#it’s ok to be concerned for her but not to the extent that it overshadows everything else about her

[agir1ukn0w]

Ariana: Don’t comment on my body, do not reply.

everyone: she looks so skinny and unhealthy it’s making me wanna starve myself

[daydreamerdrew]

Ok I will admit that I was a little wary when I first read the description for The New Champion of Shazam! #2:

"Not only did she have to leave her dream school, but now she's the caretaker of her siblings and a city that is skeptical about the new hero in town. […] Everyone wants a piece of Shazam, and super-powered misfits are lining up to take her on! When her world is falling apart, can our hero keep it together?”

I suppose I had really wanted this to be all Mary off at college learning to be her own person, and do I think that she’s had to shoulder so much for her family in the past that her being forced to drop everything and take care of them now isn’t necessary to make that story of her working through that. And there’s also the concern since she’s leaving her separate setting and going game home to her family that there be (to my personal standards) too much focus on her family and not enough on her.

But for the most part I am very optimistic. This approach is a very direct way of bringing out how Mary has sacrificed for her family to the forefront and the cover of her literally carrying everyone on her shoulders suggests that it is Mary’s feelings here that will get focus. And I do think that realistically it’s unlikely for Mary to be overshadowed in her own book, though I am still very much hoping that she’ll be back at college by the final issue.

It is still unclear as to why Mary has to leave school to take care of her foster siblings. Their foster parents look alive and well on the cover. I guess we’ll just have to wait for issue #1 to release for that one, unless there will be more context given when DC’s September solicitations drop later this month.

… Actually it doesn’t say that she had to drop out to take care of her siblings but that she had to leave school and now she’s the caretaker of her siblings. Hmm. Maybe her being forced to leave will be solely because of superhero stuff and that since she’s come back home and isn’t in school anymore the Vasquez give her more responsibility over her siblings.

I am also wondering if there will be any conflict between Mary and any of her other foster siblings over her getting her powers back while they didn’t.

And it says that the city of Philadelphia is gonna be skeptical of Mary as Shazam which was surprising as she’s been a hero in the city before, but I’m not sure to what extent the Shazam Family has been active in the city versus off in other places like the Magic Lands. I suppose it is different to have one Shazam as opposed to a team made up of six of them.

[redditnosleep]

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

by NeonTempo

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 (Final)

Sorry I’ve not been in touch guys. It’s been a busy month. However, I’m pleased to announce that, as of yesterday night, I’ve finally touched down in Phoenix, Arizona.

I’m posting this log from my first American hotel room, which offers a gorgeous view of both the state hospital and a local prison. Auspicious times.

Drop me a line if you’re in the city or if you have any information at all.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 15/02/2017

As the darkness closes in, I find myself dragged deeper and deeper into the depths of my own subconscious, until I sink through the back of my mind into an indescribable place. A featureless, directionless, timeless void that exists at the weakest point of life.

I can feel myself drifting away, surrendered to an almost imperceptible tide, carried slowly but inexorably from the world.

The rest of the night unfolds in fleeting snapshots.

I briefly feel my body lift up from the ground, gravity pulling at my limbs as I’m conveyed through the forest.

An unknowable stretch of time later, I feel a distinct burning sensation to my right. In the world I currently inhabit, only an echo of the pain reaches me, but I can tell that it was once substantial. Unable to divine its purpose, I let the sensation fade away, before descending once more into the placid darkness.

When my eyes finally work themselves open, the sun is beginning to rise. Without an ounce of strength left in my body, all I can do is peer through my eyelashes, taking in the vague scene before me.

I’m in the back of the Wrangler, propped up against a soft pillar of luggage. There's somebody kneeling beside me, tugging at my right shoulder. When I try to address them, I discover that my voice has withered to a spectral whisper, so frail that it hardly exists at all.

AS: … Rob…

Hearing my voice, the figure shuffles round and kneels before me, staring into my eyes as they slowly regain their focus.

ROB: You just lay back Miss Sharma, I just finished patchin’ you up but I gotta make sure it’s good work.

AS: Wh… what happened to you?

ROB: Denise had me at gunpoint, had to act like I was all but dead. When she into the forest, I got free, took the med kit into the trees, fixed myself up a little. I was comin’ to help when I heard this awful noise. Went to check it out... that’s when I found you.

AS:... Is the engine running?

ROB: Wanted to warm up the place for you. You were in shock, and since the battery don’t run down anymore I thought-

AS: No I mean… how? The key, it got-

ROB: You think I’d risk gettin’ out this far with only one copy of my car key?

Rob seems almost insulted, and thinking back to everything I’ve learned about him over the course of this trip, I can see why he might be. Even in my weakened state I can’t help but laugh; though it admittedly comes out as stilted wheezing, diffusing quietly into the air.

AS: No that’s… that’s actually very “you”. I think Bluejay would’ve appreciated that information last night.

ROB: Yeah well, she didn’t ask.

AS: … I’m glad you made it Rob.

ROB: Glad you made it too. They build’em tough down in London.

I rest my head back against the luggage.

AS: I’m from Bristol.

ROB: Of course… yeah of course that’s… sorry…

Rob tries to recover his smile, but it slips quickly from his grasp. In its absence, his features cringe into sudden, uncontrollable sadness.

ROB: Miss Sharma I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!

Rob Guthard’s weathered face bursts into a heaving mess of tears. He repeats those two words as he lumbers towards me, throwing his arms around my waist and resting his head on my left shoulder. My hand feels like lead as I raise it up and brush it against his hair, holding him against me.

As the man continues to sob, I let my head roll slowly to the right, observing the damage to my arm. Last night, lost in the muddled throes of shock, the harm had been unquantifiable, the details drowned out by the encompassing haze of severe blood loss and a blaring, primal alarm which had forced me to move without questioning why. Now that I’m on the other side, bathed in the quiet warmth of the Wrangler, I’m able to fully assess the extent of my injury.

Everything below my right elbow is gone.

It feels almost like a dream. My upper arm is practically unblemished, save for a few dark bruises from last night’s fall, yet it descends an impossibly short distance before ending in a blunt, surreal stump. The wound itself is hidden from view, swaddled in fresh white bandages.

I can’t seem to figure out how I should feel and, consequently, I don’t seem to feel anything.

AS: It’s ok Rob. It’s ok.

ROB: I never… I never meant for any of this to-

AS: I know… I know.

Rob pulls back, his eyes still watering.

ROB: I’ll take you home, ok? I’ll find somewhere to turn around and we’ll get you home.

I can tell Rob’s offer is genuine, and to be honest I’m a little surprised. I still remember our verbal agreement, forged at the mouth of the tunnel; that he would not be turning his car around until he reached the road’s end. I never expected he’d be the one to renege on the deal.

I’m aware this could be my best chance to leave it all behind; to flee from the horrors of the road, before they take even more of me. I know the way back. I know that it leads to safety, to family, to blessed normality. However, as an insidious voice in the back of my mind quietly notes, it doesn’t lead to answers.

AS:... I’m still game if you are.

Rob sends me a heartbroken smile, which I would return if I had the strength. In that moment, a sombre understanding develops between us. An understanding that after everything we’ve seen, everything that’s happened, we’re both still choosing the secrets of the road. The decision reveals something about us, exposing a driving force behind our actions that negates our concern for survival, and overshadows the imagined protests of our loved ones.

It’s a decision only two broken people would make.

Rob spends the morning packing up the Wrangler, giving me time to rest. The fact that he’s walking around at all is remarkable, let alone conducting his usual routine at his usual pace. As I begin to feel life crawl slowly back into my veins, I wonder whether the strange force that has sustained us both, as well as the Wrangler’s fuel tank, could also have a mild restorative effect. The notion should bring me comfort; instead it makes me feel like a lobster in a tank.

A few hours later, Rob carries me out of the car, letting me rest in the doorframe. In front of me lie three mounds of dirt, raised slightly from the surrounding earth. Two are headed by crosses, formed from knotted sticks bound tightly together. The grave on the far left lies bare, bereft of any religious affiliation.

AS: Is that… Bluejay’s? Without the cross?

ROB: Didn’t think she’d want one.

AS: She wouldn’t have done that for you, you know.

ROB: Good thing I ain’t her then. I buried what I can, but that was some state she was in. Did the child kill her?

Rob goes to throw a foldable spade into the back of the car. For a brief moment, I consider letting his statement go unanswered.

AS: No, it didn’t… I did.

Rob immediately marches back round, his brow furrowed in confusion.

AS: I hid a C4 charge in my satchel. When she took the bag I… well…

I gesture to the bare grave. Rob looks as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

ROB: Where did you-

AS: From your son’s car.

I watch as my quiet assertion strikes Rob’s ears, as its meaning burrows through his consciousness, its implications contorting his features into a look of shame and damning revelation.

I can tell from his reaction that I’ve got it right.

We haven’t had a chance to speak since I learned his son’s name. That piece of information formed the crucial thread, stringing together the strange and seemingly incongruent discoveries I’d encountered on the road. Earlier in the week I may have been worried to confront him with this information, but things are different now. We’ve come too far, we’ve been through too much and, if he’s truly ferrying me somewhere with malicious intent, I’m powerless to stop him anyway.

I raise a weak hand towards him; a quiet request for assistance.

AS: I think it’s time we had a second interview.

Following a tense and guilty silence, Rob simply nods and helps me into the passenger seat.

ROB: It wasn’t military. It was commercial.

The Wrangler continues to crawl through the forest. I’ve stayed quiet for almost half an hour, letting Rob formulate a response in his own words, and in his own time.

AS: Commercial?

ROB: Yeah, explosive charges for controlled demolition. Bobby was in the business, had his own firm.

AS: You must’ve been proud.

ROB: Yeah… yeah he built that place up from nothin’. Tourin’ his office was one of the best days of my life.

AS: So… how did he end up out here?

Rob grows quiet, reluctantly accepting that he’ll have to start from the beginning.

ROB: … Bobby was a smart kid… smarter than I ever was. He coulda run the farm at 15 but, country life didn’t take. Instead he moved away to Phoenix, picked up a college degree, got himself a steady career.

AS: A steady career? That’s pretty rebellious for a Guthard.

ROB: Hah… well we were pretty different people… didn’t always get along. I was still a courier in those days, always jettin’ off somewhere new. ‘Course I went to Japan, stayed there a while. Then…

AS: Aokigahara.

ROB: That’s right. Changed everythin’. Came home after five years with a new hobby. Bobby didn’t care for the stories but... his ma had died sudden while I was away; we both wanted to start over, be in each other’s lives more so... he came with me to the Pacific North West, trackin’ down Sasquatch. Creature didn’t show, but Bobby had a good time campin’ so he kept joinin’ me. Before long he was doin’ the research himself, organisin’ trips, pickin’ up rumours of strange stuff all across the country.

AS: Sounds like a nice time for you both.

ROB: It was.

AS: So… was it Bobby who discovered the Left/Right Game?

ROB: … He called me up one day, outta the blue. This was about three years ago. Said he’d found a set of rules; said we should try out. To be honest, I thought our trippin’ days were over; I was back in Alabama and he was startin’ up a family of his own, but suddenly he’s tellin’ me to meet him in Phoenix so, of course I went along.

AS: And this time, you both realised it was real.

ROB: Bobby knew as soon as we reached the tunnel. He passed that way every day, knew it wasn’t supposed to be there but… there it was. He said that was the most amazing thing he ever saw. We charted it over the next year, whenever we could get the time together, but we moved slow, mapped the place out, turned back on the regular. It took us a while before we got the courage to stay on the road overnight, both of us were terrified the tunnel would disappear or somethin’.

I can tell Rob is replaying the events in his head. The reminiscence almost makes him smile.

ROB: Bobby’s wife was a real doll. Used to work in his office. Kindest girl I ever met, funny too. There was a decade between’em but you could tell they were good for each other. He shared everything with her, including the road. In fact, once Bobby got a little more secure with the rules, they started to map it together…explorin’ their own little world.

After a brief pause, Rob’s expression sinks slightly; the reminiscence is growing darker.

ROB: Few months go by, I’m hearin’ from Bobby a little less but, I expected that. Then one evenin’ I get a call from the hospital, tellin’ me my boy had walked into some ER in Phoenix.

AS: Was he ok?

ROB: No. He was in a bad way. Leg all busted up, delirious, askin’ for Marjorie. They found her bag in his car but... she was nowhere to be found.

AS: Bobby lost her on the road.

ROB: Yeah, that’s right.

AS: On our second night here, after we lost Ace, you told me the road had never hurt anyone before.

ROB: Well, that wasn’t a lie at least. It wasn’t the road that got’em.

AS: … What do you mean?

ROB: They made it to the forest. None of us had got that far before but… this time they pushed a little further than usual.

AS: Do you know why?

ROB: They were gonna have a kid. Marjorie was almost due… wasn’t travellin’ so well. I think they knew they wouldn’t be hittin’ the road for a while. It was like a uh… like a last hurrah I guess.

AS: But only Bobby came back?

ROB: They explored the woods till nightfall. When Bobby said they had to turn back… Marjorie didn’t want to. He never told me why, never told me what happened. By the end of that trip, Marjorie was still out there and he was in a hospital bed.

Rob takes a moment to collect himself, to put the facts in order. The trees are starting to grow thin, sunlight bursting through the widening gaps in the canopy. It looks like we’re nearing the forest’s end.

ROB: Bobby took a month or so to recover. Boy was desperate to get his wife back, and of course he’d become a suspect in her disappearance. Needless to say the first thing he did was head onto the road to find Marjorie.

AS: But he didn’t.

ROB: Nope… No he found her. Just uh… a little sooner than he thought.

I take a moment to process Rob’s implication. Suddenly I feel a stone drop in my stomach.

AS: She was on the 34th turn.

Rob nods solemnly.

ROB: Wasn’t the woman he knew of course. Stood there all day, just mumblin’ about the road. Didn’t even recognise him. I remember he called me up right after he first saw her there, his heart breakin’. He tried almost every day from then on, always stoppin’ at that turn. He’d yell, he’d plead, he’d bring pictures and gifts but… she never responded. Don’t know if it was really her but, whatever was on that corner, it belonged to the road.

ROB: Bobby lost somethin’ of himself on that corner. After a while, his fascination with the game turned sour, turned to hate. He thought the road was somethin’ evil, that it had no place linking into our world.

ROB: I was checkin’ up on him at that point, every few days or so. One weekend he said he was doin’ better, even said he’d been in to work. I thought maybe things were turnin’ round but... then he went quiet; didn’t pick up his phone for three days. I had my place in Phoenix by that point, and a spare key to his house. That’s where I found the note; tellin’ me he’d gone back through. One last bid to find his wife… and if he couldn’t bring her back well-

AS: He was going to destroy the tunnel.

ROB: Cut the road off from the world. I played the game in Phoenix, Chicago, a few different places, but that one tunnel is what links you to the road. I looked around his garage, found the box for a phone, lot of electronics all over the place… pretty clear what he’d done. So I jump in my car.

We pass out of the forest, onto a long narrow road. In the distance, I can see our route winding up a towering wall of sandstone, disappearing into a set of rolling mountains.

ROB: He passed me on his way back, just before I hit Jubilation. Thunderin’ down the road at full speed, drivin’ like crazy. That’s when I knew he hadn’t found her… that he was goin’ to take out the tunnel, end the game once and for all.

AS: But he never got that far.

ROB: I tried to talk to him. Called his cell, tried the radio frequencies, there was a number on the sim card documentation that he had, god help me I even messaged him on that one. In the end it was just me and him, racin’ back to Phoenix. He was faster than me but I was drivin’ better. After few bad corners I caught up...

AS: You ran him off the road.

Rob stares out at the faraway ridges, his hands grasping the steering wheel.

ROB: Cell service don’t work through the tunnel. He knew that. He was either goin’ to blow it up on this side… or while he was in there.

AS: So you were trying to save him or save yourself?

ROB: Neither. I was tryin’ to save the road... Say what you want about this place Miss Sharma, but it’s a doorway out of everythin’ we ever known. It’s the road out of… out of reality. It may be the most significant frontier we ever cross and that’s… part of me knew, that was too important for one man to take away.

For the second time today, Rob battles back tears, and for the second time, he fails. They roll silently down his cheek as he continues on.

ROB: He was more injured than I thought. He’d hurt himself bad before he reached me, that’s why he was headed to the tunnel so quick. He wanted to destroy it while he still could.

ROB: The road had taken almost everythin’ from him, and then I took the rest… I denied him his hope, took away his chance to leave the world on his own terms. In the end he didn’t even seem angry… he just asked after Marjorie. Asked me why she did it, why she left. I laid him to rest there, visited the place often but… I never had a good answer for him. That’s when I started preppin’ the next run.

AS: So you posted his logs online, and pretended to discover them.

ROB: Thought people would ask less questions that way.

AS: And where did we all fit in to this? Why did you bring us here with you?

ROB: I guess… I thought it was time the world knew. Didn’t want all this to end up an old man’s secret. Honest to God, if I knew the road was gonna… I swear I never woulda brought you here.

Rob’s features tighten, all his shame and guilt rising to the fore. I can’t say it isn’t deserved. Despite his intentions, despite his penitence, the man had blinded himself to clear dangers, hurt those closest to him and, on a road where secrets had killed so many, he’d kept the most significant one of all.

Well, perhaps not the most significant.

AS: You didn’t bring us here Rob.

Rob turns to me, confused.

AS: I met someone in the forest last night, a figure, just like the one you saw in Japan, “looked like static you see on a TV screen” … I think it was you Rob. I think I saw you and I think that… all those years ago…

In my current state, the mechanics of the event, and their stunning implications, lie beyond my explanatory capacity. In the end, I just raise my lost right arm, and wait for Rob to make the connection.

A moment later the car screeches to a halt.

Rob stares straight ahead, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. I’m aware that beneath his stone-set features, every square inch of grey matter is fighting to process the fresh revelation. If it’s true that, in those quiet woods, I somehow reached across the decades to a young Rob Guthard, then it changes everything. The twisting narratives that led us to this point, Rob’s burgeoning obsession, his son’s tragic fate, they all took root in that single moment. More than a decade prior to my own birth, I’d placed us on the path which would lead me to his door.

As chaotic as the road often seems, that moment in the forest hints at something deeper, something intentional.

Rob steps out of the car for a while, before wordlessly climbing back in and firing up the Wrangler. From that point on we continue as two silent passengers, lost in thought, disappearing into the sandstone mountains.

We travel across the thin mountain road for the next two hours, a wall of crooked rock hemming us in. When we pass onto the other side, and the outcrop falls away, the landscape below us has changed completely, and we’re treated to a strange and breath-taking sight.

The Wrangler is traversing the cliffs above a vast, flat desert; a tundra of vibrant orange stretching as far as the eye can see. I can just make out the road, cutting a meandering path through the sand far below us. At the centre of this otherwise featureless expanse, a collection of monolithic structures, towering columns of glass and metal, rise from the ground, connected by a web of long perpendicular streets.

AS: There’s a city… there’s a city on the road.

Rob keeps his eyes forward. Despite the epic majesty of the cityscape below us. I can tell that his mind is elsewhere, that he’s still digesting the contents of our interview. In the end, I think it best to leave him alone with his thoughts.

We stay on the mountain for another twenty minutes, before finally winding down to the desert floor. The space ahead of us is two-tone; the sharp saffron of the desert and the deep blue sky, separated by a thin, even horizon. The only objects that cross this perfect boundary, are the hulking grey towers of the city, rising from the sand, and bursting through into the heavens.

We snake along the desert road, the city looming ever larger as we make our tentative approach toward the border. There’s an eerie contrast to the threshold as we cross it; the cupreous glow of the sand switches to grey, the scorching heat instantly cools, and perhaps most notably, what little sound there was is negated entirely. As we delve down an empty, perfectly maintained throughway, I realise that I can’t hear anything at all except for the Wrangler’s steady rumblings.

AS: It’s quiet.

ROB: That’s fine by me.

AS: Who do you think built this place?

ROB: I don’t know. Maybe whatever brought us here. Could be that no one built it… maybe it just is.

I wonder if he’s right. It’s hard to think such a place would exist for any practical purpose. The city looks off somehow, as if it was built from conjecture, by an architect who had only heard of cities through poorly translated rumour. All the broad features are present, skyscrapers, lampposts, window cleaning platforms, but nothing deeper. It’s an empty shell. An ornament in the middle of the desert.

As we turn down the next few roads, I stare up at the monolithic structures, each one standing at least a hundred stories tall. My eyes track back down the countless strata of dark windows, as I contemplate what it might be like to live in such a place.

When I reach the ground floor, I’m presented with my answer.

There’s a young man standing at the ground floor window, his hand resting against the glass. He’s wearing a dark grey suit, and a look of almost mesmeric shock. His mouth open, his hands shaking, his unblinking eyes staring past us as the Wrangler rolls by.

My eyes quickly track back up the skyscraper’s glass facade, scrutinising each row of windows in turn. I’d naively hoped the buildings would be empty, that this place would be nothing more than a colossal ghost town. Now that I know otherwise, each pane of glass feels like a dark pool of water; still on the surface, but with sinister potential lurking within its depths.

A few seconds later, more of them arrive. There aren’t many at first; just a few scattered figures stepping up to their windows, pressing themselves against to the glass. However, like a light sprinkling of rain that erupts into a downpour, the frequency of their arrival quickly doubles, then triples, until not a single space lies unoccupied. The Wrangler shrinks, subject to the scrutiny of countless individuals, on every floor, in every window, all of them clad in the same monochromatic formalwear and staring down at us like the emissaries of a grand tribunal. As the Wrangler passes by, they continue to stare straight ahead, though it’s clear they’re aware of our presence.

AS: Rob. Rob there’s-

ROB: I see’em.

Rob puts his foot down, shedding the weight of a thousand pairs of eyes as he leaves the building behind. As the final column of windows slips by us, I glance back, hoping to see them return to the depths of the building. Instead, in those last few moments, I witness their collective demeanour fracture into a desperate frenzy, their mouths opening in a silent scream as they slam their fists against the glass.

Turning back around, I stare into the buildings that currently flank our vehicle. The figures have already arrived at the windows, and their calm is already fading.

AS: Rob, we need to go faster.

ROB: I’m on it.

The Wrangler growls with renewed ferocity as Rob plants his foot onto the gas. We lurch towards the next corner, accelerating down the road as Rob scans for any hidden turns. I achingly shift in my seat, keeping an eye on the scene developing in our wake.

Shards of broken window begin to rain onto the asphalt. Watching the shattered pieces tumble through the air, it’s apparent that the quiet in this city isn’t simply due to a lack of activity. The torrent of splintered glass is completely silent, even as it crashes against the impervious ground.

Nothing in this city makes a noise. Nothing except us.

The thunderous engine of the Wrangler has never sounded so loud.

Looking up, I witness hundreds of hands gripping the shattered window frames, unable to turn myself away as thousands of polished black shoes step over the threshold. The figures stream out from every floor, forming an incomprehensible deluge of humanity.

The first wave strikes the ground, with more and more landing against them; a heap of tangled figures struggling to separate themselves. Much like the residents of Jubilation, and everyone else we’ve encountered on the road, they appear impervious to the fatal harm such an act should impart. Those that landed on their feet hardly even stop, turning towards us, and sprinting after the Wrangler. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the writhing mass to resolve itself, its constituent individuals joining the frantic stampede, their chaotic charge and desperate screams bereft of any perceivable sound.

Even in the midst of the frenzied pursuit, as a foreboding shower of glass falls from every building we pass, the world outside remains silent; the chaos made even more incomprehensible framed against the ungodly stillness in which it takes place.

Rob screeches around the corner, drifting onto a long and open street. The roadway ahead is flanked by skyscrapers disappearing to a narrow vanishing point. As we race down this next stretch of road towards a large intersection, the ever growing mob bursts onto the street behind us, taking the corner with supreme coordination and continuing tirelessly in our direction.

A split second later, I’m struck by an abrupt and pervasive idea. It feels unlike any thought I’ve ever had before, less of a notion, and more a prescient hybrid of intuition and de ja vu, as if the course of action we must take is obvious to me, despite my not knowing why.

I force my voice above a grating whisper.

AS: Rob. We need to drop something behind us… something loud.

ROB: What’re you thinkin’?

AS: I uh… you just have to trust me ok? We still have most of the plastic explosive could you-

ROB: Nah, if you took out the blasting cap I ain’t got time to make a new one.

Rob’s glances into the rear view, then back to the road. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.

ROB: But that the only explosive on-board. Think you can drive?

AS: I guess we can find out.

The car thunders across the tarmac as I clumsily grasp the wheel, shifting myself over and working my foot onto the accelerator. Rob lifts himself away and climbs past me into the back of the Wrangler. In my weak state, every shuddering motion makes my bones rattle. With each subsequent gearshift, I’m forced to take my remaining hand off the wheel and reach across to the stick. The effort is precarious and awkward, my aching limbs puppeteered by will power and adrenaline, every passing second a battle to maintain control.

The windows up ahead are starting to fracture. The noise of the Wrangler is carrying, and the entire city is starting to pre-empt our arrival. Behind me, I can hear the ripping of duct tape, the tearing of fabric and the clattering of falling luggage. I’m not sure what’s taking place behind me. I just have to trust that Rob has a plan.

I hear the back door swing open just before we reach the intersection, a metallic scraping along the Wrangler’s floor, and a pained grunt from Rob as he throws something onto the road behind us.

Reaching the crossroads, I slide my hand along the wheel and twist it sharply to the right. As the car lurches round, and onto the next road, I feel my heart sink dramatically. We’ve been overtaken. The windows ahead of us are shattered, the front doors lay broken on the street, and the building’s desperate inhabitants are rushing towards us, blocking off our only means of escape.

I slam my foot onto the break, and the Wrangler shudders to a halt, the engine stalling and cutting out. The streets are now spilling over, an overwhelming swarm converging on our position from four directions. I look back to Rob, and he meets my gaze, his eyes brimming with dismayed finality.

An explosion shudders through the air behind us. I look out the back window to see a shattered jerry can, one of Rob’s now superfluous fuel reserves, its dark green shell violently compromised, its contents spilled out across the road and cast alight. Now that the engine isn’t running, the echo of the blast and roar of the primal, balletic flame fills the afternoon air.

The trajectory of the maddened crowd changes instantaneously, the silent Wrangler has fallen from their collective attention, as they refocus onto the smouldering flames. Those up ahead continue to rush past us, streaming around the Wrangler as they scramble to the spilled pool of gasoline, digging their hands into the blaze, grasping hopelessly at the fire.

Delicately, careful not to make a single shred of noise, I climb out of the driver’s seat, joining Rob in the back of the Wrangler.

He addresses me in a confused whisper.

ROB: Why don’t they care about us? What are they doing?

AS: … It’s the sound. They want it for themselves.

I don’t how I’m so sure, but I know that it’s the case. The jerry can creaks and screams as the city dwellers tear it into smaller and smaller pieces, frantically examining every jagged scrap. With each passing second, as the fire dies down, the crowd grows increasingly distressed, as if a precious commodity is slipping through their fingers.

AS: They don’t understand it. They’ll pull it apart trying to figure it out and they’ll never get any closer… and then it’ll be quiet again.

ROB: Where you gettin’ this from?

AS: I don’t know, just a uh… just a feeling.

ROB: Well... pretty sure they woulda pulled us apart too. I’d say we’re pretty lucky.

AS: Hah, yeah… pretty lucky.

As the last of the gasoline is eaten up, and the fire dies away, the city dwellers remain in the streets. Devoid of their momentary sense of purpose, their prize vanishing into the ether, the crowd’s desperation fades into a hushed despondency. I watch them as they pass by, countless faces wracked with sorrow, their aimless shuffling forming a lonesome sea, a grayscale ocean that spans the desolate city.

The Wrangler is now adrift in the centre of that ocean. It’s clear that any attempt to start the engine would bring the entire city down on us, reigniting their futile hope, causing them to tear through the car, and anything inside it.

For the foreseeable future, we’re completely stranded.

ROB: Don’t worry about it, ok?

AS: I don’t think they’re going to leave Rob.

ROB: They’ll leave.

AS: Ok… and what then? They’ll still be everywhere.

ROB: Hey, we’re a smart pair. We’ll think of somethin’.

In the eerie, pervasive calm that surrounds us, I sit myself down next to Rob and lean back against the wall, with nothing else to do but wait for our situation to change. After watching the figures outside for over an hour, the only thing that’s different is a strange needling sensation that feels like it’s emanating from now absent forearm.

AS: My uh… my arm hurts… how’s that possible-

ROB: Don’t worry that’s uh… it’s called Phantom Limb. You got some sensation right? Like you still got somethin’ there? A lotta people get that after amputations. Here…

Rob reaches into his medical kit and retracts a blue jar of tablets. Twisting off the cap, he shakes two pills free.

ROB: You’re gonna need these for the pain.

I stare at the tablets for a moment, before collecting them from his open palm. He passes me his canteen and I swallow them down in two weak gulps.

AS: You have a lot of experience with amputations?

ROB: … More than you’d think.

My brow furrows. Though I’d meant my remark as a passing jibe, Rob’s response rings with a strange sincerity. It takes me a moment to realise why that is.

AS: I forgot... you were drafted. You never talked about it.

ROB: Been thinkin’ about it a lot though. Bunch of strangers brought together under false pretences, told that we were servin’ a grand purpose by some old liar. Guess it’s interestin’ how time repeats itself. Now that I think about it, he drove a Jeep too.

AS: Rob… I told you, you didn’t bring us here-

ROB: That don’t change nuthin’. Don’t change what I did… to you, to Bobby, to any of ‘em. Maybe you were there in the forest but I was the one who started this, the one who kept askin’ what was at the end of the road.

AS: What do you think is at the end Rob?

ROB: Startin to think that ain’t for me to know. I been movin’ from place to place so long, seen everyone else settle down. Far as I can see, the end of the road is just wherever you decide to stop.

I rest my head on Rob’s shoulder. He gently places his arm around me. It isn’t long before medication starts to take effect, quietly overtaking my already weakened constitution. The pain subsides, dulled along with the rest of my senses. The sun is still streaming through the windshield as my eyes begin to drift shut.

I watch the figures pass the window, my eyelids getting weaker.

AS: I don’t want this to be the end Rob.

ROB: I know Miss Sharma, I know.

The last thing I see before I fall into a dreamless artificial sleep, is Rob Guthard’s hand reaching for the rifle.

When my eyes work themselves open, the sun is beginning to set.

I’ve been moved. As my vision adjusts, it becomes clear that I’m still in the Wrangler. My head resting against a pile of fresh clothes, a soft travel blanket laid across me.

I glance around to find that Rob’s nowhere to be seen.

Momentarily forgetting the situation outside the car, I attempt to call out for him. The syllable catches in my throat as a shambling figure passes by the window, wringing its hands in despair and casting a long shadow through the car.

With a renewed sense of caution, I slide the blanket to one side, and slowly make my way to the up front.

The cabin is similarly empty, except for a single scrap of paper, torn from my notebook. It lies on the driver’s seat, a small object hidden within the fold. When I open it, I find my headphones and five neatly written words:

“Channel One To All Cars”

My hand starts to shake as I rest the note on the dashboard, slowly climbing through and placing myself gently into the driver’s seat. My heart in my throat, I insert the headphones into the jack of the CB radio, take a single, quivering breath in, and press the first button.

AS: Rob?

ROB: I’m uh… I’m sorry Miss Sharma.

AS: Rob, where are you?

ROB: Down the road a little. Got myself to one of the rooftops. I know I always hated cities but, once you’re above it, the view’s really somethin’.

AS: Come back Rob. Come back... please.

ROB: I wish I could. I do. But we both know those things ain’t leavin. And you need the car to get where ever you gotta go so… best I can do is make some ruckus, draw’em outta your way.

I rest my head against the steering wheel, bracing myself against the weight of his words.

AS: I can’t do this without you.

ROB: I don’t think that’s true Miss Sharma. I think whatever’s on this road… it wants you to make it all the way. All I was meant to do was bring you this far. Now you don’t have to listen to it, you can turn around and head home… but either way only one of us is drivin’ outta here. So I guess the only question left is... which way d’you wanna go?

AS: Well… are you ahead of me or behind me?

ROB: I can be anywhere. It’s your choice Miss Sharma.

In the wake of Rob’s words, in the shadow of the decision, I’m cast into silence; not because the choice is hard, but because I’m ashamed that it’s so easy. It was made the moment I first stepped into the Wrangler, and renewed in every perplexing moment since. The need to know, to comprehend, to uncover the truth has been with me all my life, but I never knew its roots ran so deep, that it would endure so ardently when everything else, everyone else, had been stripped away.

I stare into the rear view mirror, seeing myself for the very first time, and I have to admit I’m scared.

AS: Stay where you are Rob.

ROB: Hah… ok Miss Sharma… you ready?

AS: … Yeah. I’m ready.

ROB: Alright then… suppose it’s about time this thing did some good.

The shot explodes through the radio, before a faint booming echo reaches me on the quiet city air.

Its effect on the city dwellers is immediate. Their collective melancholy shatters in an instant, replaced by a renewed fixation. Before I know it, the disparate crowd unites once more into a stampeding horde, rushing past the windows of the Wrangler and back down the road towards the source of the noise.

ROB: They on their way?

As the last of the city dwellers disappear behind me, I run my hand across the steering wheel, and down to the ignition.

AS: Yeah… yeah they’re on their way.

ROB: Ok then... what’re you waitin’ for?

With a fateful twist of the key, the Wrangler roars back to life. The wheels kick against the asphalt, transporting me through the streets of the city. As I barrel away from the intersection, I see a small contingent of pursuers rushing around the corner behind me.

Rob fires the rifle again, maintaining the attention of the majority. The stragglers fall away in my rear view mirror, losing ground against the Wrangler.

I take the first left, then the next possible right, then another left, a few minutes later I eventually find myself on the last stretch of road, leading me back into the vast and empty desert.

ROB: So, you gonna make it?

AS: Yeah, I’m gonna make it.

ROB: Good. That’s good. Miss Sharma, if uh… if you find Marjorie, if you get a chance to let me know… well it’s more than I deserve but-.

AS: Of course… of course I will.

ROB: I appreciate that. Ok, they’re gonna be here soon so… I’m gonna go radio silent for a while. If I call, you’ll know I made it out. If I don’t call… you just assume I made it out, ok?

AS: Please tell me you’re going to be alright, Rob.

ROB: … It’s been a real honour drivin’ with you Miss Sharma.

The sound of a final shot reverberates through the radio, its echo drowned out by the roaring engine of the Wrangler. The world shifts around me as I burst out of the city, and back onto the desert road.

The way ahead is laden with immense possibility, yet as I disappear into the vastness of the desert, I can only think of what I’ve left behind. Rob J Guthard had his flaws, marked by loss, driven by obsession, his good intentions often paving the way to tragedy and heartbreak.

As the tears begin to roll down my cheeks, I decide to remember him differently; as a valued friend, a good man and, above all else, a great story.

No matter how you tell it.

[takenews-blog1]

Matt Damon Under Fire for Controversial Sexual Misconduct Comments

New Post has been published on https://takenews.net/matt-damon-under-fire-for-controversial-sexual-misconduct-comments/

Matt Damon Under Fire for Controversial Sexual Misconduct Comments

UPDATE: Matt Damon‘s ex-girlfriend and Good Will Looking co-star Minnie Driver is sharing her ideas on the actor’s newest feedback.

“God God, SERIOUSLY?” she wrote on Twitter after quoting an article about Damon’s newest interview. “Gosh it is so *fascinating how males with all these opinions about girls’s differentiation between sexual misconduct, assault and rape reveal themselves to be totally tone deaf and consequently, systemically a part of the issue( *profoundly unsurprising).”

————

In Wednesday’s episode of ABC Information’ Popcorn With Peter Travers, Matt Damon shared his views relating to the wave of sexual misconduct allegations in Hollywood—and in doing so, opened himself as much as widespread criticism. As extra individuals come ahead to show their abusers, the actor mentioned, “I believe we’re on this watershed second. I believe it is nice. I believe it is fantastic that ladies are feeling empowered to inform their tales—and it’s very obligatory.”

That being mentioned, Damon argued there’s “a spectrum of habits” to take into accounts. “You understand, there is a distinction between, you already know, patting somebody on the butt and rape or baby molestation, proper?” the Downsizing actor instructed Peter Travers. “Each of these behaviors have to be confronted and eradicated with out query, however they should not be conflated, proper?” Within the case of Al Franken, for instance, he would have “most popular if they’d an Ethics Committee investigation.” However, Damon argued, “We’re so energized to sort of get retribution.”

“We dwell on this tradition of concern and damage, and, you already know, we’ll must appropriate sufficient to sort of go, ‘Wait a minute. None of us got here right here excellent.’ You understand what I imply?”

Damon then cited a number of disgraced public figures to make his level.

Admitting he does not “know all the main points” about Louis C.Ok., who lately apologized for exposing himself to a minimum of 5 girls in skilled settings, Damon mentioned, “I do not do deep dives on this, however I did see his assertion.” (C.Ok. additionally confirmed he had masturbated within the presence of a few of these girls.) Nonetheless, Damon discovered the comic’s response “arresting” and believes he deserves one other likelihood: “When he got here out and mentioned, ‘I did this; I did these items; these girls are all telling the reality,’ I simply keep in mind considering, ‘Nicely, that is the signal of any individual who…nicely, we are able to work with that.'” Damon worries that “the clearer sign to males and to youthful individuals is [to] deny it, as a result of in the event you take duty for what you probably did, your life’s going to get ruined. I imply, look, as I mentioned—all of that habits must be confronted, however there’s a continuum. And on this finish of the continuum the place you could have rape and baby molestation or no matter, you already know, that is jail. Proper? That is what must occur. OK?”

On the opposite aspect of the continuum, the actor mentioned, “We will speak about rehabilitation and every thing else. That is legal habits and it must be handled that method. The opposite stuff is simply sort of shameful and gross…I do not know Louis C.Ok.; I’ve by no means met him. I am a fan of his, however I do not think about he’ll do these issues once more. You understand what I imply?” (After C.Ok. publicly apologized, The Orchard shelved I Love You, Daddy indefinitely, and FX and Netflix reduce ties with him altogether.) “I think about the worth he is paid at this level is so past something that he…” Damon mentioned. “I simply suppose we now have to begin delineating between what these behaviors are.”

Franken, in the meantime, made a “horrible joke” when he was photographed groping Leeann Tweeden in 2006, Damon argued. “It is not humorous. It is flawed and he should not have carried out that.”

Damon then introduced up Harvey Weinstein, whom a number of girls have accused of sexual assault and rape; the producer’s legal professionals strongly deny each allegation of nonconsensual intercourse.

(“Mr. Weinstein has by no means at any time dedicated an act of sexual assault, and it’s flawed and irresponsible to conflate claims of impolitic habits or consensual sexual contact later regretted, with an unfaithful declare of legal conduct,” Weinstein’s attorneys lately instructed E! Information in a press release. “There’s a extensive canyon between mere allegation and fact, and we’re assured that any sober calculation of the details will show no authorized wrongdoing occurred.”)

Relating to the handfuls of allegations made towards Weinstein, Damon mentioned, “There are not any footage of that. He knew he was as much as no good. There isn’t any witnesses. There isn’t any footage. There isn’t any braggadocio. So, [C.K., Franken and Weinstein] do not belong in the identical class.”

As for Weinstein, he mentioned, “Lots of people mentioned, ‘Nicely, Harvey—all people knew.’ As you had been saying, that is not true. Everyone knew what sort of man he was within the sense that in the event you took a gathering with him, you knew he was powerful and he was a bully, and that was his status. And he loved that status, as a result of he was making one of the best motion pictures on the market.” Relating to rape claims, he mentioned, “No person who made motion pictures for him knew…Any human being would’ve put a cease to that, regardless of who he was. They’d’ve mentioned completely no. You understand what I imply?”

Although he is labored with Weinstein a number of occasions, Damon mentioned he tried to maintain his distance. “I knew I would not need him married to anybody near me. However that was the extent of what we knew, you already know? So, that wasn’t a shock to anyone,” he mentioned. “Whenever you hear ‘Harvey this, Harvey that‘—I imply, take a look at the man! After all he is a womanizer. I do not hang around with him.”

As extra individuals share their tales of sexual assault and harassment, Damon mentioned, “I believe the day of the confidentiality agreements is over. I believe it is simply utterly over. Ten years in the past, you made a declare towards me and I had a giant film popping out, OK? I’ve $100 million, or I’ve a film that’s personally necessary to me popping out, and near the discharge of that movie, you say, ‘Matt Damon grabbed my butt and caught his tongue down my throat.’ We’d then go to mediation and arrange a settlement. I might go, ‘I do not need this on the market. Peter’s going to exit and discuss to the press and run his mouth, and it is going to be overshadowing the opening of this film. How a lot cash would you like?’ The legal professionals would get collectively, they usually do that cost-benefit evaluation, they usually’d go, ‘Oh, that is what it is value.’ And I take a look at the quantity and go, ‘OK, I will pay it, however you may by no means speak about this once more. You are f–king mendacity about this, however by no means speak about this once more.'” Due to social media, every thing is completely different. “The second a declare is made—in the event you make that very same declare in the present day to me—I’d be scorched earth. I might go, ‘I do not care if it prices $10 million to struggle this in court docket with you for 10 years; you aren’t taking my title from me. You aren’t taking my title and my status from me. I’ve labored too laborious for it. And I earned it. You may’t simply blow me up like that.’ As soon as a declare is made, there’ll now not be settlements. That is my prediction, simply based mostly on what I’ve seen.”

“Is not good factor?” Travers requested, noting many ladies had been unable to share their tales due to nondisclosure agreements. “100%,” Damon replied, including that “each lady who’s coming ahead with considered one of these tales must be listened to and heard.” As Damon talks to extra of his feminine colleagues, he admitted, “I can not consider any of them who do not have a narrative sooner or later of their life, and most of them have a couple of.”

After the interview with Travers aired, The New York Every day Information criticized Damon’s feedback as “tone-deaf,” Vulture argued the actor’s opinions had been “dangerous” and The Telegraph known as it a “car-crash interview.” AV Membership, in the meantime, mentioned the actor’s “response carries the fire-and-brimstone fury of a pleasant man who sees the destruction of his private status as one of many worst issues that would probably befall a Hollywood hopeful.” Because the backlash towards Damon continued to develop, one Twitter person merely wrote, “In 2018, Matt Damon must be cancelled.”

[hyperesthesias]

Loki x Sigyn

Love Never Dies | Part V

Rating: G

Words: 2.768

Summary: Jane takes initiative to find out more about the life Loki’s left behind, and comes across another side of him; while Loki unsettling plans that he insists on hiding.

Notes: ok ok. i love this chapter ok. again, going with my own canon for sigyn. enjoy. ♥

As Jane had suspected, Loki’s transparency had only been short lived, the man quickly steeling his mouth to quietness after he had divulged his wife’s origins and her title -- a Queen. She had had the mind to ask whether she had been made Queen by her marriage to him, or if she had been royal in her own right -- but he hadn’t given her the opportunity. He had quickly changed the subject and urged her to continue her breakfast, though he, himself, barely touched a morsel. After which he brought her to the Asgardian royal library -- he confined her to a table which they shared, allowed her to take any book which she felt she had the capacity to read, whilst he admitted to his own ulterior motives that he had several books he required. She didn’t ask what they were, still much too timid to set him off -- while he seemed in better spirits after having confessed Sigyn’s importance to him, he was prone to unpredictable outbursts as she’d noted. Thus, Jane busied herself with a few books of her own: two children’s books -- which she had found to be rather helpful in learning the Asgardian language, and strangely, rather violent, but she persuaded herself they were not much different than the Brothers Grimm, who were also rather violent -- and four books on the stars and the planets and their alignment in Yggdrasil. She did not need to know much of the language to decipher the meaning of those books, she already had the skills to see their meaning and plot their courses, she only needed a map.

And while she kept her nose to the pages, every so often, she would lift her head to see Loki muttering to himself and the schematics on the broad books that took up nearly most of the space they shared. They were just sections of larger pieces -- fragments of blueprints that didn’t make sense when isolated, but that she could compare to her memory of other works she’d come across, even from Earth: recollections of her own equipment, the wiring, the metal, the inner workings and the often confounding days of trying to get something to work that she knew was supposed to, only to find one wire had been loose, or that a bolt had been the wrong size. She could empathise with the scowl that seemed to overshadow the being’s face, as she’d been prey to it many times before. But the more schematics he pulled to the surface, the more it seemed to fall together -- and she remembered not her own work, but the device that’d lain dormant on Loki’s desk in his room the previous night. A pallor seemed to drop over her and she swallowed thickly -- as though she’d been privy to something she knew she ought not to be; thus, she minded herself and her books.

But Loki was as keen as he was erratic -- and though his sights remained fixated on the mechanical workings before him, his voice beckoned her: “Have your stars betrayed you? Or is it your eyes?”

She quickly returned to him, furrowing her brow as he spoke, unsure how to answer. “What?”

“What is it that gives you such an air of dismay? Are you disappointed in Asgard’s skies or do you not comprehend what you read?” he clarified, barely taking his eye off his page to look at her.

She paused, blinked several times, then tried to stifle a coy grin: “I’m sorry, are you -- are you actually concerned about me?” 

He looked up at her, flatly -- though he would never, ever admit it, he enjoyed seeing the speck of sarcasm from her. “Don’t take it personally -- I am charged with ensuring you’re not...” he waved a hand in her direction haphazardly, “...dying.”

She could stifle it not more and the grin turned to a smile -- knowing she’d gotten him care at least somewhat about her, and both amused and grateful he chose to show it, at least a little. “Well, the only thing I’m dying to know is what you’re working on,” she nodded towards his papers. “Almost looks like a battery.”

He frowned. “I have no plans of violence at the moment.”

She frowned back at him -- both of them locked in a gaze of confusion for a moment, before she realised the language barrier. “Oh, no -- no, no. A battery is...something that holds a certain amount of energy over a period of time.”

His expression faded into understanding and he sat back somewhat. “I see. We have no such things, here.”

“You don’t? Then how does everything get powered?” she looked around her to the seemingly infinite ceiling that depicted the cosmos, and both the candle light and the light that seemed to be emitted from nowhere. She’d only assumed there had been some form of Asgardian electricity that keep everything running, but hadn’t the time to research into it.

“Cosmic energy, mostly. Either that or magic,” he dismissed the question and returned to his works.

She interpreted that as solar energy of some kind, which only made sense -- the realm was surrounded by stars. She nodded, and craned her neck to see the schematics again, recognising a piece, though unable to read the full extent of the paragraph next to it, only several words.

Loki looked beside him, feeling her encroaching breath, and was met with her face mere inches from his own as she searched the parchment. “Can I help you?” his tone dipped sardonically, lips pursed in mild annoyance at her disregard for his personal space -- of which he needed plenty.

She looked up -- met suddenly with his piercing green sights, and she abruptly started backward, replacing herself to the back of her chair. “I...Sorry. It’s just...I recognise what you’re looking at -- what you’re trying to make. We have a lot of them on Earth. I’ve made a few of them myself.”

“None quite like this, I’m sure,” he mused, turning from her to his papers, searching beneath them for a small leather notebook upon which he scribed several notes pertaining to the plans. 

“It looks like you’re trying to house an...enormous amount of energy -- I’ve never seen readings like that before,” she hummed, placing a hand on a paper that’d fallen astray. “Whatever you’re trying to make, it could power a city for fifty years,” she scoffed.

“I assure you --” he grabbed the paper back and tucked it within the pile as he stood to return the items to their rightful place, “-- my reasons are entirely selfish, and entirely my own. I ask you not to ask of them again,” he restrained his tongue from any harsh lashing, for he looked on her directly this time -- and saw looking up at him a figure not her own. He turned all at once and disappeared within the rows of shelves from whence he’d come.

But his answer had only set her on edge more than it had calmed her -- a flashback to the news the day of the New York Incident came to mind and she couldn’t help but wonder the depths of his selfishness and how far he would go to rule a realm not his own to claim. She shuddered, shaking away the memory, standing to return her own books, replacing them with ease. She could hear him down the way, talking to her about something of which she had only half the mind to listen to:

“You are to join the King, the Queen, and myself for dinner -- and tell your handmaiden to rid your wardrobe of so horrid an outfit as you wore last time. It is unbecoming for a guest of the palace. I will have to remind you of the royal dinner etiquette, seeing as how it was obvious you were hardly paying attention the last time, and nearly offended the oh-so delicate Allfather with the way you drunk from your cup. If it were up to me, I should think such little trivialities would have no bearing on his mind for you -- but you are not Asgardian, therefore, he already does not like you, and since you are so pure of heart, I would assume you would not be inclined to give him further reason...”

As he went on down the rows -- she could hear the rustle of several more papers and books which he retrieved and put back a few times over -- Jane took the opportunity of his distractedness to make her way down several rows of her own. She had quickly learned the letters of the Asgardian alphabet, and had become acquainted with how their library was organised, reading the headings on the shelves as she passed one row after another, after another.

No, that wasn’t it. No, not that one, either. No -- No...No. There. Books on the cultures of other realms, somewhat tucked in the back of the library, she stole down the row to search through the lettering until she came across...

There it was. The Realm of which he had spoken: The Lost Realm.

“Nashtar,” she whispered to herself, reading the cover, looking behind to see whether he had followed her -- but she could still faintly hear his voice as he was supposedly teaching her how to act appropriately at dinner. She opened the book gingerly, suppressing a cough as a mild cloud of dust wafted into her face -- when the spine cracked as she came to the title page: “The Lost Realm of Nashtar, the Forest Realm.” The words were hand written in old and weathering ink, she was nearly afraid to touch any of the pages further, lest it crumble between her fingers. But gently, she persisted, and opened the leaves where they instinctively fell to the middle. A grand portrait was portrayed there, gilded with gold leaf -- or what she thought to be gold -- bright pigments illuminating the subject, where the image began to move, much like the book Odin had shown her some while ago. Yet the portrait in this book was much more amiable: beautiful, captivating -- it depicted a woman atop a throne, a scepter made of bone in one hand, and a bright, mutlicoloured pelt draped over her other shoulder. She was breathtaking, and -- much to Jane’s shock, looked a good deal like her: brown hair that seemed to shimmer as the portrait moved, brown eyes, her skin a bit darker, as though she were accustomed to the daylight, and smaller in frame, certainly smaller than an Asgardian. Yet there were notable differences: the woman’s hair was much, much longer than her own, thick and heavy it seemed, entwined in a braid as it cascaded to the floor and coiled there beside her throne; she seemed much more stately than Jane, as well, and she felt intimidated even by the portrait of this woman -- much the way she felt when she was around Frigga. Her head was adorned with a crown made of bone and jewels, jewels of which she had never seen before; and she wore it with such dignity. And beneath the portrait, there was inscribed the name: ‘Queen Sigyn’.

Jane could only swallow dryly with nervousness, knowing she would soon be found out, but she turned the pages still, hoping to glean something further -- which she had. Another portrait conveyed the image of the Queen with a man beside her, who seemed to tower over her -- yet she recongised his likeness right away: the horned helmet, the dark green cape, the black leather, it was Loki. Yet as much as he seemed the same, he seemed so different: a sword around his belt, fur along his collar, and though it was nothing more than a painting, there seemed to be captured the semblance of...peace. Below it only read: ‘The Queen and her Bodyguard’. Surely, this could not be the same Loki she knew. And in a sense, she supposed that was true. It very well may not have been. Grief does things to people, this she knew. 

But whoever that Loki may have been, she could hear the other Loki’s voice returning to the table which she had left, and surely, he would look for her. She could hear him begin to call out her name, to no avail from her.

She scurried through the pages, catching a glimpse here and there of the Realm he had described: red grasses and plains that stretched for days’ worth, and forests made of blue trees that moved in their portraits as though a gust of wind had blown through them; black hills and gravelled ditches, she even thought she saw something the likeness of a dragon between the pages, but her sights had been caught by one page in particular: the image of a small boy, he must have been no older than nine. She would have stopped for no other reason, but she gasped as she looked into his eyes -- the boy looked exactly like Loki. Or what she imagined him to look like when he was that age. The fair skin, the black hair, the vibrant green eyes, the sharp shoulders. And below his portrait it read: ‘The Prince’.

Loki was nearing the row in which she was hiding, and quickly she closed the ancient book, and fussed to place it back in its slot, before he suddenly rounded a corner:

“Jane? Where are you?” she could hear his pace had much quickened, and had she not known any better, she would have been certain there was an agency of worry grappling with his tone. 

Jane busied herself with another book -- she hadn’t even looked at the title -- and took a breath in when she saw him emerge.

A growl escaped him and he marched down the shadow of the shelves towards her, grabbing her arm. “You were not to leave my sight.”

She wrangled her arm from his grasp -- and noted the fact that she was even able to do so indicated he had no intention of detaining her or hurting her, he wanted only to impress upon her his earnestness. She huffed and put the book away. “I didn’t realise being just a few feet away was such a cause for concern,” she straightened herself.

But one should not lie to a liar, and though he said nothing, he could smell the deceit on her -- like the scent before rain, viable only to those who knew for which to sense. “What were you doing here?” he asked, suddenly quiet.

“I hadn’t seen the end of the library yet -- I wanted to know what was down here,” she’d practised this line in her head as she’d looked for that very section, and held hr breath in the hopes it would be convincing enough.

He only held her gaze, searching her knowingly. She lied to him -- directly at him, and he had to admit to himself how impressed he was with her. Although perhaps the amount of time they spent together was not such a good thing -- at least for Thor; his habits were starting to rub off on her. “Very well,” he allowed her her untruth, and beckoned her away from the shelf and out of the aisle, chancing to walk behind her, that way he would not lose her from his sight again. “Come, you must ready yourself for dinner,” he said once more, and looked behind him to the line of books, his eyes going from the book she’d had in her hand, to the shelf across from it, and noted the disturbed dust along the wood. And if his memory served him as well as he liked to think, the book which she had handled was that of Nashtar, the book Sigyn had helped write. 

But there was no flame of anger in him, there was no spark of disconcerting malcontent -- there came only a sinking of his heart, and a downcast of his eye as he sighed deeply, yet silently. Keeping the burden of grief locked tightly within him, never to be spoken of in this Realm. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Jane asked from around the bend.

“Of course,” he answered, a little too briskly, a little too eager to hide. And with it, he guided her out of the library and to the grand, yet lonely, halls.