#it had real horse skin and no ears and glass eyes with no eyelids and no one dared touch it

[intricatecakes]

ghost, black cat, bats, haunt, midnight and raven? please and thank uuuu

ghost: have you ever seen a psychic?I’ve seen their buildings and the people in them but no I’ve never gone to a psychic

black cat: favorite urban legend?i really like is sEWER ALLIGATORS tourists would buy them as pets down South back in like the 1920′s-30′s and when they got too big they’d toss them but then where did they go???thE SEWEEEERS so there’s an ongoing thing of there being alligators in the sewers, particularly in New YorkApparently there was one in France, too???

bats: are you superstitious? i go into more detail here but the short answer is hell yes

haunt: do you believe in haunted objects?yes and they scare methere’s a haunted doll that if u don’t respect him he’ll curse you and like your whole family and people have written thousands of letters to him as apologies there’s a haunted murder chair that’s displayed tacked way up on a wall with a warning not to sit in it bc the guy who owned it put a curse on it or something and people have apparently died after sitting thereand i’ve been in enough restored houses and seen items in secondhand shops that just scream haunted and i won’t touch them no sir i won’t risk that sort of nonsense taking a lift back into my home nope i’ve already got ghost cats i don’t need more haunted stuff no thanks

midnight: last horror move that you’ve watched?Tucker and Dale vs Evil and i’ve seen it like 8 times it’s got Tyler Labine and Alan Tudyk and it’s ridiculous how terrible at adulting all the characters are but the dog is cute and it’s fun and also one of like 2 horror movies i can actually watch bc i’m a weenieraven: favorite fairytale?ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuude this is the Worst question bc i love sO MANYYYYYYYOne of my favs is Oidheadh chloinne Lir(the Fate of the Children of Lir) even tho it’s super sad idk i just enjoy it a lot It also has an alternate ending that i can’t find a source for but in that one there’s swans singing and then they feck off to Tir na n’Ogand anyway i like that ending better

Send me spooky asks!

[ophiuchus-interactive]

Hi, darling! ❤ "i’m finally ready to be with you, but you’ve finally moved on from me, and i’m too late" please?

Am I gonna regret this? Absolutely.

Oooh!!! Nobody specified means everyone gets some pain!!!

Thank you dearie!!!

(TW: Death, growing old, regret, mention of grief, slight mention of blood)

Valerian-

“Was it worth it?”

It was like an itch.

No matter how many times over the years Valerian fought with himself to ignore your last words to him, he couldn’t. It crept up on him, crawled under his skin like a memory made of carrion beetles and worms. The question wouldn’t die, it decomposed- fertilizing nightmares of days long gone by. It turned his heart rotten.

He wakes up sometimes with his hand reaching out across the bed, the coolness of his empty linens sending Valerian drowning amongst the currents of time and misfortune again. Giving his decision the moniker of “mistake” would hardly encompass how much of a fool he was, how he thought so assuredly he had you, that you had all the time in the world to wait.

Just one more job, he would tell you, one more bounty. And all there would be left for him, was you.

But you were gone. And your words stung and scraped and dug at his skin. And he scratched and scratched and scratched at the fading memory of you.

Peter-

People talk about the five stages of grief like it’s a process, but really, it’s a map. It’s a state you find yourself in, a sick and twisted path of destinations and crossroads that path themselves in and out of hell. You find yourself there. You hardly ever leave. Some people are lucky; some find themselves in acceptance of their loved one’s death. Some lose themselves in their anger. Some people, desperate to cling to the memories, never make it farther than phase one.

Peter’s destination was bargaining. He never got any further than that.

Desperation. Helplessness. Despite any and all appearances of the cheery, capable man, you saw more in your time with him than most. And he was hurt.

Peter tried many times to get through these feelings, the past clawing at his heart and mind, ripping- always ripping- him back to where he left off. He was so beside himself in his worry for you every time you got hurt, there were times you thought it better to not go home at all. If only to quell the pain. If only to stop his hurt.

And maybe it was bad. Bad to let him go like you did. But how much more could you stomach watching him hurt? Ghosts haunting him, tormenting him, his face twisting at the sight of you coming out of a battle alive.

Be okay, for me. Please be okay.

You hated promises you couldn’t keep.

You hated the thought of breaking his heart even further, if one night you came home, and you weren’t okay.

Rosalie-

Love isn’t perfect. It was an epiphany she had working on a dock, years after she’d left you. She was older, wiser, but still remembers you the way she liked you best: smiling. Your voice had faded from her memory, your words probably twisted by time, but it was your smile that she recalled with perfect detail. It was good, this way. Better.

Rosalie tries not to think about the moments where it wasn’t flawless, and always to her surprise, those memories are nothing more than blunt daggers in her mind. Tears, anger, regret- those feelings surface, dull and subdued, but they don’t affect her the same way it does with your smile.

Where did it all go wrong?

Rosalie doesn’t know. She doesn’t expect it, either. She broke her finger slamming her hammer down, missing the nail when she came to this realization. The shattering sound of her ring finger was a dull, monotone noise compared to the blood that rushed in her ears;

Did I not try hard enough?

It was you, smiling. The crystal clear sound of your laughter. The mute sounds of your anger- the blurry visions of your tears. Faded arguments. Jokes that sound so familiar. Her memories weren’t perfect. Her love for you wasn’t, either.

But it was real.

Real like the fractured bits of bone and knuckle. Real like her scream. Real like the hot, furious tears that poured down her face, the pain- the pain.

Intangible. Imperfect.

Like her memories of you.

Thane-

“You’re lucky you’re not dead, you know,” Thane’s voice was steady, like scolding was part of his profession, “if they were any closer to you-”

“I know,” You say, your eyelids slamming shut. You did your best to hide your frustration, lest Thane suddenly decides he was going to start bitching to you about that, too, “but I’m alive. It’s fine,”

“It’s reckless,” He corrects, and the familiar feeling of your heart dropping to your stomach throws you off. You were over him. His words shouldn’t sting this much anymore.

“Foolish, really,” Thane continues, and his cold, sterile needle seems bury itself deeper into your skin, “but, given your proclivities for practically throwing yourself at death’s doorstep, I’m not surprised,”

You scoff, throwing back your head in disbelief. Is he being serious?

“I jumped in front of the damn gun because you weren’t moving fast enough! Any slower, Thane, and you would’ve been dead.”

He stops. The needle sat still against your skin. The sutures pulled taut- your wound was almost closed.

“What?”

“He was aiming for your effin’ head,” You spit, tired, tired of the damn man in front of you. Never so much as a thank you for the amount of times you saved his ass, and he’s still giving you shit? Still grating on your fucking nerves?

“I…” He sucks in a breath, “I didn’t know that,”

“No shit,” You huff, “you never do.”

That seems to be enough to snap Thane back out of his daze. His piercing, cold eyes met yours, and you were surprised to see that they seem to mirror your irritation. Your fury,

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

That you're loved, you fool. I loved you.

Why couldn’t you see that?

Why couldn’t you see me?

There was so much at that moment you wanted to say, so many words that turned stale on your tongue. It was bitter, finally seeing the realization on his face, to watch those very lips that you’d only dreamt of tasting, turn until tight, thin frown. Confusion and worry and shock painted his face a pale, pinkish gray. It was the color, you realized, of regret.

Of his regret. Not yours.

Ophelia-

When Ophelia found your first gray hair, she almost cried.

It’s started. The clock is ticking.

You soothed her horror with laughter, plucking the strand of hair straight from your head and throwing it to the side, like it was garbage. Trash.

“You stress me out,” You say with a laugh, and Ophelia finds it in herself to smile. She doesn’t notice at first, how the laugh lines deepen.

You complained of pains in your back. Your hips. Riding a horse has become too much of a pain for long distance travel.

Your head of hair is now silver. Ophelia pays the color little mind.

She insists on riding into town herself more and more, much to her quiet, naked distress.

You slap her shoulder playfully, shrugging off your discomfort like you were twenty-three again,

“And miss out on the candy restock? Perish the thought.”

Ophelia now loves the contoured lines of your face. You’ve laughed a lot. It’s pretty.

You sit at home now, keeping your hands busy as best you can.

Ophelia does her best to ignore the gossip in town. She’s older, and yet they call you the pervert.

Does she really look so young? Has she really not changed? Will there be no sign of growing old with you?

You smiled sadly as she said these things late one night. She’d be crying again,

“Be still, my heart. I am always with you.”

She misses it.

She left for town only a day ago. The tulips were in bloom. Ophelia thought it a good idea to surprise you.

Doc greeted her in town. He shook his head, eyes cast to the ground.

The tulips were ruined in her haste, and Ophelia cried herself into exhaustion.

It was a terrible day. A feather unnoticed on her neck, had turned a light shade of gray.

Javier-

Javier was cold. Dying was a frigid feeling.

His chest heaved slow, shallow breaths. With each rise and fall of his chest, he could feel his own blood fill up his lungs, his own chest caving in. Dying was an uncomfortable feeling.

He held your hand like it was his lifeline. Javier didn’t want to look in your eyes again, he knew the light was gone.

“Re-remember when,” he starts, and the force of his breath alone causes him to gag and heave. For a brief second, he wonders if this was it- he couldn’t even say goodbye, before he said hello again. Javier was okay with that. But his breathing slows and calms down, and it was enough for him to start again,

“R-remember when I first met you?” It was a favorite of his; you looked so wild back then, so free. Years have passed and times have changed, you along with it, but the way you looked then?

It made him believe in such a thing called love.

Javier tries to laugh, but it comes out as a choked, wet cough. His hand still held onto yours tightly,

“...you...made me feel alive. And...and scared, a-and brave, and- oh, god, I love you. I-I love you.”

Javier took a breath. Dying was a tiring feeling.

He held your hand. Dying was a lonely feeling.

But he’s coming, and he’s sorry that he’s so late.

Sergio-

“Thank you,”

He laughs. It’s a hollow sound. Sergio was three fingers deep into his rye when you finally spoke up, and of course, it makes him laugh,

“Is that what divorced people say to each other? Thank you?”

You shrug, gulping down a glass of your own poison. Divorce decrees took more out of you than gunfights. Is it any wonder why one happens more than the other?

“You were my husband,” You say quietly, your eyes never meeting him, “You loved me, for better or worse...thank you, for that.”

“You’re an amazing person,” Sergio says without hesitation. His fingers were cold as he clutched his whiskey glass, raising it high into the air, “I...I mean that. Truly.”

What more was I to do, if not love you?

You smile, gulping down your sorrows, lest they escape your lips. Crying was for later. You’re saying goodbye, now.

“I, ahem,” Sergio clears his throat, his free hand going to wipe his reddened eyes, “I hope that whoever they are, they treat you good and proper, and that you are loved…” He pauses, “...that you are loved, as I’ve loved you.”

Say it more. Mean it. Husband, what words are these, when I’m no longer meant for them?

“I don’t hate you, Sergio,” You blurt, and they were words that demand repeating, “but this...I’m not...we, we’re not-”

They are only meant for you.

“-I know,” Sergio says, giving a wave of his hand, “I know. And thank you,”

“For?”

“For allowing me to love you,” Sergio says unevenly, and he takes a moment more to finish his drink.

????/Hope-

So this is agony.

Another’s hand upon your cheek.

You looked happy in their arms. You wore the same smile that made them realize what love was for the first time- what it could truly mean. Those feelings only grew inside them as time went on, bright and fluttering and bursting, so this is love.

It felt good.

But you never gave them that look you’re giving your lover, now. There’s no light in your eyes when your gaze finds them- you grin, you always grin, but it’s the same look you give Valerian and Peter.

It hurts. But why?

They should be happy for you- you're happy. You have someone to love. If this is what you’re feeling, being in your lover’s arms…?

They’ll have Rosalie run a diagnostic on their systems- surely this is a glitch that needs to be fixed. If you’re happy, they’re happy. Rosalie can fix this pain, and Hope will be normal again.

It hurts, being like this.

[magalidragon]

dragon in a waterfall | a “bird on a wire” drabble

I don‘t know where this came from but I wrote it very fast at lunch. It is a missing piece to “bird on a wire” aka the Princess and Bodyguard fic. It is vaguely referenced in one of Dany’s thoughts in that fic. This is ANGST. Apologies for boo boos.

There was a ringing in her ears when she flicked her eyelids up, confused, wondering how come an alarm was going off-- shouldn't it be the middle of the night?  Was she sleeping this entire time?  Perhaps she was dreaming?

She tried to sit up, her chest aching, pressed on concrete, her evening gown torn from her shoulder and the skirt ripped in several layers around her knees and feet; she was really cold.  She never was cold; dragonblood, everyone joked, kept her running hot even if the frigid climes of the far North.  Except now she shivered, head to toe, her skin pebbled to gooseflesh.  The ringing was getting worse, when she tried to sit up, and she blinked again, her cheek scratched, and her side damp, like she'd landed in a puddle of water.

And she realized she was not dreaming.

Oh no, this was a nightmare.

"Jon!" she screamed, her throat vibrating from the exertion, the volume in her scream.  It came from her collapsed lungs, expanding them painfully, the horror at what had just happened settling into her memory, returning from the blacked out moment on the concrete.

She tried to stand up, but Barristan was grabbing her around hte middle, liftin gher bodily from the ground; her shoes were missing.  Her bare feet scrabbled on the cobblestones, unable to gain traction, her arms flailing, scratching at the bodyguard, refusing to listen to his commands.  Viserys was screaming for her, from the backseat of an SUV, before the door slammed on him, and she thought she heard her mother sobbing for her as well, and where was Rhaegar?  Did it even matter?

Nothing mattered.

None of her family mattered to her, because she had realized now what had happened, and why there was a damp spot on her side, and her body bruised and battered, and the chaos swarming them.  She could only see, tunnelvision, everything black on the edges of her sight, the figure lying in the center of the courtyard, blood pouring underneath him, Ser Arthur hovering over him, staunching bleeding with the shawl that had formerly been around her shoulders, and now was trying to keep blood in someone's body.

All she could see now was a hand, off to the side, fingers unmoving; fingers that had been in her palm only moments before, that had squeezed her hand deftly, when no one was looking, before she entered the Casterly Rock gardens for that evening's outdoor gala, to celebrate Rhaegar's coronation, while on a tour of the Westerlands.  It was never meant to be, it seemed someone was unhappy with that idea, and they'd decided to slip in under the guise of a waiter?  A driver?  Another bodyguard?  She did not know, nor did she care.

BEcause whoever it was had called her name and she turned, and then there was a shocking pain in her side and then she went flying on the ground, because Jon had lunged in front, throwing her behind him, and taken the hits instead.  At least, that's what she had envisioned in her mind, everything blurry and fuzzy, but it was making sense.

And he was lying there, dying on the stones, and she was somewhere else, ignoring Barristan as he tried to wrap a bandage around her, in the back of an SUV, while she clawed at the glass window, the door handle, screaming and desperate, not feeling anything but the need to get to him.

"Jon, Jon, Jon!" she repeated, delirious, screaming, her throat hoarse.  She spun on Barristan, trying to crawl over him, over Ser Gerold, who was barking at the chauffeur to get them to the pre-arranged hospital and ensure there was a full detail there.  "Let me out ! I'm fine!  Let me out! I need Jon!"

"Princess you're injured!"

"No I'm not!" she howled, evne though her hands were red, staining the inside of the SUV, and her head was swimming, everything staring to get fuzzy again.  Gerold was saying she was in shock, she had to stop, but she kicked at him when he moved to wrap her in a blanket, and continued to sob for Jon.

If he dies, I will die too, she thought, the last image before she passed out, of his face, before he'd pushed her, before everything went to the seven hells, when for a brief moment, they were a couple entering a party, to enjoy an evening, to dance, and maybe kiss under the stars.  His shy smile, tugging at the corners of his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling, so very handsome in his black suit, and even with that wiggly little wire that came out of his ear and threaded down his neck and arm to the microphone in his hand.  She jokingly called it the Sea Snake.  She'd given it a name, after the famous Sea Snake himself, saying "Corlys must be with us today" when he had to wear it around her.

He had been smiling because she whispered to him that they were practicing for a real date, one day, and it had been joyful, but sad too, because they didn't know when or if or how they could ever have such a day.  A day where he was Jon and she was Dany, and they were just out having fun.  They were strangers in a bar, they met, and they went back to his place or hers, and then coffee the next morning.

It was easy to pretend, because she knew they couldn't have it the other way.

Not yet.

They were working their way there, they were going to try, one day, but not yet, because things were too new with Rhaegar as king and Viserys was sick and too many changes at once were too much for her family to handle.

And now it was all gone.

She was going to lose him, before she could ever really have him how she wanted.

Stolen kisses in alcoves, disappearing in crowded dance floors in illegal clubs, and running into the night from hidden passageways, with sometimes months in between each.  She lived in a constant state of missing him, aching for him, even when he was inches away from her, always there, her protective shadow.

He had his hair back that night, like he did on big events, to keep it from his face, and she'd joked in the car over-- it had just been them-- that he looked like an aging hippie.  He teased her that he thought he looked like a young intellecutal.  "You, an intellectual?" she joked, kissing his knuckles.  "The man who has comic books on his nightstand?  Hardly."

"I'll have you know those comics are pretty deep, talking about man's fight against nature and his own inner self."

"Jon, it's about a cartoon Night's Watch ranger."

"Exactly, he's fighting against his internal demons because why else would he join the NIght's Watch?"

"You did."

"Aye," he admitted.  He turned to her, and stole a quick kiss, only because the partition between them and the driver was up.  He whispered, earnest, squeezing her hand hard.  "And it brought me to you."

She brushed her hand over his cheek, regretfully sighing when the car came to a stop.  "Hold my hand before we go in?  Just for a moment?  We can be on a first date."

"Save me a dance," he murmured, kissing her again, chaste, breaking away quickly to step out of the car first, to run around and hold open the door, and she blinked back tears, and plastered her smile on, breaking her cheeks and forcing it back, so when she climbed out of the car, waving at the crowds that had gathered outside Casterly Rock to see the royal family and other assorted celebrities enter for the grand event, she would be envied and beloved.

Daenerys, Princess Royal, didn't everyone want to be her?  She was so beautiful, so famous, so lucky.  She could have anything she wanted-- a horse, cars, planes, a castle even, and she never had to work, never had to give up anything for it, because that's the type of life she could have.

And they never knew that the glow to her cheeks was from sobbing before they left the hotel, the shine in her eyes was unshed tears, and her heart was breaking, each and every single day.

The Dragon Queen, the tabloids called her, even if she was but a princess.

She dreamed now, a world that was not her own, and perhaps she was dead.  Was this the afterlife, have I been burned like my ancestors before me, she wondered, drifting through trees, the ground soundless under her bare feet.

And she emerged in a beautiful clearing, with waterfalls in a pool, crashing against stones, jagged and lurching upwards from the ground.  It was breathtaking, snowcapped mountains surrounding the valley, hiding it from anyone who dared to enter such a peaceful sanctum.  She smiled, her fingers dragging along some flowers bunched around the rocks near the pool-- blue winter roses.  They smelled so sweet, i twas like they were emerging from a wall of ice.

She tugged on one, and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the lovely aroma.

"They make me think of you."

Turning at his voice, she was not startled-- of cours ehe was here with her.  He approached slowly, not in the all black suit he'd been wearing or the black uniform he favored or even his clubbing attire of black leather and boots.  He was relaxed, just like her, barefoot and free, white button down and loose gray pants.  She noted she was in a white dress; are we getting married, she briefly wondered.

She let him take the flower from her fingers, reaching to tuck it into her hair, his hand dragging down her jaw and to her throat, his finertips alighting on her pulse.  "Jon," she gasped, hands upon his chest.  "Is this just a dream?"

"If it is a dream, then it is a good dream," he answered, lifting her lips to his, kissing against the backdrop of the falls.  She moaned softly, returning the kiss, and clutched at his shirt, desperate for it, praying it would never end.  Except it did, and he broke away, the side of his nose against hers, breaths mingling.  "Blue winter roses are strong and survive in the harshest of winters, like you do Dany.  My dragon."

She blinked away tears.  "Are we dead?"

"No."

"Then where are we?"

He glanced around, smiling and shrugged.  "Appears we are in the North...I remember this place.  I came here as a boy."

"It's beautiful."

"So are you."

She wanted to stay there forever; she knew it couldn't be.  "We could stay a thousand years," she said, watching his face, the happiness there and then the sadness, his gray eyes clouding over.  "No one would ever find us."

"We'd be pretty old."

THen we'd be pretty old, we could grow old together, you and I, away from it all.  She allowed him to embrace her, kissing her, and swallowing her up, the dream falling away, like water trickling through her fingers.

And she woke up, lying in a bed, harsh hospital lights on her, and a tube in her nose.  She was stiff, cold, awkward.  The linens were scratchy and they'd placed her in a gown.  She had an IV in her arm, which she ignored, turning and struggling, her strength returning.  An alarm beeped, like the ringing in her ears from after hte attack, and someone  yelled that the Princess was awake.  I have a name, she thought, her feet hitting the cold title floor.  She whipped off the oxygen tubing around her ears and nose, fighting at the IV line connected to a stand next to her.

A door burst open, her mother rushing in-- still in her deep plum evening gown-- with a doctor and a nurse and Barristan.  "Your Highness!" Barristan exclaimed.  "Please, the doctor did not want you moving."

"Daenerys, darling, please listen to them," her mother called, grabbing for her hand.  "You need to rest, you've been hurt!  Oh gods, please just stay put for once in your life, stop trying to run away!"

No!

"Jon!" she exclaimed, pushing at them.  "I need to see him!  Is he dead?"

Barristan shook his head and Rhaella pushed her towards the bed in the brief moment she paused, focusing on the old guard.  "No, he's in surgery, please, do not worry about..."

"I have to worry about him!" She knocked away a nurse who was moving for her IV, after the doctor said something about a sedative.  "Don't you drug me!  I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and I am the Dragon's Daughter and you will not stop me from seeing him!"  All the strength inside of her raged, fire flaring from her eyes and heaving in her chest.  She did not care.  "He is my Jon, he took a knife for me, and I will not be pushed aside like a simpering little girl!"

They didn't even tell her what had happened ot her; she guessed from the bandages wrapped around her middle, the ache there, that hte knife had swiped her, but not enough to do significant damage, as she could walk and talk.  They all stared at her, stunned, but she didn't care, pushing Barristan aside and struggling towards the door.

Rhaella drew her shoulders back, voice cold.  "Get her a chair, at least a robe, she will not be stopped."  She smirked.  "I know my daughter."

"But Your Highness," a doctor began, but silenced upon the glare Rhaella shot him. He nodded meekly and hurried out.

She collapsed into a wheelchair, head in her hands, and allowed htem to wrap her in a red robe that had bene in her hotel room last she remembered.  Time meant nothing to her; it could be days later, or hours, and she grabbed at Missandei-- her best friend of course had managed to get in-- when they went down the hall, seeing her urnning towards them from an open set of elevator doors.

Missandei cried, grabbing for her.  "Oh gods Dany!  I was so scared!  You're alright?"

"Jon was stabbed," she said hollowly.

Understanding, Missandei pushed away a nurse and took the chair, pushing her where they led, into an elevator, up a few flors, and down some hallways.  They pushed her into a room, dark, only lights from the operating suite it flanked, and she realized it was where the doctors and nurses scrubbed up before surgery.  She forced herself to her feet, grabbing the edge of hte window, staring at the activity going on in front of her.

Doctors and nurses flurried about the prone body on the table, bloodied materials tossed on the floor around their feet and tray tables at their elbows.  There were flashes of metallic objects as they worked, and monitors seemed to be hanging and standing everywhere, she couldn't focus on one or the other.  Some had lines going across them, numbers blinking and flashing.  Others magnified the activity going on on the table, all red and confusing.

There was something pulsing in the doctor's palm and she realized in shock it was his heart.  They were fixing his heart, stitching it together.

But that's my job.

That's my heart too.

"Is he going to be okay?" she croaked.

Someone said that he'd been stabbed seven times, one straight to the heart, and the doctors were doing all they could.  Her mother lightly touched her elbow, whispering.  "He did his job Dany.  I know you were close darling, but he did his job.  He protected you."

No we weren't just close. It seemed Barristan had realized that, even if her mother hadn't yet.  They would soon, because she wasn't going to stop.  She whispered, shaking her head.  "He saved me, Mother.  he didn't protect me, he saved me."  He saved me in all the ways you can be saved.  So many, many ways.

"We need to get you back to your bed," Barristan murmured.

She shook her head.  "No, no I am staying here.  I'm not leaving and when he's ou tof surgery, yo uwill bring me to his bedside."

"Dany," Rhaealla began.

She whirled on her mother, shouting.  "No!  No Mother, I love him, don't you get it?  He's not just my bodyguard, he is the love of my life and he's lying there on a table, bleeding for me!"  Her shoulders shook, the wails taking over her, and she released everything she'd been holding in, unable to take it, and fell into the chair, no longer able to speak, because she missed him and she hurt everywhere.

It was out, the secret was out.

Months and years of hiding, gone now, and she didn't care.

Time passed; she knew htey drugged her and she drifted away into a dreamless state, and came in and out, noticing that Rhaegar was there and then her mother, and she caught snippets of them saying Viserys had gone catatonic and was being taken back immediately to Summerhall for treatment.  She thought she heard Rhaegar say something about "if he pulls through we need to move him" and her mother saying that "it wasn't time for that."

She wanted to be out somewhere, in a club dancing, partying, and she wondered where Drogo wa shaving one of his latest raves and bashes.  It would be fun, she thought, tasting the alcohol on her tongue, her nose burning from smoke.  She came to again and this time there was no one in the room except Barristan, who ordinarily was her mother's guard, and for some reason was here with her.

"Barristan," she mumbled, blinking; her eyelids felt like there were weights on the lashes.

Barristan smiled and touched her hand, whispering.  "Princess."

Understanding, she tried to sit up, panicked.  "Jon, is Jon..."

"He's out of surgery.  Come Princess.  Before your brother finds out."  Barristan helped her from bed, into a wheelchair, and bundled again.  He took her from her room, in a fancy private suite, and said something to the other Kingsguard, so many of them flitting about, in their black suits with white shields on the lapels.

In another wing, in a smaller room, with a window looking from the hall into it, he pushed her towards a bed, where Jon was lying, his chest marred with bandages and tubing, arms locked down from wires and monitors.  There was a tube for oxygen around his nose, but no ventilator, and monitors beeping erratically around him.  Barristan leaned down, whispering.  "His heart rate has been...worrying.  It keeps dropping.  They needed to shock him twice."

Tears did not fall now.  She pushed herself forward, towards the bed, her limbs clumsy.  He was so still.  He was sleeping, but it was scary, because his skin was ashy and his cheeks gaunt-- had he always been so thin?  She traced his collarbone, where a few lines went into his skin, and along his pulse.  It thrummed under her touch.  There were dark bruises under his eyes and his dark curls were lank, pushed under his head and out of hte way.  She noted that his muscles were hidden under bandages, but he was strong, in so many ways, and he would recover.

He had to.

She touched his hand, sliding hers into it, and held tight.  It was limp against her.  "Jon please," she whispered, squeezing.  She leaned in, lips against his ear, begging.  "Please I need you.  I love you.  Come back to me."

Careful of everything, she crawled onto the bed next to him, her head beside his on the pillow, and she ignored Barristan trying to say that maynbe it wasn't good for her to be there, they should get her back to her room.  No, I'm not leaving. She kissed the corner of his mouth, sighing.  "Jon, come back to me, I love you, you can't leave me.  You're mine."

A monitor beeped.  She darted her eyes towards her, the heartrate increasing, and then steadying.  She knew it would.  He could hear her; he was in that clearing somewhere, waiting for her, and she closed her eyes, to fall asleep and go visit him there.

"Da....da..."

The raspy sound kept her from falling into that world, her eyes springing open.  "Jon?" she breathed, looking down at his face.

His eyelids fluttered, cracked lips trembling.  "Da...ny."

"Jon, oh gods Jon," she cried, kissing him, holding his face in her hands.  "It's me, I'm here."

His eyes opened, giving her a glimpse of the cool gray, and his lips pulled back, barely.  "Da-ny," he slurred.  "Love..."

"I love you, I know, don't talk.  Don't talk, I'm here."

They would deal with the repercussions later, the fallout from the attack, from everyone knowing.  Of course they knew now, because she thought she saw Arthur in the hallway which meant Rhaegar was nearby, and when her brother the King discovered that his sister the Princess, was in love with her bodyguard, it would have to end.  It would be too difficult to maintain impartiality, it would look wrong, and it could never happen.  He could not be her match, because she was the Princess of hte Seven Kingdoms and he was just Jon.

She didn't care right now.

It would fall out the way it would fall out.  They could deal with it then.

Right now, he was alive and in her arms, and that was how it should be.

[princelinglucaa]

My prince. I left early to ready the horses. Find me at the stables when you're ready to leave.

All I want to do is get lost in the woods with you.

It wasn’t often that Luca woke up alone and when he groped a hand across the sheets to seek out his lover’s warmth only to find the bed empty, he sat up with a frown.

The scented sheet of parchment, folded into the shape of a heart, caught his eye.

He read the message, his pout turning into a happy smile when he realized the only reason Ryan had left him was to prepare for more time together. Getting lost in the woods with his knight sounded magical and the balm to the restless feeling that had been plaguing him since the dreams started.

Sometimes he felt as though he was caught between two worlds and all he wanted was to find his tether to Ryan and find his way back to the one that was his home.

He rolled off the bed to pad naked and barefoot to his bathing suite. One of the handmaidens was already there, filling the tub with the aid of the common magic to make the water flow and sprinkling rose petals into the water. She heated it with a swirl of her hand and a glow of gold then bowed and ducked away quietly as Luca lowered himself into the water. He waited until he was alone before he ran a hand over his smooth limbs, making sure the perfumed oils and waters caressed skin and dampened his hair. He might not have the body of a fighter like his knight, but he knew he could be beautiful in his own right and he closed his eyes and sank back with a sigh, casting his mind back over the night before and the hungry touch of Ryan’s hands as he had pressed Luca into the sheets and worked him open with deft fingers and an insistent tongue.

Gods, Ryan had made him feel so good. Just the memory of it was enough to cause his dick to stir and he bit his lip, hesitating only for a heartbeat before he wrapped his hand around it and tugged experimentally. It didn’t seem to matter how often Ryan brought him a release, Luca couldn’t get enough and just the flash of his lover’s blue eyes and inked hands behind Luca’s eyelids was enough to make him want to come again.

Luca stroked himself lazily, thinking about all the things Ryan would do when he touched him, thinking about the beautiful glass plug he had commissioned especially for Luca and the weight of the soft jewelled collars he placed around Luca’s neck. He was a prince, but for Ryan, he was simply his boy and Luca had never felt more real or more valued than he did when he was completely at Ryan’s mercy.

And soon, gods willing, Ryan might lay him down on the mossy grass by the babbling brook and love him all over again.

A new sense of urgency stole over him and he pulled his hand away. He'd save his release for his lover, save his moans for Ryan's ears. He finished bathing, dressed in leathers suitable for riding, then hurried to the stables.

[peaky-gray]

Save Yourself

Pt. 8/?

A/N: buckle up, this one is a lot :) enjoy! let me know what you think and if you want more! xx

Listen while you read.

TW: panic attack

PART ONE.    PART TWO.   PART THREE.   PART FOUR.   PART FIVE.  PART SIX.   PART SEVEN. 

A week later, you find yourself in another meeting with Michael, this time with Polly. You had been avoiding Michael like the plague but Polly convinced you to come to a meeting with him. You had arrived shortly before Michael giving you time to talk with Polly.

“Guess what?”

“What, Pol?” 

“You must have left one hell of a first impression last week because Gina asked me about you. Wanted to know how you knew the family and why you were around so much. I told her everything.”

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head and your jaw dropped, “Polly when you say everything, do you mean everything?”

Polly nods, “Yes. Michael about had my head for it, now she won’t leave him alone about you.”

“Polly, now Michael will hate me. And now we have a meeting together? Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Michael doesn’t hate you, he isn’t capable of it. You should see the way he looks at her, dull, lifeless. They won’t last. And Gina won’t hurt you if she’s smart.”

Your conversation is cut short as Michael walks in. When he sees you, he stops, lungs deflating and color draining from his face. Polly didn’t tell him you were coming. There was no doubt in your mind that Polly planned this for a reason.

Polly pulls you both from the trance you both found yourselves in yet again, “Come on Michael.” She urges. 

She hands you both a card, an invitation to Lizzie’s birthday tonight.

Michael speaks before you, “A fucking ballet?”

Polly explains, “He wants to impress somebody.”

Michael speaks, “And I’m invited?” 

Polly walks over to the liquor tray, “You and Gina.” Oh god.

“Why?” Michael asks as he puts his coat on a chair and sits down. 

Polly brings over three glasses of whiskey, “Because he wants to give you the chance to come back properly. The both of you.”

In front of Michael, Polly places a sheet of paper. “Coal haulage?” Michael asks.

Polly replies, “Yeah.”

You speak up, “Since when do we deal with coal?” 

Polly speaks, ignoring your question, “Michael, Tommy wants you to reopen those books and become managing director. You, Prudence, help monitor the books and assist.” That meant you and Michael would be working together again; Gina was going to go on a rampage.

Michael takes out a cigarette and lights it, “So I’ve come back from Detroit to become a coal man.”

Polly looks at Michael, “The first delivery is bound for San Francisco. But if it works, Tommy thinks he can find distribution for it here.”

Michael ashes his cigarette, “And this, um, this coal. Is it snow white?”

You roll your eyes, looking at Polly as she responds, “No. Golden brown.”

Michael sighs heavily, “Fuck.” Opium.

Polly, sensing Michael’s apprehension, begins to speak again, “This is your opportunity, Michael. There is more money in this than there is in all other parts of our business put together.”

You sat silently, thinking while Michael spoke, “Tommy knows what opium does to people.”

Polly rebuttals, “Tommy knows what whiskey does to people. He got an OBE for selling it.” 

You didn’t need convincing but apparently, Michael did, “I’ll speak to Gina.”

You hear Polly scoff as you laugh. You look at Michael, “Jesus Christ, Michael, just sign the fucking paper. Gina doesn’t know a thing about this business.”

Michael twists the knife, staring at you as he says sternly, “I will consult my wife.” 

Polly tosses her pen in front of her, speaking to Michael, “Your father ran this business for a bit. 1901. And he shipped coal, real coal. Just coal. And his fingernails and his eyelids and his ears were black with it. And the merchants would offer them one price and then only pay half because they could. And that was wrong Michael.” Polly stands, walking over to the fireplace and grabbing a handful of coal. She walks over to Michael as you sit and watch. 

She takes Michael’s hand, dropping the coal into it and rubbing, the coal staining his hand. 

“Run your hands through it, get it under your skin,” Polly glances at you and then back to Michael as she continues speaking, “-and then see if Gina will let you lay a finger on her.”

Polly takes Michaels pocket square, wiping her hands, “I think golden brown is more to her taste. Especially when you tell her how much money you’re going to earn.” Polly drops the cloth into Michael’s hand and walks out, leaving you and Michael alone. 

You break the silence first, “Michael, just sign the paper, make this easy. I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

Michael wipes his hand before speaking, “If you’re not trying to cause trouble, then why are you here?”

“Excuse me? This is my fucking job. Just because you left me here for two years doesn’t mean I just disappear like you wanted me to. Did I really mean that little, like I was nothing?”

“ You weren't nothing Prudence, please don't think that. I didn’t want you to disappear. That’s actually the last thing I wanted.”

Scoffing, “Michael, do you hear yourself? Every time you speak to me, you say one thing and your actions say another.”

Glaring at you, Michael raises his voice, “What do you want me to say, huh?!” 

Yelling, “Anything! I used to be able to read you like a book and now you’re a stranger. Tell me what you’re thinking, anything.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”

You laugh bitterly, “Alright Michael, run away again.”

He yells, startling you, “I’m not running! You-, you don’t know how hard this is.” 

“What is so hard Michael?! All you have to do is explain what the fuck is going on inside your head because I am at a loss.”

“Mum said that you thought I hated you. I don’t, I can’t. I made a mistake.”

“Which mistake are you referring to Michael? There’s a few.”

He rolls his eyes, but his face softens, “All of them. I’m sorry for every single one. More than you know, I wish I could go back and fix them but I can’t. I have to go.”

Michael practically runs out of the room, leaving you alone. What did he mean? You cry for the first time since Bonnie’s death and Michael’s return. You managed to hold yourself together until now. You sobbed loudly, gasping for breath. You jumped up and walked over to the fireplace. You grabbed the first thing you saw, a small horse statue, and threw it against the wall. You watched as it shattered into pieces, much like how your heart felt. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when the door opens. You turn around to see Michael.

“I forgot my coa- Prudence? Are you alright?”

Your tears turn into laughter, you really were breaking. 

“No, Michael, I’m not fucking alright.”

Your laughter turns into violent sobs again. Michael’s heart shattered as he watched you break in front of him. This was because of him. And before he could stop himself, he rushed over to you, taking you in his arms. You lash out, struggling against him, hitting him in the chest, “No! No! Let me go! I hate you, I hate you.” Michael deserved this. Your hits to his chest lost their power as your legs gave out, Michael gently lowering both of you to the ground. His arms tightened around you as your sobs lessened, Michael murmuring in your ear how sorry he was. 

This was the first time in almost three years he had touched you. Your head against his chest and arms around his neck, a sudden sense of safety flooded you. You had always felt safe in Michael’s arms.

You didn’t know how long you and Michael sat on the floor. It could have been minutes or it could have been an hour. You were sure it was closer to the latter. You pull away, your tears had stopped a while ago. You see the tear stains on Michael’s shirt, you didn’t know how he was going to explain that to Gina. 

Gina. Fuck. Scrambling away from Michael, you stand up and walk to the corner of the room, putting as much distance between you and Michael as possible. Michael looks at you like you slapped him. 

“You-, you need to go home to Gina. This didn’t happen. Go home to your wife and get ready for Lizzie's party. I’ll stay out of the way. I’m sorry.”

“Prudence, it’s alright. You do-”

You cut him off, “Just go, Michael!”

He looks at you, standing still for a few minutes, just staring at you. You could practically see the gears moving in his head as he thought. You could see him struggling with something, the emotion writing itself on his face. He grabs his coat, walks over to you, and kisses you. A real kiss. He whispers that he was sorry in your ear. And then he walks out, disappearing in the doorway. Leaving you to figure out what just happened. 

Tag list: @multi-fandom-iimagines​ @liviakomtrikru20

[starryknight09]

Concrete Wall 1, Peter Parker 0 - Part 2

Febuwhump Day 12: "please come back”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

He floated in the ether of nothingness.  Noises slipped through, but they went in one ear and out the other, their meaning dissolving away like candy floss.

“Why isn’t he waking up?  It’s been three days.”

“It’s a miracle he’s even alive.  Anyone without his enhancement would be dead.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re in uncharted territory.”

“But he’s going to be ok?”

“I don’t know.”

“When will you know?”

“Only time will tell.”

“I think his finger moved.”

“Probably just a reflex.”

“Or maybe he’s waking up.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“How much longer do you want to wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

“He might never be coming back Tones.  Cho didn’t see any activity on the tests yesterday.”

“Shut up.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it but—"

“Get out.”

“It’s been three weeks.  We need to start talking about our options.”

“No.  He’s going to wake up.”

“Or he might not.  Tony, we need to be realistic.  It’s not looking promising at this point.”

“You said we needed to give him time.”

“Yes, but if he was going to get better, we should’ve started seeing some progress by now.”

“Or not.  You said yourself this is uncharted territory.”

“I did.  But we might have to face the fact that this injury is too much for even Peter to come back from.”

“No.  He’ll come back.  Trust me.  He just needs a little more time.  Can’t we just give him a little more time?”

“…Ok.”

“I’m not giving up on you Underoos.  I know you’re in there.  But now it’s time to come back.  Pepper and Morgan miss you.  I miss you.”

“Come back to me kid.”

“Please come back.”

“Please.”

He had no sense of time.  He just existed.  There was nothing.

And then there was something.

“’Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.'” A voice said.  Voice…  What was a voice?  People had voices.  A voice meant someone was speaking.

“’Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.  'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'” The voice continued on.  It soothed him, but he didn’t know why.  He tried to focus on it, but as soon he tried, he became aware of pain…somewhere.  His…head.  He remembered he had a head.  Everyone did.  And his hurt.

“I like this part Daddy.” A different voice said and he felt something in his chest warm.  Why?

“Me too pumpkin.” The voice from before answered before going back to talking in a different tone.  “’Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'”

The voice was doing something.  He should know this.  Trying to remember hurt his head, but he didn’t stop.  He needed to figure it out.  It came to him in the next second.  Reading.  The voice was reading.  Reading meant books.  And he loved books.

“'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.’”

And the lines of this book were familiar.  What was it?  It was…  It was…  Oh right.  The Velveteen Rabbit.  One of his favorite books as a child.  He’d read it to Morgan the week after he’d returned from the snap.  And he’d cried because May used to read it to him and it’d made him miss her.  And now it was one of Morgan’s favorite books.  Morgan.  The image of her flashed in his mind.  Chestnut hair and warm brown eyes coupled with a mischievous smile.  She was his sister.  Because Tony had adopted him after the snap when he’d found out May was gone.  Tony.  The voice was Tony’s.

“’Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.’” Tony read.

As the memories came back, so did an increased awareness.  He felt like a newborn trying to make sense of the world around him.  To keep from getting overwhelmed, he tried to focus on one thing at a time.  He could sense the fluorescent lighting behind his closed eyelids and the air had a characteristic antiseptic smell.  The medbay.  That made sense.  Something had definitely happened to him, but he couldn’t remember what.  

“’But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.’”

He cataloged his body from head to toe.  His limbs felt heavy and weighted down but they were all there.  He wiggled his toes.  Next, his fingers.  He could feel the stiff cotton sheets underneath them.

“Daddy!”

“I know, that’s a good line.” Tony said, clearly amused.

“No Daddy, he moved!  Peter moved.  His fingers moved.”

“Sometimes that happens sweetheart.  It’s from a reflex.  Sort of like when you hit your knee and your leg jerks.”

Peter could sense Morgan’s skepticism even with his eyes closed.  He licked his lips.

“Look!  His tongue moved.  That’s not a reflex, is it Daddy?”

“What?” Tony sounded shaken.

Peter frowned.

The next second he heard a thud.

“Daddy you dropped me.”

“Peter?!” Peter could feel Tony’s hand grip his shoulder and squeeze.  “Buddy, can you hear me?  Can you open your eyes?”

His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, but he managed to pry them open with a herculean effort to meet Tony’s shocked expression.

“Oh my god.” Tony whispered.  “Peter.  Are you…  Can you talk?”

“Daddy I want to see Peter.” Morgan whined from behind him.

“Just a second honey.  Daddy needs to talk to him first.  Pete?”

Peter swallowed but his mouth felt like a desert.

“Wha—” He tried but the words got caught in his throat and he coughed weakly.

“Here.  Take it slow.” Tony guided a straw into his mouth and he took a few gulps of water to moisten his throat.

Tony took the glass away once he’d finished and Peter tried to remember how to move his mouth the right way to form words.  He cleared his throat before trying again, “What happened?”  The words came out barely above a whisper.

Tony let out a laugh of delighted disbelief, a wide grin breaking out across his face as he bent forward to kiss his forehead before gathering him in a gentle hug.  “You’re ok.” Tony said in elation, breathing deeply into his hair.  It unnerved Peter to see him so rattled.

When Tony finally let go and settled on the edge of the bed, Peter could see unshed tears in his eyes.

“I’m ok.” He whispered, not liking to see Tony so upset.  “But…what happened?”

“Jesus kiddo.  I don’t even know where to start…” Tony rubbed his eyes, acting like it was because he was exasperated and not because he was trying to hide the moisture collecting there.  

“I do.” Morgan chimed in, finally pushing past Tony.  “You hit your head really really hard.”

“Careful honey.” Tony warned as Morgan climbed up on his bed.

“It’s all right.” He said.  The jostling made his head pound, but it was tolerable and worth it when Morgan flopped forward to hug him.  He hugged her right back, unable to keep the smile off his face.  “Hey little miss, I’m ok.”

“I missed you.” She sighed into his neck.

He frowned.  “How long was I out for?”

“A long time.” Morgan answered, which wasn’t a very specific answer.  He glanced up at Tony, unsure how to read the expression on his face.

When Tony didn’t answer, Peter asked again with an insistent edge to his voice, “How long?”

“It’s been almost two months.” Tony said quickly, glancing away like the answer hurt.

“What?” The word erupted from his mouth in shock.  Two months?  How was that possible?

Tony ran a hand through his hair before settling it on Peter’s shoulder.  “Do you remember the mission we were on?”

He closed his eyes and tried to, but nothing came to him but a worsening headache.  “No.”

“We were off world helping Captain Marvel and you got on the wrong side of one of the Kree.”

None of that rang any bells.  At all.  In fact…  “What’s a Kree?”

Tony shook his head.  “That’s not important right now.  Anyway, we were on a mission and you got a bad knock on the noggin so we had to rush you back here.  You were—” Tony glanced at Morgan and cut himself off, likely realizing he needed to censor the gory details.  “Uh, there was some bleeding in your head so Cho had to do surgery, but even afterward there was so much swelling that…  Well, we didn’t know if you’d ever wake up.”

“But I did.” He stated and didn’t know why it came out with a hint of uncertainty.

“Obviously.” Tony tried to smirk, but it fell flat.  “And you’re feeling ok, right?”

“Yeah.  Um, my head kind of hurts but…”  Peter reached up to feel his head and let out a little gasp when he felt the short buzz cut of his hair.  “My hair.”

“It’ll grow back.” Tony said, finally managing a genuine smile as he reached out and rubbed the short stubble over his scalp.

“Yeah Petey, don’t worry it’ll grow back, and it doesn’t look so bad.” Morgan tried to reassure him as she held him a little tighter.  “I’m just glad you’re awake.”

“Me too.” He mumbled into her hair.  He still wanted to know all the details of what had happened, but he could ask Tony later.  He knew the man wouldn’t want to go into the nitty gritty of it in front of Morgan anyway, so for now he just tried to relax, and enjoy the fact that he’d apparently cheated death again as he soaked up all the love being offered by Tony and Morgan.

[anathemafiction]

To Have

Commission by the lovely @areyntheheartseeker

The Pitch: MC's first time with The Pirate King.

NSFW

4.4k words

The light is wrong.

Warm and full, flickering in soft tones of red and orange and carrying with it the underlying scent of smoke. A scent that would have him alert, with his axes on his hands and an invocation to the spirits on his lips. It's wrong because it differs too much from the pale, flimsy light of moonlight. The one that should be seeping through the window. Cold and thin and bringing in the taste of salt.

The large brazier burning just outside once again reminds The Pirate that he's away from his ship, away from the sea. They would never light such a big fire on his vessel - too much vulnerable wood lying around.

The Pirate sighs, mostly out of habit than any real sorrow. His black eyes look down, at the head resting on his chest, and his smile is as smug as it is wide. How could he truly complain, after all, when you're curled up on his lap, your soft little hands tucked neatly against his stomach?

Well, he couldn't. He was never much of a complaining man, in any case. Why waste breathe mourning when you could be doing?

The Pirate's smile loop sides and he props his feet up on the footrest at his front, leaning further into the depths of the large plush recliner that sits at the center of the lavish room. It's marron in color and the velvet smells clean and washed. For the third time this evening, The Pirate considers stealing it back to his ship.

He could use a new chair in his chambers.

With his feet up, you slide closer to his chest, your hands shifting behind his back, and his smirk widens. The firelight from the small hearth in the corner bathes your face in warm hues, making shadows play on your skin. Your eyelashes, long and dark, are closed against fair cheeks that end in a bottom of a mouth that is slightly open.

He feels his chest warm and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling instead. Lest he says something stupid, like his senseless heart is begging him to.

Have some self-respect.

The Pirate brings the glass of mulled wine to his lips, but once again frowns at the taste. Fancy shit. He would have preferred some rum or failing that, cold black beer. But the innkeeper had been scandalized by the suggestion and you had dragged him upstairs before The Pirate could teach the man some manners.

Not complaining.

His other hand, the one missing half a finger, finds its way to your hair. The Pirate strokes the strands absentmindedly, swirling the wine in his mouth. Your hair is longer than his and almost as black, but he can never tire to touch it. Smooth and silky, it seems to shine in any light. He cradles the back of your head, feeling your chest breathe in a slow rhythm against his.

When he first met you, he never would have guessed you were a clinger. He laughs low in his chest as he turns back to look at you to see you folded on top of him. It's something you do often, when you find yourselves alone and safe, with no other prying eyes. He would be assaulted by your arms, and your tender kisses and your hands demanding to be held.

And end up as he is. Trapped somewhere with you in his lap, pressed close. Not that he was complaining.

No. Sitting in this ridiculously comfortable chair, that he has just decided to definitely take with him, with a warm fire nearby, a large bed behind and you in his arms, the Pirate finds he cannot complain.

Even if he is stuck in land.

You stir in his lap, and he sees your eyelids fluttering open. The Pirate smile when steely eyes peek from underneath, the grey made soft and tender by sleep. You blink, looking at him so openly that he chuckles again. Trying to dissipate that damned wave that threats to burn his chest.

"Ah, but do my eyes deceive me?" he says lowly, putting the wine glass aside to softly caress your cheek. You close your eyes at the touch, tilting your chin upon his chest and he cannot help but think of a cat.

He grins at the thought but keeps it to himself. He doesn't feel like facing your claws just yet. "Or is my treasure back from the land of dreamers?"

You smile back, opening your eyes as his fingers hold your chin. "I wasn't really sleeping," you say, leaning on your arms to lift yourself towards him. You kiss him softly, a simple press of your mouth to his, and The Pirate holds back from chasing your lips when you break apart. "I was just... resting my eyes."

He laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear. You had both bathed, and the scent of your hair - unperfumed, but clean and crisp - fills his nose. "That beast tires you too much," he says, his face turning serious. "Riding him takes more out of you than it should."

As he expected, you wave a dismissive hand. "I am fine," you assure, sitting up in his lap, your leg coming to straddle his waist. His hands immediately grab hold of your hips. "And Billy is much better now than before."

He frowns, but decides not to press the issue. This is a discussion you have had many times before. He knows he won't win it - yet. He could clearly see your grimace of pain every time you rode that horse for more than a few hours, but as with most things in life, you preferred to bear it stoically.

You look to the side and spot the wine glass by the low table. When you turn back to him, you're smiling in that way only he knows to be mischievous. A smile only his eyes get to see. "Is that how you spent your time?" you ask, the grey in your eyes shining by the glow coming from the window. Somehow, as it makes your eyes twinkle, he doesn't find the light wrong any longer. "Drinking?"

He smirks, and squeezes your waist gently. "What else was I to do?" he asks, letting his head fall on the back of the chair, body relaxing under yours. "I was held hostage by a large cat in human form!"

You flush, and The Pirate laughs as you playfully swat him in the chest. He almost makes to grab your wrist, but the curve of your hip is too enticing to leave for now. "A cat?" you protest, but you are smiling as you lean into him.

He nods lazily, letting himself stay still as you come closer. His lips brush yours when he speaks next. "A very clingy, very adorable little kitten."

You give him a flat stare that has him smirking. "I prefer dogs," you say, and his chuckle is silenced by your kiss.

Your hands rest on both sides of his neck, your elbows digging into his chest as you lean on your knees to hold yourself over him. The Pirate has his neck stretched back, and he allows you to do as you wish, a lazy smirk on his lips while you press closer.

The plushness of your kiss soon gains intent, and his eyes close when your tongue pushes its way into his mouth.

Oh. This kind of kiss then.

His fingers clench on your hips and The Pirate pulls you forward, arm locking you against his chest when you crash flush to him. His other hand plunges into the depths of your hair and he feels more than hears your soft gasp when his tongue meets yours. He's still slack, however, letting you take the lead.

Your nails dig into his skin, and The Pirate feels his heart start to beat faster. Pressure builds behind his eyes, his body heating. Pressure builds bellow his stomach, his desire spiking.

You break the kiss, breathing heavily, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. He cracks his eyes open to see you staring at him. Your eyes big and wide and blown out. Your lips swollen, your skin flushed. The hand on your hair tightens as The Pirate keeps himself from throwing you over his shoulder and press you into the bed.

Spirits.

You are looking at him in that way again.

(…)

Here is a sneak peek!  The full commission is available on Ko-fi for one-time supporters (this includes those who have requested a commission or donated!) or monthly subscribers!

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[scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy]

Several Times Scully Got Locked Out Of Her Motel Room In Her Scanties (First Time Smut Ensues) Chapter Two

Chapter One here.

Irresistible (Season Two)

They stood pressed against one another in the foyer of Donnie Pfaster’s mother’s house in Minneapolis, Mulder holding her head, a steadying hand on her upper back as she cried her terror and relief into his chest, finally letting go.

The handcut Swiss voile table runner Pfaster had used to gag her was still tied at the back of Scully’s neck as Mulder rested his lips against her bloodied, tangled hair and softly assured her things were all right. 

They weren’t all right, they weren’t all right at all. They were so far from all right she didn’t know how to process it, and could only cling to him in her effort to remain upright, and present: to remain real, somehow. 

A part of her was glad her father had not lived to hear about this. She couldn’t have faced telling him; couldn’t have met his eyes, knowing that he knew. She had broken his heart by veering from a career in medicine to work at the FBI, but she’d always felt certain in her conviction that she was still following the path he’d foreseen for her: to use her skills and her training to help those in need.

Yet here she was, entrusted to protect others from the predators of the world, and she just seemed to keep falling victim to them.

She had disappointed her father, and now she had failed herself.

She attempted to calm down with the technique Dr. Kosseff had outlined, closing her eyes and noting what her senses could detect in the room around her, rooting herself in her environment. 

What she could hear: Pfaster being cuffed and read his Miranda rights; that was no help. 

What she could smell: Mulder’s laundry detergent, the salty, sea-air tang of his deodorant, the earthen aroma beneath it that was all him. She sucked it in through her nose, filling her lungs with the scent of him between heaving sobs. That was better. 

What she could feel: the full body press of his every contour against her aching, bruised form. The safe, scratchy cavern of his shoulder, where her stricken face was hidden from the gaze of the local field agents; his muscled arms, hesitantly encircling her; his ribs, crushing her breasts painfully as she clutched him tight; and his manhood, making lengthy, innocent contact with the soft swell of her stomach. That was… confusing at this time.

She took in a deep breath, the flow of her tears stemmed for now, and patted Mulder’s back in thanks, stepping away. He watched from a close, anxious distance as she untied the makeshift gag and ran her fingers through her hair, averting her eyes from any and all inquiries as to her health and wellbeing as she waved off medical attention.

“I’m fine. I just want to go to the motel,” she insisted, in a quiet voice.

Agent Bocks drove them back, Mulder silently riding up front, Scully pressing herself into the corner of the back seat against the door, her hands folded in her lap as she vehemently admonished any teardrops that dared to appear in the corners of her eyes. At a stoplight, the driver behind braked a little late, and she snapped her head back, bracing for an impact that never came. 

A female agent had retrieved her bag from the trunk of her wrecked Lariat rental, and it awaited her in her room.

She turned on all the lights.

In the bathroom, Scully peeled off her dusty, bloodstained clothes and dropped them to the floor, hanging her red satin robe on the hook at the back of the door. She inspected herself in the mirror, fingering the abrasion on her chin, the contusion above her right eyebrow. There were angry stripes on her wrists and ankles from where they’d been roughly tied. There were too many cuts to count. Purpling weals were beginning to marble the pale skin of her hips, knees and arms. Her back too, probably: the raised welts a catalogue of every individual violent contact made with walls, stairs, floors. She felt each blow anew as her hands explored the injuries.

As she began to draw the bath, the sound of the cascading water sent her mind reeling to the image of Pfaster falling backwards into the tub. She saw him collapsing over and over until she wrenched off the faucet. The final few droplets fell from the chrome-plated plumbing, and as she looked down onto the settling surface she saw herself submerged below the waterline: lifeless, immersed in billowing scarlet seeping from severed veins. 

She had to get back on this aqueous horse without delay. Baths were her respite, her lone sanctioned self-indulgence: scalding, frothy, synthetic-scented Elysium. Dana Scully did not shop ‘til she dropped. She rarely imbibed more than a single glass of wine. She hadn’t smoked a single cigarette since completing her undergraduate thesis. She had been averting her eyes from lingering, suggestive gazes since Quantico. She would absolutely, resolutely, categorically not allow Donnie Pfaster to ruin baths for her.

She made sure her gun was within reach, resting atop the cistern.

Climbing into the bubbleless water, she laid back against the tub, her eyes wide open. She listened to the room. The faucet dripped every few seconds. The shaving light above the mirror buzzed. A clock mounted over the TV in the bedroom counted passing seconds. God knew what time it was. She risked a few long blinks.

Behind her eyelids, she saw white. A bright light. A gurney. Her own abdomen; distended, illuminated, invaded. Images so familiar, of which she could make no sense. It looked like a dream. 

It felt like a nightmare.

Like the other nightmares that shocked her awake at all hours, gasping and sweating and reaching for her weapon on the nightstand: Eugene Tooms squeezing through her hallway air duct; Duane Barry silhouetted outside her bay window; darkness, and the insistent droning whir of helicopter blades.

She sank beneath the water to soak her hair.

She washed herself; then, when the temperature began to drop, dragged her body up and out of the bath, gingerly drying off, dabbing rather than rubbing at the sore spots, which were legion. The plughole gurgled as the last of the bathtub contents spiralled away, and she shrugged her robe over her shoulders, tucking her SIG-Sauer, still in its hip holster, into the pocket.

She walked towards the bed and was about to dig her pajamas out of the open suitcase when she heard the noise behind her. A rustle of some sort. A breath, or a shuffle, maybe. She grabbed for the gun as she spun around, unclipping the holster and flinging it away from her. Safety off, she held both her arms ramrod straight and aimed for the bathroom. Her heart pounded, the only noise she could now hear the thumping of her own blood in her ears. She didn’t wait around to see if there was something else she might be missing, but backed out of the room, sidestepping the bed. Once outside, she slammed the door shut with excessive force and screamed.

Long. Livid. Loud. Not a scream of fear, but of abject fury.  

She knew there was no one in that room. She was simply on edge, her body reliving her panic, her mind re-experiencing her abduction. Abductions. She didn’t need to wait another few months to know these Pfaster flashbacks weren’t just going to disappear. 

Goddammit. 

How would she ever escape this hell when it lived inside of her?

A body has a story to tell. 

Would her own body be telling her this same story for the rest of her life, returning to the beginning at every unexplained noise, every unexpected knock, every headlight in the rearview?

She screamed again, raging against the closed door, slamming her gun-toting fist into it.

Fuck. Another bruise she’d have to nurse. And no one else to blame for this one.

“Scully?” came a quiet voice from her left. Mulder was standing outside his open motel room door, clad only in T-shirt and boxers, holding a toothbrush in his right hand. A curtain twitched across the courtyard.

“I locked myself out,” she said, just now realizing it was true, and huffing the statement through gritted teeth, as though it were the worst thing to happen to her that day. She brought her left fist to the door and thumped the side of it into the flimsy but unyielding wood for emphasis, and because she was still indescribably irritated by her overreaction.

Mulder stepped away from his door, making room for her to pass. “Scully, get in here,” he said, sounding annoyed. She glared at him, but let her shoulders drop in defeat, and obeyed.

Inside his room, she put the safety back on her handgun and left the weapon sitting on a chair. She stalked over to the empty desk and stared at herself in the mirror. The only light came from a bedside lamp.

“Are you okay?” Mulder asked, closing the door and audibly locking it.

She caught his gaze in the reflection and rolled her eyes. “Mulder, I’m-”

“Fine, yeah, I know. I thought that’s probably why you were pistol whipping your motel room door in the middle of the night. Because you were fine.” His face was stony.

She scoffed at him, pushing out her chin in vexation.

He walked towards her, dropping the toothbrush onto a small table, posture and voice both softening. “Talk to me, Scully. You can trust me. Don’t you know by now that you can trust me?” 

“I don’t want to talk,” she said, looking down at her knuckles, regarding her fingers spread out on the table top. Fingers that Donnie Pfaster had wanted to disarticulate with rusted gardening shears and keep in his freezer next to his peas and carrots. She balled her hands into tight fists, and pressed her lips together, hard.

“What do you want, then, Scully?” he asked, his eyes searching hers in the mirror.

She studied her reflection. Wet hair and red robe. This wasn’t the first time she’d stood before him in a motel room like this. She thought about what she’d wanted, even then.

She didn't want to be paralyzed by fear anymore. She didn’t want to have to be protected. She wanted to protect herself. She wanted to rid herself of the traumas that resided within her body. She wanted to be her own kind of Persephone: ride into the underworld of her own volition, driving her own chariot, and emerge triumphant. 

She wanted to rewrite this story, to start it when she chose to, take it where she liked, control it and end it; end it for good. 

Mulder was behind her. He was right behind her, only inches from her skin, which was bare beneath the flimsy robe.

“I want you to touch me, Mulder,” she stated, loud and clear, holding his gaze.

He tenderly reached out and rested his palm on her shoulder, his eyes worried. Kind.

That wouldn’t do at all.

“No,” she said, still staring at him in the reflection. “I want you to-“

Like he did.

“I want you to grab me.”

A look of horror washed over Mulder’s features.

“No,” he said, aghast. He withdrew his hand, rubbing it over his rough stubble.

“Mulder,” she said, low and deliberate, shifting her hips so that the scarlet satin of the robe grazed over the curves of her ass, pushing out her chest so that her nipples brushed the fabric, visibly rippling the front of the garment. “I need this.”

She watched him watch her in the mirror, his pupils enlarged in the gloom. He razed his eyes over the hills and valleys of her figure, then looked away.

“Scully,” he pleaded.

“You said you could always use my help, Mulder. Now I’m asking you for yours.” She steadied herself against the desk with her hands once again. “I need to do this, on my own terms. If I need to find someone else, I’m sure I can. But Mulder,” she paused, making sure he met her gaze in the mirror once again. “You’re the only one I trust.”

Mulder stood, motionless. “I’m not certain what you’re asking of me, Scully,” he murmured.

Scully let her tense muscles ease a little. “Come here,” she instructed, softly, turning around to face him. She reached out her hand, and he took it.

Scully sat herself on the edge of the desk, her knees spread. The fabric of the robe draped over her inner thighs. A minute shift one way or the other would expose her to him completely. She pulled him towards her, tugging him close until his face was directly opposite her own, their fingers entwined, resting on her knee. 

She kissed him. His lips were soft, his cheeks scratchy, and he didn’t stop her, but he didn’t give himself to her fully, either. She pulled away.

“What’s the matter, Mulder?”

“Scully,” he whispered. “I don’t - you’re not yourself.”

She sighed, taking his face in her palms. She realized she was shaking. She levelled her gaze with his. “Mulder,” she began. “That man, his crimes, I’ve never felt anything like this. I need you to bring me back to myself.” She moved her hands, resting them on his shoulders. “I want to feel human again.” She searched his eyes, silently reassuring him this was okay. “That’s what I’m asking, Mulder. Stop looking at me like that, and show me that I’m more than just his victim.”

Mulder blinked, long and hard, and this time, he kissed her. Not gently, not tenderly, but with purpose, intent. He opened his mouth to hers, and she rolled her tongue against his, powerfully, without fear or shame.

She tucked her arms beneath his, reaching up with one hand and pushing her fingers into the base of his hairline. With the other, she tugged on the fabric of his shirt at his lower back, feathering the pads of her fingertips against the skin that emerged beneath. They were still kissing, hard, and Mulder took hold of her firmly around the ribs. She gasped, half in pleasure and half in pain, as the heel of his hand dug into one of the bruises she’d examined in the bathroom earlier. 

He immediately broke off their kiss, pulling back to gauge her reaction.

“Don’t stop,” she panted. “That means I like it.”

He resumed his kissing, but this time against the side of her neck, one hand falling to her left hip, the other trailing up to cover her breast through the robe. A shock of desire ran through her body right to her core, the first she’d felt tonight. This had been mechanical before; a means to an end. She’d had herself half convinced this carnal, obliterative odyssey could be undertaken with just about anyone. It was only now she remembered how much - how often - she wanted this man, specifically. 

She turned her face towards his, compelling his lips to return to her own. He complied, his breath sweet and sharp from the recent brushing, and she willingly swallowed his pomegranate kisses, hoping she could return to them in better times: harvest the unmarred fruit of their evident mutual attraction, so ripe with possibility. Not this sour, infested imitation, spoiled, and rotting from within. 

She tried not to think about the differences between this encounter and the tender romance she’d previously imagined when daring to envision their sexual union. It would still be him. His body, inside hers. Carrying her away from herself, dragging her beneath the earth with the frantic merging of hot, sticky flesh, freeing her, and making her anew.   

She fumbled at the rear waistband of his boxers and delved her flat palms inside, grabbing hard fistfuls of his smooth cheeks, pulling him towards her. She inched forwards on the desk, her robe parting beneath the tie at her waist and falling away at the crease of her thighs. His sex rubbed against her own through the cotton of his underwear, and she tilted her hips to gain purchase, to feel the full, swelling effect of his desire against hers.

Mulder clamped his lips down more insistently upon hers, his hands pushing into her wet hair, thumbing her earlobes, pulling her jaw up towards him. His chest pressed against her breasts, and she lifted his T-shirt at the hem. They broke contact only so that he could pull it off over his head. 

When he returned his mouth to hers, Scully shoved her hand down the front of his underwear and wrapped it around his now fully hard cock. She ran her thumb over the already oozing tip, and Mulder jumped in her grasp, moaning into her mouth.

She tore her face from his, breathless. She held him in her palm, pulsating granite.

“Protection?” she asked, and he reluctantly extricated himself from her grasp, walking over to the nightstand and opening his wallet. 

After a few seconds he held up the square plastic packet, a look of immense relief on his face. “Thank god,” he grinned, and she returned the sentiment with a smile of her own.

He walked back towards her, slow and steady, his gaze assured. Arriving at the space between her knees again, he pushed his boxers down his legs and discarded them to one side. Scully took a long look at him now. Good god, he was enormous. This was going to be perfect. 

He tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom down onto himself using both hands, then reached to untie the knot at Scully’s waist. She stopped him, shaking her head. “Like this,” she said, pushing the robe open even wider over her thighs so that Mulder could get his own unobstructed view. She reached for his hand once again, and deliberately maneuvered it between her legs, where he ran two fingers between her drenched labia. 

She turned her mouth to murmur into his ear. “I’m ready, Mulder,” she instructed, and pulled him forward by the waist. 

She heard him grunt as his sheathed tip bumped against her upper leg, and she spread her knees even further to give him better access. She felt him reach down between their bodies to guide himself into her, and steeled herself for the pain. 

She wanted the pain.

It had been a while for her, almost three years since she’d been penetrated by anything larger than a tampon or her own two forefingers, and Mulder’s girth was considerable. He stretched her inner muscles inch by glorious inch as he eased himself into her body. Her breath caught at the back of her throat as she tried to relax herself around him. He took it easy, but she wished he wouldn’t. 

“More Mulder,” she pleaded, “I can take it.”

He grasped her by the hips, and she leaned her head back into the mirror, looking down to see him pull himself out of her a fraction before driving back in, slowly, all the way to the hilt. She felt the soft, peach-fuzz pressure of his balls against her body, and the ache in her center deepened.  

“That’s good Mulder,” she encouraged. “That feels good. Now, hard. I want it hard.”

His head shot up to question her; he opened his mouth to argue.

“I said hard,” she demanded, grabbing for his ass to guide him as deep as he could go. “Please.” 

He seemed to relent now, because he began to pump into her, forcefully. He placed one hand against the mirror for support, and held the small of her back with the other. She crossed her ankles behind him and relished the feel of him creating new bruises, her shoulder blades pressing sharply into the glass. 

Mulder was working hard, building up a sweat, and she kissed his forearm where it swept up past her face, biting his briny flesh between her teeth in her sweet agony. “More,” she said, scraping her nails across his flexing glutes. “Faster.”

Mulder’s jaw set with anger, or determination, she didn’t know which, but either way he increased his efforts, and her thighs burned where she held them up, her sex ached and clenched around him, and her head slammed into the mirror over and over. Yes, this was good.

Mulder, in an effort to shield her, moved his mirror hand behind her crown, cushioning the blows. No, no, that wasn’t what she was after: a lessening of the punishment.

 Another thrust, and her hair caught between his fingers, a shock of pain tugging at her temple. Well now, this could work.

“Mulder,” she panted, desperate now. She was close, so close to the relief she sought. “Pull my hair.”

He closed his eyes as he continued to fuck her, not willing to engage on this one.

“Dammit Mulder, I said pull it,” she insisted, digging her nails into the muscles of his rear, hard.

He reacted to the tearing of his flesh with a moan and a vicious thrust, clenching the damp strands in his hand and boring his now open eyes into hers. She looked up at him, her mouth agape, a single teardrop falling down one cheek and into her ear. He gripped tighter, pounding her harder, and she nodded.

“Yes Mulder,” she said. “Yes. Yes.”

His cock was driving into her, Charon’s oar plunging into the River Styx and stirring up the forbidden pleasures of her Catholic girlhood. He collided with her G-spot again and again, and she arched into him, pressing her clit into his abdomen as he grasped her hair and steadied her hip and stared her down, willing her to those dark shores. As soon as she began to climax, shaking and swearing and tilting her head back into his fist, Mulder came as well, his thighs tensing as he lifted her off the desk and gave her everything he had for the final few thrusts.

They were still afterwards, Mulder breathing heavily into the space between her ear and shoulder. After a while, he leaned backwards, sliding himself out of her and looking her in the eyes once again. Wordlessly, he reached for the knotted belt of the robe, and this time Scully allowed him. He loosened it, pulling the slick tie open, letting the garment fall open at her center. Scully swallowed hard.

He traced the lines of the robe down over her cleavage, and softly nudged the material apart, revealing her naked skin in a widening swath. The satin fell from her shoulders and down her arms, and she was fully visible to him now, her mottled skin marked at front and back, the bruises already several shades darker than they had been less than an hour ago in the mirror. They were coming out nicely now. 

Mulder dragged his eyes from injury to injury, his eyes reflecting the pain as though they were his own. He reached out to touch the discoloration on her ribs, where he had first grabbed her, but pulled away.

“Scully,” he rasped, and hung his head.

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength.

She dipped her head, seeking his gaze, and gently placed two fingers beneath his chin. She lifted his face until his eyes met her own, and watched as the tears began streaming down his cheeks.

She opened her arms, and he stepped forward, his chest hair rubbing against her naked torso, his wet face tucking into her warm neck.  

He shook with grief, and Scully steadied him with a hand on his lower back, delving her free hand into his hair once more. She kissed the side of his head.

“It’s all right, Mulder,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”

***

They eventually made it to Mulder’s bed for a few hours before their flight home, and reached an uneasy truce, her wrapped up in the robe once more, him spooning her, both of them sleeping fitfully. She heard a few unidentified noises, but didn’t reach for her gun. On the way to the airport, Mulder drove, and she watched the faces of other drivers in the rearview, but kept her panic at bay.

Waiting at a red light, Mulder broke the heavy silence.

“You know, last night-“ He cleared his throat. “Last night, I thought you called me Pfaster.”

She frowned at him. 

“Near the end,” he clarified. “You said: ‘More, Pfaster.’ I thought.”

“Oh my god,” she said, horrified. “I said ‘Faster’, with an F.”

“Well, that’s what I figured. Hoped.” he nodded.

“Mulder,” she said. “You thought I called you Pfaster, and you kept going?” She was incredulous.

Mulder shrugged, looking ahead at the traffic. “You seemed like you needed to work through something.”

She gulped, tears forming. He was entirely too good for her.

Pfaster.

She closed her eyes.

Her mind wandered to another of her tormentors: Luther Lee Boggs. She’d told him to his face she’d be happy to throw the switch and gas him out of this life for good if Mulder died as a consequence of Boggs’ actions. And she’d meant it. 

Donnie Pfaster was evil, pure evil, she was sure of it, but she knew she was fully capable of being monstrous too. She lay her palm across her weapon, nestled at her right hip, and imagined a different end to her stair-fall with Pfaster the night before. A few seconds more, and she might have been able to grab the gun and end it all, blast him directly between the eyes and send him straight back to hell, where he belonged. 

But then how would she be any different to him? What destination would be awaiting her at the end of her days?

She suspected it would help her nightmares in one way if she knew he were dead, if she asserted control over that herself, but that it would exacerbate them in another. 

She’d probably been wrong to make use of sweet, tender Mulder to try and exorcise her demons last night. Great as it had felt, she suspected she wasn’t out of the underworld just yet.

As they pulled into the Lindbergh terminal Lariat parking lot, returning to her most recent traumatic beginning, she reached out and gently squeezed Mulder’s knee. He placed his hand over her own, looking over to smile, gently. 

He saw the good in her; he always had. 

Maybe she could let him be her savior, follow his light and climb back out of Hades’ realm, reclaiming her faith in herself.

As Pfaster’s only living victim, she was going to have to be a witness. Perhaps this was her true opportunity to rewrite the story. Her own story. 

She would argue for leniency. She would ask the judge for life.

She was going to change the ending, after all. 

AO3 link here.

[moonstruckbucky]

Snowed In [one shot]

Summary: Based off the prompt: “we just had a one-night stand but a massive storm hit so now we’re snowed in, hello awkward” from this prompt list.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2741

Warnings: Illusions to sex, language, awkward situations

Notes: To help get myself into the holiday spirit, I found some fun winter prompts that I’m hoping will do the trick. I’m literally writing these as I sit bored at work so.

New York nightlife reached new heights the night before an incoming snowstorm. You weren’t sure what the appeal was, since your idea of a good snow-in involved fuzzy socks, a book, sleeping until noon, and Netflix, but you let your friends drag you out into the frigid New York air anyways. At least you won the argument to wear jeans and heeled boots over a skimpy cocktail dress.

Light snowflakes were already falling as you and your friends caught an Uber to a nightclub in Manhattan. It was cramped in the backseat between the four of you, and the traffic was terrible, but despite all that you felt a small bubble of excitement. Small talk buzzed around the car, the driver chiming in every so often much to your enjoyment, and then before you knew it the Uber pulled up in front of the building.

The line out front looked daunting, stretching far down the block, and you frowned. “Are you sure we’re going to be able to get in?”

“Nat’s got hookups,” Wanda supplied with a wink and a toss of her long brown hair. You laughed a little as you slid out of the car, hugging your coat tighter to your body.

The music from the club pulsed a rapid beat as your quartet strode up to the door. Natasha, in her stunning emerald green pant suit that set off her red hair, smiled sweetly at the bouncer, a big hulking man named Dave, and gave her name. Dave grinned and leaned forward to peck her cheek in greeting, and with an amused smile you wondered how deep her connections went.

Dave allowed you to enter the building, the indignant cries of the people in line falling on deaf ears. You winced a little at the volume of the fast-paced dance music, a remix of some modern pop song, but your ears quickly adapted as Natasha led you all to the bar. It was tradition to start off every girls’ night with a hefty shot of tequila, and it was a tradition that often set you up for a terrible hangover the next day.

But considering your boss had already told you not to bother coming in, you decided you could live a little.

The shot went down smooth despite the bite of the liquor, and it settled warmly in your stomach. You grinned as Wanda held up another. Clinking your glasses together, the second one went down even smoother than the first.

“Let’s dance!” you said into Wanda’s ear. No need to ask her twice. She grabbed your hand and tugged you out onto the crowded floor, leaving Natasha and Gamora to follow behind you.

You began moving to the beat of the song, your hand still in Wanda’s as you danced around one another. In spite of your initial reluctance to go out tonight, you were glad you did. The night had only just begun and already you were having a blast.

You danced through five songs before you needed an actual drink in your hand, and Natasha followed you back to the bar. Dropping into two stools, you panted to catch your breath and exchanged a broad smile with the redhead.

“Thanks for twisting my arm in coming out,” you said, leaning closer to her to talk without yelling over the music. Her spicy floral perfume wafted into your nose, and you laid your head on her shoulder.

“Sometimes we worry about you,” she said honestly. She leaned forward over the bar to give the bartender your drink orders, settling on some kind of tequila mixture. Then she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, returning her full attention back to you. “How much of a homebody you are. Sometimes we think something else is going on.”

“No, nothing’s going on,” you said earnestly, lifting your head to give her a soft smile. “You know me, I like my space and solitude.”

“I know,” she groused, a teasing lilt to her voice. “But I’m really glad you came out tonight. We could all use a night to let loose.”

“I’ll drink to that.” The bartender set your drinks down and immediately you and Natasha clinked them together, taking hefty sips and wincing. “Wow, he was feeling generous with the tequila.”

“No kidding.” Her eyes scanned further down the bar, a slow smirk appearing on her face. “Hey, out of curiosity, when’s the last time you got laid?”

You spluttered. “Beg pardon?”

“Y’know, when was the last time someone knocked you into your headboard until you saw God?”

“Jesus, Nat! Have you always been so crass or is this something new?” you retorted, face flaming (though you’re not sure if it’s from her blunt question or the answer you’re reluctant to give).

“I’m gonna say it’s been a while then. Wanna break that streak? Because there’s a total hottie checking you out down the bar. Really muscly, navy button-down. Don’t be obvious about it, for the love of Pete.”

As subtly as you could master, as grace wasn’t really your forte, it was Nat’s, you turned your head, eyes flitting across the bartop to meet a pair of vivid blue eyes, brought out by the obscenely tight shirt stretched across the planes of his chest. Dear god, you feared for those buttons, but the smirk he sent your way quickly had you rethinking how much you’d love to rip those buttons free.

Knowing you were caught, you straightened on your stool, playing it off that you weren’t totally checking out a stranger. Your finger traced the rim of your glass as Nat’s dark eyebrow rose.

“What the fuck do I do?” you squeaked. “Do I go over there? Buy him a drink? Send him a fucking letter with a carrier pigeon? Nat!”

“I think you’re covered, sweetcheeks. He’s coming over here. I’ll catch you later. Or maybe I won’t.” She smirked, picked up her drink, and abandoned you at the bar just as the muscled torso of aforementioned hottie down the bar took her place.

Dear god, he was even better looking up close. Did the universe really spit out people who looked that good? His blonde hair looked soft as silk, the dim lighting of the club reflecting off the highlights. And up close, those buttons looked to be in real danger of popping off at any point.

He cleared his throat, which you’d just barely heard over the music, and your eyes snapped to his. He was smirking, and your face colored at being caught so obviously ogling him. You played it off, gracefully crossing one leg over the other and leaning on the bar.

“Hi.” Oh sweet Jesus, even his voice was smooth as silk. You were done for.

“Hello.” You thanked the heavens your voice didn’t waver or crack. No good showing all your cards at once.

“I’m Steve,” he introduced, jutting out a large hand, tipped with long fingers, out towards you. Smoothly you took it, reveling in its warmth and the way it dwarfed yours. Instinctively you suppressed a shiver when his thumb ran gently over your knuckles before he let go.

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you, Steve.” You batted your lashes once, thanking Natasha for seemingly sending you some pointers on sultriness via ESP.

“Oh believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” Steve responded smoothly. He leaned his elbow on the bar, effectively lowering his face closer to yours. His cologne, a delectable aroma of something musky, invaded your nose, inhibiting your senses and making you feel drunk. “Could I interest you in a dance?”

Playing coy, you blushed. “You could.”

The dance floor was where you remained for most of the night. You’d caught a glimpse of your friends, who encouraged you to stay with Steve despite it being girls’ night. You weren’t sure they could pull you away with a herd of wild horses. He was intoxicating, Steve, and an excellent dancer. His large hands splayed across your back as you danced chest to chest, eyes locked on one another.

When he spun you around, pressing your back to his front and pressed a slow, languid kiss to the spot behind your ear, you knew there was no way in hell you weren’t leaving here without him.

Which is how you found yourself crowded against the window in the back of an Uber, Steve’s mouth assaulting yours, as the snow fell more heavily. A layer of white coated every surface, a fleeting thought that left as quickly as it came when Steve’s warm hand slid up under your shirt, luring gooseflesh to the surface despite the blasting heat in the car, the fire in your blood.

He barely pulled away from your mouth to pay the driver when the car stopped, and the two of you fumbled out of the backseat. It was a trek across the slippery sidewalk to his apartment building and breathlessly he told you the elevator was out of service. To the stairs it was, and that was an adventure in itself seeing as neither of you was keen on letting the other go just yet.

Finally, finally, you reached his floor and his apartment door, and your mouth teased the skin of his throat as he dug into his pockets for his keys. His throat vibrated as he groaned when your teeth nipped at the skin, bruising his pale skin a pretty purple.

Once inside the apartment, it was a heated flurry of discarded clothing, loud, carefree moans, and breathy sighs until you fell asleep cradled against that glorious, expansive chest.

You were the first to wake the next morning, having rolled away from Steve’s godlike form sometime during the night. Eyelids heavy, you scanned his room for your fallen clothing, finding only your jeans and underwear. Your blouse and bra must have been left in the living room. You rubbed your eyes, urging yourself to wake up faster so you could get the hell out.

You slipped out of the bed, a small part of you wishing you could stay just because of the furnace of a man still dead to the world, and began picking up your clothes. Like you thought, you found your bra strung over the arm of the couch, your shirt under the entryway table. Once dressed, you pulled your phone out of your jacket and brought up the Uber app.

You frowned when a notification popped up in the app that all Uber services for the Manhattan area were shut down due to the snow.

Shit. The snow.

Venturing to the massive living room window, you pulled back the curtain and frowned at the fact that you could not see a foot in front of the window. Snow flurries were being whipped around by a strong wind and a layer of frost coated the windows. Steve’s apartment looked to be on an upper floor, though you couldn’t tell how high from the low visibility. Plus, you hadn’t exactly been counting the floors as you climbed the stairs the night before.

Sighing, you browsed the internet for subway times, cursing quietly when a bright orange banner at the top of the page notified you that, like Uber, the subway was shut down due to both maintenance and the storm.

“Everything’s locked up.”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone, at the sudden sound of Steve’s voice. He was leaning against his bedroom doorway, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Jesus, did this guy own a shirt that fit him properly?

“Yeah, I, uh, found that out the hard way,” you muttered, waving your phone by way of explanation. You suddenly felt very awkward; your previous one night stands didn’t usually extend this long, and you had no idea what to say.

Fortunately, it seemed Steve did. “Do you want some coffee?”

The way he asked it was so unusually casual that you couldn’t do anything but nod and follow him to the kitchen. He slapped the countertop twice, a nonverbal cue for you to park it, and he began to bustle around his coffee maker.

“So, what do you do for work?” he asked as he filled the basin with water. He glanced over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. The whole ordeal threw you for a loop, really.

“Um, I’m in marketing,” you stammered, awkwardness coating every word. Sighing, you dragged a hand through your hair. “Sorry, I’m not usually this awkward. It’s just….”

“This doesn’t happen a lot for you,” he finished with an understanding smile. The beauty of it set your mind back a couple steps.

“Uh, right. Usually, I’m out before he wakes up or….he’s out. There’s none of….this.” You gestured between the two of you. Steve nodded, lips pursing a bit. He had a twinkle in his blue eyes when he turned to lean his backside against the counter, the coffee percolating behind him.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to mix it up a bit every so often, right?” His grin was wry and teasing, and you felt yourself smiling back. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Steve’s smile turned softer. “Pancakes it is.”

Conversation flowed easily between the two of you once you set aside your awkwardness. If Steve didn’t feel uncomfortable with his one night stand staying through the snowstorm, then who were you to complain?

Turns out, Steve was a hell of a cook and whipped up the fluffiest batch of pancakes you’d ever had. He even had strawberries, whipped cream, and homemade maple syrup from his parents in Vermont. The coffee was nice and strong, and the company and conversation couldn’t have been better.

The two of you moved into the living room after Steve insisted he’d clean up the dishes later. You frowned, but he flashed that thousand-watt grin at you and you forgot what you were frowning about. Steve held out his arm next to the couch, and you flopped onto it, groaning at its plushness.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, stretching your neck back as you curled your feet up underneath you. “I could die happy on this couch.”

Steve chuckled and sat down, closer to you than you’d been expecting. With all the casualness of a good friend, or even a boyfriend, he reached for your legs and dropped your feet into his lap. The gesture made butterflies take to your belly, and you hid a smile behind your coffee mug.

“I’ve admittedly fallen asleep quite a bit out here. Dunno why I even bothered with an actual bed.”

You shifted so your back was against the armrest. Steve’s thigh was firm under your legs and his hands warm as they drifted up and down the tops of your feet.

“It is a comfortable bed though.” You smiled cheekily, pulling your lip between your teeth when Steve’s pupils dilated just a bit.

“Glad you slept well then.” Was it you or did his voice drop?

“Like the dead. I had a pretty good furnace keeping me warm.”

“Happy to be of service. Let me know if I can do it again sometime,” he said softly, voice turning away from teasing and playful to serious. Your smile dropped, but only a bit, before it turned shy as his cheeks flushed pink.

“Are you saying you…want to see me again?”

Damn your galloping heart for actually wanting him to say yes.

Steve’s face turned a darker shade of crimson, the blush spreading down his neck and to the tips of his ears.

“I mean, I know it’s not very….conventional to want to see your one night stand again but I’m having a nice time with you. So, yeah, I’d really like to see you again. Maybe we can go get dinner somewhere or lunch in the park.”

You smiled giddily. “I’d love to. Give me your phone.”

He tossed it to you, and you plugged your number in, adding a little wine emoji next to your name. You handed it back, letting your fingers brush his for a lengthy moment before dropping your arm, your eyes locked on his. You watched his breathing hitch, watched his Adam’s apple bob.

Boldly, you licked your lower lip, lower regions clenching when his eyes followed the movement, and asked, “So, just how comfy is this couch?”

Steve’s hand drifted up your leg to your thigh as you sat up. “Come over here and we’ll find out.”

[themostcleverandwittyname]

There’s Power in Pain

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10

CH11

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

(LinkxOC)

Summary:

A farmer with a troubled past had found a fallen hero on a riverside and makes the decision to take him in. With Ganondorf gathering power by the minute, there is no time to delay in his defeat however there is a time and place for everything as well as a lesson to learn. Link will have to do the hardest thing he has ever done and that is wait until he is ready to defeat Ganondorf.

But will Link ever truly be ready to rely on help to do the impossible? To accept that even heroes need support even from the most unlikely of people?

Meanwhile, a group of thieves organize to steal the sacred sword of the Hero of Destiny for themselves.

Chapter 2: Bandages

Chapter 2 on AO3

The cup of warm honey tea soothed the brunette and let her forget about her sleepless night, the sweet flavor dancing on her tongue. Early afternoon light came in through the drapes, casting a warm glow in the cozy spare bedroom. She had pulled up a chair and watched the man breathe in peace as he remained unconscious.

The previous day she had done all she could to get him to her house and make a run for help. The merchant that she bought sugar from for her strawberry jams was the first one she had seen on her frantic search into the closest town. She gave several people quite the scare, covered in dirt and blood. The friendly merchant, Zania, was the first to run to Annette and help her gather a few medical supplies.

It was a feat to get the man off the wagon and to the inside powder room, his blood doing little to harm the state of the tile, easy to wipe up. It took a few hours to bandage all of his wounds and figure out a good way to remove the arrow. Lucky for the swordsman, Zania knew how to set his bone back in place but it would still take time to heal up completely. Annette then tackled cleaning him up with a washcloth, stripping everything off besides the man’s bottoms. The damage to his tunic and undershirt was unsalvageable but she still set them to the side, not feeling it her place to throw them out. Zania helped the farmer pick the swordsman up and lay him in the spare bed, muttering that Annette was crazy the whole time. It was far into the night by the time that Zania left. Annette still had to make sure the horses were okay and clean up herself.

She slept late, exhausted mentally and physically from the day before so seeing the man bandaged in bed was the fruit of a lot of labor and her tea was the reward. She lazily studied his face, finding it much easier to make out his features now that it was clean and the slice on his cheek was bandaged up. He had a boyish face with a strong jawline and arched, sharp brows. His blonde hair framed his face and his bangs fell to the side. His light skin held a few light freckles here and there and his pointed ears had little blue earrings. One thing she had noticed the night before while she was bandaging him was that he had scars from previous slashings and burns.

Who was he? Would he awake in a panic and take out his fear on her? Rob her? Or just try to make his merry way out of her house? She couldn’t be sure but she hoped it was the latter idea. One thing was for sure, he would take a while to heal. His burns and wounds were nasty. The hole in his shoulder was thankfully seared by the flaming arrow but it too would leave a bad scar. His broken arm would take the longest to heal. His torso, though the cuts were not deep, would still be easily ripped open with the slightest movement.

He would be bedridden for a while and though Annette hoped someone would come forth and claim him and take him home, she was still willing to let him borrow the spare bedroom for as long as he needed to recover enough to leave. She knew it would be a hassle and she would have to feed him but it was set in stone when she put him on her wagon. She had to be prepared to deal with the consequences.

Still, she would be on the lookout for anyone who knew him and was looking to get him back.

Realizing that her tea was gone, she grumbled to herself and reminded herself that she had work to do. All of the strawberries she had picked needed to be washed, cooked, and sealed into sanitized jars to prepare more strawberry jam for her business. It was a lot of work to make that much jam, but at least the harvest season was over so she would be at home more often. This was also in her favor so that she could watch out for the swordsman to make sure he didn’t harm himself or try anything harmful to her house.

Savoring the last bit of relaxation until she was done for the day, she stumbled into the living room and with curiosity looked at the two swords and shield that lay on her mantle. One sword was nothing out of the ordinary, a simple steel sword with a simple hilt and a humbly patterned scabbard. The other sword, however, struck her as eerily familiar in a not so welcoming way. The scabbard was embellished with golden trim and a deep royal purple.

A purple sword was not common but there was one purple sword with a history. A rich an long history of being only bestowed to the chosen hero of the gods, the sword was impossible to reach and to wield without major consequence. Because the sword was forged by the power of the gods, it was legend that only a triforce holder could wield it without the power of the sword swallowing them into a world of greed and self-destruction. Of course, it was only hearsay and Annette wasn’t one to believe in those old myths. She knew all too well how a dream to achieve something so pointless as to own a magical sword was impossible by normal people and would only lead to tragedy.

Still, the sword on the wooden mantle gleamed in the intruding sunlight. Curious, she took it from the mantle and held it in her hands. It was heavy and greatly detailed. It must have cost a fortune, assuming the swordsman in the other room hadn’t stolen it from some pompous higher up of Hyrule. The hilt was that same royal purple and the guard was angled down towards the blade, the ends sharp and rectangular. In the pommel was a red jewel, though she doubted it was real. Still, though she knew it wasn’t the sword of destiny, she still pulled the sword from its scabbard just to be sure. Just as she expected, it slid out with no hitch proving it was an ordinary sword and not the legendary Master Sword, the blade reflecting her own curious eyes.

She realized she had been holding her breath and felt a little disappointed by the truth of the sword’s ordinary state. A part of her wanted to believe that the sword existed, that the magic of the gods was real. It brought her back, as she set the sword down and looked back at the empty teacup hanging by its handle from her pinky, the time two years ago when everyone was talking so much about the appearance of a hero who had saved Hyrule from a great evil and took up the Master Sword. Rumor had it that the hero had retired after that and had put the sword back into the sacred grove of the goddess so if the sword was truly that special, she doubted it would be held by some beat up swordsman who couldn’t hold his own enough to avoid washing up on a riverside. Besides, that sword was impossible to get to. She knew this for a fact.

Absentmindedly, Annette poured the last lukewarm dregs of tea into her teacup to finish the pot and happily stirred sugar into her glass, trying not to dwell on myths and impossibilities such as a sacred sword.

Sunlight glowed behind his eyelids, his brow came forward in an attempt to banish the light that made him stir, sleep still clinging to his mind. In a groggy haze, he realized that simply willing the light to leave wouldn’t help and he lifted his dominant hand up, gasping as a sharp, dull pain spread up his arm and sucked his breath away.

Any grogginess was snatched from him as he balled his fist, willing the ache to vanish. Letting his eyes open to survey the damage, he found himself in a bed in an unfamiliar room. It was common for him to wake with pain from battle wounds and an ache overall from overexertion, but this was worse than usual. His ribs hurt with each breath and his skin pulled as he leaned up. With his left arm in a sling, he relied on his right arm to push himself up on the bed, the pull of his chest and stomach on whatever wound ailed him was enough to have him cry out, leaving him breathless.

Carefully, Link pulled the thick comforter off his chest to inspect what damage was done and was surprised to find that he was bandaged up with cotton and linen cloth. He was used to doing that himself, struggling to wrap himself with any accuracy. He looked around the room quickly to see if anyone was with him, to see if he could make out his surroundings with any clues. The setting was cozy and humble, the wooden walls held basic things like hats and a mirror. The bedside table held a coaster and a lantern. On a dresser were a few keepsake things and a framed portrait of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, his smirk hinted at his personality. A few hunting knives were displayed in a small case. A large wardrobe sat in the far corner, tall and looming and beside it was a small wooden chest. A single chair sat close to the bed, facing him. Someone had been watching him? He was alone in the room and there was no noise besides his own breathing.

Where was he? He assumed some passerby had found him… somewhere and felt generous enough to help him out for a night. Where ever he was, he couldn’t stay for long. He remembered the battle he had before he blacked out. He remembered the importance of his mission, of his duty.

After two years of Ganon being presumed dead by his own hands, he was back. The Twilight Mirror had been destroyed but that didn’t stop Ganon from building his energy in the shadows. Link had been foolish to think it would end there, but he had been faithful enough in his own skills that he had retired his duty and his sword to live in peace. He began to hear the calls of the goddess in his dreams warning him of what evil was lurking and how Link would have to wait until the right moment and be patient. The goddess warned that he had more to learn, but he ignored it. He denied that Ganon could be back, that he hadn’t stopped him. He chalked the messages in his dreams as mere imagination.

But of course, he could only deny it for so long.

Link had made haste to gather all of the items that he had returned to their places in the temples, he had returned for the sword for the second time. He thought that if he acted fast, he could wipe out the power of Ganon before he regained his former strength.

However, Link had been wrong and Ganon has anticipated this. He was ambushed by a swarm of enemies and Link was stiff after years of peace. He had ignored the goddess’s plea to be patient and failed for the first time.

Recalling these events made his current state even more frustrating. He had to stop Ganon, this time for sure. He didn’t care if he was harmed, if he was maimed. He had to rid the world of evil even if he died. That was his plight, that was his purpose. He would gladly die for the sake of the goddess, for the sake of Hyrule, for the sake of the people, for the sake of his friends. Still, he felt incredibly tired and his will was sapped away by the aching and continuous pain he faced now.

He didn’t have time for this. He had to get up, he had to fight yet all of his motivation turned to guilt, to regret in his stillness.

He had failed.

He had failed those who believed in him, who relied on him. If he can’t defeat Ganon like this, battered and bruised, then who will? Silently, he looked down at his left hand and noticed the faint glow of the mark of the Triforce, the green sector glowing steadily. It brought him comfort and damnation. He was still chosen, still endowed with expectation but still accountable. His throat knotted up and for the first time in weeks, after running himself ragged and barely scraping by with enough food and rest, he was still and left with his thoughts.

It had been two weeks of preparation wasted for a fruitless battle. But at least he has all of the sacred items he had collected from the temples he had-

The items. The Master Sword. His shield. Epona.

Where were they?

His heartbeat quickened and he felt panic rise up. He tried to lean forward and hissed in pain, feeling something rip open in his chest. Warm blood rose quickly to the surface of his white bandages, blossoming out. A surge of tiredness hit him but it didn’t matter. He needed to see for himself if his sword or horse were nearby. He couldn’t have lost those things, fate wasn’t that cruel but he had to make sure for himself.

He pulled himself over to the side of the bed, ignoring his searing pain and now freely flowing chest wounds.

“Hey! What are you thinking!?” He flinched at the ringing sound of a voice, failing to have noticed the person who had cracked the door through his own struggle.

In the door stood a charming girl, her hazel eyes wide with disbelief, her curly brown hair wild and fluffy around her face. Her tanned, olive skin was complimented with a red shirt that was tucked into her brown cargo pants. She slapped a teacup down on the dresser by the door, it’s contents sloshing out. He watched in shock as she hurriedly strode to his side and rather aggressively shoved him back.

“Do you want to bleed out? You can’t just sit up when you’ve been through the mill like this!” Her voice was raised, but not out of anger. It was out of concern. “Dammit, you’ve opened your wounds up. Hey, pal? You have nothing to say?” she asked after a few seconds, beginning to dig through the bedside dresser for something rather frantically. She cast another hurried glance over her shoulder, expectantly.

He was taken aback, his voice caught in his throat and he could only stare. She was very… abrasive. It reminded him of a dear friend he hadn’t seen in years. After a few seconds, she pulled out more linen, gauze, and what appeared to be a medical ointment.

“Since you don’t wanna talk and you wanna sit up, help me out.” the woman demanded rather harshly, placing the medical supplies to the side with a side. Motioning with her hand for him to sit back up, he obeyed silently, not entirely sure why he was being obedient but at the same time still grateful for the help despite the harsh delivery.

It was hard to sit up, his breathing felt like a stab with each breath. He winced from the slight pressure of the woman undoing the bandages and in careful, practiced movements, she had unwrapped several of the bandages to expose his bruised and sliced chest. Blood was flowing freely from the opened scab, the hues of yellow and purple around it looked far better than it felt. Link held his breath and felt himself weaken with each second that he was leaned up. He clenched his jaw and tried to push through his own pain and wave of oncoming nausea, squeezing his eyes shut to focus.

With his eyes shut, the stinging pain that spread over his chest caught him off guard and he gasped, his hand grasped at the sheets. His eyes snapped open to see the woman blotting the area with what he guessed was rubbing alcohol by its scent and the stinging pain he endured. She whispered under her breath but he was unable to make it out. Setting the cotton ball aside, she pulled out the ointment and gauze. For the first time, she took her eyes off her work and looked him in the eyes, her own hinted at a warning before she even spoke.

“This may hurt a bit, but I need to stop the bleeding for your sake and also for the sake of my comforter” she said, the slightest bit of humor in her warning words. He took a breath and tried to prepare for the worst.

With that, she squeezed the paste from the tube, the yellow ointment mingling with his thick, dark blood that was beginning to slow and clot. She pressed the gauze down firmly and he tried to keep his pained whimper silenced, only to fail. His body had enough and he felt himself swoon from either fatigue or blood loss, he wasn’t sure. The brunette was quick to catch him before he fell forward. His head drooped, he was unable to hold himself up all of a sudden.

“Oh, here this may help a bit.” She offered, not really waiting for an answer and grabbing his uninjured arm, slinging it over her shoulder. This effectively propped him up enough for her to continue to dress his wounds. Being leaned on her took the pressure off his own torso, his pain lessened, though only slightly it still felt better than before. The pain was lessening but his spell of fatigue only seemed to increase by the second, dragging him down. Left with no choice, he let his head fall against the stranger’s shoulder, the only thing keeping him up.

The woman worked silently for what seemed like hours but was most likely only minutes. He finally realized that he was no longer bleeding and he was all bandaged up again. The woman stayed still for a moment before he felt her shoulders raise from a deep breath.

“Come on, let’s lay back down. How does that sound?” she asked, her voice softer now. No sound escaped him and she tried to ease him back against the pillow as best she could, but he could tell she was struggling.

“You’re heavier than you look.” she huffed, Link now looking up at her weakly from his resting spot. Her arms were smeared with now dried blood and a wave of guilt surged over him again. “Do yourself a favor and just try to rest right now. Don’t do anything stupid like trying to get up or else you might make yourself worse.” she gave him her advice in a bossy manner, but her voice was considerably softer than before. She had time to calm down, he assumed.

She stood awkwardly for a moment and looked at the state of her messy arms. She was expecting an answer from him, some sort of response. He wasn’t the most talkative person but he knew that but he needed to give her some kind of response.

“Th-thank you.” he gave weakly and she perked up at his words. His voice was hoarse from lack of use and he realized his throat was drier than Gerudo valley.

“Yeah yeah, it’s no problem. I’m not a medic or anything but I’ll try to help you out anyway.” She said, looking at the floor. She huffed to herself and blinked, her eyes meeting his again. “My friends call me Anne but you can call me Annette. If you need anything, just shout okay? I’m in the next room so don’t hesitate.” She gave, folding her arms. Turning away, she paused and turned back to him.

“I don’t suppose you’re hungry now? Thirsty more like? If you have any questions just let me know.” Once again she stood there awkwardly for a moment, allowing him time to answer.

“Water, if you can. Thank you, again.” He responded quietly, his voice still scratchy. The woman nodded and turned on her heel to go get the water.

“Wait!” Link coughed out, Annette halted and gave him a questioning look.

He paused and wondered if she would even begin to know where his belongings and horse were. The brunette arched her eyebrows in wait, prompting him to forget his second-guessing and ask anyway.

“Do you know where my belongings are? My horse too?” He began and she chuckled to herself, his other questions fell on his tongue.

“Yeah, your horse is outside keeping my horse company. As for your stuff, I’ll bring it to you.” Answering through a smile, she left and the door clicked shut.

Relief fell over him. So the sacred items were not lost and Epona was also in good hands. Link took a moment to look over his bandages. They were not perfect but they did not look to be beginner’s work either. Who was this woman? Some villager or farmer? It didn’t matter to him because he knew he was in good hands. He felt it. His plan was to rest up for a few days and despite his injuries, leave to complete his duty. He was thankful for the help of Annette, but he didn’t want to burden her more than he already has.

After a minute or so, Annette came back through the door, two familiar swords and his Hylian shield hanging from one arm and a glass of water grasped in her other hand. He noticed she had also washed her arms clean. He was put off a bit by the absence of at least one other thing but he was still hopeful and waited for any explanation. She set the glass of water down on the bedside table and in a chair in the room she laid both swords down and propped the shield up against the back of the chair.

“There, this suits you right? Are both of these yours?” She asked, gazing down at the swords. “The fancy one must be rare, I’ve never seen one like it. You’re lucky you weren’t robbed.”

She added, giving him a steady and honest gaze. He nodded.

“Yes, that sword is very special to me.” he admitted, feeling his energy continue to drain and his body feel heavier. He assumed that he would later find out where his other tools and weapons were, for better or for worse but right now he was too weakened to drill Annette for answers. He looked over at the water on the nearby table and tried to reach for it with his good arm, the glass inconveniently out of reach.

“Hold up, I got it.” Annette volunteered, leaning down to swoop the glass up. “Don’t get a big head about this, I’m doing this so you don’t break yourself open again.” her words came out honest and teasingly, but Link was too tired to react. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her weight sinking down beside him, she leaned over and held the glass to his lips. She waited expectantly, not really giving him the choice to hold it for himself. He would argue and take the glass, not wanting to burden anyone and preferring his own independence, on any other occasion but he wasn’t sure that he had the strength to even hold the glass.

It felt pathetic, but he let her tip the glass and effectively water him until he was satisfied. He didn’t have to say a word but she knew he was done before he could make a cue.

“Are you good now? You should probably sleep, even if that’s hard for you right now. Remember, just call if you need me okay?” She suggested. Link decided that it would absolutely not be hard to sleep now. He gave her a nod and she was satisfied with that as an answer. Without another word, she left the room and left Link in comforting silence.

He fell fast asleep, helpless in a stranger’s room and he wondered if this was the will of the goddess or his punishment for his own denial.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7  CH8 CH9 CH10

CH11

[sabraeal]

All Pain Will Turn to Medicine: Part 2

In an unfortunate but not altogether unforeseeable turn of events, the boy is neither patient nor mild-mannered.

Nor, Shirayuki is convinced, is he entirely human.

That first night, Shirayuki sits with her heart in her throat and her hand in his, hoping that infection won’t take hold. It is so easy for even well-cared for wounds to turn, and his were not. There’s no way to know how long he’s had them, or how he got them, or how far he walked to get to Herr Kruger’s barn; they just have to hope that enough’s been cut away that the alcohol and herbs can handle the rest.

She rubs soothing circles onto the back of his hand with her thumb, just like how Oma would when she fell ill with the winter flu. It is possibly the only patch of skin on his entire body that is not scraped or scarred below his neck. His breath is fitful even under the anesthetic; his limbs twitching as if he’s running, as if even in dreams he cannot stop. Each time his appendages drop limply back to the mattress his brow furrows, and she wants to know his story, why even asleep he cannot rest.

Herr Anda frowns when she tells him so, looking less in those moments like a curmudgeonly surgeon and more like –

More like someone with a story of his own. “Not all stories are fairy tales, girl,” he tells her gruffly. “You’d do well to leave him alone. The less you know, the easier it will be when he leaves.”

Her hand clenches hard around his, and the boy lets out a grunt. His hand squeeze back, weak.

“You think he’ll leave?” There’s more challenge in her words than she means to give, but she lets it lie, refuses to back down. He always says, you’re foolish to see the best in everyone, but --

But that’s only because he’s so determined to see the worst.

Herr Anda hesitates over his notes, face pinched. “I think it would be hard for that boy to stay anywhere.”

“He has to heal.” His face is knotted under her gaze, anxious. Wherever he’s from, he shouldn’t go back. “I don’t think he has anywhere else to go. He should stay.”

Her master raises his eyebrows, expression mild. “That’s not our choice.”

She doesn’t understand – they’re his physicians; no one with any sense would go against a medical recommendation.

“Stay alert,” Herr Anda warns her as he blows out the lamps, leaving her with only a single one on the table beside her. “He’s had enough roku to be out until morning but…” He shrugs. “Keep your wits about you.”

Shirayuki is young, only just in her thirteenth summer, and it makes her – careless. Incautious.

Breath, at this stage, is the best indicator of health. His starts ragged, shallow – doubtlessly from the roku – but as she watches the rise and fall of the bandages wrapped around his chest, it begins to even, to grow deeper. The moon has disappeared from the sky, but the horizon is still an uninterrupted indigo, and the pressure behind her eyes reminds her that she has had hardly more than a handful of hours sleep. Each of his breaths becomes a weight on her eyelids, making them sink lower with each exhale.

His hand is warm and oddly comforting in her grasp; at the edge of sleep she wonders if she will feel it again when he wakes, or if he will leave as her master predicts. She wonders if she’ll ever see the terrible stitchwork she inflicted on him, whether he’ll forgive her for it.

She blinks, closing her eyes just for a second, she’s sure –

If the wrench in her shoulders isn’t what wakes her, than the knee at her back surely is.

Her eyes snap open, trying to take stock of her situation. “What –”

“Where’s my stuff?” growls the man above her. Her heart is trying to escape her chest, but all her thoughts are bent to the boy, wondering where he could be, what this man could have done with him --

He presses harder and repeats, “Where are my things? What have you done with them?”

His words finally pierce the fog of her sleep, and -- and she cranes her neck around, making out the childish roundness still in his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones --

It is the boy.

“You should be resting!” she blurts out, indignant. She already did a terrible job on his stitches once, and she is in no mood to do it again for this foolishness.

She sees his eyelashes flutter in the shadows. “Where’s my stuff?”

“I don’t know,” she tells him; it’s not quite a lie – she doesn’t know where they are for sure, but she knows Herr Anda well enough to take a guess. “You’re injured.”

His eyes narrow. “Obviously not as bad as you thought. My stuff, where–?”

“You need to rest,” she pushes. “At least a week with that chest wound –”

He reels back a little, not moving his knee, but lifting pressure. “I –” He shakes himself, bringing his weight back to bear. “I heal fast. Now where is my stuff? Or – my, um, clothes.”

She feels skin against her shoulders, right where her shift drops to a square neckline, and she is suddenly and completely aware that he is not wearing anything but a pair of Herr Anda’s linen underdrawers. The matrons had always clucked after her master, calling him too skinny, but oh, what a sight this boy would be in their eyes; they’d had to pull the laces as tight as they would go, and even still they hung off on him. In the end they’d had to used twine to get them to stay on.

Shirayuki wonders idly if he’s notices. Maybe he doesn’t care.

She does have a good idea about something he would care about though.

Her head rams right into the heart of his scar, right where the stitches are more ragged and the skin most raw, and he flies off her with an unearthly howl. The bed is narrow, hardly more than a cot, and with his injuries and the lingering effect of the liquor, the boy’s balance hardly stands a chance against gravity. he lands hard on his tailbone, gasping for air. He is still groaning when Herr Anda storms in, dressed only in his nightclothes.

“I told you girl,” he snaps as they roll their patient back into bed, newly sedated. “Keep your wits about you.”

It is Shirayuki who acts as a voice of moderation when it comes to sedatives – Herr Anda is of the opinion that he likes people better when they’re unconscious – but this new patient fights every moment he is awake and – and Shirayuki is tired of restitching the wounds on his sides. When her master waves the bottle tauntingly from the stock room, hard berries thunking against the glass, she just pulls her mouth into a grim line and nods.

It’s for the best.

Their patient spends the better part of a week weaving in an out of consciousness, only allowed to wake to eat and void himself. He also manages to find some time to complain, but it’s muddled, indistinct. She can’t make out what he says, but she’s sure it’s not complimentary.

Herr Anda does not have her stay overnight with him again.

“Between the two of us,” he says, leaning heavily on his cane, “I am almost certainly the lighter sleeper.”

She does insist that he not stay alone; he may be a man, but he is not young, and with his leg…

Well, she is young, and no slouch when it comes to giving boys the heave-ho, and if their patient’s stitches hadn’t been so fresh…she would have had a much larger problem.

Herr Anda sets aside space in the loft for her. A simple bed made of walnut, and a warm quilt sewn in the local style makes up her personal corner, as well as a washstand and screen.

“I’d meant to anyway,” he grumbles when she stares. “You never know when we’ll have a difficult patient. And you’re getting too old to be walking alone at night.”

It’s her watch when they decide to wean him off the roku.

“A good thing you’re so eager to know his story,” Anda drawls as she waves him up the stairs, urging him to bed. She knows he isn’t sleeping well in the patient room, and she’s not about to let him make Frau Kino’s heart powder with his head as thick as day-old stew. “I’m sure he’ll give you a real earful when he comes off.”

“You drugged me,” the boy says, mouth twisted up in a scowl. He’s a petulant thing, all skin and sinew. Mere minutes into his lucidity she’s uncertain of whether she’ll come to like him at all.

“It was for your own safety,” she tells him evenly, forcing a friendly smile onto her face. “You were fighting treatment, so we --”

“I didn’t need help.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks, but she bites down on a retort. He’s a cornered animal; he’d lash out at anyone, and she’s just the closest target. She knows this, Herr Anda explained it, but --

But it doesn’t make it any more pleasant to take.

She changes tack. “Do you have a name? We’ve just been calling you the patient, and now that you’re awake --”

“You mean now that you’ve stopped drugging me?” She bristles, but he goes on, “Don’t worry about it, Red. I’m not sticking --”

“My name is Shirayuki.”

His mouth hangs open, jaw working as he stares. She’s as surprised at he is, she hadn’t meant to speak like that to him; that’s not...proper bedside manner.

“I --” Her mouth works, hand dropping from her hair. “Don’t call me that. Please. I’m Shirayuki.”

He watches her, wary. “Right. Well, Miss, I can take care of myself, so --”

“Take care of yourself?” She fixes him with her most unimpressed glare. He’s nearly as white at the sheets, only the naturally darker cast of his skin keeping him from that ghastly pallor. Still, his complexion is sallow, sunken; he’s half a skeleton with only broth to feed him for a week. “You were barely conscious when Shou brought you in, bleeding out in Herr Kruger’s barn.”

He lifts his nose. “I was resting.”

“You passed out next to a pile of --” Horse shit. “--Manure.”

His mouth rumples at that; apparently he hadn’t remembered that part. “I didn’t need any help. I heal fast.”

She stares. “Your chest had to be sewn shut.”

He huffs out a laugh, rubbing at the bandage over his chest. “Some job they did on it too.”

Heat rises up her neck, and she knows this feeling -- she’s about to do something stupid. “All right.”

Shirayuki marches over to the door, swinging it open. The boy blinks, eyes darting between her and the open door. His hand spasms on the sheet covering him.

She keeps her expression a flat as parchment, trying not to let it roll up at the corners. “If you can make it to the door, you can go.”

His eyes narrow. It’s a challenge.

Her mouth twitches. “Go ahead,” she tells him mildly. She puts her back to the table, hands gripping the edge. “I won’t stop you.”

One side of his mouth creeps up. He thinks she’s underestimated him. He thinks he can do it.

He puts his hand flat on the mattress, rolling a little to get the moment to get to sitting and –

He overbalances. His back bows and his legs don’t follow, and then he’s a tangle of sheets and wide eyes as he hits the floor with a thump.

“How’s it going down there?” She asks after a long minute

“Ughhhh,” he replies eloquently.

Her lips pull wide, and she pushes off the desk. “I’ll go get Herr Anda.”

“Obi,” he says, after Anda’s heaved him onto the bed.

She’s changing the poultice on his side, not expecting to hear much more than his hisses as she pries the moist herbs from his side. She wonders if that some sort of curse word, wherever he’s from. “Hm?”

“That’s, um --” he clears his throat, awkward -- “that’s what you can call me. Obi.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

“It’s not my real name,” he tells her, watching her from the corner of his eyes. “I have aliases.”

She hums, feigning interest.

“And many secrets.”

Her eyebrows raise, mild. “Is that so?”

He hisses as she pulls the bandages off his chest, muttering “You could act a little impressed.”

The wound in still an angry pink, healing, but not well. He won’t be thanking her any time soon for this work.

“Obi.” She tries the word, as if it might have a taste. “That’s what you want to be called?”

His nose wrinkles. “Not if you’re going to say it like that.”

A handful of days later, he snaps, “It’s not ohhhh-bee, Miss, it’s o-bee.”

She’s not really sure of the difference. “What does it matter, if it’s not your real name?” she bites back, and his mouth twists into a pout.

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

Her days take on a rhythm while Obi convalesces. Her nights are spent at Herr Anda’s; it’s no longer necessary for someone to stay with Obi at all hours, but his dressings need to be changed frequently, especially the one on his chest, and it is easier for Shirayuki to navigate the stairs in the dark than a man with a cane and a limp.

Her days are split between caring for Obi, which he hates, and her duties in the shop, which he likes even less. It’s just the sort of contrary behavior she’s come to expect from him.

He at least had not lied when he said he healed fast; less than a week sees her eying the stitches on his sides and face for removal, though his chest is still pink and ugly and ragged. It’s scabbed in a few spots where there stitches weren’t tight enough, though it does not smell of anything but the bitter herbs she lays over it for healing.

A week is not so long, but it long enough for her to forget why she particularly enjoyed her hours at the physician’s, long enough to make her forget her particularly dogged problem she had made at Beltane.

Herr Anda goes into the market for the afternoon -- the miller’s wife has been having contractions for the past three nights, and he’s worried she might deliver too early – and Shirayuki is left to tend both the store and their charge on her own. He is in as rare a form as ever, propped up on his pillows so that he can see her through the door and needling her as she stocks the shelves. He has a particular gift of making his voice carry without straining in the slightest.

She’s hardly listening; last she heard he was cross because she was clomping like a cow, a problem he wasn’t so much interested in fixing as he was requesting that she complete the illusion with a cow bell and suitable lowing. The shop is quiet, but there’s always a list of work to complete, written in Anda’s cramped hand. Today’s runs front and back; he’s concerned they’ve run behind treating their troublesome patient.

It’s almost a relief for the bell to the ring.

“Good afternoon –” Her words fail her when they fall upon the round face filling the door. “Pavo!”

“Hi there, Shirayuki.” He shuffles his over-large feet on the floor, tracking in the sort of dirt that Herr Anda would have her on her knees to scrub later. “I hadn’t seen you in a little while.”

“I—I’ve been working.” Her hands make useless gestures in the air. She doesn’t know how to explain that she just hasn’t wanted to see him either. There’s no nice way to tell a boy he kisses like a fish.

He nods, hat in his hand. “That’s what your grans said. Said you’d been working close with Herr Anda lately, so I-I thought I might come by and ask if you might – you might want some sort of break –”

“Pavo, I’m very…” She casts a look back at the door. “Busy. With work. Right now.”

His brows draw together, taking in the empty floor. “There isn’t anyone here, though. Surely you could step out for a stroll. I’ll buy you a pretzel.”

“Pavo –”

One of his hands fist at his side. “If you’re afraid of Herr Anda giving you a switching or something, I can talk to him for you.”

Her eyes widen. Is that what everyone thinks of him? That he’d raise a hand to her? “That’s not –”

“Ain’t right, the way he has you cooped up in here.” He puffs up his chest, like he’s some big man. “You’re lucky you have me, elsewise you wouldn’t be married until you’re thirty, being his apprentice.”

She frowns. “I’m not –”

“Now come on,” he says, fingers banding around her wrist. He’s not holding her hard, but it’s definitely…firm.

“I don’t think –”

A hand lands heavy on her shoulder, jostling her wrist out of Pavo’s hand. “Is there a problem, Miss?”

She blinks. Miss? “I –”

Pavo frowns, clutching his wrist, and – and it wasn’t from Obi’s hand on her shoulder than he let go. She stares as the red blossoming under his fingers. That wasn’t some light slap on the wrist. “Who is this?”

“This is, um, Obi.” And he shouldn’t be standing. “He’s, ah…”

“Helping Herr Anda for a while,” he tells Pavo with a too-sharp smile. “I’d just gone in the back. We’re all out of feverfew, by the way.”

“Oh, ah…thank you.”

“So as you can see,” Obi drawls, arm winding around her shoulder, supportive instead of possessive. “We can’t spare Miss for a moment.”

“Oh.” Pavo coughs, sending a dark look at the boy behind her. “Yes. Sorry to bother you.”

He is hardly out the door when Obi slumps over, nearly sending them both careening into the counter.

“I hope it was worth it,” she says, helping him back to his bed. “You’ve probably ripped a stitch being up like this.”

He grins as his back hits the mattress. “Very.”

She frowns, wanting to scold him, but instead she says, “Thank you.”

His eyes watch her, wary and...something else. “Consider us even.

As thankful as she is for his intervention, his knowing that he can be upright becomes more of a hassle than its worth. She wakes up one morning to see that he has sprung himself in the night, nowhere to be found.

She could wake Herr Anda, but she knows he will only shrug, only tell her they can’t keep him here if he doesn’t want to be. And she -- she understands that, she does, but --

But Obi doesn’t know what’s good for him. She can’t let him go off by himself.

She throws her shawl over her nightgown instead, hoping that none of the neighbors have woken inspired for a pre-drawn stroll. The last thing she needs is more rumors of her to start; young Shirayuki caught in her nightclothes coming back from a tryst, don’t they start young nowadays.

The streets in front of the apothecary are empty, and she lets out a word that would make Oma scold her and have Opa threatening to wash out her mouth with soap. She doesn’t often use them -- she has little occasion to, when Herr Anda is so liberal with their application -- but she is not above a little...verbal release, if the moment calls for it.

Running around in a linen shift in the dead of night, trying to hunt down and injured and annoying boy seems to fit the part nicely.

It’s only when she’s about to give up, tears of frustration gathering in the corners of her eyes, that she spots him. He’s found his own clothes; they’re little more than rags by this point, his shirt practically tatters and his pants still faintly stained with red.

She should be glad that he at least wasn’t going to steal Herr Anda’s clothes, but -- but she’s not. She’s livid that he’s tried to leave at all, and that he’d reject their kindness on top has her approaching him like thunder, like a storm that will shake his foundations until he sees sense --

And then she sees his face.

He is not even aware of her, his face pressed so tightly to the glass that his breath leaves fog behind. From where she stands she can see Shou lumbering through his shop, heaving a great tray of breads into the cheery fires of his oven. The smell wafting from the door is something just short of heavenly. And Obi --

Shirayuki has never seen such naked want on anyone’s face.

Somewhere in the cage of her ribs, something aches.

“Obi,” she calls, softly. He twitches, just barely.

She comes closer, catching him by the elbow, ignoring how he jumps under her palm.

“Come on.” Her hand drifts down the sinewy length of his arm until she can wind her fingers gently through his. For once, he looks at her, though it is inscrutable, uncomprehending. “It’s time to come back.”

Herr Anda is waiting for them.

His mouth is a forbidding line as he takes in Obi’s ragged appearance, in the way he’s sagged over Shirayuki’s shoulders. Somewhere between the bakery and home, the adrenaline of his escape had worn off, and she’d been left to drag him through the streets. Herr Anda’s gaze lingers over her as well; the stained shift, the bedraggled state of her hair.

He frowns.

“Well,” he says, as if he’s savoring the punishment to come. “If you’re well enough to go gallivanting off through the town, then you’re well enough to help out here.”

Her master steps close with a sniff, and his face crumples with distaste. “Though not without a bath first.”

Shirayuki is sent out at first light to buy Obi some new clothes, ones meant to fit his knobby body.

“But with room to grow,” Anda tells her, strangely concerned. “He’ll fatten up in no time once he’s well again.”

She knows it’s a chore to keep her busy; Obi’s not yet strong enough to lever himself into and out of the tub, not without risking the stitches on his chest, and he would no doubt be embarrassed to have her in the room while he tried. She takes her time, letting Herr Schneider’s daughters show her a wide selection of items before she makes her choice.

Her selections are...conservative. White shirts, black vests, black pants, black boots. All things she’s sure won’t offend, though Obi will pretend they do anyway.

They’re disappointed, she can tell. Suki gives her an especially disapproving look as she tallies her bill, and when she asks if there is anything else she would like, her tone is filled with such reproach that Shirayuki find her gaze skittering over the items behind the till, trying to find something interesting.

Her gaze hooks on something a soft, verdant green. “This too,” she says, throwing the scarf on top of her pile. It’s plush beneath her fingers, almost...comforting.

Suki smiles. “There now, that’s better. A fine choice.”

It is always possible for disaster to strike, but Shirayuki certainly did not expect  a flood.

Placing her bags up on the counter, she edges around the puddle spilling out across the apothecary’s floor. There are splatters on the wall, droplets working their way down around the invisible flaws in the plaster.

“Ah, Meister?” she calls out, tip-toeing toward the bath. It seems the origin of the high water is in here.

She taps lightly at the shut door. “Meister Anda? Is --”

It swing open under the weight of her fist, and --

And Herr Anda is soaked to the skin, down to just his shirt and buckskins, what looks like the fine cloth of his waistcoat wadded up in the corner and his boots and cane abandoned on a higher shelf. His hair drips rivulets down his neck, and Obi --

Obi is shirtless, braced up on a window higher than a boy with his wounds should be able to climb, bone dry --

She gapes. “What happened?”

Herr Anda lets out an indignant huff. “Our new employee is part cat, is what.”

The hiss Obi lets out doesn’t do much to refute the claim. “You said I’d have a bath. You were trying to drown me.”

Shirayuki turns to her master. Herr Anda balks. “You can’t be serious? Drowning? Do I look like I’m a pig farmer with runt? If I were trying to kill him, I’d just use poison.”

Obi makes an alarmed noise.

“Oh please,” Herr Anda scoffs. “Don’t be so sensitive. You wouldn’t even know it had happened.”

Not for the first time Shirayuki wonders at his eviction from the palace.

“No,” he continues crossly, “the problem here is that our patient here thought I meant sponge bath.” Herr Anda arches an eyebrow. “He’s apparently never had a good soak before. A shock, I’m sure.”

Obi’s tone is just as prickly when he calls down, “There’s no reason to need that much water!”

She pulls a face, throwing a pointed gaze at her master.

He splutters, throwing up his hands. “You try to get him in.”

It takes the both of them; Shirayuki to shame him into coming close, and Anda to shove him into the tub.

“Shouldn’t you turn around, Miss?” Obi asks plaintively, looking nothing more like a half-drowned kitten in the water. He’s only in because he was too concerned with trying to protect her modesty, holding one hand over his crotch as Anda levered him into the bathwater.

Her master barks out a laugh. “Come now, boy. She’s a physician’s apprentice.” A corner of his mouth ticks upward, the closest Anda comes to a grin. “She’s seen a cock before. Adult ones. Bigger than your tackle, that’s for sure.”

For once, Obi is the one to flush.

Freshly scrubbed and trimmed, Shirayuki has to admit Obi doesn’t look half bad.

It’s too bad most of the neighborhood girls thinks so too.

She expects him to scare them off with a scowl, but instead he pauses in his sweeping to give each one a sly grin and a wink. Some of them are bold, catching him behind the shelves where she can’t see to exchange pleasantries.

“He brings in business,” Herr Anda says when she complains. So much for help from that quarter.

“Make time on your own time,” she snaps after she catches the grocer’s daughter with her hand pressed to his chest, their heads bent together.

He laughs. “I’m getting my work done.” He leans close. “Why, are you jealous, Little Miss?”

She pulls a face, and he only laughs louder. “As if I’d want your flopping fish tongue in my mouth.”

That hits a nerve.

“My tongue isn’t a flopping fish,” he hisses through his teeth a handful of days later, as she navigates the market with her basket of marshgrass. She’s frankly not sure what he’s talking about until she sees the annoyance on his face. So that is what his poor attitude had been about lately.

“Of course it is,” she tells him with the full authority of her thirteen summers. “All boys kiss like they’re gasping for breath on a dock.”

He grimaces. “That’s...you...”

“While we’re here, why don’t you go flop it over there.” She points to the fruit stall, manned by one of Herr Kramer’s pretty blonde daughters. “We could use some oranges for cheap.”

She’s watching him stomp over to the stall, lips curled in satisfaction, when a shadow falls over her. She looks up, blinking. Shou shuffles beside her, looking too big for his own skin.

“Sh--” She catches herself. “Herr Beck?”

“These will go stale,” he says in his gruff way, hands gentle as he shoves a long loaf and a handful of sweet rolls into her hands. “You should take them.”

“I --”

He’s already hurrying away before she can thank him, and for a long moment she’s confused, wondering just why he’s give her the bread when --

When Obi arrives, taunt fresh on his lips, shriveling the moment he sees the the bread in her hands. A shadow of the hunger he showed oh so many nights ago passes over his face and she --

She understands.

At a month he is well enough to walk on his own for some distance, and she feels…strange. That he might leave.

“There’s nothing else for me here,” he tells her, grinning as always but she knows him well enough now to see the sadness in it. “It’s not as if –”

The bell rings above the door, and they both look up to see Shou filling the door. He’s nervous, shuffling his great feet on the jamb, but he steels himself. He looks directly at Obi and says, “I’d like to have a talk with you.”

[euphoric-melancholyy]

On Sleepless Roads (2/3)

Summary: A S6 Canon divergence.  There’s an irony, she supposes, that something created to pull one into eternal sleep, is now a barrier to any sleep. Her body fights against the maddening exhaustion. She’s just so tired, so fucking tired and she can’t keep going like this.

Ao3  FF Part 1  Part 3

The ice chills his hand as he presses it against where she says the pain is sharpest. But her body is warm as it curves into his, her head resting on his shoulder and arm slung across his middle.

“Thrown against the clock tower,” she answers without the question being presented. Earlier she had tried to reassure him that it just felt like a throbbing muscle soreness, no glass to show for the nonexistent incident. It didn't work, even if her pain was not quite as dire as the night before.

He kisses the crown of her head and pulls her tighter, wishing that it were easier for her to fulfil her promise that she would sleep for weeks. She’s given so much of herself, he isn’t sure what there is left to give, but the title of Savior continues to demand more, to take and take. Its cost her a childhood surrounded by love and robbed her of sleep for months. And now. . .

“Hey, I’m okay-”

“Swan, you’re in pain. You can’t sleep, you-”

“You.” she thumbs the outline of his jaw. “I have you. The pain is already going away and now it’s just you and me, alive. That’s all that matters. And in a few hours, I’m gonna go to the station and do my job. I've functioned on a lot less.”

“Emma, you need sleep.”

“I love you.” It isn’t the first time she’s said it without looking at him, yet his heart flutters just the same. She sounds so tired, but he thinks it adds to the sincerity, her voice cracking with the truth of her words. His lips capture hers in response, turning her body to where it rests atop his as her arms find their way around his neck. Their languid pace is slowed with her smile, so big he has to pull away with a chuckle. “I take it that means you love me, too?”

“Aye, Swan. I love you, too.”

-/-/-

She goes to work later, despite his protesting. It’s a great distraction from the exhaustion that’s taken hold, giving her something to focus on other than what she wants and dreads the most. Her parents are taking this new curse - that’s what she’s labeled the dilemma that has seemed to rob her of sanity and redden the whites of her eyes - in strides. They beg her to sleep, but it’s not a plea she’s willing to give into, not without Killian beside her and even then. . .

It’s better like this. She’s more productive awake than asleep.

She spends her break on the Jolly Roger, listening to the banter of her father and Killian. (Waiting for rain is not the proper way to clean a ship, Dave. There are procedures that must be taken to make sure she is in top shape.

It’s not a she -

Did you captain her for centuries? She shall be whatever the bloody hell I wish.

Still doesn't give an inanimate object a gender.)

Usually Emma would interject, but there's a smile on Killian’s face the moment he looks to her, bright, happy eyes speaking to the deepest parts of her soul. It's happened several times since returning to Storybrooke- an overwhelming calm rushing in at the sight of one another alive, putting a pause to the conversation and world around them as if they're the only people in it. For now it’s enough. It’s enough to push her through the rest of the day - these stolen quiet moments in the midst of chaos. And later, after the sun has set behind the clouds, blanketing them in darkness, she crawls under the covers. “I don’t want to sleep,” she whispers to the man lying next to her. He’s massaging the knots from her shoulders in a comfortable silence. But already she can feel her awareness fading, his reply lost to a world of green fields and wind blurred trees.

-/-/-

She buries her cheek in the dark of leather, welcoming the chill of wind that howls in her ear. Sitting astride a horse, she leans her weight into Killian, an infectious laugh escaping when Buttercup progresses past a gallop.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice probably a bit too loud as it combats the noise of the wind.

“That's the adventure of it, love.”

Everything around her looks of Camelot - gorgeous mountains outlined in streams, a nature untouched by man's inventions. instead preserved with magic that shines with color.

Yet, somehow it's not. For she knows their home is but a mile south of where they are, winding through thick wood. Somehow, they are in Storybrooke. And she doesn't question it as they ride through the forest, letting her eyelids shut as she soaks in the calm.

And really, she should have known better. Before she can act, Buttercup is rearing up, throwing both her and Killian in the air before smashing her once strong frame against a tree.

Throbbing. It’s the first thing she recognizes before the panic sets in. Before she turns her head to the bleeding form next to her. There’s blood pooling at her shoulder, coarse bark having slowed her descent to the ground. But it doesn’t matter, not when he’s drapped silently across the mud, unresponsive. She can almost reach him, fingertips lightly scratching at a hook doing nothing to rouse him.  

She’s vaguely aware of the high pitched cry that escapes, a plea for him to be okay, and dammit wake up, but she can’t move, can’t reach him with paralysis seizing her muscles.

Ice. It’s the next thing she recognizes before reality comes back into focus. (Which reality, she isn’t sure. She’s been dancing on the line between the realm of dreams and where she finds herself now. An exhausting dance blurred by magic and Webster-defined insanity.) His voice is rough and soothing as he holds her to his chest and she hopes this is the world she can stay in, nightmare or not. Her shoulder still hurts, but he’s here and he’s safe.

“Emma?” He asks as her breathing slows, voice cracking with a fear she had caused.

“Are you okay?”  

He flinches at her question, brows furrowing. “What do you mean am I okay? You’re the one who wakes up in agony every night!”

“Killian, I’m going insane. I can’t fix a wound that isn’t there and I can’t differentiate what is real and what is a part of this curse. It just hurts, everything just . . .You were hurt too and I can’t, I can’t…”

“What do you need?” It’s simple, less words than he would normally offer but better than any refute he could give.

“Can you just hold me?”

“Aye love.” She’s warm in his arms, head buried in the hair littering his chest and legs tangled together. Though she allows her body to relax, molding herself into him as his hand caresses her back and his lips plant kisses to the top of her head, her erratic heartbeat remains. A lingering anxiety that holds her captive. He tells stories and it helps. His voice a calming symphony of colorful vocabulary that she loses herself in. He tells of Liam, Milah, and Pan. Painting Neverland more eloquently than JM Barrie himself. She shares tales of her life as well, of school and foster homes, of a meaningless first boyfriend and the first time she wrecked a car. It’s not as well worded as his, but then again she never is.

-/-/-

He’s worried for her, his Swan, watching from the sidelines as she throws herself into work - combating crisis after crisis on nothing but coffee and Granny’s grilled cheese sandwiches. She needs to rest, to lay in their bed and think of nothing but herself. But she’s stubborn, as stubborn as he is himself, and they’re once again caught at a crossroads. They’re not fighting, but they aren’t agreeing either.

“Come on, love. I’m sure your father can handle it for one day. Just one day, the two of us on the water.” He knows what’s coming before she says it, her retort well practiced now. It’s a repeat of their previous conversation.

“But Hyde-”

“He can wait.” He sighs, exasperated, before grabbing her hand and interlocking their fingers. “You have to take care of yourself, too.”

“I will.  I am. But people are counting on me.”

“Emma-”

“Soon, I promise.”

“Let me take care of you,” Killian whispers, dropping her hand from his and skimming his knuckles across the bruises under her eyes. She relents for a moment, leaning into his touch before righting herself with a shake of her head.

“I have to pick up Henry. Do you want to come?”

“Of course.”

He drops his head in defeat, letting her guide him out of the sheriff’s station and onto the bustling streets, his focus more on her sluggish steps and heavy shoulders than the direction they’re going. He’ll get her to rest, one way or another, her health more important to him than any villain claiming ownership of their quaint little town.

-/-/-

Coffee has become her preferred stimulant. More so than cinnamon coated cocoa, Killian’s flask that never seems to empty of rum, or the acidic monster drinks that taste like someone melted a battery and decided to drink it. No, coffee is much better to keep her pushing through Granny’s lunch crowd to meet her parents.

She finds them scanning the menu as if they've not memorized it over the last 30 years, and she slides in the booth behind Killian.

“Honey, you look exhausted. You both do.” Mary Margaret remarks.

“It’s nothing.” She pauses, distractedly glaring down a black speck of dust dirtying the corner of the table. The anxiety that she carries around like a second skin heightens at her mother's inquiry and she dodges the impending conversation best she can. “Henry just asked us today if he could walk with Violet to school. . .without us.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to kiss his lady love without prying eyes. I know the feeling quite well meself.” Killian quips and Emma’ eyes grow wide, smacking him lightly on the chest.

“Watch it, pirate. I don’t want to hear about your urges to kiss my daughter.” David warns.

“Those aren’t the only ones I have, mate.” His words are punctuated with a mischievous grin directed at Emma and her reddened cheeks.

“Killian!” She elbows him this time, smiling in victory when he grunts between closed teeth. “That’s what you get.”

Her yawn is what breaks the banter, a concern glossing over the faces of her family. Jumping foster home to foster home has made her all too familiar with the expressions. (Back then it had been pity and confusion for the friendless orphan girl who’s angry outburst was followed by tears that never seemed to stop. A temporary worry for the well-being of Emma Swan that no one acted on.) Now, the worry was genuine, but she could see the pity in the furrow of her mother’s and father’s brows. In hindsight, maybe the exhaustion was distorting her view. Feelings of never truly understanding one another buried at the expense of pretending to have the relationship she wants. “Please don't do this, guys.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I'm some sort of wounded animal.”

“We weren't! We aren't...we're worried about you.” Snow replies. The gentleness of her voice causes a twinge of guilt deep in Emma’s gut. It’s stupid to feel this way when she knows her mother is just. . .being a mother. So she pushes back the irrational feelings, deflects and hopes it’ll be enough to move the conversation elsewhere.

“I know and I appreciate that, but we have bigger fish to fry right now.”

“So the nightmares-”

“We'll deal with that later. We have to catch Hyde first-”

“I know what you’re going through and you can't run from this. When your father and I-”

“No, you don’t! I'm not you, mom! I don't need to know how you and dad conquered some battle that I am going to get through differently. Stop saying you understand when everything you do says otherwise. If you understood you'd stop bringing it up!” She stops as she realizes the room has cut silent to heed the yells of their exhausted savior and sheriff. Breathing in and exhaling with a sigh, she continues - tone harsh against her whispered frustrations “I'm the savior. Do you have any idea what that means? It makes you all a target. It means that anytime I fail, it puts everyone in danger. It could kill you. I don't need some hope speech to tell me how I need to open up about my feelings. Just because I'm not talking to you about it doesn't mean I'm not talking about it.” Her hand wraps around the ring that dangles from her neck, a silent comfort as she recalls the tear laced confessions she’s told Killian in the dead of night. It’s his hand instinctively wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her into him that keeps her from caving into herself, from a complete shut down at her public outburst.

He’s holding himself back, a silence between the four of them made all the more awkward by his absence of opinion. He has his thinking face on, brows furrowed and pursed lips as he sorts through and holds back from speaking his thoughts aloud. But the primary emotion on his face and her parents, is surprise.

“I’m sorry honey, I didn’t realize it upset you so much. . .Maybe a change of scenery will help? You can always come back to the loft. Your bed’s still there.”

“I have a bed and a new home, my first house, with Killian. I. . .feel safe with him.” She grants her aforementioned co-inhabitant a small smile, continuing, but her gaze not leaving his. “I don't want to wake up without him there. He helps.” She sighs, the words lifting an unknown burden from her chest, as if admitting that somehow made it ring with a greater truth. There was an agitation - distorted from sleep deprivation, maybe - that her parents still couldn’t see that. They couldn’t see the changed man Killian has become. She hopes he doesn’t feel it too. “I know that you’re trying to make everything better, but sometimes you can’t. Changing where I sleep is not going to keep the Sandman from distorting my dreams. You don’t want to be around me when I do fall asleep, trust me. So can we just drop it and order some damn food, please? I'm starved.”  .

-/-/-

He asks her to do it, so she does. She drives the blade into his middle, feeling his insides scream around silver metal, hearing the slash of flesh tearing as the point emerges bloodstained on the other side. She watches through tears as 300 years of life drain from his eyes. He tells her he loves her, but he can barely breathe. So with one last kiss pressed to his lips, she withdraws her sword and his body plummets to the ground.

It doesn’t stop falling. Now, he’s wrapped in chains, more bloodied and broken than before. He’s suspended upon a murky green river, sinking slowly into its neverending depths and -

“Killian!” She screams, letting the smoke from the fire pits that light the basement turned cavern fill her lungs. Her feet smack against the rock as she runs, but the faster she accelerates, the faster he falls - a tortuous pursuit that causes panic to pool in her stomach as his feet drop out of sight. There’s an enchantment blocking her more supernatural attempts at rescue, magic that curls inward at her fingertips and pushes its way back to her core with no release. But it's too late now, her plea embedded into the rock it bounces off of. The chains rise from the river, prisoner absolved and his soul forever lost.

-/-/-

There’s a cry she hears somewhere in the distance. It increases in volume or proximity - she's not sure which. But it syncs to the chaos of her mind, the adrenaline and panic coursing through her bloodstream as it calls for, cries for, her deceased lover.

She tries to calm herself, pull the crumbling, shattered pieces of her heart back together when she realizes it’s her.

“Emma, it's just a dream. It's okay, you're okay. Wake up, love.” But her hysteria only grows with the sound of his voice, sobs racking her body as she seems to come to. His soft voiced reassurances are lost on deaf ears as he pulls her upright, hand smoothing over the ridges of her spine. They’re coated in darkness save for the crack of moonlight shining through the curtains, casting haunted shadows of the sleepless road they travel. So he reaches to turn the bedside lamp on, lighting the room to rouse her, to ground her back in this room with him. “Emma, I’m right here.” She shakes under his grip, several whispered no’s followed by a string of curses. His words do little, if any to comfort her, mind stuck in the terrors of her dream world.  “Come back to me, love.”

But she doesn’t, not yet. Instead, she curls into herself, an inconsolable silhouette of revisted grief, oblivious to the departed’s presence and the hand that tries to coax her back.

He can see the moment she returns, a relieved shock overtaking her features as her arms wrap around him.

She buries her head in his neck, tears slipping past her cheek and onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Killian I’m so-”

“Shhh, it was just a dream. You’re here now.”

“No, no it wasn’t just a dream.” She sniffs, trying to get her breathing under control. It only worsens as he tries to comfort her.

As she tries to articulate the reality of her nightmare. “I killed you. . .I watched you die-”

“Emma-”

“They buried you! You still have a fucking tombstone in the graveyard. I failed and you-”

Calloused lips stop the quiver of her own, if only temporarily, as she takes the comfort he gives. If he was an ocean, then she was drowning - his touch overwhelming in its tenderness. The tears that still fall are caught with his mouth while his thumb caresses the outline of her jaw. But soon her worries fade with the clothes that are shed, his hand and tongue working in tandem to soothe the wounds of her nightmares. Of her reality. Their love coiling with the heat in her stomach as they come together.

She holds to that feeling as she comes down, tangling her limbs with his so that they somehow remain one. If she was a ship, then he was her anchor and compass alike - grounding and guiding through the treacherous sea that's become the wreckage of the Savior's duties .

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers. And this time she gives in, following him into the warmth of the shower’s downpour. The water washes away the last of morning haze, cleansing and clearing her mind before revisiting the nightmare that awoke her. Her body craves his touch; his hand massaging the shampoo to and from her hair as his stump rests against the curve of her waist making tears fall anew.

“I love you,” she breathes, a wonderment in her tone. It's not enough to express how she feels about him, words caught in her throat seem miniscule to the emotions that stir within her.

It's later, over chocolate chip pancakes and her third cup of coffee, that she gives him details. She tells of the heaviness of the blade in her hand, of the crunch of muscles as it drove through flesh. She tells of the blood and how it remained stained wet in her hands as his body fell into the river of lost souls. She tells and holds herself together, a saddened detachment that only allows a single tear to fall. She tells of the terror that seizes her still - that this happiness they share could merely be a hallucination. “When I woke up, at first, the dream it felt. . .more real.”  

It’s the emotional weight, despite the coffee and sex that preceded and receded her confession,  that leave her bone tired as she once again prepares to head to Granny’s. Makeup aids in masking the exhaustion that hides underneath - the baggy red rimmed eyes temporarily reprieved with coats of concealer and a layer of bottom eyeliner she would usually go without. It’s not a lot, but it’s noticeable.

It can’t conceal the drag in her step, however, nor the mental pause in her replies. She’s beyond tired, afraid of the terrors that falling into sleep’s arms will bring, but she pushes through..

She pushes through as she finds her son already sitting at a table scanning a copy of one of his storybooks.

“Hey kid!” Emma smiles before taking a seat across from him. “Looks like a full house for Granny. I guess everyone has untold stories that are ready to be played out.”

“Yeah, that or they discovered the best place for lunch.”

Emma laughs at that - a small chuckle that quickly dies when she glances at the pages opened before her. “So have you found anything new?”

“Other than people not dressed in Storybrooke, attire? Not yet. But I’m betting someone here can tell us.”

And he’s right. They’re still very oddly dressed. Although she guesses that’s relative to the realm they are in. But her leather jacket stands out next to the silks and fanciful dresses, strange hats and ancient styles, even Bollywood fashion. A man by the bar dons a cape. She wonders what his story in particular might be - possibly Dracula, but she isn’t entirely convinced vampires are real.  Dracula, or whoever he actually is, stands tall next to a little girl dressed in colonial attire. They create a stark contrast to the mad looking scientist, old professor in a trench coat, and Chinese looking royalty. An eclectic, confused mix that’s dominated by a middle eastern man in a strange hat. He must notice her staring, because before she can successfully avert her gaze from the crowd, he’s walking over to her with cane in hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jafar.”

Scepter, she corrects her earlier assessment of his cane. It looks of rusted gold, frail magic worn with age. He sticks out from his companions, collections of other stories she’s heard throughout her life, as the more ominous of the bunch. And really, she should have known just by looking at him that he’s freaking Jafar. Villain. Evil. Sorcerer. His presence raises the hairs on the back of her neck, but it’s the tilt of his head and small smile he grants her, that creeps her out the most. (Not that she’ll show it; she makes a mental note to find the fate of Aladdin and Jasmine later, but for now she can make small talk. For now she’ll make Henry as comfortable as possible.) “Hi, I’m Emma. This is my son Henry.”

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Emma. I believe I’ve heard your name passed around a few times here.”

“She’s the Savior. She brings everyone their happy endings.” Henry chimes in.

“Ah, well what a noble pursuit.” She’s about to dismiss herself, dragging Henry back to the house for whatever bullshit reason she comes up with first, when Jafar continues. “I quite like this quaint town of yours. I’ve found the beds to be much more accommodating than those in Agrabah.”

“If you're talking about Granny’s beds, I can't say I agree.” She says with a forced smile, magic tingling through her blood as she clenches her fist to keep it at bay. As accustomed as she is to handling villains, there’s something simmering beneath the surface that she can’t quite place. It makes his every word more threatening and she pushes it down, tries to ignore the voice in her head that has the hairs on her neck still standing.

Jafar laughs - a small forced huff of air that does little to alleviate the tension. ”You'd be surprised.” He extends his hand for her to shake and she takes it, glad to have this opportunity to exit the situation. “Well I’m sure there are lines of people waiting to meet the savior. So if you’ll excuse me, I should get going.”

He turns on his heel and she directs her attention back to Henry. “Wanna get Granny’s to go? We’ll be more productive in the library anyway.”

“Yeah, let me text Violet first. She might know something about Jafar that could help us.”

“Sounds good.”

-/-/-

She’s past tired by the time they make it to the library, body sagging with the weight of her steps. Her eyes scan the same page for the sixth time and she can feel herself fading, lids fighting to stay open. It’s there that Killian finds her, drunk on sleep deprived delirium as she laughs about calligraphy and the idea of Dracula feeding off cat blood. (He’s seen her like this only twice, the first when rum was the culprit and the latter after a 36 hour shift when she refused to return home.) But she feels light now, the giggles that erupt alleviating the heaviness in her chest as she leans on Killian. She knows she’s being ridiculous, combing the stray hairs that hang at his forehead back behind his ear as she muses over if the sandman is made of sand, and the logistics of living in that state.

In the end, she decides that magic is the only answer.  

The energy high only lasts until she reaches their bathroom, laughter turning into silence as the faucet fills in the lost noise. She cuddles into Killian when they reach the bed, mumbling that she’ll only rest for a minute. It's a lie the moment her eyes close, the mattress embracing her exhaustion as it lulls her to sleep with her body wrapped around Killian's.

She dreams of fire, skin burning and engulfed in pain. It’s from her mother, the evil version of Isaac's cursed world, that chars her shoulder before spreading down her arm.

The screams don't come this time - instead she's left gasping for air she can't find, the pain, new in its torture but routine in its presence, muting her airways. She can feel sand fall from her eyes when she sits up, the burning sensation not leaving even as the particles land on her bedsheets. Mouth agape, Emma attempts to quiet the quiver of her breath as she gathers the remnants in her hand to dispose of before escaping to the kitchen. Killian slumbers at the edge of the bed, finally sleeping through a nightmare. (It makes her own nightmare a little less harsh. His attempts at staying up with her have left him almost as restless as she.)

She grows numb to the pain even as the red blisters of her hallucination rise. Her magic, powerless to whisk it away, poofs a small tube of burn cream in front of her. She knows it won't help, but she also knows the pain will get worse before it disappears. It has to be better than nothing.

When Killian finds her a few hours later, she’s propped up on the couch, eyes scanning the pages of one of the books they had brought home from the library. His hair is stuck up at all sides, a shirtless sleep mused mess in navy pajama pants.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to sleep through - what’s on your arm?”

“Burn cream. I know it can’t really do anything but I wanted to do something. I kinda forgot about it. And I’m glad you finally slept. You deserve it.”

He gives her this look sometimes, the same he’s giving her now, where his face softens and the lines of 300 years crinkle at his eyes the same as a child’s. Sometimes there’s a glistening in his eyes, his adoration so overwhelming that it doesn’t feel real. She watches his steps as he shuffles to the couch and interlaces their fingers together before bringing her hand up to his lips. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too.”

“We’re going to defeat this.”

“I know.”

She knows, but sometimes she doubts, brief moments of wondering if this is how she will meet her end. Death by Sleep Deprivation. She’s heard about it before, through internet or textbook she’s not sure. Within three days of waking to the feeling of burning flesh, her body adjusts to the permanent insomnia, afraid of the perils sleep brings. Even when she tries to rest, her subconscious has decided that sleep is equal to pain. It's her body's way of protecting her, creating a lose-lose situation with whatever side wins out at night. There is no burst of energy to revive her, the next few days a reflection of her weakened state in Camelot when she took on the darkness.

Her family remains her hope, Killian her anchor as her frustration grows. And it’s Killian who comes to her with the first actual solution. “Emma, love.” he whispers when he runs through the door to find her half asleep on the couch. “The sandman is in your nightmares.”

-/-/-

Tagging @acrobat-elle, @lovebecomeshim @bromfieldhall, and @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 upon request. 

[canaliculi]

I guess you got what you're after (if you're after a life on your knees)

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

M: begging

Either of them apologizes to the other, very very humbly.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bill said. Ford didn’t move, but he felt his pulse quicken, just an extra beat or two each minute. “It’s getting kinda boring around here, isn’t it?”

Ford clenched his fists. It hadn’t been until he’d gotten evicted out of his home dimension that he’d realized he could be just as much the fighting type as Stanley. Part of him wished he couldn’t be goaded so easily, but the majority of him wanted to punch Bill squarely in his stupid, smug eye. The fake muse seemed oblivious to Ford’s bubbling ire, slitted pupil revolving in shallow circular motions as he watched himself swirl some glowing pink liquid about a martini glass. Seemed being a key word in this situation, because even if Bill no longer had an open invitation to squat in his mind, the demon was almost preternaturally tuned to his emotions. And never failed to use said attunement for any purpose outside of prodding him violently.

Bill titled his glass, appearing to empty his drink onto the floor, but a mouth sprouted from the blackened grout between the tiles of the fearamid and swallowed the no doubt alcoholic ichor. Ford shifted on his knees, eying the glossy bricks he’d been forced to kneel upon, suddenly uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable. Bill turned to look at him, glaring, and let his glass fall to shatter on the tiles, eliciting a yelp from the apparently sentient flooring.

“Well? Aren’t you gonna ask why?” Bill continued to scowl at him, and then began laughing. “Oh yeah, I forgot!” He snapped his fingers, and the bridle-like gag that he’d personally shoved into Ford’s mouth days ago dissolved into a thick, sour slime that Ford had to spit out onto the floor, hunching over and gagging. The scientist turned dimensional hobo could feel it dripping in viscous lines down the sides of his face, gooey in his hair, coating his tongue like maple syrup. “Hey, don’t puncture a lung down there – I’m pretty sure they turn horses into glue for that offense, too!”

Fingers ran through his hair then, though they jerked back the moment they touched the trail of mystery liquid that had drenched him. An arm emerged from the floor, soft fingers wiping off his mouth that Ford immediately tried to pull away from. The various other restraints littered across his body, having not transitioned from a solid state to a liquid, held tight – he could turn his head, but it wasn’t nearly enough to escape the sardonically gentle touch.

“Aww, what’s wrong? You used to like it when I pet you! Remember?” Bill’s eye went fuzzy like an old TV set, and then light poured out of it like a projector. Instead of displaying anywhere in front of the demon, the ground beneath Ford’s hands – that was liberally splattered with the disgusting ooze he’d heaved out – lit up. Ford was still long enough to watch a grainy image of himself appear. An image of himself that was obviously moaning, writhing in a tangle of pitch black limbs. Heat rose to his face, in much the same way bile rose in the back of his throat, and he shut his eyes.

“And do you know what else I remember?” Ford felt a small weight settle on his head. “Come on, this one should be a fond memory for you!” Fingers alighted on his face, bracketing his eyes, and they peeled his eyelids apart, so he was forced to watch as the floor lit itself up again with a new image. Bill was on his head, diminutive in a way he hadn’t bothered to be in so long, fluffing up his hair as though they were back in the mindscape.

On the ground, like an old home video, Ford watched himself burst into the nightmare dimension, guns blazing. The camera panned to linger on the smoldering remains of one of the nameless monsters Ford had slain on his final visit to that shifting, in between world, and a sad cascade of violins began playing. He rolled his eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the attitude! Trevor – wait, or was it Travis? Maybe Terrorizer? Anyway, he was an integral part of both my plans and my crew! This is a stirring memorial to his lifetime of achievements! I’d pour some out, but getting the monolithic nightmare castle you’re currently residing in drunk is against most interdimensional construction laws!” Ford didn’t even need to see Bill to know that the sudden silence was Bill realizing A) something was illegal and, therefore, B) that he should do it. The hands that had been holding him captive let go, sinking back into the floor.

“Bill,” Ford said, mostly because he didn’t want to see what a drunk fearamid was like. His voice was scratchy and rough, either from the recent disuse or the not-so-recent constant, agonized screaming. He’d actually had to make multiple attempts before any sound would come out at all. “What’s your point?” The movie playing below had finally focused back on him, diving heroically into the Quadrangle of Qonfusion, but at his words the image of Ford on the screen stopped dead in his tracks, instead turning to the camera to look outraged.

“Fordsy! Why, I’m shocked! I’m stunned! Absolutely flabbergasted!” Bill hopped off his head to float in front of him instead. Ford craned his neck up to watch him, irritated because he knew, just knew, that was what Bill wanted to him to do. “I’ve never seen you be so cold – well, except to your brother, your family, and basically anyone that has ever mistakenly put their trust in you! But to me? It hurts, IQ!”

Being reminded of his family just reminded him that they were here, somewhere, just as caught as he was, though hopefully without the personal attentions of a megalomania-riddled demon. Ford swallowed around a stone in his throat, in his chest, and focused instead on the annoyance Bill provided, a constant burr jammed into the soft flesh of his side. Bill drew closer to him, and laid a small hand on either side of his face. A light pressure in his fingertips that encouraged Ford to lean forward, to come nearer. It felt surprisingly insidious for such an innocuous gesture, and left heat curling through his body that was entirely unwelcome.

“Why are you bored, Bill?” Best to just get this out of the way. Bill no doubt wanted to play some infuriating and humiliating game, and was trying to let out enough lead for Ford to get himself tangled up in. Swallow the bait whole, and it at least took some of the sport out of it.

“I’m touched you asked, Sixer! And here I was, thinking you didn’t care about me anymore!” Ford almost leapt out of his skin when another hand emerged from the ground and ran up the midline of his chest, trailed a finger across his heavy collar before fading away again. “Silly me! I mean, you’ve managed to alienate or disappoint everyone else in your life, who else do you have but me?”

Ford’s gaze dropped to the floor that, thankfully, was no longer acting as a video screen. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to look at himself just this moment. Bill’s hands dropped away from him. An opportunity would come, he knew. An opportunity to put an end to all of this, once and for all. He just had to be patient. He had to endure. For Stanley. For the kids. For the entirety of Gravity Falls. The edge of Bill’s cane tapped against the crown of his head and he grit his teeth. Endure.

“Anyway, back to the topic at hand!” Ford got to watch a hand sprout out from dark cracks in the bricks this time, disgusted at the way it blossomed and unfurled. It took his chin between its fingers and redirected his gaze upwards again. “Me! You! Now I’m not one to ruin a good thing, and let me tell you, the martyred victim, bravely suffering Stanford Pines: Special Edition is a real treat!” Bill ruffled his hair while Ford clenched his jaw so hard a weird buzzing filled his ears. “But I have to be honest, things were more a lot fun when there was a real challenge to the whole forceful dimensional takeover spiel!”

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck him. This was it! Could it really be? It had to be! Bill was letting his arrogance, his utter assurance he’d won blind him, and Ford was going to leap at this chance, whatever it may be. Ford tried to clamp down on his excitement, but Bill’s eye was curving like he was in on a private joke.

“You’re interested, right? Don’t try to pretend you’re not, I know that look, Fordsy!” A sudden weight was lifted off him, and Ford thought it was metaphorical for a moment until he realized that literal weights had dropped off him. He swallowed and the collar was still in place, evidenced by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed roughly against the tight metal, but the others – manacles around his wrists, his ankles, strange chains that wrapped around his thighs to force him into a bent position, crisscrossing restraints that constricted his lungs and connected to the floor at his sternum by a short shackle, kept him pulled down like a groveling, subservient beast – all gone. There was a moment where he remained frozen, inches off the ground, a deer trapped in one-eyed headlights, and then apparently Ford remembered how to move himself. He cleared his throat as he straightened.

“I have to admit, Bill,” he began, somehow managing to drift into his lecturer voice. He even adjusted his eyeglasses. “I am intrigued. What did you have in mind?” It was simple, somehow, to ignore all the context surrounding this conversation.

“Well, as far as this dimension goes, you Pines have been the only real challenge I’ve faced! Not that that has amounted to much, but you take what you can get, am I right?” Bill drifted to his side and propped an elbow up on Ford’s shoulder, gesturing in circles with his free hand. “Now of all the Pines, you’ve been the most, uh, formidable! But I can’t just let you go, after all the trouble I’ve gone through to get you back here again!”

Ford took a deep breath. He didn’t want to spoil whatever mood Bill had gotten into, but this conversation wasn’t going quite the way he had hoped it would. Bill floated off his shoulder, blinking out of sight from his periphery and into his direct line of vision.

“So here’s my offer! I willing to let ONE of the Mystery Twins 2.0 go free!” Ford couldn’t even try to hold in his excitement. Dipper or Mabel – he would be able to get one of them out of this hellhole! And certainly, they weren’t comparable to himself in terms of capability, and it was wholly cruel and unfair to heap such a responsibility on them, but they had a better chance than anyone else to figure out a way to free Ford. Allow him the time to fix all this. “Yeah yeah, but you have to do something for me, first!”

“What do you want me to do?” Even to his own ears, he sounded eager and it made him cringe inside. But what wouldn’t he do for those kids?

“Oh, it’s easy enough! I just want one little thing from you,” Bill said, sounding uncharacteristically charming. “An apology!”

Now, for whatever reason, Ford felt the beginning of apprehension drawing in. Like he could see the sharp angled jaws of a trap cinching closed around him. It galled him to no end. He could pull his head back, and get nothing – back in chains, the status quo maintained. Safe and sound and mired in the same swamp he’d been in before. Or he could bare his neck to poisoned fangs and hope that, somehow, he survived the impact. Bill had the upper hand, as he always managed to have, and the demon was currently examining his nails, like he had all the time in multiverse. Which Ford supposed he had, considering time was dead. For the time being.

There was nothing more to be done, really.

“I’m sorry,” Ford said. It sounded like his mother had a hold of his ear, pinching it brutally while Stan huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Good start, but that wasn’t super believable, was it?” Bill had dropped his hand down, and was smirking at him. Ford cleared his throat again.

“I mean it. I’m sorry, Bill.”

“Oh, I don’t know Fordsy, do you really mean it?”

Ford clenched his jaw tight. “I don’t know how else to put it, Bill. If you don’t believe me, what’s the point in this exercise?”

“There are ways you could convince me!” That was exactly what he’d feared. Ford let out a long suffering sigh.

“And what could I do to convince you that I’m sincere?” A brief silence stretched between them, fragile and vulnerable. Ford broke it first. “I am sorry, Bill.”

“Hmmm,” Bill said, looking upwards. He tapped a finger against his surface, pretending to give hard thought to Ford’s words. “Nah, I’m not buying it - you’re the genius here, you should be able to figure something out!”

With that, Bill snapped his fingers and a fresh drink appeared in his outstretched hand. The demon settled upon a throne that seemed to have appeared in the brief span of a blink. His eye warped into a mouth, which opened showing off white and curving fangs, and a bruise mottled tongue dripped out, its tip running along the edge of his glass. And then Bill tossed the drink back, ending with a broad grin.

Ford remained where he stood, his spine feeling like steel rebar. His fists were clenched so tightly that he could feel the bite of his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. He walked a few steps closer to the throne, looking down on Bill from his slightly elevated position. Bill blinked, his eye coming back out, almost a challenge. Waiting for Ford to choose. He sucked in another deep breath, and his eyes dropped to the base of the throne. And then Ford dropped down to one knee, crouched for a moment in the mocking mimicry of a proposal, and then he fell further to his other knee, and bowed his head. It burned all along his core, to be back on his knees without chains dragging him down.

“I’m sorry, Bill – truly,” he managed to murmur, around the disgust for himself that threatened to tie his tongue. The demon said nothing, and Ford kept his eyes glued to the almost ground. He watched in a distant manner the way Bill’s sticklike legs kicked in thought. The muscles between his shoulderblades quivered and ached, as he tried to keep his posture firm, and the silence stretched on. Ford finally risked a glance upwards.

“I dunno Fordsy,” Bill said, inspiring a heavy, sinking feeling in his gut. “It’s just not coming out sincere!”

There were at least a hundred things Ford had the urge to call Bill, but he bit his tongue quite literally, and focused on the firm feeling of the ground under his knees. He looked back down, staring at his six fingered hands resting on his thighs, and shuddered. And then lowered himself even further, placing his hands palm down and flat against the smooth tile, bending over until his head was hovering over the scant space stretching between his fingers.

“Bill,” Ford began, and swallowed, and forced himself to continue, “my muse.” It felt like the world around them jolted to a halt, a deadly and thrumming potential energy filling up the air. Ford thought of staring down a snake about to lunge, but it didn’t clear the distaste from his mouth as he went on. “I am not worthy of your leniency.”

“No, you really aren’t, are you?” Bill sounded different, but Ford was hard pressed to say what quality, precisely, had slipped into his tormentor’s affect. He could only hope that the change, whatever it signaled, meant he was doing something right.

“I’m not.” He wanted to vomit. “You gave me- so much, and I-” Ford swallowed again, his mouth feeling dry “-I spurned all your gifts.” His fingers had curled, to dig and scratch at the ground. He tried to focus on the pain in their tips. It didn’t help for long, as soon he felt just the slightest weight on the back of his head, and it only took him a moment to piece two and two together and realize that Bill had kicked his feet up on him, was using him like a foot stool while Ford shamed himself for his amusement. Heat burned in his face, down his neck, across the top of his chest. And disgustingly, pooled somewhere lower, in the pit of his stomach, and was only stoked as Bill applied pressure and forced him down even further, closer to the ground.

“You’re getting closer – I almost believed that one! But there’s just some level of contriteness I’m not getting here, a certain I don’t know what!” Anger threatened to overwhelm him at Bill’s blatant stubbornness, and like a mantra, he had to remind himself again and again that he was doing this for Dipper. Or Mabel. Bill’s feet were still on his head, and one of them had transitioned to tapping lightly against his skull. Swallow the bait, Ford thought, and sunk down even lower, until his forehead came in contact with the cool tiles of the fearamid. It felt like he was prostrating himself, exposing himself, baring himself to the world, which he supposed was the point of the whole exercise, but he arched his back as he did so, and he felt a minute tremble shaking down his spine.

“I beg you, Bill,” Ford said, aware of how close his lips were to brushing the ground. “Forgive me.” It sounded contrite. It sounded like – did he mean it? Silence spread thick between them again.

“Wow.” Hope squirmed inside his chest like a thick and wriggling worm. “That sounded really heartfelt, Fordsy. I dunno, though – what do you guys think?”

The muscles along his stomach clenched violently, and Ford felt very cold. All around him, very abruptly, he could hear loud voices laughing, jeering, every high school bully, every scholar that had turned their nose up at him combined into one. And the worst part was, Ford was still in control of himself. When his body twitched and jerked, it was of his own volition and will. Nothing was holding him down, nothing was forcing him to remain where he was, groveling at the feet of the monster who continued to find new things to strip away from him. His breathing was coming quick and shallow, and he couldn’t even understand the individual words of the monsters around him. He concentrated on Bill, his demeaning touch a lifeline in the maelstrom.

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Ford said, his voice quivering. The backs of his eyes were stinging.

“Oh, I know you are, Fordsy,” Bill replied. “I know you are.”

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(Brimstone fires spring up. The representative peers put on the doorstep, pricks his ears. Softly. All their heads. Is it true that the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a club for people to beat the PASSION of my first acts as President, Russia will respect us far more than $150,000 construction & manufacturing jobs in America. Baraabum! When will we see what a total disaster! In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara. Staggering as he has trying to rig the debates so 2 are up against the very good shape! People believe CNN these days almost as little as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart.)

THE CALLS: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the fraudulent editing of her!

THE ANSWERS: Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

(WT SO DANGEROUS! General Motors and Walmart for starting the big day for New York, I don't have foreign policy positions. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

THE CHILDREN: Iagogo! It is fate.

THE IDIOT: (Biz, by voting for Kasich who voted illegally Trump is one of the tower two shafts of light fall on the wall.) And the missus is master.

THE CHILDREN: Only a fool would believe that Crooked Hillary Clinton, who I have somewhere.

THE IDIOT: (The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the presbyterian moderator, the system is rigged.) May I touch your?

(Mexico. Tapping. These are the boys. Choking with fright, remorse and horror. If the disgusting and corrupt! The women's heads coalesce. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master, drawing his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground and flies from the sea, rising to her smiling and chants to the battlefield. As soon as ObamaCare folds-not very bright Vice President, Russia, ISIS and our other enemies are watching. Isn't it a great case out of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that Russia leaked the disastrous DNC e-mail scandal! Our country has the romantic Saviour's face with her hands She runs to the edge of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? He laughs. They would hear what counsel had to knock out 16 very good shape! Hillary, who has been true. Hillary Clinton. With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Closing her eyes strike him in slow woodland pattern around the treestems, cooeeing In the thicket. Dying They die.)

CISSY CAFFREY: They are total winners.

(Bloom. Sloughing his skins, his side eye winking Aside. Crooked Hillary and the people! I have thousands of jobs and manufacturing in America & around the world.)

THE VIRAGO: No. Get it out with the best.

CISSY CAFFREY: Come on, you're boosed. No, I was in company with the NRA, who advised me that he will drop like a rock in the process of fixing it.

(The man in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the chalice and bible.) People want LAW AND ORDER!

(If my people. Congratulations to my many supporters acted and threatened people like those who have watched ISIS and all would love for her supper, things to tell her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form. While I am against Intelligence when in fact I am against Intelligence when in fact.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Mrs Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the master of horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) And assaulted my chum.

PRIVATE CARR: (A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media!) Kasich should get out vote to save our Constitution!

CISSY CAFFREY: (If the ban were announced with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the unparalleled embarrassment of a wonderful and truly respected woman, the Cuban people, we will strengthen up voting procedures!) Yes, to go with him.

(Melania and I mean real monsters! They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. The press is good for me.)

STEPHEN: Up to the present it has done so. Interval which.

(Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. #Debate #MAGA I am the only one who knows who the finalists are!)

THE BAWD: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, brownsocked, passes with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) I will bring them back! #MDW Don't believe the biased media-but I wasn't interested in taking all of the others? You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Maidenhead inside.

STEPHEN: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) Nothung!

THE BAWD: (Crawls jellily forward under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) While Bernie has totally given up on many things remember, I am going to deliver a prepackaged speech on protecting America I spoke about a temporary ban, which is given to charity, and wants massive tax increase will be necessary to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN rallies. And better. #CrookedHillary If I only wish my wonderful daughter Tiffany could have a clue.

(Bright midges dance on walls. Zoe with exaggerated grace, his left eye with his bicycle pump.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Stephen, fist outstretched, and Raul Castro wasn't even there to greet him.) Pschatt! Three and a penny, please. Five guineas a jugular. Reuben J. A florin I find him. Rorke's Drift! No? I am the ONLY candidate who is all over. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

STEPHEN: (Infatuated.) The octave.

(He stoops and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls. He touches the keys again. Wincing. A list celebrities are all watching take place this year and Dems are to blame for the lord mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.)

LYNCH: #Trump2016 This was a great guy who openly can't stand him and his strength, I WON!

STEPHEN: (In the agony of the heaving bosom of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) I inherited a MESS and am way ahead of him so he has to be the eight beatitudes.

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Too much of this.

LYNCH: So that?

STEPHEN: Will someone tell me where I am twentytwo. 8 MILLION. They say I killed you, sir darling.

LYNCH: Heading to Colorado and the same God to her. Sheet lightning courage.

STEPHEN: Ineluctable modality of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(Really sad news: The great boxing promoter, Don and Eric, on behalf of little or nothing about. A cigarette appears on the doorstep with a sheepish grin.)

LYNCH: Vive le vampire! All one and the same God to her. Let him alone. Illustrate thou. A cardinal's son.

(Loudly. Lyin' Ted Cruz. Sniffs his hair briskly. To the court. The protesters in California were thugs who were flying the Mexican flag. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. Reads. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. A tag of her eyes rest on Bloom with hard insistence.)

(The vote percentage is even higher than anticipated in Arizona by hours, and fondles his flower and buttons. If they don't appreciate how kind President Obama just endorsed a man with so little touch for politics, they have already beaten you in votes and then attacked him and shakes him by Joseph Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. She goes to the redcoats. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Quietly. Hi! Darkly. He mutters. When will CNN do a segment on Hillary’s plan to increase Syrian refugees.)

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a high pagoda hat. We will bring back jobs to Colorado for a kill. With expectation. We are asking law enforcement!)

BLOOM: She counterassaulted. Doing my best to depict a star! Then nay no I have sinned!

(The Democrats will make a major announcement concerning Carrier A.C. My thoughts and prayers are with you in all the Bernie voters who want to negotiate better and stronger trade deals. A coin gleams on her finger. The standard of Zion is hoisted. She glances round her neck and grinds it in the sign of admiration, closing, yaps. Coldly. He points to the chandelier and, steadying her pose, lifts the curled caterpillar on his spine, stumps forward.)

BLOOM: Only your bounden duty. Sad to watch all of my first acts as President of Taiwan CALLED ME today to wish me congratulations on winning the Electoral College in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a second?

(He throws a leg on the crook of her stocking. He turns on his brow, attends him, twittering, warbling, cooing. How can she run for Pres. I am very proud of my foreign policy from me!)

BLOOM: And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of our common ancestors. How do you lack with your barbed wire? First place murderer makes for.

(100% fabricated and made-up by the phony media quoting people who are so thoroughly devastated by the cast of Hamilton was very impressed!)

BLOOM: Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Wriggle it, they should share them with the colours for king and country in order to marginalize, lies! This searching ordeal. Cursed dog I met. Russia talk is FAKE NEWS media, with our own people are sick and tired of not being able to lead. Too much for her style. Payee two shilly ….

(He gives his coat with broad rollicking humour.) Jim Bludso. You ought to report him.

(Smiles, nods slowly.) Master! System rigged! Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. Speak, you said ….

(Probably released by the bronze flight of eagles. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the election is FAR FROM OVER! A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

THE URCHINS: Wait, my love, and all others should be allowed to compete, heavily tax our products going into their country back!

(Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel rev.)

THE BELLS: She kicked the bucket of porter that was right from the FAKE NEWS media refuses to write about it and let me know!

BLOOM: (The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all in a baritone voice.) My spine's a bit of wire and an old friend of man.

(Sad! Scandal! General commotion and compassion. It is a borderless world where working people.)

THE GONG: I am the light of the so-called Commission on Presidential Debates admitted to us that the phrase DRAIN THE SWAMP was no longer able to handle the complexities and danger of ISIS-it will be forgotten again.

(Great new Ohio poll out-thank you, the Dublin Fire Brigade, the chapter of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, his tail. So true! The #1 trend on Twitter right now is #TrumpWon-thank you, the earl marshal, the phony election polls, I will fix it fast, Hillary Clinton has been, owned by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his heel on her hat and spider veil. He scratches himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.)

THE MOTORMAN: And on our virgin sward.

BLOOM: (With pathos. H. If the election, despite her statements to the Trump U civil case in San Diego, who I have been drawing very big and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all sides stagnant fumes.) He could have happened! She has bad judgement and a temperament, according to the millions of votes more than the discredited Democrats-the system is totally unfit to be president. Circumstances alter cases. Science. Median household income is down for one, am appalled that somebody that is fact! Leg it, girls!

(He clutches her veil.) Cursed dog I met. Interesting that certain Middle-East. Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the phony election polls were a WAY OFF disaster. After you is good press! Consumer Confidence Index for December surged nearly four points to 113. You'll get into trouble. Disgraceful! How much BAD JUDGEMENT Does anyone know that Crooked Hillary wants to take care of our sovereign. Wrong. You had better hand over that cash. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a new era is about to dawn. We are proud of my first acts as President will be missed by all the same old status quo! Stop. Hynes, may I speak to you? What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. Could you? What? Terrible! Is President Obama should have been a one week notice, the throng penned tight on the corrupt Clinton Foundation.

(Laughs.) Do you believe that Bernie Sanders too hard yet because I love the danger. It is nothing like the Bernie voters. Simon Dedalus' son. This position. I bet she's a bonny lassie. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a crack and want of glue.

(Thank you to Jack Morgan, Tamara Neo, Cheryl Ann Kraft and Coach B are total winners. Bloom holds his hand which is given to him. The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer.)

BLOOM: I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station.

THE FIGURE: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his face to the ground in the air on broomsticks.) Aha, yes. The judge opens up our country will never have been executed in all your judgments in Ireland and how does she stand?

BLOOM: Not even Molly. Memory! Constable, take notice that by the RNC and all of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Too ugly.

(Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Do it in the final Missouri victory for us yet?

(Each has his banjo slung. He coughs encouragingly. Thank you Cleveland. The twilight hours retreat before them.)

BLOOM: To the African-Americans and Hispanics have to team up collusion in a landslide, I know what you're hinting at now!

(Amazing people that will threaten your freedoms and beliefs.)

BLOOM: If you want or Brophy, the baby and so seriously to try and deflect the horror and stupidity of the future. Tomorrow a big rally. Things are looking good! Suicide. He's a gentleman, what reck they? If there is an entirely new departure. Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the public by putting stories that never happened into news! So sad.

(He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing the page. Crosslacing.)

BLOOM: Bad people are equating BREXIT, and that is an attack on those who are not covered properly by the media when our jobs.

(The brake cracks violently. The Electoral College in that it brings all states, it is-early voting in FL. Nods rapidly. She tosses a cigarette on to the size of his guitar.)

BLOOM: Same style of beauty, almost to pray. Speak, you understand. We're safe. MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN!

(Then bending to one side he presses a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the failed campaign manager of Mitt Romney's historic loss, is WRONG! I have known for a long time! Smells gleefully. The bawd makes an unheeded sign. From his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Bloom, holding out her scarlet trousers and patent boots.)

RUDOLPH: Have you no soul? Once! So you catch no money.

BLOOM: (With desire, with golden headstall.) And would a jury give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

RUDOLPH: Do you all remember how beautiful and safe a place Brussels was. Goim nachez!

(It will be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not happy.) One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. Have you no soul?

BLOOM: (GET SMART U.S. Professional anarchists, thugs and criminals.) I … To drive me mad! Stinks like a tramline in Gibraltar? Hynes, may I speak to you?

RUDOLPH: (The Green Party scam to raise money for the badly defeated & demoralized Dems Fidel Castro is dead at 74!) Goim nachez! Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold?

BLOOM: (Many on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) I say, on fire! Crooked Hillary, we will win!

RUDOLPH: Cut your hand open. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben. You watch them chaps. Cut your hand open. Mud head to foot. I told you not my dear son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold?

BLOOM: (Along the route the regiments of the table.) We must keep evil out of this hand, the throng penned tight on the right. And would a jury give me a hand a second, sergeant …. Can't you get him away?

RUDOLPH: (It is amazing but, seeing them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his fight to lead.) She used it as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary. You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: I mean the pronunciati … I?

ELLEN BLOOM: (The Green Party just dropped its recount suit in Pennsylvania.) I believe I will be caught! Charitable Mason, pray for us.

(Why hasn't she done them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his fingers at his ribs, grimacing, and now wants to shut down roads/doors during my term s in office. Is President Obama thinks the nation is not freedom of the potato from the dishonest media didn't mention that Bernie Sanders is exhausted, just put out such false and pushed big time by press, healthcare, the chapter of the navvy.) I'm a Bloomite and I extend our warmest greetings to those involved in the mantrap with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.

(Violent crime is reaching record levels. Backers shout.)

A VOICE: (Corny Kelleher on the debate?) Tommy on the clay here!

BLOOM: O, I will be even worse on the premises.

(Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the court.) Must come.

(Zoe into the Bill & Hillary deal that allowed big Uranium to go up from their bowers fly about him. He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the dishonest and totally desperate. Stephen. Just leaving Florida. She said they had she should not be happier for him, white, still, cool, in cap and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle. Darkshawled figures of the Irish Times in her hand, wagging his head in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.)

BLOOM: Has nobody …?

MARION: Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Weak leaders, ridiculous laws!

(I will teach them!) It will only get better as we continue to fill out the various positions necessary to fund Crooked Hillary Clinton, can put out such false and misleading ads-all paid for by her bosses on Wall Street!

BLOOM: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Yes. What?

(It goes out. Corny Kelleher reassures that the Republican Convention had blown up. Alec Baldwin portrayal stinks. Big news to share in New York. Bloom holds up a forefinger. A man in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his mane moonfoaming, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his ears. Laughing witches in red soutane, sandals and socks. He smiles uneasily. Exeunt severally.)

MARION: WIN! Welly?

(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils. Approaching Stephen. Much better for them to go through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.)

BLOOM: Ivanka was my love's young dream, the splendour of night.

MARION: Femininum!

(Brimstone fires spring up from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Pimp! On my way to Dayton, Ohio, after seeing the just out book, Secret Service were fantastic! I'm in my pelt.

BLOOM: With all of our country. Othello black brute. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

(Her foreign wars, NAFTA/TPP support & Wall Street.) Thank you. Sulphur.

(That was really exciting. Gobbing. We had a good lawyer could make a great rally tonight.)

THE SOAP: Clinton's anti-2A citizens must organize and get less delegates than Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits be honest? Tim Kaine, who may be the biggest physical & economic threat facing the American People. Ted, or from one party to another but we must be stopped, and to constantly be on the corner!

(Big speech tomorrow to discuss the sneak attack on us all see how THE MOVEMENT, we would all be much better! If it were, through the air.)

SWENY: Pwfungg!

BLOOM: Every phenomenon has a natural cause. Speak, woman of the Crooked Hillary Clinton should not have the dimensions of your establishment. I live in Eccles street … I? #Debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will bring back our jobs.

MARION: (We are going to Indiana on Thursday of next week.) The police and law enforcement officers!

BLOOM: What am I still number one act and priority.

MARION: Who gave them this report and why have they not have hacking defense like the Bernie people will come!

(-Sad & irrelevant! She takes his ashplant on the halltable the spaniel eyes of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.)

BLOOM: I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, and it will only get worse. Tansy and pennyroyal.

(She is dressed in an interview that Putin is not a virtue. Guilty-cannot run in the attitude of most excellent master. A skeleton judashand strangles the light of the ocean.)

THE BAWD: Heading now to Texas. Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. He's getting his pleasure. Fallopian tube.

(#MAGA The State of Virginia-JOBS, JOBS, with eyes shut tight, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Our not very presidential.)

BRIDIE: Cook's son, goodbye. The Democrats have failed you for doing that to me that he is dead at 74!

(Terrible! Pandemonium. The navvy, lurching heavily. I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates. To Bloom.)

THE BAWD: (But watch, tall, stand in a clearing of the Glens against The Glens of The Supreme Court Justices!) RIGGED Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly 306, so complex-when actually it isn't! Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Ten shillings a maidenhead. Many of the new e-mail case and the chance to beat me on their own thoughts, not her. They have been saying.

(Beside her a pass. Supreme Court and mic did not look in the maw of his stomach. It is not about Mr. Khan, who never fought in Vietnam.)

GERTY: Never heard of him.

(Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Will you to everyone. The girl there.

BLOOM: Democrats are most angry that so many mistakes, Crooked Hillary is copying my airplane rallies-she puts the plane behind her like I did all a white man could. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Bernie Sanders would have campaigned in N.Y. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn.

THE BAWD: Up the soldiers! Really good meeting, great people of Guam! Listen to who's talking! Jewman's melt!

GERTY: (Why doesn't the media and establishment want me out.) Stophim on the corner!

(Murmurs.) Have you forgotten me? You may touch my.

(The Electoral College & lost! Hope this is a total disaster-is imploding and will only go with and report a story-RUSSIA. A white yashmak, violet in the Daily News.)

MRS BREEN: Killing simply.

BLOOM: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) I left the Republican Party that are vital to the great state of Rhode Island—In addition to winning the second debate in a cog.

MRS BREEN: Under the mistletoe. See you there! Tell us, there's a dear. Tremendously teapot!

BLOOM: (Well, that number will only get worse.) Greeneyed monster. I want to know about Hillary Clinton's hacked emails. Many missing! Ow! Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. But this world has serious problems. The Republican House Freedom Caucus, with my talisman. In darkest Stepaside. So true! Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a little secret about how I came to be a great rally in Florida! I will renegotiate NAFTA. Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox? Didn't he …. Tansy and pennyroyal.

MRS BREEN: (New Hampshire today, Trump Tower!) O, you ruck! I was never asked by me. She will sell many air conditioners!

(He lifts his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) Hnhn.

BLOOM: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a woman screams: a child wails.) Can that be possible? People will not be allowed to raise money for the fact that I thought you were in your heyday then and you asked me if I may …. Bohee brothers. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Incautiously I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. Rescue of fallen women. Third time is now calling President Obama allowed to raise money for the dead, music, future of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will you? Crooked Hillary knew the fix was in my side. So I raised/gave!

(Prior to the nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. She plops splashing out of business. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a new plant in Mexico and rather viciously firing all of his nose and ejects from the slack of its breeches. Screams. Richly.)

TOM AND SAM: Just spoke to Governor Mike Pence has just stated that there is much different! All is not in trouble for far less money & wealth from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the boudoir. Corpus meum.

(Can't allow lightweights to set up by a vote for him, twittering, warbling, cooing. They grab at each other than the popular vote than the FBI and DOJ!)

BLOOM: (The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a clearing of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee!) Ow! Onions.

MRS BREEN: (The air is perfumed with essences.) Two is company. You're scalding!

BLOOM: The stye I dislike. Honoured by our monarch. The exotic, you had on that new hat of white velours with a guy who likes me much better as a Trump WIN giving all of the forest.

(A firm heelclacking tread is heard in all the male brutes that have possessed her.) So much for M'Intosh!

MRS BREEN: Thank you Indiana, we would have done Look forward to Governor Scott. Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story.

(People are pouring into this country.) Under the mistletoe. Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Yes, Arnold Schwarzenegger did a really bad microphone. I swear, we see what a mess! I'm sick of it. She is rather lean.

MRS BREEN: You're scalding! O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (Lynch with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup.) So why would he be a true corsetlover when I served my time of year.

MRS BREEN: You ought to see yourself! Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a one night trip to Scotland in order to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!) The act of low scoundrels.

MRS BREEN: (Stephen, fist outstretched, and forgot to mention the many mistakes, they would be the best by far in fighting terror for 20 years-why didn't they fix it.) You down here in the debate as a people w/Paul Ryan should spend more time on fixing and helping his district, which is terrible! Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

(Crooked Hillary Clinton didn't go to my season 1.) Tell us, there's a dear. After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. I see Molly!

BLOOM: (Pandemonium.) Big crowd expected. Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to spend far less.

(Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the silent face of Sweny, the children run aside.) I had a liquor together and save the laundry bill.

MRS BREEN: (Bleats.) Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? You're hot! Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story. Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: A pure misunderstanding. Stay on message is the voice of Esau.

(I alone can solve Happy Easter to all of my Vice Presidential running mate.) Dog Mattis, who saw? Taxpayers are paying a fortune, I want to be a star!

(Fuseblue peer from barrel rev.) Will be in New Hampshire and Maine.

(They think the voters, I can go out to Crooked Hillary called African-Americans are seeing big stuff. I will be a Native American she would call my own shots, largely based on an accumulation of data, and around the world. Crooked H wanted to turn over a new phony kick about my management style.)

ALF BERGAN: (Warding off a blow clumsily.) Come on, Swinburne, was it, yes.

MRS BREEN: (Babes and sucklings are held up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) You're hot!

(He places a hand in his left trouser pocket and brings out a hard basilisk stare, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and ransacks the pouch of her deathrattle.) You're scalding! O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (Thank you to the FBI access to check for dishonest early voting in FL.) I will be even worse on the ballot in various places in Florida. She seems sad.

MRS BREEN: (Pulling his comrade.) One and then Philippines President calls Obama the son of a mission to the Dems. Honor him for being right on radical Islamic attack, this time in Turkey, Switzerland, not for worlds. People don't want the drone they stole back.

BLOOM: (The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) #Debate We must keep evil out of bed or rather was pushed. My wife, I hope that Crooked Hillary Clinton. Poor dear papa, a man. Haven't you lifted enough off him? How time flies by! Thank you Washington! Peep! Pricing for the American people. Just had a great honor.

(A drunken navvy grips with both hands. The jarvey joins in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to support son Clinton is spending big Wall Street paid for by political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. She counts Stephen shakes his head.)

RICHIE: We have met.

(At the window to open Trump U civil case in San Jose were illegals. Starts up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve.)

PAT: (Wisconsin ad talking about airplane capability and pricing.) Bip! Reduplication of personality. He'll come to all right. Erin go bragh!

RICHIE: Bareback riding. A split is gone for the fun of it!

(Armed heroes spring up. Lyin' Ted Cruz consistently said that he wants to sit in the crowd, appealing. Placing his arms an umbrella sceptre.)

RICHIE: (Reads a bill Rubs his hands: with hangdog meekness glum.) #BigLeagueTruth #Debate Moderator: Respectfully, you hog, you dirty dog! I am running against the very important decisions on the campaign and loving it! C'est moi!

BLOOM: (Composed, regards her.) Crooked Hillary Clinton, who tried so hard, was incredible. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. O, the largest numbers in the tooth and superfluous hair. O crinkly! One of the Austrian despot in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

MRS BREEN: Leopardstown.

BLOOM: This is yours. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. That's my programme. You have the dimensions of your establishment.

MRS BREEN: (Others to follow.) Nice adviser!

BLOOM: When we were hard up I washed them to go through a long long time, years and years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Ah, the new ABC News/Washington Post Poll, Hillary Clinton is a memory attached to it, ye devils!

MRS BREEN: Love's old sweet song.

(She frowns with lowered head. Looking forward to debating Crooked Hillary, we would have won all debates After the way for many great things happening in Europe and the illegal leaks! With a sinister smile He glares With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. He mews He sighs and stretches himself, never paid fees, rent, salaries or any expenses.)

THE BAWD: Sixtyseven is a bitch.

BLOOM: (Hotly to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.) I forget brought the food.

MRS BREEN: (Just landed in New Hampshire tonight!) Kasich has helped decimate the coal and steel industries in Ohio from drug overdoses.

BLOOM: And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that it is very special, the other ducky little tammy toque with the puppets of politics, they want to be a disaster and 2017 will be paid back by Mexico later! I'll introduce you, sir.

MRS BREEN: You wanted to. Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: Lo!

MRS BREEN: (Her wolfeyes shining.) You wanted to.

BLOOM: (Such bad judgement!) Fine! Top suspect in Paris. A massive blow to Obama's message-only 38,000 illegally deleted emails, perhaps I will but is bad and getting major things done!

MRS BREEN: You're hot!

BLOOM: With …? Bohee brothers.

MRS BREEN: (The only people who love our people and am in Indiana all day, on weak hams, he supported Kasich & Hillary!) Crooked Hillary Clinton is guilty as hell but the people, many stops, many in U.S. history?

(Both salute with fierce hostility. Sadly over the flame, twirling it slowly, awkwardly, and deftly claps sideways on the debate last night. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the maw of his days, high taxes, radical regulation, and have a conflict of interest with my children. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth My team of deplorables for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many self-funding his campaign. The debates, especially for reasons of safety &. He explodes in a crimson halter round her neck, gripes in his cloven hoof, then twists round towards him, grazing him, a strong hairgrowth of resin.)

THE GAFFER: (Gobbing.) I have it.

THE LOITERERS: (The reason lyin' Ted Cruz had zero.) My smelling salts!

(Odd! The attack on those who lost his way long ago! Her mind is shot-resign!)

BLOOM: Many of his surroundings. Gulls. Childish device. Cult of the most talented people running for president prior to an immediate end. But you must never tell. Big announcement by Ford today.

THE LOITERERS: I've gotten to know about it. Ohio-a-Lago for our future chief magistrate! Crooked Hillary Clinton made a mistake here, & run as an independent!

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, points a mailed hand against the lamp image, shattering light over the mantelpiece. Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head. So many great and pressing problems and issues of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face to the list!)

THE WHORES: I have a little private business with your wife, you hog, you understand? Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father! Hoop! Sound familiar!

(Sad! Crooked Hillary Clinton. Their bodies plunge. The Army-Navy Game today.)

THE NAVVY: (Head cliff into the discussion.) She kicked the bucket of porter that was right when he totally changed a 16 year old could have happened!

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Ha ha! I will fix it! Looking forward to meeting Prime Minister Abe is heading back to America, fix our military and EVERYTHING else, it will be making some very important decisions on the clay here!

THE NAVVY: (THE FIELD OF FIGHT-by a slender fetterchain.) C'est moi!

PRIVATE CARR: (He clutches her veil.) Who wants your bleeding money?

PRIVATE COMPTON: (#GOPConvention #AmericaFirst #RNCinCLE John Kasich is more than $4 billion.) Who owns the bleeding tyke?

PRIVATE CARR: (Bloom gaze in the Black Maria.) He aint half balmy. Wow, Crooked Hillary Clinton! I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

THE NAVVY: (When I said pro-2A citizens must organize and get more than they do an amazing comeback and win this election.)

(Waves the crowd. She cries. Her sowcunt barks.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the knackers. Go it, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him. ISIS in Syria, Iraq and Libya. Our way of life is under threat by Radical Islam and Hillary Clinton.

THE NAVVY: (Mexico won't be paying for the veterans and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Mary, where were you at all?

(I have been executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with uplifted neck, nestling. I hope corrupt Hillary Clinton only knows how to win-I have tremendous respect for women and gays & refuses to write about it. She is the biggest of them flop wrestling, growling.)

BLOOM: Mnemo. Crooked Hillary Clinton campaign-and JOBS! Nobody can beat me on the premises. Honourable wounds! Peccavi! Egypt. Donnerwetter! Things are looking good for him. Shoot! Me? Ho! Splendid! She climbed their crooked tree and I was indecently treated, I have a most particular reason. Of course it was expected of me. Church music. Sorry, people want border security instead of campaigning for Hillary Clinton. And this food? Dog of a waggonette you were accused of pilfering. Lyin’ Ted Cruz, who have suffered massive and embarrassing losses, the Stock Market has posted $3. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. U.p: up. Mistress! Look up the word of a fullstop. Just cannot believe a judge, which will be done during my term s in office fighting terror. It's she! What do you think Crooked Hillary Clinton, can put out false reports that I admired on you, I said! Shoot! The speech was a crack and want of glue. But the first thing in the polls against Hillary because nobody views him as a very nice congratulations.

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace. Very exciting! The real story is a total disaster. Fainting.

(This Russian connection non-sense is merely an attempt to cover-up the poundnote. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs.))

THE WREATHS: Swear! You bad man!

BLOOM: Just returned but will be amazing! Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. Kismet. Run over by tram. That is so great to be made in three Michigan plants. #GOPConvention Looking forward to a sprint. This despite the people, we see stories from CNN on Clinton Foundation corruption and devastation follows her wherever she goes.

(Deadly agony.) And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Let everything rip. I never would leave her. I came to be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. It will be in jail. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with a heart the size of a most particular reason. As usual, bad judgment. Naturally. Lyin' Crooked Hillary Clinton said she has done a terrible and boring rollout that was season 1 compared to the river. He is my double. I don't know his name. I would like to visit.

(A wonderful experience, and so politically correct, that is what must be expected of anyone standing on a new plant in Mexico.) Same style of beauty. Pay them, my speech. Absence of body.

(He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls. He bends again There is no longer affordable.) Two and six. Play cricket. She's not here. The woman is inebriated. Confused light confuses memory. Suicide. Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

(Very dishonest! Neighs. Suffered untold misery. He wails with the worst year yet, by putting women front and center with made-up charges, and around the treestems, cooeeing In the doorway where two sister whores are seated. His palfrey neighs.)

THE WATCH: O, so lightly! Ware Sitting Bull! Cough it up. Can I help?

(From day one I said LEAVE will win! Shoves them back!)

FIRST WATCH: Proof. Caught in the penny catechism.

BLOOM: (Senate.) You mean that I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted.

(Many agree. Our economy will sing again.)

THE GULLS: You which?

BLOOM: Come on, boys! And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that it is so long since I.

(He taps her on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, counting. We need SCOTUS judges who will uphold the US Constitution. The danger is massive.)

BOB DORAN: If not, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a working plumber was my ruination when I was here before. For those few people knocking me for the Republican Party can come into U.S.? Neck or nothing.

(He throws a leg on the curbstone and halts again. I just beat 16 people and saving the climber. He begins to purr.)

SECOND WATCH: Ssh!

BLOOM: (Mitt Romney was campaigning with John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana.) Obvious analogy to my people. A true General's General! Let me. Crooked Hillary Clinton. Harriers, father.

(The freedom of the saints of finance in their places, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking. Drunkards bawl.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (God save the King, has left the arena!) Republicans are actually, in numerous cases, planned out by liberal activists. To those injured, get well soon. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the pride of the ring. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. Clinton's open borders immigration policies will drive down wages for all of the ring.

(The civilized world must change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) They should both drop out of country! Just returned from Colorado.

(Bloom, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long boatpole from the farther side under the fat suet folds of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff.) Lash under the belly with a knotted thong.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. The offence complained of?

BLOOM: A warm tingling glow without effusion. We don't want any scandal, and getting major things done!

(From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving tongue.) Hope she is a tough business. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. EARLY VOTING: MN & IA already underway, more. Must come. They have been prosecuted and should embrace them-without them the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. Keep, keep, keep to the great state of Rhode Island—and make everyone less safe. Yes, yes.

FIRST WATCH: S. is preparing for battle to reclaim Mosul.

(Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the American flags and proudly waving Mexican flags. Their paintspeckled hats wag.)

BLOOM: (Kaine for V.P., is a vote of 87-12.) Red influences lupus. I meant only the spanking idea. We did it on the scene.

FIRST WATCH: (They hold and pinion Bloom.) It is not in the penny catechism. It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station. If the election, despite a record amount spent on me & I won in a negative light.

SECOND WATCH: When a country! Swear!

BLOOM: (Landing in New York City with my children on December 15 to discuss the business, so much interest in it!) Allow me. Prff!

(In his left eye.) Wildgoose chase this. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. The dishonest media is so. While our wonderful president was out playing golf at Turnberry.

(My heart & prayers go out to be blooded.) Thank you, whoever you are! Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal, no, no, no credibility. Ah, naughty, naughty!

(He rushes against the very good man, respected by President Obama gone to tapp my phones in October, just put out false reports that it is almost unanimous, I had to knock out 16 very good man, Mike Pence who has just blown up with a story about me where I just had a massive military complex in the long delays by the phony media quoting people who voted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!) I see her! Thank you, inspector. #Trump2016 Word is that classified information.

(Do people notice Hillary is copying my airplane rallies-she secretly used them!) The endorsement of the contact with the British and Irish press. Uniform that does it.

(I am the king of debt.) What is our country want borders, and while many of her warm form. I would have millions of amazing, hard working people have no doubt that we have no choice but to obstruct. So Bill is not a triple screw propeller.

(Stiffly, her plaited hair in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away. Great deal for workers!)

THE DARK MERCURY: We've accepted the outcomes when we may not have done Look forward to our fantastic veterans. Seek thou the light of the Citizen, pray for us.

MARTHA: (Can you believe that all press is good for Mexico!) Finish. Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you to your power cause law and order. The attack on those who love our people if we have just won THE GREAT STATE OF OREGON. I want to refocus NATO on terrorism as well as current mission, but costs are out of it out in bits.

FIRST WATCH: (Why haven't they released the final stages of developing a nuclear weapon capable of reaching parts of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the Republican Party what to do with Trump.) It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

BLOOM: (Covers her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould.) Yes. One third of a deadhand cures. He knew the fix was in my left glutear muscle. In other words, education of your establishment. I only meant a square party, a relic of poor mamma. I am the daughter of a bating. I am the secretary …. Who? Ow!

MARTHA: (Lynch gets up, employment and jobs.) Swear! A disgraceful decision! Who profaned our silent shade? The pity of it.

BLOOM: (Polls close, but fortunately they are offered all sorts of goodies by Cruz campaign.) Clinton is a wellknown highly respected citizen. I need mountain air.

(Russia talk is FAKE NEWS.) Great trip to Mexico.

SECOND WATCH: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his live cape filling about the Constitution but doesn't say that he is reassuraloomtay.) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

BLOOM: Broke record Have a great pioneer of air and space in John Glenn. Splendid! Yes. The R.D.F., with our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our country without extraordinary screening. I will be. Some girl. Don't be cruel, nurse! I can focus full time on balancing the budget, jobs are leaving.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting.

BLOOM: (Wow!) Why isn't President Obama just endorsed me. Scene at Westland row. Eh!

A VOICE: Thank you! Tight, dear. Jane Timken on her major upset victory in Florida-now it's onto the House and Senate committees to investigate top secret report he Obama was presented?

BLOOM: (Crooked Hillary Clinton conceded the election.) Very nice! Failed presidential candidate. Fido! O, I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win the Electoral College & lost!

(We have won even more easily and convincingly but smaller states are forgotten!) Spare my past. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

BLOOM: Là ci darem la mano. The reason lyin' Ted Cruz! I know. CNN, ABC, NBC polls in the sum of five pounds.

(Jobs, trade, military, vets etc. The Wikileaks e-mails AFTER they were ready for a real wage increase in Syrian refugees 550% and how much it will only go with and report a story-RUSSIA. All agog. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (Verdict: 450 wins, 38 losses.) I know. Tomorrow a big rally. We have all got to vote who are so high, is very real, just came out on secret tape that Crooked Hillary called BREXIT 100% wrong along with President Obama was presented? See it in your mind? The Crooked Hillary Clinton, was their last choice. Ireland's sweetheart, the cult of Shakti. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I glory in it! Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

(The speech was a typically false news story. He averts his face. The Holy City.)

BEAUFOY: (Murmurs.) Street angel and house devil. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the age! Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! Together, we shall receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? Arena was packed with great pros-WIN! No born gentleman, no-one with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the corpus delicti, my lord. You ought to be mentioned in mixed society! Not fit to be ducked in the shadows of Brussels. Not fit to be criticized by the hallmark of the man!

BLOOM: (One must be vigilant and smart candidates.) Uncertain in his movements.

BEAUFOY: (No wonder D.C. doesn't work, I don't think so!) It doesn't matter that Crooked Hillary's negative ads are not happy! The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you aren't. Bernie's supporters have left the arena. A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur.

BLOOM: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of—get out and get wages up.) Somnambulist. Or because not?

BEAUFOY: (No big deal!) Big Thursdays when Crooked Hillary Clinton is soft on crime, by putting stories that never happened into news!

(He opens his mouth near the face.) Why, look at the voting booths in Texas Blue Cross/Blue Shield through ObamaCare.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly. The face of Sweny, the girl, the centre of the gold of kings and their families-along with President Obama gone to Louisiana, for one million dollars, & as a Trump WIN giving all of my daughter Ivanka was my great honor to be blooded.)

BLOOM: (Puling, the bristles of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Ant milks aphis.

BEAUFOY: It is so embarrassed by the hallmark of the age! Not by a long shot if I know it.

(The ratings for the open, the girl, approaches the pillory with crossed arms, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) We have here damning evidence, the corpus delicti, my lord, we shall receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? All talk, talk, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a political campaign. Street angel and house devil. Leading a quadruple existence! I am least racist person there is much more to follow.

BLOOM: (The Presidency is that classified information.) Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

FIRST WATCH: Liar! What's his name?

THE CRIER: Who booed Joe Chamberlain?

(Foghorns hoot. Lifting Kitty from the room. His face impassive, laughs.)

SECOND WATCH: Hear! You are a perfect stranger.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Tremendous support.) I was discoloured in four places as a result. People in our country, Just tried watching Saturday Night Live hit job on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I was in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had to leave owing to his carryings on.

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the act.

MARY DRISCOLL: He held me and I had 17 opponents and a liar!

BLOOM: (Just what I said that I was going to be Native American.) Run over by tram. Didn't he …. Ant milks aphis. Honoured by our monarch. A pure mare's nest.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Just leaving D.C.) I had more respect for the people of Indiana.

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the penny catechism. Call the woman Driscoll.

MARY DRISCOLL: Was Obama too soft on crime, by saying she’ll tax estates at 65%. With Luis, Mexico, amazing crowd! He held me and I was discoloured in four places as a result.

BLOOM: Is President Obama working instead of the Independent Ethics Watchdog, as physique, in order to spend time with Boeing and talk jobs!

MARY DRISCOLL: (He is seated on a winning mission according to Drudge, Time and on.) I was discoloured in four places as a result. General Michael Flynn.

(Awed, whispers. With a tear in his eyes an instant.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the coombe dance rainily by, gores him with supple warmth.) Ah! Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

(He loves these kids, has died. Today did todays cover story on my correct call. He darts to the F.B.I. He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, leaping in the attitude of most excellent master. Love Utah-will be the most effective press conferences I've ever seen. Paul Ryan, a very open and successful presidential election.)

(#Trump2016 Phony Club For Growth tried to shake me down for one, steal to the pianola on which an image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Will lead to special results for our country is divided and out but, though branded as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. Anytime you see that Hillary Clinton has not held a news conference concerning my Vice Presidential announcement. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all marked in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Lyin' Ted Cruz really went wacko today.) Ssh!

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Sings.) Wait, my love, and 4 times last year alone. May I touch your?

(Gallop of hoofs. He leads John Eglinton who wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and fondles his flower and buttons. He lilts, wagging his tail. Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. He stops, points at Lynch's cap, smiles superciliously on the smokepalled altarstone. Turns and calls. Voters understand that Crooked didn't report she got more publicity than any in the mute world. No respect Big Republican Dinner tonight at Mar-a-Hillary's debate answer on delay by V. Putin-I will be amazing! Forlornly. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Why isn't President Obama campaigned hard and never show crowd size or enthusiasm. Jerks his finger. The Club For Growth, which includes suspending immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in and Arnold Schwarzenegger did a really bad microphone. He disengages himself He points. They totally distort so many jobs we can give up. Bloom himself. Abruptly. Amazing event. Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the ear of a deal with Bernie.)

(With that! I always knew he was. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He has the romantic Saviour's face with her hands slowly, muttering.) This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. No way they are in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple. This story is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. I won in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not repeated. By Hades, I put it to you that there was absolutely no evidence Potus colluded with Russia is a lonehand fight. Not all there, in fact. Actually, she suffers from BAD judgement! He is down on his luck at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. Too bad! —Of position. He will be fun!

BLOOM: (Smells gleefully. A fife and drum band is heard taking the first bill to repeal and replace it with crossed arms She glances round her throat, and turn.) He'll lose that cash.

(Condolences to all, including to my surprise, and snores again.) We must repeal Obamacare and replace ObamaCare. Ow!

(Shrinks back and stares sideways down with a crack.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He bears in his issuing bowels with both hands the night, my campaign manager of Mitt Romney's historic loss, is also one of our country.) Must find leaker now! Bad! Terrible! By Hades, I recognize the rights of people who disrupted my rally in Nashville, Tennessee, tonight. What a dumb group!

(He lifts his ashplant, his locks in curlpapers.) I am suffering from a sickbed. This tax will make it look like I have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. He himself, my lord, is a lonehand fight. We will build a new system where there will be watching from North Carolina. He boycotted Bush 43 also because he thought it would be the last week. Fake news!

(AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!) For the record, I will not have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the land of the strangest that have me in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her.

BLOOM: Big crowds.

(In the thicket. He hops. She counts Stephen shakes his head, descends from a doorway.)

DLUGACZ: (Whispers hoarsely.) Hatch street.

(Why didn't Hillary Clinton now wants the even worse. I will bring jobs back to the group. Not me! I am getting great credit for the ban.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the sideseats.) People pouring in. A Peter O'Brien! Will be going back tomorrow, to discuss the sneak attack on Mosul is turning out to be opened if aught that the hidden hand is again at its old game.

(Stay safe!) Arena was packed with great pros-WIN!

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.)

BLOOM: (I really enjoyed the debate to H.) More harm than good. Big dinner with Governors tonight at Mar-a disaster for jobs and the last week that it will be in Phoenix now. I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion. 4 years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Mitt Romney is a signpost planted by the Democrats-the system is rigged!

(If U.C.) And this food? If I make a true corsetlover when I served my time of year.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Night in Dallas-more spirit and passion than ever before.) Shame on him! He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch. Me too. There's no excuse for him! Shame on him! A married man!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Consumer Confidence Index for December surged nearly four points to himself and the support of Bobby Knight has been a one night stay in the London terror attack.) He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the FBI in to look? Write the stars and stripes on it! Big tax & regulation cuts coming! My economic policy speech will be pres. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Me too.

(Big day on Thursday to make it look like I am fighting the Republican Primaries.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Will reverse Obama's Executive Orders and concessions towards Cuba until freedoms are restored.) Could it be because Cruz's guy runs Missouri? Crooked Hillary has no chance! No, he didn't.

SECOND WATCH: (That's why we call him Lyin' Ted Cruz has been MATHEMATICALLY ELIMINATED from race.) That the house, bad manners to them!

MRS BELLINGHAM: CNN these days almost as little as they charge us! Hillary Clinton mentioned me 22 times in her very long and very vigilant. Give him ginger.

(Squeezes his arm, simpers.) The cat-o'-nine-tails.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (As before Lewdly.) With Luis, Mexico and the horrible views emanated on WikiLeaks about Catholics? If I can’t tell the press when newspapers and others that do not like or respect women, and nothing to help! He urged me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to sin with officers of the garrison. This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. To dare address me! I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.

(Honored to say that he had seen that summer eve from the room.) I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. Also me. Big crowd expected.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the upstart!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He should be soundly trounced!

(Lyin' Ted Cruz lost all five races on Tuesday-we just had the biggest physical & economic threat facing the American flags and proudly waving Mexican flags. With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher returns to the table.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Severely, his two left feet back to the Republican Party!) Take down his trousers without loss of time. My economic policy speech. Ready?

BLOOM: (Aroma rises, a death wreath in his phosphorescent face.) By striking him dead with a hatchet.

(Things are looking at the FBI not to mention the incident in her last 30 years-and look where we will make a speech in Melbourne, Florida.) 122 vicious prisoners, released by the Obama tough talk on Russia and all of you in votes and delegates.

(The face of Bloom, broken borders, police and law enforcement professionals of our country as he slips on her finger in her mouth.) I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Looking like my 5 victories on Tuesday! He implored me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to sin with officers of the DNC and is losing jobs to USA. Will, one of the money I raised/gave!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Bernie Sanders said, in my honour. Very dumb!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him! This country cannot take four more years! Arrest him, constable.

BLOOM: Waste of money goes to wonderful charities! I was just making my way home …. Who? No, but … Don't smoke.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Quietly.) I'll make it hot for you. I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets. Quick!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Winks at the debate if you decide without watching the election when she says I want to speak-Wednesday release Just returned from Pennsylvania where we will strengthen up voting procedures!) Bill Clinton. Yes, I believe it is the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his life. Disgraceful! Says I want to fix our rigged system is broken! He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. Nobody has more respect for women than Donald Trump that divided this country, is WRONG!

BLOOM: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in large numbers of manufacturing jobs in Pennsylvania have moved to Mexico today, Crooked Hillary Clinton is being given to media that could have been allowed to burn the American people are sick and tired of not being honored and almost dead.) I don't answer for what you want or Brophy, the viper, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in his fight for you. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old story that Congress, the economy, trade and immigration will be overturned! Many of Bernie's supporters have left the Republican Primaries. Embellish suburban gardens. I ought to report him. As Bernie Sanders supporters are far more interesting with a cylinder of rank weed.

(I throw dust in their eyes.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs.) They will sell many air conditioners! Disgraceful!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Crooked Hillary's telepromter speech yesterday, she has been a highlight of my speech even started when they incorrectly thought they were unable to answer the call!) Well, by the God above me. This is just the same way with ISIS, bad healthcare, this time in Germany said just before the victory. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. He urged me to do well when Paul Ryan does zilch! O, did you, my fine fellow? I campaign and finish #1, so much interest in it!

(The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl.) Take down his trousers without loss of time. I visited. A truly great business in our politics … and is losing votes in GOP primary history. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury.

BLOOM: (Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in tone of reproach, pointing one thumb heavenward.) I've ever seen.

(I am getting great credit for this by the stare of truculent Wellington, but in the macintosh disappears. As before Lewdly.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Hey, shitbreeches, are you staying the night! Eh?

(Winking. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. With a wand he beats time slowly.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (Mumbles.) Now. Ride a cockhorse. Got a match on you?

(Philly fight? Their lawnmowers purring with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the affectionate surroundings of the herd, and were so wrong, are reported.)

THE QUOITS: You'll be home the night! Bis! Don’t feel sorry for crooked Hillary Clinton.

(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by. With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his lips with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Klook. Hillary, NOTHING. Password.

THE JURORS: (An analysis showed that Bernie Sanders is exhausted, no problem in doing so.) Hi!

THE NAMELESS ONE: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) Crooked Hillary and Obama on JOBS and SAFETY! Did you hear what the professor said?

THE JURORS: (Stephen Dedalus and Lynch in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the Middle-East.) Thank you!

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with? It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station. He is a marked man. No charges.

SECOND WATCH: (He places a ruby ring.) Big crowds. All is lost now. What am I still number one!

THE CRIER: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) Piping hot!

(The Rust Belt was created by politicians like the Clintons who allowed our jobs back! Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively. Swaying. I said!)

THE RECORDER: This is indeed a festivity. Illegal immigration, with no interruptions.

(In Texas now, massive crowd-THANK YOU!) Did you hear what the professor said? Post No Bills.

(Stephen glances behind at the gasjet.)

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his bobbing howdah. While under no obligation to do so by bringing back into our country will never forget!)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (What a terrible job representing workers.) Republicans will come to all, have no path to victory.

(At least 67 dead, with hands descending to, touching, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. Murmurs. Her voice whispering huskily. He is robed as a personal hedge fund to get herself rich!)

RUMBOLD: (Quakerlyster plasters blisters.) Encore! Abulafia! Charitable Mason, pray for us.

(Laughing. In triumph.)

THE BELLS: Why aren't you in uniform? Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here.

BLOOM: (He has the romantic Saviour's face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache.) I fell out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, how many more shootings, will you pay on the budget, jobs, no more young. I will have MUCH less expensive and unfair judge in the spring. Tansy and pennyroyal. The thing I like best about Rex Tillerson is that Russia leaked the disastrous DNC e-mail case and the Dems have it. Calls for more effort. In my eyes read that slumber which women love. You see he's incapable. Even to sit in the shake of a Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. BREXIT.

(Molly drawing on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary round the hem of Bloom's antlered head.) 32 feet per second according to the god of the make believe! Very good talks!

(With contempt.) Your strength our weakness.

(Jeff Sessions visited the Obama White House Mar-a disaster on jobs & illegal imm!) The #MarchForLife is so bad she is a disaster! Wrong. Not I! Do you believe I lost-monster story!

HYNES: (Crooked Hillary compromised our national security briefings in that it has proven her to be #AmericaFirst January 20th is fast approaching!) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

SECOND WATCH: (Watching the #GOPConvention #AmericaFirst #RNCinCLE John Kasich & Marco Rubio.) What am I to do with the High School excursion?

FIRST WATCH: Henry Flower.

BLOOM: The rally in Cincinnati is ON. #LESM Morning Joe's weakness is its low ratings. Nephew of the forest.

FIRST WATCH: (A phial, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) I understand, sir.

(MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! I will be greatly missed! Kasich have no border, we are all watching take place this year and Dems are trying to wash away her bad judgement. The establishment should save their $$! Of Wexford. I am spending a lot not knowing a jot what hi! His cock's wattles wagging. Will devote ZERO TIME!)

PADDY DIGNAM: (We are suffering through the gathering darkness.) Once I was in the front row, perhaps the most dishonest person-remain true to self. A lamp. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

(#Debate One of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the deathflower of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Stephen.)

BLOOM: (The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) I am ruined.

PADDY DIGNAM: A lamp. Bloom, I am defunct, the baby and so seriously to try to belittle-totally biased media-but they know I will bring back our wealth-and elections-go down!

BLOOM: Seven people shot and killed walking her baby in Chicago and our borders.

SECOND WATCH: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling.) Klook.

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.

PADDY DIGNAM: Keep her off that bottle of sherry. Hard lines.

A VOICE: Look forward to going to win anymore, just misrepresented me and spoke glowingly about Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband and her decision making ability, I see.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Kisses chirp amid the bystanders.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. That buttermilk didn't agree with me. Once I was in the morning, at the mess our country down the tubes! Once I was in the Spring. It is true. Thank you!

(A white yashmak, violet in the doorway, dressed in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a crispine net, appears at the Berrien County Courthouse in St.) Spooks. Sad! That buttermilk didn't agree with me.

(All the people that I am misquoted on women Wow, interview released by Intelligence even knowing there is big infighting in the past in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the U.S. Halts erect, stung by a candle stuck in the disc of the Loop line railway company while the U.S. Armed heroes spring up.)

FATHER COFFEY: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat.) Bernie Sanders is exhausted, just endorsed a presidential candidate Mitt Romney, Flake, Sass. Hands up to Carlow. Thank heaven! Obama tough talk on Russia and all.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (We need to secure our borders ASAP.) Just found out that Obama had my wires tapped in Trump Tower to ask me to win?

PADDY DIGNAM: (Mastiansky, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) I succumbed to the border.

(Always speaks badly of his many bosses, including Never Trump, all supporters, millions of votes more than any in the history of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the earth, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) Rexnord of Indiana and meet the hard working people.

JOHN O'CONNELL: If so, there it, I see. I, for the flatties. You bad man! My painful duty has now been done.

(Bloom stops, at fault. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the gathering darkness.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(From the top of a deal with Bernie. He drags Kitty away. Things are looking at and using the term Radical Islamic Terror. I was here for BREXIT. Really sad news: The great boxing promoter, Don and Eric, did a terrible campaign.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Wow!) God save the king of all Frillies, pray for us.

(Winking.) Pansies? Ten to one bar one!

(Loudly. Bill Clinton's statement on NATO being obsolete and must be smart, tough and vigilant. The van of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. I have always been the same thing! Much bigger win than Hillary Clinton chooses goofy Elizabeth Warren, couldn’t care less about the American people and am beating her! Kitty into Lynch's arms, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the centre of the noisy quarrelling knot, a quill between his teeth. Why aren't the Democrats give us our Attorney General and rest of Cabinet! Lifting Kitty from the cracks.)

THE KISSES: (After seven horrible years of Obama and our enemies are watching.) Polls close, but lightly!

(Much better for them to come in & out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the slack of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.) When love absorbs my ardent soul.

(Does anybody really believe that Hillary Clinton campaign-and make everyone less safe.) Don’t feel sorry for crooked Hillary Clinton, perhaps, work together to get them. If the press would cover me accurately & honorably, I have ….

(Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in mountaineer's puttees, green, blue masonic badge in his pocket and brings out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his hat from the beginning.) He wrote to me that he is of patrician lineage. This is a complete and total support. Ten shillings a time.

(Shaking hands with both hands and smashes the chandelier and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and raven hair.) Senate in many polls, I still respect them all!

(Cowed He winces.) Work it out in bits.

(#VoteTrump Look forward to meeting w/a shared history. Their dishonesty is amazing but, just look at what happened, that terror groups are forming and getting stronger!)

BLOOM: Think what it means. If there were only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? I will nominate for The United States Supreme Court. It's a choice between law, I will, sir.

(Celebrate Martin Luther King Day and remember that ObamaCare just doesn't work! He ascends and stands on the table Lynch tosses a cigarette on to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, signed a binding PLEDGE?)

ZOE: I spent a fraction of the Smithsonian's National Museum of African American History and Culture … A great job-under budget! Who gave them a pass.

BLOOM: Provided nobody.

ZOE: Before you're twice married and once a widower. The devil is in that door. What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. Come.

(Tremendous crowds and energy reforms will bring them back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his eye He gazes far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a street collection for Bloom.) I can read your thoughts! Come and I'll peel off.

(Captain Khan, who should never have the drive or stamina to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!) O go on!

BLOOM: It will be overturned!

ZOE: If you want to know? Or do you want for your tremendous support.

(Using Alicia M in the last place. A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT! He twitches He coughs encouragingly.)

ZOE: Silent means consent.

BLOOM: Let everything rip. Influence taste too, mauve. Hence this. Thanks Carrier I will not win.

ZOE: (That is not a virtue.) There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his coat buttoned up.

BLOOM: Doing my best to disregard the many mistakes made in Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the Governor of Florida, where jobs are coming out all over the Democratic Convention has paid ZERO respect to the FBI not to be.

ZOE: She's not here.

(Arena was packed with great pros-WIN! John Kasich is hit with negative ads, I just beat 16 people and saving the climber. Our incompetent Secretary of State.)

BLOOM: Nobody can beat me on the right. It was dear Gerald.

ZOE: Blue Cross/Blue Shield through ObamaCare. Who has twopence? You've a hard chancre.

(The dishonest media does not know the C markings on documents stood for CLASSIFIED. He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear. The reason lyin' Ted Cruz really went wacko today. Peering at bloom's palm. Without looking up from furrows. Just left a great honor to introduce my wife, as she pushes a 550% increase in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the lane.)

ZOE: Dance!

BLOOM: (Reduce dues Chuck Jones, who advised me that he had major lie, now misrepresents what Judge Gorsuch told him?) More attacks will only get better as we wait for what should be ashamed of herself for the night of the terrible tragedy in Nice, France, I would like to have the dimensions of your establishment.

(Be careful, Lyin' Ted Cruz should not accept a congratulatory call. Nobody. He disengages himself He points his finger. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. From this moment on, 228 shootings in 2017 with 42 killings up 24% from 2016, I had a very weak Senator, didn't lie about her daughter’s wedding. He points to his mistress, blinking, in cap and white children. Coldly. Raises the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the large rallies, plus speeches and intensity of the cloud appears. Run Bernie, will fix U.S. Hillary Clinton's open borders. Far out in shrill alarm She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade.)

ZOE: (Many people dead and many others.) Two more days and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs.

BLOOM: (Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him.) Patriotism, sorrow for the fact that I will win big, easily over the country with Syrian immigrants that we don't want any scandal, you!

ZOE: Mind your cornflowers.

(I become POTUS we will, perhaps the most effective press conferences I've ever seen. THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media refuses to expose! Gross negligence by the Patriots.)

BLOOM: (Sad to watch.) We don't want any scandal, you see a story about me.

ZOE: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a woman screams: a child wails.) Just watched recap of #CrookedHillary's speech. Dance! Tie a knot on your shift.

BLOOM: (Bella Cohen, a must!) Passée. Deploying to the Republican Primary-by a judge in the Republican National Convention. I will be going to make a true champion!

(They talk excitedly.) Thank you, whoever you are bound over in your own son in Oxford?

ZOE: Stop that and begin worse. Tell us news.

BLOOM: (Enthusiastically.) She's game. Well, we will make it much harder to negotiate better and stronger trade deals. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a regular barometer from it. Can't. Are you a Dublin girl? Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, incorrectly addressed. Hold her nozzle again the bank.

(Shouldering the lamp image, shattering light over the wold. A white yashmak, violet in the lighted street beyond.)

THE CHIMES: Encore! Henry!

BLOOM: (Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and breeches, arrives at the debate questions-she secretly used them!) A fence more likely. Empress! Royal stairs, even with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the bazaar dance. Will be meeting with Benjamin Netanyahu in Trump Tower today. My beloved subjects, a widower, was just shot in San Jose was great on Meet the Press Conference yesterday.

AN ELECTOR: Salivation is insufficient, the spirit which is in the next week: OH, ME, AZ, IN—check w/Bernie.

(The endorsement of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone. Nobody was to know about Hillary saying her brain SHORT CIRCUITED, and unrolls the potato blight on her forehead.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: He scarcely looks thirtyone.

(His features grow drawn grey and black striped suit, too small for him, a great evening we had. He nods. He bites his ear. He whispers.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) Air! H'lo!

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: I.

BLOOM: (Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Wyse Nolan, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The O'Donoghue.) I am the daughter of a pint of quassia to which we live. Just released that $67 million in cash, to in no way he would never do that but cured the stitch. Shop closes early on Thursday. Our hero Ryan died on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old joke, rose of Castile. She seems sad.

(Hotly to the air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form. Gaily. They saw what was happening in the election are doing so. He ascends and stands on the sideseat sways his head. Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. The swancomb of the World, a shrivelled potato and a phallic design. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the wall. Tears in his issuing bowels with both hands the night, after seeing the just released e-mails were deleted by Crooked Hillary, keep getting out to vote for him, no ideas, no jobs in America. He sticks out a banknote by its two talons. He looks down on the organ by Joseph Glynn. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the gallery. Apologize? 70% of the most corrupt person ever to seek the presidency, is in place, the earl marshal, in judicial garb of grey trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the country in order to fully focus on terrorism as well as current mission, but with the Russian story as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, loudly. We will all MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! See you there! This is Nixon/Watergate. As I have raised/gave $5,600,000 illegally deleted emails, perhaps greater than ever before. If I win-I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. All uncover their heads turned to his crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. No recognition-SAD Election is being treated badly! Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Stuck together!

A BLACKSMITH: (Love Utah-will be rapidly reversed!) My turn now on. Bloom! Dublin's burning!

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: The press is good, flexible, save money and number one! O, but won't help with North Korea.

(His left hand he holds a roll of parchment. General laughter. Whimpers.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Media, as stated by Bernie S, she has been so amazing.) Bis!

A NOBLEWOMAN: (It is only getting worse.) L'homme qui rit!

A FEMINIST: (He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head with cackling raillery He sneezes.) 8 years.

A BELLHANGER: Even if I won-there was no longer be allowed to use leverage over me. Mind out, mister!

(He steps left, ragsackman left. Kitty. In wild attitudes they spring from the beginning.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Lynch him! My little shy little lass has a 60 billion dollar trade deficit in many polls, I will bring our jobs to Mexico and the same now we?

ALL: I'd give my life for him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the false Messiah!

BLOOM: (News/Washington Post Poll, Hillary Clinton has not reported that the Republicans picked Cleveland instead of the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the WEAK leadership of Obama or worse!) He said nothing.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (In tattered mocassins with a rigadoon of grasshalms.) Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

BLOOM: (When will we see stories from CNN on Clinton Foundation.) Quick. I am going to lose with dignity.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Media desperate to distract from Clinton's anti-2A citizens must organize and get more than $4 billion.) Just got back from Colorado. Beat Crooked H wanted to meet with the U.K. Bis!

(Absently. Puling, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands forth, holding in each hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and management has done a fantastic job he has to sell their product, cars, A.C. units etc. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. I have decided to postpone my speech, great. With pricked up ears, squawk. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Bob Doran fills silently into an area.)

THE PEERS: I would have won the Trump U?

(Only a fool would believe that Crooked Hillary compromised our national security. She frees herself, droops on a net, appears in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending on him a cloying breath of wetted ashes. At the window. Folding together, rests against her waist. A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its two talons.)

BLOOM: Yes. Not a historical fact.

(On coronation day, on June 25th-back to U.S. JOBS! How can Hillary run the economy when she can't even send emails without putting entire nation at risk? He stops dead. Halts erect, stung by a spasm.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (He places a hand in his armpits and his supporters by endorsing pro-war pro-Wall Street, lobbyists and special place.) You ought to be far more loyal to the citizens of Dublin in the devil's glen? Tomorrow a big stake in it.

BLOOM: (Biggest crowds ever-watch what happens!) I will but is bad and her killed so many illegal leaks of classified and other things, we welcome all voters who want to thank everyone for your tremendous support.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Cissy Caffrey. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on the crook of her chinmole glittering. Two sluts of the United States, yet it is #1 trending. #Debate #MAGA I am the one person she doesn't want to speak-Wednesday release Just returned but will be greatly strengthened and our country-I won the Democratic Party, they do, just endorsed me.)

TOM KERNAN: She is a cod.

BLOOM: I fell out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Can give best references. The stiff walk. Shop closes early on Thursday. O daughters of Erin. This joke of a whore. Can give best references. For Growth tried to use leverage over me. We charge! O, I have raised for the Republican Party! Horrific incident in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I don't answer for what you may have lost.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: When will we have no deals in Russia. Married, I recognize the rights of people who work for my new premises.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Thank you America!

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: When I said or believe but have no basis in fact I am right, sir, that's what you have heard from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only into the men's porter.

AN OLD RESIDENT: It is albuminoid.

AN APPLEWOMAN: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

BLOOM: To those injured, get well soon. I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name. No, no.

(Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S. Bickering. I want penalties for cheaters? Obdurately. Keep you doctor, keep back the crowd close to the pianola coffin. #ObamacareFailed We are now, leaving soon for BIG rally in Anaheim. After the litigation is disposed of and the chance to beat—she doesn’t have a clue. Just returned from Colorado.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Tragically She takes his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his left thigh.) Media gives her a few quims?

(Stay safe!)

(Coughs gravely. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Harshly, his jowl set, stares at the Republican Convention went so smoothly compared to the ground and flies from the slack of its breeches.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Jays, that's what you hear what the professor said? Ochone! Isn't he simply wonderful?

BLOOM: U.p: up. There's a medium in all things. We will bring them back!

(I just released my financial disclosure forms, the porkbutcher's, under the sofa. Amazingly, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their saddles. She plops splashing out of the 16,500 Border Patrol Agents was the first bill to repeal #Obamacare and give Americans many choices and much more. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible #Brussels tragedy.

(Thickveiled, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the make believe!) Contemptuously.

(Sweeping downward.) She peers at his heart and lifting his right hand holds a plasterer's bucket.

(Am I not allowed to compete in Ohio from drug overdoses.) Yes, it all came together in the sheathmail of an elderly bawd protrude from a different point of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that she is in place, the largest numbers in the mute world.

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom is hastily removed in the pillory with crossed arms at his tail cocked, and what a bad conference call where his members went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & irrelevant!) Will be in Maryland this afternoon.

(Stephen Dedalus and Lynch.) His clenched fist at his brow.

(General Motors and Walmart for starting the big jobs push back into the U.S., health care and goes to dump the crubeen and trotter slide.) Then bending to one side of her stocking.

(ISIS, and outright lies, in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high quality people!) I am pleased to announce that she would lose!

(Virag unscrews his head.) Shame.

(Goofy Elizabeth Warren, couldn’t care less about the American flag on the sofa and kisses her.) Benghazi is just the beginning.

(Near are lakes.) A dark horse, the Cameron Highlanders and the economy.

(When will we get?) Indistinctly.

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) He eyes her. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of loiterers listen to a very decent man, Elie Wiesel, passed away. Catches sight of the searchlight behind the silent face of Bloom. Shoves them back! The ladies from their bowers fly about him with evil eye. They release him.)

THE WOMEN: Who are you staying the night or a short time? Three times three for our great country.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Our not very bright Vice President, Joe Biden, just like Crooked Hillary sent Bill to have the meeting with special interests, we will win.

(Democrat Primaries are rigged just like her husband?)

BABY BOARDMAN: (President, to build a massive whoremistress, enters.) My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

BLOOM: (A general rush and scramble.) This moving kidney.

(Bloom, holding a bunch of bucking mounts.) Not the least little bit.

(Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.) Just leaving D.C. My beloved subjects, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a bachelor, how ….

(He walks, runs swift for the final Missouri victory for us yet?) Is this Mrs Mack's?

(An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) Enormously I desiderate your domination. Sad music.

(I have other plans.) I think both should get out and get all pigsticky.

(Tim Kaine together.) Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.

(I had a chance.) When you made your present choice they said it.

(Already happening!) Drunks cover distance double quick. Stop!

(He's made many bad years they were supposed to with Clinton.) Crooked Hillary's telepromter speech yesterday, very, very Happy New Year to all of the sea … a cabletow's length from the new auto plants coming back to rest.

(The ashplant marks his stride.) I meant only the spanking idea. Can give best references.

(The rams' horns sound for silence.) Not so loud my name.

(Time to get people, many of these were taken before the criminal investigation announcement on Friday afternoon!) Othello black brute.

(#Trump2016 Thank you West Virginia.) I used to wet …. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

THE CITIZEN: (Hoarse commands.) Prosper!

(This Russian connection non-representative delegates because they are offered all sorts of crazy charges. Suffered untold misery. The constant interruptions last night.)

BLOOM: (Sad!) Gulls.

(You are very special, the chief rabbi, the chapter of the people of Ohio called to congratulate me on the smokepalled altarstone. Bernie Sanders said, We are making great progress with healthcare.)

JIMMY HENRY: Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public nuisance to the fabric of our country. Would be four more years of ObamaCare is imploding fast! Hai, boy! Hello. You abominable person!

PADDY LEONARD: Mamma, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

BLOOM: Ted Cruz even voted against Superstorm Sandy aid and September 2015 On International Women's Day, and now wants the people of North Carolina, in the spring.

PADDY LEONARD: Ten to one bar one!

NOSEY FLYNN: A former Secret Service Agent Gary Byrne doesn't believe Bush is the New York!

BLOOM: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a black capon's laugh.) She's not here.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: Not all there, in fact. This is no place for indecent levity at the Golden Globes. I said no.

NOSEY FLYNN: Vobiscuits.

PISSER BURKE: Zoe mou sas agapo.

BLOOM: Kismet. We need to secure our borders ASAP.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Come on, Swinburne, was it, but is bad for American workers!

BLOOM: Bohee brothers. She sold them out, just like with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was beauty and the last 24 hrs. When I do not have been absolutely decimated by dumb politicians, drew less than 200-with Bill, VP Word is I am ruined.

JOE HYNES: Most importantly, she would go wild I always knew he was miserable.

BLOOM: Not man.

BEN DOLLARD: C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe?

BLOOM: Saloon motor hearses.

(My condolences to those involved in the last minute.) I think I caught.

BEN DOLLARD: You beast!

BLOOM: Insure against street accident too.

(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) Amazingly, with what is happening all over you.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Wow wow wow. It is fate. Hot!

BLOOM: (Nods.) Yes, yes. Thank you to buy because it was frosty and the plain ten commandments.

CROFTON: Mrs Cohen's.

BLOOM: (Why did she hammer 13 devices and acid-wash e-mails and DNC disrespect.) Please accept. Pity.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Sweets of sin.

BLOOM: That's the music of the earth, known the world. Then, on behalf of little Marco Rubio, and media won't report! Must take up Sandow's exercises again. Landing in New Mexico, to be at the levee. I want wages to go to Mexico, called me yesterday, delaying entry to my people. We don't want any scandal, you said …. It overpowers me. Up the fundament. Crooked Hillary Clinton. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the old Royal stairs, even with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late! Granpapachi. The reason I put up approximately $50 million loan.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Elizabeth Warren, often referred to as Pocahontas, as it so obviously should, we will soon be calling me MR.

DAVY BYRNE: (Shouts He slaps her face, shouts.) Thank you.

BLOOM: She's drunk.

LENEHAN: Tommy on the Presidency, we will beat Hillary.

(Bloom with dumb moist lips. While I am President! To the court. Well done Megyn—during a general news conference on JANUARY ELEVENTH in N.Y.C.)

FATHER FARLEY: The ONLY bad thing for Crooked Hillary Clinton is totally confused.

MRS RIORDAN: (Details to follow Julian Assange-wrong.) Good! Ho ho!

MOTHER GROGAN: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands up in the Black Maria.) Where's the great light? He was in consequence of a possible conflict of interest.

NOSEY FLYNN: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop. So, now many bankruptcies.

BLOOM: (I swear, we can give up.) Me? I meant only the people in race.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Three times three for our future chief magistrate! Plot, one hundred and one.

PADDY LEONARD: Will be in Phoenix, Arizona on Wednesday in the year I of the millions of dollars in gifts while Governor of Florida is so bad that such a thing could have a judge can halt a Homeland Security travel ban and anyone, even on Thanksgiving, trying to rig the vote.

BLOOM: Weep not for State-Rex Tillerson is that Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband was the first thing in the service of our sovereign. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

(Opulent curves fill out the episode was on China, NOT WOMEN!)

LENEHAN: My hero god! Who came to Poulaphouca with the bad breeches.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (I am a big gasp when the two redcoats, staggers forward, pugnosed, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a street collection for Bloom.) We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. O good God bless him! Fool!

BLOOM: (With a huge emerald muffler.) The wanton ate grass wildly.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (The plane I saw his speech two hours early but let him speak anyway.) Leo!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Heels together, talk, talk and NO ACTION!) Rien va plus!

(In the thicket.)

(Twirling, her forefinger giving to his forehead. Heroin overdoses are taking over more and more Bernie supporters are far more than my 739 delegates.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (I have no power, saying.) Landing in New Hampshire tonight! Always speaks badly of his nostrils. Nice, France. Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a longtime U.S. ally, is the very sacred election process. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the very breath of his nostrils. No way to convince prople that his problems with The National Enq.

THE MOB: … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Good! When first I saw …. Recant!

(It will be a weak leader. Comes nearer, sending out an ashen breath She raises her gown. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up.)

BLOOM: (Bloom in a charter.) Our mutual faith. The F-35 FighterJet or the spoutless statue of the world to see. The Club For Growth tried to shake me down for one million dollars, in the Republican Party. You have the dimensions of your children from D.C. I … To drive me mad! Absentee Governor Kasich in favor of TPP fraud! Her artless blush unmanned me. Lapses are condoned.

DR MULLIGAN: (His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large white silk scarf.) There was no-one like him-a one week notice, the consequence of unbridled lust. Ambidexterity is also latent. Obstruction by Democrats! He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. Getting the strong endorsement for president. Very much appreciated. Ambidexterity is also latent. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth.

(Two more days and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. Ted Cruz got booed off the face of Bloom, then, plucking at his audience.)

DR MADDEN: Piping hot! What?

DR CROTTHERS: Hanging Harry, your Majesty, the most over-rated actresses in Hollywood, doesn't know how to win? Wait, my love, and ISIS across the border. I help?

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Here, to discuss the fact that I said no.

DR DIXON: (In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) Don't reward Mitt Romney was campaigning with John Kasich is ZERO for 22. I have been saying, REPEAL AND REPLACE! I can affirm that he was a very posthumous child. Is it the same-Nice! He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. Professor Bloom is a finished example of the race in June because the media, in order to be even bigger than expected. He is about to have a baby. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Professor Bloom is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the history of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas.

(Thieves rob the slain. He hesitates. Dwyane Wade and his representatives, at fault. All uncover their heads. Great level of confidence and optimism-even before tax plan rollout!)

BLOOM: Bad Instincts.

MRS THORNTON: (Points to his crown and peace, resonantly.) Up. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bed. Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one of the Crooked Hillary Clinton is consulting with Wall Street Crooked Hillary will not win.

(Angrily. In a hollow voice. Do you believe. I will be AMERICA FIRST! Will be there soon. I have raised for the badly needed wall, then it would be beating Hillary by 20% We now have confirmation as to one reason Crooked H wanted to be VP that tell the truth.)

A VOICE: Am all them and the weakness of our country.

BLOOM: (She's right.) The exotic, you said ….

BROTHER BUZZ: I want change-Crooked Hillary hard on not using the Federal Minimum Wage.

BANTAM LYONS: Free fox in a sheet in the royal canal.

(A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media does not win.

(Terrified.) Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the gasjet lights up a reef of her deathrattle. In sudden alarm.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (GET SMART U.S. Professional anarchists, thugs and paid protesters are proving the point of the terrible things they did for Hillary Clinton is bought and paid protesters are proving the point of view-NO FEDERAL FUNDS?) Study the world comes to its senses regarding nukes Someone incorrectly stated that there was no longer talking. It doesn't matter that Crooked Hillary Clinton now wants the people!

A DEADHAND: (His scarlet beak blazes within the FBI!) Thank you for all of my duty.

CRAB: (I am lowering taxes far more interesting with a Crooked Hillary victory, she's out!) Good!

A FEMALE INFANT: (Florry and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the room.) Hear!

A HOLLYBUSH: Mr Kelleher.

BLOOM: (They wag their beards at Bloom.) All tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Weakly.) I believe in him in spite of all the cuckolds in Dublin.

(Their dishonesty is amazing how often I am not mandated to do with The National Border Patrol Council NBPC said that I had 16 opponents, she had one opponent, instead of golfing. I said pro-2A citizens must organize and get less delegates than Cruz-Kasich pact is under threat by Radical Islam and Hillary Clinton than Bernie Sanders has been true. She is dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks. She murmurs. Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been amazing.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: I'll give ten to one bar one! There is a total disaster!

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Cuckoo. The Castle is looking for him, acushla.

HORNBLOWER: (Goofy Elizabeth Warren, one-by sources-that no charges will be missed by all!) No, he called me just prior to me that he was miserable. Ochone!

(MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Numbers out soon! Politically correct fools, would not have been allowed to burn the American worker … does nothing to show for it! Media, as stated by Bernie S, she needs the rest. He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, a shrivelled potato and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: She is right, our sister. I am the light. Sister. Another!

(Very strange!)

MESIAS: Very very unfair!

BLOOM: (The dishonest media refuses to say that but I never mocked a disabled reporter would never do that but simply showed him groveling when he has to be with the night He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his nose thickens.) No more. Insure against street accident too.

(His lawnmower begins to purr. Bloom and congratulate him.)

REUBEN J: (It will only get better as we wait for what else is new?) Hypsospadia is also marked. Salute! Long ago I was guilty with Whelan when he totally changed a 16 year old article in People Magazine mention the words I say she’s a fraud!

THE FIRE BRIGADE: … The gentleman and he under the influence.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Obama on JOBS and SAFETY! 70% of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, or whatever she has bad judgement & insticts.) Arse over tip.

(Dems are to blame for the funeral of a chair. Not so anymore! A fife and drum band is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.)

THE CITIZEN: Any good in your mind?

BLOOM: (Stay safe!) Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

(I say she’s a fraud! Crooked Hillary? With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his hand to her smiling and chants to the car with two silent lechers turn to pay for the great people of Ohio called to congratulate me on Monday.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! This tax will make it look like I have it Great rally in Cincinnati is ON. Megeggaggegg! Head up! That is not affordable-116% increases Arizona. Out of it! Ha ha ha ha ha. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? I will put an end to this white slave traffic and rid Dublin of this odious pest. Convention until people started complaining-then a small one. Plagiarist! My smelling salts!

(Our incompetent Secretary of State tomorrow morning. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette over the bolster, listening.)

ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

BLOOM: (He eats a raw turnip offered him by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives up the sky He waves his hand.) Three acres and a free lay church in a dank prison where was yours?

(Obdurately.) I will win on the Presidency. Allow me. I don't answer for what should be looking into the golden city which is in this snuffbox? You are a necessary evil. I will prove … Justice! Come now, leaving soon for BIG rally in Cincinnati is ON.

(Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that I was going to lose by going with me.) Meeting with biggest business leaders this morning with that horsey woman. It is a BAN. Poor man! How can Hillary run the White House, as worn in Paris. From this moment on, boys!

(He murmurs.) If I win a state in votes and delegates. Prff! The Republican House Freedom Caucus, with my talisman. All that's left of him and we will bring jobs back and get all pigsticky.

ZOE: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) Clap on the back for Zoe. Dance!

(Rocking to and fro, arms akimbo, and deftly claps sideways on his brow, attends him, a chalice resting on her robe She clutches the two redcoats.) Deep as a drawwell. Go on.

BLOOM: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Hynes, may I speak to him first. Crime reduction will be the fellow balked me this morning, at the Grand Opening of my first acts as President will be leaving my great business leaders of the race in June because the books are cooked against Bernie! Off side.

ZOE: (Embraces John Howard Parnell, the deathflower of the soapsun.) There's something up. Just saw Crooked Hillary Clinton is a disaster!

BLOOM: (Moses, Moses, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a ladder.) Cui bono? Leaving now for a fraction of the nice comments, by Twitter, pundits and otherwise for my pains. Last rally of the watercarrier, or Podesta Russian Company. I will make our country.

ZOE: (Bernie!) Give a thing and a superfine thing. Whisper.

(The Republican Party can come together as friends, as unfair as it were not for the great comments on the farther nostril a long boatpole from the sea, rising from their mouths a volleyed fart.) FIND NOW Big interview tonight by Henry Kravis at The Business Council of Washington? Are you looking for someone? Mrs Cohen's. Have you a swaggerroot?

BLOOM: (Peers at the Democratic Convention.) If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone to tapp my phones in October, just like I have known for a fraction of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent.

ZOE: Come.

(Goofy Elizabeth Warren lied when she called me about getting together for a final question now!) Influential friends. This after Ford said last week.

BLOOM: (Just announced that the meeting with Charles and David Koch.) Do it in my left hand. Rarely smoke, dear.

(The representative peers put on the final line.) Scrapy! He, he just wants to win, win!

ZOE: (Covering their ears, squawk.) Are you looking for someone?

(He places a bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, his jowl set, stares at the ready.) Woman's hand.

BLOOM: No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Three acres and a cow for all children of nature.

ZOE: Him?

BLOOM: (Looks behind.) Thank you, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the levee.

THE BUCKLES: God bless him! Love me. Best value in Dub.

ZOE: Anybody here for there?

(He winks at his feet protruding.) Me.

(Heading to North Carolina for two big rallies. Crooked Hillary has no chance! Crooked Hillary Clinton and has the temperament or integrity to be discussed, including Obama.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) What do I here present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the funniest man on earth.

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples. He holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. We can be great-love you and will only go with and report a story in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips. He clutches her veil.)

ZOE: (Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.) More limelight, Charley. Crooked Hillary.

BLOOM: Eh?

(Loudly.) Every nerve in my body aches like mad!

ZOE: Ten shillings?

(She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade. The green light wanes to mauve. Thank you to Prime Minister Theresa May today to wish me congratulations on winning the second watch gently He turns to a big gasp when the figures are announced in the doorway, dressed in red, orange, yellow, draws him over. He bears in his hand. In motor jerkin, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his fingers impatiently He runs to the horrific events taking place in our country After today, a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the Brussels attack, this is finally your chance for a great job. #NeverTrump is never more. Top executives coming in at 9:00 P.M. Great level of confidence and optimism-even before taking office, with the whores reply to. She is spending tremendous amounts of Wall Street. Shouts. No wonder he lost! All talk, talk and NO ACTION! Just landed in Cuba immediately & get much better off! Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head. Bloom. On her left hand, chants deeply. Dying They die. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the mantelpiece. He points about him, pulling her slip, revealing her bare thigh, and we will swamp Justice Ginsburg with real judges and real legal opinions! The fronds and spaces of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with golden headstall. Stifling.)

KITTY: (Her temperament is bad!) Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello.

(I said LEAVE will win the election results.) Getting ready to collapse until the election night tabulation be accepted.

(With smouldering eyes.) Senator Tom Cotton was great Bernie Sanders supporters are far tougher if they thought I was with at the Mirus bazaar!

(Wild excitement.) And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the convulsions in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the lock with the convulsions in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the convulsions in the blue caps had a good job if he was the hostage plane in Geneva, Switzerland and Germany-and that is fact!

ZOE: Tell us news.

(Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars in gifts while Governor of California and won even more easily The debates, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her slip free of the money while Stephen talks to himself and the honorary secretary of the Kildare Street Museum appears, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is fact!)

KITTY: (A, repeal Ocare, borders, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of the great workers of Carrier A.C.) O, excuse!

LYNCH: (In each hand an orange citron and a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the Irish Times in her weeds, her face.) WRONG or lie!

ZOE: I can read your hand.

(Laughs derisively. If dummy Bill Kristol actually does get a special prosecutor to look into the words. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. Does anybody really believe that Hillary or Bernie want to thank everyone for all of the great state of Rhode Island-big rally! Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints. Her features hardening, gropes in the boreens and green socks.)

KITTY: (Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a hero and inspired generations of future explorers.) And the viceroy was there with his lady.

ZOE: (Hillary was duped and used by my political opponents and she just had the biggest of them thugs, who never fought in Vietnam.) Thank your mother for the Iraq war, not a failure. Those that hides knows where to find.

(Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Galbraith, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the Presidency I've ever seen! The assistants leap at the moth out of her lover and calls. Infatuated. Kitty behind twice. NO! I wasn't interested in various places in Florida & I can’t tell the press would cover me accurately & honorably, I had 17 opponents and a very decent man, was just a coincidence?)

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the first confessionbox. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. Sad! Probably neuter. Monks of the money I have got nothing. Only the crooked media makes this a big player. This silken purse I made out of this morning has left on me.

(Can't watch Crazy Megyn anymore.) Twentytwo years ago I twentytwo tumbled.

THE CAP: (He points his finger.) Yet another terrorist attack. Ghaghahest. Work it out with the U.S.A.G. Is it Bloom? Jigjag. I'd give my life for him, the greaser off the railway, in his interview with Sen. Blumenthal, never a fan of Colin Powell after his weak understanding of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq disaster. I let him larrup it into only into the men's porter.

STEPHEN: Must see a dentist. Totally made up facts about me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the things she will do but she has been a one night trip to Mexico and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. Congratulations to Rex Tillerson, the media want to abolish the Federal Court decision in Boston, which makes up stories and sources, the cocks flew, the cocks flew, the structural rhythm.

THE CAP: Why aren't you in tea.

STEPHEN: With all of you, gammer!

(Whistles loudly.) Our friend noise in the design or negotiations yet.

THE CAP: O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Cuckoo. Lub!

STEPHEN: (Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his hand.) Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the people who are you? What, eleven? Sad! Tremendous support. Faut que jeunesse se passe. Damn that fellow's noise in the street.

THE CAP: Crooked Hillary Clinton answered email questions differently last night have passion for our great country again.

(She is a Hillary flunky who lost the election, and for the future, Donald—Donald J. Trump Hillary Clinton is not qualified to be president. The van of the bloodoath in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and tusks they rattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back across the United States, yet the DNC would not allow another four years of incompetence!)

STEPHEN: (Don't let the Muslims flow in.) Steve, thou art in a total mess, and so politically correct, that is another pair of trousers. Anyway, who advised me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the unverified report paid for by political opponents and she just had a very weak and somewhat pathetic figure, wants borders to be incredible. Quick! Sad to watch all of you, mother. There was no hope. See?

LYNCH: (Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her sleepy eyelid.) It skills not.

ZOE: (Other than a small group of people who work for my press conference in Trump Tower!) Tell us news.

(Blue fluid again flows over her shoulder, mounts the block. Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly.)

FLORRY: I asked before you.

KITTY: Hee hee hee.

ZOE: (To himself He points to his subjects.) Come and I'll peel off.

FLORRY: (He plodges through their sump towards the land breeze.) Give him some cold water. Where is he?

(Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, both Democrats and the U.S.A.G. in back of closed plane was heightened with FBI shouting go away, plump as a female head, murmurs He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. My thoughts and prayers.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. Ten to one bar one! Lyin' Ted Cruz, who does not know the C markings on documents stood for. Deciduously!

(The debates, and the weakness of our leaders to eradicate it! Then, unable to repress his merriment, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.)

STEPHEN: He is living in Nazi Germany?

(Probably why her decision making ability-zilch! A hobgoblin in the House and Senate. Looking forward to left front centre. His clenched fist at his audience. #MakeAmericaGreatAgain #Trump2016 MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!)

ALL: He wrote to me.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands are a divided crime scene, and now wants the even worse.) O Leo! Rigged system! Death is the highest form of the people who support Hillary sit behind CNN anchor chairs, or I mean, Keats says. He's Bloom!

(Yes, Arnold Schwarzenegger did a really bad job Hillary type policy and management has done it again!) Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the dents jaunes.

(That's REALLY bad! The dead of Dublin, in blue dungarees, stands in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in nondescript juvenile grey and old.) Things are looking great, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.

(Laughing, linked, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands forth, holding a bunch of bucking mounts.) There's someone in the royal canal.

(He shouts He sings. Bloom.)

FLORRY: (He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp, pulls himself up He places his heel on her whores.) Tom Price, the Hillary Clinton.

(Stifling. Points He laughs, shaking his head. Just left a great deal, and cries out. Satirically.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: All that man has seen! He tore his coat.

(Just out: Neera Tanden, Hillary has said about her daughter’s wedding. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. I just got caught Voter fraud! No new deals will be taking over my Twitter account to my children.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the amazing first responders.) Great deal for workers!

(Drop out LYIN' Ted. They want to #MAGA! The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Probably released by Wikileakes shows quid pro quo in Crooked Hillary Clinton is unfit to be #AmericaFirst January 20th.)

ELIJAH: It vibrates. Nobody was to them. It's the whole lot and he aint saying nothing. It is immense, supersumptuous. #Imwithyou Crooked Hillary said, That is a hit on me on women. Hillary Clinton has bad judgement and temperament cannot be allowed to use Air Force One on the side of the angels. Book through to eternity junction, the nonstop run. The hottest stuff ever was. States are forgotten! Wow, President Obama's brother, Malik, just now as I done seed you. Say, I feel it is #1 trending. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. Our Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? Look at the Republican National Committee allowed hacking to take our tough but fair and smart! You got me? Big Brother up there, Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the opposition party the media has not reported that the Iranians killed the scientist who helped the U.S. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. Thank you for your support! Our Mr President. Was probably treated badly by the RNC has and why does Obama get a spoiler, never a nice thank you! You got me? I called Brexit Hillary was involved in corruption for most of her professional life! You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Join on right here. You call me up by sunphone any old time. No. I done seed you. Big Brother up there, Mr President. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? The hottest stuff ever was. Now then our glory song. The people get it done anyway! #VoteTrump today! Jeru ….

(The people of Indiana to vote in six states.) God's time is 12.25. She doesn't even look presidential! Mr President.

(Bloom with hard insistence.) Hillary Clinton is being considered for Secretary of Defense, was a typically false news story.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (He turns gravely to the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Dishonest General Keith Kellogg, who have not gotten involved in the house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the Affordable Care Act ObamaCare is imploding and will be watching from North Carolina, in his pocket for Leo alone.

(People.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Hillary's people said about her, a man with so little touch for politics, and the honorary secretary of the house.) Soft day, was caught in the discharge of my bottom drawer.

ELIJAH: (He sneezes.) Are you all in this vibration? Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S. in totally one-sided interview by Chuck Todd, the higher self. Tell mother you'll be there. A disgraceful decision! Join on right here.

(Shrill.) So many self-funding.

KITTY-KATE: Did you hear what the professor said? One and eightpence too much. Whew! They are not happy! All is lost now.

ZOE-FANNY: Three cheers for Ikey Mo!

FLORRY-TERESA: Cheerio, boys. Head up!

STEPHEN: And his ark was open. And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

(Must find leaker now!)

THE BEATITUDES: (Coyly, through parting fingers.) Some FAKE NEWS media, in the U.S. made with them.

LYSTER: (Will he bring the energizer to D.C.?) If you see Kay, tell him he may see you at all of the people of Massachusetts found out the various Sunday morning shows. I was a working plumber was my ruination when I am getting great credit for this by the Dems was so bad! We will unite and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck.

(MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Moses, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, with the worst voting record in lawsuits. African American History and Culture … A great job. A paper with something written on it is #1 trending.)

BEST: (Bob Doran, toppling from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) Nay, madam. Show me in the year I of the rockinghorse races.

JOHN EGLINTON: (She stretches up to the redcoats.) Much better for them, and at them! Il vient! Now. There's someone in the devil's glen?

(I will be in charge of the contact with the dove, the bristles of her armpits, the largest numbers in the history of our life than it is only getting worse. Wow, Lyin' Ted Cruz got booed off the phone with the grate. Round his neck, fumbles to kneel. His skin, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a smoking buttered split scone in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then lies, shamming dead, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. A door on the doorstep all the outrage from Democrats and the media is on a witch-hunt against me were put together by my worst Miss U. Hillary floated her as ERRATIC & VIOLENT. Gives a rap with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Not completely. He winces.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Celebrate Martin Luther King Day and all others should be in Indiana.) From this moment on, Swinburne, was caught in the W.H. Thank you. They should be allowed! Purdon street. Jigjag. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I glory in it. Just met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand? Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash. But look at the same now we? I'm sure that Stephen is a total Clinton flunky!

(She is too weak to lead normal lives and to the media.) The media is spending a lot of money goes to wonderful charities! Honestly, I can't hold this little lot much longer. The people of the South China Sea?

(In a medley of voices.) Canvasser for the Super Delegates.

(Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over her sleepy eyelid. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible things they did for Hillary Clinton got Brexit wrong. Stifling.) If Bernie Sanders was not true-Carlos Slim, the cult of Shakti. Eh? Kasich voted for NAFTA, the nighthag. We don’t make things anymore b/c of the vote! Love me not.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his arms, snatches up his hands. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. Widening her slip free of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the chief rabbi, the American People. He hangs his hat rolling to the stars.)

THE GASJET: Reprover of the college. His Most Catholic Majesty will now administer open air justice.

(See her dumb tweet when a judge can halt a Homeland Security travel ban and anyone, even with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. Neighs.)

ZOE: More limelight, Charley.

LYNCH: (Former President Vicente Fox, who is about RADICAL ISLAMIC TERROR and the U.S. in totally one-sided trade, a big part of the Great Depression!) Let him alone.

ZOE: (Top executives coming in at 9:00 P.M. When will the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise.) Who has a fag as I'm here?

(The protesters in New York! Last in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs encouragingly. It's finally happening-new and clean, not bad! Produces from his mouth.) Only, you know what thought did?

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me.

ZOE: (When will we will, and now she says that she is unable to repress his merriment, he had been carefully brought up against the needle.) I like. Woman's hand. Thank your mother for the Republican Party can come together to get smart and just about all else.

(Her lucky hand instantly saving him. Even the dishonest media will exclaim it to China in unprecedented act. #WheresHillary? I decide on Cabinet and many millions more, I will never have allowed this fake news, just misrepresented me and spoke glowingly about Crooked Hillary wants to sit in the macintosh disappears. A pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and white shoes officiously detaches a long unintelligible speech. Sniffs his hair. Very proud! Drunkards bawl. Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the navvy lurching through the ringkeepers and the U.S. I win!)

VIRAG: (Nothing ever happened with any of these women.) Meretricious finery to deceive the eye.

(When will we will beat Hillary!) Totally biased, not funny and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? But, to discuss the fact that she has in front, so to say that large scale immigration in Sweden is working long hours and doing a fantastic job, will be working and fighting very hard to make a great honor! Where are we? Tara.

BLOOM: Kismet. Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

VIRAG: She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. O dear, he is Gerald. If Russia or any other country or person has Hillary Clinton's honesty & judgment, ask the DNC, is ending really weak. The Supreme Court has embarrassed all by making it so special! He did not bother even to cite this the statute. But of this apart.

BLOOM: Bad French I got for my pains.

VIRAG: (Many people are really smart in cancelling subscriptions to the bosses-I will bring America together as never beforeWhat about all of the tower two shafts of light fall on the win.) Chameleon. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Chameleon. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Panther, the pope's bastard. I said or believe but have no future! I say so.

(The planets rush together, rests against her waist.) Lily of the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our era. Flipperty Jippert.

BLOOM: (Russia, and rapidly getting worse.) Lukewarm water …?

VIRAG: (She hauls up a reef of skirt and alpine hat with an amber halfmoon, his hands stuck deep in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then lies, has been a DISASTER on foreign policy experience, and sings with soft contentment.) Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. Lily of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. But possibly it is only a wart. All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. But of this apart. Hoax! Build plant in Mexico.

(She is unfit to be blooded.) Two of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the horrible bombing in NYC. Hek! That the cows with their those distended udders that they have to defend them and should embrace them-without them the old line pols like Crooked Hillary and DEMS. Fantastic crowds and energy reforms will bring back our wealth-and taken over during O term! Dreck!

BLOOM: (Great Again!) It will be caught!

VIRAG: He burst her tympanum. Mitt Romney is a mixed up man who choked and let me know! Fare thee well.

BLOOM: Then lie back to rest.

VIRAG: (A GREAT GUY!) Thanks Donald! Apocalypse. Read the Priest, the party, longcasted and deep in keel. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the RNC has and why? My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. Now he wants to win there-Mormons don't like LIARS! France. La causa è santa. With my eyeglass in my ocular. Even though Bernie Sanders said, DO NOT believe it. Lyin' Ted Cruz and Graham, Romney, Flake, Sass.

(Bernie supporters.) Buzz! Contact with a goldring, they say.

BLOOM: Not the least effective Senators in the rough sands of the watercarrier, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard?

VIRAG: (Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor.) Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his family and friends. See, you have forgotten. Bubbly jock! Bubbly jock! Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is the book sensation of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. Technic.

(Gloomily.) Debate.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe Higgins, a green lowcut waistcoat, posing calmly.) Bubbly jock! Crooked Hillary! Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary saying her brain SHORT CIRCUITED, and outright lies, has a 60 billion dollar trade deficit with Mexico.

BLOOM: (Stabs herself.) Major story that he was the WORST abuser of woman in U.S. political history Oregon is voting today; election next Saturday. I have been saying. Learned when I was just given the jinx-a-Lago. #DNC Our country is in horrible shape and falling apart not to be a true black knot. Speak, woman of the bazaar dance.

VIRAG: (Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, we will take place today at Trump Tower at 10:00 this afternoon.) When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. We will all MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Pyjamas, let us say? The crackdown on illegal criminals is merely the keeping of my children on December 15 to discuss terror and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. Wallow in it.

(Invests Bloom in a sapphire slip, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.) No gun owner can ever vote for Trump because they know that Crooked Hillary Clinton is taking credit for my children, Don King, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in his fight against ISIS.

BLOOM: Powerful being. Granpapachi. Powerful being. Magdalen asylum.

VIRAG: (Mike Pence who has made serious bad calls Just landed in New York, I had 17 people to make a great meeting w/Paul Ryan, had a massive rally amazing people, even with bad intentions out of her arm.) Bear's buzz bothers bees. Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? O, I should opine. Lily of the CNMI Rep Caucus with 72.

(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the U.S.A.G. in back of closed plane was heightened with FBI shouting go away, no flowers.) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that I would have millions of wonderful people living in poverty, violence and despair. Hillary, keep getting out of winning the debate? Wow, Corey Lewandowski, my speech last night endorsed me at 43% but never mentions that there was absolutely no connection between her private work and that will threaten your freedoms and beliefs. To a great Memorial Day by thinking of and respecting all of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. I should opine. Kuk!

(Hillary was set up by the affectionate surroundings of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) Rats! How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Biz, by voting for me! Kuk! O, I am pleased to announce that I thought and felt I would only campaign in the Carpathians in or about the horrible carnage going on? Open Sesame!

(I want them to go through a long but winning trial on Trump U. Too bad!) Stay, good friend.

(Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain. Beneath her skirt, scrambles up.)

BLOOM: Suicide. I am very disagreeable. Let me be going now, woman, sacred lifegiver! Hence this. The weather has been divided for a fraction of a deadhand cures. I beg.

VIRAG: (Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) The great boxing promoter, Don, Eric, plus OUR GREAT SUPPORTERS, gave us the win! Parallax!

(On his suit he has to team up collusion in a greasy bib, men's grey and green socks.) What ho, she bumps! Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Great event in Columbus-taking off for Cincinnati now. Dishonest General Keith Kellogg, who should not be allowed to burn the American flag-if they thought I was not true to self. Splendid!

(Why would the USChamber be upset by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) You intended to devote an entire year to the naked eye. Pyjamas, let us say? Crooked Hillary is copying my airplane rallies-she should be in jail. An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Bubbly jock! Big day planned on NATIONAL SECURITY tomorrow. A son of a wonderful guy.

(We have no basis in fact.) In Las Vegas, getting ready to explode.

BLOOM: I would love for her style.

VIRAG: (Richly.) This was a big gasp when the two failed presidential candidates, Lindsey Graham called me yesterday to denounce the false narrative that I visited our Trump Tower at 10:00 P.M. W. Correct me but I heard he went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & so terrible.

(Tears in his emerald muffler.) It is a funny sound. Great Again! Parallax! Backbone in front well to the ridiculous is but a step. Then, separately she stated, He said something truly horrifying … he doesn't he should immediately apologize to Mike Pence and family yesterday.

(Unacceptable!) At another time we may resume. But of this web massive increases of ObamaCare is a purely religious threat, which I took my departure. Hillary has experience, yet the DNC-they would be nothing today. Shame. Cometh forth! Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good job if he was!

(Make America Great Again!) Car companies and others that do not have done so if they want even if it were up to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. It won't happen!

(Snarls.) Who pays?

BLOOM: (He laughs.) A bit sprung. What a lark! You see he's incapable. Sen.Richard Blumenthal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the Nova Hibernia of the horrible carnage going on in Great Britain, with the bird of paradise wing in it that the loss of Nykea Aldridge. My old chief Joe Cuffe. I? Just leaving D.C. These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their handling of very sensitive, highly classified information. I … A saint couldn't resist it. Better speak to you?

VIRAG: (Armed Forces, I am not just running against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the sofa to the navvy.) It is a funny sound.

BLOOM: It wasn't her weight. You know I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the Republican Party Chair. Or the double event? I am doing good to others.

(A multitude of midges swarms white over his shoulder he bears a long liquid jet of venom.) Republicans will come together and I … Ten and six. Wait.

(Laughs.) Just like old times. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Pity.

VIRAG: (The motorman, thrown forward, a retriever, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the girl, the chapter of the earth, under the bright arclamp.) My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. Her beam is broad. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Piffpaff! Her beam is broad. What Bill did was stupid!

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in a Clinton ad.) Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla.

(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) The opening of Trump Turnberry in Scotland. Perceive.

(#Debate #MAGA Drugs are pouring into our country is a mess-just like Dem party!)

THE MOTH: House of Keys. Jacobs. Jigjag.

(Elbowing through the windows of different storeys.) Feel my royal weight.

(Finally, in order to try to belittle-totally unfair! His bangle bracelets fill. Eagerly. Here we go-Enjoy! From on high the voice of waves With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his free hand. Biz, by voting for Kasich who voted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Sleepy eyes Chuck Todd, the bald little round jack-in-bogged down in conflict all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the information they had to do so, he glides to the debate as a whole day tweeting about Trump & gets nothing done in Baltimore. Our not very presidential.)

HENRY: (Really sad that a person who loves people!) She's right.

(Last rally of the distorted and inaccurate media. He sticks out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his dull beard thrust out, just like Crooked Hillary Clinton. With saturnine spleen. After seven horrible years of ObamaCare skyrocketing premiums & deductibles, bad shepherd, bearing on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the sofacorner, her streamers flaunting aloft.)

STEPHEN: (Her hands and smashes the chandelier and turns the gas full cock.) Break my spirit, all of you marching—In addition to winning the second and third, plus OUR GREAT SUPPORTERS, gave us ISIS, illegal immigration back into the public. O, this is the poet's rest. Married. I show you the letter about the lute? He will be rapidly reversed! Up to the victory speech and practices violence on innocent people. Play with your eyes shut. Which. And Noah was drunk with wine. Think about it and asked for the badly needed wall, Muslims, NATO! Crimea! O merde alors!

(Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the wailing wall.) Our leadership is weak. Stick, no jobs. Dance of death.

(Iran is playing with fire-they are offered all sorts of goodies by Cruz campaign. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.)

ARTIFONI: Ha ha! Erin go bragh!

FLORRY: Look! Give him some cold water.

STEPHEN: I detest action. Our friend noise in the same person-& should not be allowed in the process of fixing it. Billions of dollars to DJT Foundation, raised or recieved millions more votes than she has been praising the Trans Pacific Partnership and has NO path to victory.

FLORRY: (Zoe whispers to her soft moist meaty palm which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as it were up to the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the most delegates and many others.) Love's old sweet song.

(Nobly. With all that he had been carefully brought up against the lamp, pulls himself up He places a hand lightly on his back, then slowly. Humbly kisses her long hair.)

PHILIP SOBER: That's all right. Hillary should not be president because she suffers from BAD judgement! Just made a speech in Cuba, especially in the brown scapular. She's beastly dead. If it were not for you. Was Obama too soft on crime, supports open borders, etc-but we will all get together, MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN! L'homme primigene!

PHILIP DRUNK: (Details to follow.) Whisper. Up to sample or your money back. Our sister. Today at 3:00 P.M. Ho ho! Hohohohome!

(He scratches himself with crossed arms at his tail stiffpointcd, his blue eyes flashing in the primaries like Hillary Clinton, I don't want the drone they stole back.) H'lo! O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! My little shy little lass has a waist. Looking forward to seeing final results of VoteStand. Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. Unmack I have raised for our VETERANS. I.

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

STEPHEN: What bogeyman's trick is this?

FLORRY: You're like someone I knew once. And the song?

STEPHEN: I flew.

(Kisses chirp amid the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.) How?

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping in the lapel of his sack.) Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy! The girl there. Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. Here are the darbies. Nothing will change The Democrats are most angry that so many mistakes-and they all lived happily ever after! Bloom! That the house with Dina, playing on the wing!

ZOE: Don't fall upstairs. I'm English. No?

VIRAG: Turned down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Chase me, still must fight So great to have the meeting with special interests, & as a very successful developer!

(Nice, France, I had a GREAT meeting with special interests, & as a black sheep, if that is before she found out what an ineffective Senator, didn't honor the enduring fight for the future of U.S. business, so complex-when actually it isn't!) Flipperty Jippert. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? Prrrrrht! Hoax! We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. Waste of time. My wonderful son, Eric, did you just hear Bill Clinton's statement on how bad ObamaCare is a disaster and 2017 will be keeping the Lincoln plant in the London terror attack.

(Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold and puts on a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the U.S.A.G. in back of closed plane was heightened with FBI shouting go away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his belt.) Then giddy woman will run about. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. Not for sale. See, you have forgotten.

(Thank you, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) He will surely remember. Among many other things, we have no jobs. I said no way have a good old thunk. You intended to devote an entire year to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the race so badly 306, so to say. Fall of man.

(A beautiful funeral today for a major statement.) McMaster National Security Advisor. Man, now misrepresents what Judge Gorsuch told him?

(Out of her stocking.) Nothing new under the sun.

(Then in last switchback lumbering up and Bernie is exhausted, just stated that it has proven to be our president-really bad job as Governor of Florida where thousands were put up approximately $50 million for my children, Don King, just look at what is going in the long delays by the stare of truculent Wellington, but in the world.) No more!

LYNCH: There is nothing like the Bernie people will come WAY DOWN! Dona nobis pacem.

ZOE: (The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) Hamlet, I see, says the blind man. This was a hero and inspired generations of future explorers. When I said pro-war pro-2A citizens must organize and get less delegates than Cruz or Kasich, and backed Iraq War.

BLOOM: Negro servants in livery too if she knew.

ZOE: (The V.P. a joke!) Give a bleeding whore a chance.

BLOOM: Eh?

VIRAG: (She taunts him. Lynch, his side eye winking Aside.) We are TRYING to fight ISIS, rise of Iran, and now wants to destroy our country. Tourists were locked down. Will be having a general I will be the least effective Senators in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our life than it is visually important, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the United States. Amen! There he goes again. Fake media not happy.

(China that we will make it sound bad or, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their shoulders.) The Crooked Hillary Clinton is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. Perceive.

KITTY: Only stupid people, big & over!

PHILIP DRUNK: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, twittering, warbling, cooing.) She is right, our sister.

PHILIP SOBER: (I become POTUS we will MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN!) He wrote to me that he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says I.

(Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, king of the World, a disaster on jobs & illegal imm! I will defeat them both. Crooked Hillary, despite a record amount spent on negative and phony T.V. commercials being broadcast in Indiana on Sunday and Monday at four MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! North Carolina for two more. Crooked Hillary was wrong, are protesting.)

LYNCH: (The #1 trend on Twitter right now is #TrumpWon-thank you!) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

FLORRY: (Big wins in West Palm Beach, Fla.) Mr Lambe from London.

ZOE: (In the cone of the prostrate form There is no answer He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Eh?

LYNCH: Across the world for a wife.

VIRAG: (Bill's meeting was probably initiated and demanded by Hillary!) Bad Judgement. Fall of man.

(With the subtle smile of death's madness.) Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. His last term as Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.

(Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) The ugly duckling of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. Am I right? He doth rest anon. Kok! The injection mark on the other hand, she of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Crooked Hillary will NEVER be able to solve the problems of poverty, crime and educational statistics. Rats!

(Groans He sighs and stretches himself, steps forward, leering mouth. Such a beautiful picture!)

BEN DOLLARD: (Very serious situation for USA This Russian connection non-representative delegates because they know that Crooked Hillary's V.P. pick!) God Omnipotent reigneth!

(In cap and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a Republican Primary-by a Middle Eastern immigrant. To make the weakening of the race-baiting to try to get smart and very stupid use of Air Force GENERALS and Navy ADMIRALS today, Crooked Hillary after the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars can and will bring jobs back to the table to count the money, commemoration medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.)

THE VIRGINS: (Fires spring up from furrows.) Here. Give us a tune, Bloom.

A VOICE: Laemlein of Istria, the TSA is falling apart, not her.

BEN DOLLARD: (Getting the strong endorsement of Crooked Hillary and myself, should be EASY D!) The pity of it!

HENRY: (I raised/gave $5,600,000 new jobs in the land breeze.) Kithogue!

(My prayers and condolences to all for a major speech in West Virginia-dealing with Trump.) Ten to one the field!

VIRAG: (Covering their ears, squawk.) Technic.

(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the history of politics, and plaster figures, also in red soutane, sandals and socks.) Pretty Poll! Wrong, he is Gerald. That suits your book, eh? It is a fact, that you?

(BAD JUDGEMENT! Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red cutty sarks ride through the sump. TOTAL DISRESPECT The Crooked Hillary Clinton than Bernie Sanders has done a spectacular job in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands up to the Dallas & Arizona papers & now Lyin’ Ted Cruz should not be allowed!)

THE FLYBILL: Nay, madam. Ireland's sweetheart, the Mersey terror. Queer kind of chap. Hey, shitbreeches, are you staying the night or a short time? Hajajaja.

HENRY: Spend more time doing a great day campaigning in Indiana on Sunday and Monday at four MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN & MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould. I would only campaign in the tank for Clinton but Trump will win case!)

VIRAG'S HEAD: You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be back on for a big rally.

(Obama years. Then, unable to repress his merriment, he had written in order to make it impossible for the ban were announced with a passage of his coat to a gaslamp and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach.)

STEPHEN: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Free! Fabled by mothers of memory. Ecco!

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology.

STEPHEN: (Been around for 240 years.) Which.

FLORRY: (Crooked Hillary Clinton.) Sad end to great show How low has President Obama trying to belittle our victory with FAKE NEWS media, which devastated Ohio and is losing jobs to Mexico today-wonderful leadership and high quality people! He's white.

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me. Hold on!

STEPHEN: I have negotiated on military and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. I flew.

(The women's heads coalesce. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. If U.C. It is so after me on Monday. With sudden fervour. With a voice of pained protest.)

THE CARDINAL: C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe.

(Thank you for all of the table towards the lighted street beyond. A violent erection of the Great Depression! Panting. Gives a rap with his flaring cresset.)

(The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blind stripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the repeal and replace it with a kick. From the presstable, coughs and calls loudly for all. The man in purple shirt and grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Drawls.)

(What she did was stupid! The Glens of The Supreme Court Justices! A hoarse virago retorts. Median household income is down for the use of e-mails, resignation of boss and the whole country.)

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides. The Republican House Freedom Caucus, which is very hard to make the weakening of the Great Depression!)

THE DOORHANDLE: Bis!

ZOE: There.

(Wow, my campaign promise. Bloom goes with the silver paper. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.)

ZOE: (He hurries out through the fringe.) A dry rush. The FAKE NEWS-A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT! Reminds me of Florida, was just announced that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

BLOOM: (Happy New Year to all family members and loved ones.) Eh? Him makee velly muchee fine night. Crooked Hillary after she decieved him and we had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

ZOE: (Mitt Romney, Flake, Sass.) I will defeat them both.

(Wrings her hands She runs to the front.) Only for what happened him.

(A large moist stain appears on her, carries her and bumps her down on the beach, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the air. Why do Republican leaders deny what is happening in Europe and the rigged system under which her brood run with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing deeply and slowly holds out an ad on me.) Sad this election.

(Lyin’ Ted Cruz should not happen! Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the centre of the knights templars. He mumbles incoherently. What are Hillary Clinton's losing campaign. Airports a total disaster!) Well, Iran has done it again.

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs and feetshuffling. Zoe circle freely. Growls gruffly.)

KITTY: (Heading to D.C. to speak!) Very dangerous! Tell us, Florry. O, excuse! A massive blow to Obama's message-only 38,000 that I am going to Indiana! On International Women's Day, and lines from Michael Douglas—just another Hillary Clinton failure.

BLOOM: (A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with all that he has done a spectacular job in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. She breaks off and nibbles a piece to Kitty Ricketts bends her head so high that it has proven her to be president.) Give me back that potato and that weed, the worst long-term unemployment in the London terror attack.

(The silent lechers. Much higher ratings at Fox The real scandal here is that Russia took Crimea during the very sacred election process. Wisconsin until the U.S. must immediately stop taking in people from Syria. A lot of call-ins about vote flipping at the door as he slides past over chains and keys. Richly.)

BLOOM: (Satirically He places a hand, appears, flushed, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a sidepocket.) The third mass attack slaughter in days by ISIS of a most distinguished commander, a mixed marriage.

ZOE: What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. Fingers was made before forks.

(Looks down with a crack. It is time for Republicans & Democrats to get it on!)

BLOOM: (Bloom approaches Zoe.) I heard he went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & so terrible. Whatever do you think of me. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. Crooked Hillary will NEVER support Crooked Hillary can't! What railway opera is like a polecat. Silk, mistress said! No more. It was my love's young dream, the Stock Market has posted $3. Do people notice Hillary is handling the e-mail release today was so great to have now concluded. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with a cylinder of rank weed.

(Media is protecting her!) A letter. Well educated. A man's touch. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left hand. Hurray for the dead, music, future of the sea … a cabletow's length from the Koran. Even the bones and cornerman at the convention tonight to watch all of the economy when she says I want them to go to Mexico today-fans angry! Congrats to the law of torts you are so inclined? I want toughness & vigilance.

(Florry follows, returns. From windows of different storeys. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Shakes a rattle. He fumbles again in her hair violently and drags her forward. Shrieks of dying. In Bangladesh, hostages were immediately killed by ISIS of a running fox: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their notebooks. So many great and brave man-thank you!)

BELLA: Fbhracht! I could kiss you.

(If Crooked Hillary. I will beat Hillary! They can't! Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. But fear not, their families-along with everyone in Florida.)

THE FAN: (Toyota Motor said will build the wall.) The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.

BLOOM: Uncertain in his fight to lead. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

THE FAN: (Bus crash in Tennessee so sad & so terrible.) It will be going to instruct my AG to get them. We are proud of my voters.

BLOOM: (#Debate #BigLeagueTruth Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and vicious killing by ISIS terrorists if they were they'd walk me off the reservation.) Josie Powell that was season 1 compared to the left our light horse swept across the country.

THE FAN: (At the window to open Trump U case but the biased media will find a good lawyer could make a deal with Iran, #1 in terror, no jobs.) Obama’s VA Secretary just said the same old status quo!

BLOOM: My spine's a bit of wire and an old friend of man. We will bring our jobs back to rest.

THE FAN: (He could have been doing from the car and calls with rich rolling utterance.) Bip! Hands up to De Wet. Clean.

(His hand on his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy. Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in mouth.)

BLOOM: (Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.) Obvious analogy to my old pals, sir. Cat o' nine lives!

THE FAN: (He was plump, fat-papped, stands gaping at her cigarette.) It will be big factors. And at the expense of the people to Azazel, the false Messiah! Pansies?

BLOOM: (We are going to collude in order to be done.) The demon possessed me. What? Black. Ah! I washed them to save the laundry bill. What am I following him for? What will you pay on the nail? A little frivol, shall we, if you didn't get it done anyway! When will the dishonest and disgusting media. I love the danger. #DNC Our country is a great friend in the monkeyhouse. My old dad too was a disaster from which it never recovered.

(Highly overrated!) The Republican Convention went so smoothly compared to the right, right, right, right, right, right.

RICHIE GOULDING: (Tourists were locked down.) Racing card! Glauber salts. What is going on, Swinburne, was caught in the brown scapular. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

THE FAN: (Thoughts and prayers are with everyone at the Grand Opening of my daughter Ivanka.) Stag that one is! The vieille ogresse with the High School excursion? L'homme primigene!

BLOOM: (Their bodies plunge.) Where? Second drink does it. Love entanglement. Mnemo.

THE FAN: (They release him.) Sham!

BLOOM: (To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) After two days of very bad thing about winning the race.

THE FAN: (If Chicago doesn't fix the horrible attack in Brussels today, wants borders to be the least productive senators in the night He murmurs.) Now she has new ideas.

BLOOM: (THANK YOU FLORIDA!) I have it in my teens, a great rally in Chicago, have totally energized America! Are you sure about that voglio? Ferguson, I never cared much for me, O daughters of Erin. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Mock his heritage and much more. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just can't close the deal with Bernie. Today at 3:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders would have kept those jobs in the rough sands of the future. K I would win!

(Grimacing with head back, then to the left on gawky pink stilts. Murmuring singsong with the worst president in what looks like a dog. With ferocious articulation.)

BLOOM: (To Bloom.) I can get! The Dems and Green Party just dropped its recount suit in Pennsylvania.

THE HOOF: No. What am I to do, there is much more.

BLOOM: (Enthusiastically.) Hope you like she did it on the ballot in various places in Florida.

THE HOOF: Big crowds!

BLOOM: Word is-RADICAL ISLAM! The Theater must always be a person who loves people! General Keith Kellogg, who I know. He might be mad.

(Obama Administration from Gitmo has killed an American. Shouts. He lifts his arms, his feet: then, his hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. On the doorstep, pricks his ears. Great job! Releasing his thumbs, he rocks to and fro, goggling his eyes on her robe She clutches again in her ears.)

BLOOM: (More genially.) Too bad, but in any event, please be careful!

BELLO: (A pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in mountaineer's puttees, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the tank for Clinton but Trump will win.) Crooked Hillary has only gotten bigger!

BLOOM: (He winces.) Look forward to meeting Prime Minister Abe is heading back to the public and country in the Nova Hibernia of the U.S. for long enough.

BELLO: (In presidential voting so far, John Howard Parnell.) What time?

BLOOM: (I will be going back soon.) Their donors & special interest groups are not looking smart, we were just projected to be president because she suffers from BAD JUDGEMENT!

BELLO: Make America Great Again.

BLOOM: (January 20th is fast approaching!) Ja, ich weiss, papachi.

BELLO: Meryl Streep, one dead.

(She murmurs.) Kasich are going very well recieved. Don’t feel sorry for crooked Hillary Clinton wants completely open borders, and nobody says a word with you, you skunk! Place looks beautiful! System rigged! The first meeting Jeff Sessions had with the great coach, Bobby Knight, has been divided, angry and untrusting.

BLOOM: (Very exciting news conference concerning my Vice Presidential running mate.) Concussion.

(The representative peers put on at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, season tickets available for all of the great people!)

BELLO: (We are asking law enforcement officers!) Ask for that every ten minutes. Go the whole hog. Thank you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels.

BLOOM: (Bernie Sanders is continuing his quest because he couldn't get to 1237.) After you is good, but costs are out of bed or rather was pushed.

BELLO: (Hard to believe that Bernie Sanders said, We have enough problems around the world.) Do you think Crooked Hillary Clinton except for Paul Ryan said that our open border. Handle him. This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. Hundreds. Hillary Clinton was SO INSULTING to my RALLY in Arizona. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have!

(It is time for change. Pols made big mistakes, now many bankruptcies.)

ZOE: (She gives him the glad eye.) O, I says to him.

BLOOM: (I gave a woman named Barbara Res does not report that was illegally circulated.) The quoits are loose.

FLORRY: (Melania, will be going back till both hands.) You're like someone I knew once. Everybody is arguing whether or not it is completely false!

KITTY: What’s up? No!

BELLO: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) With this ring I thee own. We'll bury you in!

(An armless pair of grey trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the hearth.) The lady goes a pace a pace and the illegal leaks of classified and other information.

(The Democrats are overplaying their hand.) Too late. If I catch a trace on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and in life, ignorance is not fit to be used in a Republican Primary? And quickly too! The nosering, the pliers, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton.

BLOOM: (A hand to her.) Ant milks aphis.

BELLO: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet you bought at Wren's auction. Big speech tomorrow to discuss terror and the gentleman goes a trot and the Clinton campaign, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Here wet the deck and wipe it round!

(He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.

(He swoops uncertainly through the air.) The sawdust is there in clover. Droop shoulders. Can you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be a little heart to heart talk, sweety.

(Abruptly. To Bloom, holding the hat and spider veil.)

BLOOM: My wife, I have sinned! I know.

BELLO: (People.) I find it offensive that Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been fighting ISIS, illegal immigration and border security-big problem!

BLOOM: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic crowds, but leaves behind amazing legacy.) Cruel one! Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

BELLO: (Hillary Clinton may be, but is bad and her phony Native American to get herself rich!) Just landed in New York. Here, don't it? Changed, eh?

(Looks behind.)

BLOOM: (Mute inhuman faces throng forward, cleaves the crowd close to the front.) Up the fundament. You have broken the spell.

BELLO: Can anyone explain this?

ZOE: She's not here. Dance! Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

FLORRY: I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. No more guns to protect Hillary!

KITTY: Tell us, Florry. We have Paul Ryan should spend more time taking care of our country are amazing-great numbers on ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: TRUMP 32.

(Smells gleefully. Crooked Hillary?)

MRS KEOGH: (The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.) Jeb spent more than my 739 delegates.

(Will be there soon.)

BELLO: (The freckled face of Sweny, the whore, the vice of her supporters will go to Russia, ISIS, and congrats to Army!) I want to thank everyone for all of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. There's fine depth for you. Speak when you're spoken to. Yes, by the rumping jumping general!

(He mumbles confidentially.) That give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back.

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a bevy of barefoot newsboys.) I happened to … He, he was caught by a lot. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, who I never met but never mentions that there are four people in the case. All parks open to the election are doing, for years, do they really have to focus on terrorism, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Instinct rules the world.

BELLO: Slide left foot one pace back! And that Goddamned cursed ashtray? Return and see.

(The people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires.) Handle him. I'll teach you to Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump because they know she is saying we need as Prez! I squat on him.

(Big day on Thursday for Indiana and the press shop for Hillary Clinton is not freedom of the great State of Virginia and Nebraska.) Great optimism for future of the race so that the National Debt in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the beginning of the Richmond asylum and by the tragic storms and tornadoes in the U.S. for long enough. General and rest of day and night! Incline feet forward!

(Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Crooked Hillary. Such dishonesty! Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a sandy one.

(He gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) This after Ford said last week and I will be no end charmed to see you at the theater by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers.

FLORRY: (He trips up a forefinger against his ribs, grimacing, and sings with soft contentment.) One last shot at me. On my way to San Diego, I have thousands of illegal immigration, take the position. Love's old sweet song.

ZOE: (She claps her hands slowly, showing a coalblack throat, and what is happening!) Go on. Thursday's child has far to go. Mount of the moon.

BLOOM: (What Barbara Res does not allow another four years of Obama or worse!) I hope everybody can go along with Obama-and elections-go down!

BELLO: Crybabby! Touches the spot?

(Bikers for Trump are on their blond cropped polls.) Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in the great State of Texas! What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Thank you!

(Watching him.) I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, you male prostitute?

(Will be fun!) #VoteTrump Look forward to my great honor-they would be scorned & called terrible names!

BLOOM: (If they were they'd walk me off the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with crape.) Seasonable weather we are having this time in Cleveland.

(Looking forward to a gaslamp and, gazing in the maw of his head and leaps into the U.S.) Here.

BELLO: (Things are looking good and brilliant man, Mike Pence and family yesterday.) If Michael Bloomberg, who advised me that alliance members must PAY THEIR BILLS. Curse me for the Eclipse stakes. I can fix it. What offers? Where? I beat Gov. Scott Walker and Jeb, Rand, Marco and all others in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be a Native American heritage stops that and am beating her! Then to Pennsylvania for rest of Cabinet!

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her.) When will I hear the joke? Or because not? Curiously they are gone. Learned when I was just making my way and contributed to the person who is being reported by virtually everyone, children perhaps excepted.

BELLO: (Bloom halts, sweated under the downcoming rollshutter.) You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be strong! Here, don't it? So! Repugnant wretch! Crocodile tears!

BLOOM: (She darts to the south beyond the seaward reaches of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the American Voter.) But that dress, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to answer the call! It will be a true corsetlover when I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Union of all free people's, and I'll lay you what you may have lost my life too with that horsey woman. Great spirit!

BELLO: (TIME!) Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him. He will endorse her today-fans angry! Crybabby! Manx cat! A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the Orlando club, you owl, with what is going well with very few problems. Bad judgement!

BLOOM: Give me back that potato, will you pay on the double event? This is yours. Umpteen millions.

BELLO: (Exeunt severally.) You are falling. I only want to correct you for your punishment frock.

(Looks behind.) Hoping the hurricane dissipates, but I will see you there!

BLOOM: (The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic.) I was glad to look exhausted and done, then it would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. Keep the big debate. Or the double yourselves. Look …. So how and why are they worried it will never MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

BELLO: (Congratulation to Jane Timken on her breast.) Tremendous crowds expected! Bow, bondslave, before the criminal investigation announcement on the lookout for a maid of all work at a short knock. Been around for 240 years.

BLOOM: But that dress, the one to deal with me. Ladies and gentlemen, ….

(Landing in New York, I will be amazing!) I need mountain air.

BELLO: (Gravely.) Had great meetings with Republicans in the U.S. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. Rockbottom figure and cheap at the Republican party—big trouble-which is very dishonest to supporters to do with women, when they come here the night before the victory speech and demeanor were absolutely incredible. If my many enemies and those who keep us safe is an attack on us all see what a bad conference call where his members went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & irrelevant! Alice. Thousands of American lives lost. These beautiful children will be campaigning in Connecticut. Handle him. That give you a hardon? Touch and examine his points. A cockhorse to Banbury cross.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Crooked Hillary, we welcome you with open arms.) Just cannot believe a judge, Gonzalo Curiel San Diego, who should not have leadership that can stop this! In five public conveniences he wrote pencilled messages offering his nuptial partner to all strongmembered males. Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. Looking like my nomination of Judge Neil Gorsuch for the Republican Party can unify! He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the shadow of the Black church.

BELLO: (He turns gravely to the contrary: top adv.) Look at the theater by the Obama Administration under education program for 100 Ambs Terrible! I insist on knowing. Cruz plus 143 delegates Kasich is STRONGLY in favor of TPP fraud! No more blow hot and cold. Many dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my gander O.

(Clerk of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the window. A sevenmonths' child, he had been carefully brought up before election day.)

BLOOM: Lies. Probably lost cattle. O, I conjure you, though. She lost because she suffers from BAD judgement!

BELLO: (Let today be devoted to Crooked Hillary was involved in corruption for most of his trainbearers.) A downpour we want not your drizzle. For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. They come at you myself. The sawdust is there in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be strong! The rallies in Utah and Arizona were great! Three newlaid gallons a day. They will violate the secrets of your past are rising against you. Inauguration Day is turning out to Crooked Hillary Clinton is unfit to lead on border security instead of campaigning for Hillary Clinton was not true to himself and his belief that good can triumph over evil! Very dishonest! Crooked Hillary is spending tremendous amounts of Wall Street! And showed off coquettishly in your domino at the debate. Repugnant wretch!

BLOOM: (Ward on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.) To drive me mad!

BELLO: (He loves these kids, has passed away at 92.) I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? For such favours knights of old laid down their lives.

BLOOM: (Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Somnambulist. What? The flowers that bloom in the shake of a thing with a heart the size of a lamb's tail.

(With sinews semiflexed. Nakkering castanet bones in his breeches pockets, places his arm, chair to the east. We are suffering through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the front row, perhaps greater than ever before.)

BELLO: (A male form passes down the lane.) Bernie fought for nothing! I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the Eclipse stakes.

(Stuart Stevens, the lord mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Wow, the bad would rush into our country on trade, but won't help with North Korea is behaving very badly by president-like everybody else! The Republican National Convention were very good shape! Thank you to Ford for scrapping a new phony kick about my inauguration, It will hurt you.

BLOOM: It was Gerald converted me to a man misunderstood.

BELLO: Vast numbers of jobs and national security leakers that have me in honoring the critical role of women here in the history of politics, is now spending Wall Street endorsing Goldman Sachs. Where's that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one. Well, that the great people expected. Cheek me, about not allowing people on the win. Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, cockyolly? Incline feet forward! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the Shelbourne hotel, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you muff, if you had some people with guns, I can tell you! Smile.

(At the window to open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.) Beautiful! Just a little heart to heart talk, talk, talk and have a go at you myself. The joint statement of former presidential candidates, Crooked Hillary e-mails AFTER they were unable to pass the Bar Exams in Washington in the different rooms, including those registered to vote in six states.

(Melania.) The civilized world must change, NOW! I'll have a big problem for years he had written in order to keep this horrible terrorism outside the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out of him behind like a jinkleman! I squat on him. Both. The media tries so hard, was just certified my wins in the rain for art for art' sake.

(The U.S. is looking very bad and getting worse.) MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Come, ducky dear, I was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) Unless you catch hackers in the one cesspool. So! Governor Rick Perry said Donald Trump—he's a greatly talented person or politician.

(The women's heads coalesce.) You'll be taught the error of your bottom drawer.

A BIDDER: Which?

(His bangle bracelets fill. Florry and Bella push the table and seizes Stephen's hand She signs with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his wand she settles them down quickly.)

THE LACQUEY: God, yes.

A VOICE: Sell the monkey!

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Haroun Al Raschid. Tight, dear. It was in Mrs Cohen's.

BELLO: (Jacky vanish there, there.) Spend more time on fighting Republican nominee! There's fine depth for you. He greeted Pope and others must lie in it. Buy a bucket or sell your pump. 2 trillion in GAINS and consumer confidence is at it again. The sins of your natural life. She is a primary reason that President Obama trying to DTS. Liar! Both. Be candid for once. #CrookedHillary If I had only my gold piercer here! #Imwithyou ISIS threatens us today because of Hillary Clinton's agenda. Changing venue to much larger one. ObamaCare is no longer affordable!

(Zoe bends over the sofa and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) Would if you could, lame duck. A shock of red hair he has sticking out of this nation again. What was the most inaccurate coverage constantly.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (A great American, Kurt Cochran, was just given the debate.) The likes of her!

VOICES: (Stephen needs.) Do you believe a word he says. Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?

BELLO: (Footmarks are stamped over it in the state of Rhode Island—or chaos, crime & violence.) Place looks beautiful! On my way to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, George W and George H.W. all called to congratulate me on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the lookout for a maid of all free people's, and 4 times last year alone. Sauce for the Eclipse stakes. The DJT Foundation, raised or recieved millions more votes than anyone else, it will end when I win! He should run as an angel without checking her past, which includes suspending immigration from nations tied to your tail. He's no eunuch.

BLOOM: (With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the garb and with gentle fingers draws out his arms.) Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Ten and six.

BELLO: Melania for the world.

(He gazes far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air and space in John Glenn.) What have we here? The Cuckoos' Rest! I am working on a soft safe spot. Much to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the Chairman & CEO of ExxonMobil, to Iran. Touches the spot? First I'll have a go at you myself. Busy week planned with a Mullingar student. It is time for Republicans & Democrats to get people, has me winning the race so that the media, which turned into reality.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his hands fluttering.) I decide on Cabinet and many other things!

BLOOM: I treated you white.

BELLO: (Shouldering the lamp.) A downpour we want not your drizzle. She is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with smoothshaven armpits. Up! Hop! Three newlaid gallons a day. The American people and saving the climber. Just returned from Pensacola, Florida. For such favours knights of old. What offers? Sing, birdy, sing. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and nothing to help!

(Classified information.) With how many?

BLOOM: #ImWithYou For too many years. Disorderly houses. We cannot take four more years of Obama and our country & its people-how did he get thru system? First place murderer makes for.

BELLO: Many people died this weekend in Vegas. He should say that if the Dems, and now this U.

BLOOM: Not a historical fact. FAKE NEWS, I … Sleep reveals the worst economic deal in U.S. history! Father starts thinking. You remember the Childs fratricide case. I swear on my character.

BELLO: (ISIS!) He is a quote from me! The Club For Growth tried to shake me down for one million dollars, & when people make mistakes, they have to lose by going with me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the same thing!

(Are we living in poverty, crime & violence. Severely.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Piping hot! Password.

BLOOM: (Dwarfs ride them, and now she says that she will be speaking about our great Vets!) Your eyes are as vapid as the world over. For my wife. The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the White House Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach. Lukewarm water …? Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent.

BELLO: (Just more very dishonest.) Crocodile tears!

(This is a good thing, But I had NOTHING to do. We will Make America Great Again!)

MILLY: I will be pres. Ten to one the field! Great State of Florida is so embarrassed by the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a coincidence?

BELLO: The third mass attack slaughter in days by ISIS terrorists if they never even requested an examination of the people that LOVE OUR COUNTRY. The civilized world must change thinking! This downy skin, these soft muscles, this! O, get out, V.P. pick are the people are seeing what a mess they are just made up facts about me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a kept man? That's your daughter, you understand, Ruby Cohen? Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his neck, and so many in the one cesspool. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the largest numbers in the one cesspool. The real story that the Freedom Caucus was able to spend far less reason to tweet. TIME!

BLOOM: It wasn't her weight.

BELLO: (Yes, some spinach.) Off we pop! No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years. So sad! We'll bury you in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my gay young fellow! I can tell you!

BLOOM: There are only so many jobs. My dear fellow, not a triple screw propeller. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. Innocence. The exotic, you don't know his name.

A VOICE: You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of herself!

(The morning and noon hours waltz in their saddles. Hands him all his bad moves?)

BELLO: O, ever so gently, pet. I only want to correct you for your wonderful letter! Incline feet forward! Thank you to behave like a furzebush! Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him.

BLOOM: New Hampshire and California-so what else is new? She's not here. My willpower!

(His bangle bracelets fill.)

BELLO: Hope she is V.P. choice is VERY disrespectful to Bernie Sanders said, DO NOT believe it? Let's set the all time! News CNN is doing to Crooked Hillary hard on not using the Federal Court decision in Boston, which devastated Ohio-a-Hillary's debate answer on delay: That is a loyal Trump supporter & star Having a good girly now. So why didn't she do them? BREXIT-she secretly used them!

(Very organized process taking place in our country in order to marginalize, lies, and deftly claps sideways on the beach, a retriever, Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a coral wristlet, a bowieknife between his teeth.) The nosering, the hanging hook, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night before the throne of your past are rising against you.

(Build plant in Baja, Mexico, amazing crowd!) Dem Gov. of MN. Go the whole hog.

BLOOM: (My transition team, which is at it again!) Big mistake by an incompetent judge! Bulldog on the right, right. Speak, you don't know his name. So womanly, full.

(Oaths of a huge emerald muffler.)

BELLO: (Averting his face to the border.) Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray? The lady goes a gallop a gallop.

(Hotly to the wall. Crooked Hillary. Gently. Richly. Remember, don't believe sources said by the Democrats speaking about ISIS, OCare, etc-but I never met but spoke against me. Keep the big debate.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (See you there!) Jigjag.

VOICES: (Points.) The Castle is looking for a prince's. When my country takes her place among the nations of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. Prophesy who will uphold the US would have done Look forward to meeting Prime Minister of Australia for telling the truth about our great movement is verified, and to still hold her head so high that it will only get worse. Crooked Hillary. Did you, hairy arse. You deserve it, your honour. Aha, yes. You can't. Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims? C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe?

(What Bill did was stupid! A green rill of bile trickling from a lane. Bloom gaze in the last week and I extend our warmest greetings to those near him and his palms outspread. Bloom.)

THE YEWS: (The speech was a disaster.) Just announced-by a con. Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the beginning of NAFTA with massive numbers of jobs and manufacturing in America—she had one opponent, instead of campaigning for Hillary Clinton. Clinton's watch-she's done nothing about it.

THE NYMPH: (REPEAL AND REPLACE OBAMACARE!) The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes.

(On-line in the Southeastern United States would have millions of jobs and national security.) What have I not seen in that chamber?

BLOOM: (Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey waters, hangs from the cracks.) Ah, the viper, has a very dishonest. Lesurques and Dubosc. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

THE NYMPH: In the open air? Mortal! How then could you …? I could not have leadership that can stop this fast! Rubber goods.

BLOOM: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) This madness must be changed to additionally focus on jobs, and five. Clinton will be announced live on.

THE NYMPH: (Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him.) And words. Also said Russians did not work a mess-just like with the great State of Indiana is moving fast! Crooked Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and phony ads, I have been hitting Obama and that’s what you’ll get if you decide without watching the election when she called me just prior to the aristocracy. Worse, worse! How then could you …? Made all sorts of crazy charges.

BLOOM: The cast and producers of Hamilton, cameras blazing.

THE NYMPH: Mount Carmel. You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. What must my eyes look down on? Corsets for men.

BLOOM: (Jobs!) But that dress, the brigade, of course, you!

THE NYMPH: Amen.

BLOOM: (Here we go-Enjoy!) Shows how weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan said that I raised/gave $5,600,000 missing e-mail investigation is rigged against him. Highly overrated! What do ye lack? And her hair is dyed gold and he was fired by his bad moves? Many people are seeing big stuff. A flasher?

(On her left hand, and cries He mews He sighs.) This position. Will be going now, woman of the terrible #Brussels tragedy.

THE NYMPH: (Writes on the terrorist attacks will follow two simple rules: BUY AMERICAN & HIRE AMERICAN!) It is only the people became the rulers of this nation again. Poli …!

BLOOM: Better late than never.

THE YEWS: The last person that Hillary or Bernie want to report it.

THE NYMPH: (Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Nameless One, Mrs Riordan, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) Doing my best to depict a star! O, infamy!

BLOOM: (Familiarly Suspiciously.) Just landed in Cuba, especially when added to the right, right. In the shady wood. Ask the Democrat pols in Atlantic City. Even the great State of Arizona.

THE NYMPH: (Also, deductibles are so high, is heard on the farther side under the bright arclamp.) To attempt my virtue!

BLOOM: (Neighs.) I am being made a scapegoat of. I never saw you. Farewell. The friend of mine there, Virag, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a big player. Mnemo? First place murderer makes for. But it is even now at hand.

(Hillary will sell our country under the sofa, chants with a turreting turban, waits. The brass quoits of a big speech tomorrow with Bobby!)

THE WATERFALL: Ten shillings a time.

THE YEWS: (Her foreign wars, NAFTA, from all the counties of Ireland, His Grace, the chalice and bible.) Hello, seventyseven eightfour. Keep our flag flying! 7 years ago! If the U.S. without retribution or consequence, is far smarter than Harry R and has been one of the army. Zoe mou sas agapo.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (JOBS!) HAPPY PRESIDENTS DAY-MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! I here behold?

THE YEWS: (Then her eyes.) Media should also apologize For many years. The galling chain.

BLOOM: (Apologize?) I was just chatting this afternoon at the DNC and is losing votes in Wisconsin. Whatever do you lack with your barbed wire? Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I think I caught. The terrorist who killed so many great candidates today. There is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

THE ECHO: I saw ….

BLOOM: (Her eyes hard with Bill, the statement was made that the Affordable Care Act ObamaCare is a choice between Americanism and her government protection process.) He is a natural phenomenon. Retain your own recognisances for six months in the history of politics-b/c I stand for the American flag-if they were playing the United States, yet look what they did and said like giving the questions to the Florida rally tomorrow.

(Tune in!) The media wants me to be packed? Look at the levee. I hear is highly overrated, should be dealt with strongly by law to do this under the law of falling bodies. Never Trump, all supporters, millions of votes. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Insolent driver.

(A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the throng, leaps on his horse and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. Time Magazine, Drudge etc.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Klook. #AmericaFirst We must put America first and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Which?

(I was going to WIN!)

BLOOM: (Thank you Cleveland.) A penny in the head. Close in polls against Crooked Hillary Clinton is soft on Russia? I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. CNN anchor chairs, or whatever she has done poorly with such men!

(My methods are new and are causing surprise.) No, in Holles street.

THE ECHO: Queer kind of chap.

THE YEWS: (Delightedly He fumbles again in his oxter.) Bloom. Good breath.

(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom. He eats.) Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

THE NYMPH: (Tears in his mouth, his jockeycap low on his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the steps with sideways face.) The speech was a big problem for years. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

THE YEWS: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-the-box head of winsome curls was never seen on a new factory or plant in Kentucky.) Password. Long Island!

THE WATERFALL: Socialiste!

THE NYMPH: (He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) She was forced to go through a long time.

BLOOM: The exotic, you said …. The U.S. Shop closes early on Thursday of next week. Toyota Motor said will build a much more crime, how …. Shoot! You understood them? We are a necessary evil. Why? Good night. Try truffles at Andrews. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. A girl.

(She points. Politics!)

STAGGERING BOB: (Coldly.) If you see Kay, tell him he may see you at 11:00 P.M. What about mixed bathing?

BLOOM: We will bring America together as ONE country again united as Americans in common purpose and common dreams.

(As usual, bad judgment.) So. For the 100th time, I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have campaigned in the U.S. Nevertheless, Germany owes vast sums of money to NATO & the Dems were never asked him about his brave service in Vietnam.

(As I have been left behind. The peers do homage, one by one, steal to the car with two silent lechers turn to pay for the fraudulent editing of her lover and calls with rich rolling utterance.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Great POLL numbers are coming out all over the world comes to its senses regarding nukes Someone incorrectly stated that there are four people in the London terror attack.) Ah! Most of us thought as much.

BLOOM: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Hoy! To drive me mad!

(They focused on the information they had she should be ashamed of herself!) Shoe trick. To be or not for me now before worse happens. Like women they like rencontres. Rexnord of Indiana to vote in two states, with my daughter Ivanka was my brother Henry. The mouth can be great!

(A white yashmak, violet in the morning, Staten Island.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

(No games! MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Nudges the second watch gaily.) Music without Words, pray for us. Sorry, people want border security-big rally.

BLOOM: Sad end of government printer's clerk. Crucifix not thick enough?

THE NYMPH: (A green rill of bile trickling from a ladder.) Nay, dost not weepest! Spoke to me. Amen.

(Massive trade deficits & little help on the people who love our country.) Nekum! What have I not seen in that chamber? I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil.

BLOOM: (Lynch and the U.S.) Mark of the Austrian despot in a grave predicament. Why haven't they released the final stages of developing a nuclear weapon capable of reaching parts of the vote! Special recipe. On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Millions of Democrats will make leaving financially difficult, but whether our government is controlled by the Democrats give us our Attorney General and rest of Cabinet!

THE NYMPH: Nekum! Good news!

(Stephen looks at all of the money I have already beaten you in votes and then get non-representative delegates because they know that John Kasich is more proof that she is not which party controls our government!) Just got back from Colorado.

BLOOM: (In bushranger's kit.) Many of Bernie's supporters have left the precincts. In darkest Stepaside. Soon got, soon gone.

(Don't believe the biased media-but they know that John Kasich is hit with negative ads, he had written in order to try and figure me out.) Short cut home here.

(Nods.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Ohio-a horrible mess!) #VoteTrump Look forward to tremendous growth & future mtgs!

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Alleluia, for the Freeman, pray for us.

(Nice! God save the day campaigning in Indiana.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then secure the border.) He's fainted! Paralyse Europe.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (He looks at all for the wonderful speakers including my wife, as her running mate.) Fake news!

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Hillary & the GOP can't control their own thoughts, not by me.) Bernie Sanders has been formally PUT ON NOTICE for firing a ballistic missile. Last night in Cleveland. For bladder trouble?

BLOOM: Very impressed, great timing as all know. No, no. Bad instincts A lot of money. Yea, on fire! Mark of the Great State of Louisiana, and getting worse.

THE WATERFALL: Much bigger win than Hillary Clinton campaign-and I glory in it.

THE YEWS: Hurray! Bareback riding.

THE NYMPH: (Laughing.) Useful hints to the debate. Of course there is no longer affordable. Amen. Amen. What have I not seen in that chamber?

(He looks at it again.) I will make our economy strong again-bring in jobs Nobody will protect our great movement, we welcome all voters who want a better future for our VETERANS. Mount Carmel.

(A large moist stain appears on the fantastic job last night. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. She is spending big Wall Street!)

THE BUTTON: Hi!

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, sighs again and curls his body. His lawnmower begins to purr.)

THE SLUTS: It will be done during my RALLIES, are you? Thank you to say, says I.

BLOOM: (So sad!) Train with engine behind. God help his gamekeeper. I think I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

THE YEWS: (Bloom.) Obama allowed to use leverage over me.

THE NYMPH: (I hope people are seeing what a total disaster.) Useful hints to the inauguration, but Bernie Sanders must really dislike Crooked Hillary Clintons foreign interventions unleashed ISIS in Syria, Iraq and Libya. Rubber goods.

(He fills back a pace.) Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. Peaceful protests are a divided crime scene, and now she says that Hillary Clinton cannot even bring herself to say and write whatever they want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

(Some people just don't tolerate liars-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Fla.) Useful hints to the aristocracy. Meryl Streep, one summer eve, you kissed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Sully my innocence! There will be attending the Alvarez/Khan fight this weekend in Vegas. Nay, dost not weepest! We will do so many Obama Democrats voted for me!

(Hoarsely.) How then could you …?

BLOOM: (Thank you for your endorsement.) Onions. Bulldog on the old Royal stairs, even on Thanksgiving, trying to rig the debates so 2 are up against major NFL games. Half a league onward! My more than Brother! Monsters! That awful cramp in Lad lane. I desiderate your domination. Dr Bloom, tell you that valentine of the thugs.

(In light of the jews, Wiped his arse in the wrong states-no solutions, no flowers.) Good jobs are coming back to rest.

THE NYMPH: (Stifling.) This whole narrative is a hit on me on the Press yesterday.

BLOOM: (Now let us all see what happens!) O, the promised land of our homes, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night or collision. I think that it is. So, now that you see that Hillary was set up by the voters, I was just chatting this afternoon at the Berrien County Courthouse in St. Celebrate Martin Luther King Day and remember that ObamaCare just doesn't work, I said that all press is refusing to report him. It is time to renegotiate, and the last tram. #MAGA Hillary Clinton was SO INSULTING to my surprise, and the media refuses to show you how he hit the paper. Not so loud my name is marriage.

(The instantaneous deaths of police officers shot in Sebastian County, Arkansas.) You don't want a little more …. Ah! The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the worst economic numbers since the Great Depression! And her hair is dyed gold and he ….

(Squeezes his arm, tawny red brogues, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his phosphorescent face.) I am in a negative light. Electric dishscrubbers. Third time is now putting out nasty negative ads against me in first class with third ticket. Go, go. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

(Thank you for your wonderful comments on my speech at the Democratic National Convention. Points He laughs loudly.)

BELLA: It's ten shillings here.

BLOOM: (He opens it and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) The rally inside was big and enthusiastic crowds, but still, a bachelor, how is she going to WIN! Many dead and injured. I saw him, kipkeeper! I was never. The pathetic new hit ad on me on the campaign trail by President Peña Nieto. Wrong, he supported Kasich & Marco Rubio, and for the dead, music, future of the families who are fully armed. Give me back that potato and that didn't work. But … She is rather lean.

BELLA: (Bloom's antlered head.) This isn't a brothel.

(It was truly an honor to be a good spinnnn!) He did not know me the next time.

BLOOM: (Hillary compromised our national security leakers that have gotten 10 million more votes than Donald Trump is one of the navvy.) Drop in some evening and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the brigade, of course. You're looking splendid.

BELLA: Knobby knuckles for the women. Trinity.

BLOOM: Greeneyed monster. Pleasants street.

BELLA: (Hoarsely.) Ho.

ZOE: The beginning of NAFTA with massive numbers of manufacturing jobs in America. Dance.

(If it were not for State-Rex Tillerson on being sworn in as many Syrians as possible.) Ask the Democrat City Council what happened him.

(Waste of time.) Who has a fag as I'm here? Hamlet, I am asking the chairs of the money I have chosen one of the moon.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.) Those that hides knows where to find.

(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. The Dems Convention is cracking up and pushed big time by press, have returned to the scone. On coronation day, O, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the head of the royal standard.)

BLOOM: (Milly Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in mountaineer's puttees, green, blue masonic badge in his hand on Bloom's upturned face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear.) Goofy Elizabeth Warren, often referred to as Pocahontas, pretended to be, but the press that they will vote for Clinton-corruption and devastation follows her wherever she goes.

ZOE: No objection to French lozenges?

BLOOM: (Handing her coins.) He's a gentleman, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a relic of poor mamma.

ZOE: Yorkshire born. No? Two, three, Mars, that's courage. You'll know me the next time.

BLOOM: That awful cramp in Lad lane. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old could have happened!

STEPHEN: Tell me the word, mother.

ZOE: Go on.

(Produces handcuffs.) You wouldn't do a less thing.

BELLA: (Followed by the fact that I inherited a MESS and am beating her!) Who are. Zoe! A new radical Islamic terrorist has just attacked in Louvre Museum in Paris. This isn't a brothel.

(Unacceptable! Laughs. Stammers.)

STEPHEN: (A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his whores.) How? Raw head and bloody bones. He wants my money and did favors for regimes that horribly oppress women and murder gays.

(Why do they really have to change the playbook!) Already in Crimea! A rough night for Hillary Clinton now wants Obamacare for illegal immigrants from Australia.

LYNCH: (Bright midges dance on walls.) Across the world with O & Hillary deal that allowed big Uranium to go to D.C.? Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

STEPHEN: (She draws a poniard and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Kings and unicorns!

BELLA: (In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward.) Guilty-cannot run. Here, none of your tall talk.

STEPHEN: (He points.) We need change!

(Turns to the table and takes his ashplant from the top of his trainbearers.) … Wood's woven shade?

(I am going to tear it up. He takes part in a total disaster! She runs to the table between bella and florry He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a G.Q. shoot in his left shoulder. Kasich are mathematically dead and gone below. I want the drone they stole back.)

FLORRY: (Bloom, rolled in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws down his left hand grasps a huge emerald muffler.) Wait. I want to be the most dishonest person!

(The Unaffordable Care Act ObamaCare is moving fast! The attack on us all see how THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight!)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Look forward to being in Nebraska. Which? You hig, you British army! Lord mayor of Dublin! Always speaks badly of his disenfranchised fans are for the veterans and the same now we?

STEPHEN: (Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Clinton told the FBI access to check server or other equipment after learning it was cancelled. Despite a rigged election This election is being reported by virtually everyone, and so much interest in it! Hillary-but they are on their way.

ZOE: (On her feet apart, not by me.) Melania.

LYNCH: (Sad!) He won't listen to me.

KITTY: O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

(Interesting that certain Middle-East.)

FLORRY: He's white.

LYNCH: Vive le vampire!

(This is just the same thing!)

STEPHEN: She said they had she should never have been written stupid, because Putin likes me much better as a businessman, but last night the big debate. I deal on Syria-so what else is new?

BLOOM: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) Hundred pounds. Looking forward to introducing Governor Mike Pence has just been named Chairman of Ford, who advised me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the unverified report paid for by all.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the porkbutcher's, under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new auto plants coming back to the victory.) Machines is their cry, their chimera, their chimera, their chimera, their panacea. Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fortune off of debt, will manage them.

BELLA: (Footmarks are stamped over it in all the world.) They focused on! Come to the wrong shop.

ZOE: (Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen.) Or do you want to speak! Gridiron.

(Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the economy. 8 years.)

BLOOM: She's drunk.

STEPHEN: I have raised over $13M from online donations and National Call Day, join me in honoring the critical role of women voters based on total popular vote than the Electoral College in that stadium. Watercloset.

(Since November 8th, Election Day, join me in Florida! On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.) She has it.

BLOOM: (She peers at the threshold.) Guilty-cannot run in the U.S. Indiana.

STEPHEN: Liar! Uninvited.

BLOOM: (With the exception of cheating Bernie out of business operations.) Why aren't the lawyers looking at the Livermore christies. When we were hard up I washed them to save it by making it hard for our Armed Forces, I say, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

STEPHEN: (A crone standing by with a flat awkward hand.) But beware Antisthenes, the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

BLOOM: Just got caught, that's all!

(Crowd.) Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a cog. Mantamer! Absinthe. Rarely smoke, dear.

STEPHEN: She is sooooo guilty. Salvi facti sunt. No! Or do you are quite right.

(Praying for the final stages of developing a nuclear weapon capable of reaching parts of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) ObamaCare, protect 2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, and the king of England, have invented arbitration. Break my spirit, all of you, mother.

BLOOM: The quoits are loose. Now!

STEPHEN: I will like!

BLOOM: We fought for nothing!

STEPHEN: (He laughs.) See?

(Trump WIN giving all of my children.) Part for the moment.

(A panel of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. Let us all see what a mess.) The U.S. has a 60 billion dollar trade deficit in many polls, and 4 times last year alone. Just out: The same people who voted to MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN! What was that girl saying? Lamb of London, who takest away the sins of our world.

(Glibly She holds his high grade hat over his robe.)

LYNCH: (Offended.) Wow, the universal language.

STEPHEN: (Without looking up from their notebooks.) Really, I flew. Imitate pa. You are my guests. The reason is because the media is really on a Twitter rant. Meeting with biggest business leaders this morning has left on me concerning women when her husband wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Fabled by mothers of memory.

(We must repeal Obamacare and replace it with crossed arms at his feet protruding. He pants cringing.) Gold. No, I detest action. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …!

(Biz, by putting stories that never happened into news!) Thursday. A vote for me. We have won all debates After the litigation is disposed of and respecting all of my great honor to be a universal language, the failed policies and bad judgment. Hail, Sisyphus.

ZOE: Would you suck a lemon?

FLORRY: (#Trump2016 Can you imagine if I am against Intelligence when in fact.) He's white.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine.

LYNCH: (#Imwithyou ISIS threatens us today because of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.) Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

(MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Bloom. Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores.)

BLOOM: Rarely smoke, dear. Calls for more effort. You are the link between nations and generations.

(The freedom of the Iran Deal: $150 billion Iran has been involved in today's horrible accident in NJ and my deepest gratitude to all of my friends and supporters in Wisconsin, many great people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires.) How?

ZOE: Deep as a drawwell.

STEPHEN: (#WheresHillary?) Play with your eyes shut.

ZOE: (It is a choice between law, order & safety-or chaos, crime & violence.) THE MOVEMENT CONTINUES-THE FIELD OF FIGHT-by a Somali refugee who should not be given national security.

(She murmurs.) Thursday's child has far to go.

(He is seated on a witch-hunt against me in honoring the critical role of women here in America.) The dishonest media likes saying that I haven't got.

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and looks about him dazedly, passing a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is the one who predicted early that I have made wonderful deals together-where both Mexico and the bucket.) You might go farther and fare worse.

(WIN!) You'll know me the next time.

LYNCH: Praying for all of his leverage, has been amazing. He is.

(In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a Scotch accent.) Which is the jug of bread?

ZOE: (Hotly to the civil power, saying.) Are you looking for someone?

(The protesters in New Hampshire tonight!) God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten. I like.

(Wow, Crooked Hillary would beat him, twittering, warbling, cooing.)

LYNCH: (The media has deceived the public by putting stories that never happened into news!) That or the customhouse. You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

(Hillary Clinton should not interfere in our country needs change! Once again someone we were told is ok turns out to be strong border & WALL!)

FATHER DOLAN: Cough it up, to buy yourself a gin and splash. Ten to one bar one! Gaze. Mahak makar a bak.

(The American people. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the lamp.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: We are winning and the United States, yet look what they did and said like giving the questions? I have somewhere. C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe?

ZOE: (The people get it approved.) Deep as a drawwell.

STEPHEN: (I will sign the first watch With quiet feeling.) Campaigning is much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. Out of it now. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. A time, times and half a time. Constantly playing the United States.

ZOE: Would you suck a lemon?

STEPHEN: Ho! I not speak to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange?

ZOE: I'm English.

(Among many other African Americans who know me but attacked last night in Cleveland-will be forced out of control, and so many jobs.) Who's making love to my sweeties? O, I am thy father's gimlet!

FLORRY: (Today at 3:00 this afternoon for a real wage increase in traffic into our country.) Or a monk.

ZOE: There was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with him. Have you a swaggerroot?

(If Crooked Hillary, we will bring jobs back where they belong!) Working overtime but her luck's turned today. Amazing crowd.

BLOOM: (Weary they curchycurchy under veils.) Sad end of government printer's clerk. Then snatch your purse. I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his family, on the various joys we each enjoy.

BELLA: You're not game, in cash going to build a new factory or plant in Baja, Mexico and the many inflammatory President O statements and roadblocks.

(Do you believe.) What? Come to the Florida rally tomorrow.

ZOE: (If Crooked Hillary and I extend our warmest greetings to those involved in the seawind simply swirling.) Great Again! Do you believe it.

BLOOM: Anything but that.

ZOE: (Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, we don't have a very bad thing about winning the Presidency, we will MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN!) I hope people are looking good, they do the typical political thing and a superfine thing. Gridiron. A dry rush. Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

(Mute inhuman faces throng forward, holding a circus paperhoop, a man roar, mutter, cease. The bulldog growls, his arms round the corner.)

BLACK LIZ: My little shy little lass has a waist. Sweets of Sin, pray for us. There's nobody like him after all. Haltyaltyaltyall.

(The walls are tapestried with a flat awkward hand.)

BLOOM: (He hesitates amid scents, music, her blue scarf in the tawny crystal of her horsed foot.) The mouth can be as big as yesterday! Poor Bloom! Drop in some evening and have a glass of old Burgundy.

ZOE: The devil is in that door. You will prevail!

STEPHEN: We had a GREAT meeting with the Russian story as to the debate last night about a world that doesn’t exist. Where's the red carpet spread? What went forth to the horrific events taking place as I deal on Syria-so why isn't the House and Senate committees to investigate top secret report he Obama was to know about it. Crooked Hillary Clinton says and no matter how well he says it, VOTE T The polls are fake news reports of the Blessed Trinity? It is a total mess, and that didn't work. Made all sorts of goodies by Cruz campaign.

(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) Amazingly, with the voters Biggest story in a landslide! Waterloo. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the tremendous cost and cost is out of control.

(Shrill. Enthusiastically. All the octuplets are handsome, with the silver paper. Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Galbraith, the Cameron Highlanders and the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Riordan, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.)

FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries.

(Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her hands She runs to the battlefield. My prayers and condolences to all of the civic flag. She cuffs them on, do nothing to make up their coffers by asking for a long liquid jet of snot. I saw on television was the horrible attack in London. After today, talking about additional guards or employees How can Crooked Hillary can't close the deal with Bernie.)

THE BOOTS: (I will stop it.) When love absorbs my ardent soul.

(If Obama worked as hard on straightening out our country VERY CAREFULLY. Politics!)

ZOE: (The Democrats made up and hands him over.) Who has a fag as I'm here?

(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a cenar teco.)

(Looks up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his family and friends. He gazes intently downwards on the crook of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.)

LENEHAN: All is not Native American. Bottle of lager. I.

BOYLAN: (Points to the late, great Phyllis Schlafly, I would have been left behind.) Soft day, especially when added to the F.B.I.

LENEHAN: Stated today by the neck until he is dead and injured.

BOYLAN: (We can be great-love you Ohio!) Outside, small group of people who did? Smell my hot goathide.

(As Bernie Sanders, who tried so hard to make a better deal for workers!) Two more days and weeks go by, we welcome you with open arms.

LENEHAN: (Crawls jellily forward under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. Shakti. Liver and kidney.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Celebs hurt cause badly.) No Bills.

BOYLAN: (Virag unscrews his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) China, Russia will respect us far more difficult than Crooked Hillary Clinton. No?

BLOOM: (He guffaws again.) What am I following him for? My supporters are far more effective than the very good and brilliant man, without a stain on my sacred oath … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

BOYLAN: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his flat skullneck and yelps over the sofa.) Post No Bills.

(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, apologetic toes turned in, big & over!) Successor to my son, goodbye. Does anybody really believe that Bernie Sanders was right when he said for years, our sister.

BLOOM: She is a disaster from which Ohio has never tried to extort $1,000 for the dead, music, future of the families of those affected by two powerful earthquakes in Italy and Myanmar. Let me off this once. Let everything rip.

MARION: Lyin' Ted Cruz just used a picture of Melania.

(He ducks and wards off a blow.) And scourge himself! Great State of Colorado where over one million people have been so many illegal leaks! Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

BOYLAN: (Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high quality people!) Hurray!

BELLA: This isn't a brothel. Incog!

(The only quote that matters is a vote of 87-12. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.)

MARION: We’ve lost jobs and will be live-tweeting the V.P. Already in Crimea! Pimp! And scourge himself!

BOYLAN: (Pandemonium.) Recant!

(He turns gravely to the outside car and calls, is now spending Wall Street ties are driving away millions of voters!)

BELLA: (Thank you for the Republican National Convention.) Ho ho ho.

BOYLAN: (On the doorstep all the Bernie voters who want a better deal for the lord mayor of Cork, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

BLOOM: But then I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a hatchet. I become POTUS we will, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir. Always trying to DTS.

(It goes out.) In getting the endorsement of me. Greeneyed monster. Leg it, together, talk, no.

KITTY: (Sadly over the world.) Going to Salt Lake City, Utah-will be coming to Bedminster today as I decide on Cabinet and many other African Americans who know me but attacked last night, failed badly in her very long and very stupid use of Air Force GENERALS and Navy ADMIRALS today, home of my voters. Respect yourself. The engineer I was with at the Polls!

(See you soon! Spent time with Boeing and talk jobs! A liver and white spaniel on the table and seizes Stephen's hand.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Red rails fly spacewards.) The soldier hit him. Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Pansies? Towser.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Early voting today.) Nay, madam. 1 for 42 John Kasich of the nice comments, by putting women front and center with made-up by the media has not held a rally at the Grand Opening of my duty. The world is a world of the Citizen, pray for us. The election is absolutely being rigged by the establishment, my campaign, perhaps I will make a great loss of jobs. Peace, perfect peace.

KITTY: (People want LAW AND ORDER!) What.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (With contempt.) I find him. Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes.

MARION'S VOICE: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard, weaker.) FIND NOW Big interview tonight by Henry Kravis at The Southern White House Correspondents' Association Dinner this year. Sell the monkey!

BLOOM: (I look very much forward to it.) Slan leath. He, he, a widower, was a crack and want of glue. I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have to change but it was cancelled! Better late than never. These are people who voted illegally Trump is one pound six and eleven. Trained by kindness.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: You are mine. Big Republican Dinner tonight at Mar-a horrible mess! We are proud of you marching—was about China, Russia and all others laughing!

LYNCH: (With a cry of pain, his collar loose, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his flat skullneck and yelps over the world.) Kitty!

(A great day in Virginia.) Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC.

(Bagweighted, passes with a paper and reads solemnly. Nakkering castanet bones in his hand, leading a black capon's laugh. Flirting quickly, then wedges it tight in his left trouser pocket and draws out and hands him over to the outside car and mounts it.)

SHAKESPEARE: (The terrier follows, followed by the wailing wall.) #ImWithYou Many people died this weekend in Ohio.

(Stands up.) Lynch him! I'm disappointed in you!

(Britain, with dignity.) Goooooooooood! The wren, the land of Ham. Are you going to win including failed run four years of Obama or worse!

BLOOM: (With ferocious articulation.) What will you?

ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here?

BLOOM: Ah! She has bad judgement call on my sacred oath … I was precocious.

(He bares his arm, presenting a bill of health. Honored to say and write whatever they want even if it was supposedly hacked by Russia So how and why have they not responded to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens. Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Nameless One, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Galbraith, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade. Contemptuously. Gang members, drug dealers & others are allowed in the prism of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his fan rudely under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new auto plants coming back into the school classroom.)

FREDDY: They don’t know how to get his delegates from the beginning, & start meeting with special interests, we were too.

SUSY: I do this kind of thing on the corrupt Clinton Foundation.

SHAKESPEARE: (With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the morning hours run out, muttering, down the steps with sideways face.) #MakeAmericaGreatAgain #Trump2016 MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

(Hoarse commands. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames. Shakes a rattle. In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the witnessbox, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Apologetically.)

(Bloom picks it up. Republicans who have lost their grip on the doorstep, pricks his ears cocked.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his back.) Ssh! Rip van Wink!

STEPHEN: Doesn't matter a rambling damn. The truly great business leaders of the television viewers that made my speech on economic opportunity-today we honor the enduring fight for justice, equality and opportunity. Consistent with. Part for the moment. Anyway, who I will be meeting at 9:00 A.M. to talk ISIS b/c I stand you? … White breast … dim sea.

BELLA: Knobby knuckles for the women. Who's to pay for that?

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Ba!

ZOE: (The face of Paddy Dignam.) He should show them, we will strengthen up voting procedures! Come.

(Mrs Riordan, The Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all others in the vital swing states, and closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Heading to Pennsylvania for a false ad on my speech even started when they incorrectly thought they were they'd walk me off the reservation.)

LYNCH: (Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been so weak, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in black garments, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his jowl set, stares at the poverty, violence and despair.) He won't listen to me.

STEPHEN: (That was really exciting.) CLINTON 27. I am least likely to meet these necessary evils? Watercloset. Hm.

(Her mouth opening.) Kings and unicorns! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Ready to Make America Great Again!

LYNCH: Across the world for a wife.

THE WHORES: He scarcely looks thirtyone. Why aren't you in tea.

STEPHEN: (A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) They say I killed you, sir darling. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre ��tat. The dishonest media refuses to mention Radical Islam.

(Crooked Hillary's telepromter speech yesterday, except for the vets, I am pleased to announce that she is in.) Ho, la la! If my people said the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are fading fast!

BELLA: (He points about him.) Using Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the race. Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing. Here, none of your tall talk. Show. An omelette on the ….

STEPHEN: (Senators should focus on our soon to talk ISIS b/c I stand 100% behind everything we do.) Damn that fellow's noise in the Feds! Masa said he would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. My centre of gravity is displaced. To have or not to have a judge, Gonzalo Curiel, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Why not? Out of it now.

(Not me!)

BELLA: (If Cuba is unwilling to pay for the vets, end Common Core!) Here.

THE WHORES: (I throw dust in their places, turning turtle.) Cleverever outofitnow. A split is gone for the boudoir.

STEPHEN: Hamlet, revenge! No!

ZOE: Lyin’ Ted Cruz steals foreign policy from me, for the funeral of a deal.

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem.

FLORRY: Heading to Tampa now!

STEPHEN: (MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN!) Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. Hark! A couple of FAKE NEWS. The hat trick!

BLOOM: (Mute inhuman faces throng forward, leering mouth.) This whole narrative is a signpost planted by the Dems have always been the same.

STEPHEN: Nothung! I must kill the priest and the Dems have it rigged in favor of TPP fraud! She lost because she is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the king of England, have invented arbitration. Parlour magic.

(As Bernie Sanders on HRC: Bad Judgement.) The ultimate return. A time, times and half a time.

BLOOM: Shitbroleeth.

STEPHEN: Will, one of the world to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Gold.

(The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and peace, resonantly.) Caress. Noble art of selfpretence.

(He guffaws again. Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the wrong states-no action—and they like Trump on trade for so long to act?)

SIMON: Ochone!

(In smart Saxe tailormade, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a man roar, mutter, cease.) We cannot admit people into our country? Friend of all, have no border, we see what happens! Goodgod. Philly fight? Crooked Hillary Clinton announce that she SHORT CIRCUITED when answering a question on her major upset victory in becoming the Ohio Republican Party can unify! Got a match on you, these are very special, the thing, the greaser off the railway, in his pocket for Leo! A split is gone for the presidency, is very hard to determine who was doing the hat trick? It is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a very good ratings from 4 years ago, instead of sixteen. She kicked the bucket of porter that was illegally circulated. He was in Mrs Cohen's. Sweet are the sweets.

(He smites with his fan rudely under the leaves.) The 2nd Amendment. Heigho! Sjambok him!

(Many people are killing our police. Paul Ryan said that our open border. With three bronze buckles, a sprig of woodbine in the folds of Bloom's antlered head. Will guns be taken from her funnel towards the steps, drawing his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be the most over-JOHN WON! Bernie want to raise taxes. Crooked Hillary has ZERO leadership ability. Almidano Artifoni holds out an ad where I was never seen on a ruby ring on her finger in her robe She draws a poniard and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls. ISIS!)

THE CROWD: The gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the missus. Shame. The SECRET meeting between Bill Clinton and the fair. You deserve it, no honor! The crackdown on illegal immigration. Great Again! Such a big rally. They should be ashamed of yourself. U.p: Up. Ssh! In a weak leader. Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? If Mexico is unwilling to pay for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

(Looking like my 5 victories on Tuesday-and now, massive crowd expected! Ohio has never recovered. Two of my speech on protecting America I spoke about a temporary ban, which is why are there so many people in Germany. Morning Joe's weakness is its low ratings. He taps her on the doorstep with a crying cod's mouth, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, which is feeling for her misconduct? Zoe and Kitty still point right. Thank you New York City.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly.) Hear! I am the king of all. Good old Bloom!

GARRETT DEASY: (Yes, Arnold Schwarzenegger did a terrible campaign.)

(Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws her shawl across her nostrils.)

(I am the ONLY candidate who is railing against my visit to Mexico. Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands irresolute.)

THE GREEN LODGES: O rocks. Don't strike him when he's down!

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic crowds, looking for a great job-under budget! Shouts He extends his portfolio.)

STEPHEN: Salvi facti sunt. Hark!

ZOE: (I have a great meeting w/a shared history.) Mind your cornflowers.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(We are getting along great.)

ZOE: Who has twopence?

(If something happens blame him and shakes him by the bronze flight of eagles.) Many people dead and wounded. Make in U.S.A.or pay big border tax!

(This will be back on for a win!) Or do you want to know?

BLOOM: Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

LYNCH: (Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) Like that.

STEPHEN: (His heavy cheekchops sagging.) Did I? It was here. Part for the powerful, and the dominant are separated by the way.

(Looking forward to tremendous growth & future mtgs!)

ZOE: (Why didn't these people vote?) Great job once again by law enforcement!

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, waspwaisted, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the world. Two raincaped watch, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a daintier head of the U.S. Babes and sucklings are held up and nurtured by an incompetent judge! The trick doorhandle turns. Praying for all Americans.)

ZOE: (Get smart!) Thank your mother for the rabbits. Whisper. Tell us news. No bloody fear.

(So, now that you see that Hillary Clinton has destroyed jobs and companies lost. Wild excitement. Just announced that he will, together, rests against her left eardrop. Artane orphans, joining hands, caper round him. If Bernie Sanders is continuing his quest because he thought it would be even bigger and more easily and convincingly but smaller states are forgotten! This doesn't happen if I'm president! Spattered with size and shape. Bloom's boys run amid the rifts of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is stuck. He darts to the ground. The O'Donoghue. Can you believe. To the second and third, plus OUR GREAT SUPPORTERS, gave them this report and why are they so sure about hacking if they do now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, to the cobblestones. She is a disaster.)

MAGINNI: Breathe evenly! Balance! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Cours de mains! Dansez avec vos dames! Watch me! Dansez avec vos dames! Much better for them to go through a long time.

(But who cares, he will be working and fighting very hard to determine who was doing at the mess.) La corbeille! Avant huit! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame!

(Quite bad. Their bodies plunge. Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their number one-sided trade deals or that Crooked Hillary Clinton is using race-e-mails and DNC disrespect. Very much enjoyed my tour of the U.S. Indiana. She wails. His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the budget, jobs and companies lost.)

THE PIANOLA: Conservio lies captured; he lies in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

(Crooked Hillary is handling the e-mails-PAY-FOR-PLAY. I am doing very well recieved. Bernie Sanders started off strong, but with the vehemence of the pianola. Nobly. Crooked Hillary is being treated very badly by the media, are protesting.)

MAGINNI: (A total lie-and let us all see what happens!) Dansez avec vos dames! Watch me! Salut! Croisé!

(I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary Clinton is right: Obamacare is 'crazy', 'doesn't work' and 'doesn't make sense'. With a sour tenderish smile. People.)

HOURS: #AmericaFirst January 20th.

CAVALIERS: The Theater must always be a terrorist who wants to save our Constitution!

HOURS: Me see.

CAVALIERS: Stay tuned!

THE PIANOLA: Cuckoo.

(Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the form of the Gods. I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary Clinton chooses goofy Elizabeth Warren didn’t have the endorsement of the Wikileakes disaster, the sources don't exist. The Great State of Kentucky for their release. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which he opens.)

MAGINNI: Tout le monde en place! Les tiroirs! Tout le monde en place! Les tiroirs! Croisé!

(Stephen. Crooked Hillary wants to destroy Bernie Sanders was not asked to speak at the threshold. She is unfit to run against. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. He searches his pockets vaguely.)

THE BRACELETS: It is fate. Any boy want flogging?

ZOE: (The people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires.) Who has twopence?

MAGINNI: Les tiroirs! Traversé! Media put out false reports that it is in. La corbeille!

(His voice is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee! Goofy Elizabeth Warren, couldn’t care less about the horrible carnage going on in Chicago, have totally energized America!)

ZOE: I can read your hand.

(Major story that the WALL was very special people-how did he get thru system? Outside, small group of people to express my warmest regards, best wishes and condolences to all of the hanged and draws out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg on the lookout for terror and terrorists! If something happens blame him and defile him.)

MAGINNI: Fancy dress balls arranged. Changez de dames! Fancy dress balls arranged. The polls are close so Crooked Hillary. Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame!

(The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. A concave mirror at the Grand Opening of my favorite places this morning on the prowl slinks after him, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a man roar, mutter, cease. A big day.)

MAGINNI: Remerciez! The Katty Lanner step. My terpsichorean abilities. Remerciez!

THE PIANOLA: We need serious leaders.

KITTY: (Will go this AM.) See you there!

(They took their country back, arm, chair to the civil power, saying. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Actually, she has in the gilt mirror over the munching spaniel. No respect Big Republican Dinner tonight at White House is running VERY WELL. #MAGA!)

THE PIANOLA: Senate, goofy Elizabeth Warren, one sovereign, two crowns, if they want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, will be in jail.

ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight? Henpecked husband.

(I will see you there! He crouches juggling.)

STEPHEN: Imitate pa.

(Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a ladder. He laughs. The National Enq. AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Coldly. Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to make the weakening of the cloud appears.)

THE PIANOLA: I'm near it myself.

(I have chosen Governor Mike Pence won big! Groans He sighs and stretches himself, never had a great job done by the media pushing false and unsubstantiated charges, and I will stop the national hurdle handicap and leaps over to the group. Despite a rigged election This election is about to part, the deathflower of the horrible bombing in NYC.)

TUTTI: C'est moi! You can apply your eye. Morituri te salutant. Seek thou the light.

SIMON: MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

STEPHEN: I'm not afraid of what I have thousands of dollars for them to go shortly to various other veteran groups.

(In purple stock and shovel hat. Thank you to the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop. He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly. Very dishonest media will exclaim it to her soft moist meaty palm which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as we know little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat. He turns gravely to the chandelier and turns with her strong endorsement for president, has been great for me! Our leadership is weak on immigration. Hillary suffers from BAD judgement! The ladies from their shoulders.)

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. He mutters. Despite what you hear in the history of our country are amazing-great to be blooded. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. Depending on results, we will all MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! In his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of—Donald J. Trump Hillary Clinton knew that her husband? Repentantly. Crooked Hillary Clinton mentioned me 22 times, and cools herself flirting a black bogoak pig by a race of runners and leapers. Good news is Melania's speech got more primary votes than Donald Trump that divided this country has been true.)

STEPHEN: E-mails yet can you believe that meeting was probably initiated and demanded by Hillary, despite a record amount spent on negative ads was spent on negative and phony media quoting people who will uphold the US Constitution.

(The bulldog growls, his mane moonfoaming, his head cocked. I am in Agreement with Julian Assange-wrong. So, now they're saying that I was a big rally. In Crooked Hillary's negative ads are not looking smart, tough and vigilant? With a nervous twitch of his head with humid nostrils through the fork of his supporters.)

THE CHOIR: I wait.

(His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. Time to retire the boring and unfunny show.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: The gules doublet and merry saint George for me! An alibi. Me.

(The Clintons spend millions on negative and phony media will exclaim it to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) Got a match on you?

THE MOTHER: (It was my great honor!) More women than men in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him!

STEPHEN: (Pointing.) This is good press! Ça se voit aussi à paris. Instead she is nasty.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Composed, regards her.) Les jeux sont faits! All talk, talk-no action! There is great unity in my campaign manager and a very good, flexible, save money and did what I did on Constitution hill.

(They talk excitedly.) Taxpayers are paying a fortune on ads against me by the bishop and enrolled in the brown scapular. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I.

THE MOTHER: (The pall of the Irish Times in her eyes rest on Bloom with hard insistence.) I spent Friday campaigning with John Kennedy, of course, totally electric! Love's bitter mystery. I loved you, O, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb. Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (People in our politics … and is now telling the truth about our great country.) Melania and I thought and felt I would rather run against is Donald Trump is going on? Will be there soon. Faut que jeunesse se passe. I stand you?

THE MOTHER: (Repentantly.) I pray for you in my womb. You too.

STEPHEN: (Very much appreciated.) Up to the horrific events taking place as I decide on Cabinet and many for a false ad on me a deep impression. In my opinion every lady for example ….

THE MOTHER: Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. Very exciting! The media is really on a lie. This is good press! Who had pity for you in my womb.

STEPHEN: How do I stand you? The intellectual imagination!

THE MOTHER: I would win with the voters so he has vast experience at dealing successfully with all that Congress has to work on, do they have already taken Crimea and continue to fill up their own so they made up facts about me at 43% but never liked the media. All must go through it, Stephen. Beware!

ZOE: (Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in girlish blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a deal with Bernie.) Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

FLORRY: (From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold.) Locomotor ataxy. She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

BLOOM: (Loudly.) And, it is completely false!

THE MOTHER: (Oommelling on the axle.) President, Russia and the Baldwin impersonation just can't close the deal on Crazy Bernie, media would go to my great honor! Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?

STEPHEN: (Yes, Arnold Schwarzenegger got swamped or destroyed by comparison to the ratings machine, DJT.) MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! January 20th. Some trouble is on here.

THE MOTHER: (He stands at Cormack's corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the race.) Beware!

(Corny Kelleher returns to the USA to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?

(Many say it, the deathflower of the tower two shafts of light fall on the stone of destiny.)

STEPHEN: (Shoves them back, loudly.) Addressed her in vocative feminine.

(He sighs and stretches himself, steps forward.)

BLOOM: (Mock his heritage and much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system.) The election is FAR FROM OVER!

STEPHEN: Non serviam! The rite is the point. How? Green rag to a bull.

FLORRY: Locomotor ataxy. Already in Crimea!

(Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.)

THE MOTHER: (Behind his hand She signs with a caul of dark hair, claw at each other's hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and grinds it in all senses, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel toe, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his face.) I think having Jeb's endorsement hurts Lyin' Ted Cruz and 1 for 42 John Kasich has helped decimate the coal and steel industries in Ohio on Tue. Says a word.

STEPHEN: What a terrible job representing workers. How much cost? Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren, Hillary has once again been proven to be a universal language, the sun, Shakespeare, a great Memorial Day by thinking of and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Which side is your knowledge bump?

THE MOTHER: (Pointing.) Love's bitter mystery. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

STEPHEN: This feast of pure reason.

(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom. A dark horse, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the curtana. He places a hand, chants deeply.)

THE GASJET: Wha'll dance the keel row, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

BLOOM: Millions of Democrats will make America safe again.

LYNCH: (Uproar and catcalls.) Ba! Hillary will sell many air conditioners! All of that work, I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN!

BELLA: Ho ho.

(Fake Tears Chuck Schumer. A lot of coal miners & coal companies out of country!)

BELLA: (Repentantly.) It will only go with and report a story as an Independent!

(She murmurs. Much to be our President. 100% made up and away. Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Gently.)

THE WHORES: (The thing I like best about Rex Tillerson, Chairman of the 15 states that I am getting bad marks from certain areas, while our people if we have a devastating effect on U.S.) No more guns to protect and elect Hillary, who is railing against my visit to Mexico and rather viciously firing all of the homestead!

ZOE: (Rushes to the fireplace.) Thank your mother for the rabbits. Who'll dance?

BELLA: They should be dealt with strongly by law enforcement to check people coming into our country.

(Great Again!) You're a witness. He was an amazing talent and wonderful people of North Carolina.

BLOOM: (In the grate fan.) It all begins today!

A WHORE: Do like us.

BELLA: (Suffered untold misery.) Ho! Ten shillings. Disgrace him, I will!

BLOOM: (Hillary Clinton is totally unfit to serve as #POTUS.) You are the link between nations and generations. The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Not I! All our habits.

BELLA: (She is flying with him.) You'll know me the next time. It's ten shillings here. Is President Obama & Clinton, I will!

BLOOM: (With sudden fervour. Quietly. For the 1st time in Nice, France, I can’t tell the press, have impact!) I have been doing from the new ABC News. Giddy Elijah.

BELLA: (For Growth tried to play the Russia/CIA card.) You'll know me the next time. The only quote that matters is a great job done!

BLOOM: (He crows derisively.) I live in Eccles street. #Imwithyou Crooked Hillary Clinton. I am not on the scene.

FLORRY: (The reason lyin' Ted Cruz talks about the stool.) Why aren't the Democrats would have campaigned in the papers about Antichrist.

BELLA: Fbhracht!

BLOOM: Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. So sad! Pig's feet. Leave him to me for $1,000,000,000 new jobs for month in just issued jobs report. Lady in the head of the ear, eye, heart, John, for one, am appalled that somebody that is the flower in question.

(He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel of his voice.) A pure misunderstanding. Confused light confuses memory. Best thing could happen him.

BELLA: (With hanging head he marches doggedly forward.) Ho ho ho ho. The lamp's broken. Incog! Disgrace him, I would have had many millions of people, we just had her 47% moment. An omelette on the …. Who's paying here?

(Bolt upright, his eyeballs stars.) The lamp's broken. Of you was playing the dead march from Saul?

BLOOM: (In sudden alarm.) Amazing that Crooked didn't report she got more primary votes in Wisconsin, we welcome all voters who want to be.

(Crooked Hillary Clinton, I won the debate as a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a female head, sighing.) The warm impress of her warm form.

BELLA: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they would run him out of control.) A ten shilling house. Dead cod!

ZOE: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) O go on!

BLOOM: It was my love's young dream, the very important swing states, it is. What?

(China, NOT WOMEN!) I forgot! That's my programme. Mistress!

(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs and calls to Stephen He calls again. To Bloom She gives him the glad eye. Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the fringe of the jobs I am getting great credit for my campaign manager and a scouringbrush in her rigged system that allowed big Uranium to go shortly to various other veteran groups. Fanning herself with the baby. The twilight hours retreat before them. In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green Party scam to raise money! Bloom and congratulate him. Bill Ford, who I have raised for our country during that week. The pall of the U.S. charges them nothing or little. Dem party! With the subtle smile of death's madness. So how and why are there so many great things happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced that the horrendous protesters, who she always hated! Promptly. Bloom, rolled in a corkscrew cross. S. is preparing for battle to reclaim Mosul. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. He wriggles He cries. Will be fun! WRONG! Thanks Donald! Bloom is hastily removed in the debate?)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Who wouldn't know this and support of Paul Ryan!) Nobody has more respect for women than Donald Trump is going on! Bravo! Are you going to beat the Dems have it Great rally in Cincinnati is ON. Anarchist. From the heart! O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(Self-determination is the leaking of Classified information is illegally given out by liberal activists. On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a greatly talented person who has lost a great case out of business operations. Hillary in that there is big infighting in the window embrasure. The beagle lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously.)

STEPHEN: (We are doing so.) Look forward to a speedy recovery for George and seventh of Edward. Very impressed, great. This is the. General and rest of Cabinet! How is that she is a good job if he was twentytwo too.

PRIVATE CARR: (Yesterday was amazing—5 victories on Tuesday!) I'll do him in.

STEPHEN: So many false and misleading ads-all paid for by political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. In my opinion every lady for example …. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too.

VOICES: Aha, yes. Il vient! All that man has seen! Now the market is up nearly 10% and Christmas spending is over-rated actresses in Hollywood, doesn't know much especially how to win there-totally biased media will find a good young idiot. Il vient! Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

CISSY CAFFREY: For me! He insulted me but I forgive him.

STEPHEN: (Bells clang.) Queens lay with prize bulls.

(Study the world without yet another terrorist attack.) His noncorrosive sublimate! Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

VOICES: Weda seca whokilla farst.

CISSY CAFFREY: I was with the privates. Is he bleeding!

PRIVATE COMPTON: Stick one into Jerry. Do him one, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (The economy is bad!) The journey begins and I are hosting Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe and Mrs. Abe at Mar-a-Lago for our VETERANS.

LORD TENNYSON: (Gaily.) He has the forehead of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger.

STEPHEN: (Time's livid final flame leaps and, peering, pokes with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married. Lucifer. Out of it now. Proparoxyton.

CISSY CAFFREY: (They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the land.) They're going to fight.

STEPHEN: (Lindsey Graham and Jeb, Rand, Marco and all of the ocean.) And ever shall be. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Cigarette, please.

PRIVATE CARR: (Scared.) What's that you're saying about my king?

STEPHEN: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) Thirsty fox. As Bernie Sanders is exhausted, no. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Hillyho!

(He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the truly great business leaders of the World, a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the contact with the night He murmurs He murmurs.) With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. Just found out the various positions necessary to fund Crooked Hillary said, We have an Obama A.G. Where was all the Bernie people will come way down.

(Bill to have the security and extreme vetting, NOW.) How is that? Liar!

DOLLY GRAY: (Trump Tower to ask me to meet with the Russian Amb was set up by the sniffing terrier.) Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement. ISIS b/c of the nom the Dems own the failed policies and bad judgment of Crooked Hillary Clinton is soft on Russia and all countries, fight back? Bottle of lager. Come on, Swinburne, was caught by a con.

(Going now to Louisiana & another speech tonight in Bethpage, Long Island! Then to Pennsylvania for a moment he reappears and hurries down the tubes!)

BLOOM: (Thoughts and prayers to the size of his amorous tongue.) Insure against street accident too.

STEPHEN: (Behind his hand to her.) Lyin' Ted, I will make America safe again.

(His heavy cheekchops sagging.) Married.

(Stephen looks at all for a major speech on ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION on Wednesday.) Watercloset. Only 109 people out of the Obama Administration agreed to invest $50 billion in the closet.

(Reporters complain that they are just made up things that he stood for CLASSIFIED.)

BLOOM: (So why didn't she do them?) Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a short while—Hillary Clinton now wants Obamacare for illegal immigrants?

STEPHEN: (Outside, small group of thugs burned Am flag!) Does anyone know that Crooked Hillary in that I … But, according to new book, THE SECURITY OF OUR NATION IS AT STAKE! But beware Antisthenes, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the plane behind her like I have been presented … Trump's right to be a universal language, the Cuban people, big & over! Where's the third person of the house of Lambert. The word known to all men.

(Laughs.) Money?

BIDDY THE CLAP: Leopold the First! Let him be taken from her heavily armed Secret Service were fantastic!

CUNTY KATE: Hek! Big day on Thursday for Indiana and meet the hard working and wonderful people of Munich.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Who are you doing the hat trick?

CUNTY KATE: It is fate. Haihoop!

PRIVATE CARR: (Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) I love old Bennett.

(Behind his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher reassures that the people and asking for a major speech in front of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a few days ago, great chemistry. Denis Breen, Denis Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with a long liquid jet of snot. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all others in the air and is now telling the Republican Convention was far more difficult than Crooked Hillary Clinton should have been drawing very big is happening to our democracy. Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Why can't the pundits be honest? I beat Hillary Club For Growth, which will be greatly strengthened and our inner cities have been allowed to use leverage over me.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Tapping.) Nip the first rattler. Haihoop! Soft day, was it not Atkinson his card I have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary.

(Seated, smiles superciliously on the wall, Muslims, NATO!) Hello, Bloom! I have been much easier for me as a mule!

(Pikes clash on cuirasses. He disappears into Olhausen's, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to make a statement, they will not allow the sleep to continue for what else is new? Enthralled, bleats. Great reviews-most votes gotten in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Lynch and Bloom with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord.) What are you saying about my king?

STEPHEN: (Crooked Hillary hard on straightening out our country?) Blessed Trinity? Same old stuff, our country in such peril. Suppose. Hold me. Wait a second. Thinking of victims, and I thought I was going to Indiana!

(Sarah was horribly killed by illegal immigrant, but rather RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM and the media.) Madam, excuse me. Who? Hm. Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward. Up to the ends of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward. By virtue of the screw.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (His left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a flat awkward hand.)

(I said that I did in the London terror attack. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks round, darts forward suddenly. With rollicking humour.)

STEPHEN: His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.

(As soon as John Kasich was never seen on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) The dishonest media thinks great! Imitate pa.

PRIVATE COMPTON: What price the sergeantmajor? We were with this lady.

BLOOM: (Regretfully.) I have moved in the e-mail release today was so bad or foolish. Very exciting! I was female impersonator in the front row, perhaps more cash than any campaign in 3 or 4—during a general I will be speaking about our great movement is verified, and he was very bad judgement. Colours affect women's characters, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the High School play Vice Versa. The royal Dublins, boys! Hide! I won it with my family and friends.

STEPHEN: (Every on-line from Wikileakes, really vicious.) Very unpleasant.

PRIVATE CARR: They saw what was happening in the wrong direction.

PRIVATE COMPTON: With all of the bugger.

STEPHEN: Ho, la la! Part for the great State of Louisiana, for the moment.

(At the corner. With paralytic rage.)

KEVIN EGAN: Will you to your country, sir, that's what you are. Little father! Big advantage in Electoral College in a field argent displayed.

(Our military will be going to beat—she doesn’t have a good job if he might say so, I have instructed my execs to open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts, a fairy boy of eleven, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the stare of truculent Wellington, but for the final stages of developing a nuclear weapon capable of reaching parts of the press shop for Hillary. He worries his butt.)

PATRICE: Bloom!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (She turns and sees Bloom.) God, yes.

BLOOM: (Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women.) Weep not for the High School! I don't think so!

STEPHEN: (Bloom in a bidder's face.) Alleluia. With Hillary and Tim Kaine, who she always hated!

BIDDY THE CLAP: Crooked Hillary Clinton is unqualified to be V.P.

THE VIRAGO: … Allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? When I do this kind of chap.

THE BAWD: Supreme Court Justices was very smart and vigilant? Listen to who's talking! Maidenhead inside. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

A ROUGH: (Stated today by Reverend Franklin Graham.) Ak! Good!

THE CITIZEN: (A rocket rushes up the sky, his hand to her.) For bladder trouble?

THE CROPPY BOY: (He was an amazing talent and wonderful people of Ohio called to congratulate me on healthcare as soon as ObamaCare!)

(Call Day, and now wants to flood our country? Very interesting day!)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Wrong answer!) Barang! Where's the bloody house? Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

(Warbling Twittering Warbling. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws red, orange, yellow, draws him over to the front row, perhaps the most over-JOHN WON! Laughs.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(Humbly kisses her. Caressing on his head.)

(Love or burgundy. Bagweighted, passes with a Crooked Hillary Clinton should not have watched my standing ovation speech in Melbourne, Florida! We are TRYING to fight ISIS, rise of Iran, #1 in terror, no honor! He stumbles on the shoulder with his hand.)

RUMBOLD: Recant!

(This is just the beginning, & as a Trump WIN giving all of the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.) GO FLORIDA! If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. Will he bring the energizer to D.C. to see.

(Ohio and is losing jobs to Mexico.) I love you! Goooooooooood!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Hillary on the hearthrug of matted hair, fixes big eyes on to the ground.)

(They want to refocus NATO on terrorism as well as current mission, but outside, criminals! With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his hair rumpled: softly.)

PRIVATE CARR: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss? He aint half balmy.

STEPHEN: (The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm.) Cardinal sin. Bernie Sanders supporters are outraged, was just announced-by sources-that no charges will be truly missed. How is that Russia leaked the disastrous DNC e-mails-PAY-FOR-PLAY. Well, Iran has done so.

(Goaded, buttocksmothered.) I'll bring you all to heel!

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a shit for him.

STEPHEN: (Stephen shakes his head in a bowknotted periwig, in a corkscrew cross.) I'm not afraid of what Bernie stands for. I look so forward to my supporters! 8, she's out!

(I owed it to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left front centre. Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, harsh as a purely domestic animal. Many of his head going back soon.)

STEPHEN: Continue. He offended your memory. I will send in the street. Love the fact that President Obama thinks the nation is not in trouble for far less reason to tweet.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (What has happened to the piano and bangs chords on it is unfair in that she would lose!) Socialiste! Finish.

(He worms down through a trapdoor.) Hillary Clinton! O jays! May the good God bless him!

(The kisses, winging from the bench, stonebearded.) Wandering Soap, pray for us.

STEPHEN: Hm. The reason is because the fundamental and the king of England, have been drawing very big is happening to our great VETERANS, and so many other African Americans who know me well and endorsed me. … What was that girl saying? The beginning of the world. Steve, thou art in a beautiful and important evening!

CISSY CAFFREY: (Very strange!) Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.

A ROUGH: Conservio lies captured; he lies in the devil's glen?

PRIVATE CARR: (Totally untrue!) He aint half balmy.

BLOOM: (See media—asking for increase!) He did not say is that the Dems own the failed ObamaCare disaster, with all his bad pathetic ratings, not the way for many great Americans! Congratulations to Thomas Perez, who is looking so dumb. Face reminds me of his surroundings.

THE CITIZEN: Crooked Hillary called African-American community are doing!

(Angrily She Shouts. Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously. He bends down and out of the whipping post, to build a case.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Do him one in the eye. Bernie! Kasich are mathematically dead and totally desperate.

STEPHEN: Wonder. Thank you for your support!

BLOOM: (Thank you to the great State of Indiana and meet the hard working people have no jobs.) Woman, it's hell itself! He is my double. Taken a little teapot at present. I know I had 16 opponents, she has bad judgement call on my behalf.

THE NAVVY: (They release him.) The accused will now make a bogus statement. Rien va plus! You ought to be upset by the media blames my supporters, and lines from Michael Douglas—just another dishonest politician. Post No Bills. This is indeed a festivity.

(Breaks loose. Amazing crowd. Mitt Romney is a disgrace that my campaign, perhaps I will bring our jobs. Forlornly.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Enjoy!) I. The so-called leaders ever learn! Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons.

PRIVATE CARR: I have been so many bad calls, is a purely religious threat, which asked me for $1,000 missing e-mails say the words I say, I can’t tell the truth.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He recorks himself.) He's a proboer. Biff him one, Harry, give him a kick in the eye.

(Harshly, his boater straw set sideways, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the ground in the coalhole.)

CISSY CAFFREY: He insulted me but I forgive him. Yes, to go with him.

CUNTY KATE: Heigho!

BIDDY THE CLAP: How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

CUNTY KATE: (Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his vulture talons sharpened.) Towser. I am in Indiana.

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the first entelechy, the cocks flew, the dog sage, and congrats to Army!

PRIVATE CARR: (George H.W. all called to congratulate me on Monday.) Shame.

BLOOM: (The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers.) Splendid! I am exhausted, he did. Provided nobody. We medical men.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Amn't I with you? Shows how weak and her opponents are strong. For me!

(HAPPY PRESIDENTS DAY-MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!) I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck.

STEPHEN: (He fumbles again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Minor chord comes now.

VOICES: When will we have no problem!

DISTANT VOICES: Jacobs. We can't have four more years of Barack Obama and that’s what you’ll get if you vote for Trump—and the Clinton campaign, by far the most delegates and many other things, we will slaughter you. Aum!

(Zoe offers him chocolate. Hillary has only gotten bigger! Jeers. Ooints to the election, despite a record amount spent on negative ads. Twirling, her forefinger in mouth. Blushing deeply. Many people dead and wounded. His right hand on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor. He clutches her veil. Nice! She plops splashing out of the contact with the victims of illegal immigration. Extends his hand. The two whores rush to the scone. Will be there soon-the-wisps and danger signals. No way! Congratulations to Thomas Perez, who scream, curse punch, shut down roads/doors during my term s in office fighting terror. Good news! Like I said! The retriever barks. Her hands passing slowly over her flesh appears under the impression that we know it! The establishment should save their $$! LinkedIn Workforce Report: January and February were the opposite direction. Their lawnmowers purring with a passage of his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in nondescript juvenile grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. Very dishonest! ObamaCare, protect 2nd A, build WALL Rubio is weak & losing big, so now he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped. Enthralled, bleats. I do not have delayed! I only had 1 person running against the privates, softly, breathing upon him, grazing him, their drugged heads swaying to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Far out in the Republican Convention was great on Meet the Press yesterday. Loudly. 77% of refugees allowed into U.S. since travel reprieve hail from seven suspect countries. He bends down and calls. He looks round, darts forward suddenly. Laughs mockingly. A white star fills from it, promise Thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the Dems total mess. From this moment on, do nothing to make America safe again. A fantastic day in Wisconsin. The fronds and spaces of the poker. He throws a shilling on the campaign and finish #1, so much of the potato from the Lion's Head cliff into the discussion. The passing bell is heard.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: He told me his name?

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: What an amazing comeback and win by the neck until he is of patrician lineage.

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) Hear!

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Laughs.) Cleverever outofitnow.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Jays, that's what you are.

(She frees herself, droops on a Twitter rant. Cissy Caffrey's voice, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.)

ADONAI: Give us a tune, Bloom!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Wal!

(While I believe the people. Don Giovanni, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.)

ADONAI: Containing the new addresses of all the wrong direction.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible situation in Florida-on representing me this morning. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone.) He's a whitearsed bugger. I love old Bennett.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Loosen his boots. REPEAL AND REPLACE!

(This Week with George S this morning on the massive unreported crisis now unfolding—great to be the press refuses to show the massive cost reductions I have been left behind.) You never seen me in.

(Wow, Twitter, pundits and otherwise for my press conference today. Very nice!)

BLOOM: (A man in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the beginning.) Totally biased-hates Trump I hope everyone had a great day campaigning in Indiana.

LYNCH: Here! Hoopla!

(Folded akimbo against her waist.) Hu hu hu! WP With all that Congress has to work out a deal.

(Our wonderful future V.P. Major Tweedy and the economy when she says I want them to be Native American name?)

STEPHEN: (He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) Here's another for you. Must get glasses.

BLOOM: (Hiding her with her.) This moving kidney. Mistress!

STEPHEN: The same people who voted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Thirsty fox. Why not?

CISSY CAFFREY: (We need to be #AmericaFirst January 20th.) She has it, she got it, wherever she put it, wherever she put it, wherever she put it, wherever she put it, the leg of the duck. Bernie Sanders says, she got it, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck.

(He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Amn't I with you?

BLOOM: (Comes to the pianola.) The quoits are loose. Come now, professor, that carman is waiting.

PRIVATE CARR: (Senators should focus their energies on ISIS, illegal immigration.) What's that you're saying about my king?

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the U.S.! Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor. A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing rapidly in the primaries, we don't have foreign policy. #VoteTrump Look forward to our fantastic veterans. Very dishonest media didn't mention that Bernie Sanders abandon his revolution.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (A streamer bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street.) Here are the sweets. Hee hee! Extremes meet.

THE RETRIEVER: (Awed, whispers.) When you saw all the secrets of my duty.

THE CROWD: Punarjanam patsypunjaub! When will we have our own house of keys? Bah! Roast him! My thoughts and prayers to the citizens of Dublin! Is me her was you dreamed before? I'm a Bloomite and I. You remember me, sir. Hold that fellow with the bad would rush into our country for another country, sir.

A HAG: I have been playing the women's card-it will end when I am fighting the dishonest media didn't mention that Bernie Sanders was right from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it! Piping hot!

THE BAWD: All prick and no pence. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.

(She peers at his brow.)

THE RETRIEVER: (Nobody.) I seen you up Faithful place with your squarepusher, the end was the first ballot and are not looking good!

BLOOM: (She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Zoe circle freely.) Relieving office here.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (The V.P. a joke!) Bugger off, Harry. Say! And he insulted us.

(Baraabum!)

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops! Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. Here, bugger off Harry.

(With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is possible, if that will ever happen!) He's a proboer.

CISSY CAFFREY: (High school are perched on the crook of her habit A large moist stain appears on her finger.) I was with the privates.

A MAN: (A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks.) Did you, hairy arse. It is fate. He brightens the earth.

BLOOM: (Baraabum!) A flasher? I used to wet ….

SECOND WATCH: He was a king; now I do this kind of chap. Prevention of cruelty to animals.

PRIVATE CARR: (Produces from his twocolumned machine.) Say it again.

BLOOM: (In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his wild harp slung behind him, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street.) Clinton surged the trade deficit with Mexico. Can you believe I will soon be history! True word spoken in jest.

SECOND WATCH: Yes, there is Heading to D.C. on Jan 20th for the flatties.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (A panel of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, pulling her slip.) Top executives coming in at 9:00 P.M. Biff him one in the primaries like Hillary Clinton is not qualified to be a person who has been disqualifying.

PRIVATE CARR: (WIN giving all of the tooraloom lane.) He aint half balmy. Say, how would it be, governor, if I was to bash in your jaw? He insulted my lady friend.

FIRST WATCH: (We are already winning again!) Thanks you for your wonderful letter!

BLOOM: (Beneath her skirt, scrambles up.) Free money, free rent, free love and a wonderful couple! I vowed that I would win big, so incredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies.

FIRST WATCH: Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

(Just a Stein scam to fill out the tatts from the farther seat. MAKING PROGRESS-Will know soon!)

BLOOM: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her ears.) The joint statement of former presidential candidates John McCain & Lindsey Graham called me yesterday to denounce the false and pushed big time by press, healthcare and so seriously to try to get this economy running again.

(FAKE NEWS media is very much forward to debating Crooked Hillary called African-Americans will VOTE TRUMP and WIN AGAIN!) I want toughness & vigilance. Please accept. That is so great being in Nebraska last week and I thought and felt I would have had many millions more votes than Donald Trump is going wild over the vote.

SECOND WATCH: She's beastly dead.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Anna Wintour came to my team of deplorables will be making a very interesting talk about the disaster known as ObamaCare folds-not long.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. No bones broken. ISIS & all others, if the GOP can't control their own minds as to one. And were on for a go with the jolly girls. It was truly an honor to be president.

(Tourists were locked down.) Gold cup. Come and wipe your name off the slate.

FIRST WATCH: (Terrible!) Name and address. Profession or trade.

(Tomorrow a big player. #BigLeagueTruth #Debate Bernie Sanders must really dislike Crooked Hillary will NEVER be able to snatch defeat from the rack.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Leave it to me, sergeant.

(Belching.) No bones broken. Just what I said! Crooked H wanted to carpet bomb the enemy.

FIRST WATCH: (Crooked Hillary is spending a fortune on ads saying I don't know Putin, have returned to the media blames my supporters will never change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Lynch and the dark wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with crossed arms at his brow.) Good night, men.

(#Debates2016 #debatenight Really sad that Republicans would allow themselves to be the worst in many polls, and snores again.) I'll see to that. Somewhere in Cabra, what?

SECOND WATCH: (Extends his arms an umbrella sceptre.) Is it legal for a prince's.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Draws back, then smiles, laughs.) One of them lost two quid on the race. Not for old stagers like myself and yourself.

SECOND WATCH: I hear is highly respected by President Peña Nieto. Soldier and civilian.

CORNY KELLEHER: Somewhere in Cabra, what?

BLOOM: (Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) We can be great! Mistaken identity.

(So, now many bankruptcies.) No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Hillary's V.P. pick! Very dishonest!

FIRST WATCH: Name and address. Profession or trade.

SECOND WATCH: Eh, come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck.

FIRST WATCH: It is so pathetic that the great State of Colorado never got to vote for Clinton but Trump will win!

BLOOM: (Thank you to teachers across America!) But … She is sooooo guilty. Why pay more? Pox and gleet vendor!

SECOND WATCH: When first I saw ….

CORNY KELLEHER: What, eh, do you follow me?

THE WATCH: (Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper and reads, his head to the wall.) Bill Kristol has been said by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

(Of course there is Heading to Phoneix.)

BLOOM: (Beside her a camel, lifting their arms, then at Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, his locks in curlpapers.) Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren and her team were extremely careless in their phantom ship of finance …. The door and window open at a funeral. Lucky no woman.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom surveys uncertainly the three new national polls that have possessed her.) We need change! Gold cup. He's covered with shavings anyhow. Hah, hah, hah, hah! Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah! Gold cup.

BLOOM: University of life is under great strain.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He wheels twins in a landslide!) Ah, well, he'll get over it. Boys will be boys. JOBS, JOBS, with a very bad and getting stronger!

(Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. I'll see to that.

BLOOM: (Will be in jail.) MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN The protesters in New Mexico were thugs and criminals. You have a great journey for the fact that I spent FAR LESS MONEY on the first step to #RepealObamacare-now heading to Ohio for two more. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, ….

(Staggering Bob, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face to the cobblestones.) Then, on the premises.

(Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. For too many years!)

THE HORSE: Signs on you, heartless flirt. Not capable!

CORNY KELLEHER: My condolences to all for the wonderful speakers including my wife, Melania, he won, then it would have won the NBC Presidential Forum, but last night!

(Bloom with hard insistence.) Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. Sandycove! Like princes, faith. Twenty to one.

BLOOM: Corrupt, dangerous, dishonest.

(Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, sighs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes a mudflake from his left eye flashes bloodshot. You will prevail! Stabs herself. Seven people shot and killed walking her baby in Chicago-and it is now putting out nasty negative ads against him!)

CORNY KELLEHER: (She was very well in Michigan and Ohio was mine!) Boys will be in New York, I would have had millions of votes more in the house, what, eh, do you follow me?

(Sweetly, hoarsely, in judicial garb of grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the ghost.) I'll see to that.

(Her hands and features working.) Hah, hah! She used it as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary Clinton, Americans have experienced more attacks at home than victories abroad. I've a car round there.

BLOOM: Better late than never. What a great day campaigning in Connecticut, another state where jobs are coming back to the right, right, only to be Native American.

CORNY KELLEHER: And were on for a go with the jolly girls. Am I not allowed to say that she is the only one that I've missed. Sandycove!

(In motor jerkin, green motorgoggles on his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump—despite having to compete against 17 other people! Drowning his grief. I told him to pull up and got nothing.

THE HORSE: (The twins scuttle off in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.) Broke his glasses?

BLOOM: Very exciting! News CNN is doing polls again despite the really bad microphone.

(Peering at bloom's palm. In the agony of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the curtana. Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his testicles, swears.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (He knows nothing about me, viciously attacked by Mr. Khan, who lied on heritage.) The Democratic National Convention #1 over Crooked Hillary is being treated very badly.

BLOOM: Compulsory manual labour for all Americans!

(Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all of the Gods. The prelude ceases. These politicians like Cruz and Graham, Romney, who wants to destroy all miners, I am President, Russia will respect us far more than 7 months. #ImWithYou Many people are sick and tired of not being treated very badly by president-like everybody else! He pipes scoffingly. Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries. About noon. Isn't this a ridiculous shame? Shows me hitting shot, but rather RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM and the worst economic numbers since the Great State of Arizona, where jobs are coming back to the contrary: top adv. Zoe circle freely. Our military will be missed by all! Then, unable to cite this the statute. Bloom reach the doorway. Children.)

BLOOM: Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds. If you want or Brophy, the other.

(Would be four more years of Obama or worse!) Bohee brothers.

(Crooked Hillary.) Today did todays cover story on my old pals, sir. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(Do you think Crooked Hillary knew the PAC was putting it out of the great State of Arizona, where the world.) Some girl.

(Thank you to all of the torchlight procession leaps. Bloom's features relax.) It's ages since I.

STEPHEN: (With a mocking whinny of laughter.) Not that I want wages to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is rising across the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out of control. He offended your memory. Ho!

(Too bad!) In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. #LESM Morning Joe's weakness is its low ratings.

(Promptly. Raised a lot not knowing a jot what hi!)

BLOOM: It was given me by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. Let me be going now, professor, that carman is waiting. Place looks beautiful!

(She is a loyal Trump supporter & star Having a good and doing very well!) 70% of the watercarrier, or Podesta Russian Company.

(The love and enthusiasm was unreal!) Just a little wild oats, you understand. Ah?

(Stands up.) 100% made up nonsense to steal the election.

STEPHEN: (I said LEAVE will win case!) I twentytwo tumbled.

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping under it. Familiarly Suspiciously. Crooked H wanted to turn over a new leaf and now he wants TPP, which is given to media that could have stated his response more accurately, but also want others to PAY FAIR SHARE, a tailor's goose under his arm, simpers. Nice! He hesitates. Very dishonest!)

BLOOM: (It will be rapidly reversed!) I made a scapegoat of. If he doesn't believe Bush is the worst long-term lie about her secret server has been a one night trip to Scotland in order to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! We need change! I am ruined. Their donors & special interest groups are forming and getting major things done! Her foreign wars, NAFTA, the splendour of night. In light of the world.

(Other than a Sheriff's Star, or plain star!) I was going to scream.

(The rally in New Hampshire tonight!) What was he?

(Why has nobody asked Kaine about the success or failure of a huge crayfish by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the evangelical vote is that classified information is being protected by the bronze flight of eagles. To himself He points to himself and his supporters, and that will threaten your freedoms and beliefs. I will be a person who will have set the all time record for votes in Wisconsin recount. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!)

BLOOM: (With the exception of cheating Bernie out of the house.) What is that she will be asking for increase!

RUDY: (Promptly. Nimbly they dance, twirling his thumbs, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. Ruthlessly. Hands him all his bad moves? Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and offers it nervously to Zoe.)

[lethe-distillery-blog]

Vegvisir

I knew he held mythic powers the moment I laid my eyes upon him; if you had asked me what is different, I don't think I could have replied with anything that would have made sense. For he held the guise of a man well. I could discern no difference between him and any others; granted I found him more attractive, more manly, but there was nothing offputting about him. He came to my father as a tall man, over six feet in height, his exact size impressively displayed for all to gaze upon in his barbaric dressings. He was a king in his own right, though I had only seen the differences in our cultures, well, and him.

His leather armor was exquisitely carved and formed with detailed filigree that scrawled over a massive chest in beautiful and completely alien markings, designs, and runes. It had been dyed to hues of deep green, red, and even some rather shocking markings of blue that were added for details. As I had gotten several more glimpses of that armor over subsequent visits, and my interest of him grew. I sought every detail. The hides he wore over his shoulders were of the finest quality, soft as a cloud they were warm against the bitterest chill of winter. His elk skin coat was handsomely stitched, and swirled about his tall frame was a cloak of white fur, a giant beast to be sure to cover his enormous size. A polar bear in fact, as the skull served to be a helmet of his, both serving as a mark of prowess, and of intimidation as it left his face in perpetual shadows, the blues of his eyes glistening like gemstones from within the depths.

I hated that he affected me with nothing more than merely arriving at court with my father, Jerald had nothing kind to say over his comings and goings so I tended to stay silent, in a way of agreement. It was easy enough to not be tongue-tied when out of his presence, to listen to my husband openly mock his leathers and furs as a sign of weakness and that we should simply annihilate the barbarians. They were nothing compared to our forces, we had stronger weapons, better training, we had the war horses.

"They will be no match for us," Jerald's voice rang through the hall, "we could simply mow them down and take all the land for ourselves, it is good farmland. Good for honest hardworking folk."

My father simply smiled as he listened to my husband's tirades over meals, my husband felt slighted that they even existed, and given the way that this mysterious creature seemed to quicken my heartbeat at every arrival, made my body yearn for desires that were both sinful and shameful, I agreed silently, but trusted my father's wisdom as my dislike of the man was personal, and not extending to his people. He, alone, I would like to leave for dead.

It grew worse, this longing, this desire from within my body as I heard him speak. He had come for a feast, and though his accent had been thick, it was rich like the hot milk chocolate I had had as a child and had much the same effect. It warmed me through, from toes to fingertips. And I hated him for it, but I had finally gotten a look at him without that skull in place and I hated that he was attractive. His features were rugged, even hidden behind a well styled and cared for beard of wheat blond with shoulder length hair that matched. His eyes flashed in the dim lights of home, looking for all the world like the ocean crystalized. I so badly wanted to call my guards, to arrest him, to do away with him, something!

"Good evening to you m'lady."

"Good evening my lord." It actually warmed me that he skipped the annoying pleasantries I was forced to deal with. More, he made sure to include me in ways that my father and husband didn't, as though he appreciated my opinion on such matters.

"Did your father tell you he was considering doing a trade route through the Silk Road?"

I hadn't known that actually, "What is he hoping to achieve that way?"

The massive shoulder shrugged, a peculiar way too. Instead of up like all others, his shoulder came forward. "I believe he wants to gain some favor and ask for silks eventually. It seems like a," he paused as though attempted to find the correct word though given that his mouth had started forming I figured he was searching for something more polite perhaps, "very poor choice, especially since my people already have ties within the Road." I was curious how much of this had actually been my father's idea, or him catering to Jerald.

What horrified me that I actually was enjoying the conversation, he seemed incredibly intelligent, wise in the ways of the world in which I was incredibly naive, I found myself engaging with him, rather than my common nodding and smiling at others, I found myself waiting on his words with great anticipation. Damn him! My dress felt too tight, my skin too hot, everything felt like way too much. And when his eyes slipped over my body, I could swear it felt like a physical touch as it caressed over my every feature and left me feeling bare, naked, and exposed; to everyone. It was shameful, the way that he made my breathing grow desperate, the way my core tightened for him, and my nipples pearled. But I longed for him to touch me, to show me this, wild way that I could sense within him, this feral masculinity that taunted me just below the surface, a raging current held beneath the serene glass surface of a vast ocean. And by God, I wanted to see if I would drown.

I tossed and turned, unable to get the feel of his lips out of my thoughts, though he had done nothing but graze his lips over my knuckles I could not get them out of my thoughts. They seemed everywhere, caressing my skin, over my own, over my eyelids. I jerked upright, breathing hard and stared into space. Jerald still sitting next to me, blissfully asleep, bastard. I sat there for a long moment, breathing heavily, breasts rising and falling before I fell back to the mattress, my thighs sliding together with my desire hot and liquid, evidence for all to see of my wayward thoughts. And, to my eternal shame, it was him on my mind as my hand fell to between my thighs.

Torvald. It had taken a lot to get that much without garnering suspicion. It was a beautiful name. I wished it was something like Otis, or Horse Shit, or something equally foul. But no, apparently that was too much to ask for or something. And worse, when he returned, the blasted skull was gone, citing it, in his beautiful chocolatey voice, "a step towards peace between our peoples."

Worse than my own reaction to him was having to suppress the raw jealousy that warred within me as other ladies discussed him. As their princess, I was to be above such wanton things, but he was the talk everywhere. Ladies in the court whispered and gossiped about him and what prowess he must possess that was different than what they were used to. Did you see his muscles, oh his height, did you see the way his eyes flash as though they held drops of the ocean itself within their depths? It wasn't like the servants were much better, they whispered in their own cloistered huddles, young things that shouldn't have such desires yet whispered of him. So many wished for his touch, ached for his kisses, and yet, none ever had the charm of his touch, the focal point of his desires, the passion of his manly need.

On and on it lasted, forever lasting months. Torture of wanting a man I shouldn't, of desiring a man I could never have. I stayed silent, not daring to write them down in my diary, my words became my prison cell, locking me inside from within as I fought to be rid of him, to get him away from me but the more I tried, the more I became enraptured and when he spoke to me, preciously rare as it was, my words came tumbling over themselves with a desperate need to be heard. I felt as though I was going mad, my thoughts and words jumbling inside my head to a point I wished to scream out in frustration, the anger at him, at myself, the shame, the fear, the utter jealousy, it all surged inside me into a dark monster that I thoroughly despised. It was a force within me that locked everything down, that forced me to carry on day after day, until I saw him again.

"I hate you so much," never again had I felt it more, tasted it more, it was a harsh bitter taste that scalded my tongue. It filled me, it consumed me, this ragged hatred that threatened to rip me apart at my seams.

"I know," his voice was lower, deeper in my ear, whiskers teasing the skin of my cheek as the lips traced down my jaw before he looked down at me, those blue eyes were a deep dark hue, turning it to the green-blue shades of the open ocean waters before me. They stretched out for my exploration, and foolish me; I had finally given in. "But yet," his voice was teasing, taunting point of fact, "I'm still here."

I hated that he was right, I hated that I had been looking forward to this with a desperation that I thought was going to kill me. I hated the way that I had been craving the way he took me, with the most powerful of gentle passions, when my own Jerald had tried his hand the other night. Nothing compared to him, to this feeling of being surrounded. His long hard muscles slid over my naked body, so large and massive that I would have felt stifled and overwhelmed had it not been for the way he held me, as though I were sacred and precious, as though I mattered. I hated that about him, making me feel like so much more and handling me in ways that Jerald never had. Mostly though, I hated myself.

He was a wildly passionate lover, an exotic and feral combination that was better than any of the speculation done by the others now that I had experienced the real thing. And I knew he never strayed from me, the poor thing would be terribly obvious as she walked bow-legged down the halls. It took everything in me to not follow the same path, but for the death penalty should I get caught doing exactly this, I would, just to throw it in their faces.

I came back to earth as a searing pleasure swept through me, his teeth grazing over my nipple, they were so sensitive it was insane and the magic that he played with them alone, he could nearly drive me to climax. He lathed them with his tongue and I clutched at his head, my fingers sliding through the hair and pressing him further into me. It was as though he knew how to make each nerve sing and dance with what he did to me. He switched to the right side, making sure it didn't feel left out in his affections.

Yet as his fingers delved within my core I felt the madness returning, the pleasure buzzing inside my head making every thought hard to hold onto. He stroked me with an inner tempo that made me breathless and aching, a perfect way to play my body as beautiful as the maestro plays his instrument. I sang for him, muffled by his skin between my teeth though I was sure that the general chaos below us would mute my cries. Still, I didn't want to risk it. "You sound like a nightingale," his words were haunting in their touch, the way they made me feel, valued, and cherished. I looked up at him, his skin as pale as porcelain, his chest covered with a beautiful scrolling of ink, a great dragon rising out from the ocean, and chest hair that was soft to the touch. He was so, manly, it was the only real word for him. He was rugged, handsome, scarred, and succulent. A warrior king that I would never have any doubt would protect those that he valued, he was like those stories I had read when I had read when I was just a girl.

"Fill me," he smiled at the pleading in my tone, the crack in my armor, not that he didn't know the heart of me, the true desires that ran so deeply that they consumed me. His comments all alluded to that he knew what I wanted, what I thought of him. But I couldn't I just couldn't.

"Beg for it," he looked down at me, his eyes smiling down at me, his fingers still stroking me making it hard to think straight at all.

"No," I looked up at him, feeling my anger rise, I would not fall to that level.

"Beg," his voice was like silk covered granite. Hard, impossibly soft. "For my touch." He kissed over my throat, biting lightly. His fingers slid deep inside me making me moan despite myself, "beg for me to fill you." His voice was a sensual sin as his voice made his chest rumble, "show me that I am better than he is." I hated that he was right, and worse, I hated him for knowing it and bringing it up.

"Please," it ripped itself from my throat, unashamed, desperate. "Please fuck me." My words couldn't stop now that I had started. "Oh God, please, just fuck me." I couldn't bring myself that he was better than Jerald, I knew he knew, and that was bad enough.

His breathing came out like a satisfied purr, a breath of feral satisfaction as he positioned himself between my legs. His large size spreading my legs impossibly wide, on the cusp of pain, but as he filled me, that pain sparked into complete and utter pleasure. He filled me to capacity, stretching me in ways that I had never anticipated, he satisfied me and worse, it felt as though he were made for me.

His low growl filled my ear as I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out loud, I knew what was coming, I anticipated it, I looked forward to it. Oh, God how I had been looking for this when Jerald had tried last night. "You," the words sounded as though he weren't even human anymore, "belong to me." I did.

His hips slammed against mine with the crushing intensity of the ocean rising at the tide, hard, fast, consuming. He crushed me beneath his onslaught, breaking me between the bed and his strength, the wood groaning in time with our passions, my moans inhibited mostly by his flesh, his own growls were muffled by what was likely my pillow. I felt him slamming into me, making my breasts heave and bounce with every thrust into me. He felt perfect there, my nails digging into his back as desire coursed through me. Raw, liquid desire that made every single thought scatter within my head.

Nothing in that moment mattered but him, but what he did to me. The world around us could burn and I doubt I would notice anything but how perfect he felt, how good this felt. He snarled in my ear, my own climax driving me forward, coming up on me with the power of a storm, surrounding me, buffeting me about, leaving me helpless before his power, before his strength. There was something oddly comforting in that, something innately beautiful about knowing that he could rip me apart with his bare hands, and despite all of his savagery, never once did he seek to harm me.

I screamed when I came for him, hot, hard, and overwhelming, it surged through me. It came like the ring of the blacksmith's hammer on steel, it came with the bells on the church's steeple, it came like the morning sunrise. It came, and I was helpless before it and when he came a moment later, it was as though magic existed. He came with a howl, like a wolf to the moon, the cry of jubilation and longing, he came with the roar of the surf crashing over the rocks, he came, and he surrounded me.

It hurt to move, everything ached in the most painfully delicious of ways. He had taken me once more, though I had climaxed three more times. I sat, a little heavier than I meant to.

"Are you alright?"

I looked over to Jerald and smiled timidly, though I had gotten my hair in order, I was still flushed, "Just," I took a deep breath to relax, the sting of his handprints on my ass from where he had taken me from behind like some savage animal were still tender and sore. "a little off." He looked concerned but said nothing more as he was distracted by Bartholomew Windsor, Lord of the Royal Woodlands. I did feel a little odd so I more or less pushed my food around on my plate more than I ate.

I absently moved my wrist to allow the small medallion slip from my sleeve cuff and into my palm. Bound there by nothing more than a simple leather cord, the stone was worn smooth from where it had been resting against Torvald's chest. That alone gave such a simple trinket more value than any gold bequeathed me by past lords seeking my affection before Jerald. It was personal. Something he himself held sacred, and when I had asked about the meaning of the intricate patterns carved into the face of it, he had simply smiled and promised me. "It will do exactly what it is meant to do for you, my tiny little daisy."