa’s body is buried on a plantation in Lexington to Lucky. The young boy looks back and makes a firm promise to his dying father. “They’ll never get Kentucky farm.”

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

The de-aging technology used in The Irishman was so advanced that, while you can’t see it, De Niro's testicles are actually two inches higher in the first half of the movie.

The run time of the movie is 3 hours and 30 minutes which is also the average amount of time Netflix users scroll through options before deciding to just watch the same episode of The Office again.

In Ireland, this movie is known as The Man.

JoJo Rabbit

From M. Night Shyamalan comes the story of a scared young boy who claims to see Jewish people. While adults around him are trying very hard to see them too, it’s Adolf Hitler who helps the boy to overcome his fear and actually communicate with the Jews to understand them and realize that the reason that he can see them is because he can help them. And then at the end we realize that Hitler was actually a Jew himself THE WHOLE TIME!

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

I thought it was just a bit on the nose that Taika Waititi chose to have JoJo sing her hit “Leave (Get Out)” at all the Nazis during the Allied occupation of Germany.

While juggling roles in Marriage Story and JoJo Rabbit, Scarlett Johansson would often get confused resulting in one day on set when she tried to cut Sam Rockwell’s hair in a bathtub.

Of all the nominated films, when it comes to winning Best Picture, this is…Nazi one! (Cough. Look around. Place your drink on the table. Slowly collect your coat, walk to the door, pause as if to turn, sigh, leave.)

Joker

It’s 1964 and Cesar Romero has established himself as a force in Hollywood. A multi-talented performer and veteran of WWII, Romero has amassed an impressive body of work playing roles as a versatile character actor, when he gets a call from his agent.

Agent: Cesar, I’ve got something that I think you’d be perfect for.

Cesar Romero: Is it a complex villain in a new Western? A dark turn as a gangster in a noir? A comedic foil in a Sinatra vehicle?

Agent: No. Better.

Cesar Romero: What is it?

Agent: Get this. An evil clown Batman nemesis…on TV!

(Silence.)

Cesar Romero: Um.

Agent: You’ll be kind of like a sidekick to Burgess Meredith! And guess what he is?

Cesar Romero: (Deep breath.) What is he?

Agent: Like a half-man, half-penguin sort of thing…I think. But he’s also evil! Oh, and you’ll also get to star alongside Julie Newmar!

Cesar Romero: Oh, well that may have legs. So, do we have a “will they, won’t they” dynamic?

Agent: Not at all! But she is evil too. And also part cat!

Cesar Romero: I do not understand any of what you are saying.

Agent: And it’s got Frank Gorshin!

Cesar Romero: And what is he? Let me guess. Like an evil frog person?

Agent: No, no! He’s The Riddler. It’s sort of the same exact deal as your character, only he doesn’t wear any makeup. Isn’t this wonderful?!

Cesar Romero: (Pause.) You have to be joking.

Agent: No, Cesar. YOU have…to be joking.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

We still have a little bit of time for Joaquin Phoenix to die and win a posthumous Oscar for this role and keep with tradition. Then in 11 more years, a woman will win Best Supporting Actress for playing the Joker role and then in another 11 years the actual Joker will direct Joe Kerr in a reboot co-starring the Impractical Jokers…and win an Oscar.

I found the end scene touching when Arthur’s wife delivers his child and asks, “Arthur, what do you want to name your son?” And he replies, “Béla.”

Todd Phillips only made this big flashy blockbuster for the studio so that they’d let him do his deeply personal, intimate art house project, The Hangover IV.

Little Women

In a fresh take on a movie that I think is about some nuns living in a cottage during, fuck, I dunno like 1845? 1912? Aught 5? but there’s like a mean one, and a smart-and-sort-of-pretty-but-not-too-pretty one, and they probably have a dog, oh and a horse, and they have fights about vying for the love of the same boy they grew up with who is now some hot stud with poofy hair and poofy shirts and a nasally British accent, oh and there’s 2-3 other sisters that really just serve to further the main sister’s plot, and there is like fucking grass everywhere and how is all that grass not staining the shit out of those long flowy dresses that they always wear on their farm – or is it a glen? can you live ON a glen? – but later the guy marries the right one and he’s a strong man but is totally cool with her writing about some bullshit about being like a female doctor pioneer or something – oh and she’s wearing a straw hat with like a ribbon that’s always flapping the fuck around behind her – I forgot also that they only have one parent, the other is definitely dead and that comes up a little too often, and my mom and two sisters have to have tissues near the goddamn couch while they watch this seemingly 14 hour fucking miniseries or movie or Hallmark marathon because even though each of them could goddamn recite the dialogue from memory they still cry every…single…time…and OH MY GOD, CAN THIS ANNE OF GREEN GABLES, SOUND OF MUSIC, LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE OR WHATEVER THIS GIRL STUFF IS PLEASE BE OVER SO I CAN HAVE THE LIVING ROOM TV BACK TO WATCH BOY STUFF!

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Not many people know this fact but on her death bed, Louisa May Alcott’s final request was that if a woman ever directed a film adaptation of Little Women they would absolutely under no circumstances be nominated for a Best Director Oscar. So, really, that’s on her.

To ants, these are very big women.

Alan Dershowitz and Prince Andrew's favorite film.

Marriage Story

Dr. Ellie Sattler has established her second career as a divorce attorney after years as a paleobotanist and now fights so that “woman inherits the earth”...or at least gets primary custody and more than half of the assets.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

The roommates of Noah Baumbach and Greta Gerwig have become increasingly annoyed listening to several minutes of the two repeating, “No I hope YOU are recognized by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences with the Academy Award for Best Picture…and hang up first,” before ending their long phone calls every night.

While juggling roles in Marriage Story and JoJo Rabbit, Scarlett Johansson would often get confused resulting in one day on set when she tried to hide Robert Smigel in the attic.

Variety reports that a remake of Marriage Story is now slated for fall of 2026 with Colin Jost in the role originated by Adam Driver in a version of the story that will be produced by real life.

1917

The seventh and final installment of the 1910's saga follows the previous successful box office hits 1911: The First One, 1912: Now There's Two, 1913: Why Not Three, 1914: Get It? Years Are Sequential. That’s Really All This Joke Is, 1915: This Is The Fifth One (But Fourth Sequel), and 1916: 19 Fast 16 Furious.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Originally, the movie was supposed to have a ton of cuts between scenes but after saying, “Action,” a producer whispered to Sam Mendes that they only had budget left for one single take after hiring every single recognizable British actor still alive – so Mendes started screaming, “Run! You there, start shooting at them. Keep rolling! Keep running! Jump down that waterfall! Let’s go, people, keep up! Hide in those trees now! Oh look, more bad guys! Pew pew! Duck! Run over that way! Do not…stop…shooting!”

If this movie was called 2017, Colin Firth would have just pulled out his Samsung Galaxy Note 8 and texted, “Call off attack,” with a GIF of Admiral Ackbar saying, “It’s A Trap!” Then, mere seconds later he would have received, “lol k thx”.

1917 earned Benedict Cumberbatch a nomination for “Most Distressingly Off-putting Mustache”.

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood harkens back to a time long, long, long ago in Hollywood's history when the majority of top actors were white, the majority of directors were old men and individual parts of women's bodies were oddly objectified and sexualized. We’ve come so far since then!

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Please don’t ruin the fun and let Brad Pitt know that a movie was actually being filmed around him from June to November 2018.

I didn’t think the film was particularly that great but every single person I know who lives in L.A. and is either in or adjacent to the entertainment industry corrected me that it actually is.

Oh, I’m sorry – I think you’re in the wrong place. This is the once upon a time where a man is burned alive with a blowtorch. If you’re looking for the once upon a time where a man’s eyes are drilled out of his face, well then, pal, you’re gonna want to go to Mexico.

Parasite

Oh. I’m sorry. I accidentally put a Best For'n Language Film here at the end of this list of the best ‘Murican films.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Parasite was, by far, the best movie I read this year!

나는 기생충을 진심으로 감사 할 수 있도록 한국어를 배웠습니다.

Bong Joon-ho's Parasite might leave you asking who are the real bottom feeders in the black comedy about social structures. There's plenty of food for thought as this picture is deeper than than what it may seem like on the surface…is the word-for-word review from Rotten Tomatoes Super Reviewer Aldo G that I just read to you out loud after pulling it up on my phone here.

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