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wildbluesorbit · 1 year ago

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London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for.

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.”

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store.

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray.

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office.

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself.

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway.

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique.

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar.

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench.

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.”

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile.

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer.

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control.

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale.

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism.

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst.

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door.

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives.

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you.

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner.

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance.

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket.

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone.

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity.

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving.

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.

Please, please, call me Jake. And pretty please reconsider those drinks. (248)434.5508

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper.

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it.

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit.

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination.

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!”

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!”

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down.

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air.

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth.

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party.

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this.

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom.

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room.

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own.

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore.

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves.

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo.

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter.

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, “Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again.

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!”

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic.

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you.

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch.

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more.

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite.

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter.

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble.

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time.

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers.

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you, a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins.

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand.

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own.

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room.

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies.

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated.

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side.

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass of courage on the nearest counter.

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at.

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more.

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears.

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child.

Jake motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed.

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable.

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence.

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant.

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence.

SIX! FIVE!

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more.

FOUR!

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year.

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm.

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further.

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long enough for you to savor it this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile.

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit.

Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist.

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

taglist❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹- @ageofbajabule @alwaysonthemend @anythingforjtk @becinabubblegvf @dancingcarbon @dannys-dream @dayumclarizzel @do-it-jakey-baby @dont-go-home-without-me @edgingthedarkness @fomopheobe @gretasfallingsky @gretavangirlie @gretavanglimmers @gretavangroupie @gvf23 @gvfmarge @hannahrk @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @jakeysbuttsheeks @lipstickitty @livkiszka @lyndz2names @mindastreamofcolours @mountain-in-springtime @mrbrownstne @nina-23-45 @notjordie-gvf @sacredjake @smoking-jakelane @sparrowofthedawnsworld @styles-canvas @takenbythemadness @dancingcarbon @thewritingbeforesunrise @tommie-gvf @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @violet-hayes @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

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lilacchao · 23 days ago

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Fandom people to get to know better!

tagged by @greenshi! (i was an odd choice, im still not sure what a "fandom" is beyond probably counting as part of the cpu kerfuffle one?? maybe??? is it like a kingdom?????? but anyway, i'll give it a go)

uhhh if im tagging anyone... well they'd better be someone not tagged by green, and who i expect to be able to answer any of these...... uhhh @lemmmmmmmmmmonade

Three Ships I Like: well. tricky start. i guess the trinity of silly cpu kerfuffle dantoinette ships, crimtoinette, prismtoinette, and danimint? they're funny c:

First ship ever: so, like, first romantic relationship in media i was particularly aware of? uhhh, hmm. hold on while i go for a swim in the memory soup. this feels like asking a fish their favourite sandwich, but the answer iiiis (probably) carrot and angua from the discworld city watch books? i'd've encountered them pretty early, can't think of any i'd've actually noticed sooner unless there's relationships i've forgotten in narnia or something

Last song you heard: cross your heart, from the cassette beasts soundtrack

Favourite childhood book: this may be extensive, i didn't have a specific favourite... i remember liking 'the castle of dark' and bringing it into school once as "my favourite", presumably it's this book by tanith lee, i unfortunately don't particularly remember it - i also loved most discworld books (plus nation, dark side of the sun, and the johnny books), a book called 'the mystery house' (but it doesn't seem to be any of the ones i can find), 'antigrav' by nicholas fisk, the 'the dark is rising' series by susan cooper (which iirc was excellent), various robert rankin books (love his writing style), the chronicals of prydain, dirk gently, various jasper ffordes (thursday next, shades of grey road to saffron city, last dragonslayer, big over easy, etc), various alan garners (owl service, weirdstone of brisingamen, idr them all too well beyond being very welsh, never did read red shift), anthony horowitz's 'power of five' series (never finished it, i don't think they were all out yet), darren shan's 'darren shan' and 'demonata' series (yes i typed that first one right), also read many jiggy mccue and warriorcats books, also i was terrified of carbonel for some reason (probably this one by barbara sleigh? i've asked my mum about it and she doesn't know why i found it scary, but i was too scared to get far into it at all!) and also terrified of louise lawrence's power of stars (with good reason)

Currently reading: been reading various discworld books to friends, currently reading wee free men for that c: also reading a ukelele book that ominously says "it doesn't get any easier..." on the cover, and intending to get around to reading matt parker's 'love triangle', ryan north's 'how to invent everything', hugh bowden's 'mystery cults in the ancient world', and hana videen's 'the deor hord: an old english bestiary' (those last two have been on the list for over a year now... oops!)

Currently watching: rewatching the first series of 'heroes', (re)watching (depending on episode, last time i saw it the full collection wasn't out yet) 'the goodies' with family, watching deepblueink's 'deep space discounts' much like green

Currently consuming: my midnight snacks c: which i've almost finished :c

Currently craving: more midnight snacks!!!!!!

#tag game #i used to read a lot... if there was a book around my home then i'd probably read it eventually (even if i had no clue what was going on)#there was a time when i'd regularly check out a book from the school library then read it overnight and return it the next day #to this day i can't read before bed because it makes me wide awake and not sleepy at all and a bit hyperactive #Bandcamp

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kanohivolitakk · 10 months ago

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Close finishing Cassette Beasts and I think I have cemented my partner preference:

Excluding Barkhley, my partner preference is Felix > Meredith > Viola > Eugene > Kayleigh. A few of these are interchangeable, but this is what I think I'm soldified with.

Felix is easily my favorite character-wise. I love his laidback outgoing personality that feels very grounded and beliveable: I geniunely think I'd get along with him (before you ask yes, I plan to romance Felix thank you) . Not just that, Felix had my favorite story-quest to boot: his storyline with Kuneko resonates with any creative who has had those cringy OCs in their youth and man...I feel seen. TBH the only issue I have with Felix is his signature tape: while Fungogh isn't bad it's so dependent on its gimmick that your mileage will depend on how much you like it and...truth to be told I don't like Fungoghs gimmick at all to the point it was the only partner tape I benched. Sorry Felix, you're stuck with Triphinx now enjoy. (I could've gave Felix Kuneko but as a Ramtasm user it'd be redunant to have two AStral types on team, no matter how OP Astral type is).

I LOVE Merediths design and personality so much, but I think she has one of the weaker questlines? Like its not bad and I do love how it adds to the themes of nostalgia and art as sources of memory Cassette Beasts has going on, but it just feels so...insignificant compared to other questlines. Not to mention her Archangel boss felt...so insignificant to her character arc? Like yeah, Nowhere Monarch did prey on her weakness, but it didn't really feel earned thin my book. Beyond that though I do like Meredith: her design is really good, her serious no-nonsense personality is extremely tsundere without being unrealistic (she's arguably the most realistic character besides Felix) and like said, I love what she adds to themes. The best part though? Her signature beast. Like I'd argue Cat-5 is one of the best mons in the game period (especially in the early-game), and thus having her as your partner is always good, even if you don't like her character.

Viola has probably my favorite quest-line next to Felix and easily with the most fitting Archangel boss fight. Like yes, Robin Goodfellow is a b*tch to fight if you're unprepared, but its the one Archangel fight that does actually fit to the character. I love the twist of her being actually a fictional character and just the way she denies that and goes "Who cares if I'm fiction in someones world I'm real and I will show you". Her personality is great too. My only gripe with Viola is how late you get her: both Viola herself, and the ability to fuse with her. Since Robin GoodFellow is one of the last archangels you fight (if not even the last) you don't really have much time to use Viola by the time you beat her archangel and "properly" get her. So that is a really big drawback against a really solid character.

Eugene has really good design and is extremely likable and...that's it. His questline is one of the most frustrating to go through due to the LandKeeper offices being hard to keep a track of. Not to mention, while he is the second partner you get, he has the same problem as Viola where you fight his archangel so late, you don't really use him that much. Its even worse since you can't even bond with him due to partner relationships activating once you're able to fuse with them. Robindam is okay (if a bit too slow), but man is it pain to remaster as Clocksley is outright useless. I also feel that while Eugenes shonen protagonist "be gay and due crimes" personality is endearing, its also unrealistic: compared to the other more grounded and believeable partners it does stand out like a sore thumb. I still like him, but he just isn't for me.

Kayleigh is...solid. Solid design, insanely likable, simutanesouly quirky and relatable, solid quest, has one of the best signature tapes that's really good early-game, geniunely invested in the MC and their quest, is the bestly integrated to the main arch-angel plot....and that's kinda the problem. She has the "poster-girl" syndrome going on where her character is fine, good even, but since she's the first character the player encounters she's designed to be the most widely-appealing character. She gets relagated to the "vanilla" "default" option, and if you're anything like me, that is instantly a downside. Her status as the first/default partner just makes her look boring compared to the other partners, even if shes still an enjoyable character. I also have the issue with her where she's not as grounded as Meredith or Felix, and if anything has kinda the most nonsensical plot with the whole cult stuff going on. I also feel Kayleigh doesn't really have any motivations on her own, and just follows MC because shes attached to them...which is deeply ironic considering her story arc. Good character, just don't like her as much as others.

#Kirika Talks #Cassette Beasts

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sinnabee · 1 year ago

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Requesting some The Bunny and the Beast for WIP Wedensday please!

Y'ALL ARE MENACES!!!! LOOK AT THIS!!!!!! This is by far my longest piece of writing ever and it's never really seen the light of day because it's an OCxCanon TF piece. That is very incomplete and needs a lot of editing. BUT - it is honestly my most beloved work, so thank you to all of you for making me work on it. Here's what I managed to get done! (Even managed over 21 sentences, which is neat!) Excerpt under the readmore!

Rabbit belongs to my lovely girlfriend @merrydearest, I'm feral about her. (As evidenced by me writing 80+ pages about her and Soundwave.)

It was something like… a shift. Subtle, perhaps. But to Soundwave it felt glaringly obvious. Something had changed.

For a student, Rabbit’s dedication had already been impressive. But there was a new focus to her movements, an added edge to her manner when they sparred. She still engaged in light teasing, either directed at himself or the cassettes, but there was something heavier lying underneath it. Ravage and Laserbeak noticed, as well. For the first time since their training began, they had been forced to increase the difficulty of their dodging exercises.

And then, after only a few cycles, they had had to do it again.

Rabbit was still no match for him - every spar, every training session, he would swiftly knock her off her pedes and back onto the ground. But it took less time for her to get back up. She bounced back quicker, literally and figuratively. Now, when Soundwave thwarted her plan of attack, Rabbit merely wiped the dirt from her armor and came at him again with a grin.

At long last, she was treating the training as a challenge, and not a chore.

She still lost the majority of her matches. She still had a long, long way to go. But as Soundwave studied the numbers on his holopad in his hab at the end of the cycle, he felt nothing but satisfaction.

As he watched, they ticked slowly up.

---

“Training: canceled.”

He was aware that Rabbit had taken a new attitude when it came to their training together. Even still, the immediate effect his words had on the pink bot left him surprised.

Rabbit had been shadowboxing in the center of their usual training area when he came in, kept company by Laserbeak on one of the nearby dummies. She had initially turned to greet him with an eager grin, but as soon as he delivered his news, he saw her antennae drop.

“Training - what?” Her servos drifted uncertainly in front of her chassis, like she was no longer quite sure what to do with them. “Canceled? Why canceled?”

Soundwave inclined his helm.

“Clench: organized surprise match. My presence: required.”

One of Rabbit’s antennae perked back up, but the other remained firmly canted to the side. She released a sharp burst of air from her vents and shifted her weight to one hip, popping a servo on it as well. Soundwave felt a light flare of irritation from her EM field, but it was followed quickly by a wave of comfort, as though she was worried he might think her ire laid with him.

“Psh, figures. Clench is always making shady backdoor deals.”

Sounwave resists the urge to tilt his helm. He is aware of Rabbit’s connection to the pitmaster, but she didn’t know that. Did she recognize that it was not exactly… usual for a bot with slave coding to be aware of the pit master’s more unsavory pastimes?

Rabbit seemed to shrug her irritation off quickly, and once again adopted her usual cheer. She held out one arm for Laserbeak to perch on, which the small raptor did with a pleased chirp. Rabbit closed the distance between the two of them with a smile.

“Well, I’ll be in the stands cheering you on, alright? I hope it’s a good show -” She leaned in, then, helm tilting back and forth as though searching for eavesdroppers. Bemused, Soundwave hesitated only a moment before leaning in as well. With the arm not supporting Laserbeak, she lifted one servo and cupped it around her mouth before whispering:

“If you’re not careful, I might just sneak up on you and steal your spot as number one!”

Laserbeak squawked loudly, and he felt a surge of amusement and glee from her end of the bond.

:Oh, Soundwave, better watch out! Looks like she’s gunning for your title!:

Rabbit stuck out her glossa and wiggled her antennae at him playfully.

“That’s right I am! I’ll be shooting up the ranks before you know it!”

Laserbeak was still cackling as she hopped her way from Rabbit’s arm to Soundwave’s, before settling in snugly against his shoulder. Soundwave flared his EM field in a gentle, contemplative, wave before answering.

“Suggestion: Improbable. Rabbit: aiming too high. Number 2 at best.”

The truly outraged gasp was worth it, and for the first time, Soundwave made a conscious decision to breach Rabbit’s personal space outside of their sparring. He reached up and gently tapped her nose with one digit.

“Rabbit: Still has a long way to go.”

With that, he flared his field once more in amusement before tucking it close and turning on his heel and heading out the door. The hydraulic hiss of the doors almost drowned it out, but Soundwave was certain he heard the subtle thunk of her fans kicking in.

Interesting.

Soundwave ignored the mischievous pings from Laserbeak, and the curious prodding from Ravage’s end of the bond that followed soon after. He had a match to win, after all.

#ask #kidsomeday #tf #maccadam #tf fic #tf oc #rabbit #soundwave #transformers idw #kind of??? its a weird mishmash of continuities #my favorite #writing #my writing #WIP wednesday #wip wednesday game #soundbit

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crystalelemental · 6 months ago

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At long last, I have finished Digimon Cyber Sleuth. That took...a while. So many extra quests in that last little bit of the story, holy shit. They even threw in another extra one after the credits! But it's done now, so...thoughts for my first Digimon experience below, I suppose.

I'm gonna start off making my wife mad by kinda glossing over story and character. They exist. There is a story, with serious events, and in a dramatic sense, I did generally like what was going on. I think they spend too much time rambling about nonsense and trying to pull metaphysics stuff that doesn't feel particularly interesting at all. Yes yes, infinite branching paths and multiverse theory and I too once took an intro to philosophy course in college and was not a fan so can we please move on to things that are understandable and relevant?

That's really my big issue. I did like the characters well enough individually, but they don't really have a group dynamic. The story has interesting events on a point by point basis, but I have a difficult time really piecing together what the game is actually about because of all the chatter. Digimon certainly has a story in place, but it falls in a similar yet almost inverse category to Cassette Beasts. While Cassette Beasts was clear what its overall point was, but struggled with moment to moment drama, Digimon gets some good moment to moment drama but doesn't have a whole lot it was doing with it. What I felt left with was an ending that both didn't feel like a complete resolution, and also just personally irritates me for how it just kinda fixes everything like nothing ever happened. I'm unimpressed.

But this is a monster catching game, and short of the surprise that was Nexomon, we're not here for story. We're here for gameplay, and that is regrettably what the next ten paragraphs are going to be.

Digimon's gameplay is interesting, but I am slightly conflicted due to my own experience with the game. See, my response to Monster Catching games tends to be "I want to stall," but Digimon has no such tactic present. So I defaulted to hyper-offense approaches, and wanted coverage of elements. So when I prepared my team, I wound up cycling through a metric ton of Digimon in search of offensive coverage specifically. Coverage which did absolutely fuck-all.

Yeah, turns out that this game operates more like an RPG than previously suspected, and your teambuilding is meant to be a bit more main offense/main support/balance setup. This also requires some back and forth, but having examined other chains, this actually tends to be much easier to accomplish, but I'll give some examples, starting with the general case.

In general, most movesets that wound up being successful followed the same general pattern:

Signature Move

Secondary move. If Signature is AoE, pick the single-target of your type. If Signature is single-target, pick the AoE on type.

Move that is the same as Signature (single-target or AoE) but costs way less SP. If more supportive, Refresh is probably better here.

Attack/Guard/Mental Charge Field

Acceleration Boost/X-Aura/Final Aura

Support End/any Break Field/Perfect Revival

For offense, my big gun was Lilithmon. Her signature move has piercing damage, which ignores the target's Int for damage calculation. Acceleration Boost will double the damage you deal, while Mental Charge Field boosts the Int of your whole party, maximizing her damage. Mental Charge Field is easily obtained from Rosemon, who shares a common pre-evo with Lillymon, and Acceleration Boost required a chain I don't want to talk about. The goal is really just to one-shot things into powder.

For support, I think Sakuyamon is a good example. Signature move removes enemy buffs to core stats, and otherwise it's not that great for offensive pressure. So you load it up with other boosting moves for allies, your heals and revives, and just kinda go to town.

For balance, Rosemon is fantastic. Learns some great supportive skills in Mental Charge and Mental Break Fields, an Aura skill, and her signature attack has a comparable piercing effect to Lilithmon, meaning she has astonishingly good damage output as well.

You may be wondering, "Is any of this realistically achievable?" No. Without looking up a ton of information, there is no way in hell you just stumble into this. Very few options acquire a spread of skills like this naturally, though some (mostly Royal Knights) will pick up pretty much everything they need along the way. My wife plays normally and beat the game just fine. Stats will cover what you need just fine, I am just Like This. Also I don't know what Support End does anymore. I thought it shut down all support like healing and buffing, but I used it in one fight and they just buffed anyway. I looked it up and apparently the answer is "It disables their passive." Which...sucks, actually. I don't feel like that's worth anything.

In the broad perspective, combat in Digimon is fun, because it feels like a proper exchange of blows. One of my issues with Pokemon is that fights are really fast, but in a way where everything is kinda just setup and sweep, or try to stall and hope they don't crit where it counts (they do, every time). It never feels like a proper exchange. Cassette Beasts has the archangels, and Nexomon has certain major boss fights with huge HP values, but the former comes with archangels being extremely annoying, while the latter comes with damage numbers are still high they're just only high against you now. Digimon, barring a few exceptions, is a series of fights where you can take a ton of hits, and need to dish out a ton of hits. Fights take a while, and involve management of your stats and health to pull through. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the boss rush, even if it did kinda go on for too long. However, it does have some eccentricities that bug me.

Critical among them being, this game is an RPG, and thus boss fights carry the usual problem of "functionally immune to everything you do." Basically everything past the halfway point is immune to all status. I even started seeing things be immune to stat debuffs before I stopped bothering and just used pierce effects. Honestly, anything that wasn't piercing felt supremely underwhelming, and needed a 3x multiplier in addition to the enemy not being buffed to compare. It was not a good look. But also, enemies can and will use status on you, and it is devastating. You'll run into every Eater fight and get hit with AoE Dot effect, and only one (1) person can be immune, because to my knowledge you basically only get one immunity attachment for your entire party. Your equipment isn't up to the task of counterpicking bosses, so you often just have to deal with the status or have someone on hand to remove it, which isn't always a viable option depending on team needs.

I also don't really understand speed. No matter how high I raised speed, it never felt like it accomplished anything, I always had one action in a rotation at best. Meanwhile, bosses would take like five actions. This isn't too bad so long as you have a team of full resists (and you want to always have a team of full resists), but it is annoying to just watch the opponent fire off like seven attacks in a row. This is most of a post-game bonus content thing though. Main bosses didn't get that bad, but it does mean speed feels useless to focus on.

As mentioned, you want to always resist whatever the opponent is doing. At the very least you do not want to be weak to them. This requires three teams that have at least some cohesion, even if it's not perfect. But! Memory. I don't like Memory as a concept. I understand it, but I don't agree with it. The intent is to cap your team's overall strength by not permitting you to stack a ton of heavily evolved options in at once. Totally get it. You need three good fighters, and want to have a rotation of nine. But memory starts really low, and it climbs slowly, and having nine Digimon at once basically doesn't happen until the end of the game, but difficulty spikes happen way earlier than that. I remember one fight involved three Digimon that were really strong for that point, and one of them threw around an Aura that basically healed the entire enemy party back to full. Because enemies have no SP considerations to speak of, this just continues infinitely, with no real way to stop it because it turns out Support End doesn't work. Unless you have the raw DPS to handle the opponent, they just sustain forever. It's not a fun check.

For fights like that, you want strong evolutions, but memory will restrict how many allies you can bring if you pack higher evolutions. You see the issue? You bring a select few strong options that can get counterpicked to hell, or you bring a bunch of weaker options that can't meet the DPS demands. In the smaller scale, it also just prevents effective level grinding (Something you will do often) because it limits how many allies you can bring in the back alongside capable fighters. And by the end of the game memory is so high that you can just run anything with no real restriction, but it only reaches that point at the literal end of the game. I feel like the memory curve is just kind of frustrating. It reminds me of an old Yugioh game that used to assign point values to individual cards, and all the good ones were basically impossible to slot in without completely ruining the rest of the deck's structure. It's not quite that severe, but it is annoying.

As noted, level grinding is very much a thing. Every evolution and de-evolution resets you level, and nothing is able to really fight at level 1. So you need to catch them up, which takes time to level, and then there are ABI considerations where you have to cycle repeatedly between forms just to get the needed points for a late evolution stage, or the CAM requirements that mean you have to take place in a ton of fights directly, and it gets irritating very fast. Evolution conditions are annoying as hell half the time, and I haven't even talked about the worst one yet.

Stats are sometimes out of reach. Lilithmon? Impossible to obtain without training your stats. Training is also highly specific. You train by putting them in the farm, and then setting a Train command. You get bad yields for two hours at the cost of no CAM, or decent yields in half an hour at the cost of like 20 CAM. Neither is great. You also only level stats associated with your central stat nature (ie: Brainy will get you Int), or the stat of your leader. Equipment can provide boosts to your yields, but ONLY if you meet one of the other two conditions. Adding, say, SP boosting equipment without having someone with Lively leading the pack will not get any SP generation at all. The exact numbers given for stats are also incomprehensible to me, making it very hard to fine-tune. In addition, bonus points cap out based on your ABI, with the max ABI of 200 giving 150 points. This is especially frustrating when working toward something like Lucemon's evolutions, which need a fuckjillion Atk points added in, but you wouldn't know that from the entry condition of 80 ABI, which is not enough to make up all the missing stats you need.

I will admit, some of my perception is a bit clouded by the fact that I did do the grinding rather than play through normally. So my perception is skewed rather severely. Maybe the systems are less problematic than I suspect. I intend to play Hacker's Memory a bit more cleanly, but please understand: I do this with every monster catching game. I can't not go out of my way to get every creature. I just think that gave me a skewed sense of how severe things like ABI and chain evolution are. So who knows, maybe I'll be less pissy about it after the second half of the game.

I will say I came away from this at least liking it well enough. I won't say it's a favorite, and it hasn't gripped me in the same way Nexomon did. But I got invested enough to clear everything, and I do kinda like the systems now that I understand them. Hacker's Memory is next, I'll report back once that's finished.

#digimon cyber sleuth

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mav-tomcat-f14 · 3 years ago

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Ch 6 - Playing With The Boys - Top Gun Mav and Rose (OC) story.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- A/N WC - 3102 Sorry for any Spelling or Grammar mistakes Please leave feedback good or Bad I do not mind. Playing with the boys part list and summary ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next couple of weeks went by fast, Flying then some lessons, debriefing, more flying, then study time, and nights at the Bar. Then doing it all over again, it was easy to get into the rhythm of it.

Things with BullDog have not been going well. I always seem to be doing something wrong every time I get in the cockpit. I expect him to grill me. Stress is gone, right? But I was wrong. After we first got Jester, I went to high-five him when we landed. He went over to Hollywood, WolfMan, and Slider to celebrate.

Mav and Goose dragged me to the bar that night to celebrate, drinking and playing a game of darts, which I was terrible at, but it was still fun. Iceman even came over offering to buy me a drink as a well done. Mav being Mav, asked him what he was up to, thinking Iceman was trying something when he was not,

Iceman has kept his word about what we talked about on the tarmac, and I’ve kept mine.

Today was just like any other we were flying in the morning, and everyone got their ass kicked by Viper. The man is a beast when it comes to flying. It turned into the last man standing more than anyone trying to get him, not that we did not try, I had Mav as my wingman, and we tried everything we could think of to outsmart him, but nothing worked, but in the end, instead of being upset about it we just laughed.

Our debriefing after that went on for some time, going over what we could have done better, learning that sometimes it’s best to bug out than to stay in the fight when you know you won’t win, best to go home and fight another day.

Lunch was fun. Myself, Mav, and Goose headed to a place close to the beach. We all got burgers and chips, not the healthiest thing. Still, they tasted so good, sitting in a small both Goose by himself and Mav next to me with his arm over the back of the back, stealing some of my chips since he ate all his. As we ate, Goose could not stop talking about how Carole and Bradley were coming to visit. He looked like a kid the night before x-mas, his face all bright. It made me happy to see him like that, but I was also excited. I love seeing them two. Carole is a fantastic sister-in-law, even if she does tease me about Mav, and Bradly is just the cutest nephew anyone could ask for.

Now in a quiet classroom part from the sound of an arm of fans cooling the room down in the San Diego heat, sitting at a table close to one of the open windows with Mav as Goose was off doing other stuff, I sat sideways on a chair next to him, leaning my back on his side which he did not mind, with my feed up on another chair bending my legs to use them to place my textbook on to read, as my notebook sat on the table net to me so I can write in, my left hand playing with my pen and my right hand fanning myself with a pace of paper I accordion folded into a make makeshift fan.

We talked now and then, I would ask him questions about something I read and what would be the best way to go about it, and he helped me, turning his head to read my textbook over my shoulder before talking things over with me, I find Mav to be a good teacher, he's not one to give you the answer right away. Still, he gives you hints to help you work it out yourself.

Charlie was in the room as well sometimes, she’ll be at the desk reading or writing stuff down, or she is walking up and down the classroom checking in on people.

Slader was sitting at a table in fount of us, playing with one of the demonstration jet models as he had headphones on, listening to his portable cassette player. He looked around at us now and then, sending me a wink if I ever happened to look up to see him looking, Or he commented how I should come and sit next to him, that he makes a better back nest than Mav to which I just give him the finger, before going back to reading. Mav tells him to Shh and turns around.

I could hear Charlie's high heel tapping on the floor as she walked around, coming close to our table for what felt like the tenth time.

“A rolling Reversal would work well in that situation.”

I heard her say as she stopped. I slightly move my head to look over my shoulder to see her standing there looking down at Mav’s books. I felt Mav move the arm I was sort of lean on as he talked back to her,

“But if I reversed on a head cross, I could immediately go to guns on them,”

He replied, to which I nodded in agreement even if am not part of the conversation,

“Yeah, but at that speed, it’s too fast. It’s a little bit too aggressive.”

Charlie commented. As she did, I could see her love Mav up and down, making me roll my eyes. I am starting to think she now into him when she said at the Bar she was not, and also, This is Mav we are talking about. This man does not know how to do anything slowly. I learned that the hard way, when he took me on his back for the first time speeding down the roads, the speed limit to him is just a goal he thinks he needs to go over.

“Too Aggressive, Yeah, I guess when I see something, I go right after it,”

I wanted to throw up at Mav's replies, but because I wanted to keep my food down, I went with nudging him in his ribs with my elbow and pretending it was by mistake as I tried to readjust myself on my set. Was it a childish jealous move? Yes, do I care no,

Mav just turned to look at me, telling me it was ok with his bright smile. I just smiled back before looking up at Charlie, who was writing something but looked up now and then,

“Maybe that would not happen if you were not sitting like that”

She said without looking at us. Mav just laughed, turning his head to look at me as I still had my head turned around,

“No, she fine, just where she is.”

To say my face did not start to heat up at his words would be a lie. I needed to look away in the hops no one saw, but as I did, I caught eyes with Slider, who was smiling like a made man at me. I mouthed “Fuck off” to him, which only made him smile bigger,

Charlie did not say anything after that as she pleased down the paper she was writing on; hearing her walk away, I looked around again to see Mav holding a piece of paper with red writing.

“Dinner tonight 5;30 sharp, 100 laurel blach……. Leave the Shadow”

I could not stop the small laugh from my mouth when I read it. I’m guessing I am the Shadow, but it also made me laugh remembering Iceman's words to me on the tarmac calling Mav my shadow.

“I thought she was not interested.”

I tell Mav as I look at my watch to see that the day is almost over. I moved off him as I closed up my books,

“I guess she changed her mind after seeing how well I can fly.”

I shocked my head at his comments before hitting his shoulder,

“Your so full of yourself, Also Shadow? I’m a shadow now. How lovely”

I said out, not really asking him but just pointing it out. Mav smiled as he folded up Charlie's little love note placing it inside his book before stacking all his tuff up, reaching for his garrison cap and tucking it under his belt before picking his stuff up,

“You a lovely shadow Rose,”

I just rolled my eyes at him,

“Don’t try and sweet talk me. It won’t work. It’s not aggressive enough.”

I comment as I walk past him, hearing him hurry up behind. I then felt something pull on my belt, making me stop as a hard chest walks into my back,

“You love it.”

Mav’s voice said dangerously close to my ear. That hot feeling was coming back again,

“Hey, Mav, you ready to crash and burn in our volleyball game later.”

Slider shouted, making Mav leave me, walking over to slider, lending on his table, taking one sniff of the air before telling Slider that he stank, making the person sitting in front of him laugh, as Mav walked back to me with a big smirk on his face I could see Slider sniffing his armpit behind him,

“You coming?”

Mav asked me once we were out of the room,

“Coming to what?”

“The volleyball game”

“Are you inviting me to watch you shirtless and sweaty running around in the sand, hitting a ball over a net with other shirtless sweary men?”

I teased him as I was already going. Mav nodded his head,

“You know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you.”

“That not the only good time I can show a girl.”

His comment caught me off guard, making me chock on air. I breathed in wrong as my face started to heat up for the third time that day. Patting my back, Mav just laughed.

“I don’t need to know about that, Mav, but Charlie mite.”

I speak out once I get my breath, at the Mav just surged his shoulder, making a funny face before doing his usual putting his arm over my shoulder as we walked down the hall,

Mav gave me a lift home on his bike, splitting way as I went to get a shower, and he wanted to change before heading to the beach, saying there was no point having a shower now when he was just going to get all sweaty again, I told him to go on a head that I’ll be there soon,

I took my time to have a cold shower, one to cool myself down from Mav's comments and being so close to me, and also hot today.

Putting on a pair of denim shorts with a white t-shite and trainers, putting my sunglasses on, I head off to the beach. I could see IceMan, Slider, WolfMan, and Hollywood grouped together talking by Iceman car as Mav and Goose were sitting at the bottom of one of the bleachers. I walked over, coming up behind Goose, sporting shorts and a t-shirt. I tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump,

“God dame id Rosie don’t do that.”

He called out, placing a hand over his heart. I laugh, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek,

“Sorry, Goosie, but I could not help myself.”

I tell him as I sit down on a set up from them. Mav looks me up and down as he sits with his favorite blue jeans and a white t-shirt.

“Where mine?”

I looked at him for a moment, thinking if I should do it. I wanted to but should I when he would be having dinner with Charlie in a couple of hours? Against my best judgment, I did it anyway, leaning forward and kissing his cheek a little too close to his lips.

“Happy?”

I ask, to which he nods his head. I could see Goose looking between us, smiling a little. I wondered if Mav had told him about his dinner date. Before I could ask, Iceman shouted over to Mav, asking if he and Goose were ready,

“Good luck”

I tell them as they get up, Mav pulling off his t-shirt right in found of me, asking me to keep an eye on it. How can I do that when all I want to do is look at him shirtless? God, I feel like a silly school girl that saw a man shirtless for the first time,

I was so into watching the boys play that I had not seen or heard Hollywood coming up behind me until I felt the cold feeling of water being poured all over me, making me jump up and spin around to see him running off laughing at Wolfman, what a fucking prick, I looked down to see that the water has got on to the front of my t-shirt and of course White and water are not the best mixes I could see my sports brat cleary throw it,

Feeling self-conscious, I say back down, wrapping my arms around myself and bringing my knees up to my chest, trying to hide the front of my body as much as possible. I’ve never been one for showing off too much skin. Shorts are acceptable, but up top, no thanks,

After winning a game, Mav and Goose returned to sit and drink. Goose flopped down, taking a bottle of water and almost doing it in one go as Mav looked at me, clearly seeing the socking wet top. It's not like Mav has not seen me naked before. Me, he, and Goose, when skinny dipping once or twice back in flight school, we were crazy, still are.

“What happened to you?”

His asking Made Goose look around at me as well,

“Hollywood poured water over me. Now my shirt is see-through.”

I felt silly saying it, I could see Mav looking around the place as if looking for Hollywood, but when he could not, he looked back at me again, picking up his shirt and Bommern jacket, taking hold of my hand and pulling me with him,

Letting go of my hand once we were behind a small beach shed, Mav handed me his shirt and Held up his bomber jacket like he wanted to put it on me,

“What?”

“Put the shirt on. I’ll hold this up to give you some cover.”

Did my heart almost want just out of my chest as how sweet he was being? Yes, it did. I looked at his shirt and then at him to see that he had his head turned away,

“Not like you not seen it before, may.”

I comment as I pull off my wet shirt, using what was still dry to wipe my chest down, before pulling moves over my head, and the moment I did, my nose was filled with his scent, making me dizzy.

“I know I have but am still a gentleman, but if you want me to look, just say the word sweetheart.”

His words were not helping me right now. Why am I like this? How come I have spent years doing so good at suppressing my feeling for him, but now going to top gun that all gone away? Could it be because of Charlie and seeing Mav with her at the Bar and now her asking him to dinner,

“I’m done.”

I tell him in a small voice, embarrassed at how my body was reacting and how oversized his shirt was on me.

“You always look good in my stuff.”

God, please stop,

“Mav, where are you? We got another game to play.”

Goose shouted, saving me from having to say anything back to Mav. Walking around, Mav threw his bomber jacket back on his set as I sat down, taking a bottle of water out of the cooler and, boing the same as Goose and down the whole bottle in one,

As the game went on, I could see Mav checking his watch now and then. I knew what he was counting down to, and I hated myself for feeling jealous. I should be happy Mav got a date, but I can’t, and I hate myself for wanting to hate Charlie. I should not be feeling that she has done nothing wrong, apart from asking the man I’ve had a crush on for years out, but I guess that what I get for doing nothing about my feeling, this is the universe's way of saying you had your chance now watch someone else talk it,

They were halfway in a game when Mav came running over, followed by Goose, picking up his jacket as if he was going to put it on, but he stopped. I could see his eyes on me through his sunglasses. He just looked at me as I looked back at him, trying to keep my eyes on his, but my eyes betrayed, moving down to look at his hot, sweaty, covered in sand chest that looked so sexy,

“Hey man, where you are going? We still got a game to play”

Goose asked him. Mav then places his jacket back down, opening the color box that was under it,

“I was just getting a drink. I could not wait till the end of the game.”

Mav replied, pulling a bottle out, opening and taking a mouth full of water before closing it back up and placing it back in the cooler. As he was about to run off, he kissed my cheek,

“A Good luck kiss, Ice and Slier are burning us.”

He said before running off. I just laughed at him before shouting,

“I thought a good luck kiss was the other way around.”

“I’m trying something new.”

That was all he said before getting right back into the game. I looked down at my watch to see the time. My eyes widened when I saw that it was 5;40 knowing Mav was late for his Date. Looking up, I saw Mav looking at me, so I tapped my Watch. He then looked at his watch and just shrugged his shoulder and winked at me,

Is this man about to keep playing a game and not go on a date. Should I be mad? He is blowing off a date to play around in the sand, but all I can do is laugh. Part of me did feel sorry for Charlie, but if she is going to get mad, Mav is the one getting it. He can’t say I did not tell him the time.

#top gun #pete maverick mitchell #top gun 1986 #pete mitchell #Maverick #Pete Mitchell x OC #Maverick x OC

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mec-v02 · 1 year ago

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actually. im not gonna be normal about cassette beasts

i ramble about what happens if i got transported to new wirral lmao

you know that one post that occasionally comes up on dashes: "you get transported to the last game you played. how screwed are you?"

if i was the protag of cassette beasts?

i would genuinely be puking and crying. like the first time transforming can actually make people sick too, it literally says in the game but theres more reason to it

because in cassette beasts, you collect beasts but not in a traditional way where you can send them out to fight for you. no

no you record them in cassettes and transform into them when you listen to the cassette. you dont get silly guys to send out. youre fighting for your literal life when you transform into the monsters in your cassettes

and then the cassettes can BREAK if you take too much damage while in monster form. and when they break YOU take the damage

holy moly i would be GENUINELY be so so sick and sobbing so much. i am a weak person

and like theoretically its on my shoulders to find the way out because some archangel entrusted me to do it-

I WOULD BE PUKING AND CRYING AFTER MY FIRST ARCHANGEL ENCOUNTER-

i dont even know if i would realistically have the willpower to

like i would probably DIE. you have to fight more archangels to even figure out the cryptic song she gives you, i think i would DIE !!!!!!

i would be crying in bed in the little home i was given and having the most upsetting episodes before i get up and go back at it because she put the responsibility on me

but if i wasnt the protag and i didnt die. i would 100% be one of the residents. and still be incredibly sad because i miss all my loved ones in my original world kasjdfsskjd

OH MY GOD HONESTLY I DONT THINK I WOULD SURVIVE. I GOTTA DEAL WITH THE SADNESS OF NOT SEEING MY LOVED ONES FOR WHO KNOWS HOW LONG AND I GOTTA DEAL WITH THIS WORLD AND ITS WEIRD ASS PHENOMENONS AND IT HURTS SO SO MUCH AND IT SUCKS

the people of new wirral are not finding a way out !!!!! they gotta find a new protag !!!!!!!!

and if they/i did find a way out????????????? if i made friends there now i gotta say bye to them!!!!! thats fucked up! i'd be fucked up! again! fucked up when i got transported to new wirral, gonna be fucked up again when i gotta leave it!!

(some of the dialogue for the partners saying goodbye if you have a romantic relationship with them also makes me sad btw)

(tragic/bittersweet relationships in general make me so so sad)

at least i'd get a free dog out of it (whose side plotline is also sad btw)

i think i ran out of thoughts for now

anyways cassette beasts' story has me UNnormal and i think its a great game and more people should play it

#cassette beast spoilers #just in case #play cassette beasts 👍#moths cache plus

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daggerzine · 2 years ago

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Mark Monnone of Monnone Alone (also Last Leaves, ex-Lucksmiths, etc.) goes over the bumpy bits with us.

When Monnone Alone’s third album, Stay Foggy, was released last year I played it incessantly. The songs wormed their way into my brain and (thankfully) would not leave. i needed to know how the songs came together so I emailed Mark and sent him some interview questions. He said he was happy to do it, but.......the answers never came. As turns out Mark took his surfboard and headed to the furthest reaches of Finland to do “some thinking.”

As soon as he came back, a year to the date, he sent me the answers! Anywho, Stay Foggy was one of my favorite records of last year, full of top-class, charming tunes about love and anxiety. If you haven’t heard it yet please do yourself a favor. In the meantime, give a read to this interview while you’re sippin’ your Sunday coffee. As Mark would say, “Cheers!”

Da’ boys!

How and when did the songs begin to come together for Stay Foggy?

After our album Summer of the Mosquito came out, I had been working on demoing some new songs with my drummer friend Gus Franklin in late-2019 but a few months later, as the Melbourne lockdowns came into effect, I could feel that process becoming derailed so I decided to put those songs on the shelf until I could spend some time in a room again with Gus and my other bandmates Louis and Joe, which seemed rather unlikely for the minute. Around that time, my friend Jane McCracken had offered me the use of her cassette 8-track to mess around on since she wasn't using it, so I figured it was a good time to go into hermit-mode and dive into a fresh batch of songs. I've never had anything that resembled a home studio before, so it was all an exciting new experience for me. I just started listening through years worth of voice memos from my phone and seeing if any ideas could stretch out into actual songs, and as it turned out, they started to take shape pretty quickly. Lyrics were flowing freely which is unusual for my songwriting, as it's usually a massive wrestling match to come up with anything that I'm happy with. Having the opportunity to try out any idea at almost any time of day kept the whole thing fresh and bubbling along with good momentum. I've never written a dozen songs that quickly before, within like six months. It was fun to be fully immersed like that – like, humming a little idea whilst cooking dinner and and voila! three minutes later, a new bassline is recorded, the song is finished and dinner (a little overcooked perhaps) is served. Actually, my daughter – who was three at the time – should be credited as co-songwriter on a few songs as she was a constant source of inspiration with her little melodies and kooky lyrics; I think she might write the whole next album. But yeah, the 8-track cassette recorder – what a happy revelation. It seemed everyone in Melbourne was getting back to basics and teaching themselves the art of sourdough baking or making mosaics or something so it seemed the pandemic provided the perfect opportunity to reacquaint myself with some quality outdated technology like the Tascam 688. This tape machine is a beast and was apparently the height of home multitrack recording technology right before it was superseded by digital in the early 90s. I was kinda familiar with Jane's machine as I'd recorded on it seventeen years prior when Drew Cramer was in Melbourne for the summer of 2003/4 and we'd recorded a Mosquitoes album in my loungeroom. So I knew it had mojo or good juju or whatever tape machines have. Whatever it was, I liked it... and I still do. Sorry Jane!

How did you come up with the title, Stay Foggy? During the 2020 lockdowns, we were permitted one hour a day outside our homes to do exercise and go grocery shopping. It was predominantly during the wintertime, so upon stepping outside my house my glasses would invariably fog up – and wearing a mask would ensure prolonged fogginess. I got used to seeing things through the hazy lens and I kinda liked it. It reminded me of being in San Francisco during 9/11... there was a bunch of us – Hotdog, Birdy, the Hound and myself – staying at our friend Jaime's place in the Mission District so once we were awoken and had taken in the news coverage for a few hours we decided to get outta the city – we drove up to visit our pal Dusty in Arcata which is in northern California and when we arrived, the bay there and entire town were enshroud in fog and remained that way for a few days. Very eerie setting for the impending armageddon. The song Stay Foggy kinda evokes that sense of unease and uncertainty whilst being securely wrapped up in the warmth of deep friendship. That's how I perceive the vibe of the whole album, so 'Stay Foggy' seemed to be a fitting title.

How long did it take for the recording of the basic tracks? Started in April and finished up around December. Guitars, bass, vocals, various percussion (mostly bongos, cardboard boxes, guitar cases and tambourines) and a little Yamaha organ thing. My first time really playing any proper keyboards. I've totally forgotten it all now but that was a fun thing to learn.

I notice a lot of themes of isolation, anxiety and a general feeling of uneasiness in the lyrics. Is that correct? I would imagine at least partially due to COVID lockdown? Yeah, absolutely. My goal was to embrace those insular feelings – some recent, others more nostalgic – and spin them out with an uplifting bubblegummy beach party vibe that kids can roast vegan marshmallows to!

Had you known Gareth Parton (who mixed the record) previously? If not how did that come about that he got involved? Gareth first appeared in town, having moved from the UK, sometime in the early-noughties. He was trying to keep his studio chops up whilst finding his feet in a new city and so was approaching bands at the pub after seeing them play and offering his music production services for free. He was quite humble in telling us he'd worked with these great indie bands like Bearsuit and Pete & The Pirates, and didn't really go on about how he'd worked with all these bigger bands like Foals, The Breeders, Beta Band and Spiritualized, nor how he'd produced several albums for his brother's band The Go! Team... so it was lucky our friend and bandmate Louis Richter took him up on the offer and had Gareth record his band Mid-State Orange. Gareth and Louis became good mates and now we're all really tight and have worked with him a bunch – he recorded our earlier album Summer of the Mosquito and also albums for Last Leaves and the calypso-inspired party band that I play bass in – Mighty Duke & The Lords.

First song on the album.

What’s next? Have you been playing any shows? If not any on the horizon? We have been pretty quiet since covid knocked the wind out of us, but getting ready to head out on a short tour here later in October. Just five dates, but it'll be fun to stink up the van again finally, after two tourless years! We actually had a US tour in the works for earlier this year – a week of Californian shows with Boyracer, Kids on a Crime Spree and Artsick – but the wheels fell off that one for us, sadly. Hope we can make it over next year...

Tell us about some Aussie bands that you’re excited about that we may not know about? Pretty excited about all the bands we're playing with on our tour: Victoria are a Sydney band with an early-Flying Nun vibe who feature folks from Smudge and Songs; Kilroy are a post-punk group from Canberra with cool lyrics, Lily Morris is an impressive young folky songwriter with a chooglin' band, and Table Band are a brand new crew formed by Alec from ambient sun-addled surfer types Blue Divers who released one of our favourite albums last year. Cool Sounds also had a great album out last year and there's a new one coming this week. Actually, that whole family tree of bands – Partner Look, Snowy, Emma Russack & Lachlan Denton... they all put out killer albums in the past year. Redspencer, Dag and Dodda Rivka are three awesome bands who, likewise, share members and have had albums out in the past year also. Way Dynamic have their excellent debut album out soon – for fans of Chris Cohen or maybe Tenniscoats by way of Carole King and Steely Dan... I'm also excited to hear the new Martin Frawley (ex-Twerps) album, out soon. Oh and Lucy Roleff & Lehmann B. Smith recently released an album of shimmering folk gems entitled Dark Green. Check it out all, Tim – I know you don't like sleeping!

….and how is the label Lost and Lonesome, doing? What releases are you excited about? We were recently involved in the posthumous release of Zac Denton's demos and unreleased recordings. Zac was a member of The Ocean Party, Ciggie Witch, Pregnancy, No Local and Hobbie Farm amongst others, and had a stack of amazing material stashed aside when he passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 24, four years ago. I was so chuffed L&L was invited along for this release – working alongside Osborne Again, Emotional Response and Spunk! on releasing the double-LP of these beautiful, unique songs. On the horizon though: the debut album from Hot Coppers – Gareth Parton's first recordings of his own music in 20+ years, for fans of B&S, The Go-Betweens, Burt Bacharach and The Charlatans); the long-awaited new Mid-State Orange album(!), the band now featuring members of The Zebras, Last Leaves and Fred Astereo; plus a few other nice surprises from folks who may have been involved with bands like The Cat's Miaow, The Cannanes and Flywheel... but I've already said too much methinks.

Cover of Mark’s previous LP from 2019

What are your top 10 desert island discs? At this very minute, let's say: Jonathan Richman 'Jonathan Sings' Television Personalities 'And Don't the Kids Just Love it' Dear Nora 'Mountain Rock' Philippe DeBarge with The Pretty Things 'Rock St Trop' Little Wings 'Light Green Leaves' Lou Reed 'Coney Island Baby' The Cannanes 'Love Affair With Nature' The Pastels 'Mobile Safari' The Ladybug Transistor 'The Albermarle Sound' The Apples in Stereo 'Tone Soul Evolution' ... and maybe one more – Sonny & The Sunsets 'Hit After Hit' ... one last quick one – The Chills 'Brave Words' ... I'm sorry!! – The Wedding Present 'Bizarro' ... gah!!!

BONUS QUESTION: Will there be another Last Leaves record? Yes! Thanks for asking, Tim. Marty Donald has written a stack of great new songs and we've been rehearsing again and getting ready to record really soon!

www.emotional-response-recs.bandcamp.com

www.lostandlonesome.com.au

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wtchwtch · 2 years ago

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TT012_Transcript

TT012: I'm Sorry

This is a fanmade transcript, please let me know if you see any errors.

TT012

(Intro music)

(Tape recorder sounds)

Cole: It is, uh, 4:00 AM right now.

Uh, Mark is... i, I don't know where Mark is and, um, I'm sorry.

Uh, D is, With Jesse's, uh, parents or maybe the cops? I, I don't know. I, I don't know what happened.

All I know is, oh God, what am I even saying? Uh, alright. Okay, so, um, Yesterday, uh, Jess and I were supposed to, um, meet and interview, um, uh, Dr. Lance Ruttland together, but she, she didn't show. I thought she'd just forgotten. Um, but then she wouldn't answer D's calls. And, uh, when D went to her house, uh, her parents thought she'd been with D.

It's now been 36 hours since anyone has, oh God, since anyone last saw Jess. I came out to the shed, um, I, I couldn't sleep and I, uh, I found another tape.

Another cassette, uh, recorded and left for well, left for me. I, I don't wanna post this. I'm sorry to anyone listening, but I have to. I, I have to. Otherwise... otherwise, I don't know what will happen.

(Tape recorder sounds)

Jesse: Dearest new friends of the Tiny Terrors podcast, let me welcome you to the underbelly of the Exchange. The exchange has been the subject of my discerning ear for decades now. And as it approaches its twilight, you breathe new life into it. I have been put in charge of watching the exchange and waiting for its second coming.

I am not the first. There were others who watched for its rebirth before me. Do you know the history of the exchange? Do you know what secrets lie within the many stories of the exchange? I see you have brought new blood into the exchange. Fresh, young blood. Why have you given the exchange new blood? I wonder if you know.

I will find out.

Why did you feed the beast?

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Now you cannot stop. You think you can, but you won't. The mysteries are too delicious. The mysteries are too many not to be found. You must continue and you must not stop. You are a feral dog and must be taught to heel, and so I have sent my dog to teach you this lesson.

Who am I? I am the Listener. I am the master. I am the hand that will teach you to heal. I have been in control of the exchange for the better part of two decades now. Those who came before gave it to me. You are not the first to bring fresh blood, young blood to the exchange. Others before you have as well. I told them not to.

Some have listened, some have not.

You have not listened and now I listen because you do not. I listen to your podcast many times a day. It lets me track you. I can listen to you and know you. I hear you. And by your voice I can see you. The exchange is my life, my obsession, and now you are too Terrorizers. You have given the exchange fresh blood, but it is my job to watch and listen and wait for the day when the fresh young blood will be mine.

Do you want to know who I am? Do you want to know why I must teach you to heel? Do you want to know what you feed?

I will tell you. I will tell you if you listen. Will you be a good boy and listen now, Cole? Will you listen now that I have taken one of your Terrorizers? Will her blood be the first I take or will you listen?

Enter this into the exchange. Show your listeners who you are, show your fans what they do when they breathe new life into the exchange. They give me new life, which I may take for my own. And now we are past the point where you might have turned it around. Now they carry the burden too.

I crave young blood. Fresh blood. I want it. It has been so long since I have let my dog loose. He is frothing at the mouth. His eyes are not too human. They are not human. They are less than human. He is my pet and will do as I ask. So you must do as I ask... or he will hunt you.

Post this to the exchange. Make many copies, submit them. Post this to your podcast. When you heel and do as you are asked, I will begin to show you the many delicious secrets hidden in the exchange.

Because you have come so far, I will give you this one chance you may not stop now. Now you must obey me.

The exchange, and you, and they, the Terrorizers, listeners of your podcast, are now my obsession. Do as I ask and I will return the fresh blood I have taken.

(Tape recorder sounds)

Cole: D's heard the tape and so has Mark, and now you've heard it. I don't really know what else to say at this point. I just, I just feel like this is, I just feel like this is all my fault.

(Tape recorder sounds)

Mark: Tiny Terrors is an anthology horror podcast produced by Pulp Audio and licensed under a creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharealike 4.0 international license.

D: This episode was directed by Cole Weavers with sound production and editing by Mike LeBeau.

Mark: To find additional information or to join our Patreon for additional content and ad free episodes, visit our website, www.tinyterrorspod.com.

D: Follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook at Tiny Terrors Pod,

Mark: Or join the Pulp Audio discord by clicking the link in the description below.

D: Rate and review us on Spotify and Apple.

Mark: And finally, thanks for listening.

#tiny terrors #tiny terrors podcast #tt transcript

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nevervalentines · 4 years ago

Text

on the nights that dani can’t sleep, jamie keeps her company.

Some nights are worse than others.

Logically, Dani knows that she fell asleep in her bed. Jamie had gone to sleep before her, but she’d stayed up late, sifting through boxes they had dragged out of the attic that morning.

The old tenant – who Jamie and Dani have started just affectionately referring to as Agnes, inventing convoluted backstories when they get bored – had left crates of her castaways in the crawlspace behind the bedroom, in the attic hatch at the top of the stairs, and their landlord promised a break on the rent if they sorted through it for him.

Dani doesn’t mind. Jamie’s been working steadily on some sort of project, eyes bright in that way Dani knows, even now, means she’ll tell her when she’s ready – but she has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with the storefront that emptied out on Main Street a few weeks before.

She needs something to fill her days beyond worry, beyond avoiding her own reflections, a habit she feels she only had the luxury of a few days without. It’s not as bad now, not with Jamie beside her, but the prickling unease creeps up at night, a feeling like being watched, one that burns when the candlelight doesn’t.

She’d found a dusty cardboard box of beaten, well-loved paperbacks among the junk in the attic, and laid them out on the living room rug carefully, paging through the broken spines, earmarking a few to send to Miles and Flora, for when they’re older, setting aside others that she can imagine Jamie nose deep in on the porch in jean shorts and a too-tiny tank top.

She’d crawled into bed sometime around midnight, and Jamie, half-asleep, had immediately turned into her warmth, burying her face in her chest, arm snaking around her waist.

Sleep had almost come easy, tangled in a soft quilt and Jamie’s long, bare legs, but now –

Water fills her mouth, her eyes, her nose. Dani can feel the pressure deep in her ears, like she is 12-years-old again, chasing neighbors to the bottom of the in-ground pool in Edmund’s back yard, daring each other to stay down the longest, until lungs were fit to bursting, and eardrums throbbed with the rhythm of a heartbeat.

Then, it was as simple as pushing off the cool, tile bottom, straining for watery sunlight and that first, ecstatic gasping inhale. Now, there is no relief.

Dani wakes up drowning.

It’s Jamie that seems to save her. She hears the repetition of her name, a worried hum in the back of a throat, then a warm hand cupping her neck, her cheek, stroking gentle over her forehead.

“Dani, baby, it’s okay.” The hands help her sit up, a body curls around her back. “Just a dream, sweetheart. Just a dream. I’m right here. Breathe, Dani, breathe.”

She opens her eyes and it’s like she can see Jamie from a great distance, through the water. Her eyes are wild, image distorted, but she looks older somehow. She is screaming.

They are both screaming.

When she finally wrenches free from the nightmare, she is sweat-drenched and trembling. Jamie, her Jamie, is holding her tight against her chest, smoothing back Dani’s matted bangs and murmuring nonsense against her temple.

Gasping, Dani thinks she might cry, and realizes her cheeks are already wet. She turns her head to find Jamie’s wide, worried eyes.

“There you are,” Jamie says. She exhales, shaky. “That was a bad one, huh?”

Dani nods, chokes around her own voice until she manages the two-syllable break of Jamie’s name.

Soothing, Jamie cradles her closer, turns a kiss into the apple of her cheek, rubs her nose against her temple. In the sling of her hips, the warm-soft-damp of the inside of bare thighs holds Dani close, and that grounds her as much as anything – to be held, to have no one at her back but someone she trusts completely.

“Jamie,” this again, lips tucked into her mouth, a little embarrassed now. “I’m so sorry –”

Jamie clicks her tongue, chiding. “Don’t apologize.” She shifts out from under Dani’s weight, slides to the end of the bed. “I was just thinking I’d gotten my eight hours, anyway.”

Eyes cast to the bedside, Dani can see the neon digits of the alarm clock only advertise 4:30 a.m., but she doesn’t correct her, just reaches for her, a little put out that Jamie has already moved away.

“Alright, clingy, let me just get you a fresh shirt.”

Dani manages a laugh, a little tear-soaked, and sniffles. “I’m so sweaty.”

Rummaging through the top drawer of their armoire, Jamie turns to her curiously. “Like you’ve jumped in a pool. Someone tell your body it’s October, it’s well freezing in here.”

She tosses a t-shirt toward the bed, and Dani recognizes it as one of Jamie’s – black, with a scratchy decal boasting Blondie’s 1977 tour circuit. Despite the lingering sour of the dream, she feels a pulse of pleasure that Jamie would choose one of her own shirts to outfit her in. The smell alone is comforting, even though their laundry loads have long mixed, the fabric still holds something of Jamie about it.

She peels off her own shirt, skin bare underneath, and can practically hear the Looney Tune-esque sproing as Jamie’s eyes narrow in on – and instantly avert away from – her chest. It makes her giggle around another sniff, and she preens a little bit, ruffles one hand through her hair while shaking out the fresh shirt.

Jamie stops pretending not to look, wobbles a step closer instead.

“No fair,” she says, lowly. “You’re in a vulnerable state, stop showing off.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Dani says, though, yeah, maybe she is a little bit. It’s new, this – that thing where watching someone else be turned on by her also kind of gets her off. That even in the near-black of their bedroom, lit only by the glow of the clock and muted streetlights, her naked chest is enough to give Jamie that dizzy, milk-drunk kind of look.

She pulls the shirt over her head, snuggles into the fabric, dipping her nose into the collar for a whiff of detergent.

“Back to bed?” she asks, though her voice sounds unconvincing, even to her.

Skeptical, Jamie steps closer, lays a hand on her knee. “Could you sleep?”

“Probably not,” Dani admits. Shrugs. “I might just go lay down on the couch. I don’t want to keep you up.”

Jamie is already heading out of the room, looking back at Dani like she’s confused why she isn’t following.

“We’ll put something on,” she says. Holds out a hand, and says, awfully, terribly, like it’s common sense, like there’s no other option, “you aren’t waiting up on your own.”

There is still the phantom catch of water in her lungs, still faces forming in the shadows of the room in her peripherals, ghosts there, waiting with catching hands – but the inevitably of it feels impossible in light of Jamie’s certainty. Jamie who, after stepping through the doorway, knows without looking that Dani will follow.

The worst nights, the nights like these, when the Beast presses like a headache, they pop an old VHS tape into the VCR and Jamie tucks behind her on the living room couch. The blue wash from the portly, pot-bellied television set and the whir-click-hiss of the VHS unspooling triggers a placebo of near-instant calm.

The VHS tapes are also a gift from dear (likely departed) Agnes. A painstakingly catalogued box of taped Happy Days reruns, with careful handwriting detailing the original airdate, and the episode range on the cassette. Inexplicably the thirteenth episode of every season is missing. Entire nights have been spent arguing the logic of it to no avail.

Like she does every time, Dani compliments (presumably) Agnes’s organization. “Really did us a favor, huh?” she says, sinking back into Jamie’s arms, accepting a kiss against her cheek before wriggling closer.

“Is it a favor?” Jamie asks, a little snarky, nudging her hips against Dani’s, pinned between her and the back of the couch. “Or is this some sort of purgatory? Am I due to spend the rest of my life watching Happy Days reruns before daybreak with my sweaty girlfriend?”

“Hey!” It’s a difficult angle, but Dani tries to swat at Jamie anyway. Jamie just holds her tighter, buries a laugh at the nape of Dani’s neck, then a kiss.

“I’m not sweaty,” Dani says, a beat, “anymore. And we both know hell isn’t a 70s sitcom.”

Internally, the word girlfriend is spiraling through her head in a frenzied whirr. Forbidden. Delicious.

Jamie grants her another kiss, this one just under her jaw. “It better not be.”

The drone of the television in the background is enough to scare the shadows away, and Jamie drags a knit throw over the both of them, hooks her chin over her shoulder, one hand playing at the drawstring of Dani’s sweatpants. They’re lazy enough, sleepy enough, that they don’t even bother to fast forward through the commercials, just let the tape run through seven-year-old advertisements for Kellogg’s cereal and sugar-free JELL-O.

The world narrows to this sliver of couch, to Jamie stroking low on her stomach, a hand slipped up under her shirt now, unrushed, nearly unintentional. She traces shapes on the soft of Dani’s belly, inches up toward Dani’s breast like she’s considering, before running her nails gently back down.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Dani says, voice slurred with almost-sleep, spooning back into Jamie’s hips until she hears her hiss.

“Who said anything about finishing?” Jamie murmurs. Teeth at the lobe of Dani’s ear, nosing into skin. The click of mouth on the metal stud of Dani’s earing, breath warm. “I could do this all night.”

Eventually, she’ll take pity, tune out the laugh track, slip her hand under the band of Dani’s sweats, mouthing at her neck until the Lady is the last thing on Dani’s mind.

Credits roll, the tape clunks to an anticlimactic finish, and the blue screen washes them, static crackling in fizzing threads.

“I change my mind,” Jamie groans. Dani turns in her arms, reaching for her wrist, digging nails in until Jamie curls two fingers inside her, swallowing her gasps, “If this is purgatory, I think I’ll stay.”

#the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #dani clayton #my writing #will i ever let dani actually sleep?????#remains to be seen #at least shes getting fingered i guess!!#in this economy take what u can get #dedicated to all the nice anons...u guy r the real mvps

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

Text

Dark Cybertron Chapter 11: The Word “Logic” Doesn’t Even Mean Anything Anymore

Our issue opens up with a flashback to establish some things. 

Because despite the six literal issues of prelude, and all the ham-fisted exposition we’ve gotten throughout the “Dark Cybertron” event, we still don’t have all the information we need to understand what the hell’s happening.

I have a feeling this won’t quite cut the mustard, either.

Anyway, back during the events of MTMTE #1, when Rodimus was making his call to action to his fellow Cybertronians (and by “Cybertronians” I, of course, mean “Autobots”, because prejudice is a hard habit to kick, even for the best of us) Brainstorm was doing science on Hardhead. He was doing this science to make sure that the Dead Universe hadn’t killed him without him realizing. This is a very common issue in the world of IDW2005 Transformers, considering that zombies are a part of canon, so it’s just best to be sure. Nova Prime’s lifeless body sits in the corner like the world’s worst coffee table book.

This will take some explaining, because this is Phase One related.

In Spotlight: Sideswipe, Nova Prime beefed it, except he didn’t, because his “essence” returned to the Dead Universe. This is because he was chosen by the Dead Universe to enact its will on the other, much cooler, Not-Dead Universe. In short, he’s a weird robot zombie-ghost with a save point in the Dead Universe.

Brainstorm has his corpse in his lab to make sure this bastard is true and proper dead, or that the body he left behind is at least. That, in combination with Hardhead proving to be very much alive, means that today can be counted as a win for everyone! The “Alive-People-Counter” machine proves it!

…This is why we can’t have nice things.

Brainstorm being undead does have some precedence within the narrative, given what happened in MTMTE #3.

Though I can’t help but wonder what the guy’s been doing for the last year and a half, that he didn’t notice being dead, when his soul is a large, glowing orb with physical presence. I dunno, he just seems like the sort of guy to keep up to date on that sort of thing, if only for scientific purposes.

In the present day, in the beautiful city of Iacon, everything’s gone to shit, and Whirl’s gotten hot for some reason, as billions of Ammonites fall out of the sky.

Who friggin’ drew this-

I should’ve known.

Up on the Lost Light, Ultra Magnus is breaking out the fancy swears, as a… tornado, I guess, of Ammonites hits the underside of the ship. Bumblebee wants to evacuate the friggin’ planet- which, I don’t know if you know this, would be a little difficult to do, even with a ship the size of NYC. Unfortunately, that’s not gonna fly, however, because all the stars in the sky are blue-shifting.

Wikipedia tells me that this is probably a bad thing, and Perceptor agrees, calling it “the end of everything.”

Over in Shockwave’s Lair of Villainy and Magical Bullshit, everyone’s favorite purple science gremlin has stabbed a “time drive” into his chest. Galvatron is laying dead on the floor in the foreground, but this isn’t about him. Shockwave orders Jhiaxus to activate the time drive, I guess because he doesn’t have long enough arms to do it himself. Jhiaxus warns Shockwave to be mindful, lest he lose himself in time, and then we get a return to a Roberts writing staple that we haven’t seen in quite a while.

Waxing poetic on the nature of time- this time, in a visual medium!

Awful lot of fixating on your ritualistic amputations there, Shocky-boy. I suppose this is ONE way to try to cope with a lack of control in your life.

Of course, to those on the outside of Shockwave’s brain, this doesn’t look nearly as impressive- it actually just looks like him screaming really loud at the ceiling. Bludgeon isn’t sure that this course of action is a healthy one to take, but Jhiaxus is too busy being sapiosexual to worry about that.

I-

Sure. I’m not even going to bother trying to understand this anymore.

Jhiaxus orders Monstructor to go keep the Autobots away from Shockwave.

Also, Galvatron isn’t dead. Good for him, I guess.

Over inside Metroplex, Windblade’s face seems to be stuck in the generic “I am a nice, nonthreatening female character who is also pretty” position, as Ultra Magnus tells her that the universe is ending. Chromia watches in the background as this happens, likely wondering if being relevant in modern media again is worth this bullshit.

Hearing that Bumblebee plans to take the fight to Shockwave is enough to get Metroplex back on his feet, which is good, because I don’t think we have a lot of time to convince the guy to do anything- this event ends next issue.

As Metroplex windmills his arms through swarms of Ammonites, the Lost Light lands, and Bumblebee, Megatron, and all their experts disembark. Bumblebee makes an unsolicited comment about Megatron’s body. They go to meet Soundwave, who isn’t terribly thrilled with Megatron having become all buddy-buddy with Bumblebee. Megatron mentions that the Decepticons are going to have to rethink their strategy once this is all over, with the implication being that they’re going to- gasp- work together with the Autobots.

Then Starscream shows up with Metalhawk, Skywarp, Rattrap, Waspinator, and Scoop for some fucking reason, in tow. Skywarp is going to teleport everyone into Shockwave’s Bastardization of the Concept of Science House, even though he pretty clearly isn’t feeling too well. What a guy.

Starscream and Megatron have a bit of banter that won’t set your hair on end with how awful they are to one another, Metalhawk tries to apologize for attempting to kill Bumblebee, and we really don’t have time for this shit right now. The narrative knows this, because it shifts to focus on Prowl and the Constructicons. Things are looking real rough just about everywhere, and it’s coming down to the wire, so they gotta do the thing.

The thing Prowl really doesn’t want to do.

The thing he said that he wouldn’t do again.

So anyway, they form Devastator.

As Monstructor gets ready to get punched in the face by a bunch of construction workers and a cop, everyone down below is firing off laser blasts and gearing up for a teleporting adventure. However, there’s a small problem- there are too many people to teleport! Oh no! The only solution is for Soundwave and his cassettes, Scoop, Getaway and-

Excuse me, Hook?

Hook, my dude? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be a leg right now, motherfucker, why are you here? GO HOME, HOOK.

Anyway, I’m really glad we wasted the time establishing that Soundwave and his band of merry little men were coming along on this trip, only for them to not come along after all. Love that shit.

I don’t actually love that shit. I’m sorry for lying.

With the load lightened, Skywarp teleports the rest of the gang to where they need to be, and Waspinator is immediately stabbed with a massive raging poisoning sword of doom. Bludgeon’s here to greet everyone, and Metalhawk is gonna try his damnedest to get the guy to come around to their side.

You remember when Metalhawk did things like connive, and scheme, and actually had more depth than a sidewalk puddle? Because I remember. Now he’s just... Beast Wars Silverbolt, but he’s not even attempting to be charming. I bet he wouldn’t even call his evil girlfriend “my soul’s delight.” Lame.

Bumblebee, Megatron, and friends book it for Shockwave, while Magnus and Skids get ready to kick some ass. Brainstorm isn’t feeling so hot, but this isn’t about him.

Starscream is having a minor crisis over the fact that Scoop stayed behind in a literal war zone for Starscream’s sake. I dunno that he did it specifically for Starscream, but Starscream seems pretty convinced that he did, and who am I to argue with the leader of a whole friggin’ planet?

The gang makes it to Jhiaxus’ ship, where they find-

I swear to god, if there’s not a fucking explanation for what the shit is happening right here I’m going to scream.

…So anyway, Metalhawk and Jhiaxus start beating each other up, Starscream gets bent out of shape by Jhiaxus’ trash talk, and we get an explanation for his new look.

Which, y’know, thank fucking god.

Jhiaxus has new reactive armor, which takes anything thrown at him and adapts it to his own body for personal use, which feels like some Grade-A Kids Playing Pretend bullshit, but WHATEVER.

While this is going on, Megatron and Bumblebee have run into the center of Shockwave’s Laboratory of Morally-Abhorrent Mystical Buffoonery Masquerading as the Scientific Method. Dreadwing tries to make a case for self-defense of his property, but unfortunately he doesn’t understand how property rights work, and gets blasted for his troubles. Galvatron reveals himself to be alive to Megatron, who immediately grabs the dude by the throat.

Galvatron’s feeling pretty down about having inadvertently helped end the universe, and is throwing himself a little pity party. Megatron’s not having it, however, tossing the man into the ground and revving up to fusion-cannon him to death. Bumblebee stops him, for some reason, and then starts rambling, I guess STILL trying to be Optimus Prime 2.0.

Bumblebee, you put bombs in people’s heads to make them fall into line. You don’t get to talk to Captain Warlord about moral nuance. And weren’t you also berating Metalhawk for trying this same thing not five minutes ago?

Bumblebee’s words reach Megatron, and instead of annihilating Galvatron, he offers the dude a hand up.

Then Bumblebee gets shot and dies, while Shockwave just… stares menacingly, I guess.

Cool.

The death of his very best friend in the whole wide world sends Megatron into a rage, and he punches Shockwave in the face. This doesn’t really faze him much though, as he bats Megatron across the fucking room like he’s made of papier-mâché and dreams, going on about how the universe will save Cybertron by being its power source “in an endless forever.”

Shockwave, you’re a man of science. You ought to know that “forever” as a concept, doesn’t fucking WORK scientifically. It’s nonsense. You’re nonsense, and I hate you.

Back with the Bludgeon Ass-Kicking Squad, Brainstorm’s having a bad time, while everyone else sort of awkwardly poses. Skids gets stabbed. Skids falls down. Brainstorm falls down. Ultra Magnus is concerned, but he’s too busy not being stabbed to help anyone.

Brainstorm’s in a lot of pain, and then a hand bursts out of his chest and-

GODDAMMIT JAMES.

Fucking- Team -Imus burst out of the Dead Universe from Brainstorm, who I will remind you, is undead thanks to Dead Universe lightning bullshit, making him a link between it and the much cooler Not-Dead Universe. Everyone is posing, even Cyclonus, who absolutely should think that sort of thing is beneath him, but whatever.

That’s the end of the issue. Go home.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #dark cybertron #issue 11 #rid #exrid #issue 27 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

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kob131 · 1 year ago

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And yet it isn't plagiarism.

So because I didn't eat the guy I stabbed to death, I'm innocent?

We all fucking cheered on Yathzee for years railing against cookie-cutter shooters and open world crafting games; laughed at developers like Digital Homicide for their blatant theft and lack of effort and decried games for being derivative but the moment it's about a target people think is acceptable suddenly all those morals and considerations get tossed out a window?

Do you not think that's completely fucked?

The point of Palworld was to make a game that actually delivered on Gamefreak's promises, an open world game, that is immersive and fun, and has Pokémon, and they succeeded;

So you just admitted that Palworld is not its own distinct entity. That its entire premise is basically just 'pander to Pokemon bitchers'. That it basically DID steal Pokemon (as you CALL THEM Pokemon). What exactly about this is supposed to be convincing?

You know, you don't have to know a thing about Star Wars to like Spaceballs. The winnebago starship is still funny without knowing it's a joke about Han being a space trucker. Barf is still visually distinct from Chewbacca. Dot Matrix is still a separate entity from C-3PO. Dark Helmet's line about being Lone Starr's father's mother's sister's cousin's former roommate is still funny without knowing the iconic Star Wars line.

I didn't know we stopped asking for Spaceballs and were praising Scary Movie now.

Nioh has a very similar playstyle to Bloodborne and was heavily inspired by Demon's Souls, and yes, it was more creative in its implementation, though only in its aesthetics, this however does not negate the critique presented above of the response to the game.

By your own admission- it does.

See, you haven't actually made any arguments against the plagiarism, given any examples or even tried addressing it so you kind of implied I was right.

The funniest part of all of this, is the response by not just the Nintendo company and Gamefreak, but the religiously zealous Pokémon stans, who have been foaming at the mouth nearly as much as when they came into contact back in the early 2000s with the Digimon IP.

'See! See! I played some memes and brought up an irrelevant argument and called my opponent a stinky doodoo head!'

You know how I know this is true?

You try bringing up 'Nintendo and Game Freak's response' but their response to it is- 'it exists. No comment.'

You act like they're throwing some tantrum when nothing has been said. You're so attached to this idea of 'fuck Game Freak' that you're either convinced the stock standard PR 'neutral' answer is something or you feel the need to drum it up as something. Otherwise you wouldn't have brought them up.

You also try to connect me to those 'religiously zealous' stans even though A. I actually praised at least two of Palworld's designs as inspiration done right with Pokemon (Penking and Tocotoco) B. I don't approve of the death threats which are stupid and C. I was no older than 6. I might not have even PLAYED a Pokemon game there.

I'm just continuing the standards people set. Not my fault I won't abandon them for short sighted gain.

Can't even imagine how the owners of the Digimon IP feel knowing they could have made Palworld at any time and made bank.

Why didn't you bank them then? Digimon Survive has been out for around a year and a half and yet has sold a fraction of what Palworld has. As you said, Digimon has guns in it too. ... And also likely better overall writing than Pokemon.

Yokai Watch released its last game in 2019. It has a bright chibi arstyle, though excusable for being Asia exclusive.

Cassette Beasts was released last year and has a pretty good diagetic UI and some cool Digimon-inspired designs with a more unique weakness system.

Shin Megami Tensei released its landmark fifth mainline game back in 2021, a series with harder gameplay, harsher themes of order vs. chaos, stability vs. freedom, the ugliness of humanity and how people lose themselves to power which are all integrated into gameplay and aesthetics just as well.

You stand here instead choosing to support a game with designs bordering on plagiarism, a game by your own implication has no real indentity of its own, just to be spiteful towards a company rather than supporting the closer competitors that would undercut Pokemon more anyway.

Can't even imagine how the owners of the Digimon IP feel knowing they could have made Palworld at any time and made bank.

Probably happy and secure, knowing they cultivated a loyal and dedicated fanbase based around their own merits, through their own efforts and with their own ideas. All without being dependent on their competitor.

#palworld discourse #and let me guess #any next response is gonna bring up that DQ/Pokemon image of the eighteen creatures right?

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crystalelemental · 2 years ago

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Cassette Beasts continues to be alright.

I encountered several situations where the record probability still only hits like 50% when you knock them out. It sucks. They don’t run, they just remain at 1HP, but it’s still super frustrating, just like with Pokemon. Kinda worse given that the resources for tapes is way rarer.

I’m starting to see a lot of type matchups now, and have a decent spread of options to choose from. But I’m both at the point where I’m trying to level my lower beasts, but enemies are not holding back, so it’s an outright rough time out here. Also it took an embarrassingly long time to remember how to fuse. I almost lost to the Archangel fight because of that, but the last second fusion with my Wooltergeist and I think it was Traffikrab? I think. I forget exactly. The fusion thing is kinda busted. I also attempted a fight against the first of the trial captains, who was level 21 and had a bunch of shit weak to Fire. This was right after I upgraded my fire dog and set him in the box to level other stuff. I had assumed that Wooltergeist and Decibelle would handle it. They did not, because Metal is good against Astra, and that went about as well as you might expect. Really need the Fire on this one. Which is interesting, in that...this implies it’s still very type matchup reliant.

I find the shield mechanic obnoxious. I’m sorry, but the fact they can throw up specific shields to just negate all damage for a few hits drives me crazy, especially when resisted hits increases the number of blocks. Effective moves will remove it in some cases, but I also had the Fire attack against a Plastic wall change it to a Poison one, so like...I dunno. I think I’m mostly just annoyed because the current quest is to find an apparently rare monster, and I keep having to deal with the plague doctor birds, and they put up a Wind shield, which is extra nasty because Fire is a good solution to Poison, but Wind Shields improve if hit with Fire moves, so they’re just annoying as sin. I think that’s an overall thing. Say what you will about Pokemon, but at least random encounters you fight are quickly removed. Random encounters in this game are both slow and kinda scary at times. Like, damage racks up quickly, and I feel like I’m stopping to heal more often than I’d like.

I think the decision to make playable characters be actual characters kinda backfired. Because it’s supposed to be a split cast, right? Like, I’m supposed to change up what I’m using? But I cannot do that for your partner. Kayleigh has Decibelle. That is her ace. I can’t shift that off of her. So it’s mostly just me switching things around.

As far as exploration goes, I think I hate this place. Capturing certain beasts lets you use overworld abilities, and I think the bullet ability will at least get me through the bullshit wind tunnels, but I’m talking more the block puzzles. I spent like 10 minutes trying to get two boxes to the right location so I could get one of them to the switch while using the other as a stepping stool. And after finally getting everything together, fixing the time I accidentally knocked the block off the ledge, I finally got it, went to jump, the game stuttered a bit and my ally suddenly warped into where the box was, sending it flying off-screen and out of my ability to find ever again. The decision to make these kinds of platforming puzzles, combined with the bullshit of a stamina meter, was really poor. I have never once played a game and gone boy. I sure wish there were a stamina bar in this. I sure wish my block pushing puzzles involved frustrating physics and partners that will actively impede my ability to solve the puzzle just by existing.

I also admit to having very little attachment to anything in the world right now. There hasn’t been anything in the region that’s all that interesting, and there haven’t been many designs that really grip me. I like the Bansheep/Wooltergeist line, and I do like Sirenade/Decibelle. Nevermort is cool. I kinda like the faucet thing. But nothing’s like...you know how sometimes I’ll see a Pokemon design and just lose my goddamn mind over it? Nothing like that yet.

I dunno. The game is good and I’ll keep playing. I think I’m just...not connecting as immediately as I expected to?

#cassette beasts

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 28 - SBT

Here it is!

"You're M, Sir?"

Mundy was just exiting the diner he had breakfast in and a young boy came to him.

"Yeah."

"I come from Maurice. He says he couldn't make much of the place and you should go and check it yourself. Today at the end of the afternoon should be ideal, he says."

Mundy nodded.

"Alright, thanks, mate. If you see him, tell him I got it and thank him, alright?"

"Yeah, okay, bye!" The little boy went running back to his group of friends and as he did so, Mundy noticed the soles on his shoes were green.

He smiled and hopped on his van again.

"Guess I have a bit of time to kill." The hunter drove around town slowly and took the time to look at the shops, the buildings, the streets. His eyes lazily followed the signs of the shops, the logo, the lights, the colours, people wandering left and right.

He pressed a button that he had rediscovered on his campervan and the music started floating. He smiled. It had been extremely hard to find that cassette but by God he won't let go of it! He had gone through every music shop in town and asked them all.

"I'm looking for a specific song, was wondering if maybe you had it?"

"What is it?"

"It's called something like 'Solitude' I guess, I don't really know, it's a French song."

Every music shop owner looked at him differently. Some gave him surprise followed by disdain. How the hell did he expect them to know if they had the cassette if he didn't even know the title of the song?

"Do you know the singer or the band perhaps?"

"Uh, no, not sure about it either…"

He had repeated that more than half a dozen times with an unbearable feeling that he was asking for something impossible, and that he was bothering the person he was talking to.

Thankfully, one of them managed to find the song. Mundy tried the cassette on the spot and instantly recognised it, right from the first arpeggios on the piano. He now listened to it on loop in his van.

It did some good to him somehow. That, and writing to that bloke. Yeah, he would never admit that it was him who wrote that letter, but he did. It wasn't something he usually did, eh. But he felt like he needed to tell someone about what he had felt that night at the Queen Victoria. The question was, who would be willing to listen to his sentimental nonsense? Eddy wouldn't get it, Matt was far away and surely busy, and Maurice surely had better things to do. Besides, Mundy didn't like to share what he felt and thought with Maurice too much. He already knew a lot and didn't need to know more.

So yes, Mundy had found a blank piece of paper and a pen in his van and had sat down to write what he had thought of the song, what it had made him feel. Surprisingly enough, the simple fact of writing it down relieved him. He didn't really care if the singer read it or not. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Mundy was convinced that it was all a show. There couldn't possibly be another bloke on Earth who had to go through the same hell as he did. But then again, what Mundy had felt on his seat that night, the sheer force of the emotion that he had been put through head first…!

Damn, that singer really was something.

-- Near the old sugar factory, 7 pm --

"That's a lot of people to watch over some beasts…"

Mundy was looking through binoculars from a tall boulder. He had parked the van behind it.

The old sugar factory was a vast complex of buildings that had been abandoned since Mundy was a little boy. Now, it was nothing more than emptied hangars neatly lined up; free real estate for a criminal like Duchemin.

Mundy sighed. What he saw through the binoculars wasn't promising. Too many people, the rounds were complex, no way to remember them all, surveillance cameras…

"How the hell am I ever gonna get inside…?" He wondered out loud.

"With a professional."

Mundy froze. He turned and there he was again, that same bloke. He was in a dark red suit and tie and matching ski mask.

"What the hell are you doin' here?"

"Repaying a favour." Lucien lit a cigarette and started smoking it.

"What?"

"You did save me, even though I hadn't thought so at first." Lucien said.

"Nothing you say makes sense, mate."

Lucien smirked.

"Oh but it does. You see, when you freed me from Duchemin's men last time, you do remember, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, what about it?"

"Had it ever occured to you that I wanted to get caught?"

Mundy frowned.

"Why would you do that?" He asked, confused.

"Well, I wanted to convince them to take me straight to the man, by which point I would deal with him."

"You'd have died right after though." Mundy answered.

"Oui, but to quote a hunter I recently came to know, 'don't care.' However, thinking about it again, you did save me." Lucien said.

"Oh, what's changed now?" Mundy asked.

"Someone erupted in my life that I cannot afford to leave behind." He answered.

Mundy's eyes went back to the sugar factory in the distance.

"Good for you." He simply said. "But why d'you want to help? I thought you didn't care about animals."

Lucien chuckled and slid his gloved hands in his trousers' pockets.

"I told you, I have a favour to repay. And I do care about animals. What do you think I am? Heartless?"

"Well, you didn't think twice when you tortured that poor Eric, eh…?"

"Non, I did not." Lucien answered, looking at the sugar factory. "And if I had to do it all again, I would not change a thing. How is he by the way? His thigh should be completely healed by now."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. What kind of an emotionless machine that bloke was? A second ago he said he would gladly torture a bloke only to then ask about his well-being?

"He… He's alright, yeah."

"Très bien. So, what was your plan, Monsieur M?"

"Well, I had a look at things and it doesn't look too good. I can't shoot one without at least a dozen of them seeing it, I can't just barge in, and I don't really know."

Lucien pulled his hand out of his pocket and elegantly removed his cigarette from between his lips.

"What is the point of your intrusion?" He asked.

"I wanna know how many beasts there are and what sizes. Then I can call for the right number and sizes of trucks."

"Hm, I see." Lucien finished his cigarette and dropped it to the dry orange ground before crushing it under his sole. That's when Mundy noticed his varnished shoes.

"But you were sayin' you were a professional, so go ahead then, how am I gonna get in?" Mundy asked. "There's no way on Earth I can slip past them all."

"Non, it is true. Look at you, almost two metres tall of rough and beyond any kind of fashion fabrics, non, that will not do."

"Oi, I'm not commenting on your looks, eh." Mundy answered, offended.

Lucien turned and raised his ice drop-like eyes to the hunter.

"Oh but I did not. I just stated the obvious, you look like a Bushman."

"Well, as if your fancy arse could get in there with your tuxedo and ski mask!"

"It is called a balaclava, but I don't blame you, you would not know." Lucien said before he turned away. "Lucky you…" He whispered to himself.

"Whatever it's called, we can't get in there." Mundy sat down at the edge of the boulder, his feet dangling off into the emptiness of the desert while he stared at the buildings in front of them.

"If we are done chatting…" Lucien spun on his heels and went away.

"Oi! Wait, where are you going?! I thought you were going to help me?"

The man in the suit elegantly climbed down the boulder, his silhouette almost slithering down like vapour. When he landed on the ground, he dusted his gloves and his suit off.

"And I am keeping my word. I presume you have your rifle with you?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, in my van." Mundy landed on the ground next to him.

"Do you have something silent for close quarters?"

"I have my kukri." Mundy answered.

"I meant something like a gun."

"Nah, I have an SMG, but that thing makes a lot of noise."

Lucien winced.

"Non, that will not do."

"Blowgun?"

The Frenchman raised his eyes to the hunter.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nah, I have a blowgun, works well with the sleeping darts. Would that work?" Mundy asked.

"I… I guess so, if you know how to handle it." Lucien answered, astonished by the idea of a blowgun.

"Course I do, come along."

Lucien followed Mundy and they arrived at his van.

"Ah, so this is how you move around when you are not in trucks that contain alligators and the like, hm?" Lucien asked.

"Oi, show some respect. She's the reason why I'm still alive."

Mundy's sentence cut Lucien in halves. The serious tone with which he spoke left no space for jokes. The hunter opened the backdoor and slipped in. Lucien waited outside, smoking another cigarette already, reflecting on what he had just heard.

"Right, I'm ready." Mundy hopped off. "What's your plan?" He locked the backdoor.

"Follow me closely and don't make a sound."

"Alright."

The hunter followed the spy to the fence on the side of the impressive complex. It looked like the old fence had been cut, offering them the opening they needed. They slipped in and walked as silently as shadows. Lucien turned and put his gloved index on his lips. Mundy nodded and followed him. They walked along the wall of one of the buildings. Lucien slipped in through the large window and Mundy peeked in first, just to see. There was no one but the spy who was gesturing him to get in. Mundy obeyed.

"Holy-mh?!"

Lucien smacked his hand on Mundy's mouth. The hangar was full of cages and inside them, more felines than Mundy had ever seen in a zoo: jaguars, leopards, lions, panthers, even cheetahs…! Mundy's eyes opened wide.

"We are alone in this hangar but I would appreciate it if you could whisper." Lucien murmured.

"How d'you know we're alone?"

The Frenchman walked along the cages confidently. The beasts left and right from him sometimes growled, or meowed, but showed no sign of wanting to assault either of them. In any case, they were behind sturdy bars.

"This is how I know that we are alone." Lucien stopped in front of a cage.

"Bloody hell… Did you do that?"

In the cage were half a dozen men, unconscious or asleep, Mundy couldn't tell.

"Oui, I did. Now, there is one who is roughly your height. Get a change."

"What about - oi! L?" Mundy turned and the man had disappeared.

"I am ready." Lucien emerged from a shadow wearing one of the mercenaries' grey uniforms and a helmet that still hid most of his face.

"Crikey, you're fast. Alright, gimme a minute."

Lucien walked around, looking at the animals in the cages. He stopped in front of a black panther and crouched down to be at eye-level with… her.

"C'est drôle de penser que tu es la cousine éloignée de ma petite Perle."

[Quite amusing to think that you are the cousin of my little Perle.]

The feline was lying on the floor, her big golden eyes looking at the spy.

"Tu es magnifiquement dangereuse, ou dangereusement magnifique, tes yeux sont sublimes."

[You are magnificently dangerous, or dangerously magnificent, your eyes are gorgeous.]

Her pupils went from slits to circles and her tail waved lazily on the floor. He smiled at her.

"Dommage que Perle ne soit pas là. Je suis sûre qu'elle aurait aimé te voir elle aussi."

[Shame that Perle isn't here with me. I am sure that she would have loved to meet you.]

"Talking to the big kitty, eh?" Mundy appeared, dressed in the grey uniform too. He put his helmet on his head.

"She is gorgeous, I couldn't take my eyes off of her." Lucien pushed himself up on his thighs. "Look at her eyes. She stares at me and I cannot but avert my gaze."

Like a reflex, Lucien went to Mundy's collar and adjusted it. The Aussie looked slightly up, to give him better access. The Frenchman then dusted off the jacket with his gloved hand.

"You'd better." Mundy answered as he let Lucien adjust his clothes. "Most animals take starin' as an act of dominance. If you stare straight in her eyes, you're telling her that you're a predator and she's the prey."

"Oh, my apologies, Madame." Lucien lowered his eyes and bowed to the panther.

"You're a good comedian, I'll give you that."

"Pardon?" Lucien asked in his mother tongue.

"You nearly had me believing that you really had something for that panther."

Lucien frowned.

"I do. Look at her." The Frenchman said as he looked at the panther again. She stopped cleaning herself and raised her golden eyes to him. "It is all as though she could read my most intimate thoughts with those eyes of hers. She reads what is inside my head. It is very pure."

Lucien paused and looked at the black panther's body entirely.

"She is gorgeous. But you are free to think that I am lying, of course." The Frenchman walked to the front door of the hangar. "So, will you follow?"

Mundy had stood there, unsure if he was believing his improvised colleague or not, but above all, he had been struck by the poetry with which Lucien had spoken.

"Y-yeah, coming."

"Take one of their rifles. I have one with me." Lucien said and they both exited, looking like ordinary mercenaries.

The Frenchman led the way and the Aussie followed closely.

"Why are you breathing so loud? Relax."

"I'm… I'm trying. It's just hard, ok? There are a lot of them. What if we get caught?" Mundy stammered through his nervous whispers.

"Oh we definitely will if you continue behaving as you are right now." Lucien stopped walking and looked up at his nervous colleague. "Take a deep breath."

Mundy obeyed.

"Let your shoulders sink. Non, don't look around, look into my eyes." Lucien raised his index and pointed at his own eyes.

"Uh…"

"Look here… Oui…" Now his hand was sinking down, away from Mundy's field of view.

Mundy stared and neither of them blinked. They weren't in the sugar factory complex anymore. They were alone, no one was around them for miles. Mundy saw the arctic blue irises, with very thin streaks of a slightly darker shade of blue, like threads intertwining behind the delicate glass of the Frenchman's irises, the black pupils, the long black eyelashes, bending poetically, all pointing outwards to the nothingness. And time stopped.

"You have nothing to worry about. We will find the animals you seek and I will help you free them, d'accord?"

[Agreed?]

Lucien spoke slowly, with a very confident yet calm voice. He let the silence weigh and his eyes do the work. His gaze was intense, powerful. There was something magnetic about it. Mundy couldn't possibly avert his gaze.

"Voilà, now you are calm again. M?"

Mundy blinked repeatedly, his eyelashes fluttering, and he felt as if he was waking up from the most serene dream. Their surroundings slowly appeared again, the orange floor, the grey concrete buildings around them, the sky turning dark purple, oh now the other mercenaries appeared. They weren't caring about either of them. Mundy's breath had cut short.

How the hell did he do that? How did that Frenchman manage to just make everything disappear around them. And now it was all back. Did Mundy hallucinate the whole thing? Had time passed at all? Wow...

"M?"

Mundy blinked again.

"Come along."

He obeyed and they soon entered another hangar.

"I haven't cleared the guards here, so don't make too much noise. Understood?"

"H-how did you do it?" Mundy was still confused.

"What?"

They started walking in the aisles of cages.

"How did you manage to calm me down like that?"

"Does it matter?"

The sound of their black boots were barely audible on the concrete floor. Lucien noticed it and nodded to himself. There were a few guards here and there but nothing to worry about.

"Are you a magician or something?" Mundy asked and Lucien chuckled.

"Almost." He answered.

"A wizard then?"

"I know I am quite older than you are but come on."

"Fair enough. What are you then?"

"Someone who seeks to help."

"Why?"

"Does it matt-"

"Yeah, it bloody does." Mundy's voice had been cold and assertive. Lucien stopped walking.

"Why?" He asked.

"Whatever the reason you want Duchemin for, I've set my mind. I'll find him and end him." Mundy said.

"Ah, so you will climb a boulder a kilometre away from his bedroom window and shoot him from far away in his sleep, oui?" Lucien mocked.

"No, I'll get my hands on him and make him suffer before he dies."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped up and he smirked.

"You couldn't even enter this facility without me, how on Earth do you plan on getting close to him, hm?"

"I don't know, I'll think of something." Mundy resumed their walk and tried to make a mental note of all the animals left and right from them in the cages.

"M, I will find Duchemin before you do and will deal with him my way. However, you are welcome to strip him off of his animals before I kill him, if that makes you feel any better."

"Listen here…" Mundy towered Lucien and pointed his index at him, tapping his chest as he spoke. "I'll find that bloke if it's the last thing I do."

"Steal his animals and you won't even have the opportunity." Lucien calmly said.

"What's your point? You say you're gonna help me to free those animals back but then…? Then what?"

"Then you will have the entirety of Duchemin's army on you. From there, I give it all one week, maximum, before you are found dead."

Mundy sighed.

"So what should I do then? Leave those animals to die?"

"I did not say that." Lucien answered.

"What then?"

"Wait for me to kill him. Then you will be able to take the animals for free."

"Pfff…" Mundy walked away resolutely. He continued making a mental inventory of the place before exiting and walking to somewhere calm. Ah, the fence would do. He walked near the limits of the complex and stood there, staring at the nothingness of the desert. He crossed his arms on his chest.

"This is the help that I offer, all these animals against a bit of time; enough for me to kill Duchemin." Lucien had of course followed the hunter.

"You don't get it." Mundy said with his low, husky voice.

"What is it that I am not getting?"

"Freeing the beasts is one thing, killing Duchemin is another, and I need to do both."

"Non, you don't need to. I can take care of killing him and you then get the animals, what is it that you do not like in my offer? I am sparing you the risks of his army coming after you." Lucien asked.

"I wanna kill him." Mundy answered.

"Who?"

"Duchemin."

"Why? Is it simple revenge for these animals we have seen? This is ridiculous!"

"No. It's not for the beasts. You don't get it." Mundy sat on a crate. "You can't get it. I need to kill the bloke myself."

"You will die straight after, or worse, you could end up jailed for it." Lucien answered.

"Yeah well same for you, isn't it?"

"Non."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"And how d'you think you'll escape his goons or a trial, huh?"

"The trial has happened a long time ago and I am the executioner." Lucien answered. "You wanted to know what my job was. This is it. I am sent when no one else can, for justice to be served."

"So pompous you are, listen to you speak! As if your little arse here was justice itself, pff, you're a bloke, nothing more, nothing less." Mundy said. "Whoever kills him will have to face the music."

He sighed and Lucien sat on a crate next to him. Mundy looked at him.

"Look, you said you had someone to go home to. I don't. Let me kill the bloke and whatever happens to me after that, I don't care."

"Surely you do have some interest in staying alive." Lucien answered. "Don't you?"

"N-not really." Mundy lowered his head. "Killing Duchemin, it's, uh, it's something I need to do, and then I can go in peace."

Lucien frowned. He had never heard the voice of despair come out of another pair of lips than his. But there he was, next to a man who knew he walked to his death and was gladly doing it.

"Who will take care of your van?"

Mundy's eyes snapped wide.

"What?"

"Your van. Who will take care of her when you… are gone?" Lucien asked.

Mundy looked left and right.

"I don't know…" He thought about Eddy but with all the respect he had for his friend, he knew Eddy wouldn't know what to do with his campervan.

"And your rifle, your blowgun?"

"I don't know…" Mundy repeated and he stared at the dark ground between his feet. The night was wrapping them both tightly under a lamp post that shed its yellow light.

"You have some family, maybe friends? You are a native of these lands, I can hear it in your accent." Lucien went on.

"Yes, I was born here." Mundy was gritting his teeth. Lucien felt he had struck a nerve. "And I'll die here, ok? Nothing ties me to anything anymore!"

The hunter's eyes shone fiercely under the electric light, his jaw was clenched hard as if he was biting into life itself, trying to hold on to it. It had been hard to get those words out. They were heavy, they weighed a ton each, and they hurt. What's more, Mundy had now uttered those words to someone when he never even said them to himself out loud Lucien frowned.

"You don't get it and you won't ever get it." Mundy said. "I need to make Duchemin pay."

Lucien's lips parted. What the hunter just said, it was exactly his feeling too. He realised that he wasn't looking at the hunter speaking, but at his reflection in a mirror. He shook his head and blinked a few times.

"What did you just say?" He asked.

"Pff, you're not even listenin', are you? Bah, it's fine. But what you said is right. I can't free the animals before I kill Duchemin or I might not get a chance to kill him before he does me. So I need to get the bloke first." Mundy thought.

"What did you just say…?" Lucien repeated slowly and when Mundy turned his head to him, he read the astonishment painted across Lucien's masked face.

"I said I'll kill him first, then free the beasts."

"Non, before that, what did you say?"

"I don't know…" Mundy frowned, trying to recollect his thoughts. "That Duchemin needs to pay?"

Lucien shut his parted lips and frowned.

"Now, Monsieur M, time for you to tell me the truth. Why are you after Duchemin?"

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"I'm not tellin' you! Why would I? And what difference does it make for you?"

"Just tell me and I will tell you."

"No."

Lucien sighed. He thought fast in his head and an idea popped up in his mind.

"Fine." He said as he stood up. "I shall find out myself."

"Pff, you can't."

"Of course I can. Do I look like a resourceless man?"

Mundy frowned as he didn't understand Lucien's point.

"M, last time we met, I was in that particular hangar you went to. Then, you left me there, stranded in the middle of the desert and now what?" Lucien explained. "Now, I reappear like magic on your very heels. Have you ever stopped to wonder how I came to know Duchemin's moves?"

Mundy followed Lucien's train of thought and saw the final stop.

"Maurice?" He said to the Frenchman.

"If you don't tell me why you so adamantly want Duchemin, I will go and ask him." Lucien threatened him and Mundy burst out laughing.

"Mate, he won't ever tell you!"

"You think so?"

There was something in the way the Frenchman crooked his eyebrow up that made Mundy much less confident.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #snipershot #SBT

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