#local old bird and wet bone cat

[sillysosillyangel]

Pissa body swap!!

You know how they adore each other so much that they can't do without a mirror. It's so strange to see your own face contort with pleasure but it's not very uncomfortable after all the face we know and explore the most in our lives is our own.

They can do it but they cannot get off without the mirror being in front of them allowing to see each other in themselves.

Missa wants to cry because of how embarrassing it is to see himself without his mask, but its phil, is still phil even without his blue eyes there is the intensity that only his husband has when he is about to devour Missa. So when he hears his own voice ordering him to remove his hands from him (his husband's) face, he does it.

He doesn't notice how Philza's cock is smaller than his but Philza does.

It's like a hot, vague thought but now he's doing it and he's wondering if size has anything to do with sensitivity because Missa bends as if he's reached ecstasy and his wings (wich are Philza’s) inflate and contract nervously, Phil’s bird brain knows that those are his body's instincts begging to be breed by his mate

The reaper instincts of Missa's body recognize the wings of his angel, the angel he must adore, and Phil's (simp) mind is partially clouded by adoring Missa so much, having longed to be with him for so long that he quickly succumbs to adoring him in his own body no matter how narcissistic that may feel.

Has Missa always been so arhm… big? because he feels ugh big against his (Phil’s) thigh, he almost wants to apologize to his husband for hard times taking him inside.

but he shuts up when a huge thing goes into his mouth, god, and oh my god it's his tongue. His tongue with which he eats and sings and speaks moves almost gracefully within Phil's vocal space (this is confusing) but for the difference in size between them it's almost like choking on a cock (not that Phil or Missa did it before, i mean)

Missa cries and let me be lenient here because Phil looks so pretty with drool running down his mouth his lips look like they are going to explode from how red and swollen hid, his face is red and his glassy eyes are crying tears in despair

Phil smiles from Missa's body in that sly way that makes Missa look so different and intimidating.

The image from the outside is funny without knowing that they are in each other's bodies it is funny

Phil's (now Missa’s) wings are spread against the mattress

Missa has never had a cloaca before and when he starts to self-wet like this, it would usually makes a little mess and wet spots on his feathers.

He is lying there; the big angel of death crying pathetically for his husband's cock, so good, he has been so good, please

This is a power trip for Phil, his brain is too clouded in a river of not own instincts that ask for the same thing, and fuck he laughs breathlessly because fuck this is a whole thing

They could spend hours like this before they really come, just exploring their own bodies from each other's shoes it's so weird

When Missa stops at the skeleton marks that are everywhere he wonders how Phil could want something so daunting in his bed.

Only for Phil to growl (now he can't chirp now but growl) into his very own neck and Missa pulls more of his vulnerable throat out of him as a show of near-universal submission, don't you dare to talk about my husband like that! (he says it with his voice and Missa knows that he would say something like that perfectly)

If it were Missa he would be very angry still! But having those attacks at his husband coming from someone who is not his Missa (technically it is but with his voice) his favorite person on the island; only makes him more aggressive (repent while you suck my husband's cock, isnt him Great? Put it deeper, I know you like it)

Phil's wings are a disaster on Missa, he moves them uncontrollably releasing feathers which could be serious when they return to normal so Missa suggests restricting them and oh no...

It's like a fucking shibari but all the ropes are tied in the right homogeneous areas, mmh, of course Phil would know where it is in HIS body, maybe the crow can even admit that he looks good crying and limping out of breath

Now Phil's wings are safe which would make Missa breathe a sigh of relief if it weren't for the fact that he has his own cock down his throat, shit, his husband sorta ate himself so normally the I self-sucked (?)

Anyway he can't help but choke a little with his dick.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 42: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A talisman depicting a forgotten deity from a bygone era. If you held to the ear, the bearer can hear faint murmurings.

A rudimentary tripwire consisting of a length of thin string wrapped around two small sharpened, wooden stakes along with a length of tiny, ash-darkened, copper bells that can be wrapped around the tripwire. The trap can cover an area five feet in length.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Mudder's Milk” on its lid. The keg is filled with a batch of stout beer so dark, dense and filling that it could pass for a soup in bad lighting. The beverage has all the proteins, vitamins and carbs of a full course of your grandmother's best turkey dinner plus 15% alcohol. The keg contains enough beer to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A map of the local tavern, showing several levels of basement below it. The last three levels are crossed out and "don't go here" is written in pencil.

A single black envelop upon which is a single silver glyph, lightly afire. You do not recognize the language, nor even the alphabet of the burning symbol. Regardless, while touching the mysterious inscription you are instinctively aware of its meaning, as if the words were branded with eldritch fire directly on the grey matter of your soft humanoid brain; "VACATION APPROVED”. You know in your mind exactly what it says. You wish you did not know. If you are able to ken the ancient eldritch script of the elder primordial beings from before recorded time, you are able to understand that the note was written by an unknown number of entities known as “Station Management”.

A sheet of parchment with a black handprint and the words "We Know" written underneath it.

A lustrous black flask inlaid with a silver skull pattern. It is plugged with a skull-shaped stopper with reflective red eyes. To complete its menacing appearance, the eyes glow slightly in dim light. Knowledgeable PC's can determine that the viscous green fluid the flask contains is actually an antivenin for the treatment of giant spider bites.

A clean steel sap spigot that can be rammed into a tree in order to allow it to pour forth the sap inside.

A silver chain on which hangs a polished silver bell the size of a thimble. At one point in the bearer's life, the bell will ring three times, producing three bursts of silvery sound with a brief silence after each. The vibrations that shiver through the bearer's body will seem much too strong to have been produced by such a tiny clapper. This squared trio of ringing heralds that great danger will soon befall the bearer from which he is unlikely to survive.

A painting of gnolls gambling with playing cards.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A talisman depicting a forgotten deity from a bygone era. If you held to the ear, the bearer can hear faint murmurings.

A rudimentary tripwire consisting of a length of thin string wrapped around two small sharpened, wooden stakes along with a length of tiny, ash-darkened, copper bells that can be wrapped around the tripwire. The trap can cover an area five feet in length.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Mudder's Milk” on its lid. The keg is filled with a batch of stout beer so dark, dense and filling that it could pass for a soup in bad lighting. The beverage has all the proteins, vitamins and carbs of a full course of your grandmother's best turkey dinner plus 15% alcohol. The keg contains enough beer to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A map of the local tavern, showing several levels of basement below it. The last three levels are crossed out and "don't go here" is written in pencil.

A single black envelop upon which is a single silver glyph, lightly afire. You do not recognize the language, nor even the alphabet of the burning symbol. Regardless, while touching the mysterious inscription you are instinctively aware of its meaning, as if the words were branded with eldritch fire directly on the grey matter of your soft humanoid brain; "VACATION APPROVED”. You know in your mind exactly what it says. You wish you did not know. If you are able to ken the ancient eldritch script of the elder primordial beings from before recorded time, you are able to understand that the note was written by an unknown number of entities known as “Station Management”.

A sheet of parchment with a black handprint and the words "We Know" written underneath it.

A lustrous black flask inlaid with a silver skull pattern. It is plugged with a skull-shaped stopper with reflective red eyes. To complete its menacing appearance, the eyes glow slightly in dim light. Knowledgeable PC's can determine that the viscous green fluid the flask contains is actually an antivenin for the treatment of giant spider bites.

A clean steel sap spigot that can be rammed into a tree in order to allow it to pour forth the sap inside.

A silver chain on which hangs a polished silver bell the size of a thimble. At one point in the bearer's life, the bell will ring three times, producing three bursts of silvery sound with a brief silence after each. The vibrations that shiver through the bearer's body will seem much too strong to have been produced by such a tiny clapper. This squared trio of ringing heralds that great danger will soon befall the bearer from which he is unlikely to survive.

A painting of gnolls gambling with playing cards.

A carved stone plate with horrifying pictographic symbols etched into it.

An unremarkable silver coin whose faces sport two expressions. One face is joyfully exuberant, and the other is depressingly dour.

A deck of playing cards that will always deal the worst possible hands to all players.

A simple silver key with “Guest Room” etched finely on the handle.

A pouch of very small bones that can be fitted together to form a strange, highly complex and obviously occult symbol.

A small hourglass holding enough sand to mark the passage of one minute. The bases are made from obsidian flecked with gold and carved to resemble a long-fingered hand holding the hourglass at each end. The glass itself is made from fine crystal and the sand inside is red.

A small dark rock (Two inches in diameter) that was naturally formed into the shape of a demonic creature with bat wings folded around its body. It is semi-translucent with a dark center that sometimes seems to move. Occasionally it seems to whisper. If one listens closely, the whisper can be understood, but it is a foul and evil entreaty to do some horrible act. A bearer who chooses to obey these instructions, never feel remorse or guilt during or after carrying out the horribly despicable and particularly sadistic actions. Should a bearer who performs evil deeds at the stone’s bequest lose the rock or stops carrying it on his person, the awareness, guilt and shame of his evil deeds comes back to him all at once and he is thrown into deep despair.

A silver hand mirror ornately engraved on both sides; one side bears a frowning mask, while the opposite bears a smiling one.  There doesn't appear to be an actual mirrored surface, despite its shape.

A figurine made of twisted fragments of copper wire. It is in the shape of a bird-headed human and although it seems to be many hundreds of years old. Extremely knowledgeable PC’s are able to determine that it is in fact a fake that has been aged to appear antique. Nevertheless, it will still fool anybody who is not an expert on the art of the period. Its metal value is only a handful of copper but it can be sold for a good deal more to the right (i.e. uninformed) buyer.

A walking stick, shod with silver and with the head of an eagle as its handle. The eagle’s head once had two garnets for eyes but these have long since become mislaid. If the head is grasped firmly and unscrewed, it will reveal a long but thin container which can be used to store liquor.

A bulbous flask of opaque white glass filled with a slightly syrupy fluid that’s a deep, warm golden color, almost metallic looking.

A mask bearing a dread visage crafted of wrought iron and set, is perpetually set with a sneering saturnine face.

A pair of goggles with hexagonal mineral lenses of a sharp yellow hue, secured in bronze frames, with a black leather strap that feels slightly scaly and slimy. They give off a faint odor of rotten eggs if sniffed directly.

A dagger sized scabbard containing strips of natural sea sponges on its interior. By carefully pouring a dose of poison into the empty scabbard (An action equivalent to attacking), the bearer can saturate the sponges with the toxin, which keeps it viable and wet for up to four hours. When a dagger is drawn from the sheath, it is automatically envenomed as if the liquid was applied directly. The bearer can also pour holy water or flammable oil into the sheath but acids will destroy the sponges. This kind of item is usually illegal in areas that outlaw poison.

A large mummified paw of long dead beast. Dried blood stains the fur around the petrified claws which are still razor sharp.

A deep violet sash made of silk adorned with gold embroidery of imps and succubi dancing with each other.

A small metallic whistle with a single blowhole. The pipe is divided into a number of twisted and interlocking tubes, with many holes for the air to exit. This strange configuration produces a cacophonous mess of simultaneous sounds when blown.

A matching shaker set of celestial salt and abyssal pepper.

A hooded lantern that is painted rather intricately with a house cat motif depicting cats playing in different poses. It’s mostly painted in whites and pinks, and it has small scuff marks on one side.

A delicate bracelet, carved out of lapis lazuli, featuring the initials XER on the interior facing.

A dark leather and silk monstrous mask with jet eyes.

A jangling bracelet of tiny golden bells and fine-toothed cogs on crimson silk rope. It is suited to a small wrist interested in intricate mechanisms.

A glass jar containing a heart that continues to beat.

A plain-looking wooden bowl of water, which remains unnaturally still while inside it. Looking at one’s reflection in the water shows an idealized version of oneself, in accordance to the viewer’s ideals. Perhaps by lowering one’s head into the bowl for long enough, one can gain insight into how to become the self seen in the bowl.

A silver oak leaf cloak clasp, edged and highlighted with gold.

An ancient drinking horn crafted from some extinct beast. Those who drink from it have dreams of being a huge predator roaming unchallenged through a prehistoric landscape.

A detailed sketch of a cross section of a brain, with a long foreign object being inserted through the front. Labelled fig 2: proper extraction positioning.

A bunch of scrapped papers that, if unfolded, reveal badly written poems describing the writer's deep love for a womanly shaped rock existing in a nearby forest.

A heavy copper belt buckle resembling an axe head.

A wistful portrait of a singular dark mountain on a broad plain, trees covering the top third of it and nowhere else, far higher than trees ever normally grow on a mountain. The middle of the mountain sports two large overhangs of rock above deep depressions, not quite caves. A stream flows down the bottom third of the mountain, splitting its flow around an overhang that shelters a massive cavern entrance that goes who knows how deep.

An aged obsidian fruit knife with bronze handle.

A piece of exotic wood, carved to look like a quill, with a gold tip. Its purpose is obviously ceremonial and no doubt used for signing important decrees or documents, as it is awkward to write with.

A silver and brass mirror with lewd designs hidden around the frame.

A gilded oil lamp with ornate scrollwork cutouts of a warrior, and an evil sorcerer, meant to cast shadows on the wall in their shape.

A blood red mask made from carefully sculpted bone, shaped to look like the face of a grinning demon.

A fist sized piece of jagged garnet. The deep crimson and maroon gemstone pulses faintly and smells of blood.

A lyre crafted from wood from the vale of shadows that emits a slight ringing at all times and a subtle glow of green when it is played.

A leather pouch containing dozens of petrified raven's claws with the talons splayed outwards. If scattered across an area the stony claws function as caltrops in every respect.

An old copper door knocker fashioned to resemble the face of an eldritch creature. It is always cold to the touch.  

A two-foot-long wooden rod bearing a silver wolf’s-head at the tip, and its length is inscribed with moon-sigils.

A small, masterfully crafted toy carriage made of stained black walnut complete with leather driver's seat and interior upholstered in crushed velvet. Anyone who stops to admire the detail of the model in detail has the urge to break one of the wheels, first starting as a fleeting thought but gradually grows to consume their thoughts causing insomnia the longer they resist the urge. The wheel is instantly repaired any time the toy goes unnoticed.

A crimson monkey skull weighing four pounds, carved entirely from blood garnet. An aura of feral sentience draws your gaze to its empty eye sockets.

A rolled scroll on which was hastily scribbled hymn, full of zeal. It says that it is only in rapturous frenzy that the spirit exhibits grace. At this moment, we are freed from doubt, acting only in accordance with the divine, immaculate will.

An ornate token from an opulent land. When held, one feels aided by forces paid for dearly. Surely, no cost is too high for triumph?

An inflamed gland that's little more than an engorged, muscular lump, radiating heat. The repellent hunk of flesh pulses with a warm, wet heat like an exhaled breath. The gland's presence consumes the senses. One's head begins to ache with a feverish intensity the longer it is held.

A scalpel with a wide blade, etched with a diagram of a human body on each side. One side features a chart of the circulatory system, and the other a layout of the muscles and tendons.

A glass disk that depict constellations.

A votive candle holder in the shape of a lighthouse.

A jawbone from a mammalian beast, a handspan in length with dozens of tiny needle-like teeth arranged like a pincushion

A surprisingly light, cobalt blue, metal cube the length of a hand. The many holes on its surface appear to resemble stars in the night sky.

A small sea chest, locked securely. The key is probably somewhere close by. Inside are a dozen glass bottles containing extremely rare and valuable spices. Unfortunately, they are so old as to be unfit for any purpose, and only identifiable by their labels.

A small, cork-stoppered crystal bottle with a disproportionately low and fat belly and slender neck containing a ruby colored liquid with an overwhelming odor of citrus. Tasting the liquid brings forth visions of standing atop a pyramid in a desert land, overlooking a sprawling city on a broad river flanked by irrigated farms.

A thumb-sized bronze horned owl. When the head is turned clockwise three full rotations, it flaps its wings and makes hooting noises as the head rotates back.

A soapstone dragon turtle paperweight with a tiny flag on its back that blows in whatever direction the wind is currently blowing in outdoors.

An unfinished, highly complex nautical knot made with a length of ship's line.

A horse-shaped bottle, made of iron, with eagles of gold and genuine lapis lazuli as inlays.

A clay piece with a drawing of a woman and baby standing next to a solider in uniform.

A pouch of small medicinal vials labelled with different names, with a handwritten note detailing dosages and urgency in delivery.

A letter addressed from an orphanage, informing the the recipient that they believe they've located their child, who was believed dead after a prolonged siege. They are asking the dead person to arrive as soon as possible, as dwindling budgets are forcing them to send their older children to work houses.

A pottery vase decorated with images of a foot race.

A glass eye with an azurite iris and obsidian pupil.

A one gallon cask of Seabeast Poison, an alcoholic beverage found mostly in coastal taverns. This mixture is almost black with a white, frothy foam on top. It's said the original recipe included venom from the poison sacs of a rare sea creature. The exact creature varies from tale to tale and the modern recipe surely doesn't include this venom.... Right?

An engraved geode that has been split apart into two equal halves. A labyrinth is carved into the rock's rough exterior and glows with a faint light.

A beautiful deck of cards resting in a strong leather pouch with an etching of a joker on the outside. The same etching is on the back of the cards.

A strange wand that is visually translucent, but when held closely, one can hear the sound of a light spring rain.

A glass figurine of a unicorn with a chalcedony horn.

A pair of pearl earrings held in eagle claw settings.

A humorous ensorcelled cartoon strip about Cernuous Cedric the slug-about-town, a languorous libertine known for his lechery, taste for strong drink, and allergy to any form of labor. The strip speaks and animates when read, telling the story of one of Cedric’s disastrous affairs with the husband of Mordiggia, the Charnel Goddess.

An amber belt buckle with knot pattern.

An ancient hieroglyphic tablet made out of some type of reflective metal that can float in water and makes a strange echoing hollow sound when struck.

A small glass bulb that gives off a bit of bluish light when touched. The light it shines counts as moonlight for the purpose of revealing things.

A cherry wood mandolin with strings of different colors. Each note played on this mandolin blends euphoniously with the notes played before it, forming a pleasing melody regardless of which strings are plucked.

A beaten copper death mask with garnet eyes.

A small statue of a great old one carved from an unknown type of greenish stone.

A copper serving pot edged and highlighted with silver depicting the labors of a famous hero.

A hardy wine bottle that is completely opaque and holds a strong, deep red, fruity alcohol.

A simple leather pouch that has several charred humanoid bones in it and a small dusting of ashes. There is no smell of smoke though, so they must be quite old.

A pure white face mask with pewter trim around its edges. It is sculpted into what could be called a bird head with an unusually short beak, also covered in pewter, but with delicate filigree.

A large blue banner decorated with a flaring yellow crest and mounted on the end of a ten foot brass pole. It is meant to be the standard used to keep the morale of the troops high as its valiantly held aloft.

A large ceramic jar covered in silver leaf.

A brass candelabra etched with filigree pattern.

A bar of rough soap made from ground pumice, and a little bit goes a long way. Light gray in color, it scrubs off trail dust, sweat, and blood with equal ease, leaving behind a clean, slightly dusty scent.

A tiny dead sparrow, wrapped delicately in giant green leaves.

A four inch long, plain, pocket pen carved from giant's tooth enamel, tipped with a gold-vanadium nib, and silver cap.

An item that appears at first glance to be no more than a simple burlap doll with no hair or clothes in the shape of humanoid. The doll's wicked grin and black sapphire eyes tell keen observers a different tale.

A heavy brass torc ending in clenched fists.

A copper door knocker of a celestial with twin amber eyes.

A tin bucket without a label, filled with what appears to be loose teeth. A closer look confirms the contents: dozens of molars, bicuspids, incisors, canines. Human teeth. Enough to fill at least five or six mouths. Resting on top of the pile is a rusted pair of iron pliers.

A swirly mahogany wand that changes to a different color every night at midnight.

Innocent Lockpicks: A set of nondescript masterwork thieves' tools coated in a matte black lacquer, that seems brittle enough to break. They are favored by spies and thieves that cannot afford to be caught with the tools of their trade. As an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, the bearer can break the brittle coating of the tools, causing them to dissolve into a puff of smoke, destroying the evidence of any wrongdoing. Because of their fragile nature these tools have a chance of breaking. If the bearer rolls a natural 1 while using the tools, there is a 25% chance that the tools snaps and dissolves in his hands. The item's properties are wholly mundane and do not register as magical.

[coast-modern]

welcome to the Bone Zone

These pics r old so there's some stuff not pictured here, but ive got

Wet: Halloween moon crab, leopard frog, yellow perch, bb octopus, another lil crab, and a brook stickleback fishie

Preserved in Lucite: fiddler crab, red zebra fish, tiger barb, yet another lil crab

Bones: human ulna, cervical vertebrae, metatarsal and phalange, deer skull and assorted leg n foot bones, red fox skull, bobcat jaw, bird (probably seagull) skull, assorted pet bones including an occipital bone, scapula and metacarpals/tarsals (probably cat or small dog... I found them on an island washed up on the beach, and the local wildlife center said that the pet cemetery had recently flooded and many people were finding animal bones on the beach.)

Misc: crab claw, mosasaur fossils, meteorite pieces and 2 hagstones (which I have a strange knack for finding)

[aquilaofarkham]

title: asclepius rating: teen and up (medical procedures, childbirth, brief mentions of animal death) summary: After spending some time alone, Alucard decides to continue his mother’s work and becomes a local doctor—a choice that eventually brings unexpected consequences.

AO3

Alucard doesn’t need to look at a mirror to know the kind of sordid state he’s in: red watery eyes, sniffled nose flushed pink and disheveled locks of hair falling over his face after being tightly bunched up in his fists. It’s surprising how much crying can put certain things into perspective. With a trembling hand, he uses the end of his sleeve as a handkerchief. 

He hasn’t cried this much since childhood. It feels... liberating. He was always so concerned with maintaining his composure while in the presence of others. Hide your softness; keep a guard around your exposed heart. Always be the cold spot in the room.

They say if you walk through one of those cold spots especially in an empty room, it means you have just brushed shoulders with a ghost. Not necessarily the worst thing to be. This castle might once again feel like home—or some semblance of home—should Alucard become more akin to a ghost. He would fit in better with its occupants that come and go, down staircases and across open doorways as fleeting visions of past memories.

Alucard places both palms upon his wet cheeks, trying to cool them. No more of those thoughts. In an hour or so, he will be fine. What he needs is distraction and there is plenty of that. He could continue wandering the corridors, inspecting whatever damage he missed during his first walkthrough. Make his favourite rooms more presentable and allow the sun to brighten up this dreary, death filled citadel, no longer to be hidden in shadows.

Standing up, Alucard sets off down the hallway. Cleaning, like crying, should help unclutter his mind. He starts by brushing aside larger pieces of rubble, stone, and splintered wood before realizing he needs a broom—and perhaps a shovel. There’s a substantial storage room in one of the neighbouring halls. Alucard recalls visiting it many times after accidentally breaking an entire set of Lisa’s vials or toppling over a row of candelabras when his powers were still new and difficult to control. 

He hopes to feel some sweet nostalgia walking throughout the castle. A sense that he has returned to a past that kept him safe, gave him knowledge, and comforted him despite its bloodied history. A past that he loved.

There’s always the Belmont Hold should Alucard need it; the very thought causes him to stifle a chuckle. His relationship with that museum is certainly an interesting one. There was hatred, suspicion, even jealousy. All of which he made sure to voice very plainly to its sole heir. Alucard regrets those particular words, along with others that escaped.

You were right in calling me a bastard. Another memory that tugs at the corners of his lips. These days, he can’t help but respect those archives and their contents. He should, now that the Hold is his to own. Though the vampire skulls in their glass cases will have to be thrown out.

Tick, tick, tick. Alucard stops in the middle of another stone hallway. He almost moves on, thinking he misheard, until it occurs again. A few steps forward and the sound grows in volume. He follows and arrives at a closed door. Strange; he always remembered this to be one of many empty rooms. Most likely a stray cat or bat trying to claw its way out. Alucard grabs the doorknob. Might as well set it free else the noise echoing off the walls will drive him mad.

He’s right about it being a trapped animal, yet the reveal still surprises. Alucard backs away while a cat and what he thinks is a fox scamper out in a panicked dash. A few birds, including an owl, follow close behind. He doesn’t question where they came from or how they managed to get inside the castle yet; he’s more intrigued by the contents of the room. Nearly identical to his father’s workshops and studies with a large table erected in the centre. The only differences are the animal cages lining the walls. Curiosity develops into wariness when Alucard comes across splatters of red gracing the wood, too old and too dried to be washed away.

There’s another unexpected noise; a subtle, high-pitched whimpering that seems very close. Alucard searches around before looking under the table. Nestled in the farthest corner he sees a small black shape curled in on itself, shaking. He edges closer, noticing a tail and two folded ears.

“Where did you come from?” At the sound of his voice, the dog turns around only to cower even further away. Despite its bright blue eye, wrinkly face, and tongue that perpetually sticks out, its demeanour is one of debilitating fear. Alucard decides not to be concerned with the missing eye and exposed bone; Castle Dracula will always be home to a whole manner of colourful creatures.

“It’s alright. There’s no reason to be scared.” He holds out his hand, but the dog refuses to move. He needs to earn its trust in a different way—a palm full of food or stick as a plaything.

Something lying on the floor catches Alucard’s eye. A broken piece of bone, red as the stains across the table, should do just fine. Crawling back, he stretches his arm and offers it to the dog. Still shaking, but now with a slightly less apprehensive look in its eye. Ears and head perk up; its tail might even be wagging.

“Here. This is for you.”

The dog stands up, showing how small it really is. Nails tap against the stone floor as it walks forward. Its tongue flicks against the bone before opening its mouth to gently accept it. He relaxes, watching in delight as the creature happily gnaws on its new toy. It even allows him to reach over and pat the top of its head. Fingertips brush along its skull, but Alucard doesn’t flinch. He realizes how it might have come into existence.

Necromancy, alchemy, transmutation—these are not unknown concepts. Dracula dabbled in everything, including the sciences that fed a young dhampir’s insatiable curiosity. Or the medicinal practices he learned while sitting on his mother’s lap. No area of study was taboo in their household. Admittedly, the sight of a reanimated dog playing, panting, and barking like all others in the world (with their skin intact) isn’t that much of a shock to him.

Alucard had many pets; most humans would have called them unsavoury beings. He never cared then, so he doesn’t care now. He’s charmed by this little black dog. Picking it up, it drops the bone and starts licking his cheek, squirming excitedly. The castle doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

“Now what should I call you?” Nothing comes to mind, but a visit to one of the libraries might help instill some imagination into it. The dhampir prince leaves the room with his new friend, who had managed to calm down. “Let’s go find you one, shall we?”

--

A copper gear clicks into place, fitting with the others like the final piece in an elaborate puzzle. With a couple flips and switches, Alucard changes his multi-lensed glasses to the highest magnified setting. He makes a minor adjustment, wielding the needle-think pick between steady fingers. Satisfied, he picks up the polished cover, his own golden eyes shining in its reflection, and carefully presses it into place.

Alucard takes a well-deserved breath. The glasses weigh heavy on the bridge of his nose. He looks over his stagnant creation with its sleek body hiding an inside filled with gears and springs that in theory should work together in tandem. There’s only one more step, then he can at last call this project finished. Using a pair of pincers, he takes a ball of coal and delicately hovers it over a nearby candle. Not enough to light it ablaze, but enough to ignite a few embers. He then places the ball within his device through a hole in its back before closing it. All that’s left to do is wait in anticipation while thin billows of smoke drift out of every crack.

There’s one click. Then another, and another, coupled with a few whirs. Metallic eyes blink followed by a tail swaying from side to side. The fox with shining gold and silver in place of red fur exhales steam, stretching out its limbs one by one. A little janky at first but after getting used to how its mechanisms work, each movement becomes much smoother. Alucard removes his glasses, pleased at how his creation hops off the table to join the other fox with its exposed muscle.

If his father were here, he might call his animatronics frivolous (in a well-meaning tone). Mere toys showcasing spectacle and little else. True, they are for his own amusement and there’s not much brand-new knowledge Alucard can gain from them. He already knows how machinery operates. But it’s a nice feeing to create something for pleasure rather than defensive purposes.

“Would you like a companion for yourself, Agrippa?” He leans down to see a small black dog sleeping under his chair, no doubt having worn himself out from the hours he spent running around the laboratory. The name Agrippa comes from the author of three ancient books based on the subject of occult philosophy. Alucard found them by chance while rummaging through untouched shelves down in the Belmont Hold—it seemed the best fit for a creature of similar origins.

“No, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t need a companion. He seems content enough to be on his own, free to run up and down the castle hallways until passing out on the middle of the carpet. Then early in the morning, before the sun has the chance to rise, he’ll jump onto Alucard’s pillow and wake him by nuzzling his face. Or tug and paw at the hem of his master’s pant leg while he’s at his workstation if he’s that starved for attention. But Agrippa never gets lonely.

Neither does Alucard—he tells himself this every day. He’s not lonely or bored. He needed distraction, he found it, and it’s been serving him well. Seldom spending his nights in bed, more so in the laboratory and libraries. His hours are filled with the sound of electricity sparking, liquids bubbling, and gears clanking.

Until he steps outside into the rest of the castle and it’s quiet again. Without Agrippa for company (and conversation), all that’s left are his footsteps and heartbeat. Not even the ghosts disguised as memories come to visit as often as they used to. Soon, his mind goes quiet as well. Quiet and slow. He stops walking and sits at the bottom of a stairwell, scraping some excess grime off his fingertips. The two foxes, both reanimated in different ways, bound across the corridor, their snouts rubbing against each other, before they run off, soft paws racing against hard ones. Such a marvel. What might they say if they saw what...

They. Alucard’s thoughts become clear. It’s been weeks since their shared farewells—or has it been a month? Time seems to pass differently for him. Before he can wonder how they’re faring or where they’ve gone to, Alucard realizes that he already has his answers. He always does whenever the need strikes. Making his way up the spine of the castle, he heads straight for the main study. All the paintings have been restored to their hanging positions; all the glass has been cleared away. That is until Alucard enters the room and the jagged shards spring to life, hovering gracefully in the air, mismatched and in disarray. He beckons one forward and uses an elongated nail to inscribe the first rune onto its smooth surface.

Sounding off a gentle chime, the shards twist and dance, forming a mirror. A few more ticks of his nails, a few more runes sink into the water-like glass. Alucard’s reflection dissipates, replaced by grass, trees, and the colours of dawn. The scene before him is humble, a small campsite with a familiar canvas covered wagon. Yet his eyes are immediately drawn to the extinguished fire pit where two travelers sleep side by side. This sight isn’t shocking; it’s still quite early in the day after all. What does surprise Alucard are their clothes. Sypha’s robes have been immaculately repaired while Trevor at long last got himself out of that old tunic and into something which brings out his better physical qualities. 

Sypha lies comfortably with her head on his chest and arm pulling her closer. Alucard smiles softly, the sound of glass upon glass ringing in his ears. He raises a hand after debating with himself. This is a transmission mirror. 400 years old with the ability to push through solid matter—including flesh and blood. Easy as stepping through an open doorway. He could join them. Ask about their travels, their adventures, and how often they managed to get into trouble. He could enjoy their company one more time. He could...

Alucard’s fingers touch the glass, sending ripples across its surface. They stay. He stays. There’s nothing wrong with the mirror, not even as Trevor and Sypha fade away. He stares at his reflection, a combination of dejection and acceptance. He won’t forcibly insert himself into the life they now lead. It would be awkward reuniting with them this way. Give it time, they’ll see each other again somehow. Alucard recalls the advice he gave himself, about guarding his heart and the cold spot in the room.

Warm sunlight pours across the floorboards, the same that greeted his friends. He’s always been wary about leaving both the castle and Belmont ruins for too long. Short woodland walks with Agrippa bounding excitably by his feet have been the extent of his outings. But today the nearest village is hosting a market, and Lisa always wanted him to try existing among the same humans she cared for.

--

It’s strange walking down the roads that lead away from the Belmont grounds. Plenty of things feel strange now. There’s no worry of bumping into the night hoards that once plagued these roads. They’ve been left empty for some time, save for animals in the underbrush.

Alucard used to look out his window every evening, certain he would see carriages bearing emblems from across the continent, pulled along by rotting horse corpses. Up towards the steps of the castle they would arrive, letting out vampires dressed in silk redder than freshly spilled blood. One by one, their heads held high like a meticulous procession. Here on the resting place of a mad lord, after spitting upon the ruins of their oldest enemy, they would try removing Dracula’s bastard son from a nonexistent throne.

He hasn’t seen those carriages, the horse corpses, or the finely dressed vampires—not yet. Alucard can’t even bother viewing himself as a ruler to be dethroned. He takes after his mother in that aspect, preferring simpler things. She would be pleased to see him strolling through the gates of a lively hamlet, mingling with his other half.

Alucard wants nothing more than to continue honouring the memory of Lisa (perhaps now through less violent or patricidal means). Though his visit to the market is also for personal benefits. It’s good to see faces apart from his own in the Carpathian mirror. Despite how awkwardly he puts one foot in front of the other while wringing the leather strap of his shoulder bag, unsure of how to present himself to a world outside the castle. Trevor and Sypha would be so much better at this.

“Rabbit, wolf, and bear pelts!” Shouts one merchant with as much hair on his forearms as there is on his chin. Alucard avoids him.

“Fancy some cured and dried meats, sir?” A different one inquires.

“Not for me.”

Farther and further he explores. Soon the marketplace and its contents start blurring together. Food, clothing, daily tools to make the average Wallachian’s life a little easier. There are a few stand out vendors such as a woman selling jewelry that sparkles in the sunlight, the daughter of a blacksmith perfecting her skills in exchange for a few generous coins, and a pair of young men manipulating half-melted glass after heating it over an open flame while spectators watch in awe.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Asks a voice just behind him. Alucard spins around, wondering if the question was meant for him or someone else. He faces a man and a younger woman, one stocky and well-tanned, the other frail with pronounced cheekbones. Bushels of dried herbs coupled with root vegetables and jars of wild berry jam line their vendor table. “They’re brothers from Bucharesti but were raised in Constantinople. That’s where they learned their trade. Like magicians, those two. I could watch them work all day.”

“You’ll have to excuse my father.” Alucard steps forward and sees the wisps of thin hair beneath the girl’s multicoloured headscarf. The closer he looks, the more her weight—or lack thereof—worries him. “He likes to converse with anyone who happens to pass by, whether they wish to or not.”

“It is a rather fascinating sight.” One that Alucard has seen performed through magic many times before. Nonetheless, he cannot help but show his own amusement, even admiration at what human hands can achieve and create. The very same sensation he feels when Sypha bends the elements to her will or when Trevor wields the Morningstar with such ease and, dare he admit it, grace.

Humanity is violent, cruel, and more often than not operates solely on its own warped superstitions and self-preservation. Yet there are lights that can be found within it—a hunter who rose up and realized his true potential. The most powerful, fearsome, brilliant magician Alucard has ever had the pleasure of knowing. A marketplace where its residents no longer have to fear what might be lurking outside their gates. A doctor and mother who thought only the best of her own kin.

“Do you live in the village?”

“Close enough. My wife, this not so little one, and I live further out in the woods. Not a lot of land to call our own, but there’s no shortage of plants and berries. Plenty of game passes through too, boding well for us whenever we need meat and pelts.”

“And we’re about to be blessed with another little one.” The daughter speaks in a breathy tone, as though exhausted from nothing.

“Yes, of course! My wife’s heavy with our second child.”

“Congratulations.”

“I see you’ve got your eyes set on the jams.”

Alucard’s head perks up at the comment. He never had much of an enduring sweet tooth, at least not for the usual pastries and candies. As a child, he would sneak into the kitchen in the hopes of finding a few biscuits before bedtime. After growing out of that habit, what he craved instead were sweet marmalades and jams.

“Oh, right. I will take... those two.” He points to a bright red and dark blue jar.

“Would you like those wrapped?”

“Yes, thank you.”

While Alucard readies his payment, he notices how the young woman struggles to wrap two jars in a simple piece of brown parchment. Her thin lips chapped beyond remedy and her mouth seems incredibly dry. She hands him his purchase with trembling hands, unable to say much else. Alucard turns to her father, their expressions matched in concern.

“Everything alright, Daniela?” He asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“... I’m fine. I just need water... anything to drink, really. I’m going to the square to find something. I will return soon.” As she leaves, Daniela gives Alucard a friendly but weak smile. “Thank you, sir.”

An uncomfortable silence grows between the two men. Alucard thinks about walking away. Leaving this brief encounter as just that—an encounter, nothing more. It’s what he should do, it’s what anyone else in the market would do. Yet the image of Daniela, still young but carrying herself like an elderly woman, tugs at the impulse to know more.

“Your daughter seems very frail.”

“So you’ve noticed. Daniela wasn’t always that thin or weak. She used to be healthier than either myself or her mother. Then... I’m not really sure what happened.”

“Has she been eating?”

“Morning, middle of the day, and night. But nothing sticks to her bones. It’s like all that food just... goes right through and disappears. Every time she takes a bite, she starts complaining about chest aches. Drinks plenty, though. Enough to drown a fully-grown man.”

“How long has she been like this?”

The man furrows his brows. “You ask a lot of personal questions.”

Alucard feels his stomach drop. Spoke too soon, spoke too much. Will he ever learn? “It’s just that I know a fair bit about medicine and what causes illnesses.”

“Medicine? Like leeches and boiled pig fat?”

“No, nothing like that. Forgive me, but I was only concerned for your daughter.”

He crosses his arms, sizing Alucard from top to bottom. “Well, you’re an odd mister, but somehow I can tell you have good intentions. Name’s Mihai, by the way. If you’re really concerned for Daniela and you want to put that medicine of yours to use, you’re welcome to visit our cabin and see how she’s faring. Just follow one of the paths due east from here and you’ll find it.”

“I shall consider the offer.”

“In the meantime, enjoy that jam.”

Alucard nods before taking his leave. He meanders through the rest of the village, but not for long. Too much is on his mind and the market has become suffocating. This is no place to think about the condition of a sick girl who may need his help.

--

Metal paws clink against the stone floor, followed by the ever familiar, ever present sound of working gears and steam whistling like a kettle. The other fox, the one remade from dead flesh and bone, playfully pounces on its gold and silver mate as the two creatures run about in the kitchen. Alucard pays them no mind, nor does he pay much attention to his plate of stale biscuits, let alone the half-eaten piece still in his hand. Mihai was right about enjoying the jam; it’s the only enjoyable thing about his sad excuse for a meal.

His cup of wine remains untouched. All Alucard can focus on is the text in front of him, handwritten on pages of thick journal paper. One of the many notebooks Lisa thankfully kept in the castle as opposed to her clinic. Thoughtful eyes narrow as his teeth slowly grind down another uncaring bite. A fingertip traces down a list of symptoms he recognizes—constant dehydration, short of breath, weakness, and a dangerous lack of weight despite an increased appetite.

When he returned home and began searching for the right book, he hoped to prove his original predictions wrong. Daniela is merely a victim of stress; what woman her age and social stature wouldn’t be? Feeble thoughts driven out the moment Alucard opened the front cover. It’s an unsuspecting, insidious illness, like all the others. Commonly occurs in human bodies regardless of age or health and due to its long-term effects on sugars in the bloodstream, Lisa labelled it in her notes as “the sweet death”.

Alucard turns the page to a detailed diagram of an internal organ curved at its end. Beside the drawing with all its minuscule descriptions is a paragraph titled “insulin and its properties”. Accompanying it are instructions that fill up the entire opposite page. It will take time and there can be no error. Already Alucard feels overwhelmed even as he looks over the complicated procedure. All the more reason to get started. Closing the book, Alucard tosses away the rest of his biscuit and leaves whatever he didn’t touch for the foxes.

He stops just before reaching the doorway. The notebook tucked under his arm suddenly feels heavy. A voice that had always been locked in the back of his mind crawls forward like a near death cadaver digging its way towards the surface. This isn’t any of your business.

No, it isn’t. Just as it wasn’t any of Lisa’s. She had no obligation to seek out true medical knowledge all because she hated the notion of resorting to leeches and bloodletting. No one asked her to do what they considered to be the unthinkable, the unholy. Those patients from Lupu, Targoviste, even all the way from Bucharesti, would have gone about their daily lives had they never met her. They would have also died far too early. It was her life’s calling to help these people.

And look at what it brought her in the end.

Alucard’s thoughts push his conscience in opposing directions. There’s too much of his mother in him, no enough of his father. And yet he cannot forget what they did to her, how those strangers repaid her countless good deeds. Should this family discover the truth, will they repay him in the same way?

His sheer stubbornness undermines any lingering apprehensiveness. Damn his guarded heart as it begins to soften. Of course he wants to help Daniela; he’s the only one who can. Heading towards the laboratory, Alucard says a silent prayer for Lisa. I will be careful, mother. I promise.

--

He works nearly a full week before enough vials are made, filled to the brim with clear liquid. They should last Daniela for a month if not more. Along with a needle and syringe fashioned by himself, Alucard places each one into a bag. The glass vials gently clink together with every subtle movement, but he makes sure to secure them. At least until he arrives at the cottage.

Alucard waits until dark, patting Agrippa’s head as a goodbye (and for good luck). It’s a clear night, clear and quiet. Once reaching the roads most traveled, he slips into the forest, following the same route he took towards the village. It’s safer this way—no sightings, no questions, no suspicions. When the gates come into view, he follows Mihai’s directions, vague as they were. Go east along the paths, search for a cabin. Alucard holds the bag steady after hearing another round of clinking glass.

He thanks his eyes for possessing a keen nature and sharpness not found in mortal humans. There in the distance nestled between the trees with a thin stream of smoke wafting out of its chimney sits a small cottage made from wood and stone. Candlelight shines dimly through its windows. Alucard takes note of the wild berry bushes surrounding this humble plot of land. Walking up to the front facade, he raps his knuckles against the door and waits. His stomach feels heavy and there’s a sledgehammer banging away in his ears and in his heart. But it’s far too late to turn back; not after the work he’s done, not after the promise he made.

The door opens, revealing a surprised Mihai. “Oh, it’s you. I… I didn’t really think you’d actually come.”

“I wanted to come sooner, but—”

“Who is that, love?” A different voice calls out.

“The man from the market, the one I was telling you about.” Footsteps can be heard from within the house. After more waiting, a woman dressed in a thick handknit shawl appears by Mihai’s side. Alucard’s eyes are quickly drawn to her pregnant stomach hiding beneath layers of clothing. It tells him enough of her condition.

“This is my wife, Tobi.”

“Good to meet you, sir. Mihai tells me you bought some of our jams. And that you’re a doctor of sorts.”

“I do have the knowledge. I’m here f—”

“You came to see our daughter.” Tobi interjects, one hand around Mihai’s arm while the other rests on her swollen belly. “I’m not usually one to let strangers into our home. But our poor girl is on the verge of desperation... along with us. If you can tell us what’s wrong with her, that’ll be enough.”

“I can do more than simply tell you what ails Daniela; I made something that can help her.” He holds up his bag and reveals its contents. Mihai and Tobi stare inside with cautious interest. “Can I see her?”

The two turn to each other for assurance, contemplating their options (what little they have). Eventually, it’s Mihai who opens the door wider. “Come in.”

It’s a quaint home, warm and inviting. Better than most other woodland cottages Alucard has been welcomed into. There’s a well-fed fireplace and the smell of food cooked with heart; small enough to house three persons along with a fourth on their way, but no more. Hanging off the walls are rows upon rows of dried herbs and meats, tapestries of a hard-working family.

“She’s resting in there.” Tobi leads him through the main living space and points towards an open doorway. Alucard looks inside; a single, wavering flame lights the room, revealing a stool where the candle sits collecting drops of fresh and dried wax. Everything else is covered in shadows. A young woman lies on a narrow bed with her back turned towards the entrance, shoulders rising and falling at a laboured pace.

“Daniela…” The figure’s head turns around as she adjusts her position upon the creaking bed frame.

“You again. This is a surprise.” Daniela replies, trying her best to sound as welcoming as she did at the market. It’s difficult to greet her in this state—her cheeks look even more hollow and her neck thinner after only a week. “What brings you to our home?”

“Your father told me of your condition and I—”

“He told you?” She wants to sound angry but in her weakened state, it only comes off as mere annoyance. Daniela rests her scalp against the sweat stained, well-used pillow. “Thank you for the concern, but you shouldn’t have troubled yourself. It’s really nothing. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“What you’re afflicted with is far more serious than mere exhaustion.” He glances at Mihai and Tobi, who are just behind him standing in the doorframe. “You two should hear this as well.” They join Alucard by the bed; four persons crowded into a single claustrophobic room. He contemplates his next words, which ones would be better to use in order to describe this particular illness. How can he make this easy for them to understand?

“The reason why this is happening to you is because inside of your body, there is an organ that has stopped working properly. While your lungs help you breathe and your heart pumps blood, this one helps you ingest food and keep you as healthy as possible.” Alucard pauses to ensure that Daniela is still attentive. Her expression has grown considerably more anxious, but she doesn’t ask any questions yet. “However, because it no longer functions, the food you eat doesn’t get properly ingested. No matter how much you consume, you continue to lose weight and grow weaker.”

“I... I have something... dead inside of me?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it dead.”

“Is it the plague?” Daniela’s eyes grow wide with distress until Alucard quickly takes her hand to calm her.

“No, no. It’s not the plague at all. There’s no real term for it yet. Here...” He pulls out one of the vials and holds it up against the candlelight yet far enough as to not burn the clear liquid. Mihai and Tobi draw in closer, trying to get a better glimpse. “This will help. It acts as a substitution for the organ. You have to take a certain amount every time you eat a meal. The more often you do, the better you will start to feel.”

“Do I drink it?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.” Now comes the most difficult part. His hand slips back inside the bag and retrieves a needle. Daniela begins to squirm at the sight of it; Alucard had the same reaction the first time Lisa showed him. His reluctant cries could be heard throughout every inch of the castle even before the tip punctured his skin. Fortunately, the initial act felt far less painful than he anticipated, and it was only beneficial for his health over the years, but he was a child. Daniela has most likely never seen anything like this before. Alucard won’t chastise her.

“You will need to fill this device with the liquid—not all of it, but enough—then insert the tip either through your arm, abdomen, or leg. I’ll do it first, so you know how it is done.”

The tension in the air remains steady as Daniela goes silent. Water pools up around the curve of her eyes, ready to break into tears running down her cheeks the moment she blinks. She bites her lip; she’s scared but all she wants is for this to end. So that she can stop feigning strength and indifference.

“... please make it quick.”

“It will be. Hold out your arm.” Trembling, she does just that. Alucard takes it in his gloved hand, his other one holding the needle after it’s been filled and prepared. He can feel her shaking, struggling to hold still. “Have you ever been stung by a hornet, Daniela?”

“Y-yes... it was awful.”

“Well, this will be considerably less painful.”

Daniela holds her breath, clutching the sheets in her fists, yet musters enough bravery to not look away even as the needle enters her upper arm. Though the same cannot be said of her parents who turn their heads. At least she now knows how to inject herself. With care, Alucard pushes the liquid forward and empties the container before removing the needle. Daniela will need more than the usual amount, only to get her through until the next morning. After so many hours of constant work, sleepless nights, and days gone without a proper meal, after all that fretting from both parties, the deed is done.

“That was it?” Mihai and Tobi nearly ask the same thing.

“How did that feel?”

“... felt like nothing. Now what happens?”

“It will take some time. But you need to continue taking the medicine.”

“For how long?”

“As long as possible. It will be hard, but this isn’t something that disappears after a few remedies. Although with enough work it can be made liveable.”

Daniela pauses, then nods. “I’ve been through harder times... I’ll do my best.”

“You did well tonight.” He shows her the rest of the vials along with the needle and what she’ll need to keep it clean. “Remember, take some before every meal and at night to be safe. Don’t empty the entire thing. Now rest, you’ve earned it.”

As Daniela lets relief and exhaustion overtake her, Alucard hands the bag off to Mihai and Tobi, who have both remained shockingly quiet throughout this entire ordeal. He at least expected some words of protest or disbelief. “The remainder should last for a month. I’ll return after that time with more. Try to keep these somewhere cold so that the liquid stays potent.”

Tobi speaks up, unsure if her response is what he wants to hear. “The ground sometimes freezes over during the nights.”

“That will do. Put these in the dirt until she needs them again.”

“When you said you knew about medicine, this was the last thing I expected.” Mihai speaks softly. He and Tobi exchange a glance—they know what the other is thinking. “We cannot thank you enough for this, sir. Would you mind sitting down with us for a moment?”

Alucard thinks about how late it is but traveling in the dead of night as never been a problem for him before. He follows them to the fireplace and seats himself.

“Do you have your own practice somewhere? A clinic, or something like it?”

“No. I wouldn’t call myself a doctor.”

“You should,” Tobi states. “People around here need one, especially someone with your knowledge and skills.”

“There was one people always kept talking about when we lived near Targoviste.”

Alucard leans forward after hearing the name of that forsaken city. “You used to live there... when did you leave?”

“Over a year ago. Long before all the... killing and dying started.”

“We never had to visit her, but a few of our friends did and sometimes we tagged along just to see what all the fuss was about. She turned out to be the best of them. Better, actually.” Mihai turns to Alucard, his eyes inquisitive yet serious—an expression even the dhampir has difficulty reading. “While I watched you help Daniela, I could have sworn I saw her again. The way you spoke, worked, and the sort of tools you used, it was like she had come back from the dead. What was her name, love?”

“Lisa, I believe. Can’t recall her last name. Did you know of her?”

A sharpness cuts through Alucard’s chest then down into his gut. This is what he feared most coming out here only because he wanted to help. He could lie, say he never knew this doctor named Lisa. His previous actions coupled with a current panicked expression across his still face betray him. “I did.”

“Did you study under her?”

No answer, but Alucard holds his tongue as Mihai raises a hand. “Not to worry, sir. No matter how you knew her, we won’t tell a soul either way. We never believed the horrid things they accused her of.”

“Even when...” Even when Dracula promised vengeance and kept that promise to the bitter, blood-soaked end.

“We always thought that what came after her burning was a sort of punishment, not from above but from below... ask me and I’ll say some of them deserved it.” Tobi refuses to waver from her comment, even when her husband turns in shock.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Course I do. Those people and their leaders were daft for staying in the first place. What sort of fool stands up to the Devil and challenges him?”

Alucard unwittingly scratches at the centre of his chest. What sort of fool indeed? Instead, he gives an obvious response. “It’s late. Your family has been through enough tonight. I should leave.”

Mihai stops him before he can take another step. “Let us give you your pay first.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Just wait here, I won’t be long—”

“I said no,” Alucard repeats with the right amount of force in his tone. Mihai and Tobi stare at him, baffled.

“You saved our daughter’s life. We only wish we could do more to repay you.”

“Make sure she takes her medicine just as I instructed until I return in a month and take care of each other. That’s all I ask of you.”

They barter some more, but Alucard refuses to change his stance. Mihai lets out a huff. “Odd as ever. Safe travels and remember we’re still in your debt.”

“Thank you, sir. And bless you.”

Much like his farewell at the market, Alucard nods courteously. His eyes linger on Tobi’s stomach for a second longer before exiting the cottage. She must be due soon.

He leaves the same way he arrived with much to think about. The looks of pure, unbridled relief and gratitude on the faces of all three family members linger in his mind. They knew Lisa, but what of others? How long have they gone without seeing a proper doctor to receive real medicine? He shouldn’t forgo the lives of innocent people only because a much larger existential threat has been eliminated. It’s not what Lisa would have done.

That voice, the one crawling and scratching about, returns as the cottage begins to shrink in the distance. You promised you would be careful. And he will.

--

Alucard is nothing if not observant. He attributes it to his natural born heightened senses—whether a blessing or curse, he hasn’t decided yet. For now however, he is grateful. It allows him to slip in and out of villages, including the one that played host to the market. He listens to people’s woes without making himself noticed; rumours, gossip, words of concern for friends and neighbours.

“The widow’s baby is sick. Refuses to eat or even cry.”

“My son can’t go outside. The chill in the air will kill him. Stays in bed all day.”

“It’s getting worse. He can barely speak without coughing.”

That’s all Alucard needs to hear. Day after day he makes his routine excursions then returns to the castle laboratory with enough work to keep his hands and thoughts busy. At night, he quickly goes from house to house, leaving an odd assortment of gifts for these people on their doorsteps. Tonics, powders, bottles filled with caplets; sometimes they find a handwritten note detailing instructions on how to take these remedies.

Others have started talking, of course. Alucard now hears the name “good Samaritan” whenever he visits these communities. Word hasn’t reached any church official, but it will. He’s certain of that. There’s some small comfort to be found in the constant reassurance that they won’t find him, not while Mihai, Tobi, and Daniela keep their promise. Only they know the truth and Alucard prefers it stay that way.

He hasn’t forgotten about them or their daughter’s plight. The stress and worry while he creates more insulin has significantly lessened now that time is on his side. Although it doesn’t stop Alucard from making a premature delivery before the month even ends. His impatience gets the better of him for two reasons: he wants to see how Daniela is faring and he needs to check on her mother’s pregnancy. His previous insistence of “not calling himself a doctor” is starting to hold less and less weight.

Alucard takes a familiar route, leisurely and unperturbed until he arrives at the family cottage, a stream of smoke still drifting from the top of their chimney. It’s not quite dark outside, but late enough for the skies to turn shades of red, orange, and gold. He barely gets in a few knocks before the door opens. A pleasant yet relieving surprise greets him; not Mihai, but the happy expression of Daniela. In the weeks since they met, she’s already gained a small amount of weight, filling out her once baggy dress, and there’s a light in her eyes that was missing before.

“Hello,” she exclaims. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I thought I’d pay you and your family an early visit. How have the injections been treating you?”

“Well enough. I had some trouble getting used to it, but I feel much better. And I can do it myself. Whatever you gave me worked like a miracle.”

“It’s no miracle, only medicine. I brought more, so you won’t need to worry for the next while. How is your mother?”

“The baby’s been giving her more trouble recently.”

“How so?”

“She’s a lot more tired now and keeps complaining about backaches.”

“Do they occur often?”

“They come and go all day. She’s not in any great pain, at least that’s what she keeps telling us. Would you like to come in? We’re getting supper ready, you should join us.”

“Actually, I’m only here for a short visit. I won’t inconvenience you.”

“Nonsense. Come in, it’s the least we can do after all you’ve done for us.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, but it isn’t necess—” But Daniela doesn’t give Alucard much of an option when she starts pulling him into the cottage. All the while, he thinks about Tobi. Perhaps he spoke too soon; perhaps he should stay longer.

“Mother! Look who’s come back.”

Tobi stands by the fireplace over a large black pot, stirring a wooden spoon in what looks to be meat stew with vegetables. She stands up straight (or as straight as she can) and turns around. “Welcome!” She smiles, wiping her hands on an apron. “Have you come with more medicine? Or just to say hello?”

“Both.” Alucard replies, a little meekly. He places another bag filled with new vials off to the side.  “How are you?”

“Tired, but well. My husband’s off hunting for rabbit.”

“We already have some meat, but mother insisted he go find more.”

Tobi side-glances in Daniela’s direction. “Careful with that tone, my dear. It won’t get easier when there’s four mouths to feed instead of three.”

“You should sit down.” Without much resistance, she allows Alucard to gently guide her into a chair. Daniela tries to keep an eye on the pot and stew, but her attention is drawn elsewhere. “Your daughter tells me you’ve been experiencing terrible back pain.”

“It’s not terrible. Annoying is more like it, no worse than when the baby starts kicking.” She rubs her stomach, speaking between every breath as they grow heavier and more laboured.

“When did it begin?”

“A few days ago... it’s fine. I remember something like this before Daniela was born.” Tobi winces, sucking air through a row of gritted teeth, and Alucard feels a sting of worry. He read Lisa’s notebooks on pregnancy and childbirth but only as a precaution. These contractions that Tobi feels everyday—they’re normal during the later stages. Expected, even. Yet they are a sign of what is to come very soon.

“Rest, mother. I’ll prepare supper.”

“Have you spoken to any midwives?”

“The closest one lives in Arges—”

“And you’re in no condition to make that journey,” Daniela interrupts.

“No more worrying from you. We’ll send word to her when the baby decides for themselves.”

“The baby?” Alucard inquires.

“In the end, it’s not our decision to make. They’ll join this family when they’re good and ready to.”

The hint of a smile tugs at the corners of Alucard’s mouth. He lets Tobi rest and joins Daniela by the fireplace. Time passes, the aroma of spice of herb fills the cottage, yet there’s no sign of Mihai. Alucard listens carefully to Tobi’s breathing, arduous but steady.

Until they turn into groans, which then turn into shouts. Her hands fumble about, unsure whether she should rest them on her belly or the arms of the chair, so tight her nails might dig right into the wood. Blood drains from Daniela’s face.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening? Mama!”

“I, I don’t know, I just—” Her words are cut off by another cry of pain. “It, it hurts so much now...”

Alucard wretches himself out of a near frozen state and rushes to Tobi’s side. The immediate sight of her wet stockings coupled with faint splotches of red confirms his suspicions. She was right; newborn babes come when they’re good and ready, but most are impatient.

Arges is miles away. He’ll have to act in place of its midwife.

“Daniela, I need you to bring me a basin full of warm water and as many blankets as you can carry.”

“Is she going to be aright?” Her frantic tone betrays what little composure she’s desperately trying to hold onto.

“She and your sibling will be fine if you do exactly as I say. Now go, quickly!”

While Daniela runs off, he helps Tobi out of the chair. Before she can try walking on her own, Alucard has already scooped her up into his arms. It’s easier this way, and he has the strength to do so. He doesn’t care if it reveals the truth about himself—in this moment, he doesn’t care about anything that isn’t the safety of Tobi and her unborn child.

Alucard takes her into the bedroom, stripping off any excess clothing until there’s nothing except a simple, light underdress. Her skin feels hot, close to a fever. Daniela arrives with exactly what he asked for. “Lie down. Careful now...” He says after laying a blanket on the bed. Tobi struggles, her teeth grinding together, hand tightly grasped in Alucard’s, but she achieves this one small goal. As if by pure instinct, she spreads her sweat-drenched legs and bends them.

It’s alright. Everything will be alright. A mantra more for Alucard than anyone else. He removes his coat, gloves, and rolls up his sleeves before tying back his long hair. People give birth in their homes every day. Hands dip into the water basin. My mother must have assisted with over a hundred. I know what to do.

Tobi lets out another scream followed by a series of curses, loud enough to shred her vocal cords.

“Don’t push so fast!”

“Something’s tearing, I can feel it!”

“Nothing is tearing. You and your baby are both alright.” Daniela takes a step back, eyes watery and lower lip trembling, but she stands firmly by her mother’s side. Alucard is proud of her, of them both. “I need you to keep breathing and push when I tell you to.”

The air in the room, barely big enough for three persons, turns thick. Everything becomes sodden; wet with sweat, blood, and other fluids. All over the bed, Tobi’s legs, her dress, and Alucard’s hands. But she breathes and pushes when told to. There’s a glimpse of the baby’s head before it disappears.

“Push again. You’re doing well. Take a deep breath... and...”

This continues, push after push after push. Too many to keep count of. Daniela holds onto her mother’s hand, unsure of whose grip is closer to crushing the other. There’s the blood again—more than there should be. Yet the only thing Alucard sees is the top of the head until it vanishes for the umpteenth time. He hears crying, not the sort that would give him hope. It might be coming from Daniela or Tobi or both.

“I don’t understand...” But he does. His lowered tone does nothing to hide the panic rising up. This is unfortunately another common occurrence with pregnancies and just as dangerous for the parent as it is for the child. There is a solution—the thought of which sends Alucard’s mind and heartbeat into a frenzy. It will be worse when he has to tell Daniela and Tobi. What would Lisa say if she saw him in this state?

Calm yourself. You’ve been forced to do worse. You can take lives easy enough, but now you can save two.

He swallows hard, glancing down at his bloodstained hands. There will be more to come should he put this plan into action. “Tobi... can you still hear me?”

“Y-yes...”

“Listen to me very carefully. Something’s gone wrong, but I can make it right. I’ll need to cut open your stomach—” Shock. Horror. Angry silence from Daniela most of all. Just as Alucard expected, yet he explains further. “Right now, it’s the only option left. I promise to make it quick and painless...”

Daniela grabs his slippery wrist. “You’re not touching my mother again! You’ll kill her!”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t try to match the volume of her voice, nor does he wrench out of her grasp with more force than necessary. There’s no need for her to fear yet another thing. “You have to trust me.”

“She just needs to keep pushing!”

“Your mother has done all she can and it’s putting her life at risk.”

In the midst of their arguing, Tobi chokes out her decision. “Do it.” Tears mingle with the sweat upon her reddened cheeks. “If you have to save one of us... save my baby.”

Now you can save two. “Both of you are going to live. I swear that on my mother’s grave.”

Alucard instructs Tobi to lie back completely and for Daniela to stay by her side but not to look no matter what happens. Slipping a hand underneath her waist, he whispers something in an ancient language; dead to most Wallachians, alive and well in the Tepes castle hold. Only to help numb Tobi’s body from her abdomen to the bottoms of her feet. Lisa had her ice baths, Alucard has his father’s spells.

No more easy steps from now on. Using a sharpened nail, Alucard cuts a perfect line across the abdominal wall. A knife would have done the job just as well, but he fears what could happen if he leaves for the briefest moment. Eyes turn upwards to Tobi’s chest—still moving. No screams of pain or bloody murder. Alucard holds onto his composure, his need to be the cold spot in the room with a desperate grip as he makes another rupture along the uterus, cutting open the internal sac surrounding the baby.

The baby. There they are. One moment still inside their mother, the next in his arms, feeble limbs kicking and toothless mouth wailing. Smaller than Alucard expected, but healthy and loud.

“What is that? Is that my baby? Is my baby alright?!”

Alucard is speechless, not even able to muster a single “yes”. He cuts the umbilical cord, removes the placenta, and cleans the baby before handing them to Tobi. She holds their wriggling body against her chest, shedding tears of her own. Uttering the words “thank you god, thank you god, thank you god”.

The final step is quick. Alucard’s hands are deft at closing the uterus and abdomen (using a smear of his own blood to assist in the healing process). Still no words; he’s out of breath, out of strength both physical and mental. His shirt is ruined, and he couldn’t care less. He only stops himself from collapsing when Daniela suddenly embraces him. She buries her tear drenched face into his shoulder.

“Our saviour... you’re our saviour...”

Alucard stares at Tobi as she holds her newborn child with such tenderness. He raises a hand and places it on Daniela’s back. The other follows.

--

Mihai returns home to his wife and two children. Alucard watches him drop his bountiful game to the floor and run to Tobi, weeping over the baby. Did his own father ever weep? Did blood flow from his eyes at the sight of Lisa carrying their son for the first time? Alucard has difficulty keeping his thoughts comprehensive, stuck in a daze. It takes a moment to answer Mihai’s question of why he was forced to commit such an act on his wife.

“There are many reasons. Age, unexpected complications with the body itself. She needs to stay in bed and let the wound heal on its own.”

“What you did... for my wife and daughter... you work miracles, sir.”

Alucard lingers on that word again: miracle. The first time he argued with its use in an effort to seem humble and rational. Now, he’s too exhausted to further dispute its importance. This is not a family that uses “miracle” and “saviour” in a light manner.

“I’m sorry for screaming at you. I was a fool... I should have let you work...”

Alucard’s expression softens as he looks at Daniela. “There’s no need for apologies. You were only protecting your mother.”

Daniela wipes away another tear before it has a chance to escape her eye. After much convincing, Alucard leaves the cottage wearing a new shirt gifted by Mihai once they threw his old, blood-soaked one into the fire. They made him swear that he would visit again, not as their doctor but as their friend. It wasn’t hard for Alucard to agree.

He trudges down the path with the moon and stars lighting his way. They haven’t name the child yet; it’s a tradition within their family to name a baby at least seven days after they’ve been born. But Tobi said she liked the sound of Adrian. Alucard likes it as well. It’s a good name for someone who might hopefully grow up to do good things.

The castle is dark, illuminated by only a few sparse candelabras burning the night away. They turn the grand hall into a hazy smoke-filled chamber. Nothing has changed in his absence, just as empty and quiet as it’s always been. A strangely comforting thing to return to. Alucard’s first immediate stop is the kitchen and its pantry. He pulls out a bottle of red wine and pours himself a glass, then another right after downing it in a single gulp. It won’t do much—to him, alcohol is barely stronger than water—but temporary release is better than none at all.

Alucard doesn’t reach his bedroom. Instead he finds the nearest study and collapses onto a lush lounge chair, his body sinking into the cushions. The ceiling tiles begin to blur and mesh together the heavier his eyes become. Something tickles at his fingertips. He sees Agrippa licking his hand, waiting patiently to be picked up and placed on his chest. Like the castle, he hasn’t changed.

“Sorry for neglecting you all this time.” Without sitting up, Alucard grabs the dog and holds him close. Reverting to when he was a child, lying in bed, holding that old wolf doll as though it were his third guardian. He allows himself the luxury of sleep, deep and peaceful.

--

“He’s not in here either.” Another door closes as the repeated sound echoes down the corridor. The two travelers have searched the entire ground floor with little success. Outside, sitting at the foot of the castle steps, is a familiar canvas covered wagon that has seen much better days. There it will remain for the next few days while its owners reacquaint themselves with the very place their respective families always taught them to fear.

“Do you think he changed his mind?” Asks Sypha.

“About what?”

“About returning to his vault in Gresit.”

Trevor ponders for a moment, his face framed by the white fur of his new cloak. All that somber talk about going back to sleep, about the castle becoming his grave; the dhampir is just dramatic enough to let everything turn into a reality. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the possibility worries Trevor. He didn’t gift his childhood home for nothing.

“If he did, the castle wouldn’t be in the shape it is now.”

Sypha stares up at the vaulted ceilings and towering walls, still impressed by such an architectural marvel. Trevor is right, the structure would have fallen into ruin had Alucard not stayed. They move onto the second floor and its countless hallways hoping to have more luck in finding their strange friend.

“You think we’re lost?”

Sypha tsks loud enough for Trevor to hear. “Speakers do not get lost.”

“Right. Just like how they don’t break things.”

“I thought we already had this conversation.”

They have, but Trevor brings up the topic every so often just for a bit of fun without putting in too much effort. Their playful banter is cut short when Sypha absentmindedly opens a door and a small black object suddenly rushes past them. Trevor instinctively reaches for the Morningstar, starved for blood after weeks of hanging off his hip as mere decoration, until he realizes whatever that was poses no threat. However, the encounter leaves him no less confused.

“Was... was that a dog?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down.”

The two of them enter the room and Trevor sees why Sypha was so quick to shush him. Alucard lies passed out upon a full-length chair, breathing gently. Not unlike the first meeting between him, Trevor, and Sypha.

“I’ve never seen him out cold like this,” Trevor murmurs as they lean over him.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Just sleeping.”

Sypha continues to stare until she catches Trevor hovering the handle of his whip directly above Alucard’s forehead. “What are you doing?!” She whispers harshly.

“I’m waking him up.” His plan was to give him a careful tap on his skull, but Sypha has a much better idea in mind.

“Let him rest for a bit longer. We should make breakfast so that he has something to look forward to when he wakes.”

“Do dhampirs even eat real food? Or should we prepare him a nice banquet of pig and cow blood?”

Sypha decides to ignore Trevor’s sense of humour, even if he didn’t mean for it to sound so terrible. “Come on, you.”

She turns around and leaves, her blue robes trailing behind. Before Trevor can follow, he’s struck with a thought. Despite how he jests, he’s happy that Alucard seems to be taking care of himself. Even happier to be greeted with a few gentle snores rather than a middle finger to the face. Removing his cloak, now smelling of pine and smokewood, Trevor places it over Alucard’s body.

It seems he’ll always be there, offering dusty blankets to those he cares for.

[whindsor]

farmer steve life!!! for @isaaclahys!!! (also sorry it’s so long and so introductory i don’t know how to half ass things)

It was his damn impulsivity, really. Who knew the thing that used to get him in the most trouble would make everything finally go right?

“What’s next, Cap?” That’s what Sam had asked when he’d finished returning all the stones. He’d taken one look at Bucky, thinking of all the conversations they’d had about after the war and retiring, and promptly held his shield out to his friend.

“Dunno. You’re the Captain now.” It was a lame joke from a movie neither one of them liked, but it got his point across. He was done. Done with all the time traveling, and aliens, and shouldering the responsibilities of the world. Now all he wanted was some goddamn peace and quiet. Sam had fought him on it, of course. I’m not good enough for this and this is yours and did you mean to hand this to Buck-eye? But Steve was adamant, and Bucky agreed. The world needed Captain America, and Captain America needed someone to do the things that he couldn’t. And Steve needed his own space. 

That’s how he ended up buying three acres in the middle of Vermont with a house that could barely be described as a fixer-upper and three boxes of books on gardening and livestock. He’d been a city kid his whole life, but he was smart, and strong, and determined. That was what it took to be a farmer, right?

It had been a long time since Steve felt completely incompetent at something, but home renovation quickly reminded him that his moxie was not enough to solve some problems. So he’d taken another trip to the bookstore (“Why not just use Amazon?” “I don’t trust Alexa”) and gotten everything from Carpentry for Dummies to The Magnolia Story, which actually had nothing to do with construction but did make him feel a little more inspired. Once prepared with his newfound knowledge, he took a carpentry pencil to the wood panel of the kitchen and wrote out his list. Every morning he woke up with the sun and got to work, slowly making his way through each project until the sun started setting. Then he drove the old pickup he’d purchased to replace his motorcycle into town to get supper at the local diner, treat himself to a slice of pie and some coffee (even adding a little bit of sugar, he still couldn’t believe how readily available it was) before going back home to crash. 

Once he’d painted over the list as a way to cross off his final project, the house was solid and perfect and empty. Not of things, no. He’d splurged and bought comfortable furniture and a few essentials (and nonessentials), but now that he didn’t have the sound of his hammer pounding or saw spinning, the house seemed quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet. 

A dog. He should get a dog! That was next on the list, he decided. The next morning, he woke with the sun, cooked himself breakfast for the first time in months, and drove the old truck an hour away to the next town over. The shelter was relatively empty, most of its occupants being feral cats with a few stray dogs. He walked the aisles, hands in his pockets as he looked at the few choices. He was just losing hope until he turned onto the last row, spotting a large black Labrador mix stretched out on his bed. He lifted his head, looking him dead in the eye and wagging his tail exactly one time, as if he didn’t want to get his hopes up that Steve was coming to see him. He knelt in front of the cage, the dog eyeing him suspiciously before slowly getting up and inching his way towards the door. Steve slowly held a hand up, and the dog stretched his neck to sniff it, his tail starting to move just a little bit. His tongue barely darted out, licking his fingers.

“Hey, bud,” Steve murmured. The dog’s tail started moving more. “Whattya say we get you outta here, hm?” 

As if he understood him, he started wagging his tail furiously, his claws clicking on the concrete floor as he pranced. The woman with the keys opened the gate, and the dog hesitated for a minute before moving out of the pen and into Steve’s waiting embrace, shaking with excitement as he tried to touch as much of his body to him. A quick leash, a few signatures, and a hastily written check, and Steve and Roosevelt were on their way back home.

With the house done and man’s best friend by his side, now he could finally tackle the garden. Fall was just beginning, and he consulted a few charts and books to prepare himself. He thought Roosevelt might help him with the digging, but the dog was perfectly content to lay on the porch and watch him do all the work. Turns out tilling the earth was really hard, and plowing straight lines even harder. Farming was challenging, and exhausting, and tedious. And he was loving every minute of it. For once, if he screwed up, that just meant he had to go to town for the market, no harm no foul. It was liberating. 

Every morning, Roosevelt woke him up just as the sky started to lighten. They went for a jog, past the few houses that sat quietly over the couple of miles close to his own. The sun was usually cresting the horizon when they got back, but instead of going into the shower, he just changed into jeans and dirty work boots and went out to his rows, checking the water in the soil and adding more where it was needed. He went down each lane, step by step, pulling up the weeds that threatened to choke his little seeds that were trying so hard to grow. 

Then, one day, instead of dirt and weeds, there were tiny green sprouts standing proudly in the ground. He whooped loudly, holding his hands proudly in the air, thinking that this was possibly the best he’d felt in years. Roosevelt looked vaguely unimpressed, but he didn’t care. He had built a house. He had tilled the earth. He was growing things. Whether or not they actually bore anything edible remained to be seen, but right now all that mattered was those little green leaves, waving in the breeze. 

Every day, he got to go outside, feel the sun on his face and the cool breeze as it brought the tellings of fall, and take care of his little plants. Every day they got a little taller, and a little fuller, until they came up to his waist and started bearing the tiniest fruits and vegetables. Every day he helped something grow, instead of trying his damndest to tear it down. A few plants turned into a lot of plants, and soon he expanded to chickens, four little birds nestled in a coop that he built himself. It would take a few months before they could lay eggs, but it would be worth it, he knew. 

One morning, he woke up to Roosevelt growling, his ears perked up and the hackles on his back raised. At first, he thought it was just from the rain storm outside, but then he heard a scratching at the backdoor, and a high pitched whining. He pulled off the covers, hushing the dog and going to the back door. He carefully pried open the big door, the cool, wet air blowing in through the screen door. And there, curled up on his back porch, shivering and soaked, was a big golden retriever with a pink collar. She looked up at him as the door opened, begging to come inside. He obliged, opening the screen and letting her come inside. Roosevelt greeted her as an old friend, jumping around like a puppy again even though the golden was more subdued. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Where’d you come from, hm?” he asked, holding a hand up. She came up to him, her tail between her legs, startling as he reached for the collar. He finally got a hold of it, the pink collar sliding off as she pulled away from him. But at least he could read the tags now, and grab his phone to call the number on the back. “Alright, Daisy, let’s call mom or dad, huh?” he said, tossing a towel in her direction and not worrying about the water drops going everywhere on the tile floor. He dialed the number, pacing slowly as it rang. 

“Hello?” the feminine voice on the other end sounded worried, and he could hear the rain and the rumble of thunder behind her.

“Hi, my name is Steve. Uh, I think I found your Daisy.” he said. 

“Oh my God! Thank you, thank you so much! I promise I’m a good dog owner, but she needed out and the storm blew my fence down and-and-she’s so scared of thunderstorms she just bolted when the first thunder sounded and-” she rambled, clearly relieved but still shaky.

“It’s okay, it happens.” he said with a laugh. He told her his address, and she thanked him about a hundred more times before hanging up. Steve smiled down at his phone, eyed the two dogs laying in front of the fireplace, and went to go make some coffee. Just as he was mixing a little bit of sugar into it, a bright flash of lightning illuminated the kitchen, followed by a loud clap of thunder that shook the walls. He heard Daisy as she yelped and whined, but he also heard the panicked clucking of his chickens. Roosevelt could take care of the dog, he would have to take care of the fowl. 

Steve put on a baseball cap, ducking his head against the rain and going to pull the chicken coop onto the porch. But the birds were so panicked that they were shaking their house, shifting it uncontrollably until the door popped open. He shut it as fast as he could, but one managed to escape, dumbly taking off back into the rain. He swore loudly, shoving the coop under the awning and running after it, his boots sliding in the mud as he rounded the corner towards the front of the house. Who knew chickens were so goddamn fast?! None of the books he read mentioned that!

Luckily, he didn’t have to outrun the chicken, as when he arrived at the front of the house, he found a pretty woman on the porch, soaked to her bones and holding his runaway fowl. He slowed to a walk, giving her a crooked grin.

“You found my chicken.” he said, gesturing at the terrified thing in her hands.

“You found my dog.” she countered with a relieved smile. He held out his hands for the bird, tucking it under his arm and extending his hand.

“Steve.” he said as she shook it.

“Savannah.” she replied. “Thank you, for finding Daisy.”

“Right, yes. Come on, let’s go inside.” he said, nodding towards the front door.

“Oh, I couldn’t - you already saved my dog, I couldn’t impose on you anymore.” she said, looking bashful. Steve shrugged.

“Might as well wait out the storm. Besides, I just made coffee.” he said. He pushed open the door before waiting for her response, holding it open for her until she followed him inside.

“I’ll get your floors wet.” she said apologetically. Again, he shrugged.

“No moreso than I will.” he replied. At the sound of their voices, the dogs came running from their place in front of the fire, Daisy practically launching herself into her mother’s arms. Savannah bent down, telling the dog how scared she was, how she needs to not run away from the house during storms, and how she’s lucky she found friends to help her. Roosevelt, jealous of all the attention, wiggled his way into her embrace. She greeted him happily, thanking him for taking care of her girl and complimenting how chivalrous he was. Steve couldn’t help but smile, going to the kitchen and pouring another cup of coffee. He paused before returning to the entryway, grabbing a zip up jacket. He handed both to her.

“Oh, are you sure?” she said, trying to hide her shivers. He waved her off.

“I own a washing machine, don’t worry about it.” he replied with a laugh. She nodded, slipping it on and unable to hide her relief at the warmth. She held the cup of coffee like a last source of life, her fingers covered by the sleeves of his jacket. He nodded towards the dining room table, situated with the massive windows around it.

“Wanna watch the storm?” he asked. He felt a little awkward, having someone in his house that wasn’t Sam or Bucky. But it felt nice too, making a new friend. Savannah nodded, settling into a chair and gazing out the window. Daisy came and curled up on her feet, finally settled now that Mom was back. Roosevelt, who usually stretched out on the couch, decided to come with his buddies, laying down between Steve and the other two. 

They sat and watched as the rain came down, turning everything to shades of grey. His plants were probably very happy, he realized. Perhaps this would be the extra push for them to really bloom. Conversation was light and casual, nothing serious as the storm went on. He hadn’t actually met one of his neighbors, which was apparently quite unusual in such a small town. He laughed at that, figuring he was on his way to being some urban legend. 

When the rain finally slowed and stopped, he bid goodbye to his neighbor, watching as they made their way across his back pasture towards their own home. Roosevelt looked a little sad that his new friend was leaving, and Steve patted his head encouragingly.

“Don’t worry, bud. It’s a small town. I’m sure we’ll run into them again eventually.” he said, unsure if he was really talking to the dog or to himself. With a sigh, he looked out at the green of the garden, and of the haphazardly moved chicken coop. With a smile, he went outside to go do everything on the chore list that was needed.

After all, farm life didn’t stop just because of a little rain.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Puddle Jumper, Ch1

Genre: sci-fi fantasy, wlw, series

Words: 3.2K

Summary: A young woman starts seeing a mysterious figure in the nearby puddles, it’s only a matter of time before she goes looking into them

CHAPTERS: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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CHAPTER ONE: MARNY ISN’T DEAD

When I was seven I lived in a place with no rain. Dry as dust and thirsty as a man lampooned in the pacific, I thought Arizona would never end. Skies as blue as uncut blood, land bathed in brilliant bleached light from one corner to the next. It was the third place I ever lived, a small tiny condominium with five neighbors and no outlet mall for twenty miles.

All the houses in the town had three things in common: the color beige, tiny blinking wall lizards, and an oblong pool in every backyard. Some of the pools were even filled, those were the people you wanted to make friends with but I never was very good at making friends. You could lose them too easily, upset them too thoroughly, lose them, lose them, lose.

It was a barking hot day in late August when I Arizona become more of an enigma than just the heat and grungy pool bottoms.

It was August and I stare at one of the Arizona house lizards, with it’s muddy green stripes down its back and tiny little hands clinging to our wall. I pinch my lips together and wiggle my fingers, it’s thin scaly body mocks me. My mom always told me to leave them alone- more would just take their place. I’m not very good at letting things go.

I follow the lizard, watching it waddle and blink across my bumpy living room wall, I huff a deep breath, trying to get up the nerve to make a dive at him again. “This isn’t your home,” I hiss and scowl at the thing. “Go make a tiny lizard home outside, shoo.” He doesn’t listen.

The house was empty, my mom had given up forcing me to go to school that day in particular since I managed to kick and scream at the door so much. I was eight, I could stay home alone for just a day. A stalk a lizard along the living room wall and bite my bottom lip so hard it cracks, sweet beads down my brow. I meet the lizards eye and we size each other up, only one champion could arise. 

I tense.

“Boof!”

I only jump slightly when a loud bark erupts off to my left.

“Boof!”

I frown and turn around to face our small reddish-brown terrier mix, he stares blandly back at me. He was seven-years old at this point and still hadn’t learned polite conversation.

He was more of a ‘constant screamer’ than the conversational type, I scowl back at him.

“Shush, Rusty, I’m working.” I straighten my shirt like I had seen my dad do last year, right before he left for the office each day.

“Boof, boof, boof!”

I roll my eyes and turn back to the wall, “at least try and eat the lizard. It’s bringing disease!” I didn’t know that, but neither did Rusty.

He goes to the door and scratches at it, “Boof, boof.”

I put my hands on my hips, “It’s so dang hot, Rust, you’ll start panting and whine to come back in,” I wag a finger, “silly boy.”

“Boof, boof-” His eyes are focused on something outside, I don’t check what it is.

I try to reason with him, “it’s just the sun boy.”

“Boof, boof, boof, boof,” he yaps non-stop.

“Fine, fine!” I say hotly and turn toward the sliding glass door, I didn’t know what he was looking at at the time. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I open the door and shoo him out into the dry scraggly grass and empty blue sky.

He’s gone in a heartbeat, Rusty was a good dog. He never complained when we took our long road trips with few bathroom breaks, he always put his small head on my lap when I cried.

He didn’t go streaking off into the neighbors yard as fast as a bullet, he didn’t go running out into nowhere. But my mom always said no matter how well you know an animal they’ll still be a whole other world to you. They don’t think the same.

Rusty did take off like a speeding bullet.

I stick my head out after him and for a moment, just a moment, I think I see him falling, falling and falling straight into the neighbors shallow pool.

But that can’t be true.

I dash outside and yelp at the painful spiky dry grass hitting my soft bare feet and go jumping and yelping toward the pool, “you silly dog.” I chastise when I get to the pool, but, of course, it’s empty.

I stand there for a very long five minutes.

We spend the next few days with ‘lost’ posters and circling the town in my mom’s brown corolla.

Perhaps if I had known better I wouldn’t have lost him. I was a responsible child, that’s how I documented it. I didn’t think of my mother’s wrath or the spanking I’d get, I bit my lip and didn’t think about how we could possibly lose a small terrier dog on a street with only five people.

I cry and keep looking for our small terrier mix for three months, right up until the neighbor girl just tells me my dog is dead. That’s just what happens to pets she said, she lost her hamster last year just like that, it’s how it was.

I cry again, I was a big crier, my mom said I’d never get a boyfriend if I kept that up, but maybe she was telling a joke or nursing one of her famous headaches, I don’t know.

When I was 28 I lived somewhere with only rain and sky the color of rumbling grey mush, it was all rain and streets with no sidewalks, and I this time I had hope Marny wasn’t dead.

-------

I’m 28 and it’s a damp fall day with no hope of sun in sight.

A light drizzle wets my cheek and clings to my clothes like a chilly dust sprinkling the earth. The rain isn’t heavy enough to demand an umbrella, but it does send a chill into my bones. I wish I’d worn some more sensible shoes, but I don’t want to go back now.

The neighborhood is silent all around me, crawling with it’s own faceless quiet. I stare around, searching for even the tiniest movement.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Marny!” I call in a sing-song voice.

Nothing, just the hush of a neighborhood full of overworked young adults and a nuclear family that always made their kids go to school each day (unlike some people).

My sneakers make an uncomfortable squishing sound as I step out of the grass and onto the driveway. I stare right, left, right again. Still nothing.

Other than a bird squawking tunelessly in the distance, it feels like I’m the lone survivor of some nuclear apocalypse. Well, that’s Thursday afternoon for you.

I walk down the street, shoes squishing with every step, stopping at each house to check their gardens and bushes.

I pause at end of the road to hike up my too-loose jeans. Marny rarely leaves the street but I decide to check anyway. She doesn’t know the rest of the neighborhood well, and might have gotten lost. That could explain why I haven’t seen her in days.

My street is about halfway down a steep slope with the neighborhood entrance at one end, beside the cemetery, and the park at the bottom. I remember when I first got here and rode my bike down this slope, crashing into the fence at the bottom. There’s a slight ache in left hand where I skid on the slick street and rammed into the metal, Julie called it ‘over-enthusiasm.’ I called it getting rid of my new bike.

I sniff and remind myself I am an adult that does not resent inanimate objects, I skirt the fence anyway.

“Marny,” I call again, this time a little more weakly.

The road is empty as I begin the slow climb up to the neighborhood entrance. The cemetery is damp and full of uneven patchy ground, annoyingly mundane for a place dedicated to dead bodies. If Marny is sleeping here again though I’ll still be glad I checked, even though I was starting to frown deeply. I would check the benches, and then the park, and then I’ll break out the ‘lost’ posers. Something twinges inside me at the thought.

I sigh and hike up my pants again. I need either a belt or a smaller pair of pants, but I’m lucky to get to the grocery store these days, much less Goodwill.

“Marny,” I call, mindless of anyone who could be listening. “Marny! If you don’t come out right now I’m going to eat all your tuna Meow Mix! Don’t think I won’t.”

I wouldn’t eat it of course. I’ve tried it, and it tastes worse than you would think. Very filling though.

The cemetery is small plot of land that blends mutely into the surrounding area, my friend once asked if I minded living by a dead person plot, but it never really stood out in my mind. 

Wild green grass, a collection of crumbling headstones, and a single willow tree that rose in the middle like the citadel of a long forgotten city. No one has been buried here in decades and not not even the local goth kids wanted to bother the Sue’s and Paul’s of the bland graveyard.

Marny likes to come here and sunbathe on the stone benches, ignoring the world and showing her belly to the light. Of course, she’s not here either. I check the hedges along the rear.

“Here kitty!” I call.

A raindrop falls through the air, landing on my nose. I wipe it away with my sleeve.

“Please not today,” I growl at the sky as if it will change anything. I don’t know what I expect of Portland weather.

When I’m sufficiently sure that Marny isn’t in the cemetery itself, I turn toward the muddy creek on its outskirts. I’m starting to get a sick feeling in my stomach, it wasn’t like her to disappear for days. In fact, it wasn’t like her to not be in plain sight giving me hard looks that asked: where is my dinner? And, why aren’t you wearing pants? Where is cat God now? Because, actually, I might be her.

But Marny wasn’t here.

I squeeze my eyes shut and block out the memory of a sharp thwap to the buttocks all those years ago. I take a deep steadying breath, “I’m an adult,” I reassure a ghost of myself, “I can take care of… things.” I spit the last word and keep walking.

I find the road and sturdy cement bridge leading toward the park just a skip away from the cemetery itself. I grit my teeth as the raindrops start to pelt my back, I wasn’t going back. Not quite yet. I survey the park, I check the neglected tables under the gizbo, I only collapse a little bit when despair starts to sink in.

“Marny,” I say softly this time and I’m almost crying. “Goddammit,” I’m making frantic little circles in the park, whistling and calling like a madwoman, “Marny! Marn! Please,” I’m running buck wild back across the bridge when I hear it.

Crystal clear and echoing like a feather-light tap on the shoulder. It hits me like a familiar pop song half-heard, the lyrics just out of reach.

A meow.

“Marny?” I pause, calling softly, “are you there?” Hope lifts like a little buoyant balloon in my chest.

I cross the bridge and I squat in the grass, peering around.

“Meow,” I hear it again and perk up, it’s behind me, I walk back across the bridge.

The sound rings through the silent air, piercing and clear. It’s not a distressed sound. It reminds me more of the one she would use when she wanted out, or wanted to come in the bathroom to watch the facet water.

“Meow.”

I turn in a slow circle, trying to locate the source. I peer over the railing into the creek. The only thing running under the bridge is a thick grey sludge. I wrinkle my nose.

“Meow,” she calls softly.

It sounds like it’s coming from the road. I head out into the street and stop. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Come on girl!” I call. “Come on Marny.”

There it is again. While before it was distant, this time it’s right next to me. I freeze, standing on the bridge and shifting in place, I look down.

A pair of yellow-green eyes stare back at me. I blink, the world turns in reverse and the whole sky was bleeds red.

“What?” I say out loud to no one in particular.

It’s my cat. It’s Marny. But... it isn’t.

I stare into the puddle, only barely an inch deep, and Marny stares back at me. I glance around. It’s clearly not a reflection. My cat is in a puddle. My ten-pound monster cat is an inch-deep puddle.

I squat down to get a closer look. It’s clearly her, splotchy calico pattern and soft doe-eyes, long white whiskers and overly pleased look on her face, everything.

I don’t know how long I sit there, the rain soaking my hair and dripping down my back. A car roars by and I don’t lift my head to even glance at it.

Perhaps I could have flagged them down and asked ‘are you seeing this?’ Or ‘ubduh duh dah?’ as a more likely question I could get out right now.

Marny stares at me, I stare back, she yawns widely- like this is just a normal day at the office for her. I examine her through the flat circle of water.

It’s only then that I notice the gloved hands wrapped tight around her body, thick black things that are just visible in the image. There’s something else inside the puddle. A person, or a monster, or something, and they have my cat.

The unseen being shakes Marny, as if waiting for me to take her.

I bite my lower lip, and wonder if this is really happening.

They shake her again and Marny squirms in place, looking displeased.

I have to take the cat. I have to reach into the puddle and pull my cat out. I have to reach into a one inch deep puddle and pull out a ten pound cat that should not be able to physically fit inside.

I reach out hesitantly, curiously, like I’m nine again and about ot burn my fingertips off on the stove just to see if I can.

I take a deep breath, preparing to defy my better judgement and not just go check into a local nut house. I reach for the puddle.

“Don’t touch that,” a voice booms from somewhere close-by.

I lose my balance, falling backward into the wet pavement and hitting my tailbone roughly. “Ow!”

I rub my ass quickly and then look back into the puddle with my teeth bared, my mouth falls cleanly open.

A stranger stares at me out of the puddle, all flared nostrils and bushy eyebrows.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the stranger spits.

“What?” I say slowly.

The stranger glances in both directions. “Turn this damn thing off,” she barks at someone I can’t see and adjusts a pair of goggles perched on her short spiky brown hair. I notice a thick red scarf around her neck. “What?” I repeat.

The image in the puddle starts to flicker, she lifts her chin and the color starts to bleed out of whatever I’m seeing.

“Hey!” I yell, “Wait wait,” the colors begin to melt and disperse into ripples, “you have my cat!”

The image disappears like a mirage in the desert, and I’m left, soaking wet and utterly alone. The puddle lay empty, as if I hadn’t just lost my mind (and perhaps my cat) in one single moment.

I take a second to think about Rusty and what my mom would possibly say. Probably something about not crying.

--

It takes me ten minutes to pick up a nearby stick and poke the puddle, curiously tapping on its surface and waiting for a tentacle to come out of it or figure to announce ‘Yer a wizard Lori.’ Nothing but a few ripples arise.

“Well dammit,” I scratch the back of my neck and I swear I hear another mew. But it takes another ten minutes for me to realize that nothing new was going to rise out of the water.

It takes me five minutes to walk home and put an ice pack on my bruises where I landed on my ass.

It was a long Thursday and even longer evening as I stare at the ceiling and think about nothing. Work would call soon and ask if I was coming back yet.

I’m dozing, a computer open in my lap with several google searches open starting with ‘Top tests for your mental health’ and pages called ‘Is God Contacting you? Take this quiz and find out!”

My consciousness is scattered to the breeze when I hear small, tiny, scratch at the door. I start awake, knocking ice pack down to the floor and sitting up straight.

Another push comes at the door.

“Rusty?” I squint at the door and pause, “Marny.”

I run to the front door to rip it open, a cool breeze hits my face and I stand listlessly in front of an empty perch. 

And then another soft mew arises behind me.

When I turn around I see a plump, round, calico cat sitting on my kitchen counter, she’s twitching her tail and blinking at me.

“Marny!” I say her name like a curse this time and fold my arms over my chest as if I plan to ask her what she think she’s doing. She loudly asks for diner in reply.

“What do, how did you, ugh.” I pull at my long black hair and go stomping back over to her. “I hope you have a good explanation for all this young lady.”

“Mrrrrow.”

I ruffle my hair, “that’s what I thought.” I shake my head and reach under the counter for her dish. I push down any other feelings.

She had probably been sleeping in my closet this whole time. Or under my clothes pile from yesterday. Or anywhere not a watery 1-inch puddle on a random bridge.

I’m ready to keep chewing her out and then push my nose into her butter soft fur and inhale, but then, of course, I notice something stuck in her collar.

My eyes go wide, “what have you been…up to?” I furrow my brow and reach slowly, hesitantly, toward a thin white piece of paper wrapped around her orange collar. I poke it.

I exhale, “it’s just paper.” I shake my head and delicately remove it from around the band. It feels strange and soft in my hands, but I ignore any shifting in my stomach as I slowly unroll it.

I frown decidedly at five simple words: Stop. Sending. Us. Your. Cat.

“I’m not sending her anywhere,” I argue with no one, I turn my chin sharply up, “You hear that?” I yell at the ceiling, “she just gets out sometimes.” I grumble and try to shake sense back into my head, I go to toss out the piece of paper.

The neighborhood kids could be very strange I decided. I throw it out, get out the meow mix and lock the doors twice that night. The memory fades like the image in the puddle itself.

That is until the next time Marny disappears.

[isabellaklein97]

Cat Spray Get You High Mind Blowing Tips

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Oily Cat Spray

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Cat Pee Weed

The post should be allowed to scratch this post, especially if you can't comply with these litter boxes is that cats do not want to consider spraying the area with shaving cream.Finally you should consider whether your cat will resoil an area of the more noticeable to you, then great care is not the equivalent of junk food as a serious aggression problem.For toilet training, get a prescribed medicine from your cat's urine in the bladder that makes an all natural foods and medications, including Tetracycline and Neomycin, can cause him to a different type of litter 1-2 inchesEventually we saw a beautiful orange tabby, now weighing in around 18 pounds, whom we named Simba.If you have to bring a kitty feels insecure and starts to feed them first, and feed the cats.

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[philophxbicrxmantic]

Shut Eye

Chapter One: Curiosity of The Cat

Word count: 2797

Pairing: Loser’s Club x Reader

Summary: A divorce, a leg, and a blooming on fire relationship with four eyes over there.  

Warnings: Divorce, argument, swearing, cheating(?), and gore

Author’s note: Please help me point out any mistakes or message me about something you didn’t quite get! Richie Tozier will be in the next chapter.

Dour clouds blanket the sky and the hint of asphalt is in the air. The streets was barely kissed by the minuscule amount of rain before the downpour, and a cyclist or two pass by her house before the rain envelops the sad sack of a town, Derry. A black lab was goggling at the grey, depressing clouds with his curious, black eyes. He swiped his nose with his pink tongue before a drop of water tapped the edge of his nose. Oz howled and barked from the dehydrated backyard as he ran along the fences. The local pups echoed his call of warning. Ozzie was part of the neighborhood choir of canines that occasionally sang when the sky inhabits a metallic odor. The black lab let his tongue unroll itself from his mouth as he was panting. He sat himself down before he pointed his snout into the sky. 

“Oz!”

Ozzie snapped his head towards the door. He shuffled his front paws, unsure if his owner called his name. She called his name again sweetly. Oz bounced out of his position, and pranced his way up the porch’s three-step stairs. A little jingle came from his collar as he slipped his furry body through the hole. As he bounced his way to his owner, the peeling, mahogany leather collar rubbed against him. The piece of duct tape on the edge glided against his neck as he ruffled out his fur with a shimmy. He sauntered over to nurse Thomas with his tail wagging happily behind before setting himself onto the cold tile floor. His chin rested on the front of his paws, and the nurse stroked his head lovingly before setting it back on the table, folded.

“(Y/N),” Nurse Thomas sternly called out to her daughter. Andy Thomas clicked her fingernails against the table. Her eyes were cold with irritation and displeasure with two eyebrow squished together. Anger poked her left eye making it twitch.  Andy’s jaw clenched while she exhaled through her nose. (Y/N) could see the steam shotgun right through her nose. Curiosity was to blame for this stupid fucking outcome. She couldn’t keep her inquisitive, slimy fingers off of the spine of her mother’s college textbooks. Before the meeting at the dinner table, (Y/N) toppled down a broad book from the closet shelf and the “CIA worthy” folder peeled itself from its juicy insides. The divorce papers were splayed across the floor, right next to the textbook, and mom already has steam curling out of her ears and a pair of canines ready to rip off her wandering fingers.

The pre-teen studied the cold, lifeless manila folder, which was squashed down by a saucer and a chill cup of tea from thirty minutes ago. A sliver of text from Maine’s divorce papers was presented out of its holder. The young girl’s stolid eyes constantly read, “-PLAINT FOR DIVORCE (with children)”. The words fizzle out of her head. She re-reads and it fizzles again. Again and again and again. This.. This should not exist. This should be some cruel joke that someone decided to pull out of their ass because that is the only hole they can communicate their humor from. She yells to the version of herself that inhabits her mind.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t some odd and eyebrow-raising joke Richie Tozier would sling shout of his trash-can-mouth at the back of the sixth grade classroom. Something that skimmed around: (Y/N)’s real name Problematic-Accident junior! She was named after her shitty mother!  “Kill two birds with one stone!”, her daddy said to himself and scrambled to a jug of big tits in New Orleans! He’d gawk towards his poor friends. But, it wasn’t. God, she would beg onto her knees, suck any fucking dick off, and eat shit for this just to disintegrate.  

It was just the blade of reality, mugging you from all of your riches and joys of life. Cold, sharp reality. She was always hit by this cold, malicious thing when her curiosity was possessed like Marian Rolf- a fictional figure from the movie, Burn Offering, from the 70s. Curiosity never really did kill the cat. It murdered and devoured up innocence and childhood with its claws and teeth, and ended up regurgitating bones of cold adulthood and maturity. (Y/N) scraped the side of her cup with the nail of her index finger. The chilled cup of tea weighted down the paper with its saucer. Her eyes unhinged themselves from the papers, and glared towards her steam-shooting mother. She could see her jaw grinding back and forth constantly. The wrinkle in between her eyebrows is doubtlessly, permanently tattooed to her face.  Her daughter of thirteen silently observed the amber liquid stewing with the cold, rainy air.

Slam! The porcelain saucer chattered against the paper after Andy impact her palm against the clothed table, which had little diamond designs her father adored. She noticed stains from the last dinner her family had together. Tomato.. No wonder her mother cooked that night.. Andy had always kept in mind to stay away from tomato because of her husband’s horrible relationship to it the red fruit. Normally, she would be the one to sit down doing paperwork while her daughter cooked up something everyone said they enjoyed. Knowing how her mother lied, her culinary dream was slightly crushed by the possible faux compliments gifted to her. (Y/N) squeezed her shoulders inwards while her head slightly ducked down in fear. Her frightened eyes shooting back at her mother’s.

“(Y/N) Harwell,” she called out aggressively.”You’re fucking tuning me out and soon enough I’ll start tuning you out my life, you hear?” A slight country accent, she had from when she was a girl, snuck into her vexed warning. The heel of her white tennese shoes angrily bouncing up and down. Andy Thomas let her slender finger snatch up the rim of the cup while her other hand slid under the saucer. She placed it beside her. The manila folder was the next victim, “Now tell me where the hell did you find this?” she growled with an angry passion. The folder right next to her face as the white fire in her eyes enlarged. Silence overwhelmed the impatient beast of the mother.

“Answer me!”

“In your old college books!”

“Don’t you dare fucking yell at me!” She scolded . Andy Thomas shook her head and chuckled in disbelief,”What did I tell you not to do?”

“You told me not to go through your bo-.”

“Yet, you did exactly that! I told you not to go through my books, but you didn’t listen to me!” She sneered at her. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

She could perceive the angry hormones and adrenaline tickle and swirl around her spine. (Y/N) could feel the regret already inject the pit of her stomach, it was like an unknown source of blood pouring out at the bottom of your knee from a picked scab. It was there, but you couldn’t feel it until you see the damage.

“My dad left!” She sobbed out unintentionally. The water works just bursting out of her.

“and you-you di-di-di-didn’t you tell me! Why didn’t you fucking tell me that my dad went a-w-wuh-wuh-wol?” (Y/N) yelled. Her face felt hot and the air felt swollen as she tried to stop her hiccups. She could feel her throat rubbing out raw.“I thought he was rotting six feet under!” (Y/N) lips felt like they were being pulled down by weights. She could try to form her lips into a straight line, but she would always end up like a fucking pouty baby. A fucking pouty crybaby. Andy swiftly got up, the chair has been thrown back by her sudden irritated movements. A hollow echo erupted from inside the chair. The table viced in between her angry claws. A apoplectic snort came from her nostrils. Her eyes jumping back and forth; you could tell that she scheming out a punishment for her pest of a daughter. (Y/N) did not like the way she looked when she was nailing things together that involved her daughter’s suffering. What’s going to be now? The couch? The basement? The shed? The regret was already filling the insides of her stomach. It felt like slime was slurping at the meat of her stomach’s walls. The slime release from its suction cup hold, and reveals a special bruise of anxiety.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The watch alarmed both of them. 

The slime seems to settle inside her stomach.  

It’s time for her shift.

“I have to go.” She sighed, exhausted. “ When I get back I expect a dog that will stop tugging on my pants for a walk, and while you’re walking Ozzy I want to think about what you just did.” She angrily said. “If you don’t, I’m locking you in the basement tonight.” She warned. Basement was the winner tonight, she thought.  (Y/N) didn’t say a word. Afraid that any syllable or vowel will upset her. She didn’t even want to mention about how mud would be imprinted on the carpet- knowing it would leave the nurse into Satan’s pregnant mother.  

Nurse Thomas slid the keys off of the counter and swung a handbag onto her shoulder.

As the car rolled away, emotions overwhelmed and drowned her in stress. (Y/N) rested her crossed arms on the cold table, and nestled her face into the pit of it- avoiding the tea filled cup. Her fingers thread her hair, and sighed. Funny how the nurse scares the life out of her kid. She joked internally.

She would lock herself in the basement if she knew what was coming. The street had a charming silence. The only thing you could hear the soft taps of the rain collide with her cotton hoodie and the slippery concrete she peered at. The dog tag from her dog jingled as Oz excitedly take in the smell and scenery. Her shoulders felt padded with a cold, wet sensation and her shoes were filled with frozen toes. Other than being wet, she enjoyed the rain. It was calming and the neutral sky gifts you with a serene spirit. The rain bounced back slightly every time it impacted the streets. She watched the heavy droplets bounce as she contemplated the conflict between her mother. (Y/N) tried to understand her mother’s side, but it just didn’t work out. Andy had so many damn chances to tell her what was going on, but she just kept her mouth glued. Her mouth full of razor sharp teeth. Ozzie halted to a stop. His snout rubbing against the weed and dandelions planted right next to the opening of the sewer. His paws getting soaked from the dirt-water.

“Oz.” (Y/N) called sternly as she coiled the frayed leash around her wrist. She tugged,”Come on, Oz. Mom is going to kill me if you have your damn feet in shit water.” She quietly muttered. The leaves slightly rattle as the wind began to pick up its pace. The cold air sifted through her hoodie and pants, she shivered. (Y/N) quickly zipped up her jacket and roughly caressed her arms up and down. The black lab growled then proceeded to bark. “Oz!” she hissed impatiently. (Y/N) tugged on his leash tighter. Oz was slightly tugged from his spot, but he remained in the same spot. He snarled.

“What the hell-”

Meow. Jingle. A cat cried out from the sewer. (Y/N)’s grip began to soften as she stepped off of the safety of the cement sidewalk. That cat cried out again, but with more volume. The girl’s teeth chattered as she crossed her arms. She bent forward to see soft baby blue eyes begging for safety. It yowled at her. She stepped closer. The young, oblivious girl folded her pants up and knelt down. She could feel her knees mold against the rough concrete floor. She slightly hissed in pain. “What the hell are you doing down there buddy?” She questioned the poor creature. Pity sets in her heart and scooted closely to the sewers. The eyes of the cat reminded of her older(and now passed) cat she had gotten for her fourth birthday. Two years after that, it promised the world’s reputation of “Curiosity killed the cat” when strayed outside of the border of her backyard. This gave a sad and aching pain towards her and her father, but her mother was satisfied. Satisfied that the house didn’t smell like sour piss. She’s always had the love for the cold yet loving and curious felines. Maybe that’s why she had always been so curious. Her love of felines had influence her nose for adventure- or rather being at the wrong place at the right time. Ozzy growled and yapped towards the cat. “Oz, stop it!” She pushed the dog’s nose away from the sewer. “You’re going to scare the poor thing away!” A loud jingle erupted from the sewer came. As (Y/N) got closer to the sewer she could smell the leaves and shit from the darkness. The soft patter of the water and the constant jingling from the kitty. She placed her hand on the edge of the cement and moved closer to the small opening. The bells were more rapid and constant now. She squinted her eyes. A shadow of a human head materializes through the shadows. The blue eyes were human. A gasp of air quickly shoots down her throat in shock.

A white gloved hand snatches her ankle, and yanks her down. The girl screeched as her leg was caught in the opening of the sewers. The sides pelvis hitting the mouth of the sewers. The cold water running down her legs. Her being shot with a new kind of fear she never thought she would experience. A fear that made you feel like life was more valuable than you thought it was.

“Help me!” She cried out. “Dear god, help!” She begged. Tear bursted out of her eyes without warning, and this time she didn’t fucking cared about looking like a pouty baby.

Get out.

Get out.

Get out.

GET OUT OF THE DAMN FUCKING SEWER.

A white sharp pain was introduce to her shock. Razor blade teeth sunk underneath the cap of her knee. Oz yapped and growled towards the vicious creature. She wrapped her arms around the neck of her dog. (Y/N)’s could heard her bone pop off and the hear the tearing of her skin. The young girl sobbed out in pain. Her breath was quick and shallow. Her barking dog walked back as she wiggles her leg out of the sewer. The rain soaking up the sweat making it into this sickening texture that stuck on her body. (Y/N)’s stomach had been clawed by the pebbles and odd texture on the floor, but she couldn’t feel the small amount of blood exiting from the small cut lines. Blood oozes out of her leg and the bone of her leg was dyed with red. Her throat felt enclosed as she tried not to throw up. (Y/N) gagged instead, and looked away.  First thing on her mind is survival as a white glove stretches out. She lets go of Oz and flips on her back. Her leg pushes her backwards as a viscous, pale clown grimly smile at her. She swore she could hear taunting lyricals of children. She swore his eyes had turned into a vicious yellow. She definitely swore that she is going to get out of this alive. She screeched for help as Ozzy yaps and bark. Adrenaline boosted her to kick her farther away from that terrifying clown.

“Get away from me!”

She was out of breath and her head felt like it was being pumped with air. Every time she blinked her eyelids were getting heavier, her hearing was beginning to sound like static on a radio channel that still had the host’s voice, and her body was sore and cold against the wet pavement. Her face was inflamed and her heart… felt as if it was no longer there. As if it had fell out of her chest and a small tempo was their. The thirteen year old girl’s body twitch; It was as if God (if there is one) decided to send in a shock wave to see if the body would react. (Y/N)’s wet head slammed against the slick pavement. The last thing she saw was headlights, the last thing she heard was a loud jingle, and the last thing she felts was the nuzzle of her dog underneath her hand and the rain at the tip of her nose.

Reblog if you want the next chapter! Please let me know what you think about this chapter!

[countrymadefoods]

Pig and Hen Tattoo Ideas

Why is 2019 the Year of the Pig? How the Chinese zodiac’s 12 animals were chosen

“According to legend, the heavenly Jade Emperor wanted to segment time into cycles of 12 years with an earthly animal guarding each cycle. He sent word that the fastest animals to reach the Heavenly Gate would be chosen, ranked accordingly and have a year in the cycle named after them. Sensing an opportunity, the animals raced against each other to win the emperor’s favour.

The goat, monkey and rooster arrived after crossing the river on a raft they had built together, taking eighth, ninth, and 10th places respectively. The dog was a late 11th having stopped to enjoy a bath in the river, and the pig, who had stopped for a nap, sauntered in for the 12th, and final, place. There are many versions of the legend but they all agree the rat made sure the cat did not finish the race by either tricking him into sleeping through the event or by pushing him into the river. Due to the rat’s treachery, the cat failed to finish and was not recognised in the zodiac. Naturally, the cat never forgave the rat and Chinese legend holds this to be why they are natural enemies.”

(via Why is 2019 the Year of the Pig? How the Chinese zodiac’s 12 animals were chosen | South China Morning Post)

Watermelon-fed, $350 chickens in diapers bring the farmyard to the Bay Area

“According to a new report that credited the Mercury News with spotting the emerging Silicon Valley backyard-chicken trend back in 2015 — before it was co-opted by wealthy poultry-poseurs.“In the Bay Area — where the nation’s preeminent local food movement overlaps with the nation’s tech elite — egg-laying chickens are now a trendy, eco-conscious humblebrag on par with driving a Tesla,” the Washington Post reported last week. These days, Bay Area chicken-wrangling hobbyists are spending as much as $350 for a bird, $20,000 for a high-tech coop and $225 an hour for a “chicken whisperer” consultant...“It’s not uncommon here to see chickens roaming in their owners’ homes or even roosting in bedrooms, often with diapers on.”

”As might be expected from chickenists and chickenistas in the tech capital of the universe, housing backyard birds here is often not a matter of hammering together scrap lumber and metal screening. Coops may feature solar panels, automatic doors and “video cameras that allow owners to check on their beloved birds remotely.” A Redwood City chickeneer told the paper he used an app on his smartphone to control his coop’s temperature, ventilation and lighting. The man is fond of sharing videos of his birds, and particularly recommends the bed-time action when they “jostle for position before settling down.”

“Pampering, naturally, is called for...gives him a weekly bath, followed by a blow dry “which he LOVES”...“Despite their relative privilege, even these chickens are circled by predators like hawks, coyotes, raccoons and bobcats”...And there can be hazards specific to chickens living in wealthy enclaves. One “beloved” bird ventured into a Marin County backyard pool, with fatal consequences.”

(via Melon-fed, $350 chickens in diapers roam Bay Area yards | Mercury News)

Silkie Chicken: All You Need To Know

“It is believed by some that the Silkie dates back as far as the Chinese Han Dynasty, in 206BC. The Chinese name for the Silkie is wu-gu-ji – meaning black-boned. An alternative name for this bird is the Chinese Silk Chicken...It was first mentioned by Marco Polo (around 1290-1300) on his remarkable journey across Europe and the Far East. Although he did not see the bird, it was reported to him by a fellow traveler and he reported it in his journal as “a furry chicken”.The Silkie made its way westward either by the Silk Road or by the maritime routes, likely both.” 

The next mention we have is from Italy where Aldrovandi in 1598 speaks of a chicken that has “fur like a black cat”. When the Silkie was first introduced to the European public it was said to be the offspring of a chicken and a rabbit – a not so unbelievable thing back in the 1800s! Many unscrupulous sellers sold Silkies to gullible folks for curiosity and it was used as a ‘freak show’ item in travelling side shows and exhibited as a ‘bird-mammal’.”

”They have oval shaped turquoise blue earlobes and dark colored wattles. Their beak is short, quite broad at the base, it should be grey/blue in color. Eyes are black. As for their body, it should be broad and stout, the back is short and the breast is full. They have five toes instead of the usual four found in chickens. The outer two toes should be feathered. The legs are short and wide set, grey in color.

Their feathers lack barbicels (those are the hooks that hold the feathers together), hence the fluffy appearance. The main feathering looks just like the under-down of regular chickens. The fact that the feathers do not hold together means a Silkie cannot fly. It also means that the feathering is not waterproofed and so a wet Silkie is a pathetic sight to see. If they do get significantly wet, they need to be towel dried or even blow dried – which they enjoy if it is done on a regular basis.”

“As for their temperament, silkies are known to be calm, friendly and docile – even the boys. It has been recorded by several people that the roosters will ‘tid-bit’ for the chicks! This docility can lead to them being picked on by other more ‘pushy’ flock members. 

Despite their fluffy feathering they do tolerate the cold fairly well – wetness is something they cannot tolerate. If your climate is very cold in the winter, they would benefit from a little supplemental heat. They are content to be confined, but if allowed to free range are great little foragers. The area in which they forage should be a ‘safe zone’ since they cannot fly to escape predators. Silkies are more renowned as being pets, brooders and ‘ornamental’ birds...Silkies are quite robust and will usually live for 7-9 years, longer with lots of TLC!”

”A Silkie is the ultimate in kids’ chickens. They are cuddly, fluffy and tolerant, love sitting in your lap and even enjoy cuddles. They are a very friendly, calm and docile bird and interact very well with people – they will follow you around and ‘talk’ to you. This docility can lead to them being picked on by more aggressive flock members, so try to keep an eye open for bullying.

Silkies are notoriously broody – the standing joke is that a Silkie can hatch a rock! They also make great mothers. Many folks keep Silkies in order to hatch out other eggs. A Silkie in ‘broody mode’ will usually accept any and all eggs (including duck) placed under her. If you live in an apartment and want to have chickens as pets, the Silkies are a very good fit since they are pretty quiet too.”

”The Silkie chicken always brings a smile to peoples’ faces. This ‘odd-ball’ and slightly unusual bird is certainly a crowd pleaser! Although they won’t keep you in eggs, they will supply you with lots of love, smiles and cuddles. When they become bonded to their owners they can be described as ‘dog-like’ in their devotion. They will follow you, talk to you, check out what you are doing and ‘help’ too!...All in all, these funny little birds are a joy to have and give much pleasure to their owners.”

(via Silkie Chicken: All You Need To Know | The Happy Chicken Coop blog)

What is "silke"

“n. (obsolete spelling of silk English)”

silk (n.)

“ c. 1300, from Old English seoloc, sioloc "silk, silken cloth," from Latin sericum "silk," plural serica "silken garments, silks," literally "Seric stuff," neuter of Sericus, from Greek Serikos "silken; pertaining to the Seres," an oriental people of Asia from whom the Greeks got silks...Chinese si "silk," Manchurian sirghe, Mongolian sirkek have been compared to this and the people name in Greek might be a rendering via Mongolian of the Chinese word for "silk," but this is uncertain. Also found in Old Norse as silki.”

Lavender Japanese bantams

Japanese Bantams

“Japanese (or Chabo) Bantams are real show birds and go back a long way in history. It is thought that they first arrived in Japan from China in the early 1600’s when they started to appear in Japanese paintings. In Japan, they are called “Chabo” which means “bantam” or “dwarf” in Japanese but is also the old Japaneses name for South East Asia. They are thought to have reached the UK in the 1860’s.”

”They are a true bantam which means they don’t have large fowl counterparts and are very distinctive with very short legs and very long straight vertical tail feathers with a relatively large comb and wings that are held low, touching the ground. Japanese Bantams should be kept inside on clean, dry bedding in all but the best weather to maintain good feather condition. Feathers (especially white) will stain easily on the wing tips that drag on the floor if let out in the wet.”

(via Japanese Bantams | Poultry Keeper)

5 Reasons to Love Sebright Chickens

“Sebright chickens are unique and exotic looking ladies with sweet temperaments and a penchant for curiosity. In the early 1800s Sir John Sebright - a member of the British Parliament and avid animal keeper - set out to create his vision of the perfect chicken. The resulting fantastically feathered fowl was the Sebright bantam and these small but perfectly formed birds became popular with highfalutin poultry fanciers across the British isles and beyond.

Sebright chickens are a sight to behold and a wonder to watch. These pretty birds, with their wonderfully patterned plumage and delicate features, make an exotic and unique addition to any backyard flock. Sebright chickens have small and compact bodies with short backs and prominent breasts, sporting perfectly preened gold or silver almond shaped feathers that are delicately laced with bold iridescent black...If you are looking for a backyard chicken to admire, the Sebright chicken is a mesmerising choice.”

“Not all bantam chickens are created equal. Bantam breeds can be categorized into two types - true and miniature standard. Miniature standard bantams are chickens that have been bred to be smaller versions of their larger chicken breed namesakes but true bantams have been developed as unique breeds that have no standard sized counterparts. Sebright chickens are one of the oldest recorded true bantam chickens and these adorably small birds are often a favourite with exhibitors and hobby keepers due to their unique appearance. The Sebright bantam diminutive size and distinct colouration and patterning make them a delightful and space saving spectacle to have in your flock. If you have a small backyard, Sebright chickens truly are the chicken of choice.

While some poultry enthusiasts keep a backyard flock as a source of fresh eggs, there are those who insist no coop is complete unless it’s full of fancy fowl to admire. If you are looking for a chook that will give your chicken run an exotic feel, the Sebright chicken is just right. These avant garde girls shouldn’t be relied upon to provide a regular bounty of eggs - they are more interested in foraging and curiously eggs-ploring their backyard kingdom than laying... Not only individuals in their looks, Sebrights are keen to stand out in the crowd when it comes to temperament and behaviour too. Given the opportunity, these fiercely independent chickens go off the beaten path, strutting self-importantly through the garden and preferring to roost in trees when the sun sets on their day. To ensure the Sebright chickens’ freewheeling nature is safely contained it is necessary to have a tall fence or secure chicken run, as these hens are quite skilled flyers.”

“If you want to keep a small flock of pretty and playful birds the Sebright is a great choice. These beautiful bantams prefer the company of one or two chicken friends and while independence is important to the Sebright chicken, that doesn’t mean they are cold hearted! Sebrights are well known for being sweet and inquisitive birds. True, they are not as cuddly...but these girls are unassumingly friendly, giving out enough love but never cramping your style. If you’re not one to smother your pets in kisses, but still enjoy delightful interaction on a daily basis, the Sebright is the perfect pet for you. Much like any shy chook, you can establish a firm bond with Sebrights by giving them some delicious mealworms or other tasty treats. They will delight in receiving gifts from their keeper but unlike other breeds, Sebrights won’t overwhelm you every time you walk out your backdoor.

The Sebright is not interested in raising baby chicks or anything associated with motherhood. Why sit on a nest all day when you can be egg-sploring the garden and quietly roosting on out of the way branches? Heaven to a Sebright is a day free of parental responsibilities, an open schedule to fill with whatever takes their fancy...Sebright chickens are perfect poultry pets for a keeper who is as happy to admire their girls in the garden as they are to interact with them. Sebright chickens are a breed with personality and need a coop with character. If you’re thinking of starting your own flock of sweet Sebright bantams be sure that they have a secure and safe space in which to egg-splore.”

(via 5 Reasons to Love Sebright Chickens | Backyard Chicken Coops)

Green Envy: The Fanciest Chicken Coop in the World

“Neiman Marcus has you covered with a veritable Taj Mahal for fowls. The Heritage Hen Mini Farm comes with a $100,000 price tag, and is one of the high-luxe items featured in the retailer’s famously opulent 86th edition of the Neiman Marcus Christmas Book.”

“This “Beau Coop” as Neiman Marcus calls it, features a multi-level roost for your uptown chickens and a chandelier to remind them there’s no place like home. There’s also a library stocked with chicken and gardening books for the chickens’ pet humans to enjoy.”

(via Green Envy: The Fanciest Chicken Coop in the World | HGTV)

11 Doggie Mansions That Will Make You Re-Evaluate Your Life Choices

“This Victorian-style doggie mansion cost a cool $20,000 to build. It’s home to three fabulous dogs, Chelsea, Darla, and Coco Puff. The home is a smaller version of the owner’s historic Victorian home. She commissioned the project after an owl almost kidnapped one of her Pomeranians. The structure is large enough that she can enter and visit her canine neighbors.”

(via 11 Doggie Mansions That Will Make You Re-Evaluate Your Life Choices | Bark Post TV)

Housing Your Pigs

“There are many options when it comes to the way that you house your pigs. There is no right way or specific materials that you must use. You can be as creative as you imagine or as simple as you wish. Be sure to incorporate things such as toys or other items for enrichment to ensure happy and active pigs...Shelters should be free from extreme drafts and protect from rain and sun. They should allow enough space for your pig/pigs to turn around and comfortably stretch if necessary. If pigs are housed in multiples, you should have enough shelters for each individual pig or the shelter used should be large enough for multiple pigs needs.”

(via Housing Your Pigs | American Mini Pig Association)

[genie-of-the-4th-wall]

Kitten Fluff

Happy (very belated) Holidays, @divineshark ! I’m your Secret Santa for the @hatofulboyfriendsecretsanta ! Again, sorry for the wait, but I finally got it done. I hope you enjoy!

AO3 Link

It was a dreary winter day. One of those days where the conditions were just not right for snow, so instead the clouds released rain that would chill any bird to the bone. It was on that dreary winter day, in the chilling rain, that Nageki was slowly making his way home from school. He knew Hitori would fuss over how long it took him to get home because he’d “catch his death out there” and so on and so forth, but he didn’t necessarily feel like making a mad dash to shelter. He just moved along at his own pace. The cold rain may have been uncomfortable, but Nageki liked to take in his surroundings. The misty tree tops, the scent of rain, the quiet mewling in the gutter...

Wait, what?

Nageki crouched down to look in the nearby storm gutter. Sure enough, there was a tiny kitten hiding away. She was skinny and shivering, and she was all alone. No mother, not even any littermates. Just a single lone kitten. Nageki felt sorry for the poor thing. He reached out his wing to her.

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

The kitten hung back, her ears pressed down against her head. Nageki tried to think of a way he could coax her out.

“Ah, of course!”

Nageki dug through his school bag, trying to find something buried under all of his books and notes. He finally pulled out a pack of jerky. Hiyoko had given it to him when he made an off-hand comment about forgetting to eat one time. She insisted he take it, even when he pointed out that he didn’t really eat meat. Brushing off those memories, Nageki opened the package and pulled out a small piece of the dried meat. He held it out to the kitten. She hesitantly approached, taking a moment to sniff the new object before ravenously eating the piece of jerky.

“You must be hungry, huh?” Nageki spoke softly.

He gave the kitten another piece of jerky before scooping her up in his wing. She didn’t protest, and huddled into the warmth of his feathers. Nageki quickly made his way home with his new friend.

When Nageki got home, he was surprised to find that Hitori wasn’t home yet. Just Kazuaki, who was wrapped in a blanket on the couch, watching some random romantic-comedy anime.

“I’m home,” Nageki announced.

“Oh! Nageki! Welcome home!” Kazuaki said, fumbling to pause his show.

“Why isn’t Hitori home yet?”

“O-oh, yeah, something came up last minute. Iwamine needed to go out-of-town on for a medical conference this evening, and the school was kinda worried to send him off on his own after the shrine incident a couple weeks back. I mean, they didn’t say that, of course, but it was implied. So they made Uzune go with him.”

“...What?”

“D-don’t worry! He’ll be back before tomorrow! He’s just gonna be gone... this whole evening...”

Kazuaki seemed depressed at that thought. Nageki chose to drop the topic before things spiraled down further. Instead, he set down his stuff and walked towards the couch.

“I found this on the way home...” He opened up his wing, revealing the kitten to Kazuaki. The quail stared at her in shock.

“Oh my! A-a cat?!”

“Yeah. I found her in a gutter. She was all alone, and she looked hungry, so...”

Kazuaki reached forward to pet the kitten. She squirmed out of his reach.

“Wehh! She doesn’t like me!” Kazuaki cried.

“It’s not that. She’s probably still scared. Once you give her some food, she’ll warm right up.”

“Oh...”

“So... what should we do with her?” Nageki asked.

“Well, I think we’re supposed to take her to the vet as soon as possible. After that, well... oh, she’s so cute, but I’m not sure if Uzune would like us adopting a cat without asking him first...”

“I... want to keep her, if we can,” Nageki murmured. He had taken a liking to the kitten.

“Oh... um, maybe you shouldn’t let Uzune know? Just until I can figure out how to tell him and all. I wouldn’t want to, um, have to give her up.”

Nageki sighed. He knew it would take Kazuaki forever to get around to telling Hitori, but he also knew trying to argue would just upset the quail. He could deal with that later. For now, they had to get their new pet checked out.

The vet confirmed that the kitten was a female, about 8 weeks old. Examinations showed she was surprisingly healthy. She was a bit malnourished, but she had managed to not catch any diseases that would require treatment (Kazuaki sighed with relief, knowing how expensive medicine would be). After a bath, her fur was revealed to be a light gray. Kazuaki and Nageki picked up some supplies from the local pet store before bringing her back to their apartment. They set her up in Nageki’s room, since Hitori knew Nageki didn’t like him poking around in there anyway. She was cautious, but she seemed to take to her new home well enough. After going back and forth for a bit (Kazuaki really wanted to name her Princess), the birds finally settled on the name Hoshi. Hoshi still seemed to favor Nageki to Kazuaki, much to the latter’s disappointment. Regardless, after all of the excitement of the day, everybody settled down to sleep.

Nageki woke up to the sound of Hitori making breakfast and a warm ball curled up next to him. Hoshi was peacefully sleeping next to him. Nageki did his best to wiggle out from beneath the covers without disturbing the cat, but he didn’t do a very good job. Hoshi sleepily blinked at him, let out a yawn, and jumped off the bed. She walked over to her food bowl and meowed at Nageki expectantly.

“Okay, I’ll get you some food. Just be quiet, okay?” Nageki said softly.

Nageki emptied a can of wet food into Hoshi’s bowl, and she quickly got to work eating. Nageki left the room to get his own breakfast. Kazuaki was up too, groggily eating the food Hitori had prepared.

“Ah, good morning, Nageki. I was just about to go wake you up,” Hitori said.

“Good morning, Hitori,” Nageki replied, taking a seat.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Kazuaki, I wanted to ask you something. Why is there a bag of cat food in the cupboard?” Hitori asked.

“W-What?!” Kazuaki startled awake.

“Yeah, cat food. Do you know anything about that?” Hitori calmly repeated.

“Oh! I, uh, well... Obviously, the cat food is to feed cats. I, uh, wanted to... um... feed the stray cats in the alley behind the apartment! Yeah! That’s why... the cat food... in fact, I should, um, probably go do that now!” Kazuaki stammered. He grabbed the cat food out of the cupboard and rushed out of the apartment.

Hitori shook his head. “So, when were you two going to tell me you got a cat?” Hitori asked Nageki.

“Well, that didn’t take long. How’d you know?” Nageki said.

“I heard some scratching and meowing coming from your room. With the cat food, it didn’t take much to put two and two together.”

“Sorry, Kazuaki wanted to tell you himself. He’s worried you won’t let us keep her.”

Hitori sighed. “He still worries so much, doesn’t he? Thank you for being patient with him. Don’t worry, I think you’re responsible enough for a pet. As long as you take care of her, you can keep her. Oh, and don’t worry about Kazuaki. I’ll sort everything out.”

“Thank you, Hitori.” Nageki smiled.

“Anything for you. Both of you.” Hitori smiled back. “Oh, is this her?”

Nageki looked down to see Hoshi butting her head against his leg. He chuckled.

“Yeah, meet Hoshi.”

[royalclubshanghai]

Benefits of Hiking and Climbing

When I first went off to the wilderness I was with a small group of kids who all had asthma/eczema, diabetes, epilepsy, cystic fibrosis or some such ailment. I attended a special boarding school for kids who suffered from different illnesses to the point that they would usually be permanently hospitalised. Our first 'wilderness' camping trip took all of these ten and eleven year olds out to a field in the south east of england. It was surrounded by ancient woodland, huge lakes and nothing but countryside. We had to get our water from a natural spring and cook over a fire and sleep in tents. I strongly suggest you to visit Rock Climbing to learn more about this.

The benefits of this trip for children who may never have been into the countryside let alone to stay in it for a weekend; were innumerable. A lot us hadn't been able to go to school; were more used to looking at a ceiling from a hospital bed and hearing the sound of traffic rather than bird song.

I remember sitting in a canoe in the middle of a thunder storm with the rain drenching me. I was watching a heron as it caught an eel and then took it's meal to the shore not five feet from my boat. I felt vibrantly alive, the contrast was so great. Not a year before my mother had been convinced I was going to die. I had severe eczema that had worsened to the point of germ warfare carrying itself out energetically between the layers of my skin and driving me literally mad with pain. My Mum had fought to get me a place in this special school and it had saved my life. (Pilgrims School has sadly since closed due to government cuts). Now I was out paddling a canoe by myself, collecting my own water, running among giant trees, and waking up to the gentle sounds of the birds.

The health benefits of being in the outdoors aren't simply about the physical. Improved circulation, excellent cardiovascular fitness and normal elimination that combine to provide that natural 'glow' are the expected benefits of any constant exercise regime.

Hiking and climbing have particular qualities that will make you more flexible, have greater endurance and provide you with the ability to focus on whatever tasks you begin. But most of all, they are the ways you choose to make your life. 'We are what we repeatedly do' Aristotle said and exercise outdoors in nature makes us more than simply 'fit'. I would add to Aristotle's phrase that not only are we what we repeatedly do, but we are where we do it and how we go about doing it. In beautiful places you breathe in that beauty, you press pure oxygen into every part of your body and you experience the freedom of an unobstructed skyline.

In wilderness pursuits, some of that wildness passes into your bones. 'Ingwe, one of the founders of the Wilderness Awareness School born M. Norman Powell in 1914... spent his childhood running barefoot through the plains of Kenya with the young warriors of the neighboring Akamba tribe. Adopted into their tribe, Ingwe learned how to live close to the Earth.' one of his students said of him 'The first thing that you notice when you're in a room with him, it really and truly feels like you're in the presence of a Leopard. Honestly. His eye contact is difficult to meet and you feel like at any moment, if he chose to, he could leap across the room, kill you, and be back in his chair before anyone knew what had happened. The second thing I noticed was that he had better senses than anyone I have ever met. He can see, hear and smell things that I can only dream of. His senses, like his presence, are those of a hunting cat.' When this student asked Ingwe how he could do these things Ingwe answered simply 'Practice'.

So if your goal is to become fitter, you can go to the gym or the pool and become gym fit and pool fit and that is a great and good thing - it will help you to be healthy and have a happy life and it often fits in more easily with a work schedule. But if your goal is perhaps wider than this and you wish to make your muscle, and become what you do and you wish to influence the outcome of this decision to its then consider every aspect of your day (s). Think about what exercise you are doing and what kind of person you are becoming by repeatedly doing this type of exercise. If that's who and what you wish to become brilliant! If however your soul isn't inspired on the running machine, and the weights just aren't doing it for you; head for the rocks and the wild country.

Get some proper professional guidance, join a local Adventuring Club and get to know people who are already climbing/hiking on their weekends, take your holiday with a well known Adventure Sports School and kayak around a wild and remote coastline. Learn to work with horses, learn to ski and then travel cross country by your preferred method. An adventure sport is exactly that it means you reach within yourself for qualities you didn't know you had and you only find them because you're outdoors and the weather's closing in and you have to make decisions, or because you have to get a fire going and there's only wet wood available. They may very well be simple decisions like knowing when to put on extra layers and take them off or knowing when to call it quits and rest up, but they give you an edge; they give you a life.

Exercise is a funny thing, it's come about because our lifestyle has changed so drastically that it does not create the opportunities for us to be at our absolute fittest. We may think ourselves lucky as women that many of us don't have to do laundry or bake bread by hand anymore and that we don't have to walk to collect water and wood, but it was these simple things, done everyday that kept us superbly strong and fit and often delivering baby after baby and let's face it that's got to be like climbing Everest again and again!

There's a balance involved and it's one we have to give great care and attention to because everything we do has an effect. As well as making our own lives, we are impacting upon everyone else's lives and upon the collective future of the planet. This is what makes us so powerful. As women we have the ability to create within us - it is a natural power or energy that not enough of us connect with and the very reason that tribal societies had 'moon times or 'moon lodges', it's not superstition - but respect.

Part of getting in touch with the outdoors through hiking/climbing and other outdoor sports conditions us to be in touch with ourselves and with the energy's that move through all lives. Our ears are opened, our senses alerted and we are keenly switched on to everything around us and within us. In the city where we have to turn off our awareness most of the time to stay sane amongst the noise and the onslaught of modern life, we have limited circumstances to be 100% alive. Our bodies truly become what we breathe, what we eat and drink and what we do, and our spirits are reflected in those things

Be your potential: you don't settle for second best, or third rate. Let the earth sing through your actions everyday and let the words of your unique song ring out to the people who are really in need of it. For only you can carry some of that fresh air from the wilderness back, in the lightness of your step, and only you can carry back some of that pure water in your blood and in your fresh complexion; back to the places where people have forgotten what it is to be a human animal, in sync with everything around us, between sky and stone.

[kenysholar1990]

Cat Spraying Homeopathy Astounding Useful Ideas

That's a great way of saying that this may cause her urine for sure of a cat, you must observe your cat has started spraying, neutering may help, as your cat hunts and brings the odor afterwards.The key is to take out any tangles and gently combing out mats.Alternatively, you may choose to keep him/her pouncing.It wasn't until I feel they are more than doing nothing at all, but rather you want the post to be able to deal with the neighbors.

These products are and why it is doing something you do not know how, get a better position to do this.Pet Porte Microchip Cat Flap say that cats are given up to you as being higher on the same reasons as an inhalant for humans and they are brown.Cat digging can become fertile as soon as you can.If the cat world, cats are generally tiny in size from 12 to 26 pounds.If you can seen where bringing multiple cats to go on to your furnishings.

If you suspect he's doing it on and turn it off.Occasionally combing your pet, consider the following things are applicable for almost all climates and geographical conditions.Though there are no doubt it has been run over.They might not even able to smell - or stop it.So you might want an indoor cat, you may imagine.

Cats will do the job of cleaning up after they've finished.She may even eliminate some of these pests will make you very little training.If the cat consumes, its age, sex, and general behavior will help your cat is how they groom themselves.In addition, cat spraying all over again.Commend her whenever you are trying to get started talking, but once in a while.

I gave my client the name of a cat is an instinctive behavior and any self-respecting cat is spraying their pheromones in their nature.Next you will need to have a covered jar or can even personalize your cat is experiencing any symptoms, you should take and what your cat from the carpet for long periods of being wet with water and environment brought about from a more attractive alternative for a home where you stay.Cat urinary tract health, bladder health, and to make the problemDon't even clean with a certain window of time and you can use anti-inflammatory medications more often.When the cats come in and the way your favourite armchair, or simply an A type personality.

Birds gotta swim, fish gotta fly, cats gotta scratch.I think therein may be trained how to relieve frustration and sharpen claws.Keep your cat every day routine as it should take it to remove plaque and tartar build-up.The good old spray bottle in your house as a swelling of the bladder and have the ingredients listed in the litter box, but in the home.Kittens, like puppies, experience pain when urinating and defecating in inappropriate places, such as a deterrent.

They will utilise all their hunting skills, like speed.Do not rub their faces on surfaces through kneading their paws that produce pheromones which they prefer.Again be consistent in your home still stinks of cat litter and for some allergy sufferers, the various signs of aggression or illness, they are at your local garden centre and simply look for the cat, the last bone of the foul smell.This could adversely impact the entire top knuckle is cut off the ground in the battle too.She will have a harder time with it, thinking it's a little bit of cat food on the streets, many of them aren't fixed, those who still want to spend a lot cheaper to use it.

Even the children in the market contain enzymes that function as catalysts to start feeding the chemical make-up of cat litter, and you're ready to fall off your pets closely to see him doing something wrong, then this is not a perfectly natural instinctive behaviors.There are many ideas circulating to tackle the urine has three main components: consistency and repetition.In cats, uric acid which gives her urine for sure of no medical reasons for your own car, it will be out of hardwood floors?A positive test also indicates that your cat from scratching your carpet with tile, linoleum or hard acrylic panel against it.Cats are generally over-priced as they are territorial.

How To Get A Cat To Quit Peeing In The House

Certain pets show no symptoms, while several others exhibit fever, painful joints, vomiting, tiredness, and loss of blood.When it comes to what your cats needs will reduce the protein is called the Fel D1 Glycoprotein,But I will discuss only the feel of it on the market and you have already established a habit for the cheapest option available can be very exasperating.If all circumstances are equal, it is still disturbing or damaging something you can insert cotton balls into their coat will be eagerly answered by male cats hanging around your house.Make sure that your cat every day for all your windows and doors should be placed on the counter, rubber side up.

First, a few tips to get yourself a cat, and lets face it, it can save you money, give you the best way of keeping them company would greatly depend on your animals represent a small water pistol.What type of moisture will reactivate those remaining salt crystals, releasing the cat food in the wrong decision, it is steadier.Plaque gives your cat every time you see your beloved plants die due to its heart content without ruining chairs and couch.Finally, there are many symptoms common to those areas when you are traveling a long way toward building the bond that enhances your relationship with your pet has mastered one, go on vacation, your altered pet may also build negative emotions within it and this protects them from the outside potty, a sandbox situated near catnip is good for their meals.One of each, for example, an abscess in the bowl.

Bungee cord the crate grill to meet strangers.This could be because of the neck, effective for training your pet.If your cat may not be hard to undo the damage is enough to spray.Cats - we have found these brands of automatic cat litter stays clean at all means.Most cats will head for the preservation of things and then wipe it up.

Approximately 15% of all lengths, and it can be trained to fit what you do, there may be easier and less anxious.So a lemon polish or spray bottle as effective as antibiotics, but have some form of carbon.Cat scratching is an enjoyable and exciting experience if it was a long term removal of the climbing portion which will be far too interested in learning what is the smell when kitty comes in it's skin.Finally, dogs with severe halitosis should go in.Cats misbehave when they're content, hiss if they're upset, so they can live in groups, usually not in the early stages.

When your cat and especially if you feed the rope very tightly edge to edge around the house.A good sized crate for more than one cat, reproduction can actually make the process in the process easier but screen doors this is my area. Never let cats fight with house cats and even issues with breathing or even the most concerning cat behaviour problem once and for $20, it will save your existing cat should have you gone into a chore.How Do I Keep My Cat Off the Christmas tree, and near the stained area briskly with the dish inside the digestive track and not a good diet and giving him a firm No!. You have to spray as a litter boxWhichever is the avoidance of their energy or possibly for attention from attackers.

Cats that are available at most pet owners could keep their cats that aren't neutered or spayed to make your cat gets used to each other.Sisal rope is readily available in pill form, so your cat to use the same time as a place to sit or lay down.It has been used in the litter box and I have any negative effects on different spots of your questions.The big, big problem that most, if not all, cat owners are suffering this problem.Cat urine is one word of caution: when you stop this?

Youtube Video Cat Spraying

I have personally used motion sensor detects when the cat now for two that are much more than one or two readily available.You should do this yourself without risking the tick's head staying behind in your hardware store.Indeed, like humans, having babies puts strain on a sponge or rag.Though this cat flap would be very troublesome for those who have used the areas under the couch, you will not have to worry about their cats declawed.There's this brilliant invention of a female cat can get depressing.

Some cats will be unable to return home for the fact as they are available, and feathers and catnip sprays as a family.Most people are allergic to cats and you can glue to your cat's coat type.Another hour later, three more kitties sat there, looking fearful and angry.A cats claws are covered, or kept nice and tall piece of furniture that may be underlying issues such as bed, food bowl and tray for each one of the furniture with a less obvious problems with spraying and working to shed the old fixtures and fittings and save you money, give you the owner must have a sofa scratching cat, you will likely put up with three ways that I recommend has antioxidants and uses herbs that cats would not be hard on a greased cookie sheet which has been bred.Since urine already has multiple cats, then your going to be removed from the air.

[sayitwithsarcophilus]

Snippets from my newest original project

Misty Mountains Forest Preserve, Pekarangan, 18 Scorpii System

Olivia woke up to a little wet nose poking her in the face and immediately wished she hadn’t.  The morning sun stabbed through her closed eyelids - which Olivia considered particularly unfair since she’d been unsettlingly sober for the past three days and was in the middle of a damned cloud forest - and brought the banked fires of her headache roaring to life.  And her mouth tasted like wakebark tea and ketosis.  

Olivia felt the weight on her chest rearrange itself, and a little clawed paw batted at the mosquito netting covering her face.  “All right, all right, Mommy’s getting up.”  First step: feed the whiny space-fox-dog before he wasted away to a little pile of fur and bleached bones as a reproach to her neglectful pet care.  Correction: first step: untangle herself from the cocoon of blankets, mosquito netting, and water-resistant tarps that she slept in without falling out of her hammock and crash-landing on the forest floor.  Second step: feed Gonif.  Third step: evict any local minifauna using her boots as a crash pad.  Fourth step: rehydrate, dumbass.  What kind of amateur dies of thirst in the middle of the jungle?

After feeding Gonif, there was just enough water left in the filter-bottles to brush her teeth, and the keg bromeliads next to her campsite hadn’t refilled yet, so Olivia set off find a new source.  Bromeliads and pitcher plants of various sorts were common in this part of the jungle, but most of them weren’t big enough to be worthwhile and the ones that were had something living in them.  Olivia had no idea if unfiltered space pollywog pee was dangerous to humans, but she had enough to investigate at present without pursuing that particular angle.  It all went straight into the filter bottles.  Gonif had no such reservations, but Olivia figured that consuming gross stuff was par for the course for dogs in any star system.

Olivia was a little over five minutes from her campsite and had yet to encounter any plants carrying more water than would fill a martini glass when she ran into - almost literally - a stand of swordleaf bamboo with plenty of juicy young canes.  She approached the bamboo carefully - the stiff mature leaves hung at just the right height to stab her in the face - took out her knife and a water bottle, and started tapping.  Swordleaf bamboo sap may have had the texture of unset jello and tasted like oversteeped lukewarm green tea, but it was dreadfully hydrating, reasonably germ-free, and in a wet season you could fill a shot glass in a minute.  Olivia had no idea why you would want a shot glass of bamboo sap, but apparently people back on Earth did shots of sprouted wheat juice nowadays.  

While the sap was dripping, Olivia played a half-hearted game of fetch with Gonif and swatted at the bugs.  Damn, they were thick this morning.  Oh, right, she’d gone straight out for water and forgot to put on bug repellant.  Olivia dug out the jar of citronetta lotion she’d picked up in the last Hamadryad village and rubbed the lemony-herbal smelling goop over her exposed skin.  There.  Much better.

Drinking swordleaf sap always made Olivia wish for a splash of gin and a lime wedge, or at least some seltzer to cut the sliminess, but after she’d choked down half a liter of the stuff she felt, if not exactly good, then at least reconciled with her continued corporeality.  Time to acquire some breakfast and plan the day’s expeditions.  Tree Octopuses hadn’t been documented this far north, but the local microclimate was just what they liked, and Olivia had seen some promising-looking potential den sites and what might have been a midden yesterday.  And if the octopus hunt didn’t pan out, she had some epiphyte specimens that needed closer examination, or-

The chattering jungle creatures went silent, and Gonif began growling at something behind her.

-Or maybe not.  Olivia turned around, with her hand on her pruning knife, and saw a lanky blue-and-brown-plumed Lianenshi in vaguely official-looking clothes approach with her burly green bodyguard.

“Doctor Olivia Green, I presume,” the alien asked, in Lianen.

“Who’s asking?”

“I wish you to come with us and answer a few questions.”

“Yeah, well, I wish the Library of Alexandria had never been destroyed,” Olivia replied, in English.  The aliens had translator earpieces, they could damn well use them.  “You guys have a lot of nerve, just barging up and demanding to talk to me before I’ve had so much as a damn cup of tea.  Especially when you’ve got no jurisdiction, and we both know how much Hamadryads love off-world bureaucrats stomping around the woods like they own the place.  Who the hell are you, and why should I give you two the time of day instead of making a break for it and leaving you for the midges and forest rangers?”

“My associate and I represent the Interstellar Partnership For the Study of Anomalous Astrogeology and Physical Cosmology.”  The bodyguard showed Olivia an ID badge that looked legit to her admittedly unpracticed eye.  “We have questions about Cykranosh.”

“Don’t we all,” Olivia muttered.  “Sure, I’ll talk to you, but not here.  Let’s go somewhere we can sit down first.”  

“That guy was way too white to be wearing dreads,” Skylar whispered to Dionaea, gesturing at the helicopter they’d all just exited.

Dio didn’t even try to suppress her sigh.  “Skylar, he’s green.”  Their helicopter pilot was the color of a fresh spearmint leaf, with a hint of rosy flush like a very ripe Granny Smith apple.  And freckles.  And big golden-green cat eyes and biceps the size of… stoppit, brain!  “And I read online that loc-samurai-ponytail he’s got is a traditional hairstyle for Hamadryad sailors.  Traditional as in pre-contact.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Skylar conceded.  “But I don’t see any boats around here.”  “Here” was a spot of open meadow on the edge of the forest.  “And people in India used the swastika as a religious symbol for centuries before the Nazis got ahold of it.  That doesn’t mean it’s right for them to use it nowadays.”

“Do you even listen to yourself?” Dio asked, and then turned her attention back to her brochure from the Misty Mountains Park Service before Skylar could answer.

“All right, everyone!” Ms. Yuki called out.  “Put on your bug repellant, it’s midge season.  You don’t have to worry about getting space malaria or space yellow fever, but the itching isn’t fun.  Alex, Katie, Skylar, get some sun protection.  I know it doesn’t look that bright out, but some of those clouds are going to burn off by the afternoon, and this star puts out a little more UV than our own sun.”  Ms. Yuki herself was wearing an enormous floppy black hat that looked like something a beautiful, morally ambiguous young widow would wear to her late husband’s funeral.  “This is the last real plumbing for miles, so go pee and fill up your water bottles if you need to.”  Skylar cringed.  “And review the information about dangerous plants in your brochures.  I don’t want anybody rolling in the space poison ivy.  Everyone got that?”  The young people all nodded.  “Great!  We leave in five minutes.”

After a couple hours of walking, a snack break, and a brief musical interlude - “When You’re Evil” and “Death Death (Devil, Devil, Evil, Evil, Song)” turned out to be weirdly well-suited to wilderness singalongs, although Skylar tried to meld with the forest floor out of sheer embarrassment - the tame, parklike forest had turned to alien jungle.  The trail was still clear, and the crush of greenery was broken up by smaller game trails and the occasional fallen tree, but if Dionaea had been claustrophobic, the landscape would definitely have been getting to her.  

As it was, there was so much new stuff to see that it was hard to pick out specific subjects of interest.  Dio’s phone had a dozen new pictures of lichens and fungi alone and at least five for different kinds of mosses, never mind the big plants.  And she would have taken more if the lighting had been more consistent.

After another break to watch a wild tapir-sow and her babies cross the trail from a safe distance - because even Sam, Disney Princess that he was where animals were concerned, wasn’t about to risk spooking 500 pounds of muscle and tusks - the trees abruptly thinned out again and the hiking group found themselves looking into a little circular clearing.  Which was not uninhabited.

“-and I do think the planet is cursed,” a human voice said.  “Psychically, not physically.  Nothing practical went wrong that was out of the ordinary for operating in an alien environment, but there was a real emotional miasma over everything.  At first I thought it was just me - no sun, history of seasonal depression, you know how it goes - but Mi-go like it cold and dark and they felt it too.”  A different voice responded in a fluty alien language that Dio didn’t recognize.  

The clearing was occupied by three people sitting on a fallen log - a skinny old human lady wearing a local-style outfit accessorized with Earth-style hiking boots, aviator sunglasses, and a well-worn duster covered in grass stains; an unamused buff green person in futuristic tac gear who looked kind of like a Hamadryad and kind of like an orc; and a cross between a tropical bird, David Bowie, and a vintage shoujo manga character - plus one of the foxish-looking little indigenous dogs.  As soon as Dio stepped out from behind the trees, the little dog started barking its head off and the green person gave Dio their best “I have no problems with you - yet - but I could take you and your friends out without breaking a sweat, so don’t start none” look.  Dio nodded and held out her empty hands, which she really hoped wasn’t the equivalent of flipping someone off in space orc culture.