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tsuzuruteeth · 4 years ago

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Vil Rant: Why His Overblot was Valid

So I’ve seen a lot of not so hot takes on Vil’s overblot. Some people believe that his reason for overblot wasn’t good enough in comparison to the others. Most of the others overblotted due to some trauma from their childhood that never really got resolved to sum it up very vaguely. Vil on the other hand, it seemingly wasn’t like that. Vil’s overblot was due to envy. Pure envy.

Or was it?

It wasn’t. So as the resident Vil stan, I am going to take my time to explain why Vil’s overblot made sense and it isn’t as petty as some people think it is.

Vil himself is a very mischaracterized character, so it’s no surprise that people are not seeing the full picture.

Vil’s whole character is based on hard work. Most people would assume it’s beauty but it isn’t, at least not fully. For Vil, beauty isn’t his end goal but a tool to achieve his end goal, this is made clear in his overblot flashback. Now some people might not be convinced, but this isn’t a character analysis, so I’m not going to delve too deep into his values and why they’re his values for now.

So the reason he overblotted, for the people who take Vil at face value anyway instead of learning his motives, is because he was jealous Neige was more beautiful than him. He overblotted out of envy because he couldn’t stand being second best.

Now this isn’t wrong, but it isn’t the full picture. Too see the full thing playout I’m gonna run through a little Vil timeline with you. And “because I am so kind” and I know not everyone out there is a fan of Vil, so probably wouldn’t take the time to read his personal stories, I will stick to things mentioned in chapter 5.

So starting from Vil’s childhood. We see this part in his overblot flashback but even as a child Vil would always get villain roles and because of this he is ostracized by the other children, apart from Jack (Just as a reference this is also mentioned in his robes sr personal story). This didn’t really bother Vil much from what we saw, but it showed us that Vil was a bit more mature for his age, as being in the industry he probably had to be.

Next thing we see is how Neige always gets the main parts while Vil is always the villain. So this is where Vil’s envy of Neige starts. However, at this stage in his life it’s not about his beauty, it’s because he gets the roles Vil wants. Vil then goes on to talk about how all he wants is to be the heroine for once, yet he knows this will never happen. He is mature enough to realise that life doesn't work that way, no matter how hard you work something can never be achieved, hence his frustration begins.

So throughout Chapter 5 we can see Neige be mentioned and Vil’s vows to defeat him. He constantly asks Mira about the beauty rankings only to see Neige be number one. Which doesn’t seem such a big deal at first, until you think about how much hard work Vil puts in. Although, if you think about it, it’s still a bit petty at this stage, which is why it doesn’t cause overblot just yet. However, it does make his previous childhood frustration towards Neige grow.

Another thing that I feel I should mention quickly, is that Vil personally doesn’t really have anything against Neige himself per say, if it was someone else in Neige’s place he would be salty towards them. He really just hates the situation and circumstances, not Neige as a person.

Anyway back to the timeline. This is where it starts to go wrong. The VDC rehearsal. Vil put effort into the performance. We saw how strict he was, how dedicated he was to make sure everything was perfect. He put his all into it. He even made the song and dance himself, and played a key role in the actual performance. He made that performance to perfection. He even was number one on the search results for the word “beauty”! Only for everyone to fuss over Neige. Neige did a remix of a nursery rhyme and it is mentioned that the choreo wasn’t in sync.When Vil checked Mira again, Neige was back to number one. This is what tipped Vil over the edge.

I have seen some people claim that his actions were uncalled for and petty, because music isn’t just about being perfect, it’s for having fun and making everyone else enjoy your performance too! You don’t need to be perfect to perform well and make the audience love you! Vil should hold himself to lesser standards and realise it’s not a competition, everyone is beautiful and talented in their own way!

I see your point. I really do. But, I think you need to change your perspective a little to see what really is going on.

Put yourself in Vil’s shoes for example. Imagine you worked really hard on something, like an art project. You slaved weeks over it, making sure it was the best quality it can be. Finally you put it into a competition. Only to be beat out with a drawing that is half complete and was finished the night before. Could you manage to tell yourself to just let it go? There’s value in all art right? So shouldn’t you just be happy for the winner? It might be the right thing to do, but can you honestly say that you wouldn’t be absolutely seething inside? After all you went through? All that effort? I know for a fact I would be fuming with rage. Maybe I’m just a bad, selfish person but it's true. Although I think most people would at least be a little upset at this outcome. And Vil was.

Now you may agree with my point above, but how does that justify Vil trying to KILL Neige? That’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t. Just like Riddle, all of Vil’s views came crashing down before him the moment people started to fawn over Neige.

He always thought that hard work would get you to where you need to be, but he worked as hard as he could yet he still failed. Instead someone who hasn’t worked hard, someone who didn’t take the VDC seriously, someone who was only there for fun, beat him out. It didn’t help that he was given hope by being number one, only to have that hope snatched from him right after Neige performed. What is he supposed to do now? If he can’t beat Neige with talent, if he can’t beat Neige with hard work, how will he beat Neige? Easy. All he has to do is get rid of Neige.

So yes, trying to kill Neige was extreme, but to Vil, that was the only way he thought he could beat him.

You might be wondering why is it a competition in the first place? Simply because that’s the type of person Vil is. He doesn’t want to be second best, he’s a perfectionist so the only number that matters is being number one.

But this doesn’t cause his overblot. This isn’t the snapping point for Vil. The snapping point was him realising what he had done, what he was about to do. He was about to do something ugly. He even mentions that it doesn’t matter if everyone forgives him, he can’t forgive himself. Then, he overblots.

So, Vil’s overblot was a combination of frustration, high expectations and just all together feeling like he isn’t good enough. It’s probably the most relatable overblot so far, as I’m sure we’ve all been in a position where we’ve snapped because something seems hopeless no matter how hard we try. It’s easy to tell someone to stop holding themselves to such high standards, but as the saying goes, it’s easier said than done.

In terms of his after overblot, I don’t see Vil lessinging his normal standards, he will still try his best and make sure everyone around him does the same. He just maybe won’t compare himself to others as much.

In conclusion, Vil’s overblot wasn’t uncalled for or petty, it actually made perfect sense. Thanks for listening or should I say reading my Ted Talk.

#vil #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland neige #neige leblanche #vil schoenheit #twst vil #twst #neige #overblot #twst neige #twisted wonderland vil

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dwellordream · 4 years ago

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“Doubtless many reigns have begun amidst an atmosphere of jubilant expectation; but this beginning had an especial lustre. For the new king, accession to the throne brought deliverance from a long, probably oppressive subjection to a stern father and grandmother, and released him into the bright, cloudless warmth of gaiety, freedom and power. He stood now on the brink of manhood, suddenly clad with the full panoply of kingship. He ascended a throne which his father had made remarkably secure, he inherited a fortune which probably no English king had ever been bequeathed, he came to a kingdom which was the best governed and most obedient in Christendom. Shortly before his death, his father had granted a general pardon to his people. The new king confirmed this - in ampler form.

His father left him a body of accomplished ministers, most of whom would continue to serve him. But those two men, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, who had served Henry VII's money-gathering and law-enforcement so assiduously, and whose 'unreasonable and extort doing noble men grudged, mean men kicked, poor men lamented, preachers openly at Paul's Cross and other places exclaimed, rebuked and detested' - these would be cast aside. Within a few hours of his accession Henry had been so roused to wrath by tales of their wrong-doing that, even as he came to the Tower amidst the trumpets and rejoicing on that 23 April, the second day of his reign, they were seized and brought thither as prisoners, where they languished until their execution sixteen months later.

'Heaven and earth rejoices; everything is full of milk and honey and nectar. Avarice has fled the country. Our king is not after gold, or gems, or precious metals, but virtue, glory, immortality.' So wrote Lord Mountjoy to Erasmus in a celebrated, and, as it proved, somewhat inaccurate, outburst of enthusiasm. There had come to the throne the very perfection of Christian kingship - gracious, gifted and enlightened - and with his coming, it seemed, bleak days must give way to bounteous prosperity. The new king quickly married; and, after all, he married Catherine. He himself said that he did so in obedience to his father's dying wish, but it may well be that his story of Henry VII's deathbed change of heart was invented shortly afterwards to placate the Habsburgs whose daughter, Eleanor, had just been jilted.

Fuensalida believed that it was the young king himself who brought about the change of plan, and this may be the truth. Five days after Henry VII died, the ambassador was still convinced that Catherine's cause was lost and quoted two members of the Council to the effect that the dying king had assured his son that he was free to marry whomsoever he chose. Then the situation changed radically. Fuensalida was suddenly called before the Council and, to his astonishment, not only assured of the king's fervent goodwill towards the princess, but told by the bishop of Durham, Thomas Ruthal, who had at that moment emerged from a meeting with Henry in a nearby room, that such matters as Catherine's dowry were trifles and that the king looked to him to settle quickly all the details concerning the marriage; whereupon he withdrew in some bewilderment and set about recovering the possessions of the princess which he had already begun to transfer to Bruges.'

Six weeks later, on 11 June, the marriage between Henry and Catherine was solemnized in the Franciscan church at Greenwich. A little while before there had been some talk of a possible scruple about his marrying his dead brother's widow, and many years later Bishop Fox recalled that the archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham, had disapproved of the union, apparently because he doubted the sufficiency or validity of the now six year-old bull of dispensation - though on what ground he did so we are not told. Warham's qualms were to be of consequence nearly two decades hence when the lawfulness of this marriage became a matter of impassioned debate; but for the moment any doubts there may have been were brushed aside as a proud king undid the protest he had made at his father's command three years before and finally (and freely) ratified his union with a princess who, though five years his senior, was probably still beautiful and certainly of a quality of mind and life which few queens have seriously rivalled.

At least outwardly, her husband was, and had been since childhood, immensely striking. Ten years before, Erasmus had strolled over to Eltham in the company of Thomas More to meet the royal children and been much impressed by the grace and poise of the eight year-old Duke Henry. By the time he came to the throne he had burgeoned into a full-blooded seventeen year-old, upon whom Nature had showered apparently every gift. 'His majesty', wrote a dazzled Venetian shortly after the new reign began, 'is the handsomest potentate I ever set eyes on.' He was tall and splendidly built, with glowing auburn hair 'combed short and straight in the French fashion' and a pink round face so delicately cut 'that it would become a pretty woman'.'

He was 'extremely handsome. Nature could not have done more for him,' one said a few years later, in 1519. 'He is much handsomer than any sovereign in Christendom; a great deal handsomer than the king of France, very fair and his whole frame admirably proportioned.' His was a superlative body. He was a capital horseman who could stay in the saddle for hour after hour and tire out eight or ten horses; he exulted in hawking, wrestling and dancing; he excelled at tennis, 'at which game it is the prettiest thing in the world to see him play, his fair skin glowing through a shirt of the finest texture'. He could throw a twelve-foot spear many yards, withstand all-comers in mock combat with heavy, two-handed swords, draw the bow with greater strength than any man in England.

In July 1513, while at Calais on his first campaign, he practised archery with the archers of his guard and 'cleft the mark in the middle and surpassed them all, as he surpasses them in stature and personal graces'. Above all, he delighted in prowess in the ring and at the barrier, the sovereign sport of princes. Through the summer of 1508 the prince of Wales, still only just seventeen, had hurled his keen, tireless body into the fury of the tournament and excelled all his opponents, and his accession to the throne would inaugurate a festival of apparently endless jousting and tilting, at which the king ever carried away the prizes.

When Erasmus first met him on that day in 1499 - standing with his sisters Margaret and Mary and his infant brother Edmund, soon to die - he 'sent me a little note, while we were at dinner, to challenge something from my pen'; whereupon Erasmus, unable to perform extempore, spent three anxious days composing an ode entitled 'A Description of Britain, King Henry VII and the King's Children' and a eulogy of Skelton (who had doubtless been the true author of the boy's message), to which he added some odds and ends scraped together from the bottom of his trunk to form a literary nosegay worthy of the young duke.'

Seven years later Erasmus wrote to Henry and received so accomplished a reply that he was convinced that someone else had had a large hand in its composition. But Lord Mountjoy, his patient patron, showed him a number of letters from the prince to various people in which there were so many signs of corrections and additions that Erasmus was forced to abandon his scepticism. Presumably Skelton and Hone pushed Henry's pen to paper, for in later life Henry was never an industrious letter-writer - except during those months twenty years or so later when romantic passion got the better of sluggishness and drew from him some rather heavy sighings for his absent beloved, Anne Boleyn. But Henry was undoubtedly a precocious, nimble-minded pupil.

He knew Latin and French and some Italian. He is said to have acquired some Spanish, and about 1519 had a sufficient (if passing) interest in Greek to receive instruction in this fashionable language from Richard Croke, a minor English humanist who had hitherto been at Paris, Louvain, Cologne and Leipzig, and was now to teach at Cambridge. His grasp of theology may have been less assured than he supposed, but it was remarkable for a king; he showed himself an apt student of mathematics; and it was his custom to take Thomas More 'into his private room, and there some time in matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity and such other faculties, and some time in his worldly affairs, to sit and confer with him, and other whiles would he in the night have him up into the leads [i.e. the roof] there to consider with him the diversities, courses, motions and operations of the stars and planets'.

Above all he was a gifted, enthusiastic musician. He had music wherever he went, on progress, on campaign. He scoured England for singing boys and men for the chapels royal, and even stole talent from Wolsey's choir, of which he was evidently jealous. Sacred music in the Renaissance style - the work of Benedict de Opitiis and Richard Sampson, later bishop of Chichester - was introduced into the royal chapel in 1516 and sung by a choir judged by an Italian visitor to be 'more divine than human'; and between 1518 and 1528 the king acquired a collection of French and Netherlandish music. Henry had many foreign musicians at court, like the violist Ambrose Lupo, the lutenist Philip van Wilder from the Netherlands, as well as trumpeters, flautists and two Italian organists, de Opitiis and the famous Dionisio Memo, organist of St Mark's, Venice, who was lured to England in 1516 and would sometimes perform for four hours at a stretch before the king and court.

There were twenty-six lutes in Henry's collection of instruments, together with trumpets, viols, rebecs, sackbuts, fifes and drums, harpsichords and organs. The king himself played the lute well; he could manage the organ and was skilled on the virginals (which perhaps John Heywood, his virginalist, taught him). He had a strong, sure voice, could sight-read easily, and delighted to sing with a courtier like Sir Peter Carew 'certain songs they called "freeman's songs", as "By the banks as I lay" and "As I walked the wood so wild" '. His court was a generous patron to composers, headed by the great Dr Fairfax, if not Henry himself - for the king wrote at least two five-part Masses, a motet, a large number of instrumental pieces, part songs and rounds. 'Pastime with good company', 'Helas, madam' and perhaps 'Gentle prince' are his work; so too the motet 'O Lord, the maker of all thing' - no mean achievement for a monarch.

Henry has traditional.ly been seen, alongside James IV of Scotland or the colourful, versatile Emperor Maximilian I, as the archetype of resplendent Renaissance monarchy; and the praise which Erasmus and other humanists heaped upon the zeal for learning and the arts of this king who had been so generously endowed in mind and body seemed to justify this picture of him. But, though Erasmus could speak stern words about monarchy and wealth, he was a shameless flatterer of kings and the wealthy, and we should treat his outpourings with caution. If anything, Henry was the last of the troubadours and the heir of Burgundian chivalry: a youth wholly absorbed in dance and song, courtly love and knight-errantry.

He was to grow into a rumbustious, noisy, unbuttoned, prodigal man - the 'bluff king Hal' of legend - exulting in his magnificent physique, boisterous animal exercise, orgies of gambling and eating, lavish clothes. 'His fingers were one mass of jewelled rings and around his neck he wore a gold collar from which hung a diamond as big as a walnut', wrote the Venetian ambassador, Giustinian, of him. He loved to dress up and his wardrobe, ablaze with jewels of all description and cloth of gold, rich silks, sarcenets, satins and highly-coloured feathers, constantly astounded beholders. He was a man who lived with huge, extroverted ebullience, at least in the earlier part of his life, revelling in spectacular living, throwing away money amidst his courtiers on cards, tennis and dicing, dazzling his kingdom.

Many readers will have their chosen picture of him - Henry, cock-sure and truculent, astride one of Holbein's canvases; Henry, dressed in dazzling richness and with a huge gold whistle, crusted with jewels, hanging from a gold chain, dining with his queen aboard Henry Grace a Dieu on the occasion of its launching; Henry walking up and down More's garden at Chelsea for an hour with his arm round More's neck;' Henry showing the Venetian ambassador his fine calf and demanding to know whether it was not a finer one than the French king boasted; Henry, at Hunsdon, over twenty years later, holding his precious son Edward in his arms and bringing him proudly to a window 'to the sight and great comfort of all the people'.

He was a formidable, captivating man who wore regality with splendid conviction. But easily and unpredictably his great charm could turn into anger and shouting. When (as was alleged) he hit Thomas Cromwell round the head and swore at him, or addressed a lord chancellor (Wriothesley) as 'my pig',' his mood may have been amiable enough, but More knew that the master who put his arm lovingly round his neck would have his head if it 'could win him a castle in France'. He was highly-strung and unstable; hypochondriac and possessed of a strong streak of cruelty. Possibly he had an Oedipus complex: and possibly from this derived a desire for, yet horror of, incest, which may have shaped some of his sexual life.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The New King.” in Henry VIII

#henry viii of england #tudor #history #j.j. scarisbrick #jj just had to throw that freudian psych in there

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willow-salix · 4 years ago

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FabFiveFeb Alan!

Finally got this bugger edited, so here it is, my offering for Alan week of @gumnut-logic FabFiveFeb. Once again I’ve written what my daughter plotted with a few of my own tweaks thrown in.

“Is there really nothing else to do around here?” Alan whispered to Selene, jolting her awake from the sleepy doze she was enjoying stretched out on a sun lounger. “How can you just lay around here all day?”

“Like you don’t do the same every day at home?” she grumbled, stretching out in an effort to wake up. She'd never admit it, but she was getting a bit bored with having nothing to do, hence the impromptu nap time.

“That’s different, I’ve got things there to do.”

“You mean you have technology?” Selene grinned evilly. “Whereas here it’s-”

“Like I’ve gone back in time to 2015 and the graphics suck, " he groaned.

“Come on, it’s not that bad, don’t you like the peace and quiet?” Selene’s family home was indeed very quiet, set apart from the other houses on the street, it backed out into a small but flower filled garden that held nothing but the sun loungers they were currently occupying, the picnic table their drinks were on, a slightly rusted BBQ, some yoga mats and a bird bath in the shape of a frog on a lily pad.

Alan looked towards Selene's cool, but rather weird, younger brother who was currently doing some kind of yoga crossed with Tai Chi that seemed to have a little of that 1970’s disco type of dancing thrown in for good measure.

“Adam, help me,” he begged, trying to invoke the bro code.

“Chill out, little dude, it’s all good," Adam said, his sleepy tone the perfect accompaniment to his snail like movements.

“Nothing about this is good,” Alan huffed, feeling dismissed and beyond frustrated. He was seriously regretting offering to go with her for a visit under the mistaken belief that time spent away from his brothers with his cool sister-in-law would be awesome. But no, he’d been stuck there for three days and they’d done nothing but talk about boring things that he couldn’t really join in with because he didn’t share the same memories that they did and watch TV in the evenings. The only positive thing was the quality of the food on offer.

“How did you grow up like this and not die of boredom?”

“We made our own fun, we’d read, draw, do arts and crafts, go on days out and-”

“Days out? Where did you go?” Alan jumped on that information like John on a double cheeseburger after a month in space.

Selene thought about it for a moment or two. “The seaside?” she offered. "That was always our favourite place to go and somewhere we always looked forward to, a rare treat really."

“The beach? Yes! Can we go?” he gave her his best pleading puppy eyes and she was, as he well knew, powerless to resist.

“Well…” she dithered, caught between spending time in her family home with her mum as it came up to what would have been her parents 30th wedding anniversary and the need to do more than sit around and mope, especially if that moping meant that her littlest love had a crap time. “Ad’s, are you up for a road trip to Southend?”

Her brother paused in his Night Fevering to look at her. He seemed to think about it for far longer than was necessary before nodding.

“I could go for that. Wanna take my car?”

***

“I’m never getting in a car with your brother again,” Alan shuddered, still looking a little stressed out by the whole experience.

“Yet you’ll get in a jet with Scott?”

“Scott goes faster than 25 mph and he knows what road signs are,” Alan explained in the same tone that John adopted whenever he was explaining to her why she actually needed an investment portfolio.

“Road signs are all part of the conspiracy, man, they just want you to follow blindly and never question where they are sending you.”

“To the beach, they were sending us to the beach,” Alan continued to bitch. Selene couldn’t blame him, two hours in a car with her brother's sitar music, cloud of vape smoke and tendency to lose track of their destination was enough to make anyone a little antsy. Maybe now he'd stop complaining when she took too long to fly them to her flat.

They left the car park and headed towards the seafront. Thankfully, with it being a weekday and term time, there weren't too many people about. As always the sea was a dirty grey colour, nothing like the clear blue they were used to on the island and Selene could tell that Alan was looking at it with thinly veiled disgust.

Southend had been promoted to a historic seaside town back in 2038 and hadn’t changed since. The lights of the out of date arcades still flashed in welcome, drawing Alan’s attention almost immediately, the little beach huts still offered deck chair rental and the amusement park with its clanking, clunking kiddy rides and its ancient roller-coaster still drew some crowds.

“See that there?” she pointed out towards the sea. “That’s still the longest pleasure pier in the world.”

“Pleasure Pier? Did you have to make that sound so dirty?” Alan groaned.

“Sorry, but that’s what it’s called, there are different classifications and one that has no purpose but for leisure activities like this one, is known as a pleasure pier.”

“I didn't know that, but it still doesn’t make it any better,” he muttered as she slipped one arm through his and the other through Adam’s to tow them across the road.

The air was filled with a mixture of freshly fried donuts, fish and chips and the unmistakable scent of the sea and Selene was immediately hungry.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve been here,” she sighed happily, relaxing into the atmosphere of what had once been one of her favourite places in the world. She could vividly remember how exciting it had been to hear the announcement that they were going to the seaside for the day. That meant an afternoon spent playing on the beach, splashing in the sea, eating dinner out of a paper tray with a little wooden fork and, if you were really lucky, a trip around the sealife center and a floaty helium filled balloon to take home with you.

Looking out down the length of the beach she easily conjured up images of childhood days gone by, seeing her father chasing Adam down the beach as he attempted to make a break for freedom or tried to eat a clump of seaweed while her mother screeched at Rufus to run faster and catch him.

Maybe coming here had been a good idea in other ways too, she pondered. Her mother tended to favour being miserable if it was an option, and often when it wasn't, and had been mooching around the house sighing like she was a Victorian ghost haunting the place. She’d gone out to visit friends for the day, leaving them alone and that had been when Alan had seized his chance. And Selene for one was glad he had, he was always good at sensing when she was in need of cheering up and this time had been no exception.

“Can we start at the arcades?” Alan asked, looking more excited than he had in days. Who was she to disappoint him?

“Sure, lead the way!”

***

Two hours later and Selene had finally dragged her brothers away from the bleepy, shiny, flashy machines and back into the fresh air. Alan, it transpired, was almost as good on a claw machine as John and she was now lugging along a whole new family of stuffed toys, all slightly moth eaten and smelling a little suspect but cute nonetheless.

“I’m hungry,” Alan announced.

“Good call, little dude.” Adam, surprising Alan no end, had joined in rather enthusiastically at the arcade, being more active and alert than he’d ever seen him before, displaying a competitive streak that rivaled a Tracy's. But, now that the excitement of gaming had died down, he was back to his chilled and slightly lethargic self.

“Fancy some donuts?” Selene suggested.

“Sis…” Adam drawled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Selene giggled, shoving the stuffed toys into her brother’s arms as she headed to the donut stalls. “I'll get them, you two meet me on the beach.”

Her arms now free of their burden Selene quickly ordered three dozen of the delectable little morsels, something the English called Dinky Donuts, small little ring donuts, freshly fried and drenched in a sprinkling of sugar. Knowing that they’d need them she bought some drinks too and took her bounty back to the boys, proudly displaying her prize.

“I got them!” she yodeled, but no excited sounds were heard in return. “What’s up?” she asked, nudging Alan as she reached his side.

“What the heck is this?”

“The beach, duh. What else could it be?"

He scuffed a toe into the stones at his feet. “This is not a beach, this is all stones. Where's the sand?”

“It’s a pebble beach, most of the British coast is,” she shrugged.

“It’s wrong.”

“If you say so,” she wasn’t in the mood to argue or defend the virtue of their beaches, she had hot donuts to eat.

“This is not a beach, there’s no surfers, no sand, no lifeguards, no nothing.”

“This is England, we take things at a more chilled pace,” she soothed, dumping a bag on each of the boys' laps.

She took her own and opened it, inhaling the rich scent. Oooh yeah, that hit the spot. She reached in to pluck one out, studying it from all angles, marveling at it's perfection. She lifted it to her mouth prepared for the taste explosion that was about to assault her mouth in the very best of ways…

“Sel!” A sharp Alan elbow embedded itself in her side, making her drop the donut. She watched in horror as it hit the pebbles and rolled away.

“You had better have a good reason for making me sacrifice a donut,” she warned him.

“Over there!”

Selene turned, following the direction in which Alan was pointing.

“What? I don’t see anything?” All she saw was the relatively empty beach, nothing but a few seagulls pecking around hopefully, one coming close enough to snag her lost donut, racing off in triumph with it in its mouth.

“Them,” he pointed again.

“Them? What about them?” The them in question turned out to be a small group of school age boys, the oldest no more than ten years old. They were all holding a number of balloons from the pier, which were bobbing along above their heads and looked perfectly innocent. “They’re just having a day out, could be an inset day or something at school.”

“No, look what that one's holding,” Alan insisted, nodding towards the oldest looking boy who was carrying a small box with holes in it.

Selene squinted closer. “Is that an animal box?” She was amazed that Alan had even noticed such a thing, she hadn’t looked twice at the boys, just seeing a happy group of friends at the seaside on a rare day off school. Alan always seemed like he was paying little attention to anything, more absorbed in his games or phone, but here was the undeniable proof that he was just as good as his brothers and had inherited their danger seeking sense.

“Looks that way,” Alan agreed.

“It could be innocent,” Selene argued lamely. “Maybe they are just taking their pet on a day out too?"

“Sure, that’s what it’ll be,” Alan said, rolling his eyes.

“Honestly, it’s something I’d do,” she retorted, feeling the need to defend herself and her wish to believe that there was good in everyone.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Alan decided, finally reaching into his own bag for a donut.

As was usually the case, Selene was easily distracted by talking to her brother and just enjoying the novelty of being in a different place to one she was used to. She’d finally grown accustomed to hearing the sound of the ocean at all times of the day and night after so long in a city where traffic was the only ambient noise. b

But here the sound was different to the island, here the waves lapped gently over the pebbles rather than crashing against rocks and she was surprised that she could tell the difference.

She’d worried, when Alan had suggested going out, that this little beach from her childhood which stood out so bright and shiny in her memories, would look pale and dull in reality. Life was often that way, your memories and imagination creating a perfect picture that was rarely obtainable in the real world and she didn't want her memories tainted by the truth. Thankfully she had been worried over nothing and was finding it just as charming as she had remembered it to be.

“Not bad are they?” she asked, turning to Alan to see how he was enjoying his donut feast but the space next to her was empty.

“Allie?” she called, looking around like he might suddenly pop out of nowhere. Surely she hadn't ignored him for too long?

“Alan!” she yelled, trying again. He was a big boy now, an adult in his own right, but she got just as panicked when she lost Scott, which was actually easier if you could believe that. Alan was usually happy to hang near her and chill, Scott was always dashing off to look at something or other and would just vanish into the ether without a second thought.

“Ad’s, have you seen Alan?”

“Yeah, little dude, cool shirt, strange hair.”

“Thanks for that lovely description. I meant did you see where he went?”

Adam nodded, pointing further down the beach to where the small group of school boys stood, Alan beside them, waving his arms violently, clearly yelling at them though she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Shit!” Selene was up in a second, grabbing Adam's arm and towing him along in the process, forcing him to abandon his stuffed animal squad to the mercy of the seagulls as they barreled down the beach after Alan.

"Al," she panted, finally catching up, "what…doing?"

In answer the small box that the boy had been carrying was thrust into her hands, a disgruntled rustling noise along with a manic scrabbling, coming from inside.

"Oi! Give that back!" a boy yelled, his piggy nose turned up to the sky in indignation. "We 'ad ta catch that thing ourselves. Ain't no way you're gonna snatch it."

"You're not getting it back," Alan insisted, his arms folded as he firmly stood his ground.

Selene passed the box on to Adam who was standing there doing absolutely nothing to help, his attention on the balloons floating above them. Once her hands were free she immediately flanked her little brother, knowing that he wouldn't be doing this without a very good reason.

"What's going on?" she demanded to know, her hands on her hips. "What are you boys up to?"

"This idiot won't give us it back," the oldest boy and apparently the mouthpiece of the little hoodlum brigade, continued to yell. Selene had seen boys like him before, usually ones with overly aggressive parents that taught their kids that you got what you wanted in life by being obnoxious, rude and threatening. Well not on her watch and apparently not on Alan's either.

"You're right , I won't," Alan agreed. "Because that is a living creature that you were about to tie to a bunch of balloons."

"Weren't doin' nothin' of the sort. Yer lyin'."

"You were what?" Selene hissed, her attention fully engaged now that there was the potential for injury of an animal. "You were going to send an innocent animal into the sky on the end of some balloons?"

"Nah, we weren't," the little bully boy continued to argue, elbowing one of his friends when they opened their mouth to speak.

"We ain't doing nothin' wrong, were we lads? Nothin' at all. Just a little experiment for school, jus' like teacher said."

"Experiment? What kind of experiment?" Selene asked, narrowing her eyes in warning.

"Why should we tell you?" the mouthy one sneered. "You ain't nothin'."

"We were just seeing if he could reach space, like. Teacher said that people would send monkeys up in rockets a hundred years ago," another boy piped up, sounding pleased with himself. "Figured we'd try the same out ta sea like a note in a bottle."

"You are so not doing that!" Selene yelped.

"Yeah, 'ow you gonna stop us?"

"You wanna say that to the police?" Alan threatened.

"Police? Yeah righ', like yer gonna jus' call up the police like they actually care. An' then wot, 'ave em come running on the say so of a nobody? Fer this? I don't think so, mate. They don't give a crap."

"Listen up you little shit," Selene started, rapidly losing patience. "You're not getting that…Whatever that is-"

"Rat," one of the kids helpfully offered.

"Rat," Selene continued with a little shudder of horror at the fact that they had gone to all the trouble of capturing a dirty rat off the street just to do something cruel to it. "You're not getting it back and you're not going to hurt it. What's wrong with you all?"

"He's been to space," Adam suddenly piped up, like he was only just catching up to the conversation but still missing the main point, pointing at Alan helpfully.

"Space, yeah right," another of the boys, a weedy looking string bean that had previously been hiding near the back of the pack, looking at Alan judgingly. None of the boys looked particularly bothered by their threats or the fact that Selene was practically spitting, she was so angry.

"Al," she demanded, determined to win the little shits respect. "Show them that clip you took last Saturday, the one on your board."

"We can all board, you ain't nothing special," the mouthpiece sneered, not impressed in the slightest.

Alan pulled out his phone, fiddled with it for a second then showed them the screen where a video was playing, taken from his vlogging drone as he boogied around outside Five on his astroboard. The dark heavens were clearly visible all around him while the earth spun quietly below, and there, if you looked closely, was John, in the background, sitting on the outside of the gravity ring, clearly doing all the work while Alan filmed for Brandon’s channel. The Alan on screen zoomed in a loop the loop, the drone following, the camera angle changing to show Three securely docked to Five.

“That actually is space!” one kid gasped.

“And that’s...that’s…” another stuttered.

“Thunderbird THREE!” someone screamed in excitement.

“Still think I’m a nobody that the police won’t listen to?” Alan asked casually as he pocketed his phone. "Maybe I should skip the police and go straight to the GDF? What do you think, Sel?"

"Yep, sounds like a plan to me. They take animal cruelty very seriously, you know."

The ring leader visibly deflated before their eyes, but he valiantly tried to hold on to his ‘couldn’t give a shit’ attitude.

“So you know some people, what’s that got ta do with anythin’? You ain’t the boss here.”

“Knock it off, Wendle, it’s over,” one boy ordered, rolling his eyes.

"Wendle?" Alan mouthed to Selene who shrugged in return. Never had a kid looked less like a Wendle in the entire world.

“Yeah, I never wanted to do this in the first place,” another joined in.

The first one to have spoken walked away, followed by another, then the other that had spoken. Others trailing after them until the small group had dispersed as if it had never existed, all of them hurrying off down the beach with calls for getting donuts or having to head home.

Wendle managed to stand his ground for less than a minute before he gave in.

“Keep the stupid rat then!” he yelled, taking off after his friends.

Adam, being Adam, waved goodbye like it was the most normal thing in the world, still holding the rat filled box.

Alan let out the breath he’d been holding, visibly shaking, either from anger or adrenaline. He had never been one for confrontation no matter what form it took or who it involved.

“You did good, babe,” Selene praised, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, good, little dude,” Adam agreed, “here, have this, I insist,” he handed him the box with the rat in it like it was some great prize.

“Erm, thanks,” Alan said, gingerly accepting the box of rat, which rustled as the creature inside shifted around. He held the box for a second, looking completely bemused and a little disgusted, suddenly having a very real feeling of compassion for John when he walked in on Selene and Scott doing something weird.

“What are we going to do with the rat?” he finally asked Selene, who was the only one there since Adam had wandered off to rescue the stuffed animals they had abandoned, snatching up Alan’s dropped bag of donuts and picking one out to munch on.

“I don’t know,” Selene admitted, “I guess we should take it somewhere to release it. Not around here though, maybe back at Mum’s.”

“I guess,” Alan reluctantly agreed, not liking the idea of sitting in a car with a wild rat in a box.

Since they had gained another tag along, even if it was in a box, they decided to cut the day short, knowing they couldn't drag the rat around with them all day. It had clearly suffered enough, what with being caught and stuffed in a box and having survived a narrow brush with death. It would be better for them to take it straight home and let it go in the relative safety of the garden before it got even more stressed out.

"I'll drive," Selene insisted, leaving Alan to hold the rat in the back seats, Adam calling shotgun so he could 'pick the tunes, man'.

With Selene in the driving seat it was a far shorter, not to mention less frustrating, journey back to Casa de Tempest.

To Selene's intense relief their mother was still out when they got back. She would have pitched a fit if she'd seen them releasing a rat into her garden, she'd never go out there again.

Adam wandered off the second they got home, muttering something about a tofu log, leaving them alone to release the beast.

"You can do the honours," Selene smiled, nodding at the box he still held. "Since you were the one to perform the daring rescue. Seriously, you did good today, sweetheart, but I'm really starting to think that I need to stop taking a Tracy with me whenever I go places, you're all the same, nothing but trouble."

Alan blushed at the praise, as always finding it slightly uncomfortable to be the center of attention in such a way, but still happy to get the validation that he'd done the right thing. With so many big brothers who had all been there and done that before he had a lot to live up to and often felt like he couldn't quite match up to them.

Taking the box over to the bushes near the fence where Selene had indicated, he opened the flaps and stepped back to give the little guy some room.

The rat didn't move at first, staying inside the box, obviously scared by its experiences. They stayed quiet, giving it time to make up its mind. Finally they saw the box wobble as the rat made its tentative way out.

"Shit!" Selene yelped, launching herself off her seat so fast Alan barely saw her move.

"Sel, what are you…doing," he finished, stunned to see her hit the ground, the rat cradled protectively against her chest.

"Help me up," she wheezed and he did as she bid, helping her to her feet as her hands were occupied.

"What's wrong? Why did you catch it?"

"Allie, look," she carefully opened her hands, just a little. A small, pink nose poked out, followed by a pure white snout, a grey face and perfect pink petal ears.

"Is that…?"

"A domestic rat, yes. This was either someone's pet or it's come from a store. We can't let him go, he'll never survive in the wild."

"Wow, he's so cute. Can I hold him? He won't bite me will he?"

"I don't know, he seems tame enough but he's had a fright today so I can't promise anything." She carefully placed the rat in Alan's outstretched hands.

The rat, far from looking terrified, seemed to be perfectly fine now it was out of the box. It sat down on its haunches and began to wash its face with its little paws, one grey, one white.

"Aww, he's great," Alan cooed, cupping the rat in one hand so he could stroke it gently with the other. "I've always wanted a pet."

Selene sighed, knowing exactly what was coming next, there was no escaping it, it was going to happen…

"Can I keep him?"

***

"We gotta move fast," Selene instructed. "I've got the cage and the bedding. Have you got the food?"

"Yep," Alan held up the bag with the food, treats and water bottle they had purchased on their way home. The rat was curled up in his new travel bag, which was hanging from Alan's shoulder.

"Right, we make a break for it, we go straight to your room, don't look back no matter what happens and avoid John and Scott at all costs. Got it?"

"Got it," he nodded, grinning happily.

"They're gonna kill me," she sighed, not that there was much she could do about it. "OK, let's go!"

They raced up the back stairs from the hangars, straight to the upper floors of the villa where the bedrooms were situated, bypassing the more populated communal areas and managing to avoid any and all Tracys.

They dived into Alan's room, Selene struggling a little, burdened as she was with a three storey cage. Alan cleared a space on his desk and took the cage from her.

While Alan set up the cage, filling it with fresh bedding and tasty foods, Selene made herself at home on Alan's bed, the rat happily perched on her chest, enjoying an ear fondle.

"I didn't know you were back," a voice called from the hallway, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

Selene and Alan both jumped, their heads turning guilty towards the door they had neglected to shut where a suspicious looking spaceman stood.

"Hey, gorgeous husband of mine, I've missed you!" Selene chirped, trying to divert his attention as she quickly grabbed the rat and stuffed it in the pocket of the hoodie she'd stolen from Adam.

John gave her a look that said he'd seen everything.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" she answered, trying to look innocent.

"That tail sticking out of your pocket."

"Tail? What tail?" she poked the tail gently back inside.

"Why does Alan have a cage on his desk that he's trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to hide by standing in front of it?"

"To put Gordon in?"

One sleek ginger eyebrow rose and they both knew they were wasting their time. They were well and truly busted.

Alan held out his hand and Selene passed over the rat, who was none the worse for its impromptu expedition into the depths of her pocket. It sat quietly in his hands, happily nibbling on a piece of cereal bar that had already been occupying his hiding place.

"Where did that come from?" John's foot tapped out a rhythm as he waited for them to spill the beans, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded.

"Have I told you how hot you look when you're all grumpy and intense like this?" Selene tried.

"Where did you get the rat?" he repeated ignoring her blatant attempts at distraction.

"The beach," Alan admitted, caving immediately under the big bro gaze.

"The beach?"

"Yep," Alan looked at Selene for backup, cradling the rat who didn't seem to care about any of the drama he was causing.

"Some boys had him in a box and they were going to tie it to some balloons and let it go but Alan spotted them and stopped them," she explained.

John glanced at the rat, who was looking very adorable and fat.

Ever the master of managing her husband, Selene got to her feet and crossed the room to wrap her arms around John's middle.

"Alan was great, he sprung into action before I even knew what was going on. He rescued him, and really, isn't that what International Rescue does? Rescue people?"

"That's not a person, that's a rat," John argued, but she could tell he was weakening.

"Did I mention that I missed you?" she grinned, standing on tiptoes to place a little kiss on his chin.

John's sigh of surrender was epic.

"I'm banning you from ever leaving the house again with any of my brothers. What next, a dolphin with Gordon?

"No, don't be silly. We couldn't bring a dolphin home in my car."

John rolled his eyes ignoring his wife to face his brother.

"Does that thing have a name?"

"Yep," Alan answered, grinning proudly as he moved closer, holding the rat out for inspection.

"John, meet Fuzz Aldrin."

#alan tracy #selene tempest #adam tempest #John Tracy #fabfivefeb #seaside #day out #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction

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mysticsparklewings · 4 years ago

Photo

Unidentified Feline Objects

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What are those things? 🙀👽

UFOs—Unidentified Feline Objects 🛸 Also known as some little alien cats from my backlog. 😆 I dreamt them up for fun and to practice some more with acrylic paint pens. They’re not super special, but I like them. 🎨😺

⭐️ Like My Art and Want to see more of it? Here's All My Links! ⭐️

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If you've been paying attention, Sparklers, you may recognize these extra-purr-estrials from this little update I post back in April. If you've been paying extra close attention, you may also remember I mentioned this drawing is, out here in the real world, on the front side of The One For Me. 😉 For the sake of simplicity, I'm going to just call them "alien" or "space" cats even though they do have names (Sardonyx and Tourmaline). But these cuties were "born" shall we say out of just a genuine desire to make...well, just that really. Some little alien cats that could be strange colors and have three eyes. I'm not really sure where the impulse came from, but wherever it was, it emerged right around the time I'd also picked up a cheap set of acrylic paint pens made by FineLife (In March, if you can believe that!). I already had one sketch of just the pink alien cat (Sardonyx) that I'd used to develop the design, but when I realized it might translate well into the lineless style that I think suits Acrylic Paint Pens well, that's when I had the idea for almost exactly the image you see here. I busted out a thumbnail sketch at about half this size just to get the general positioning and stuff down, and then I did as I exclusively do with acrylic pens and started sketching right on the "final" paper. I've said it before and I'll definitely say it again, that is one very convenient perk of this medium. What is not a convenient perk of this medium I've also mentioned before is how acrylic pens and gouache don't mix, but I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. 🙃 Fortunately for me, I'm getting to a point where drawing cats is relatively easy for me, and I did mention I'd already figured out the "alien" additions I wanted to make beforehand, so sketching went fairly quickly. The thing that took the most time there was just figuring out how I wanted to handle the eyes, and as you can see I opted in the end for the "main" eyes to be closed and each cat's third eye to be open. There's not really a reason beyond I just thought it looked cuter this way and I wasn't sure how to draw the third eye closed. 🤷‍♀️ Then I could jump straight into the acrylic pens. This isn't really a review of the FineLife ones (hence the lack of anything saying such in the title) because I didn't actually end up using that many (the pink for the alien cat body, the black for their faces, and that luxurious purple for their bows--which were a last-minute addition solely so I could use that color!). But, I have to say it terms of quality they don't feel that different from the Ohuhu Paint Pens I tested a while ago. Their tips are the tiniest bit smaller and their paint/ink formula seems to be a bit different, but overall I didn't have any issues using them the same way and in combination with the Ohuhu ones. Haven't tried them on the wooden panels I've used the Ohuhus on yet, but I should get around to that eventually. 😉 Now, one thing I did struggle with was consistent color payoff, but that goes for both brands of pens and is partially up to me, too. Acrylic paint pens seem to always need a little warming up (after you shake them) to get going, and if you don't warm them up enough (or shake them enough) you'll run into consistency issues regardless. When you started layering the pens over anything that isn't pure white, you'll start to notice some are more transparent than others. So that means I ended up going over some areas on the cats multiple times. The shadows in particular--and the shadows on the green cat are no longer a color straight from a pen because of this. Because I had somewhat set colors in mind for the cats and the 52 or so acrylic paint pen colors I have feels oddly limiting at times, I had to more or less guess what was going to work. I actually started with this really dark green (in comparison to the mint, anyway) and then realized how much more dramatic the shading looked compared to the pink one, so I had to pivot. I tried layering the mint over the green, but that was way too subtle, so I circled back to this tealy-blue for a topper, and if I remember correctly I think I had to layer it twice. I also think somewhere in there I tried a hot pink for the shading on the pink cat, but obviously, I still had a negative reaction to how bold it was. Colors in mind aside, I really did want something that was overall soft in contrast to the dark (I don't think I settled on black right away but I don't remember) background I had planned. Speaking of that background...🤬 Some of you may remember when I posted The One For Me and said the following: "Let me make this loud and clear to save others some pain: Attempting to use Acrylic Paint Pens over Gouache is a Bad Idea. It does work, but it takes so long to make it work when other methods would be much faster and less painful, you're really better off trying something else. I don't know about oil-based paint pens since I have none at my disposal and thus can't test it, but I believe the problem with both acrylic pens and my beloved Gelly Roll Moonlights is the liquid/water in the ink formula. It appeared to partially reactivate the gouache, which causes it to stick to the pen tip, and then you're smearing the color into the color of the pen and just making kind of a big mess." I even mentioned this very drawing a few sentences later. Now, two my credit, I did try to do the background with the black acrylic pens first, but for reasons I can't fathom, both the FineLife and Ohuhu black pens just wouldn't work for more than a few strokes! I'm still baffled, as I've used them both a few times since then and not had that problem. And I truly wasn't doing anything different than how I otherwise use them. My movement speed was the same, I'd shaken and warmed them up beforehand...I just don't get it! 😵‍💫 But because of that and my bad streak of being too lazy to pull out my acrylic paints (I really need to get a more easy-access storage system/location for them so maybe that won't be such a problem...) I went with black gouache, apparently having forgotten how much the acrylic pens seemed to not like going over gouache when I tried it on an Artist Trading Card (and I will post another batch of those eventually, I just think it's best to stick to groups of ten and I've been stalled on 9 for a while now for the next group). Or I may have chalked it up to the pink pen I used on the ATC, and incorrectly thought maybe the white Ohuhu (or, since I had it now, the white FineLife) would miraculously work better. So there's your answer to why the stars in this don't look...great. 😅 The borders around the cats only look decent because...well, I could just go around them and leave the white of the paper. I did have to touch up a few spots, which wasn't fun, but it saved me a little bit of trouble anyway. Oh, and the border around the black blob? You can thank Photoshop for that. 😉 It was either that, or have a plain white background, and unfortunately for me, the edges of the blob weren't very clean with little I could do about it (considering how swimmingly the white touch-ups were already going 🙄) which means white digital border it was! 😃 I could have touched up the stars digitally, but I got carried away with just how many are there and at this point, I don't really feel like it would be worth it. And besides, if I do that, the stars will be super smooth while nothing else is...I may redo this piece digitally so everything is smooth (and the cats are proportionally identical) one day, but in the meantime, I think the lesson about gouache and paint pens not mixing is enough to warrant letting this version go up. So, I'll say it one more time to hopefully really hammer it home for me and all of you: Acrylic Paint Pens do NOT work well over Gouache! Still, at least this does mean I finally get to show the little cat creatures to you Sparklers. 😊 I know they're not really anything exceptional, but I like them, and hopefully you'll be seeing more of them in the future. 😁 Oh, right. Future. I was hoping to get another watercolor piece up before the end of the month and that's not ready yet...I'll go get back to work on that now! 👋😉

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Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings

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⭐️ Like My Art and Want to see more of it? Here's All My Links! ⭐️

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wormtrain80 · 4 years ago

Text

60+ Tarot Card Analysis Ideas

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#tarot reading #tarot card reading

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landeg · 5 years ago

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31 Days of Apex: A Retrospection

I participated in the incredible #31DaysOfApex challenge hosted on Twitter, where fans created new content for every day of July based on a one-word prompt. I’ve signed up for/started lots of similar challenges in the past but always ended up having to drop out or trail off before the end... but this time, I managed to complete something for every day of the challenge!

My only goal was to make something by each day’s deadline, and it was a really interesting exercise both in technical skill and also in my management of not only my time, but my expectations and energy. Below, I go into more detail behind each piece.

To preface; the beginning of this challenge coincided with the beginning of a new personal time-management exercise where, for 5/7 days a week, I would only go on the computer at night. Combined with the deadline, this had an interesting effect on my time management and the quality of certain pieces.

Day 1 - Memory

From the start, I wanted to use the challenge as an opportunity to do more studies and to push myself wherever possible. This was the first piece I did and I had more time to work on it, so I used it as a digital painting study. I still think it’s a strong piece and it’s probably my favourite of the month. Symbolically, this character’s backstory doesn’t match up with her own memories, so the idea is she’s missing information she can’t quite place or remember, and this both scares and comforts her.

Day 2 - Blood

Another digital painting and lighting study that didn’t work out as well as the first, mostly due to time constraints meaning I couldn’t scrap it and start again. While I don’t like how it turned out, I did learn a lot. The character on the right is a field medic, and my intent was to show the calm after a successful rescue.

Day 3 - Mercy

Some days I relied more on the humour of a piece’s concept than the skill of its execution, though I also liked how this piece turned out artistically. After two days of intense studies, though, this was very quick and easy for me to turn out as it relied on existing skills.

Day 4 - Prize

This one thankfully came together very quickly, which I credit to the two previous painting studies making it much easier to achieve what I wanted. The character is searching for the disembodied head of the man who killed her parents, who is now acting as a robot, hence the vaguely half-machine-half-human silhouette in her hand.

Day 5 - Family

Another quick, simple illustration under a time crunch. The character framed by the nameless foreground figures has no memory of herself or her family.

Day 6 - Noise

For some pieces where I was under a time crunch, I experimented in an opposite direction; instead of studies, I played loosely with different techniques/brushes/etc to see what came out. This was a lineless style I ended up employing a lot when short on time. The piece pictured here was just one of four alternate colourways, presented in a pop-art style. The character is almost always depicted with thick coverings over her ears, so I thought she might be sensitive to auditory overload. This particular piece was retweeted by the character’s voice actress!

Day 7 - Mask

More relying on humour for lack of time/a better idea. A fun experiment in colour, though.

Day 8 - Healing

Another technically “easy” piece but with a stronger concept. It was actually pretty hard to get the reflection & condensation elements balanced right. The character pictured has a narrative thread relating to an old ex he has trouble moving on from.

Day 9 - Weapon

While obviously another joke, and made to be finished quickly, it was surprisingly difficult to get the duct tape and knife to read clearly without over-cluttering the lineless image. This little ‘bot is a drone used by one of the playable characters to hack areas of the map; it’s not NORMALLY an offensive weapon. This image was promo’d in a video stream by the character’s voice actor!

Day 10 - Truth

I only had less than an hour to finish this one by the deadline, but I still tried to experiment with silhouette and colour. It was surprisingly hard to get the interior silhouette to be legible. The outer silhouette is a playable character (not easily readible unless you’re familiar with his design) and the inner silhouette is his sister, whose disappearance he is trying to investigate.

Day 11 - Shield

A fun, self-indulgent one. Had a blast simplifying the game’s characters down into little caricatures. The character in the centre has abilities related to shields and protection, so many other people were drawing him for the prompt; I wanted to try and flip it, so I picked other characters he would be friendly with, and picked a non-lethal, lighthearted setting.

Day 12 - Ruins

Short on time so did a quick lighting study. A recent game plot has changed one of the areas of the map, submerging it in water and leaving it to “ruin”.

Day 13 - Hero

Another painting study. Really didn’t like how this one turned out, but had to turn in something, and I did learn a lot in the process. If I’d had more time I probably would’ve scrapped it and started again. This characters had recently been revealed to have been manipulated by another character who used gas-based offenses, whom she admired.

Day 14 - Rest

I was going to be away from mt computer until after the deadline, so I decided to make a traditional piece. I ended up enjoying it so much I tried to take the time to do a few more traditional pieces later. This piece was sort of a comedy of errors; I had to do it while I was out, and the pen I had brought with me to ink my sketch ran out, so I had to make do with a blue ballpoint pen, and I was missing several colours of coloured pencil. I think the finished piece reflects how rushed it was, and it did’t meet my concept, but I do still like it.

Day 15 - Skull

Another quick one but I wanted to experiment with a different line style. Wanted a sort of “graffiti” effect. One of this character’s skins includes a skull-shaped mask.

Day 16 - Growth

Extremely quick play on words because I didn’t have the time to work on anything meaningful and couldn’t think of anything better!

Day 17 - Home

Another traditional piece, this time by choice and with more time. Markers. It looks extremely like some janky art school homework on 2 point perspective because it extremely is. Perspective and backgrounds are very difficult for me - they just don’t “click” - but I had a lot of fun with this one. I kept my mistakes intact because I didn’t want to edit it too much. A lot about the technical perspective is wrong, but I think I achieved the “mood” I wanted. This location is a bar owned by one of the player characters where many of the other characters are shown to meet.

Day 18 - Sky

Very happy with how this one turned out, even though there are still lots of problems. Markers again. There’s a lot I would fix next time, and I think technically it’s lacking, but there are some specific areas I feel happy to have achieved, such as the almost brushed texture of the curved metal above his shoulder and the values of the shadow/reflections on the underside of the head piece. I’m also happy with how I was able to draw from my shoulder rather than my wrist when inking the curved lines, something I struggle with.

Day 19 - Target

An experiment in pushing the lineless style I’d already been playing with for a stronger likeness. The pose and expression in this could both be pushed more but I like the result. This character had just learned that one of the other players, whom she had trusted, was actually sharing her secrets with her enemy, and she didn’t know which one it was.

Day 20 - Friendship

I had this one concepted from when I first looked over the prompts. It was a fun challenge trying to simplify all the elements into the lineless, blocky style while being legible. This character has a strained relationship with one of his friends, and finally pushed her too far with his selfishness, and she now no longer responds to him.

Day 21 - Scar

Quick joke. This character was introduced briefly as a red herring for another character before being killed off. He was stabbed through the chest by another character’s hand, hence the scar pattern.

Day 22 - Dream

I wasn’t sure about this one while I was making it but I ended up liking how it turned out. I wanted to capture the character’s robotic legs bent at an unnaturally straight 90 degrees, like a Barbie doll. The flat background and lighting make it feel like an indoor stage. The little “electric sheep” are inspired by iDogs.

Day 23 - Meal

After a few days of not having time to really spend on any piece, it was fun to get to spend time on concepting and composing this. I always admired these kinds of watercolour-like food illustrations and this is the first time I’ve had any success in creating one myself. I concepted and sketched out the individual items traditionally before working out the composition within the box digitally. Each food item/utensil is inspired by the different characters’ design elements. Only two of the now-current characters are excluded due to plot reasons. In particular, I like how one of the character’s dome-shaped shields acts as the base and cover of the box.

Day 24 - Hobby

Wasn’t a fan of how this one turned out. I think the likeness is a bit off, and his facial anatomy is skewed. But I also like how the general composition, tone, and bee turned out. This character’s concept art originally imagined them as a beekeeper who would use smoke to fight.

Day 25 - Fear

An incredibly rushed piece that I intended to go back in and add more detail to, similar to day 4, but I actually took a step back and decided I liked the blocky, flat-colour version. This character is the youngest of four, all of whom are MIA or worse, along with his father, and his mother is losing her memory. He’s talking to her through a handheld holographic device. This piece gained more traction, most likely thanks to the subject matter since this is a popular character.

Day 26 - Holiday

I didn’t want to do a religious holiday like Christmas or Easter. A lot of other people also interpreted the prompt as a vacation, but I had already done a sort of “beach vacation” piece for day 11, so I instead went for a “public holiday” and chose NYE/NYD. This was fairly quick but the lighting was an interesting experiment. I knew this one wouldn’t be as popular because it wasn’t as “flattering” but I personally really like it. The girl on the left is kind of goofy and completely un-self-conscious and I think it’s captured here.

Day 27 - Music

Really didn’t like how this one turned out. I don’t think the likeness is good at all, the lighting is poor, and the gold detailing feels lazy. But I liked other elements, such as the pose and the clothing.

Day 28 - Treasure

This is my least favourite of the entire month, but I also had the least time available to work on it before the deadline so I had no opportunity to scrap it and start over, which I sorely wanted to do. The likeness is terrible, but more than that the base anatomy is off, the pose is stiff, and the lighting/colours are cheap. I wish I could’ve done better by this character; but, I am glad I had something finished at all.

Day 29 - Skin

This was probably my third attempt at this picture and I’m still not happy with it, but again, I had to finish something. I almost considered scrapping the concept entirely and choosing something easier but ended up seeing it through. The concept itself is actually recycled from an older piece of mine for an entirely different fandom, because I didn’t think I did it justice then, either. Would still like to revisit this concept with this character and take more time.

Day 30 - Trust

After a few days of feeling really dissatisfied and uncomfortable with the art I’d been making, I finally more time to dedicate to a piece, and I’m overall happy with how this one turned out. I decided to go for a different medium entirely with pixel art, which also gave me the opportunity to try and animate it. I started off confident and then started to get worried towards the end, but all the elements came together when I added the portal colour effects. This is an alternate reality version of one of the player characters, who appears through a portal and allows that character to escape the facility she’s being kept in, encouraging them to trust the “voices” she hears which are actually versions of herself trying to help her. This piece was retweeted by the official Apex Legends Twitter account!

Day 31 - Freestyle

I had this planned out early in the challenge and I’m really, really happy with how it turned out. It’s probably tied with my favourite along with the very first piece (how fitting). I was worried about how I was going to capture the movement without over-complicating the lineart, having so many people in one image, etc. before I realised the focus was entirely on gesture, and then everything clicked. I went for a thicker brush, which forced me to conserve my lines, and tried to simplify each character down to the bare minimum needed to recognise them. They’re also all wearing new non-canonical outfits so I used their familiar colour schemes for the same purpose. It’s not perfect, but I love it, and it’s everything I’d hoped I’d be able to end the challenge on.

I really, really enjoyed the entire month and the way it tied in with my new time management schedule. It gave me some achievable short-term goals which added up to this long-term achievement I can now look back on; I learned a lot both about balancing my energy and about technical skills, I found ways to stay motivated, and most importantly I learned to not get caught up on the individual slip-ups and pieces I didn’t like as much and to instead focus on the bigger picture. Thank you to everyone involved in organising and supporting this event! I found so many other incredible fanartists, writers, and content creators through this challenge and I can’t wait to see the bonus content released over August!

#31 Days of Apex #31DaysOfApex #highlights

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whitefoxed · 5 years ago

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Little Wonders

Thread with @algrimthestrong | Written to this | Chapter 2

Algrim flashed Lise another smile, nodding encouragingly at the boy as the little one followed the elder’s lead and began to eat. Foxes, as Algrim knew, were de facto omnivores, though it was hardly a surprise to him that young Lise favoured meat over vegetables. In fact, it pleased him to see that the boy did not hide his preference, yet made an effort to add some variety to his meal. As Algrim was eating, he watched Lise carefully from across the table, hoping the familiar taste and textures would help ease the child’s fears a little.

Noticing Lise’s wandering gaze, Algrim helped himself to a second serving, eating slowly and in silence to grant his young guest an opportunity to study the room and his mentor-to-be in peace.

“I hope the food was agreeable?” Having cleared his plate at last, Algrim rose from his chair and rounded the table to stand by the seated child. When he noticed a smear of gravy near Lise’s chin, the elf reached out a hand and gently dabbed at the stain with his sleeve. “There.” He smiled down at the boy then held out his hand to help Lise hop off the chair; Algrim could feel elven magic saturating every cell of the small body, shackling him to the realm.

“Perhaps you would enjoy a nice, hot bath?” he suggested, locking his gaze with Lise’s. “And then we can get you fitted with a more appropriate attire.” He nodded towards the bed where a set of finely-tailored clothes had been laid out for Lise, a grey tunic embroidered with intricate, ornamental flourishes of silver thread at the hem, sleeves, and collar, a pair of matching cotton trousers, and soft leather slippers.

Being shy, Lise never did directly stare at Algrim but started with focusing on the minor details he previously missed in the room. Details such as the more intricate designs rather than what the furnishings were, the carvings and style of abode. Then very carefully, he peered at the elf’s white hair to the make of his dark robes, stealing glances at Algrim’s face as if he was trying to figure out the other’s age. For most part, he did so while hiding behind his pretence of drinking water.

When Algrim spoke again, Lise’s reply was as quiet and clear as a brook’s babble. “Yes, I liked it.” He answered as he watched the elder walk to his side, surprised momentarily by the dabbing before realising something must have smeared on his face. Still, Algrim’s smile was disarming and the child took his hand without hesitation, hopping off the chair onto his own two feet. Feeling heavier than he was before the meal, Lise only assumed it was because he overate, rather than magic binding him to the realm.

Innocently meeting those dark eyes, Lise nodded to the bath, before following Algrim’s line of sight to the set of new clothes on the bed. Instantly his eyes lighted up with interest, recognising its quality and beauty that would surely match himself. But a moment later, those bright eyes became blinks as a hesitant expression crossed his face. His hand in Algrim’s tensed and he turned his head to look up at the elf, tightening his little grip with the faintest, most careful tug for attention and sympathy. “Can I keep my clothes?…” They were, after all, his last belongings from home.

At Lise’s question, Algrim fell silent for long moments, his face turning pensive, sombre even, as he considered the boy’s request. With Lise having passed over into the world of the dark elves, all ties to his former life were to be severed. Memories, or the longing for a life irrevocably lost, would only hamper his assimilation into Svartalfar society. His clothes he would outgrow eventually, though Algrim understood the child’s wish to keep a memento of his old life - of the family he would have no choice but to leave behind. He could feel Lise’s wish resonate within himself, a poignant echo of his own past, and Algrim, who cherished and treasured what little material keepsakes remained of his beloved wife and dearest children, could not bring himself to deny the sweet boy’s request.

“Yes,” he told Lise, squeezing the child’s small hand softly in return, “you may keep them. But,” he added as a condition, holding up a single, slender finger, “this must remain a secret just between the two of us. Sentimentality is not something the king approves of…” For the briefest of moments, his expression wavered, the solemn look on his face slipping away to reveal but a fraction of the pain and hurt he carried within his heart before another smile, this one being flat and strained, quickly took its place.

The bathing chamber, like the rest of Algrim’s quarters, breathed subtle elegance, dark, muted colours dominating the room. Drawing a bath for young Lise was a matter of minutes, and soon a tub of hot water was waiting for the boy with the soothing scents of lavender and lilac filling the air.

“Will you be fine on your own,” Algrim asked, stepping back from the tub and motioning for Lise to come forward, “or do you require assistance?”

Apprehensively waiting for Algrim’s reply, the young pup bore with his best patience in hope of the best answer, despite the elder’s rather pessimistic expression. As fates would have it, his little hope was not disappointed, drawing out a smallest smile from the child. Algrim’s finger however, held his attention with worry, which only eased after he heard its accompanying words.

Watching the elder’s expressions change, Lise followed Algrim into the bathroom and digested what he heard thoughtfully while listening to the clear sounds of water filling the tub. Looking up at Algrim, Lise nodded and shook his head to both questions respectively as he made his way closer to the bath. “I can bathe on my own.”

Then with just a little hesitation, the boy started to undress, folding his clothes as he did so to find a nice place to put them. Somewhere, preferably within his sight. The culture he grew up with was open with bathing among their same gender, especially as a child. But with his mixed heritage, came the slight pause before. In the end, the child figured he would find out if it was appropriate or not if the elder left and proceeded to get in the tub.

Only once he was in, did he quietly speak up. “Was the man who brought me here… the king?”

Stepping back to let Lise undress, Algrim made a point of keeping his gaze fixed on the window until the boy was shoulder-deep in the water. Usually, he would have allowed him his privacy, but he thought it better to remain in the room with him in case Lise needed anything. To all appearances, the child seemed to take well to his new surroundings, though some homesickness was to be expected and would surface sooner rather than later once the full realisation sank in that there was no returning to Midgard. By accepting the food that had been offered to him, Lise had passed over into the realm of the fae, making it impossible for him to leave without their consent.

After taking a large, soft towel from its hook on the wall, Algrim pulled himself a stool to sit on. He folded the towel and placed it on his lap, ready to pass it to Lise whenever the boy was finished bathing. Lise was not the first changeling to grow up in Svartalfheim, and he would not be the last. He was, however, by far the most promising child to have ever been stolen from his parents - which was why the task of Lise’s education had fallen to Malekith’s right-hand man. While Svartalfheim’s natives preferred to fill their need for warriors and mages out of their own ranks, they were not above recruiting outsiders if they thought them a valuable addition to the realm’s forces. As a nine-tailed fox spirit, little Lise was one such addition.

“Yes, that was the king. His name is Malekith - Malekith the Accursed - and he rules over all of Svartalfheim. The Wild Hunt answers to his call. Beware, though, for he is not a merciful king,” Algrim warned, seeking to instill some healthy fear in his young charge. “I imagine you will not see much of him until you are older. He may call for you to be formally presented before the court, but aside from that you will spend most of your time studying and training with me.”

Absentmindedly, Lise started playing with the bath water, although he did so discreetly. It felt nice and warm, and the child wanted to stay in it. Looking up at the elder answering his question, relief flickered over the boy’s face when he heard he would spend most of his time with Algrim instead. The terror Malekith struck upon him by forcefully removing his glamour would not fade anytime soon.

Chewing Algrim’s words, Lise noticed the soap and only began bathing with it as he spoke again. “Is the Wild Hunt like the one on Halloween?” Lise thought the phrase was similar, shampooing his hair and rinsing with a ladle he found. “I thought fae don’t speak of names.” He continued, before pausing and looking at Algrim again, silver orbs flickering to those pointy ears. Obviously, the boy had derailed from the original topic of getting to know Svartalfheim better.

Taking his tails in hand, he carefully soaped the wet fluffy mop. By now his gaze had fallen onto the task at hand, but its lack of focus spoke of how he was lost in his thoughts. There were many different kinds of fae, and though he knew of those from western myths, he was personally more familiar with those of the east. Hence it was a little troublesome not to mix the traits and details of those he learned together, trying hard to recall what little he knew of European fae. After all, tales of the Nine came from the same region.

Algrim watched the child carefully for his reaction. Lise did not strike him as the least bit rebellious or troublesome. The boy seemed as docile as a lamb and as innocent as a newborn pup, accepting Algrim’s guidance with a readiness the elder had not expected from a child who had only recently been taken from his parents, but which pleased him all the more. Of course, there was the possibility that this would change once Lise entered the troubled waters of puberty. For the foreseeable future, though, Algrim was confident that the boy would prove to be a model pupil.

“Samhain, or Halloween as you know it, is the night when the veils between the worlds are at their thinnest and those who wander into the realm of the fae may find themselves trapped forever, never to return to the mortal world,” he explained. “Malekith is the leader of the Wild Hunt, and woe betide those who cross their path as they wreak havoc on humankind. But this need not concern you, young one. You are safe here, with me. Who knows, perhaps one day you may even join them in the hunt,” he mused.

The advisor nodded sagely when Lise pointed out that elves ought not to speak of their names. “You are right,” Algrim confirmed, astonished by Lise’s keen knowledge. “But who said the names we told you were our true names?”

Taking Lise under his care filled him with both hopeful purpose and a sense of underlying dread, for whatever happiness the boy would shine into Algrim’s heart would only last till the day on which Lise came of age and took his intended place among Malekith’s forces. But that day was still far away…

A smile took his lips as he watched Lise soap his tails. Hoping that it would amuse the child, Algrim took from a shelf a small, ornate metal container that was filled with a sparkling grey powder. He sprinkled some of it into the water, which began to bubble and fizz as iridescent clouds of whirling colours started to spread around Lise.

Samhain. Lise recalled reading that too. But it was reassuring to know he wouldn’t have to be close to that scary king, having little interest in joining some kind of nightmare parade. The boy was now rinsing the soap out of his tails in the water, rubbing at his own soft fur.

Speaking of names, Lise looked up again. “Then how does anyone know what their true name is? Eomma said we’re fae.” And he doesn’t have a true name or anything like that. It was something he had always wondered about. “Humans forget their own names if it’s not used too.” Won’t fairies and elves forget? Most people did not have the same capability to remember things like he did, as the boy understood.

Lise’s attention was caught when Algrim took the small metal container though. Its decorative design was enough to entrance a child, much more so when the powder in it sparkles. And upon contact with water, brewed rainbows around him. Distracted from whatever conversation they were having, the young fox’s mouth hung open in wonder and surprise and was soon playing with the water and colours, swirling them with his hands to make patterns. “What is that? Is it a bath bomb?” He had never seen such colours from a bath bomb before, his natural curiosity taking over once more. Then he scooped it up to wash over himself, trying to see if he could get the colours on his body. He had always liked art.

Eomma. Lise’s mother, most likely. Algrim nodded, watching the boy. “That is true – you are fae - as am I - but not all of us are alike. There are many different breeds and they take different shapes and sizes, some of whom are extinct now, others are regarded as mythical creatures, and some are worshipped as gods. True names can be forgotten, though it is a rare thing to happen and all but unheard of. They can also be stolen – or yielded up. Revealing your true name means giving another person power over you,” he explained, his voice turning sharp with warning, “which is something you must never do. As for you, little fox—” He reached out to gently pat Lise’s head, seeking to put him at ease, “—you are still so young. You may yet discover what your true name is.”

As Algrim had hoped, Lise’s reaction to the powder was instantaneous, captivating his attention and holding him rapt with wonder. “It is fairy dust,” Algrim explained, smiling. For the time being, he was content to simply watch Lise absorbed in play as only a child could be as he rubbed the glittering particles onto his skin, turning himself into a living canvas. It would not be permanent, though; the bath water would wash it all away again.

“Well, I think it is bedtime for you,” Algrim anounced after some time. “We do not want you turning into a prune, after all.” Standing up, he put the towel he’d been keeping on his lap down on the stool and went to retrieve a pair of soft cotton pajamas from a nearby shelf, which he set down as well. “Finish your bath. I will be waiting for you outside.” He’d already decided that he would stay the night with Lise, to fend off bouts of homesickness and keep the bad dreams at bay.

Listening to Algrim, the little boy learned more about true names on his first day in the faerie realm. While his mother taught him many things of their kind, not everything was in detail as he was still so young. Lise’s attention was held when the elf’s meandering words turned sharp, and he learned yet another new rule today.

Except, he still didn’t know what his true name is, if he had it.

So he played with the water and colours while he ‘bathed’, enjoying watching the brilliant hues stain on his skin - which made him all proud thinking it looked lovely and showed his favourite parts to Algrim. When the colours started fading back into the water however, and the water itself was cooling from lukewarm, Algrim spoke again.

Looking up, he caught sight of the towel and pajamas, and watched the elf leave the room. The boy dallied in the tub a little longer, he wasn’t afraid of the cold. Rinsing himself with the ladle one last time and washing off the remaining colours (which he was worried about staining the new clothes), Lise climbed out of the tub and began to wipe himself dry. Eomma always used a spell to get him nice and warm again, but he still haven’t learned it. Remembering that brought water to his eyes instantaneously, and a small whine sniffled out as he wrapped himself in the towel. But he still kept in mind that Algrim was waiting for him outside, so he started to get dressed too.

By the time he exited the bathroom with the towel around his neck, his tails and ears had gone ethereal (intangible), with a little red around his eyes.

Letting Lise finish his bath in peace, Algrim went back into the main room to busy himself with his work until the child would be ready to join him. When the boy emerged from the bathroom a little later, his tails and fox ears had vanished, leaving him looking much like an ordinary child. Seeing the tear tracks on Lise’s face, Algrim’s heart ached with sympathy. Other children would have been screaming and bawling until their tears ran dry, but Lise bore his fate with an outward dignity one would not expect from such a young boy. But that did not mean that the separation from his mother did not affect him, as evidenced by his red-rimmed eyes.

Sliding from behind his desk, Algrim crossed to where Lise stood. “Shall we put you to bed then?” he suggested gently. “It has been a long day for you.” To think that only hours ago Lise had been playing in a park on Midgard… It was best not to linger on that thought. Had it been wihin his power, Algrim might have sent him back to his mother, but that was not for him to decide. After consuming the fae food, Lise would not be able to leave the realm unless the king allowed it, and even if he managed to sneak out of the castle unseen, the Accursed’s hounds would quickly track him down.

Algrim scooped Lise up in his arms and carried him to the bed, where he set him down on the fur-covered mattress. He then went to retrieve a silver tray a servant had brought in earlier, on which sat a steaming mug of tea, a herbal concoction that would help calm the child. After blowing on the tea to cool it to drinking temperature, he held the mug up to Lise’s lips. “Here, drink this. It will help you sleep.”

After helping Lise settle in bed and pulling the covers up to his chin, Algrim drew himself a chair and sat in it. In the years to come, he would be both teacher and guardian to Lise. “Go to sleep, dear one. I will stay with you tonight.”

Dressed in a grey tunic and pants that felt very much like pajamas with too long a top, the little boy hugged the damp towel around his face just in case… his face got wet again. When Algrim came closer, he looked up and found some comfort in the adult, especially when he was picked up once more in his arms. Lise clung, even as he was set down on a furry mattress that he wasn’t used to. But he didn’t insist when Algrim moved to leave, letting go and sitting all forlornly on the bed till the elf returned.

The mug that was brought to his lips looked hot and his nose wrinkled at the foreign scent. It didn’t smell bad, just new. Lise sipped at it carefully. It didn’t taste bad either… he drank it all slowly but obediently. By the time he finished, the concotion was already working and he had a hard time keeping his eyes open. A gentle nudge and he was curling on the bed, burrowing into the furs. But still he didn’t want to sleep. The child tried to hold Algrim’s hand when it brought the covers up. He didn’t want Algrim to leave. It was scary otherwise.

If he slept, would he wake up to find himself back at home? If he slept, would Algrim be gone and the scary king be back? He should say good night to Algrim, but he really didn’t want to sleep, even if he was told to. Blinking at the blurry sight of Algrim sitting next to him, he couldn’t fight the tea any longer and soon his breaths became steady rise and falls of the covers.

#algrimthestrong #t.algrimthestrong #t.algrim.little wonders #t

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psychosistr · 6 years ago

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The Third Caballero- Chapter 5

Summary: A decade goes by as José and Panchito continue to search for their missing caballero. Their search (and an attempt to earn some money gone wrong) leads them to stay in a familiar building where they run into an equally familiar face.

Notes: Here’s another link to the sketches by @levtuve that inspired the fic, as those are the outfits they’re wearing in this chapter xD

-First Chapter-

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

Hope, José learned, was a fleeting resource for many people.

While he and Panchito kept true to their promise of never giving up the search for their missing boyfriend, as time wore on, many others did.

The first to give up were Donald’s extended family members and more distant friends. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, per se, it was simply that, after the first year or so, they had to move on with their lives.

Another year went by and some of Donald’s closer family members stopped holding out hope for his return, too. They were sad, but they felt it was time to grieve and move on.

After a few years of searching, and against his will, Scrooge was forced to give up, too. He’d sunk billions of dollars into search and rescue missions, using his company’s money as well as his own for the search. He chartered deep-sea expeditions, set up underwater base stations and labs, and had even bought out entire fleets of ships to find his missing nephew. Unfortunately, his money began to run lower than his board of directors were comfortable with, and they forced him to stop the expeditions and focus on his company.

Giving in to that decision did not help the old duck’s relationship with his niece in the slightest, judging from what Panchito and José heard. She still blamed her uncle for Donald’s disappearance in the first place, and hearing that he was giving up the search for her brother just widened the emotional gap between them even further. She still talked to the other caballeros every now and then, even if they never had anything more than dead-end leads or false-sightings. She still hoped, however distantly, that they would be the ones to find her brother like they promised.

The years piled up, however, and their communications with the pilot became less and less frequent as time wore on. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they drifted apart from one another, really, they just had different things to focus on. José and Panchito had to focus on finding their dearest friend, as well as a way to restore José’s magic should the opportunity present itself, which would ultimately aid them in their primary goal.

And Della…well…Della had to look after her kids…

After she’d been fitted with her prosthetic leg, Della slowly cut off her contact with Scrooge until she didn’t even speak to him at all. She resolved to raise the kids on her own, using her trusted plane, the Cloud Slayer, as a sort of mobile home. It allowed her the freedom of flight and gave her the flexibility to keep her work-life and family-life together, often working odd jobs delivering cargo for small companies. While she did still hope that Panchito and José would be able to track down her brother, over time, her smile became less and less genuine and more forced. After almost a decade, they stopped hearing from her altogether.

It seemed, José would often think, that time could wear everyone thin eventually.

Well, except for Panchito, that is. The rooster was ever the optimist, always talking about the first things they’d do after they found Donald. No matter how many dead-ends they ran into, or how many leads turned up short, he would just smile at José and say the whole ordeal would be another funny thing they could tell their third caballero about once they found him again.

There were no doubts that, had Panchito not been by his side, José may have also given up hope by now, too. Not because his feelings for their missing comrade had diminished at all over the years, certainly not- if anything, he felt that his feelings had grown stronger due to longing. He knew Panchito felt it, too, from the way he would gaze up at the sky at night and play his guitar while singing all of Donald’s favorite songs (he said he didn’t want to get rusty while they looked for him).

No, if there was any reason he would give up hope, it would be because the sting of loneliness hurt worse the longer they went without seeing the brave duck’s smiling face.

He had Panchito by his side to help lessen the pain, of course. Ever since that horrible night the pair had become practically inseparable from each other. Maybe it was because they both sought comfort to ease the dull, aching pain in their hearts. Maybe it was because they were all they had left to each other and didn’t want to risk losing one another. Whatever the reason, they were by each other’s side every step of the way as they searched their world and any others they could find for their beloved.

Unfortunately, while they could find comfort and solace in each other to ease the pain on their seemingly endless journey, there was one thing that became more and more difficult to deal with as time went on:

Money.

Living as vagabonds was nothing new to the pair, but doing so for such a long period of time with no set location to hold down a job in proved challenging. They would scrape by selling whatever treasures they came across, stretching the little bits of money they acquired out for as long as possible. Thankfully they didn’t need to worry about housing, as Della allowed them to keep Donald’s houseboat to aid in their search (she’d smiled so sadly at them while giving them the keys, saying that Donald promised it as their home, anyway), but they still needed money for food, water, clothes, their phones, and any building supplies and tools needed to repair the boat along the way.

To help supplement their meager income, José had taken up to one of his old methods of earning quick cash- being a con-artist. It was something he had stepped away from many years ago, even before meeting Donald and Panchito. Conning innocent people out of their money always left a bad taste in his mouth, often leading to an overly-guilty conscience that would compel him to donate as much money as possible to the first person who asked him for a few dollars (often leaving him broke). He hated himself for resorting to such tactics to earn money again, and hated himself even more for dragging Panchito into his scams, as well.

Panchito was never a very good liar. He was honest and blunt and trustworthy, all qualities that José adored about the sweet rooster. However, these qualities also made him a good plant in the audience. His genuine wonder at whatever fake product or hokey slight-of-hand trick or rigged challenge that José set up would get peoples’ attention and draw them in. He was also really good at the more physical challenges, so, when he won, people would believe everything was fair-and-square, not realizing that the only reason the rooster won was due to his impressive strength and skills honed by training as a knight and his many adventures over the years.

Some scams went better than others, though, hence their inevitable need for disguises. They would pretend to be foreigner travelers as often as possible (which, depending on the country they were in at the time, wasn’t always far off). They collected pieces of clothing over the years that allowed them to pass as a multitude of cultural stereotypes, helping to further sell the illusion they were creating.

It was why, on the day they ran into someone rather interesting, they were dressed up as Russian tourists in Panchito’s homeland…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panchito and José ran around a street corner and headed for the beach, a mob of angry people chasing after them. Still dressed up from their last attempted con, which involved “genuine Russian circus bear training courses”, Panchito was wearing a simple pair of black pants with a heavy red overcoat and a black Russian ushanka hat while José had lost most of his outfit in the ensuing chase, leaving him in an opened brown button-up shirt with a white undershirt and a pair of thick dark blue pants.

José spotted a way out of their current predicament and pointed to a ship down by the docks and then to a tall building a few feet away. “I believe it is time we ‘flew the coop’, so to speak.”

Panchito looked up to where his partner was pointing and grinned, quickly grasping what the other bird meant. “Ohhhh, good one, Zé!” He reached into the thick coat and pulled out his trusty lasso. He swung the rope around and tossed it into the air, easily hooking the crow’s nest of the ship and wrapping the end of the rope around his own hand for a little bit of leverage. “Hold on tight!” He said while scooping the smaller bird up into his arms.

“!!” José held on as tight as he could, clinging for dear life when Panchito took off running before leaping into the air.

The momentum and the odd properties of the lasso allowed them to swing through the air, easily crossing over the ship before the lasso released its hold and they rocketed up onto the building. Thankfully, they’d done this sort of thing enough times by now that they knew how to properly roll when they landed as well as how to stop before they reached the opposite edge of the building.

“Whoo!” Panchito laughed and sat up after they stopped rolling. “That could’ve gone better!”

“Agreed.” José said while rubbing his eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness he felt. “What’s worse, we have hardly anything to show for our troubles..” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the few pesos they’d gathered during their last con.

“Aw, don’t sweat it, cariño.” Panchito said while patting the parrot on the back encouragingly. “How were we supposed to know someone would try our lessons out on a REAL bear?”

“Você está certo.” José sighed, putting the money away. “Still, I wish we could have gotten more- this will hardly be enough to patch up the boat, and I’d rather not sleep under that hole in the roof with the storm tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that- I know somewhere we can stay.” Panchito said with a cheerful smile as he stood, offering the smaller bird a hand up.

José smiled slightly in return and took the offered hand, letting himself be pulled up onto his feet. “I am certainly open to suggestions.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is not quite what I had in mind..” José said while eyeing his namorado’s suggested resting place for the evening and adjusting his overnight bag on his shoulder.

It was a large mansion along the coast, a twin to one that resided in Brazil. And, just like the one in Brazil, this one was in an equal state of disrepair. Originally, the matching vacation homes were set up as a bit of a joke- one located in Brazil and one in Mexico, both buildings located in areas called Veracruz. Well, part of it was a joke, at least, the main reason they were set up in such a way was so Donald could visit his boyfriends in their homelands easily while technically calling it a “work expedition” for his uncle.

Now, though, the unattended building and messy grounds served as a reminder that no one had visited or lived there since Donald’s disappearance. Apparently it was too harsh of a reminder for his family about what happened, so both locations were left to rot. Even José and Panchito had not stopped by to see the old buildings for a long time…

“I know, I know.” The rooster’s voice cut through José’s reminiscing. “But it’s close to the docks, plenty of rooms to stay in that don’t have holes over them, there’s no one here, aaaaaand-” He spun around so that he was standing in front of his partner, almost hitting him with the large hiking pack he wore on his back, and held up a single key that was by itself on a series of keychains. “It’s free!”

José could not help but chuckle slightly at his boyfriend’s cheerful demeanor. “Are you sure Senhor Scrooge will not mind?” He questioned. Even though dark storm clouds were already covering the sky and threatening to unleash their torrential downpour any minute now, he did not want to trespass on the property owned by one of their beloved’s relatives.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” Panchito encouraged while opening the gate and heading for the front door. “He hasn’t checked on the place in years. Besides, we’re just spending a night or two- it’s not like there’s any food for us to eat or bills to pay!”

“I suppose you are correct..” José conceded with a shrug, following the other bird to the front door just as he started to feel the air pressure shift- a sure sign of a heavy storm soon to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully the lock only stuck a little when Panchito tried the key, allowing them easy enough access via the creaky, unused doors. They were momentarily distracted by the dust their arrival stirred up, and proceeded to open up a few windows to air the building out, forgetting to lock the door behind themselves due to their need for fresh air.

After the air was cleared and they stopped sneezing, the two birds took their time exploring the old mansion. It gave them a sense of nostalgia to finally set foot in such a familiar place after so long- it was almost like coming home after a trip, but with a sense of melancholy and longing that hung in the air.

Each hall they passed contained pictures of the Duck/McDuck family. Every smiling face from various people, most of which they hadn’t seen in years, left the duo with a growing pit in their chests.

A familiar emptiness that had not yet been filled…

José noticed that the unpleasant trip down memory lane was starting to make the rooster’s ever-present smile slip. To distract him, he placed a hand on his companheiro’s shoulder, startling the other out of his thoughts and making him look at the parrot with a curious tilt of his head.

“How about I prepare us some dinner, meu bem? I managed to get a bag of those tamarind candies you like so much.” The green bird asked with a soft smile.

That instantly brought a bright, excited smile to the other’s face, his hands clenching into fists in front of him as he practically buzzed with anticipation. “¡¿Chaca chaca?!” At a nod from his novio, Panchito let out an excited grito and scooped the smaller bird into his arms in an eager hug. “AAAAIIYYHAAA! Gracias, cariño!” He gave José’s face several kisses to show the depths of his gratitude.

José laughed merrily at his partner’s restored cheer and patted him on the shoulders, signaling he wanted to be placed safely back on the ground again. “You can have them AFTER we finish a proper meal first.”

Panchito set him down with a nod, his smile so big it practically split his face. “Okay!” He gave his boyfriend one last kiss on the forehead before finally letting him go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

José was pleasantly surprised to discover both the plumbing and electricity to still be functional in the old mansion (granted, he had to run the tap in the kitchen for a few seconds before the water came out clear, but at least it was working). He spent about an hour preparing an easy but filling recipe of galinhada, deciding he needed a taste of his own home after sampling so many of Panchito’s local favorites. He felt like he was technically cheating a little bit by using freeze-dried vegetables and meat-substitutes, but there wasn’t much else he could do- they traveled better than fresh ingredients, lasted longer between meals, and they didn’t have the money to get anything fresher at the moment. Then again, given that he’d seen Panchito eat a bowl of mud and snails before, he doubted the other bird would notice much.

After spooning the rice dish into two bowls, storing the leftovers in containers, and leaving the pot he’d cooked everything in soaking in the sink (he always made sure to bring some camping-style collapsible cookware and dishes with them, as it made preparing meals easier while they were away from the boat), José carried the bowls back to one of the upstairs guest rooms where he knew Panchito would be waiting.

He prepared to open the door and walk in with the food, but, hearing the other’s voice caught his attention and he stopped to peek in through where the door remained ajar. Inside, he saw Panchito sitting cross legged on the bare mattress (they’d taken the dirty covers off and tossed them in another room already, the smell was unbearable) with his back to the door. Over the rooster’s shoulder, José could make out something familiar that made his heart clench painfully.

It was an old picture of himself, Panchito, and Donald- a photo taken on their first official date to a nice pizza restaurant/arcade shortly after their second defeat of Felldrake. Many of their closer friends joked that the trio had already been dating long before that point, but that was the day they actually talked it over and decided to try going out. They had a fun day eating junk food, playing games, winning prizes, and just enjoying each other’s company. It had been a wonderful experience and a great way to mark the beginning of their romantic relationship. They capped off the evening with a walk to the park where they laid on the grass and looked at the stars. To commemorate the occasion, Donald had decided to take a group picture and, as he held his new cell phone as far out above them as he could reach to fit them all in the frame, Panchito and José decided to surprise him by planting a matching pair of kisses on his cheeks right as he pressed the button. The resulting image involved a rather red-faced duck with his beak hanging open, a grinning rooster, and a pleased parrot all looking at the camera.

José had a copy of the picture as well, framed safely and nailed to the wall in the houseboat. He wanted to preserve the memory as neatly as possible.

Panchito’s copy, on the other hand, was extremely worn and weathered. He often kept it tucked away in one of his holsters so he could pull it out whenever he pleased. This resulted in the once-glossy paper losing its shine, a large crease forming down the middle, the edges crinkling, and blurred patches to appear on the paper from the way the normally happy bird would gently caress the image of his beloved with his thumb, much as he was now.

“What do you think, mi patito?” Panchito asked the photo with a voice trying just a little too hard to sound genuinely happy. “It’s been a while since we had a nice vacation, huh? Don’t worry, though, we’re only staying a day or two, then we’ll be right back to looking for you, mi amor.” There was a pause for a moment, the normally high-levels of energy the rooster gave off draining from him as his shoulders slumped. “…We miss you, Donald…”

José frowned as he listened to the one-sided conversation. This was not an unusual occurrence, sadly. He’d walked in on such moments many times over the past decade. Every time he’d enter the room, Panchito would be startled, quickly scrambling to hide the picture and pretend he was doing something else. It was the one thing he refused to talk about and tried to keep a secret from his partner. José could not fault him for such a thing- it was likely his way of dealing with the constant stress and let-downs they endured as the years wore on.

To avoid startling the melancholy man, José walked back the way he came quietly before turning back towards the room and calling from further down the hall. “Panchi? Could you get the door, meu bem? My hands are full.” He waited a couple of seconds before walking towards the room again.

“Sure thing, Zé!” Panchito called back with his usual enthusiasm. He soon opened the door and greeted the green bird with a bright smile, sniffing the air with a delighted hum. “Mhhh, that smells great.” His stomach gave a loud growl and he laughed before taking his bowl and heading back to the bed. “Looks like my stomach agrees!”

José chuckled a bit as well, taking a seat next to Panchito on the bed. “I am glad to hear it. Your stomach will also be happy to know that there are plenty of leftovers waiting downstairs if it is still unsatisfied after your meal.”

They grinned at each other and ate their meal in relative silence, enjoying the peace and quiet as well as the taste of a good home-cooked meal. When they were done, they spread their spare blanket and pillows out over the bed and cuddled together while watching the rain fall through the window and eating Panchito’s favorite candies. It was a nice, calming way to spend the evening.

That is, until the deafening sound of something being knocked over downstairs echoed through the otherwise quiet house.

“?!!!” Both birds were startled by the loud noise and instantly shot up out of the bed and onto their feet.

“Did you lock the door?” José asked while grabbing his umbrella from where it rested by their packs.

“I thought you did..” Panchito admitted with a slight frown as he drew one of his pistols.

They shared a look that communicated their thoughts to each other perfectly: It was likely some burglar that wanted to ransack the old building thinking it was abandoned. Nothing they couldn’t handle, really- the crook would probably run off the moment he saw Panchito’s gun. If not, the poor fool would be taught a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget…

Armed and ready for a fight if necessary, the pair made their way back down the stairs as quietly as possible. They followed the sounds of things banging against each other and crashing to one of the downstairs master-suites.

They froze momentarily when they noticed which room the noises were coming from: Donald’s old room. At all of the vacation houses Scrooge owned, there were special rooms set aside for himself, Donald, Della, and one or two other close family members they would take trips with on a regular basis such as Gladstone or Fethry.

Righteous fury burned through the two caballeros at the thought of some petty thief rifling through their beloved’s belongings. With his gun raised in warning, Panchito kicked open the door.

“¡No se mueva!” He shouted first in Spanish, then repeated it again in English to cover any language gap. “Don’t move!”

They saw a white feathered duck on the other side of the room, standing in front of a large framed portrait of Donald with his uncle and his sister. The intruder had his back to them and had apparently been in the middle of picking up some fallen knick-knacks and miniature diecast boat figurines from the dresser nearby. He was dressed in a dripping-wet green jacket and a black cap that was sitting askew on his head.

José got an odd feeling looking at the intruder. Something about him felt..different..

“Turn around.” He said firmly, keeping his umbrella tight in his fist and preparing to lash out if need-be.

The intruder slowly turned around to face them, raising his hands above his shoulders to show he was unarmed. Once he was facing them fully, they could see two things.

The first was the rest of his outfit, which consisted of a simple but dirty (and equally soaked) yellow-brown sweater under the coat and a golden necklace with a purple glass center.

The second was that he seemed completely and utterly terrified. His eyes were screwed shut and his whole body was trembling.

Panchito’s previous harshness faded slightly at seeing how scared the duck looked. “Abre tus ojos.” He commanded while keeping an eye on the duck. “Come on, look at us.”

The duck hesitantly complied, opening one eye nervously just a sliver. “……” Unfortunately, that only seemed to frighten him more when he saw Panchito still holding his gun. “!!” He moved as if he was about to try ducking or running away, but he stepped on one of the small boats still littering the floor and slipped, his back and head hitting the wall and his hat slipping down over his face.

José relaxed slightly after witnessing the clumsy display. This intruder was clearly not a threat. He reached over with his umbrella and lightly pressed down so Panchito would lower his pistol. “I think it is safe to assume this one is not dangerous.”

“Yeah.” Panchito agreed while holstering his gun. “The only one he’s hurting is himself.” He looked at the duck across the room again and called over. “It’s okay! We won’t hurt you! Estás a salvo aquí! Can you…stand…uhh…”

Panchito’s concerned questioned died on his tongue as the intruder did just that.

As the duck stood up, his hat fell off to reveal the messy little tuft of feathers on the top of his head. He rubbed at the spot on the back of his head that had hit the wall and opened his eyes in the process. Once he was standing up straight again, he looked at the other birds across the room from him with a raised eyebrow, likely confused over why they were both staring at him with such wide eyes.

They couldn’t help but stare, though. Not with how, when looking at the duck in front of them and the photo directly behind him, they were looking at the EXACT SAME FACE.

“D..Donald..?” José’s voice shook as it left his beak, the grip on his umbrella going slack and causing it to fall to the floor at his feet.

It was impossible…

It couldn’t be…!

It was-!

“Donald!” Panchito shouted with tears already forming in his eyes. “¡Mi amigo!” Unlike José, who was still frozen in place from the shock, Panchito was already running across the room to scoop the duck up into his arms and hold onto him tightly. “AAAAAAH!” He pulled back just enough to look into the confused duck’s eyes, words firing out of his mouth a mile-a-minute. “Where have you been?! We’ve been looking everywhere for you! We got Xandra and the girls to help, and your uncle sent submarines, and me and Zé traveled all over and-!”

Then, with a confused frown and a voice that was so very different from the one they associated with that face- one that sounded deeper and far more “normal” and with a slight Spanish accent- the duck Panchito had been hugging so enthusiastically asked one simple question that caused their raised spirits to plummet once again:

“Who’s Donald?”

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

End Notes: Just wanted to put in a quick description of the food here for those who’ve never had any of it before: Chaca chaca is a spicy tamarind candy- when I was little, my friends from Mexico would try to dare/trick me and my sister to eat it because they thought we would find it too spicy (my sister did, but I loved spicy food, so the joke was on them xD). Galinhada, on the other hand, is a Brazilian chicken and rice dish that you can mix in with vegetables like peas, peppers, or whatever you really want as long as it’s got chicken and rice- it’s a really tasty and filling meal that my Brazilian friend’s mom used to make pretty often and share with us as thanks for giving her some fresh saffron and turmeric (my grandfather’s sister’s husband was from India, so they would bring us some spices whenever they stopped by- saved us SO much money because that stuff’s expensive XP).

Translation Notes:

“Você está certo.” - "You're right."

mi patito - my duckling (I just love the trend I see of them calling Donald duckling x3)

“¡No se mueva!” - “Don’t move!”

“Abre tus ojos.” - "Open your eyes."

Estás a salvo aquí! - You are safe here!

#the three gay caballeros #three gay caballeros #the three caballeros #legend of the three caballeros #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt 2017 #panchito pistoles #jose carioca #panjose #The Third Caballero #Anastasia!AU

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paladin-andric · 6 years ago

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The Lethal Tag

Tagged by @corishadowfang! Thanks, I enjoy doing these.

Rules: Answer these five questions for whatever characters you want, then tag some people.

I suppose I’ll be doing Blackheart, since nothing else I have on my mind is really tangible at the moment...

(Long post, so answers below!)

1) What is your OCs’ favorite weapon type (and if they don’t have one, then just answer hypothetically, and that goes for the rest of the Qs)

Alexander: Despite spending the entire story using a sword, it’s actually not his go-to! A sword and shield may be his primary pick on the ground, but he’s usually atop his horse (he doesn’t bring her to the infested city due to terrain, cavalry charges aren’t exactly effective in an urban enviornment). As a heavy cavalry knight, Alexander’s usually using a lance. The might of a lance charge atop his steed, Dragon, can fell even the toughest warriors in a single hit. Cavalry supremacy is the way the Geralthin army fights, and it’s led them to victory against foes on all sides.

Senci: He uses a longsword, though being a kobold, his size means he has to use it like a greatsword. He’s really good with it though, and becomes quite experienced in the art of combat during his journey!

Leianna: A spiked mace is her trademark. Though she’s a cleric, she uses it out of personal preference. Cracking skulls is just her style. She also uses a shield with it as well. She’s a pretty balanced warrior, though at times reckless.

Lexius: A short sword and small, wooden shield. Very plain and simple.

Razorwing: The great hero, a famous archer! He uses a longbow, it’s his staple! He also has a dagger as an emergency fallback, though as one of the avian koutu, his maneuverability means he shouldn’t really ever need to use it.

Paul: He’s a bounty hunter kitted out for any engagement. His primary weapons are his miniature crossbows. He also has a broadsword and daggers in case he needs to fight up close. He’s known to use tricky support weapons like smoke bombs and nets as well.

Wurie: The wolfman, and Captain of the Guard Wurie uses an arming sword, and nothing else! He’s spent plenty of time mastering its use, though. The same, old but maintained blade has brought him through many years of service, from his start as a caravan mercenary, through the height of his career as the founder and leader of a mercenary company, and finally to his years as a guard for the city of Palethorn.

Andric: A claymore! He’s strong enough to use it with one hand, though he tends to use both anyway. Having a free offhand is helpful with casting his holy magic though, being a paladin and all.

Tourthun: He’s a red, firebreathing dragon! Soooo...claws and fire.

Charles: Half-human, half-dragon, all magician! He doesn’t use any weapons at all! Not physical anyway, as he has an array of spells to choose from. If for some reason he couldn’t use any magic, he’d probably just use his claws.

2) Do they own such a weapon? How does it look like? (Add drawings or pictures pls!)

Alexander:

Senci:

Leianna:

Lexius:

Razorwing:

Paul:

Wurie:

Andric:

Tourthun:

I guess? That’s the closest I can think of a picture to his “weapons”. (He’s actually really nice though so don’t worry, he’s not actually plundering gold or frying people)

Charles:

3) How did it come into their possession?

Alexander: He commissioned a renowned blacksmith and armorer to forge his equipment.

Senci: A gift from his tutor and foster father, Andric!

Leianna: Granted to her by the Order of God, the religious order she serves.

Lexius: The monk scraped together the tiny bit of personal wealth he had and got his sword, shield and chainmail quickly made by a nameless blacksmith, hence their dubious quality.

Razorwing: After becoming a very skilled bowman, he put in a lot of time learning to how both make and maintain bows and arrows. His current longbow is one he made himself!

Paul: He was careful to have his armaments made by well-established blacksmiths with reputations for high-quality, reliable merchandise. Can’t have a breakage or malfunction in the middle of an important mission, after all.

Wurie: Part of a dual deal, actually. When deciding to become a mercenary, he mentioned his lack of armaments to the caravan company he wanted to sign up with. The head merchant actually pointed him to a company blacksmith, offering a moderate discount. This was to hopefully foster some loyalty so that Wurie would stay on with them for future trips. The wolfman did indeed stick around with them for a long time.

Andric: Meticulously crafted by a master blacksmith, and then enchanted by himself. The top quality steel is deadly and reliable, and the paladin’s own blessing makes the claymore tear through the scales and flesh of demons and evil monsters with ease.

Tourthun: All dragons are born with their claws and breath powers.

Charles: Everyone’s born with magic already innately inside of them. It’s simply a matter of training to draw it out and learn to use and control it...

4) Who taught them to use it?

Alexander: That would be Sir Gabriel Winthorperry! A knight that arrived to the house of Angelus to serve Alexander’s father, he took on the role of tutor when Alexander expressed interest in becoming a knight. He trained the child for many years in the use of knightly weapons, combat and conduct, until Alexander was finally able to set off as an knight on his own. He’s become a great tactician from his time commanding armies as well.

Senci: Sir Andric, the paladin and one who raised Senci! He drilled Senci vigorously. At first he didn’t want to, but Senci begged and pleaded, wanting to become a hero like him. He made sure the kobold would be strong and skilled enough to survive out in the harsh world that Senci still sees as a dreamland.

Leianna: She began training to become a cleric as she reached maturity. As a child, she had to run away from home for reasons. A priest found her out in the forest crying, and took her back to the monastery. There she grew up learning about the holy scriptures, church tradition, and God. After they accepted her request, she started training, and became proficient at channeling holy magic and using blunt instruments.

Lexius: No one! He has absolutely no combat experience or training! He’s totally out of his league...though he IS very skilled at healing magic, and has quite a bit of potential that will become apparent later down the line...

Razorwing: An archery tutor who turned out to be a pretty nasty man, actually. He started a toxic, abusive relationship with Razorwing while he was young and naive. A traveling human helped him break free from that, and Razorwing began training himself after that. He quickly rose to become a master archer in due time. and is pretty famous as an adventuring hero now.

Paul: Self-taught. He started small, but his natural combat awareness, sharp senses and streetwise nature helped him stay alive long enough to become VERY good at what he does.

Wurie: Trained by a barbarian tribe as a warrior at first. He ran away and fled to Geralthin, where he became a mercenary. He got a lot of training and firsthand experience with kobold raids on the caravans he protected. After becoming the head of his own company he set off on many missions against all kinds of monsters. By the time he became a city guard he was a seasoned veteran of war. In that time he became skilled in the art of mediation and diffusing volatile situations as well, since the job required it.

Andric: Trained by the church, and forged in the crucible of war. He’s spend decades fighting cults, monsters, and even slaying dragons. He’s one of the most battle-hardened and highly-skilled paladins in the world at the moment, and his mere presence can turn the tide of war.

Tourthun: He doesn’t fight, nor was he trained. He’s borderline pacifist, though certain events will force a change soon enough. As a great, mighty dragon though anyone but a great wizard or hero would be hard-pressed to defeat him if they wanted to...not that most would. He’s developed a fiercely protective attitude towards humanity, and wishes to defend them from other, more evil dragons.

Charles: He went to college for the magical arts. He’s still young, but his natural ability, great mind, and fast learning along the powerful desire to become better means it won’t be long before he’s a master sorcerer.

5) Does your OCs’ have a special boss-killer move? What is it?

I like to imagine this question as making a “Finisher” or “Ultimate” move from a videogame, so I’ll try my best to use that as inspiration.

Alexander: He’s just a knight. A good one, but still a knight, having no magic or superhuman abilities. I’d imagine his ultimate move would be him using a rallying horn, and an army of knights appearing and running down his foe in a crushing cavalry charge full of lances.

Senci: Some sort of reckless and wild flurry of swings, ending with a front-flip cleave.

Leianna: Beating the stuffing out of her enemy, knocking them over, and slamming her mace into their skull.

Lexius: The spell Destroy Evil! I’ve written some lore on magic before, so here’s an excerpt about the spell:

“Caster creates an aura around them of pure good, destroying anything evil, both physical and in concept. This will spell destroys not only beings born of evil, like demons, and tears the corruption from tainted objects, but also seeks out and destroys evil within normal beings. Selfishness, hatred, greed and jealously are burned away from people in the aura. This process is extremely painful, amplified by how “bad” of a person the target is. Even good people will feel great pain, but the truly wicked will be wracked with such horrific suffering that they will likely die of shock before the process is complete. Once these thoughts of darkness and wickedness are burned away, those affected will feel different, calm and at peace with themselves. They might no longer feel temptation to do bad, or may begin to see the faults with their old ways. Stripping away free will is a huge taboo in human society, so this spell is generally only cast on either the willing, on defiled objects, or in groups where demons are suspected to be hiding in human disguises, the holy person gauging the reactions of those affected. Demons will screech in horror before burning away completely. Sometimes used by holy men and women to purify themselves of temptation and sin. An extremely difficult spell to cast.”

Razorwing: A flurry of arrows fired while he’s flying in the air, followed up by a cinematic headshot.

Paul: A smoke bomb and him dancing around the enemy unseen, landing hit after hit, ended with a shot to the back while the enemy’s trying to find him.

Wurie: Rallying the Silver Shields, his mercenary company, to come in and overwhelm the enemy!

Andric: Calling down a pillar of pure divine energy, smiting his opponent and enveloping them in holy flames.

Tourthun: His *SPOILERS* appears and the pair drown the enemy in a sea of flames.

Charles: Probably the spell Ritual of Pain. Here’s a description from the lore excerpts again:

“The caster, before casting this spell, must draw blood. The more blood, the more powerful the spell. Generally, the sorcerer will stab their hand or arm with a knife, dig into the wound to let blood pour freely, and then hold up their hand and cast the spell. A torrent of acidic blood will pour from the caster towards the intended target, drowning the victim in boiling acid. This extraordinarily powerful spell costs the caster dearly, who will be terribly wounded afterwards. Anyone casting this spell is either desperate enough to risk death, or has a healer handy. Use of this spell is frowned upon in many places, though in antiquity it was one of the powerful death spells used to defeat the dragons.”

Tagging @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword and @sheralynnramsey!

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vaporcleaningxyz-blog · 6 years ago

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Review: Ladybug Steam Cleaners - Clean My Space Reviews

Some of you may know just how deeply I love steam cleaners, and being a ‘cleaning expert’ certainly has its privileges, because over the past few years, I’ve had the opportunity to try out several of them.

Then, not too long ago, the friendly folks over at LadyBugSteamCleaners.com emailed me and said ‘Melissa, if you love steam cleaning so much, we have something just for you’ so, I replied and said ‘bring it on’ and then, they sent me these..

So, for those of you who have ever wondered – what’s the difference between a $200 steam cleaner and a $2000 steam cleaner, keep reading.

The Ladybug brand is known as the gold standard of professional steam cleaning (or vapour cleaning)– these 4 units may be expensive, but they are worth every penny – let me show you why.

The most exciting part of steam, or vapour cleaning, is that you can clean using nothing more than plain old tap water, yet it’s incredibly powerful and actually disinfects surfaces while you clean.

Because of how hot the Ladybug’s water gets, it produces vapour, which is even hotter than steam, and that draws out the dirt and bacteria and it kills microorganisms which live on the surfaces of your home.

Steam Cleaning vs Vapor Cleaning

So, what’s the difference between steam cleaning and vapor cleaning you might be wondering? Good question. Steam cleaning sounds amazing, and the concept is. It works for general, basic in-home tasks but its efficacy is nowhere near as high as vapour cleaning. Here’s why:

Steam Cleaning

Steam cleaning obviously uses steam to clean; steam being loose, large water droplets formed from hot water contained in the boiler chamber of a steam cleaner. As the water gets hotter in the boiler, the droplets of steam get smaller. So the ability for a steam cleaner to perform depends on how hot the boiler can get. For an average machine, the water boils up (usually to temperatures in the high 100s or low 200s) and then creates steam, which once blasted out of the boiler, immediately drops in temperature and hence, in efficacy to remove buildup and sanitize, let a lone disinfect. The temperature of the boiler water or the temperature of the steam directly at the tip are often the marketed temperatures, not the surface temperature of the steam once expelled onto a surface, which is the true measure of how effective the steam cleaning will be. Further, Because of the bulky size of the steam droplets, the towel used on attachments becomes drenched quickly and often times, is warm to the touch.

Vapour Cleaning

Enter the professional solution. Vapour, as the folks at Ladybugsteamcleaners.com taught me, is superior to steam when it comes to cleaning. Vapour is like a tighter, smaller, drier version of steam and this is why it is so much more effective when it comes to cleaning. What happens is, the boiler temperature in a Ladybug gets so hot (about 305 degrees), that when the vapour blasts out of the tip (about 265 degrees), it’s hotter, therefore drier, smaller and tighter droplets that break down and disinfect with ease. Heat is the functional cleaning agent, not steam which is why these tiny, dry vapour droplets are superior to those of steam. Your cleaning towel will be much drier as well as much hotter (so proceed with caution). The surface temperature of the Ladybug gets up to 230 degrees!

Now that the difference between the two is clarified, it is clear that because the vapor is so hot, it does all the heavy lifting for you. In fact, it kills bacteria (you need to hit 180 degrees to sanitize a surface) as well as dust mites, larvae, eggs, bedbugs and a number of other unwanted household critters. But more about that later.

Why does the Ladybug website use the term ‘steam cleaning’ you may be wondering? Well, it’s such a popular term and essentially defines this style of cleaning, so that is why the name was chosen. However, since vapour is the key player in this cleaning process, it is important that we differentiate between the two and explain why Ladybug uses vapour as opposed to steam.

What’s TANCS?

We didn’t get too into this in the video, but TANCS (that bright yellow label on my unit) is a proprietary feature of the Ladybug, it’s a steam vapour disinfection system which stands for Thermo Accelerated Nano Crystal Sanitation. What that means in English is this machine can now kill bacteria and disinfect almost any surface a thousand times better and quicker than chemical disinfectants applied topically, all with no dwell time.

Basically, a TANCS-equipped boiler creates nano crystals as well as vapour. When vapour is expelled, the nano crystals are carried out via the vapour and when they come into contact with bacteria, they immediately puncture the cell membranes and expose the cell to lethal temperatures, therefore killing them. That’s the why and how behind TANCS’ ability to disinfect.

All you need is plain tap water, nothing special. Without TANCS, the unit can sterilize a surface (essentially, more can be killed with TANCS due to this patented process).

For the past month, I have used the Tekno 2350 with TANCS, so I’ve been cleaning and disinfecting every surface I can and let me tell you, it is a fantastic piece of machinery….wow.

Firing Up the Ladybug Tekno 2350 with TANCS

You have to take the time to learn how this machine works and acclimatize to it’s lights, hums and purrs. Once you know how to make it work, magic happens.

It’s easy to get started. Plug it in, power it up and fill it with plain tap water. It takes around 4 quarts of water; 1 for the boiler and 3 for the reservoir (more on this later). Once the water is in, the machine takes about 6-9 minutes to initially heat up, and you’ll see the second light pop on meaning it’s ready to use. Now, with other steam cleaners, there is no reservoir for cold water, just a boiler. If you open the machine while in use to refill, you can become injured. Because of the reservoir, you can keep the machine powered on and hot and refill with water as needed, which is especially handy for large jobs or cleaning professionals! Ladybug recommends carrying around a refillable water bottle and using that to add water to the machine while you’re on the go, which is a terrific idea and saves time while working.

Before using it, I had to burp the system to get rid of the built-up condensation, which means I pressed the trigger a couple of times and squirted out some water. Once that was done, I held the trigger down and let the dry vapour flow.

Neat Design Features and Build Quality

Before I get into some of the fun we had with the Tekno 2350, I want to discuss some of the features, because every inch of this machine is deliberate and carefully designed.

Materials

The machine has been carefully built with polycarbonate plastic, which is even more costly than stainless steel. I was told the reason this was chosen as the housing material was because of course it is extremely strong and is lighter than stainless steel, not to mention it won’t conduct much heat nor any electricity, which is a safety feature. This was a hand selected plastic which they are quite proud of.

Attachments and Tools

I’ve seen a lot of steam cleaners and their associated tools and extension kits. The Ladybug’s are really something, they are sturdy, well-built, and designed to last. Further, the clips on the brushes are very strong and have great grip for the towels, which is something I didn’t find with some of the other units I’ve tested out. The multitude of brushes, sizes, and brush materials (they even have a horse hair brush for stainless steel appliances!) are also useful for a number of different cleaning applications. I really like the easy lock and twist feature for replacing tools, it made working with the machine a breeze. When you hold the tools and the nozzle, you feel the difference in comparison to the popular consumer options. When I held the machine and started playing around with the nozzle, I got really ramped up to start using it because I just felt it was a stronger, more powerful and sturdier machine.

What I learned is that the tools can last very long, so long as the user understands how to use them. Pushing hard, scrubbing vigorously and bending the bristles will ruin the attachments. The vapour is strong enough to do the work and simply leverage the tool’s feature, not have the tool do all the work. So when a user picks up such a powerful tool when they are used to using a less powerful one, they may feel the need to press really hard. However, this is not the case. The tools are to be gently used and the results are impressive given the lack of effort on the user’s part.

Continuous vapour output

Now one thing I will mention is that there is no lock for continuous vapour output and when I first learned about this, I was somewhat disappointed because I had used other machines and found this to be a particularly helpful feature. When I asked why this wasn’t part of the design, I learned a very important lesson. Vapour is so hot that it is not safe to have a continuous vapour function, in case the user dropped it, or falls unconscious while cleaning to avoid burning the user. I had never thought about this, but once I used it, I was indeed glad to know that if anything did happen to me, the vapour would stop immediately and not harm me.

Other safety features

The machine does come equipped with a safety lock for changing out tools, which allows you to get a great grip on the hose and trigger to change and secure a tool without running the risk of accidentally blasting your hand with vapour. When I learned about this, I felt that a lot of care and consideration went into this design.

Settings

The unit offers 3 settings which allow for various volumes of vapour to pour out. Select setting 1 or the ‘low’ volume setting for most jobs (the driest vapour), setting 2 or the medium volume setting for jobs involving large floor areas and setting 3 for short lived – or intermittent applications, these would be very specific jobs, like cleaning a greasy vent.

Testing the Ladybug Tekno 2350 with TANCS

The kitchen sink

I used the nozzle head with nylon brush to clean inside of the sink, I could have also attached a cloth with an elastic band to ‘wipe’ the sink

The nylon brush did not scratch my sink

The vapour is so strong that it literally lifts soil out of the surface, meaning all I need to do is wipe and shine

The nylon brush scrubbed the crevice between the drain and the basin, removing that difficult brown ring with ease

After getting groceries, I like to soak my vegetables in the sink for 10 minutes and then place them in bags or containers to make them ‘ready to eat’. I always feel a little grossed out because I wonder just how clean I am getting my sink (yes, even me – or at least that’s what my mind tells me), but after doing this, I had no doubt in my mind as to how disinfected and clean my sink was. It sparkled and felt cleaner than ever, I could have eaten out of it!

Cutting board

On the cutting board I used the triangle brush with a thin cotton cloth

Again, this is where the heat is important and the Ladybug gets up to 325 degrees in the boiler and 260 degrees at the tip

Wood cutting boards are porous and can trap bacteria in the board, when using this tool, the vapour pulls out the dirt and bacteria, absorbs it into the towel and leaves the cutting board clean and instantly dry.

I don’t cut meat, poultry or fish on the wood cutting board, but the kitchen counter is a catch-all for everything. I do clean my cutting board with soap and water after each use and leave it upright to dry and clean it with a lemon occasionally. I’m pleased to say no one has gotten food poisoning in my house, but even with that, I felt that I cleaned it better than it’s ever been cleaned before, and it took me about 20 seconds to do.

If this were to be used on countertops (which it is safe for – laminate, granite, marble, etc), the surfaces would be completely void of microorganisms as well as product residue. That’s a truly healthy kitchen in my books. I feel the best cleaning method would be to clean surfaces with the machine every week or two with touch up cleans using soap and water with a good cloth in-between to manage the bacteria count.

Oven & oven racks

These are so hard to clean – awkward size, greasy build up and tiny ridges make this a challenging cleaning job

I use the steel wool pad to clean and I am not scrubbing, just holding and moving slowly over the soiled area

Then, to lift the grease off, I attach a cloth to the steel wool and wipe the grease away; it sticks to the towel

The same process can be repeated for a self-celaning or non self-cleaning oven

Cleaning the oven and greasy oven racks are two of the most challenging cleaning jobs in the kitchen, just look at the chemicals designed to conquer these messes. I was really impressed and actually amused to watch the grease come up off the racks and oven with such ease. It did take time, but it still takes less time to do this than the ‘old’ way of oven cleaning. This task also demonstrated the concept of ‘no scrubbing required’, because I saw how using a gentle back and forth motion was extremely effective which helped me conserve my energy and get the job done without ruining the attachment. I think about the challenges in our cleaning service company and how many times this Ladybug Tekno 2350 would come in handy and make us look like magicians, not to mention how much time it would save my staff.

Dishwasher

The build up around a dishwasher can be downright disgusting – and mine was embarrassing – how’d that even get there?

With the nozzle and a cloth over it, it’s easy to get rid of this build up

The presence of this build up can lead to odours and even mold growth

I used the nylon bristle brush to agitate the gunk and then added a towel to the attachment secured with an elastic to lift up and trap the gunk

I can’t even believe I captured that crustiness on film, it was downright gross. Considering how hot the water gets in a dishwasher, it’s no wonder that once the water and debris cools, it clings to any surface it can find. No one really thinks about it until it’s brought to your attention and then boom, you can’t bare to look at it. This took care of that grime in no time, it was easy and impressive.

Overhead exhaust filter

Mine is so filthy, I haven’t cleaned this in forever

I placed the filter on top of a towel and changed the trigger setting to ‘3’

I blasted the filter section by section with a plain tip and watched the grease splash off

These are so challenging to clean otherwise, the grease makes it difficult and often times it’s easier to replace with a new filter

The Ladybug is used in restaurants to clean their greasy kitchen equipment, so if it can work in an industrial setting, it can work in my kitchen

This was a very impressive demonstration of the power of vapour. I really enjoyed watching this, it was obliterating the grease on that filter. Setting 3 allows for more vapour to pour out therefore creates a wetter vapour. It is only recommended for very particular jobs, like this one. Setting ‘1’ is the most common.

Toilet hinges

Catch-all for urine, which saturates the pores of the plastic and leads to bacteria build-up, discolouration and odours

To clean, place a towel behind hinge (to catch the blow back) and blast clean with a nozzle

I typically recommend using a cleaning toothbrush for this task. However, many folks either don’t do it or can’t get over the thought of using and re-using a cleaning toothbrush on the hinges, even with cleaning the tool. When using the Ladybug to clean a toilet, I know that there will be nothing left on the surface by way of colour, odour or bacteria once the Ladybug has done it’s thing. This is great for under the rim of the toilet bowl as well, it blasts out bacteria and build-up with ease.

Toilet tools

I also used the Ladybug on my bowl brush and the most disgusting thing that is in your home….the bowl brush holder

I used it on my plunger too, I can pretty much disinfect anything in my bathroom by just spraying for a few seconds

Grout lines

Grout can be cleaned with baking soda, hydrogen peroxide and a cleaning toothbrush or sturdy scrub brush but we know this takes time, especially for a large floor area or shower

Grout is porous, meaning it absorbs and hangs on to anything that befalls it

Body oils, dirty water and cleaning tools and ground in debris all contribute to the discolouration of grout over time

The Ladybug makes this easy to clean; for one stain it can be blasted with a small nylon bristle brush, gently agitate and then wiped clean with a cloth

For larger areas, it is recommended to work with the larger floor brush and go over the grout, then wipe area clean with toweled brush attachment

Soap scum

Soap scum can be stubborn and work intensive, that’s why some of the most powerful chemicals are used in bathroom cleaning

The triangle brush and towel made the soap scum on my tiles just melt away

I worked slowly and watched the tiles become spotless, steak and scum-free

This took a very challenging and time consuming job and made it a lot easier. Further, if there is an area that is high up in the shower, the extension poles are available as opposed to the person cleaning having to reach. This also works well on glass shower doors, although I don’t have any to demonstrate it on.

Sinks and Faucets

Cleans sinks and shines faucets with ease

No scrubbing required, just a toweled brush or small nozzle brush to clean the areas and a cloth in your free hand to polish and wipe dirt away

I liked cleaning the bathroom sink with the Ladybug Tekno 2350, because it broke through scum and toothpaste build up that otherwise requires scrubbing. Also, it left a uniform shine to the sink and faucet, which is something you have to work at for a couple of minutes when cleaning without vapour. The results with this were almost instant.

Carpet

Vapour cleaning on carpets is awesome because it not only loosens dirt, but removes soil and most dirt while sanitizing and deodorizing the carpet

Use a towelled floor brush and placed on setting ‘2’

It kills the little critters that may be in the carpet, and the eggs and larvae that may be in the carpet as well, so pet owners should take note of that

Once you are finished you simply vacuum to remove particulate matter

I’ve done several things to my carpets over the years to clean them, and I loved the idea that the vapour was getting hot enough to kill anything my cats and other cleaning equipment has left behind. Even the best vacuums can only get about 80% of the dirt and other carpet dwellers out, and using vapour is a great way to kill the remaining ‘problematic’ 20%. Before vacuuming the carpet, you can use the floor brush on its own to lift the carpet pile, and then vacuum. My carpet was dry within a minute, which is amazing considering that deep cleaning carpets can take up to a day to dry.

Mattress & Pillows

This machine *kills dust mites* – using the toweled triangle brush, keep dust mites, larvae and eggs out for up to 8 weeks. Wow.

I slowly went over the mattress with the attachment

The mattress dried in under a minute and I was able to make up the bed

For people who struggle with dust allergies, there is no better way to deal with it than to treat the mattress and pillow with a Ladybug. I know that these treatments can cost hundreds of dollars if done by a professional, so if you can do it on your own, the machine will pay for itself. It can also kill bed bugs – which is ironic given it’s name!

I also cleaned my diamond rings (wow, do they sparkle), my sunglasses AND I even sanitized my toothbrush – you can also use the Ladybug on hardwood floors, tile floors, wallpaper, windows, clothing, dental instruments, boats, RVs, vinyl flooring, and plenty of other surfaces. It’s very versatile!

Test results and final impressions

What can I say – it’s an amazing machine. It’s like being given the keys to an exotic sports car and being asked how it feels to drive.

It does take some getting used to and there is a learning curve, but I think it’s well worth it. When you experience how well it cleans once you know how to use it, the time spent learning its ins and outs will be a great investment. It’s not difficult by any stretch, but you do have to take the time to understand which attachments are to be used where, how to change the attachments, how to manoeuvre the machine and how to maintain it. The Ladybug Tekno 2350 came with a 45 minute instructional DVD (awesome) as well as a laminated card that explains the tools, techniques and settings to use on virtually any setting in the home. Also, I’ve found the company itself to be extremely dedicated to ensuring customers are educated and completely in love with their machine. It’s nice to deal with a company that cares so much.

The cleaning that the Ladybug does is far beyond superficial cleaning, you clean to make your space look shiny and kill bacteria. This is all accomplished using no chemicals and leaving no chemical residues behind. It’s a healthy way to clean. I also love how there is no ‘wait time’ really, the vapour works almost on contact, not only to break down dirt and grime but even to kill bacteria.

But, there is the elephant in the room..

This is a professional product or at the very least a prosumer product – and it comes with the associated hefty price tag – the Tekno 2350 is a little over $2000 and even though Ladybug have units starting at about $1000 – it’s still a lot of money.

But, we live in a world of you get what you pay for, and that holds very true to Ladybug – if you are willing to spend the money, you’ll get an amazing machine.

For those of you who are professional cleaners – or business owners looking for a quality cleaning solution like me, this is a great option for you. As a cleaning service owner myself, I can see how this can save on product costs, save time for cleaners and create happier clients.

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foularcadebanana · 7 years ago

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This one’s for you, Mary!

When I found out a few weeks ago that today was Mary’s, @carpemermaid‘s, birthday, I was so excited because she is one of the reasons that Drarry discord exists! I have had such a wonderful time since I joined it and have made so many wonderful friends, had so many amazing conversations. Now truth be told we’ve never directly talked before, but I remember some time ago, I reblogged your amazing art and headcannons about Prince Harry and Prince Draco and the arranged marriage, which truly was a beauty. So I immediately knew what I’d love to write for you, but unfortunately, I have my exams the entire month and with so many fests coming up, I knew I couldn’t afford to write anything new because it wouldn’t be of quality and hence it wouldn’t make any sense.

So this is a very small one-shot that I wrote literal years ago and have saved in my folders because it is just so close to my heart and the first piece I’ve ever written of anything even resembling romance. Here you go Mary, I don’t know if it’s much to offer but I hope you enjoy reading this little piece.

A smile stretched across her lips as she looked through all of the photographs that she’d taken that day. He looked perfect in every single one of them. She was fascinated by him. The way his hair looked when the wind blew through them, the way he tried to make her laugh by making funny faces, the way he smiled, everything about him seemed so perfect. The pictures in the camera came alive in her mind and seemed to clearly run through her head as she looked through the many that she’d taken to capture all of the amazing moments forever.

He sat there with a paintbrush in his hand, trying to remember the look in her eyes when she smiled at him, the way her lips titled upwards and the expressions on her face just before she laughed. The way she pushed her hair back out of her vision, her eyes brightly lit and her hands already reaching for the camera. He felt frustrated as he ripped the page out of his drawing book. The painting didn’t do her justice. Not one of the many pieces of paper he’d overflowed the trashcan with managed to capture her beauty or the very essence of everything that made her her.

When she spotted him the next day, she called out his name excitedly, slinging the strap of her pack containing the camera tighter around her shoulder. But he didn’t respond, his back to her, and seemed to not have heard her. So she caught up with him and put her hand on his shoulder, turning him around gently.

She gasped when she saw his face. “What happened to you?”

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her in confusion. He couldn’t even open his eyes fully and he felt horrible. “What do you mean?”

She stepped forward in response, standing up on her toes and carefully putting her hand through his hair which was a complete mess. She brought it down, her thumbs brushing the black clear circles under his eyes and then traced his cheeks with her fingers as she eventually softly pressed her lips to his. Just as she was about to quickly pull away, her cheeks a scarlet red, she felt him kissing her back passionately.

He pulled her towards him, not wanting to let go of her, his eyes finally completely closing. She let her hands wrap around his neck and pulled his face towards hers instinctively, her eyes staying closed. She wanted to remember this moment forever, the one moment that her camera could never capture, and she desperately grasped onto it trying to keep every single piece of detail trapped in her mind forever.

As he pulled away from her, all he wanted to do in that moment was to draw her and paint her into his drawing pad. That was, until he remembered that he couldn’t. None of his drawings could even come close to the way she looked at that moment.

“I mean this,” she said as she finally let go of him, her hands dropping down to her sides. His arms still hadn’t let go of her waist and as they slowly did he saw her arms moving. He feared that she would bring her camera out. That she’d take a photograph and show him how bad he looked and how much of a mess he was, but instead she stood still and simply asked. "What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen to you?”

He had promised himself that he wouldn’t tell her, that he wouldn’t show it to her until he had gotten it right, until he drew her perfectly. But now he knew that he never could so he told her that he would show her instead of telling her.

She reached his house, concerned and worried. This was the first time that she hadn’t taken her camera out of her pack in quite some time and she wasn’t planning on doing it anytime soon either. In fact, taking photographs was nowhere near her mind right now. She was far too busy trying to think about the hundreds of things that could be wrong, the thousands of possibilities. When they finally entered into his house, he wordlessly pointed towards the trashcan.

It contained tens of crumpled-up pieces of plain A4-sized paper and she opened them one by one, silently smoothing them over. She didn’t utter a word, she couldn’t, as tears continuously flowed through her eyes and they didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping.

He cringed as he looked at her, looking back down in shame. “Are they that bad?” He asked.

He heard her answer shakily, “These are beautiful. I can’t- I’m not-” she managed to take a pause and wiped at her tears. More managed to spill. “How did you manage to capture me like this? I look…beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” he said.

“I know, but not this much. This is too perfect. This looks too real.”

“That’s a bad thing, right?”

“No. It’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARY!!! I REALLY HOPE YOU HAVE LOTS OF FUN TODAY!!!

#foularcadebanana #Happy Birthday #mary #carpemermaid #honestly #drarry discord #best thing ever #my fic #it's an original #so beware #it's called the photographer and the painter #and it is so close to my heart

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memoirsofagenie · 4 years ago

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Jersey Sails: From La Corbière to Cape Florida

Genie, 09/26/2020

(Short-story submitted to the [24th Annual] 2020 Zoetrope: All-Story Short Fiction Competition)

Put together a bay, a barrier reef, stretches of white sand, luscious vegetation, protected species and a lighthouse, and pirate stories start to abound. Honestly, who wasn’t an indigenous pirate of sorts in the Village of Key Biscayne? The majority of “Key Rats” (as Key Biscayners informally call themselves) had always taken pride in having very heterogeneous backgrounds and on being endowed with an innate seafaring force, and Jordana’s own family history didn’t fall far from this paradigm, considering they were Italians from Rome, albeit with an Abruzzese heritage, who had lived in over four continents before settling on the Key during Jordana’s early twenties. More than a Key Rat, she was a full-fledged third-culture kid.

Being now in her mid-forties and living with her widowed father, Jordana had heard, overheard, eavesdropped on and collected so many other tales of fellow local pirates, that she sometimes pondered whether she should group them in a volume. Not only did she thrive on historical details, but writing was truly her forte, so what was holding her back? Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she always felt the next story was going to be better… until the afternoon of August 17, 1992.

That August Monday, like all others after returning from work, Jordana picked-up her mail and engaged in another ritualistic habit of hers, that of chit-chatting with the front-door neighbor Uma, an elderly, retired politics college professor and widow from India who, with equal customary precision, would walk her rust Dobermann at 6:00pm sharp, not without first saying hello and providing the daily recap of salient gossip at the Harbor Drive waterfront condo where they both lived and from where the gorgeous Vizcaya could be admired across Biscayne Bay. Yet that afternoon, instead of watching one of Uma’s many colorful and glitzy dupattas and sarees blowing in the island breeze as was usually the case immediately after saying “see you tomorrow”, Uma invited Jordana for tea. It turns out she had walked the dog earlier, to dodge the sporadic thunderstorm of the day, a typically South Floridian late-summer meteorological phenomenon, much like the notorious London drizzle in winter.

Soon enough, as the beautiful Hindo-Islamic wood-carved door -a family heirloom which she had brought to America all the way from her native Jaipur when she got married- of Uma’s apartment closed behind them, the storm continued brewing and thunders started rolling. Jordana didn’t take much heed of the noises in the sky, because having tea at Uma’s was always a very relaxing and otherworldly experience, in particular after the fumes of incense and the aromas of her signature masala chai concoction steeping in boiling water would make shapes and shadows that sparkled across the “sheesh mahal”, or hall of mirrors… because that is exactly what Uma’s dining-room looked like, being as it was, plastered in multicolored Rajasthani marble intarsia and ornate thikri glasswork. However, the enchantment would soon break, because the retired politics professor also loved to have the TV on while sipping her tea.

“Breaking News: We interrupt this newscast to give you a detailed update of tropical storm Andrew’s trajectory,” the reporter said. “The tropical storm has now become a Category 3 hurricane and it might make landfall in Miami later this week…”

“This is insane. Are you hearing this, beti?” Uma exclaimed as she hastily stirred her chai, making alarming clanging sounds.

“Yes, I’m listening... What a drag, to have to go through evacuation again! Oh well… let us keep our fingers crossed and hope it makes a last-minute eastward turn, that way we don’t have to deal with it!” Jordana was always very hopeful, because having lived on the Key longer, not only had she already been through strong hurricanes, but she was also well aware of the possibility that even when landfall was imminent, the maleficent twisters could turn around and recede into the ocean.

The two women continued sipping their tea and chatting. Suddenly, it was dinner time, so Jordana thanked her hostess and left for her apartment. She had started opening and scanning through her mail while Uma was preparing the tea a couple of hours earlier, however a quirky golden, mildly distressed envelope had caught her eye, as both the stationery and the handwriting did not look familiar at first glance. The gulab jamun and tamarind chutney golgappas that Uma had served with chai had left her full, so she simply skipped dinner, slipped quickly into her pajamas and drew the mail from her purse, picking the mysterious bulky missive from the stack.

The postmark was less than a week old, but the location itself had completely blurred from the letter, making it hard to determine its actual provenance. What is more, the envelope lacked the names of both the recipient and the sender. Given Jordana’s fondness of the art of letter-writing and her eternal quest for original stationeries, she could only surmise that this singular quality of paper was rather old and out of production; still, this realization did not help much either.

Hence, giving in to her curiosity, she opened the letter, only to find a telegraphic, ten-line message in what seemed to be an old French Patois with a Gaelic twang or a Creole dialect of yore… who knows! This fact alone unleashed a myriad theories and resolutions in her head, because among the many Key Rats and island pirates, Haitian and other French-Antilles’ descendants were not uncommon. Tracking the true intended reader of the letter would not have been so challenging after all. Nonetheless, the contents of the envelope did not stop there, for accompanying the letter were ten black-and-white pictures of maritime settings that could have been taken anywhere on America’s Northeastern or Western Coasts, if it weren’t for the tenth picture, depicting a medieval hilltop castle, perched on the sea, surrounded by houses of what could easily have been -in view of the fuzziness- French Breton, Spanish Cantabrian, Galician, or Southern English fishing-village architecture.

Might this be the “story of stories” Jordana was awaiting in order to finally consolidate her volume of local pirate tales? Jordana was too tired to brainstorm that night. She went to sleep, resolving to drop by the quiet village library the next day after work, to start delving into the population archives while hoping to unearth some clues.

She would have to wait another week, sadly! The very next morning, as she glided through the Rickenbacker Causeway on her convertible red FIAT 500, the radio announcers made it clear that Hurricane Andrew, now a Category 4, was at the doors of the Panhandle. It was gaining more strength by the hour and was expected to enter precisely through Key Biscayne. Jordana was well-prepared for the chaos that was about to ensue. She still did her best to go to work with a positive outlook, shuffling the black-and-white pictures in her head, when it suddenly dawned on her that she HAD indeed seen the medieval castle before, but where?

In the days that followed, Jordana duly prepped the house for Hurricane Andrew, which by August 23rd had become a Category 5. She and her father would normally evacuate to the North, in Palm Beach. But this year, her father had been vacationing in Rome for the last two months and was not due to return before mid-September, leaving Jordana to brave the storm at Chavela’s -a long-term family friend who, like may in the Magic City, had exiled from Cuba- house in Coral Gables.

The wind monster ravaged South Florida the night between August 24 and 25. Despite the expected curfew after such an emergency, Jordana returned home to Key Biscayne the morning of the 25th. As also expected, the island had literally become, yet again, a boat anchorage. All of Crandon Boulevard was a massive water puddle and the boats had been lifted from the side-canals and seashore, flying and landing onto the streets. She turned right onto Harbor Drive, even more scared of what she would find. Paradoxically enough, her apartment building bordered on the Key Biscayne Yacht Club.

Once home, she opened the door leading to the shared patio of the condo, where the pool was located. To the right, she could see the heaps of boats in the Yacht Club’s marina, one on top of the other. For some miraculous reason, no boat had crossed over to the pool, as had happened two years prior. Many club members and boat owners had rushed to the club and Jordana could overhear their chatter across the surrounding turquoise wooden lattice. She got even closer as the multiple conversations started to get more dramatic.

The club manager was holding a huge roll in his hand. It was a spare red sail that had flown off one of the many crammed vessels. With the aid of two other men, he decided to unroll it. It had no tag or distinguishing marks, so perhaps unrolling it might have revealed a symbol, a drawing or pattern that could help determine whose it was.

“Hey Bob, just hold it tight on that end, please,” said the manager to one of the two other men.

“Wait a minute, it looks like there’s a drawing. Wait, it’s some kind of shield, or at least it looks like it,” said the third man.

As the three men kept unrolling, Jordana watched and listened intently. When the sail was completely open, a gust of wind lifted it momentarily allowing her a short glimpse of the so-called shield.

“Hey, it’s not a shield. It’s a coat of arms, or so it seems. This sail belongs to Colin Peirson!” cried Bob.

To which Paul, the manager echoed “oh, well! Let us roll it back and put it in the storage. I will have to compile a list of all the damaged boats, in any case. I will call everyone, one by one, so eventually he’ll put it back where it belongs.”

Jordana was uncertain whether it was a coat of arms or not. However, within the central shield were depicted the contours of the same castle; yes, that castle; the castle she had seen on one of the ten black-and-white pictures of the mysterious letter. She finally recalled that at some point during her first years in Key Biscayne, she had noticed the sail, fully blowing in the wind, in a bygone summer afternoon island regatta. Even back then, the castle had taken hold of her strong photographic memory, though with the passing of time, it had become one of the many beautiful but faded remembrances. Anyhow, atop the castle, waved a flag, which surely was the logo of the British Army, with the famous lion passant on the crest of St. Edward’s crown. Having quite a few military aficionados in the family, Jordana had no doubts, not to mention that when her dear mother was alive, they had frequently attended the spring military pilgrimages in Lourdes, where aside from reaffirming one’s faith, one could admire the distinct symbols and regalia of international military corps.

Instead of staying in the patio and cleaning up, she stuck to her pre-hurricane plans and rushed to the library. The library was not exactly what one would call well-stocked, however the population archives, its collection of various encyclopedias, particularly the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the microfiche section had always helped her during her college studies. Without further ado, she searched “Colin Peirson” and “British Army.”

She did remain skeptical during the process and thought to be off-track, because there was still the interrogative as to why the letter was in that hitherto unknown (to her) French-like language. And boy, was she off-track! As Jordana frenetically and enthusiastically read through her selected sources, her mind finally gained some clarity as she started reading about the Battle of Jersey between the English and the French during the American Revolutionary War.

“Goodness, how obvious!” she reckoned to herself. “This is no French Patois or Creole dialect,” she mused. Sure enough, it took her a further hour of information scavenging to arrive to the conclusion that the language of the letter was Jèrriais, or Jersey French. As for “Colin Peirson”, might he be a descendant of the hero of the Battle of Jersey, Major Peirson? On a side note, Jordana was also rather proud of her observational skills, for thinking that the architecture on the pictures might’ve been French Breton or Southern English, among others, wasn’t too far-fetched deep down!

While she admired John Singleton Copley’s impacting painting of the eponymous battle in one of the diverse sources consulted, Jordana’s head spinned as various historical scenarios played out in her head. There was only one thing left to do… she had to find Colin Peirson! The population archives of Key Biscayne indicated that, except for a six-month sojourn at the Le Phare condo on 798 Crandon Boulevard, he had always lived, ever since his arrival to South Florida, in the Southwest Point of the Mashta Island enclave.

The next day, Jordana decided to pay a visit to Mr. Peirson. As soon as she reached the address, she noticed she had unknowingly passed countless times in front of Mr. Peirson’s estate, for it was a palatial setting. Mr. Peirson’s house was not just the only house in the Southwest Point of Mashta Island, but it was also the only building in high Victorian style on Key Biscayne, a detail that clashed with the trademark Mackle and Cape Cod homes that populated the island from the 1960s onwards. Needless to say, Jordana had always wondered who lived in that fairy-tale, multi-colored house, of which the main particularities -aside from the Juliette balcony and the screened porch- were the steep turret flanking the southwestern corner of the building, covered in wooden scalloped shingles, and its topmost window made of intricately etched and stained glass, further framed by a carved dormer, depicting whimsical floral motifs. Jordana’s curiosity was particularly tickled by the hypothetical view from the turret. Who knows if Mr. Peirson would greet her, let alone invite her in to discuss the letter and possibly allow her to visit the turret?

Jordana made her way through the verdant, cobbled pathway leading to the door. She could hear all kinds of strange noises, something which reminded her Key Biscayne was basically two thirds parkland. It was not infrequent to be ambushed by iguanas, cranes, possums, raccoons… and asps, on occasion. Fortunately for her, this time she was only escorted by fluttering monarch butterflies and dragonflies.

Jordana knocked three times, when at last an elderly and jovial silver-haired gentleman opened the door. Matter-of-factly, he must’ve been rather handsome back in the day, as he was reminiscent of Paul Newman.

“Good morning. I’m looking for Mr. Peirson,” Jordana said.

“You found him. May I ask who you are and to what I owe this visit?” he replied.

“I believe I have something that belongs to you. For some reason, this letter was mailed to my house. I am sorry I had to open it, but as you may notice from the envelope, there is no discernible indication that it might have been yours. After a few coincidences and investigations, I finally found you,” Jordana explained.

“I’d love hear all about it. Do come in. I have just finished my breakfast,” Mr. Peirson said.

As Mr. Peirson locked the door behind them and guided Jordana to the living room, he drew the photographs from the envelope. With another gesture, he indicated the sofa, inviting her to sit down. He hastily looked at the pictures, two, three times. Jordana could see his piercing green eyes getting teary. As she explained what an ordeal it had been to track him down, all he could do was look at the pictures and sob, until he finally pulled himself together, dried his eyes and uttered “Wait here. I’ll be right back!”

Mr. Peirson shook a little, so before heading to what seemed to be his study, he picked up his cane. Once there, Jordana could hear him toiling with books and boxes. He was taking too long, so she got up from her armchair and walked to the threshold of the study door. As she stood peeking, she asked him if he needed any help. He gladly accepted. With his cane, he indicated what was apparently an oversized wooden music-box on the parquet floor.

“Can you please pick it up and open it?” he asked.

As she picked the box up and started lifting the lid, she took a quick look around the room and noticed that along the walls hung oversized posters of the ten pictures. What is more, the box itself contained a copy of the ten pictures too!

In the two minutes that it took Mr. Peirson to go sit at his desk, Jordana, still with the open box in hand, quickly analyzed for a second time her surroundings. The study was a rather dark place, seemingly of another era, so much so that the only things that shone were an old gramophone close to the door and a giant mother-of-pearl Jacobean shell. She hadn’t noticed either entering the study, but now she was thinking that perhaps she and Mr. Peirson might have something in common to talk about. If anything, they could break the ice further talking about Santiago de Compostela, a destination she had wanted to visit forever! Despite entertaining this thought, just as she was about to ask him about St. James’s Way -and possibly, his pilgrimage to Santiago- he took an old record from the first drawer of his desk: “Here dear, would you care to put this record on?”

He assumed Jordana would know how to activate the gramophone. Not that she really knew… but she did, nevertheless. She recalled some scenes of silent movies she had seen with her grandmother as a child and very nonchalantly loaded the record. The unmistakable and softly tremulous voice of Edith Piaf started resounding in the room: “quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose…” Before the Little Sparrow of France could bellow the following verses, Mr. Peirson had reached for the box containing the photographs that Jordana had left on his desk prior to loading the gramophone.

“I never thought I would tell anyone this story, let alone a stranger, but I feel I can trust you. Then again, you did go out of your way to find me, so you deserve to know. Say, dear, shall we go to the turret? We can admire the view and enjoy the breeze as we talk. Oh, and we can take the record upstairs. I have another gramophone up there. You seem to enjoy the wartime French chansonniers, don’t you? This record is a compilation of various artists. The next song is ‘La Mer’, by Charles Trenet.”

Jordana was really hoping he’d come up with the idea himself and got her wish of visiting the turret. Her inquiring mind was trying to guess where the staircase leading to the turret would be, as according to her sense of orientation and her mental planimetry of the house, she was pretty sure that the study was exactly perpendicular to the turret, so they were basically right below it.

As she tried to solve this puzzle too, she noticed yet another detail that had escaped her thus far. Behind Mr. Peirson’s desk hung a giant Flemish Gobelins tapestry depicting the ancient Greek myth of Daphne and Apollo. The coincidences, or signs, that her encounter with Mr. Peirson was meant to be increased by the second; being from Rome, her favorite statue had always been none other than the “Daphne and Apollo” by Gian Lorenzo Bernini kept at the Galleria Borghese! Anyhow, while she connected the dots and started daydreaming, Mr. Peirson had already vanished, only to pop out again after less than two minutes from behind the tapestry: “Well, dear, are you coming upstairs or not?”

“But of course!”, she exclaimed to herself. How could she have not imagined sooner that the door was behind the tapestry? Oh well!

Mr. Peirson had guessed correctly. Jordana loved the French chansonniers. In fact, she adored Charles Trenet, probably more than she did Piaf. She definitely did not want to miss the opportunity to partake of nostalgically wonderful European stories of the past while admiring the sea with great background music. Without wasting one second more, Jordana immediately grabbed the record, following him through the door and onto the coiled staircase of one-hundred-and-fifty steps. In normal circumstances, this would have been a tiresome exercise for Jordana, but the old man had made it altogether more bearable and somewhat inspirational by sharing anecdotes of how he had bought the plot of land where the house stood and how he had designed it.

“Ah… there it is, my dear! I give you the Cape Florida Lighthouse!” He exclaimed this with great pride and satisfaction as they both climbed the last step; clearly, both the turret and the view it provided were his labors of love. The beauty of Cape Florida was heightened by the radiant morning itself. One could see the white yachts, one by one, entering the water channels in procession and docking at No Name Harbor for the customary brunch at Boater’s Grill. The hurricane that had just passed had merely left some wrack along the shores; still and all, the water was so clear the yachts looked like aggregations of buoyant white manatees, the shadow of which was reflected further by the schools of glimmering swordfish swimming beneath them.

He resumed, “look again at these ten pictures. See this one? This was the view from my house back in Jersey. I grew up on a windswept clifftop, on the southwestern part of the island. We had a house, very much like this one, situated along a narrow alley crowning Le Mont du Petit Port. During the spring and well into the summer, I would climb our own steep turret and admire Beauport Beach on one side, Petit Port on the other side, and the lighthouse at La Corbière in between! Such delightful memories! As you can see, not only am I in the southwestern part of Key Biscayne, but every time I stare into the golden horizon and at the Cape Florida Lighthouse, my mind steadily flies back to those blissful days…”

“So, you took these all these pictures as a child?”, Jordana asked.

“I took these pictures, but not as a child; although, in hindsight, I was perhaps a child. In any case, it wasn’t until my seventeenth birthday that my favorite uncle, a diplomat at the American Embassy in Washington D.C., gave me a camera! It was December 1939, two years before the Attack on Pearl Harbor.”

“I see. It must’ve been excruciating, especially considering what happened over the next few years. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the Germans occupy the Channel Islands sometime during the summer of 1940?”, Jordana asked.

“So they did, my dear! So they did! The date was June 30, 1940!” As he said it, he couldn’t hide his malaise, briefly sighing and gasping for air. He then added, “and that is why I decided to continue our ancestral family business. For generations, we had been sailmakers. Logically, during the Occupation, the business was confiscated, so apart from sails, we also had to provide sacks or camping tents. Anyhow… whenever I had some spare time, I would dash out with my camera and immortalize beauty.”

“Did you have a choice? I mean, could you choose what to do?”, Jordana asked.

“Well, you must’ve noted I have to walk with a cane,” he replied.

“I did detect, but given the gist of our conversation, I had rather assumed that you might have been wounded in battle,” Jordana said.

“True, it could have been an option. But my shaking is a result of an injury. When I was fifteen, I had a bad fall while exploring the Minkies at low tide.”

“What are the Minkies?”, Jordana asked.

“Les Minquiers. Here they are,” he said, as he pulled out yet another photograph from the stack of ten. “We call them the Minkies. They’re a group islands off the coast of Jersey. Actually, islands and rocks. During the low tide, the rocks emerge. With two other friends, we would sneak out with a paddleboat every other Saturday during the summer of ’37. We loved exploring and walking on the rocks. One day I fell and fractured my ankle. Despite various medical therapies, I never fully recovered. That’s why I could never participate in active combat if enlisted in the army, nor could I drive properly. Therefore, I could only become a doctor, a cook, a photographer or follow into my father’s footsteps. I was no doctor and I most definitely couldn’t cook. Still can’t… “, he said, chuckling. “By the way, I realized I haven’t offered you anything. Would you like some freshly baked scones? I’ll tell Maria to bring some upstairs.”

“Thank you, but don’t worry! I had breakfast before coming. I’d much prefer hearing more about the pictures,” Jordana replied. In the midst of this light moment, she decided it was a good time to bring up the castle. Before she could even start second-guessing herself, she boldly popped the question: “What castle is that? Having seen it on your sail at the yacht club, I imagine it must have a deeper significance than the rest of the pictures…”

“Oh, c’est lé Vièr Châté, ma chère!” he exclaimed, mixing French and Jèrriais. “It’s Mont Orgueil, the Old Castle; Mount Pride; Haughty Mount… it’s Gorey Castle! And yes,” he paused for a moment and finished the phrase, “if you should know, it is near and dear to my heart!”

“But just a second Mr. Peirson, I don’t see any battle or war scenes in these pictures. I don’t see any soldiers either,” Jordana pointed out, with a quizzical look.

“Ah, well, you see, that’s exactly the point, my dear girl! As I said earlier, I pledged to myself to immortalize beauty. Now, Paul was a nurse apprentice at the Military Hospital. On occasion, he would accompany me and watch my back, and suggest views. Naturally, I gave him some copies as well,” he said. “Anyhow, Gorey Castle was the last picture I ever shot in Jersey. It was also the last time I saw Jersey, as Paul and I had decided to escape that very night. Except he ended up in Portugal and I ended up here, reinventing myself as a full-time professional photographer! He married a girl from Sintra and established himself as a high-school biology teacher, near the Promonotorium Magnum...”

“Who is Paul and where is the Promontorium Magnum?” Jordana asked. “I used to be pretty good at geography, but I never heard of such place in Portugal…,” Jordana said.

Mr. Peirson giggled, lifted his eyebrows in a mischievous way and replied: “really, and have you heard of the Rock of Lisbon? Oh, and Paul was my closest friend since childhood.”

Again, Jordana was feeling surprised and slightly embarrassed she hadn’t heard of either place. It was not like her to be unprepared in certain matters, but Mr. Peirson giggled again and broke the silence, revealing the enigma: “I’m pulling your leg, dear. He lived near Cabo da Roca. Leonor, his lovely wife, was the daughter of the lighthouse keeper.”

At this juncture, Jordana was undecided. Should she ask more about the letter and its contents, or should she ask how he and Paul escaped? She opted for the former. “I hate to pry, but is the letter from Paul?”

“Sort of,” Mr. Peirson said. “We spoke and wrote regularly, but sadly he passed away a year ago. I had intended to go to his funeral, but at the last minute Leonor told me to wait, as he didn’t really want to be buried; she said there would be a second funeral, in line with his last wishes.”

“So sorry to hear that. So his wife speaks Jèrriais? She wrote the letter?” Jordana continued. “And what is a second funeral, if I may? Is that some kind of surviving Norman tradition in Jersey?”

“Paul wrote two letters shortly before dying. One for his family and the other one for me. Leonor knew the contents, but she misplaced it. For a long time, she could not find it. I did tell her to forget about it and that it would eventually resurface, but she was adamant in making sure that I physically received it before we could proceed. Anyhow… he wanted to be cremated on the anniversary of our escape date, and his ashes scattered in the ten places portrayed in my photographs. Undoubtedly, he wanted me to be there!”

“What an intense story!” Jordana exclaimed. Although she had been fairly audacious up until that point, her instinctive, overarching discretion took over, suggesting it was time to end the conversation right then and there. Then again, they could pick it up some other time, upon Mr. Peirson’s return and only if he wanted. “Well, I think perhaps, it’s best for me to go, now. I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I’m sure you want to start preparing for your trip back home. I wish you a wonderful journey and safe travels! Is this the first time you’re returning to Jersey after all these years?”

“No. I had been back in the late seventies, for my mother’s funeral. But a lot will have changed, yet again,” he said.

“Right, I know you’re going to a funeral, but perhaps you may retrace your photographs, this time in color,” Jordana timidly uttered. “Good-bye for now. Until we meet again,” she said.

Before she could get up from her chair, he quickly said “I think you can take those pictures with your own eyes. How about you come along as my assistant?”

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kingmaker-thac0hno · 5 years ago

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An Expected Journey: Part 7

The Journal of Evrin Brazenbrook

23-24 Neth, 4710

It has been nearly seven months since I last thought to pick up this journal to write an entry. Indeed, I nearly burned this book on several occasions in the past few months, as I wince every time I reread my insipid prose and reflect on who I was earlier this year. But yesterday, during the Festival of the Seven Veils that Saryn had carefully arranged, the opportunity presented itself to regale the townsfolk of Haven with tales of our apparent heroics, and I was urged to tell of a few choice encounters. I immediately ran to my home and grabbed this very journal, and proceeded to speak of some of the more exciting adventures, such as coming across a clearing full of rusty hunting traps or the cache of goods beneath a scorched tree, and I was encouraged by the signs of people clearly deep in thought about what I had to say. It made me realize that my words do indeed have value, and that I should resume documenting my adventures for the sake of others. Hence, this entry.

As I write, many townsfolk are hungover, though Armauk and I wisely abstained. I must admit that yesterday’s festival was a sight to behold. I normally care little for celebrations and performances, but Kimble in particular, with some help from Saryn, put some incredible craftsmanship on display in the form of memorable costumes. We also witnessed an awesome display by our friends, the Sootscale kobolds, highlighted by Chief Sootscale himself propped-up in a dragon-shaped litter. We also met a very curious fellow with the unlikely name of Stone Walker, who revealed that he was writing a book called How to Rule, and he came to us after receiving a very bad impression from Baron Drelev after documenting him for some time. Mr. Walker claims to have some skills in the magical arts, and we certainly welcome his company. Saryn in particular preened like a peacock at the gnome’s offer, and I fear that it will soon go to his head, if that has not happened already.

25 Neth, 4710

Today was simple, yet important. We returned to the Stag Lord’s fort to rid its grounds of the undead that have been rising from various mounds, as we hope to lay a greater claim to the area, and perhaps start populating it in the near future. I managed to round up all of the animated corpses, gathering them into a single location, and Armauk managed to reduce them all to dust with a few words. If only I had known it would be that easy earlier! But I am nonetheless impressed by the kindly half-orc’s skills, and trusted his judgment when he chose to destroy the shrine to Gyronna in the cellar of the fort. Tomorrow we plan to track down the talking wolf we had encountered many months ago, as Saryn tells us that worgs—that is apparently what these beasts are called—are cruel creatures who should be nowhere near our home.

26-27 Neth 4710

We slew the worg! In truth, it was not hard to find the beast, as it seemingly had no reason to try to hide its whereabouts. Bones were strewn around the entrance of a small cave, and Karis opted to turn himself invisible and sneak inside to take a look. While I was a few hundred feet away, I saw the most amazing sight: a now-visible Karis running from the cave, pursued by a pack of angry wolves! They caught him and mauled him quite badly before we were able to intervene. The worg itself proved no match for our collective might, and he was quickly dispatched in flames by our new comrade and documentarian, Stone Walker. While we had to kill a pair of wolves to prevent them from devouring the elf, we managed to scare the others off. Nothing more came of this encounter, and we opted to return to Haven today to mount the worg’s head on a pike in Havenhall. I personally care little for trophies such as these, but I was assured by the others that they can boost morale. Tomorrow, our plan is to take the canoes to start exploring some of the regions to the south. It has been awhile since any of us has been adventuring, and I daresay that a few of us are excited to have a temporary reprieve from our administrative tasks in Haven.

28-29 Neth, 4710

I have little time to write tonight, as I am exhausted from spending the better part of two days rowing in a canoe. We were fortunate to have the current with us into the Tuskwater, and after most of a day, we saw an island that Saryn had previously spotted overhead from Grimfeather’s back. It was too late for us to explore the island, but some among us claimed to have seen lights coming from the ruin itself, and others mentioned that they might have seen lights elsewhere. After getting some rest, we canoed over to the island in the morning, where Karis did a quick look around. He did not see anything of note, so we decided to press on to the other shore where lights were spotted. It was late, but after some quick recon, we discovered there was an encampment, or perhaps a reinforced village, of two dozen or so people—women and children included. We have decided to spend the night at a distance, lest they see us as a threat, arriving so late in the evening.

30 Neth, 4710

Today I felt some of the strongest emotion I have experienced since our siege of the Stag Lord fort back in Gozreh. This morning we awoke to the sight of six armed men inquiring about our purpose for being there. Saryn opted to be diplomatic, but as the men kept speaking, it became clearer and clearer to us that they were bandits formerly of the Stag Lord’s retinue. I was ready to cut down all of them as soon as it dawned on me that they themselves might have murdered Vekkel or Svetlana, or set flame to Oleg’s Trading Post, or any number of other atrocities besides. With great reluctance, I refrained from drawing against them outright, and the others of the party suggested that we simply leave the area and return to the island we had scouted yesterday. Make no mistake that I have nothing but derision toward these men, and were I a more vengeful person, I would make it a goal to ensure that no one else could be a victim to these brutes. But for now, I will try to put them largely out of mind. As it happens, the other event of the day makes that easier to do.

We rowed back to the island, and by midday we were out of the canoe and exploring. All of us felt a strong sense of unease, and while I am not accustomed to feeling fear, I cannot deny that there was an aura of foreboding while there. Armauk could not conceal his own fright, and noticeably lingered behind all of us. When we approached the ruin of the tower, Saryn and I immediately entered and soon found some skeletal remains wearing a strange suit of plate mail, with an unusual ring nearby. We had no time to examine further, however, as the others of our party were swiftly beset upon by shocking balls of light, perhaps the will-o’-the-wisps I was told about as a child. Once again Karis bore the brunt of the attack, and at this point I am starting to wonder if he is somehow cursed. After dispatching several of these wisps, we retrieved the armor and ring, and decided to return to Haven. We will disembark tomorrow, and while my heart yearns to continue our adventure, I cannot deny that returning to Haven now feels like returning home.

1-5 Kuthona, 4710

Our travel to Haven was long and arduous, as we had to fight the current for much of the way, and for all of Stone Walker’s other skills, he is truly abysmal at manning the oars…but we did eventually make it without incident. The gnome did manage to identify the provenance of the armor and the ring, and I find both to be disquieting, though perhaps in the right hands they will be of use. The armor in particular is of a very high quality, and will be a major upgrade to one of the guards. Revna seems to have excelled the most, and despite her youth, she has shown much promise. Speaking of youth, today is Armauk’s birthday, and all of us were shocked to learn that he is only seventeen. This explains a few things about him, like his fascination with horses and his tendency to smash things with his warhammer, though none can ever doubt his mettle or his devotion. I, for one, am certainly glad he is a comrade, as he would make a rather formidable foe.

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siyingeportfolio · 5 years ago

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Reflection on My Guided Learning Animation Journey

Now that the final animation is complete, I would like to reflect on my Guided Learning journey in this semester!

If I have to identify challenges I faced, it would be:

Communicating and collaborating with SVA: I initially thought the project that was introduced to us in the SVA briefing was already on-going, and that I could simply help SVA by interviewing more vet techs around Singapore. Turns out, the project was not established yet, and both parties had different understandings on what the project was going to be like, which led to confusions between us. I also faced uncertainties where I felt like the project was not collaborative at all, as it felt as if I was only retrieving information from SVA, instead of helping them as initially planned during the SVA briefing for our GL proposals in school.

Small number of responses received: The low number of responses made me concerned as to how reliable the statistics will be, as 10 respondents definitely did not seem reliable. During this time, SVA mentioned that their survey results would be out soon, hence I initially thought I could use their results for analysis, and to pool a larger sample for my project. Hence, I decided to pause my animation progress to wait for the results before I proceed to work on the scenes that required the statistics. However, after pausing for a week, I realized that I would not have enough time to complete if I wait for the results to come out. Hence, I decided to continue with my animation without the data from SVA, ultimately sacrificing statistical reliability in my infographic.

Delays and postpone to project plan: After the delay and postponing of the animation progress due to the pause in the progress as previously mentioned, I realized that together with my underestimation on how long an animation scene will take to complete and the fact that the initial timeline plans were postponed, I may not be able to complete all of the scenes that were planned out in my initial storyboard. This led to alterations to my final storyboard, where I unfortunately had to cut out scenes that I felt were not as important as addressing the misconceptions about being a Vet Tech.

Additionally, if I have to identify the weaknesses that I have realized in myself throughout the journey, it would be:

Overconfidence/underestimation: As seen from my initial timeline that I planned, I was definitely too overconfident and severely underestimated the amount of time and work I actually needed to put in into this project; as I thought it would be simple.

Lack of realistic planning: To add on to the 1st point, I failed to plan realistically due to my overconfidence.

Tendency to procrastinate: Addition to the previous 2 points, due to my overconfidence and lack of realistic planning, I had the tendency to procrastinate throughout the project as I thought completing it would be a breeze. This led me to set this GL project aside while I handle the other modules’ projects, before reality struck me.

Poor time management: While on the midst of this project, there were concurrent projects ongoing in the other modules as well. My lack of proper time management resulted in pushing back one of the projects, and also a work-life balance in most days.

Irrational fear: While on the Planning stage, I was very hesitant to send out e-mails to various clinics all around Singapore as I felt that they would not take me seriously, and may find my request to be “ridiculous”. This led to me waiting for a minimum of 1 week before I sent out another e-mail again, as I was worried that sending out another e-mail would burden the clinics, and that my e-mail would be seen as a “spam”.

Too detail-oriented: Although it may be a good thing if in the right situation, it was a weakness in me as I was already facing time constraints even after reducing the number of scenes. I realized that I had to speed up in drawing the frames. This resulted in half of the animation looking less-detailed as compared to the first two scenes. Various frames had to be re-used as well in order to save time from drawing more individual frames. Due to this, I felt rather uncomfortable proceeding with the project as I tend to strive for perfection and I disliked the feeling of rushing and not being able to give my best in the animation.

If I have to give 3 words to describe the overall project, it would be:

Creative: Mainly because of the fact that the project is mainly focusing on the arts, and I had to come up with a plan for to execute my project independently.

Interesting: Not only because I get to learn about animating and the experiences from actual veterinary technicians/nurses, but also because of the challenges I had faced. I initially did not expect that this project would experience many roadblocks. For an ordinary person, who have thought an animation project would have so many setbacks and challenges involved when it is supposed to just be “drawing” only?

Mind Opening: A major word I would use to describe this entire journey. This project has taught me that there are many blind spots and weaknesses in myself that I was not aware of. I initially thought I was already an independent, self-initiated learner, and I thought this project would be easy enough to complete quickly as I already had an art background. I thought I could spend time to “set this project aside” to handle other modules. However, I was quickly struck with reality when I started animating. I definitely underestimated how long it takes to complete 1 scene and how incredibly time consuming it is, despite the simple concept behind animation.

If I have to come up with 3 values to describe what I have learned in this project, it would be:

Open-minded: In addition to ‘Mind Opening’ as previously mentioned, this project taught me this value as I realized I needed to be open minded to be able to find ways to solve the setbacks I faced, I needed to find alternative ways instead of following 1 exact pathway. If I were to continue being insistent on following the initial pathway that I planned for the project (e.g. to get SVA’s results, every scene must be perfectly detailed and smooth, etc.), I would not be able to complete the project in time.

Additionally, on a deeper level, I learned to be receptive to criticism, not only from the feedback I obtained from the animation, but through realizing about my weaknesses in the things I do, as stated in the previous paragraph, and learning how to improve from there. Many people tend to stray away from knowing their weaknesses (Let’s be honest, it doesn’t feel pleasant hearing bad things about yourself.), which can results in a sheltered, fixed mindset which is detrimental to future growth.

Curiosity: Other than willing to learn more about animation, I forced myself to search beyond my comfort zone. I was initially afraid to send out emails to various vet clinics nationwide as I fear that they may view my request as a “burden”, or that my questions are nonsensical, ridiculous, and a waste of time to answer. Despite getting only 10 responses, those 10 that I received ended up to be very insightful and I realized that obtaining 1st hand information about something I am very passionate about is much more rewarding than a 2nd hand, book resource. This helped build further curiosity and confidence in me to be willing to learn more from others firsthand in the future.

Independence: In the midst of my project journey, I eventually came to realize that I could not rely on SVA for the results responses.

This has taught me to not rely on others for my learning, and I should take initiative in my learning and the things I do in the future.

If I could add on 1 more value, it would definitely be Appreciation. This entire journey taught me to appreciate the smaller things in life especially after experiencing how animating actually is like. It did not dawn on me that animating actually has many things happening backstage, and it’s not simply just “draw many frames”, as your mindset, motivation, and perseverance all play a part in the completion of the work as well. This project taught me to appreciate even the minute things in life as you may not always be aware of what is happening backstage that allows the small things to happen.

If I were to reflect on the things that went well for my project, it would be:

The overall execution of the animation: I was quite pleased with the final outcome especially when the narration was added in, despite the reduction of scenes and poorer-quality frames due to time constraint.

Application of what I’ve learned from resources: Especially when drawing frames that represent falling/bending/movement. I believe that this strength could be applied to my academics, as modules such as Clinical Diagnostics Techniques, and Animal Diseases and Clinical Pathology are definitely more application-based instead of theory.

Overall, looking back at my Guided Learning journey, I am very glad that I have decided to embark on this despite the various challenges I faced in this semester. It has taught me so much more than just animation. This journey definitely taught me that in order to achieve future growth, one must be willing to reflect on one’s actions, identify weaknesses within themselves and further improve from there. Given the chance to embark on a similar project again, I would definitely give it another go with all the things I have learned from this journey.

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