#it is possible that many times we are simply locked in an information cocoon and therefore prone to misunderstandings

[hanfugallery]

笠帽limao, a general term for a type of Chinese hanfu hat, characterized by a wide brim. The primary form had already appeared during the Shang and Zhou dynasties( 1600 B.C.-256B.C.), and its invention was naturally related to shading from the sun and rain, with a large brim that could both block the rain and shade the sun. In ancient China, limao笠帽 were made of many materials, including bamboo baskets, pouches, ramie, yarn etc. The shape of limao笠帽 is with usually large brim, round, square or pointed tops. The later it was developed, the more it resembled today's hats. In the Ming Dynasty this hat was called a damao大帽, yet it's been around before Ming, inherited from the Song Dynasty and earlier dynasties.

The picture below shows two limao unearthed from the tomb of the Yuan Dynasty minister Wang Shixian汪世显.

Then let's take a look at what the limao笠帽 looked like worn by Ming Dynasty soldiers.

What about the damao大帽 worn by non-military officials and civilians in Ming dynasty?

So how did the term of damao in Ming dynasty come about? The origin of damao is recorded in an ancient book of the Ming Dynasty, san cai tu hui《三才图会》(1607). This book is an encyclopedic book written by 王圻Wang Qi and his song 王思义Wang Siyi, who were literature scholars and book collectors during the Ming Dynasty. Here is the quote 《三才图会》:“大帽，尝见稗官云:国初高皇幸学，见诸生班烈日中，因赐遮荫帽，此其制也，今起家科贡者用之。” Generally when Zhu Yuanzhang, the first emperor of the Ming Dynasty, saw the students taking the imperial examinations sweating in the scorching sun, he gave them damao to protect them from the sun. 

The image below is a painting from the Tang dynasty, showing that the basic shape of the damao differs little from that of the Tang dynasty.

The 平番得胜图ping fan de sheng tu is currently housed in the National Museum of China and is considered to be an accurate portrayal of the Ming dynasty's army and is of high reference value.

The above is the consistent history of limao笠帽 in Chinese hanfu. limao was a very common hat in all Chinese dynasties, worn by all classes. The basic shape with a high top made of black gauze and a knotted cord appeared early on. Of course, hats with brims is a common thing for every culture and are found in all parts of the world, just as Eastern and Western civilizations coincidentally documented the prehistoric Flood.

For those interested in more specialized and complete information, here is a ten-minute video detailing the history of limao. 

To summarize, limao was first seen in the Han Dynasty terracotta figurines, called li笠, and documented in writings in the ancient book 急就篇(48b.c.-33b.c.), but the brim was not as big as it is now, in the Northern Dynasty(386-581), limao was inspired by the Xianbei people whose ancestors were nomads in ancient Siberia, so the brim was widened, and the top of the hat was added (recorded in the Northern Dynasty mural) and is almost the same as now, after the consistent development recorded but not limited to the Tang Dynasty terracotta figurines and Song Dynasty paintings, especially that Fanyangli influenced the limao style of the Yuan dynasty, and then the Yuan emperor Kublai Khan added curtains behind the limao, and beads and feathers according to the Mongolian custom, and then Ming emperors removed the curtains in the early Ming dynasty, forming a variety of styles. 

Facts about damao in Ming dynasty

1. damao was influenced by limao of all the previous dynasties, and arose spontaneously. ✔️

2. damao usually have round top, but there were also other forms of top, such as the quadrilateral.✔️

2. In the early Ming dynasty, influenced by the Mongolian style of the Yuan dynasty (Mongolia added the beads according to its own nomadic style), damao used the gems or beads as a string. ✔️

3. In the middle of the fifteenth century, Emperor Yingzong abolished the bead-string, stipulating that the damao could only be worn with plain string. ✔️

4. The adornment of damao was mainly on the top, with jewels, feathers, and red tassels.✔️

5. From ancient paintings, the decorative method of inserting feathers on one or both sides of the hat, is found in the Ming Dynasty and previous dynasties.✔️

6. damao usually matches with wangjin网巾, a kind of mesh scarf tied back the bangs neatly. ✔️

Now high-priced hanfu stores are making the damao exactly according to the Ming Dynasty style, and are considered historically accurate. However, some middle or low priced hanfu store are lazy and don't make it accurately, so the details are confused with another country' traditional hats with brim, or even worse. A few days ago a famous chinese artist accidentally used the picture of damao of that lazy store as reference to draw her super popular characters and post it on twitter, it could be controversial and offensive to some people from another culture who are not familiar with hanfu and lead to misunderstanding. And then she experienced cyberbullying which is really bad. (btw she also provides the correct ancient Ming portrait as a reference though

I have cautiously observed, and must state that the damao she drew does not show a very clear feature that significantly different from the Ming dynasty damao of a traditional hat from another culture, and I think one reference picture of damao from taobao store does have a slight problem and is ambiguous. Incidentally, the non-damao hat that worn by the other character has also attracted criticism is no problem and actually called yishanguan翼善冠, one of the traditional types of hats for Chinese hanfu, which I will describe later.

Well, you get the idea.

In a more general sense, was the ancient Chinese costume culture, while retaining its original form, influenced by xiyu culture (a general reference to non-Chinese countries on the Silk Road, the ancient cultures of Western and Central Asia and the ancient states, xiyu西域 literally meaning western region) and nomadic cultures such as xianbei culture? Yes, especially in the Tang Dynasty. For example, yuanlingpao圆领袍/rongfu戎服. Did ancient China radiate its costume culture to its neighbors(not all of them), leaving behind similar or even convergent forms, while at the same time they developing their own local characteristics? Yes.  If a culture had close contact with China in ancient times, but is geographically separated from China by a long distance or even by the sea, the later its identity will become stronger, and what used to look like Chinese clothing will become less obvious, such as the kimono. 

Here are examples of the basically accurate damao in style of ming dynasty by hanfu store. It does not contain all the types.

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

���Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X

Chapter 11.1 

YOU CHOOSE TO STAY IN

You keep staring at your foot trapped in the crack of the door. Suddenly, the promise you’ve made a while ago rings in your head: you swore you wouldn’t leave, that you would stay, and the scars on your left shoulder are a token for your obedience, your willingness to follow her instructions.

After all, you really don’t want to find out what the punishment would be - you’ve never really broken a promise before, but you imagine the consequences won’t be pleasant - also this might be another test. You wonder if you’ve considered, even for a moment, that she’s just seized the opportunity to put on a show and see your reaction? Perhaps she wanted you to catch the door with your foot, perhaps she’s studying your movements from a secret camera on her phone, it wouldn’t be the first time.

You imagine her coming back in a few hours top, a box of cupcakes in her hand as she grins, praising you and acting like nothing really important has happened, carrying on with your ‘normal’ lives like any other day, making you forget about the event as well, putting onto it the hazy veil of a dream until you start to question if it was really one or not.

You draw a shaky breath and, praying with all your might that you’re making the right decision, you withdraw your foot and let the door slide close, locking itself with a soft click .

Miranda doesn’t come back in a few hours.

Miranda doesn’t come back in the night.

Miranda doesn’t come back in the morning, nor the following day.

Miranda doesn’t come back for a week, nor after then days, or twenty.

Miranda simply doesn’t come back and you’re fearing the worst.

You’ve started tormenting yourself after a few days, the guilt eating you alive from the inside, because if only you’d gone after her, perhaps things would be different, now.

What if that danger caught her? What if you could’ve helped her? What if it’s too late? How can you move on, now, that your life before Miranda has been completely erased, up to the point that you’re wondering if you’re even able to function without her?

After the third week locked inside an apartment with very little distraction, you can barely discern day and night. You sometimes find yourself doing push-ups that are meant for the morning in the evening, you’re spinning your knife while munching on some energy bars that are supposed to be your dinner, and graze almost affectionately at in while you shower, mesmerized by the little droplets of blood that get suckled into the drain when you press the blade into your hand or prick your thigh.

Miranda is the only thought that stays in your mind. You wonder when you’ve eaten last time when your stomach grumbles, but you refuse to get up from your cocoon of blankets until the urge to relieve yourself is unbearable and you drag yourself to the bathroom.

More than once, you’ve contemplated the idea of simply going out and restarting a life on your own. But that would mean forgetting about Miranda… and you don’t want that.

You miss her.

The mere thought of her being in danger because of you, or her being dead, dumped into a canal because you made her flee, has your stomach twist.

You would make time go back and go after her if only you could. You would go out and look for her if you only knew where to start. However, Miranda has always been a great question mark: you don’t even know for certain what is her job, if she’s really an assassin or a spy for that matter, let alone the enemies she has so stubbornly kept secret all this time. What are you going to do? Wander dark alleys at night hoping some creepy guy has some information about a possible killer named Miranda? It’s absurd.

You have no other option than to wait, and hope - and pray - she’s not dead. After all, Miranda is strong, she’s clever, she’s mean when she has to, she knows very little limits- she can do it, she can make it, she can come back. Home, to you.

The door remains closed for another couple of days.

You’re laying on the carpet, the half bottle of liquor next to you it’s opened just to smell the intoxicating scent of alcohol and trigger memories of her. You’re spinning the knife around without looking, hissing when the sharp blade cuts through the skin of your palm, but you don’t care for the pain.

Instead, the noise of the keys rattling on the other side of the closed-door has you shot your eyes open in alertness, and you lift your head from the floor.

The lock clicks, and you’re suddenly aware of yourself, as if brought back to life, when the door cracks open. You spot a familiar lather coat poking in before her.

Miranda, all in black like always, slips inside with a shuddering sigh. She spins quickly on her heels, giving her back, and pushes the door closed with her hand, letting it rest on the wooden surface.

“Miranda?” You call, your voice hoarse for the prolonged inactivity - or when was the last time you drank something?

Slowly, you push yourself up, wondering, for a moment, if you’re not dreaming. After all, you did imagine her the other day, after forgetting about eating for far too long, but she revealed herself to be just an illusion.

This time, however, it isn’t. You can feel it in your bones that she’s real.

“You didn’t come after me.” She murmurs.

She’s still giving you her back, she’s distant, and yet her words hurt like stabs. You can’t see her face, but her eyes are carved in your brain - every move, every light, every twitch, every hidden emotion.

It’s been weeks, but you still remember them after thinking about her for hours, all day, every day, and you know the brightness in them is opaque now, her iris glassy for some tears she would try to hide, in any other circumstance.

Not now, though.

She doesn’t hide the quiver in her voice either, merely clears her throat.

“Good girl, not breaking your promises.” She chuffs out a chuckle, but you can hear the disappointment there. “So obedient, even when-”

She trails off and you swallow, her voice, your promises, swirling around your head and blending into a tormenting tune.

“You wanted me to come after you?” You wonder, brow pinched as you stand up, rubbing your hands together to get rid of some inexistent dust. The irony of it all as you puzzled: she’s spent months trying to get you to listen to her, reminding you to keep your promises, and now she’s telling you that you were allowed, after all, to break the most important one: not leaving.

You hear a dull thud when Miranda rests her forehead against the door.

“It doesn’t matter now.” She mumbles, and she sounds so tired, so broken that your first thought is to rush to her and pull her down to the couch, or help her to bed, strip her of her clothes to let her rest while you boil the water for the tea and your life returns to have a purpose.

You’ve taken barely a couple of steps when she turns over, and you gasp, stopping dead in your tracks.

Miranda’s face is all bruised. Her lip is split in the middle, there’s a faint dark halo under her left eyes and scratch marks on the cheekbone, her neck is marked by a crossed reddish lines, and she’s keeping her left arm clutched to her chest in a such awkward angle, you’d bet her shoulder is dislocated.

You see your own fear and confusion, and guilt reflected into her eyes and there’s nothing you can do to make either of those go away.

“Miranda- what happened to you?” You breathe out with a terrified wheeze, wondering if you really could’ve prevented all this if you’d just disobeyed, broken a promise, and chased after her after you told her you loved her.

Her silence makes your heart thrum in your chest, you try to take a step closer to her, but once again, you stop.

“We’ve got no time.” She murmurs, pressing her lips together, seemingly unbothered by the wound on her mouth, smeared with clotted blood. “They’re coming to get you,” she says, her tone is urgent when she sighs, “to punish me.”

You would ask for more information about who is going to assault the two of you in her apartment any time now, but you already know you’d get no answer, not to mention that you’re probably in immediate danger already.

You swallow, shaking your head, your dominant hand already reaching for the dagger that you keep strapped to your leg - you kept it there all those days because the idea of having it on you, as she showed you, as she told you to do, gave you comfort.

“We can take them.” You blurt out, your brow pinching. “Together, we can do it- please, you trained me for this-”

Miranda shakes her head. She’s smiling, but you can taste all the bitterness and the sadness that lay beneath it.

“No, this was a mistake from the beginning.” She murmurs, her voice thicker than usual, soft and sharp at the same time. “I knew you were different and I kept you anyway… or maybe because of it, I don’t know.” She’s leaning heavily against the door now, her sane hand rummaging into her pocket without a real purpose. “I was arrogant and selfish and you’ll pay for it. I’ll pay for it, we’ll both-”

In a few strides, she’s in front of you, the immense distance between you, suddenly gone. You gaze into those blue eyes you missed so much and find the halo of unshed tears there. The closeness of her wounds makes you wince in sympathy. You can feel her hot breath crashing onto your mouth.

You would like to touch her face, but you fear being rejected. There are still so many unresolved issues between you that everything is difficult and the incoming peril makes it even more complicated.

To your surprise, however, it’s Miranda that touches your face, instead. Her hand comes warm against your cheek, the thumb stroking lightly over the seam of your lips. You would talk, but you can’t, too caught in that moment.

“Know that I’m doing this because you make us weak-” She whispers, but the accusation in her voice is unmatched by the velvet in her voice. “And also because I-” Her breath hitches, your heart skips a beat when she closes her eyes and exhales. “I won’t let them have you, m’eudail, no matter what it costs.”

She’s kissing you now, and it’s desperate: it doesn’t taste of hope, it doesn’t taste of homecoming; it has the coppery taste of blood from her split lip with the bitter undertones of goodbyes. It scares you.

“I’m sorry.” Miranda whispers, parting from you.

Without tearing her eyes off of you, she walks backward toward the kitchen.  She pulls out from the pocket the hand you thought was rummaging purposelessly and reaches under the table.

You know what she keeps there, after all, you helped her with the tape that keeps the gun strapped below the marble.

You jerk when you hear the harsh ripping sound.

You swallow nothing when she walks back to you.

The metal is cold on your forehead when Miranda places it there.

You close your eyes when she rests her index finger on the trigger and pulls.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

An Ephemeral Eternity in Seven Parts - Steve Rogers x Reader.

MASTERLIST Warnings: My English, Gifs aren’t mine. Word Count~3.4k Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

PART VI

A soft red color was painting the deep blue sky as the sun run its course and went back to sleep, an omen for the upcoming day. The air was chilly and clouds were gathering, threatening the very delicate, almost feeble peace that had been bestowed upon them. Being constantly on the move was not easy, especially since they were always followed. Not a single moment was private, yet somehow they managed to escape, not for long but those stolen minutes or hours were exactly what kept them sane. Well, sane enough.  "Did you manage to get any sleep?" Natasha asked her, not looking better herself as she walked into her room. She rolled her eyes to the now blond woman and simply raised an eyebrow. "Did you?" she asked back, receiving the exact same reaction. Natasha sat down, next to her, handing her a cup of coffee, which was very much appreciated. Her life had change; she would try to sleep at some point during the day and she would run and hide all night long or better yet trying to stay away from the people looking for her. Well, all of them, since they were criminals as people have told them, but she had an extra target on her back - and maybe even more dangerous than all the government's satellites. Not only Tony wanted her alive and found but she felt the threat vibrating through her veins. She knew that Tony didn't want his name ruined and/or associated with a criminal and that was why she would never let him find her - it wasn't just so they could talk, no, his reasons were always a bit egocentric. At least, so she thought. "Once Sam and Steve are back, we have to be on our way" Natasha told her, snapping her out of her mind.  "If we find Wanda and Vision, that is" she commented as she downed her coffee in hopes of some kind of an energy kick. The blond woman raised an eyebrow, disapproving the recklessness in that relationship. Vision had to report their situation but instead he went incognito for the last couple of days.  "Speaking of... you and Steve seem distant lately. What happened?" she wanted to know. That was the issue though. Nobody knew... at some point, their talks stopped happening so often, their time together became shorter, their kisses almost disappeared, leaving her to question what had happened. She shrugged as if it didn't bother her. Natasha knew better but didn't push it. "Alright, I'm just saying. Don't give up just yet" Nat advised her, while she packed the few things left out. She got up to help but not a moment later, a furious Sam and a slightly aggravated Steve walking in on them. "They are in trouble" Steve announced, already getting ready to fight. "Because they didn't do as told" Sam sassed but no one could blame them. They all prepared for the worst. And everyone already knew their places. She had chose not to be active because she had made a realization that wasn't so pleasing. Her powers drew from her - so every time she used her powers, came with a cost. She was the stand-by pilot of the Quinjet, observing and if needed intervening while the other three were handling the fists. She was mostly using her powers to hide them from the radars and it took a toll on her. Not long after that, they were all in the Jet, heading to Wanda and Vision. No one talked, no one looked each other. She felt estranged. "We're here" she informed shortly after. Steve simply nodded and she grew even more angry and worried. "We'll be right up" Natasha soothed, as she opened the doors of the Jet. Once she was alone again, she let the anger go but her mind was travelling to dark places. It wasn't anger, it was desperation and agony. A painful scream was about to escape her lips when they came back with the two lovers.  "I thought we had a deal. Stay close, check in. Don't take any chances" Natasha reprimanded Wanda, while Steve glanced over to her, leaving her with all the more questions.  "I am sorry. We just wanted time" Wanda said with tears in her eyes.  "Sam, you're on. I am going to try to help Vis, but I can't promise you anything" she finally came to her senses, leaving Sam to pilot them away, as she sat next to Wanda. "Be careful" Steve told her, almost too airy. She didn't turn when she replied that she wasn't gonna hurt Vision. He stopped in front of her, and before answering to Sam, he answered to her. "I was talking about you". That made her head swing. He tore his eyes from hers to give directions to Sam. Natasha gave a small smile, a sad one, because she knew how hard it was to love in the midst of a war.  "Where to, Cap?" he asked again. He took a deep breath. "Home". What was that? She couldn't remember. Focusing on Vision, her eyes turned lilac again - soon after her lessons from Strange, she was able to channel her power through every single cell of her body, thus affecting them, both in a good and in a bad way. She had never exactly understood what was triggering her powers to resurface whenever she needed them. But in that moment she knew exactly how to help him and so she did. She didn't notice anything other than the ordinary but everyone else did. The lights went off inside the Jet, a small purple lightning appeared in the sky and her powers were suddenly all over Vision like a cocoon. Moments later, everything was back to normal and Vision had regained his form but he wasn't in his original shape, which made her furrow her eyebrows, puzzled at her capabilities.  "Don't wear yourself out; I am better and we are arriving. Thank you" Vision reasoned with her thoughts. She raised an eyebrow - she didn't like it when he did that, but she knew he was right. Steve hadn't taken his eyes off of her the whole time. He was concerned about her. He was terrified when she went full on purple but not for his sake. He was worried about the side-effects. He was also a tad proud about her; and just a bit guilty about his behavior towards her. He had asked her to run with them, asked to be a fugitive, to stand against Tony again and she had devoted herself and her powers towards that mission - and he was being a jerk. And she hadn't given up on him still. He owed her more than an apology. "Maybe stand behind us, so no matter what Tony won't find out that you're here" Natasha offered her and she was thankful for her quick thinking. Her veins were purple, Steve noticed. They locked eyes. Trouble was on its way. 

"So... So we gotta assume they're coming back, right?" Natasha stated the obvious. Everyone was nervous, some of them terrified even.

"And they can clearly find us" Wanda added as her sole focus was on Vision. "We need all hands on deck. Where's Clint?" Bruce added, being the first to know the enemy. "After the whole Accords situation, he and Scott took a deal. It was too tough on their families, they're on house arrest" Natasha explained to him while they were examining each other. Steve was looking at her, worried. "Okay, look… Thanos has the biggest army in the universe. And he is not gonna stop until he... he gets... Vision's Stone". For a scientist, he wasn't exactly helpful at that moment. She wasn't talking, not sure if she had to say something. But sure enough that if Thanos could get ahold of all the infinity stones, no one could stop him - if she was powerful without all of their powers, he would be death itself. She turned her back on them, thinking about every possibility. "Well then, we have to protect it" Nat had to be optimistic, while in fact knowing extremely well that wasn't the case. "No, we have to destroy it. I've been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head, about its nature. But also, its composition. I think if it were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source, something, very similar to its own signature, perhaps… its molecular integrity could fail" Vision addressed Wanda as he neared her. She was clearly not having it. "And you, with it. We're not having this conversation". Her head was spinning, thoughts overflowing with images of catastrophe. "Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can't get it". She wasn't sure about that and it scared her more than anything. "That's too high a price". And she agreed with Wanda. If that was Steve, she would likely be a bit too fierce. "Thanos threatens half the Universe. One life cannot stand in the way of defeating him". It wasn't the time for heroism, she thought. It was already overwhelming her. "But it should, we don't trade lives, Vision" Steve boldly said, making her turn and finally looked at him with all the desperation of the world. "Captain, 70 years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people. Tell me, why is this any different?". It felt too much for her. The last hour it has been about the end of the world and honestly, she felt angry and trapped. Without even realizing it, a jolt of purple energy was sent directly to Vision. She gasped and before she could actually harm somebody, she whispered an apology and run out of the room. If Thanos was coming, she was as good as dead.

The night unfolding in front of her was gloomy, dark and ominous with storm clouds. A starless night, without a single ray of hope to shine through and ease her mind. She had yet to come to terms with her very essence. She had been confident about her powers, herself and so, naturally, the more it hurt once she was proven wrong. Which was slowly making her reluctant to trust anything- even her own gut feelings. Because when she had been so sure of something and it didn't happen the way she thought it would, it felt like she was betrayed by herself. These expectations and the hope that she had given herself- she did that, she gave herself all this hope when she shouldn’t have, and then she got hurt. So subconsciously she won’t let herself have that much hope the next time. That was how getting hurt was slowly destroying her. She got less and less optimistic and hopeful. She felt that deep inside her bones; she would never come completely back.  She was so deep in her head, she didn't even hear him opening and closing the door. She was a skeleton made out of flowers, seeds lodged themselves in her bones, tangled roots spread across her frame, a delicate network of nerves and veins; she was a garden on a cemetery floor, beauty born of compost and worms, watered by rain and shallow tears, sinking into rich earth...hoping to rise again. He softly touched her shoulder making her slightly jump. It was strange for him to watch her so lost in her mind.  "Is Vision okay?" she asked him, seemingly worried but he knew her better than that. She knew he was fine, she just needed one more reason to hate herself. He stood near her, not quite sure what to do. "Of course he is. Are you?" he found the courage to ask her. It was difficult looking at her and knowing she was not alright but not being able to help her. Maybe he was the positive fucking little unicorn and even though the past months had been cruel to all of them and he had grown different, he still wanted to help - mostly her.  "Nope, definitely no" she truthfully told him, as she turned to look at his blue ocean eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. He was about to tell her something about positivity but she didn't want to hear any of it and cut him off. "No, Steve, don't tell me that things will be better, that I will be able to control those freacking powers- the same ones that Thanos wants to obtain. Don't tell me that there is hope, cause I have none. I can't look you directly in the eye and tell that I'll be able to help. I guessing that I will be able to destroy. Don't ask me what. And no, I don't want to hear to whatever advice you have. I am sorry but it's all happening so fast, so many things are going on and I can't even breathe. And you what? On top of everything, I still think about you. Are we just friends if it’s your breath on my neck late at night or if it’s our laced fingers beneath your covers? How tightly do we need to be pressed against each other before you admit that you aren’t doing this for warmth? How many times does your thumb need to brush my lips before we realize that we’ve gone too far?" she let on, giving him absolutely no warnings that she would burst like that. She caught him by surprise and she saw that, so she chuckled sadly and waved her hands to dismiss every words she said. She always did that - demining her own thoughts and problems when she was overwhelming towards another. But he wasn't going to let her. For a reason he did not know, he was growing angry. That was a lie, he knew exactly why. He cared about her way too much to let her ruin herself. "Hey - no, hey, I'm talking to you. Don't you DARE walk away now. You don't get to tell me this just to erase it after a moment" he almost yelled at her the minute she tried to leave. She was taken aback. This was new. She had never seen him mad at her. Not that it scared her but it was different and gained her attention.  "Fuck this! No, it's not gonna be okay. There is a war upon us and it's scary as fuck because we have to go against someone so deprived of any common sense who craves your fucking powers. And your powers scare the hell out of us but you didn't want them- he does. I don't believe you for a second. I know you can master them, so stop being a fucking coward and learn how to, work on that. Control what has been given to you - it doesn't matter if you suffered or not. You have those god-damn powers. And you're stronger than anyone I know. Not because you have them. Because it's who you are. And no. We are not friends. We never were" and with that he grabbed her by her waist and slammed her against his body, lips desperately craving hers. 

"Eyes up. Stay sharp". By the time he informed as such, she was already making her way towards him, only to witness the Mad Titan sent him flying with the same purple jolt of power she possessed without having struck a single punch. T'Challa was grabbed by his throat and punched to the ground while Sam's wings became rubbery and unable to sustain flight. She kneeled down next to Steve to make sure he was still alive - she would probably loose it if he wasn't. When he opened his eyes, she finally breathed again, leaving him with a silent promise. All bloody and bruised, they needed to survive this. She heard Vision and Wanda and her heart broke. The least she could was give them time. "It shouldn't be you, but it is. It's all right. You could never hurt me. I just... feel you" Vision tried to soothe her pain as she extended a trembling hand, beaming her energy at the Mind Stone. She glanced at them, trying to focus all her power into stopping Thanos. She was running towards him when Steve slid under one blow and came up swinging his deployed arm-shields, punching Thanos in the gut and chin. He grabbed the gauntlet, keeping Thanos' fingers un-clenched. Thanos looked very briefly impressed at Steve’s efforts as he screamed before slamming a fist into his head and rendering him insensible. She let out a scream when Wanda looked over her shoulders. Purple jolts and beams of power hit the Mad Titan as she was determent to keep him away from the couple. If that was their goodbye, she was going to give them as much time as she could. Impressed by her ability to make him step back couple of meters, he tried to use his powers but Wanda joined her in a last effort. The two women looked at each other, understanding the pain Wanda felt as she nodded. "It's alright... It's alright. I love you". She struck again and again but her worst fear was coming true; her powers weren't enough. Taking a deep breath, she made a run for it, grabbed him by his massive hand and pushed his other out of her way with her powers, while she tried to get off of him the gauntlet. It took a great amount of power for him to knock her down and almost dead, something he informed her of. "You did better than most". She barely saw what happened, almost too weak to breathe. But when Wanda screamed in pain, she found the strength to pull it together, no matter how she felt and stood up, just when Thor arrived in the scene and the Stormbreaker slammed right into Thanos chest. She looked with eyes wide open when he didn't slow down. Steve was up again, and Bucky came rushing through. Both of them were looking tired, beaten and lost. One last effort before everything went to hell. Thor took hold of the back of Thanos' head, forcing the Stormbreaker deeper into his chest and she blasted that spot with all of her power, making him cry in pain. He looked at her slightly aggravated. "You should have gone for the head!" he yelled as he raised his gauntlet and snapped his fingers. 

"What'd you do? WHAT'D YOU DO?!" Thor was asking angrily. But he used the space stone and left.   "Where'd he go? Thor... where'd he go?" Steve stumbled into the clearing, holding his left side. She was almost too overwhelmed, she couldn't feel. "Steve?" Bucky suddenly stumbled over, and looked at her before he collapsed into ashes, much to Steve's shock; he walked over and touched the ground where Bucky's ashes evaporated disbelievingly. Shock washed over her, her entire body was trembling. "What is this? What the hell is happening?" Rhodes asked mere moments later, as Natasha appeared too, but to her … it felt like an eternity. She was literally vibrating with purple jolts of energy forming in her fingers. "Oh, God". Her body was going into shock; or maybe survival mode; or it was just too much. With a scream that echoed in the entire country, she fell down on her knees and as her hands touched the earth every single drop of power was released along with her previously so well hidden tears. It wasn't only purple. It was blue and red and yellow. She was in pain and never even noticed. She was suffocating. She wanted to smash his head open, make him pay for everything he had done, make him suffer before she finally killed him. Once her rage subsided, she opened up her eyes, facing the pain stained faces of the people that remained. He saw him, devastated, tragically alone again, looking at her with nothing but pain and questions. It wasn't him who helped her up and supported her weight. And it would never be Bucky again. Right before she passed out, she saw Thor's distressed face. He too had lost everything. "I got you".

_______

Taglist: @coffee-with-orion @accio-rogers @stydia-4-ever @smilexcaptainx @elliee1497

[onstarsandiron]

Like Stars Colliding: Chapter 1

I wanted more Jax and Ana being besties, so I thought where better to start than when they met? Here’s Chapter 1 of how they became bffls and the biggest pains in Siege’s ass in the entire galaxy

AO3 Link

Chapter: [1]/2/?

The universe was open and Jax could feel the stars around him. The comforting sense of knowing exactly where he was enveloped him as he watched the lights in the darkness twinkle outside the starshield. Sat in the Dossier’s cockpit, Jax couldn’t feel more at home. It had been a couple years since Captain Siege had let him join her crew and he’s finally been trusted to fly completely unsupervised when they weren’t on a job. He’s still trying to convince Siege he can fly them out of any danger – because he can – but she always just chuckles and says, “Some day you will.” It’s honestly very frustrating, but he’ll get his chance to prove his metal yet.

For now, though, he’s happy to just enjoy getting to be exactly where he should be. Stars above him, Cerces in view, and the red SOS light on the dash flashing. Wait. The red SOS light flashing? Jax looked at the blinking light – an alarming red going in and out at a surprisingly languid rate. That meant someone within range had an SOS signal out. Their ship and anyone else within range of that signal should be receiving the distress call, it was a mandatory standard on all vessels.

Quickly, Jax wasted no time in fixing on the signal. He pressed the intercom button as well, “Captain, we’ve got an SOS on radar.” Jax could feel the beginnings of an adrenaline rush entering his veins, but he reeled himself in. He needed to stay calm and cool, exhibit equanimity. He did stupid things when he let himself get too excited, and as the galaxy’s best pilot he didn’t have room for doing stupid things.

It wasn’t a minute before Captain Siege entered the cockpit, hair glowing a sun-yellow that filled the previously dim room with light. She had already dawned her red coat, her already imposing figure looking bullet proof. Wick followed behind her to take his place at the communications console, opening the right program to interpret the message.

SOS’s were a big deal; you never knew what you were getting yourself into. Is it a merchant ship that was raided and left for dead? Is the danger passed or will they find two groups still battling? Maybe someone who found themselves off course and stranded without enough fuel to get them anywhere. In this neck of the Kingdom, on the wrong side of Cerces and too far for comfort from Iliad, there was a possibility that they could be too late for anyone in a stranded craft. There also was always the possibility of the SOS being a lure to an ambush, a trick Jax always thought of as particularly dirty.

“How far away are we?” Siege asked, watching the screens in front of him. She’d stand close to him, but he never felt in danger of her touching him. It was such a relief that she just let him be about that; so many people, when told he didn’t like to be touched, took that as a challenge to try their damnedest to. It was truly exhausting.

“About thirty-minutes,” he replied, “We should have visual in twenty.” Thirty-minutes at the speed they’re going, even if it was just a typical cruise, was a lot of space. It was in an odd direction, too – away from the planets that could hold people who could help. Jax didn’t tend to think too optimistically when situations started looking strange.

“Decode it yet?” The captain asked, looking over to Wick.

Wick nodded, one earmuff of his headset pressed to his ear, “Large escape pod, but only two on board. No other information.”

Well now that was just confusing. Why would only two people be on a large escape pod? Large pods are built to hold around 75-100 souls, so if something went wrong on a ship that required pods like that there should have been more people, and possibly other pods. But if this was a spoof, it was a bad one. Why would bandits planning an ambush make such a strange and vague SOS? They would have said a small pod with a couple passengers to lower their guard and sent more complete information like what vessel they came from, any injuries to the passengers or damage to the pod, time since ejection – normal, standard information that’s typically auto-filled into the SOS signal. It put everyone on-edge, the opposite of what a false-message was made to do.

The captain frowned, no doubt going through the same calculations Jax was – after all, he’d learned it all from her. “And there’s no sign of any other ship? Not even the mother?”

Jax ran another scan of the area, this time finer as he had a clearer idea of where to be looking. He shook his head. “Nothing we can detect, Captain.” Just because the Dossier didn’t see them, didn’t mean they weren’t cloaked, but there at least wasn’t a mother ship anywhere in sight.

Wick shook his head too, “No other communications, no signal interceptions, barely even any base radio waves all the way out here.”

“Send out a response signal, let them know we’re coming,” Siege said at last. Even if they were suspicious, there was no need to tell anyone out there listening that they thought something was wrong.

Wick nodded and sent out the appropriate signal, reporting that it was received, but no further information sent.

Jax really didn’t like this, but he couldn’t blame the captain; if there really was someone in trouble all the way out here, there probably wouldn’t be anyone else passing by for a long time. After all, that was the only reason they were traveling in such deserted space themselves to begin with.

Slowly, finally, the pod in question came within range of the Dossier’s external camera. Jax zoomed in and displayed the grainy image up on he main holoscreen, the image slowly getting sharper the closer they inched. It was definitely a large pod, looking to fit 100 souls easily, most likely with food for all of them for at least two weeks. It was so clean and new looking that it was genuinely shiny. The pod rotated slightly as it drifted. It wasn’t deployed from the mother ship particularly fast, it seemed, or else they’d still be going that speed. Either that or someone was controlling the ship and had slowed it on purpose, which wouldn’t make much sense in the middle of nowhere.

Jax searched the area for any other visuals or crafts, but he couldn’t find even the heat trails of anyone who might be around to jump them. Fishy. Fishy, fishy, fishy.

“Oh my,” he heard the captain say, and snapped his head back to the main holoscreen. The glorified tin can had rotated enough to reveal an insignia painted onto its side: a large purple octopus with a ninth tentacle.

“Ironbloods,” Jax said under his breath, knowing that was a symbol he’d seen before but not remembering whose it was.

“Rasovant,” Siege filled in, her green eyes hardening. Ironbloods were always trouble. Even if they helped them, there’d be no guaranteeing the bastards wouldn’t turn around and turn them in. But still, it would be genuinely cruel to leave anyone out here, especially when they’d already responded to the SOS.

There was no way anything good was going to come of this.

“Jaxander, Wick, keep scanning for stray signals and any, I mean any, movement.” Wick and Jax both nodded. Siege then reached over Jax’s shoulder and pressed the intercom button, “We’re approaching a Rasovant escape pod, size large, reportedly only carrying two. Barger, I want you on the guns in case we’re getting tricked. Talle, I want you and Riggs to be our welcoming party, be prepared to lead em off to the med bay if they need it.”

A series of affirmatives voiced themselves over the ship’s speakers and noise was heard elsewhere in the Dossier as everyone moved to their positions. They were a bit light handed, being between jobs and simply cruising to the next where they’d pick up a few temporary hands. Jax hoped they wouldn’t need more than who they had for a company of two. Jax hoped it was really a company of two.

Fifteen minutes from the pod and the seconds ticked by like hours. Jax had every sweeping program he could think of running, but there wasn’t even a ghost to be found.

Ten minutes from the pod and finally Wick’s pinging made a proper connection. “Dossier pinging Escape Pod 02,” Wick said, apparently now getting a signal through to the craft, “Confirm status.”

There was a long moment of Jax and Siege watching Wick, his face making it seem as if it was difficult to make out what the other was saying. At last, he looked to the captain with a report, “They’re on low power, radio’s malfunctioning. It’s two, alright, though; says it’s a Metal with a little girl and the girl needs medical attention.”

That… what? Jax looked at Wick incredulously. Why didn’t any piece of this situation make sense? What kind of day was this? Jax found himself ruffled, but the captain looked as if she’d simply been told water was wet.

Five minutes from the pod and Jax could see via the camera aimed at the airlock Riggs and Talle were geared up in their miss-match space suits. “Jaxander, we’re going to come at them nice and slow and deploy our hooks. They can slide across and Riggs and Talle will take em. Wick, relay all that to them, will you?”

Jax nodded and prepared for the maneuver. It was strange to be rescuing a pod that was, now that they approached in proper, actually a little larger than they were. He didn’t like this, since they’d be extremely vulnerable with their hooks out, but there wasn’t a damn thing in sight to cause them harm. At least it was a formal escape pod, such that it had designated points to implant hooks rather than him having to be careful not to pierce the wrong bit of its side.

Sidled up to it, Jax watched anxiously through his feed as the air locks of the Dossier and of the escape pod opened. The angle was poor, but Jax could make out a Metal, looking just as any other Metal did, holding a white cocoon. The cocoon wasn’t exactly a space suit so much as a space bag, common stock on an escape pod so that they could hook each bag to tethers and slide it across without worrying about the price or fit of a space suit for everyone on board. The Metal followed the standard procedure to a t. The bag was adult sized, for some reason, and if it hadn’t been for the lack of gravity Jax suspected the lump of person – the aforementioned girl, he guesses – would fall to the bottom rather comically. Talle caught the bag, and the Metal followed, simply grabbing onto the tether with his iron hand and gliding along it. Riggs almost caught it before the metal stopped itself by holding onto the tether tighter and letting friction do its work. Probably for the best; they may not be experiencing gravity out there, but that Metal still had mass and an acceleration.

Once the airlock was secured again and Talle, Riggs, the bag, and the Metal disappeared from the camera’s view, Jax disconnected their hooks and reeled them back in nice and easy. In reaction to being released, the floating pod drifted backwards away from them, airlock door still open to space as it returned to slowly rotating. It’d probably end up in Haven’s Grave one day or something.

Just like that, they now had two of the strangest passengers in the galaxy on their ship.

“All right, let’s get us back on our way to that waystation now,” Siege said to him, and Jax was more than happy to turn the ship around and toward an actual destination. This couldn’t be bandits because they never would have even had anything in the pod to begin with, but he still felt paranoid here. He could feel that space was full of stars and light, felt it every day, but this little corner seemed to be nothing emptiness.

“We’ll see to the girl and I’ll let you know if you need to step on it depending on how bad off she is, but for now let’s take it just like we were. If these folks are running from something, there’s no reason to give nobody something to chase.”

Jax had been so caught up in thinking this was all a trap he hadn’t even thought of the possibility of someone running from something. Really, he hadn’t even thought of who they might have just picked up. He recalled how small the body in the bag had looked, a bit smaller than him, he’d say. Now he was filled with questions over who they were and what had happened. Why were they in such a big pod? Why was it on low power? Why were they in this weird part of space? There was a slice of guilt built in that he hadn’t been very concerned until just now.

“Barger, you can go ahead and stand down,” the captain said into the intercom. She was returned with a, “Make me bloody get all the way into this damn-fangled piece of shit just for me not to be allowed to shoot anything?” which was as close as Barger tended to get towards, “Yes, of course, Captain.”

“Wick, with me. Cockpit’s all yours, Kiddo,” Siege said turning to leave the cockpit. Wick nodded, shut down his station and followed. Jax suddenly deflated, realizing the one drawback to being the pilot: his place was this chair. He wanted desperately to leap out and run down to the cargo bay where the Metal surely was and watch how the captain might grill him, or to lay eyes on the girl in the bag. His stomach suddenly formed a knot as he remembered that the girl was injured. How badly, he wondered, and could they help her? Was she on death’s door? Or was she some Ironblood kid who considered a day without breakfast or a splinter to be proper suffering?

Either way, he wasn’t going to find out any time soon. Not unless someone was going to swap with him at the helm or come up and tell him what was up, and it seemed like these two were a real all-hands-on-deck issue at the moment. The guilt from before bit at him again, reminding him he shouldn’t treat an injured person as a spectacle. Then again, if this strange rescue wasn’t a spectacle, then what was?

Jax sighed to himself, the adrenaline he had squashed down earlier leaving him with an empty feeling as it dissipated. Guess now was as good a time as ever to work on his patience.

[imthescapman-blog]

Session 5: 2/16/2017

Chapter 1: Life’s Bazaar, continued

               The party started tonight’s session with a bit of discussion regarding what they should do next. Opinions were split, as some wanted to continue exploration, while others were eager to return to the surface and search for information on the Vanishing, an affliction that caused Jzadirune to be closed and sealed long ago, and now affected Hugo. Hugo was torn between seeking a cure on the surface and exploring to see if a cure had been found and was kept in the complex itself.  

               Ultimately, the argument to continue the search below ground won out, and the party continued to explore the eastern section of Jzadirune. The party explored a tunnel to the south that turned east and found a room which contained the bloated, long-dead corpse of a carrion crawler. Hugo noticed that the inside of the beast had been hollowed out and that a couple of coffers were actually hidden away inside the creature.

               The party eagerly investigated and found a few items of worth, including a couple of spell scrolls. Moving on from this area, the group circled back to the Hall of Dancing Lights and explored some of the chambers branching off from this room. One room turned out to be an empty guest quarters and the other was a storage area. Amria discovered a hidden door in the storage area, which led to a large bathroom. The bathroom had a large marble tub with a constant flow of water from overhead. The room was coated in spider webs and a cocooned humanoid form was hanging over the tub.

               Tiny stealthily infiltrated the room and sighted a giant arachnid perched in the webs, lazily weaving away. The spider had not noticed the monk as she snuck in, but when Hugo tried to follow behind her into the room, the creature easily spied him. Tiny used the brief advantage she would have due to her stealth to strike the first blow. The spider could not make contact using its venomous bite, and the party took it down quickly, owing their success to Ris’ smite ability and Amria’s powerful eldritch blast.

               The group continued to explore and found a ruined dining hall. Most of the furniture had been removed and demolished, probably to build the barricades that held the grick in its chamber. This hall had many paths to move toward, and the party went forward as systematically as possible. One of the rooms held an empty pantry with moldy food and decayed herbs but another turned out to be a kitchen. Tiny once again led the way, stealthily, and she spied a humanoid garbed from head to toe in black cloth crouched in a dark corner, its hand gripping a dagger. Tiny and the creature locked eyes and she advanced menacingly but was halted by a dagger sinking deeply between her shoulder blades. She spun just in time to see another fly toward her and bury itself in her front. Tiny went down in a bloody heap and the group entered to fight the pair of small humanoids, the one seen and the one unseen.

               The creatures were quick and precise with their strikes, but couldn’t stand against the havoc that the group could wreak. The creatures held one more surprise, though: After being dealt a mortal blow, they exploded in a flash of light that threatened to blind anyone close enough. There were no corpses to examine in the aftermath, simply piles of ash and daggers.

               Fogo boggled his mind to recall any information that he may have come across in the library of Bluecrater and remembered that these creatures were called Darklings, fey that had been cursed by the light. Any light they encountered burned their skin and was absorbed to shorten their lives. Still, the creatures had a craving for beauty and brightness, and willingly suffered for the chance to see things unique and beautiful.

               The party healed Tiny and headed north, where they found an underground illusory forest. It was a magnificent creation of magic, complete with rays of sunshine perforating a canopy of large trees growing from the grassy ground. It was a peaceful distraction, but the party continued onward and found another strange chamber, where spheres of invisibility hid creatures in its corners.

               Another damaged automaton seemed to materialize alongside a darkling. The creatures were quick and violent, but they fell to the party’s weapons and magic.

               The party explored onward and found a room with a silver cage atop a wooden chest. In the cage was a rat with a star-shaped patch of fur on its head. It was standing up and gripping the bars, urgently squeaking and shaking the cage. The party piled in to release the creature, but as they approached, the chest opened to reveal rows of sharp teeth and a mouth curled into a grin. It flapped its lid open and actually seemed to be trying to communicate. No one could understand it, so Hugo advanced and tried to release the rat, but the mimic snapped at him and combat began.

               The mimic was cut down, but not before wrapping its heavy tongue around Hugo’s arm and pulling him into its maw, nearly making a meal of the bard. Once the creature was dispatched, the party released the rat from its cage. Ris, being a gnome and thereby able to communicate with small mammals, heard its tale of kidnapping and imprisonment. Afterward, the party moved into a side room, where a skulk hid and stabbed Tiny from a hole in the ground. It was defeated quickly and the party decided now may be a good time for a brief rest.

               The next room to the north held the remains of a glassblowing workshop. The party found a single creature attempting to hide. The party spoke out loud to it, and the very darkness itself seemed to unfold. The creature was a tall, graceful creature dressed similarly to the darklings. In its delicate hands it held a short sword and a dagger. Hugo, ever a perceptive young man, noticed that the little bit of flesh that could be seen of the creature was obviously affected by the Vanishing. Fogo asked it in Common, “Be you friend or foe?”

               The creature responded in Elven, “I will not sully my tongue with your dirty language.” Fogo and Hugo both understood Elven, so Fogo repeated his question after a diplomatic apology. The creature answered, “I was foe until you slaughtered my clan. I’m more inclined to be a friend now, if you’re open to negotiation.”

               “What do you have in mind?”

               “An exchange of information, a truce, in the interest of a longer life lived. I don’t believe I can beat you all, but should I fall, I shall not leave this plane by myself. There are things you wish to know. Ask your questions, I shall answer, and then I shall go.”

               The party discussed quickly and agreed to the terms, only asking also for one of the missing keys that they had not yet found. The creature agreed to this.

               “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

               “I am Yuathyb. My clan and I were simply… living.”

               “What do you know about the kidnapped children?”

               “We took them, me and mine, and gave them to a dwarf. He takes them below, into the Malachite Hold. We bring them to the elevator and hand them over to hobgoblins.”

               “What do you get out of this? Why do you do it?”

               To this, Yuathyb simply shrugged. Hugo stepped in eagerly, “Do you have any ideas on how to cure this? The Vanishing?”

               Yuathyb’s eyes betrayed a hidden smile. “Of course not.”

               The conversation sputtered out and it was time for Yuathyb to leave. He dropped the key onto the ground before him and backed out of the room. To leave, he had to pass by Tiny, and he gave her a wink before padding into the darkness and disappearing.

               The party inspected the room and from here found another secret door. This door led to a chamber filled with wealth. A gnome-sized suit of plate mail was filled from boot to helm with gold coins, and jewelry of all kinds lay about the room, in urns and casks.

               The party celebrated the discovery with a foray to the surface. The doorway into Ghelve’s Locks was blocked by a table stacked with dishes that made a lot of noise as Fogo pushed it out of the way. Ghelve came running down the stairs to investigate and was overjoyed at the party’s arrival. He insisted on hosting the party overnight. Fogo asked him to unlock the spellbook they had found, and Ghelve happily agreed. He even offered to make a key for the book’s lock. Fogo decided to go to his father’s house and sleep there for the night, hoping to speak with him about Jzadirune. His father was not present, though.

               The party slept and Tiny had another nightmare, wherein she saw one of the kidnapped children. The next day, everyone ran about on their own errands. Fogo discovered upon waking that he had also contracted the dreaded Vanishing, and the first place he went that morning was to visit his father at Bluecrater University.

               He walked to his father’s personal study at Bluecrater and found the man eating his breakfast. Seymour Xavius Fumar was an elderly man with little obvious concern for his personal appearance. The top of his head was bald and his white, wispy hair was wild and at all angles. He was poring over a couple of tomes and scratching notes into another, only glancing at Fogo as he entered. “Three days, Fogo,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in three days. Where the hells have you been?”

               Proudly, Fogo began to tell his father of the adventure he had been on, telling him all about Jzadirune and the skulks.

               “It isn’t real, Fogo. Don’t make up stories. Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need money? Is that what this is about?”

               Fogo grew angry. “No, I found money, I found a lot of money. I’ve been to Jzadirune! Look at me! I have the Vanishing, that ended Jzadirune!  I came here to talk to you about it and to see if you could help me!”

               Seymour looked up with a roll of his eyes and paused when he noticed Fogo’s vanishing flesh. “My word, you do. And of course, you brought it here! How did you get it? What is it doing to you?” He stood up and skirted along the walls, keeping distance between himself and Fogo. “Stay here, I’m going to help you, but first you’ll have to be quarantined. Don’t move!” With that, he retreated from the room, slammed the door and locked it behind him.

               Frustrated and disappointed beyond measure, Fogo waited a moment before kicking the door open and leaving the University to find something to spend his money on.

               Tiny was eager to find a bank to store her gold then get back to exploring the underground complex. Amria and Ris ventured to the Temple of St. Cuthbert and updated Jenya Urikas on the status of their investigation. Amria purchased healing potions and asked if the priestess could cure her curse. Jenya agreed, but asked for a donation as compensation, which she would discount for the party’s service to the church thus far. She charged only 250 gold pieces for the spell, and just like that, Amria was no longer cursed.

               They asked her for her opinions on the Vanishing, and she offered to take a look at Hugo, if he’d like, and to see if there was anything she could do to help him. Hugo declined at first, certain that there was nothing she could do for him. After a bit of persuasion, he relented and went to the temple. Jenya reached for Hugo’s hands, but he flinched back. “Don’t touch me, you might get it.” She smiled gently in reply, “It’s alright. I’m not afraid.” She took his hands and closed her eyes, muttering a prayer that sounded like a conversation almost. She finally looked up at him and smiled. “It is a curse, and I can remove it.” She cast the same spell that cured Amria and Hugo was whole once more. “Do you know how you became afflicted with it in the first place?”

               The party did not, so the question went unanswered for now. Unfortunately, she could not cure Fogo, since her inventory of spells of that caliber had been depleted for the day. Fogo visited a magic item store and tried to make a deal on selling his Gray Bag of Tricks, but ended up eventually selling it to Ris instead so that he could buy better armor.

               Refreshed and restocked, the party descended once more into Jzadirune. They followed the instructions given to them by Yuathyb and found the secret door to the elevator that would take them into the Malachite Fortress, further beneath the surface. A duo of hobgoblins, wielding expertly forged weapons and bedecked in high quality armor, would be the last challenge to overcome before they could make that descent… and that’s where we ended.

An eldritch knight with a spellbook

When the party spent the night at Ghelve’s Locks, they leveled up to third. Fogo picked the eldritch knight archetype and he wanted to discuss the spellbook that he found in Jzadirune. The normal rules for eldritch knights only give them access to Abjuration and Evocation spells, and they do not use spellbooks. Fogo’s player wanted to know if that could be adjusted a bit, and we worked on expanding the rules a bit to give Fogo more versatility.

The rule that we agreed to was to allow Fogo a spellbook for spells outside of the Abjuration and Evocation schools and he would get one slot per spell level for spells in that category. It’s more expensive for him to scribe spells (100gp per page instead of 50gp per page, I think).

This fits because Fogo comes from a scholarly background and is more inclined to toting around a book and learning from it. I don’t think this will be game-breaking, and since the party lacks a dedicated wizard or sorcerer, it adds some extra adaptability to the group. We’ll see how it goes.

Moving things along

We’ve been in the same dungeon for four sessions now. It’s time to go! Jzadirune is a great dungeon crawl. It has a unique personality, a multitude of traps and more than one mystery that the team is trying to crack. Still, it gets old after a while. As a DM, it’s important to maintain a gauge on interest level and keep things moving. In this case, the group walked over traps that I didn’t trigger, they found secret doors pretty easily, and they even found keys and were able to move on quicker than was written.

Towards the end, the group made a quick trip to the surface and quick is the key word. Cauldron is a highly detailed small city and there are a lot of roleplaying opportunities and possible adventure hooks that can come up, but I could tell that the group wasn’t interested in lingering. For the most part, they wanted to drop off the buttload of gold they found, buy some healing potions, and get back to work. It’s exciting that the group is moving closer to the heart of the kidnappings and I look forward to the next session.

[shtfandgo]

New Post has been published on SHTFandGO Survival and Emergency Supplier

New Post has been published on http://www.shtfandgo.com/2017/02/01/what-does-bugging-out-really-mean/

What Does Bugging Out Really Mean?

First, what does the term bugging out really mean. It is military jargon and by most accounts, the term originated from the Korean War. Units and/or personnel were directed to “bug-out” when their current position was no longer considered defensible and was likely to be overrun by hostile forces. Personnel were expected to deploy rapidly to a pre-designated defensive position.

The key phrasing is a “position no longer defensible and is likely to be overrun” and “deployment to a pre-designated defensible position”. In other words, you do not run around in circles in a panic, you need a plan, and you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

People are in love with the idea but if they really had to Bug out love can be fleeting at times.

In non-military prepping terms, bugging out is typically associated with grabbing a bug-out-bag and hastily leaving a disaster zone. Heading presumably to a pre-designated safe haven but herein lays the crux of bugging-out. You only think you know what will happen once you leave. What the reality is you are fleeing one disaster for another, one that may turn out even more disastrous. Once you leave the four walls of your shelter, you have given yourself over to another crisis, one that you have absolutely no control over. You have heard the term “from the frying pan into the fire” it applies here.

You may have a utopia just waiting for you to show up. One of the problems however is getting there, the second problem is how many others are already there, and once you get there, then what.

As smart as you may think you are, you have not reinvented the wheel here. Everyone else will be thinking the same things and many will not be even remotely prepared. Some people will still show up at your safe haven looking for handouts just as they have been doing all their life.

People are convinced for some reason that society will make a drastic change once a major catastrophe strikes. Society will stay the same it’s just that the surroundings will be different. You will still have those people that work hard and try to do the right thing, you will have those people that want to take from others and then those that simply for whatever reason cannot make a go of anything and are dependent upon society as a whole.

You will not become a hermit living off the land the minute you reach your so-called safe haven. The minute you reach your destination is when survival really begins, and you will not be alone.

What is your Bug Out Plan based on?

There is nothing better than personal experience when it comes to making a plan. If you have never grabbed your bug-out-bag and headed out for parts known or unknown because of a crisis then you are planning based on assumptions, on what others have told you, or on what you may have read on the Internet. If you do not know what can happen from personal experience, then well you simply do not know do you. You can only guess (hypothesis) based on the most reliable and current information, but those giving you the information are only guessing as well, unless they have experienced bugging-out firsthand.

Scenario

Day 1

Normally you are awakened by blaring music but not this morning. The voice was excited and yet tried to remain calm and solemn at the same time, a newscasters’ voice. You caught bits and pieces of the news bulletin as you lay there wondering why you were not hearing music from the bedside radio.

Unknown toxicity, possible aerosol canisters placed on public transit, could be sprayed from the air. Some first responders have succumb to unknown contaminates; the anchor went on to state. People collapsing on the street, the bits and pieces were flung from the radio, as you lay there half-awake, and then it struck you.

Your face drained and a sense of urgency took over, you jumped out of bed and had an overpowering urge to run but where to. Finally, you got a hold of yourself and turned on the television as you begin dressing.

Chaos and people screaming even the anchor facing the camera was in a panic talking through a respirator. Cars were parked on the sidewalks and stopped in the middle of the street. Ambulances with the back doors gaping open filled the screen but no one inside, no gunnery’s or any medical technicians wheeling patients, no one rushing, and no one in sight.

The camera tilted and then crashed to the ground. Now the view was from ground level. You saw the legs and feet of someone lying just feet from the camera lens. You could not stop staring.

One Year ago

Today was the first time you had heard of “bugging out” and “bug-out-bags”. Your friend had always been enthusiastic and seemed to latch on to new ideas with intense fervor and today he was trying to convince you to prepare for the coming apocalypse. Super Storm Sandy along the East Coast had a tremendous impact even this far inland and people seemed to be talking more about preparedness.

The Mid-Western city you lived in was land locked and had a population close to 500,000. Not a bustling metropolis compared to the cities along either coast but a large metropolitan area nonetheless. It was referred to as fly over country by many and not on any ones’ radar in your opinion, especially a terrorist organization as your friend was trying to imply.

Your friend was dragging out backpacks, clothes, tools and gadgets and laying them on the floor. He handed you a hand written list of items that he said were essential for surviving 72-hours in any situation. He said that when the SHTF he wanted to be ready and that you needed to be ready as well.

The note also had a rendezvous point, in the event of a crisis because all communications would be down, so meet up when the balloon goes up. You folded the note up and told your friend you had to get going, the blaring television was getting to be too much. Apparently, there was a marathon of the Doomsday Preppers running and your friend seemed transfixed by the show, he never looked up from the television as you closed the door behind you.

Present Day

You thought back to that day a year ago in your friends’ home. You have a bug-out-bag now but wondered just how prepared you really are. You had gathered some things over the last year and then stuffed them in a backpack and tossed it in a closet. Your idea of a crisis at the time was a few days without power or a blizzard that cocooned everyone in their homes for a couple of days.

Now it seemed the very city you lived in was not safe. You also realized it had been two hours since the first emergency broadcast and you had not even grabbed your pack, and you wondered about your friend. Why no phone calls, your cell phone still had bars and there was still electrical service. The humming refrigerator seemed oblivious to what was happening. He may have just “bugged-out” and was headed for the meeting place, but another thought occurred but you tried hard to push it away.

You had no idea what to do. Fear of the known and unknown alike rooted you in place.

The news channel was a garbled mess and the governors and mayor’s statements that had been taped an hour earlier were playing continually. Stay calm, and no, we do not know if the crisis is an attack or an industrial accident; it is too early to say. The investigation is continuing, no need to panic and no mandatory evacuations have been ordered at this time and it is recommended you stay indoors and avoid traveling at this time. Keep the highways clear for emergency personnel were the pleas from the authorities.

Apparently, the local news stations were on automatic pilot. The workers were likely huddled up somewhere or fleeing the city. The local radio stations obviously did not get the governor’s memo about staying off the roads, because they were playing on a loop the routes that were to be used for evacuation from the city.

You had no idea what the toxin was that was released, and if anyone in authority knew, it was kept a secret. However, the empty ambulances with their doors flung wide told the whole story.

You were afraid to leave and afraid to stay, you simply did not have enough information. If you left on foot, you may walk into a cloud of deadly chemicals, and where would you walk to that was safe. If you tried to leave in your car, you could get hung-up in traffic and then no way to escape the clouds of gas headed your way if in fact it was a gas attack.

What if it was some communicable disease and the National Guard was already stopping people from leaving because of the fear of it spreading. Not enough information to decide on a course of action, staying put could be deadly and leaving on foot seemed to be even more deadly.

Your home was a small rental house perched somewhere between real suburbia and the city central. There were factories you could see from your front window, and no clouds of steam bellowed from their smokestacks today.

You were looking at the overpass a quarter of a mile away with a pair of binoculars and it was clogged with cars not moving. You saw people running along the sides of the highway in both directions; it was chaos wherever you looked.

You inventoried your backpack and wondered how in the world you could survive out there. What should you do? Should you shoulder the pack and make a run for it, head north away from the city and find a wooded area. Where does safety lie in this type of situation?

The people on the overpass seemed to be fine, no one appeared to be gasping for air or collapsing on the spot as far as you could tell but things could change.

The pack had some bottled water, ready to eat foods in plastic pouches, matches, a magnesium stick that you had never tried out, a change of underwear and socks, heavy coat, flashlight, some rope, a compass, first aid kit, sunglasses and maps of the city and state along with a few other miscellaneous items. You also had a multi-tool, two thermal blankets and a small survival fishing kit all rolled up in a nylon tarp that your friend had given you.

You were worried about your friend because he did not answer his cell phone. It took close to an hour to get through on the cell phone only to hear his voicemail prompt you to leave a message. The cell towers were overloaded probably.

What do you do based on what you know so far?

It would be difficult to know if there were other canisters of gas ready to explode if in fact it was a deliberate release of deadly gas. Was it some type of freak accident? Possibly a train derailment of cars containing some deadly cargo or did someone blow up a train car that they knew contained deadly chemicals. It is all speculation at this point.

Terrorists often will attack and then wait for first responders to rush in and then attack again to injure and kill the emergency personnel. These types of attacks are truly meant to provoke terror in people’s minds. Attacks are also timed to occur in various areas at different times to spread emergency resources thin.

Terrorist know the psychological impact their actions have and in some cases, just the threat of an attack or the idea of another attack is enough to send a city into panic.

Based on the almost instant reaction the toxin had on people you could probably rule out a biological attack. However, the authorities may not have ruled it out and may cordoned off certain areas to prevent anyone from leaving. Thousands however, would be able to bypass the checkpoints and individuals with little to no training could easily avoid any roadblocks in place.

It seems some action, whether it works or not, is better than no action at all, is the philosophy of many government officials.

If it was a gas attack, the canisters could be rigged to explode by cell phone or timers all over the city. The individual could head out in a panic and run into a cloud of saran gas. Another release of gas could be closer to his home this time thus killing him in his own home if he stayed in place.

For the first attack, the canisters could have been placed on public transit, buses and trains, for example, and rigged to release at certain times. This means the gas is distributed throughout the city at intervals. The individual simply does not know.

The fact that the individuals’ cell phone worked six hours into the attack might allow you to rule out canisters rigged to explode by a cell or radio signal.

Homeland Security and other agencies if they had been paying attention would have jammed all radio and cell service to the area almost immediately to prevent a cell phone or radio signal from triggering any more devices. Although only six hours in may be too early for this kind of response what do you think?

After six hours no one seems to have much information, does the individual in the story have enough information to make a decision and what should his decision be.

Time is crucial and decisions to evacuate must be made quickly in these types of situations, what would you do and how would you do it?

[u23art]

A LOOK AT FINAL FANTASY XIII-2

During the process of forgiving FFXIII, I also came to the conclusion that I should take a gander towards its two sequels. I made the point that XIII did a few things wrong, but it had a lot of redeeming qualities too. So despite all my complaints, XIII ended up being a rewarded experience. Fast forward a few years and XIII-2 comes out, and let me tell you it takes a good step forward yet somehow two steps back.

3 years after the fall of Cocoon, humanity has settled down on Pulse and re-establishes it’s society. However, despite the ending of the last game, all memory of Lightning leaving Eden is gone and instead all the previous protagonists believe her to be within the crystal pillar holding up Cocoon alongside Fang and Vanille. We pick up in at night in New Bodhum, Lightning’s sister Serah is awoken by an attack by strange creatures on the beach front. Feeling helpless, Serah cowers until being saved by a mysterious tribal clothed stranger. Introducing himself as Noel, he tells a story of Lightning still alive and needing Serah help to correct the altered timeline. With a moogle/sword/bow in hand, Serah sets out to find Lightning.

So let me start off positively, this game fixes a lot of problems I found with the first game. Namely, random battles, they are in the game. I can sort of understand their exclusion from the last game. The game needed to look impressive, and I admit all those creatures wandering Gran Pulse keeping the screen look busy made the world seem fulfilled, however treking along the map made grinding arduous. Now, grinding is more than possible, with no shortage of enemies now I never felt underpowered when encountering a boss. Additionally, the funneling to the end of the game by maps is replaced by a number of different levels set in different time periods. However, that’s where the problems begin. There are a number of stages that are simply cloned from one another, and it makes exploration damn near convoluted. Say you need to go to Academia, without using a guide, there is an Academia 400 AF, 4XX AF and 500 AF, then there’s the Bresha ruins with 5 AF, 100 AF and a 300 AF. Figuring out where to go can be difficult enough at times, and then there’s the stage select menu. The cursor follows a branching pathways set up, and at times the options aren’t even close to one another in a cohesive manner.

It is also clear there’s not to much in variety with stages as even at the penultimate point of the game, I can still find myself in yet another clone stage.

Then there are the “Puzzle” elements scattered throughout the stages, they range from clock puzzles, connect the dots, or hitting switches to navigate a labyrinth. A good puzzle will show you all the pieces all at once, let you make mistakes and start over, and with the exact same set up as before. With the clock puzzle, making a mistake will reset the problem but with elements of it switched around. With the Labyrinth, it can be very difficult to understand what platforms are moved by which switches unless long observation is committed. Not to mention, these “puzzles” can be mandatory to progress at times.

As for the story that should be meat of the reason you’re in these places, I can only describe it as misguided. By that I mean that the biggest mistake of this game was using Serah as the protagonist as she’s portrayed in the game. The story’s source of conflict stems from Noel, or rather Noel’s background. Noel has a motivation to tackle the stronger forces before him, Serah on the other hand is just tagging along. She brings just about zero weight with her to the table. Looking back at Lightning, Lightning blended well with the science fiction set pieces with her outfit, when she interacted with other characters they didn’t immediately like her and there was very clear friction in some cases that helped Lightning grow as a character; albeit subtly. Looking at Serah from a glance, her japanese pop idol hair, ceaseless concern and cosmic cocktail dress clash with everything around her. And I can’t think of a single character in the game that has a personal distain towards Serah.

You’d think with the story being about time travel, these writers would have at least heard of Terminator 2 Judgement Day and could have taken some notes there. Altering the course of history can wreak havoc on the mind. If Serah was angry and lashing out at people who didn’t believe her perspective, that would be some welcome character depth to Serah’s character; make her vulnerable. Serah could be the Sarah Connor of Final Fantasy.

Speaking of pop idols, there are a lot of Japanese pop idol elements surrounding Serah. There’s her personality, her colorful god given one piece dress, and then there’s the dialogue trees scattered throughout the game that can potentially throw ambiguity on her previously established relationship with Snow in the last game lest she be given the cold shoulder by her fans. That’s not a critique, just what I believe to be some strange coincidences.

Then there’s the inner monologues, oh lord these inner monologues. The last game had an air of respect towards the players, extra context had to be rummaged through in the data log, but it wasn’t trying to hammer home the points repeatedly. If a cutscene occurs in XIII-2, Serah will proceed to have an inner monologue about the issue we’ve literally just seen and don’t require any more context for. It’s as if these writers presume we haven’t played the last game.

My point being that Serah fails to carry the story in too many ways.

And to top it off the game’s villain is an over dressed piece of ham. Caius is another time traveler alongside Noel, who seeks to destroy time in order to save an oracle of sorts; Yuel, from her endlessly reincarnating and dying when future viewing shaves years off her life. He speaks with an overacted vernacular, his origins are poorly explained with conflicting information too, and his soul edge looking sword is big and stupid. Seriously, his sword is a gimicky visual element; it’s fleshy and ominous and serves no practical purpose than making him look cooler than he is. I’m not even going to go into detail about the tedium his boss fight brings to the final conflict. I’ll just say he becomes a dragon, rather than the more interesting looking fal’cie, and just comes off as generic.

Also I want to briefly touch on the music. I can say it’s definitely not as good as the first game. Rather than the variety of tonal pieces at play in the first game, this game commits to a slew of pop music with the occasional Shootie HG track for spice.

Lastly, there’s the last big bummer of this game. DLC. If you want features like Sazh’s side of the story or Coliseum battles, they are locked behind a pay wall, leaving you with less to do in this game.

All in all, not a terrible game, but as a sequel it fails to substantially build on elements from the last game and in some cases takes a step back.

Final Fantasy XIII-2 gets a 6 out of 10.

At the very least, given the time traveling element, I can still regard this game as an alternative story or just plain non canon.