#maybe ill see him when i begin my masters hmmm

[huginsmemory]

Yesterday was the last Astro lab with the vamp play ta. U shall be missed vamp play ta, mad respect. may we meet again 🫡😔

[mommymooze]

Grand ReOpening

Hubert x Reader 5,613 words

descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU

You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.

You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.

Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.

The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.

They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.

Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.

Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.

Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.

“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?” You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.

A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.

Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.

Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.

“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.

You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.

You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.

“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.

After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.

A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.

You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.

You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the

item?

Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.

V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?

You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.

V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.

Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.

Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.

You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.

He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.

“Good morning” you greet him casually.

“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.

“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.

“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”

You roll your eyes.

He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”

Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”

Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”

“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”

“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.

“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.

“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”

“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.

“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”

“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”

“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.

Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”

He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.

Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.

There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.

A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.

Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.

Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.

Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.

He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.

You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.

The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.

Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.

Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.

The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.

“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.

“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.

Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.

“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.

“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”

He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.

Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.

Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.

“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.

Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”

“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”

Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.

“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.

“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.

“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.

“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.

“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.

“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.

“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.

You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.

“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”

He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”

Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.

You share your findings.

“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.

“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.

Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.

“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”

Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.

After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”

You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.

The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.

You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.

The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.

Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.

“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.

“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.

“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.

The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.

Epilogue:

Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.

It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.

You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…

[vgckwb]

ML: Are They Worthy? Chapter 80: Horrible Truths and Beautiful Lies!/Trickstern

Tuesday morning brought visitors to the Tsurugi residence. Specifically, Hao-yu and Corina. Tomoe answered. “How may I help you?”

“Hello” Hao-yu said. “We are associates of the guardians of Paris. We just wanted to ask a few questions about some documents you provided us with.”

Tomoe smiled. “Come on in.” The two entered her home. Tomoe messaged her daughter that it would be easier for her to stay out with her friends. The three of them sat down. “Now, what may I help you with?”

Hao-yu looked at Corina and nodded. “We’re just having trouble deciphering this document.” He pulled out a scroll that looked ancient.

“I can sort bits and pieces of it,” Corina explained, “but  can’t put it together.”

“What can you tell me about the document, miss?” Tomoe asked. “I am unable to see what you have brought forward.”

“Oh, sorry” Corina said. “From what I can tell, it’s a story about the fox miraculous. The scroll is fairly old, Japanese, and it appears to tell the story of someone passing on the fox miraculous.”

“Ah, yes,” Tomoe said. “I am very familiar with this story.”

Hao-yu and Corina were surprised. “Can you tell us in full?” Hao-yu asked.

Tomoe nodded. “As you have said, this is a fairly old story. It begins in a village. The village had a protector by the name of Akagitsune. She would use her illusionary tricks to thwart anyone who would cause harm to her village. Of course, this was because she had the fox miraculous

Akagitsune’s alter ego was a woman named Hatsuko. Hatsuko was your average villager, for the most part. But everyone who met her liked her. She was set to marry a man by the name of Hideki. However, Hatsuko came down with a grave illness, and it was clear she wasn’t long for this world. As she was laid up, her husband-to-be kept watch over her.”

“It’s not fair,” Hideki said, on the verge of tears. “Why you? Why now? Is there nothing I can do?”

“Sweetie” Hatsuko replied. “There is something you can do.” Hideki looked at her. Hatsuko gently caressed his face. “You can be happy, as I have been.”

“But...but…” Hideki said.

“I know,” Hatsuko said. “But I can say I don’t have any regrets. I’ve loved this village, I’ve loved my family, and I’ve loved you. That is all I can ask for. And I want you to carry that love.” Hideki nodded through his tears.

There was a knock at the door. “May I come in?” said a child’s voice.

Hideki turned toward the door. “Of course, sweetie,” Hatsuko said.

A young girl opened the door. “Fumi, what are you doing here?” Hideki said.

Fumi was nervous. “I just saw these flowers, and I thought Hatsuko would like them, big brother.”

Hideki relaxed. “It’s OK Hideki,” Hatsuko said. Hatsuko gestured Fumi forward. Fumi handed her the flowers. “My, these are lovely. Thank you, Fumi-chan.” Fumi smiled, but then got sad again, as her brother’s fiance grew weaker.

“Hatsuko!” Hideki worried.

“Please,” Hatsuko said. “Don’t worry about me. My fate is sealed.” Hideki became silent, partially because it was true, and partially because he wanted to respect his girlfriend’s wishes. “Fumi-chan.” Fumi looked up. “I have a gift for you as well.” She pulled out a box. “This will keep you safe. I need you to take really good care of it. Can you do that for me?” Fumi nodded. “Thank you.”

“Wait, she gave the miraculous to Hideki’s sister, and not Hideki?” Hao-yu questioned in the present.

Tomoe nodded. “That is a point of confusion for most first-time listeners of this story. But it will all come together in due time.”

“I think I understand it though,” Corina said. Hao-yu and Tomoe were surprised. “But, I want to hear more. I just have a hunch.”

Tomoe nodded. “Very well. Not long after, Hatsuko passed. Her family, and Hideki’s were in mourning. Everyone was taking it hard, but Hideki harder than anyone. There were days where he would hardly move.”

Fumi approached her brother. “Um, I know it’s been hard,” she said, “but today is a nice day. I think that if we walked around, we would start to feel better.”

“Nothing could make me feel better,” Hideki said.

“Please big brother,” Fumi continued. “I don’t think Hatsuko would want to see you like this.”

“I DIDN’T WANT TO SEE HATSUKO LIKE THAT, BUT IT HAPPENED!” he snapped. He saw that he had scared his sister. “I’m sorry.”

Fumi was still nervous. “I’m sad too, you know. Hatsuko was like a big sister to me. I didn’t want to lose her either.” There was a silence. “I’m going to go on that walk. Today is a nice day. A day Hatsuko would love. I’m going to experience it for her.” She walked back to her room to prepare.

Hideki still wallowed. “Hideki,” a voice called out.

Hideki was shocked. “Hatsuko? Hatsuko, where are you?”

“Follow my voice,” Hatsuko’s voice said. “You will find me in the forest.”

“The forest, huh?” Hideki said. “OK.” He left a note saying he was going out after all, and then left.

Meanwhile, Fumi was preparing herself when she found the box that Hatsuko gave her. She opened it up to find a necklace. A flash of light appeared, which turned into Trixx. “Hiya!” she said.

Fumi was shocked. “Woah!”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Trixx said.

“Wh-what are you?” Fumi asked.

“I am a kwami,” Trixx said. “My name is Trixx.”

“Trixx?” Fumi said.

Trixx nodded. “And what is yours?”

“...Fumi” she answered. “What is going on? Why are you in the box Hatsuko gave to me.?”

“Like I said, I am a kwami!” Trixx said. “I am a being that can give people the power of illusions through the use of this miraculous.” She pointed to the necklace

Fumi looked at it. “Illusions…” Fumi wondered. “Wait, does that mean?”

Trixx nodded. “Hatsuko was Akagitsune.”

Fumi was shocked. “I don’t get it. Why did she choose me? Why not Hideki?”

“I asked that when she made her decision as well,” Trixx said.

Trixx remembers what Hatsuko told her, as she was laid up due to her illness. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Hideki with all of my heart. However, Hideki is a bit emotional at times. You told me that a miraculous user needs to keep a cool head.”

“Yeah, but his sister?” Tixx argued.

“She is the bravest person I know” Hatsuko retorted. “Look, I know it might seem weird to you, but it will make sense in due time.”

“Very well. I trust your judgement” Trixx said.

“The bravest person she knows?” Fumi wondered after hearing that.

“That’s what she said,” Trixx responded.

Fumi thought about it. “I doubt that it’s true, but I am honored. I guess I have to respect Hatsuko’s wishes and become the new Akagitsune.”

Trixx smiled. “I can see why she chose you already.”

“I knew it!” Corina said.

“Knew what?” Hao-yu asked.

“The reason Hatsuko chose Fumi over Hideki” Corina answered. “It’s like how you got akumatized over helping me when you arrived in Paris. Hideki was in a similar situation, and cooler heads need to prevail.”

“I see” Hao-yu said.

“Very perceptive,” Tomoe said. “Anyways…”

Fumi took the miraculous and put it on. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was planning on going for a walk.”

“That’s fine,” Trixx said. “It’s not like she was always Akagtsune.”

Fumi left her room and noticed her brother wasn’t there. “Huh?” she wondered. She found a note. She went over to read what it said. “‘I’m heading to the forest to be with Hatsuko. -Hideki’?!” She let go of the note. “We have to go!” She ran off.

Trixx flew next to her. “What’s going on with this forest?”

“The forest is cursed!” Fumi explained. “There are several stories where people go in, but never come out!”

“Really?!” Trixx said. “Hmmm. And the note said he’s going to be with Hatsuko?”

“Yeah” Fumi answered.

Trixx got a worried look on her face. “Could they be here?” she wondered. “I have a bad feeling I know what the cause is.”

Meanwhile, Hideki was wandering around in the forest.”Hatsuko! Hatsuko, where are you?!” He saw her. She gestured him to follow her deeper into the forest. He did.

“An evil kwami?” Fumi questioned.

Trixx nodded. “Specifically, I think it might be my evil counterpart: Trickstern.”

“Why do you think it’s them?” Fumi asked.

“Because if Hideki is hearing or seeing Hatsuko, it could be a mirage” Trixx explained.

“So, why do you think there’s an evil kwami here in the first place?” Fumi asked.

“You said it yourself, the forest is cursed” Trixx said. “When us good kwamis dealt with the evil kwamis a very long time ago, we couldn’t get rid of them entirely. We had to seal them. The various locations we sealed them in over time grew to be cursed. However, I think Trickstern wants someone to break them free.”

“And Hideki can do that?” Fumi asked.

Trixx nodded. “It’s really hard to, but Hideki fits all of the criteria. He was close with Hatsuko, so he has an association with miraculous power. He is in the area that is holding the evil kwami. And he is swelling with negative emotion. The perfect prey.”

“Hold on” Corina interrupted in the present. “Arakk, is this true? About the evil kwamis?”

Arrak and Scorpii popped out. “It is,” Arakk said.

“And you never thought to mention this before?” Corina asked.

“Well, as it says in the story, it is very hard to come across those specific circumstances” Arakk answered.

“Hold up,” Hao-yu said. “Is it possible to at least understand the will of these creatures?”

“What do you mean?” Scorpii asked.

“Well, I was thinking about what Ma- ...Master Ladybug said” Hao-yu explained. “About how various looters knew to attack specific miraculous sites. Maybe they were trying to gain that affinity to miraculous power to set those evil kwamis free.”

Scorpii and Arakk were shocked. “Hmmm. Maybe” Scorpii said.

“To be honest, it has been a long time since we’ve needed to deal with these evil kwamis,” Arakk said. “We know what to do when danger is imminent, but so much happens that it’s not at the forefront of our mind.”

“Well, either way, it seems like we have an answer,” Hao-yu said.

“Still, I would like to hear the end of this story,” Corina said. Tomoe nodded.

Fumi grew determined. “I need to stop him.”

“If you’d like, you can use my power,” Trixx said. “All you have to do is say “Trixx! Let’s Pounce!”

Fumi smiled. “Trixx! Let’s Pounce!” She transformed into a hero of the fox miraculous, which came with a domino mask, an orange kimono, fox ears, and a fox tail. She looked at the instructions that came with her flute to get herself adjusted to her power.

“Closer” said the mirage leading Hideki. “We’re almost there.” Hideki came even closer.

“STOP!” yelled another Hatsuko. This confused Hideki, and angered the mirage.

Hideki turned around to see another Hatsuko. “Hatsuko? But you’re there.”

“That’s right,” said the first mirage. “I’m here. Come to me.”

“No! That’s not true” the other mirage said. “Neither of us are real!”

Hideki was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“That Hatsuko is a fake! Created to lead you into destruction!” the second mirage said.

“So, are you real?” Hideki asked.

“No” the second mirage answered. “I was created to stop you.”

“What?” Hideki said.

“Come now, don’t listen to her,” the first mirage said. “She’s fake. She said so herself.”

“She’s also fake!” the second mirage said. “She’s just using you to get what she wants!”

“Be quiet!” the first mirage said.

“I don’t know what to do,” Hideki said.

“Just follow me!” the first mirage said.

“No!” the second mirage chimed in. “Go back! You have a life to lead!”

“Yeah, but a life without Hatsuko…” Hideki trailed off.

“Come closer, and you can be with me forever and ever” the first mirage said.

“Do you think I’m the only person in your life that deserves love?!” the second mirage said. Hideki looked at her. “Because if you do, then you never loved me at all.”

“No sweetie, of course I love you” Hideki said.

“If you love me enough to marry me, then you must love everything about me, right?” the second mirage said.

“Of course!” Hideki confirmed.

“Then you have to love the fact that I cared for everyone!” the second mirage said. “And I know you do too.”

Hideki looked down at the ground. “You’re right. It’s just…”

“It’s OK,” the second mirage said. “I understand. It was hard for me too. More than any of the pain the illness caused was the pain of never seeing you again.” She walked over to Hideki. “If you love me, you have to let me go. You have to spread my light now that I no longer can. Can you do that for me?”

Hdeki looked at the second mirage. “Yeah. I can do that.”

The second mirage smiled. “That’s all I can ever ask of you.”

“NO!” the first mirage screamed. Hideki and the second mirage turned to face them. Instead of Hatsuko’s face, it was a monstrous face. They had collapsed and began fading. “Curse your love. Curse you faith in each other. I was this close to being free, and now I’ve lost it. I will reemerge! Just�� you.. WAIIIIIIIIIT!” With that, the first mirage was gone.

“That was scary,” Hideki said. He turned to the second mirage. “So, you're a mirage as well.” The second mirage nodded. “I’m guessing Akagitsune created you then.”

“Well, kind of,” the mirage said.

Hideki smiled. “Well, whoever did, I want you to thank them. This was just what I needed. I’m sorry I didn’t see it earlier.”

“It’s OK,” the second mirage said. “Better late than never.”

“Right,” Hideki said. The second mirage faded as well. Hideki started to leave the forest.

Behind one of the trees was Akagitsune-Fumi. “Trixx! Let’s rest!” she transformed.

“You did great!” Trixx said. “I can clearly see why Hatsuko chose you. Do you have any berries?”

“Thanks,” Fumi said. “We have some at home. But first…” She rushed around and found her brother. “Brother. I saw your note and got worried.”

Hideki looked at his sister. If I died and left Hatsuko behind, she wouldn’t have worried Fumi like I did. He patted her head. “I’m sorry I worried you. And I’m sorry I lashed out at you. But I’m feeling better now.”

Fumi hugged Hideki. “It’s OK. I understand”

Hideki hugged her back. “Let’s go home.” The two began walking home.

“After that day, Fumi continued to protect the village as the next Akagitsune,” Tomoe concluded.

“I see” Hao-yu said.

“What a touching story” Corina said.

“And very insightful,” Hao-yu added.

“We’re sorry for failing to mention it before,” Arakk said.

“It’s fine,” Corina said. “After all, we now know what to look out for.”

“Yeah” Hao-yu said. “We better inform everyone. Hm?” Hao-yu looked out the window. “Woah!” Scorpii, Corina, and Arakk followed suit. To their shock and horror, they saw a dark cloud descending on Paris. “What is that?” Hao-yu asked.

All across Paris, residents were taking notice of this, including the gang of heroes and Hawk Moth. “What?” Adrien said.

“What’s going on?” Ladybug asked.

“I… I don’t know” Hawk Moth said. The cloud grew bigger.

The helicopter, the night of the chase:

“Well, I need a fix,” Receiver Deceiver said. “So, if you aren’t going to use the power of the miraculous to their fullest extent, then I will!” She charged at Scarlet Moth. He tried to settle her down, but she had been willingly akumatized so many times that she could fight it. She tackled him, and both of them were sent falling out of the helicopter.

There was a bit of a struggle in the air, but Scarlet Moth managed to kick Receiver Deceiver away. Receiver Deceiver was falling through the Parisian sky. She eventually landed on the ground. Soon after, her phone hit the ground, breaking it, and causing her to transform back to Lila.

Lila was panicking. If she was found now, she would get punished surly. No one was on her side anymore. Not her friends at school, not Hawk Moth, not anyone. She looked around and saw an entrance to the Catacombs of Paris. She ran in there just as Ladybug had passed by to purify the akuma that was residing in her phone.

She spent days just trying to bury herself in there. She went deeper and deeper without caring about how to get out. Eventually he was lost.

“Heh heh”. Lila heard a voice.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“I can solve all of your problems,” the voice said, menacingly. ”Just come over here.” Lila wasn’t sure what to do. She was scared of the voice, but she was scared of everything. She walked closer. “Good. That’s it.” She walked closer.

The wall began to crack. Once it broke, Lila saw a small, butterfly-like creature for a second. Then it began attaching itself to her and swallowing her whole. The creature had fused with Lila and became humanoid. “Finally. After all this time, I’m free!”

[midlifemusingsfromthemidwest]

Charlatans, Liars, and Frauds

Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction, and this is one of those times. I have long been an avid reader of the trashy British tabloid that masquerades as a newspaper, The Daily Mail. Every morning for years, I have enjoyed reading the DM as I drink my morning coffee. I read the stories and laugh at the acerbic comments, as the Brits do have a way with words. When Meghan Markle arrived upon the scene while dating Prince Harry, suddenly every story was about them. As an American, I was amused by their painting of her as a star and well-known actress, because no one, and I mean no one, outside her immediate family and friends, had ever heard of this chick. Not only that, no one I have ever talked to watched the show Suits, where she played a supporting role. Suddenly, Meghan Markle was everywhere, and quickly I came to the conclusion that she was a complete social climber who was dating poor dumb Harry to advance her desire for fame. In the comments of the Daily Mail, someone mentioned a Facebook group devoted to shared dislike for Meghan, and on a lark, I joined it. The group was known as Meghan Markle The Charlatan Duchess, often shortened to MMTCD. I'll be honest, the group was a lot of fun as women from all over the world dished and bitched about what a fraud Meghan Markle was. We laughed at her horrific wigs and her clothes that cost millions, yet were always ill-fitting. We chuckled over how dim Harry was, and we guessed how long it would be before the divorce proceedings were started. Some of the women believed more outlandish tales such as that Meghan was born a man, that she wore a moonbump and was never pregnant, and that Archie (I am still scratching my head over that choice of name…Archie????) was, in fact, a doll, and not a real boy. Maybe Meghan should have named him Pinocchio instead of Archie. All in all, it was good fun…not nice, yet good fun.

Now, the interesting part of the story is that the founder of the group was a woman who referred to herself as "Lady L”. Lady L claimed she was a high-ranking member of the British aristocracy with strong ties to the British Royal Family. She wrote in flowery prose about how she felt compelled to start a facebook group to help expose Meghan Markle as a fraud and charlatan. She was single-handedly going to save the British monarchy from the grubby clutches of the American interloper. Lady L claimed her grandmother had been a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and that she had a huge ancestral home outside of Edinburgh. In fact, she often wrote that once Meghan and Harry divorced, she was going to host a huge party for the group in her ancestral pile in Scotland, oooh la la! Sadly, some women in the group actually started saving money for the trip so they would be able to afford to go. Seriously, shame on her for that. She wove the tale that she was a successful antique shoppe owner (notice the British spelling, which meant it had to be true), and that she came to the United States every year to buy antiques for her stores and shipped them back to the UK. Um, what? Why in the world would someone come from the UK, where antiques simply had to be older and more valuable, to the United States to buy antiques that were generally far less old and far less valuable. How odd, and the first red flag that made me think the Lady wasn't all she proclaimed herself to be.

After some time, Lady L introduced us to her cousin, Lilly Beth, whom she had recruited to help run the group, as Lady L simply couldn't keep up with it all by her little old blue-blooded self. Shortly after that, Lilly Beth became the self-appointed Queen of the group with every member hanging on her every post, all while competing for her attention. Lady L rarely posted in the group once Lilly Beth was brought on board to run the place. Occasionally when the group members became unruly, Lady L would pop in and shout at everyone to stop whatever they were doing to anger her, post a giant red angry emoji, and then "feck off" back from whence she had come. Lilly Beth claimed that her husband, fondly known as “Mister”, worked for the Crown and that she had "grown up with Wills and Harry." Hmmmm….ok then, it seemed somewhat implausible, but I was game to play along on the off chance it was true. Maybe she was just some rich bored British aristocrat hiding behind a laptop. I had been a member for just a few weeks when the group was rocked by a Daily Mail article that doxed or exposed, several anti-Meghan private citizens in a story that shared the pictures, names, and even twitter names of several women who happened to be members of the group. I still believe that Meghan Markle's people were behind the doxing, and it made me dislike her even more. The members of MMTCD panicked, and most of us then created fake facebook profile identities and rejoined the group under nom de plums. It might seem like an overreaction, but many of the women in the group whom I had become friends with were successful professionals. They didn't want to see their faces and names publicly shamed on the Daily Mail for having the audacity to dislike Meghan Markle. Not only that, but it was quickly become the modus operandi of Meghan and her band of flying monkeys, I mean supporters, to harass, defame, dox, and call every person who didn't like her a racist. Despite the influx of anonymous Facebook profiles, the group MMTCD flourished.

Over the next year, Lilly Beth became increasingly over the top, and she was an incessant braggart. She claimed that her husband, Mister, not only supposedly worked for the Crown, but that he also was a member of the House of Commons, owned a village, and that he had even surprised her with a mansion in upper New York where they would summer, amidst the ungodly heat and humidity. Who in their right mind would summer in New York where it is 100-plus degrees when one could be in much more temperate UK? Mmmhmm…sure. As time went on, Lilly Beth bragged more and more and more. She claimed she brought their entire household staff with them to the United States to the new mansion. She bragged that her daughter Violet was friends with Prince George and that there was a possibility she could even marry him someday. My goodness, was it possible that our humble Lilly Beth could someday be the mother-in-law to a future King? Would we all get invitations to the wedding? Should I start saving for a bespoke dress? She bragged that she was invited by the Queen herself to an upcoming ceremony—and that the queen had insisted that she attend. Well, goodness me, wasn't Lilly Beth becoming more and more important with every passing day? She would regale the breathless fans of hers in the group with tales of how Cook would whip up ten-course meals, and how she was ordering bespoke gowns. She tooted her own horn more than Meghan Markle, and that is no easy feat. Lilly Beth kept us up to date on her pregnancy and her newborn, "Master Jack" and even shared pictures of him and his sister little Violet with bright auburn hair and vivid green eyes, clearly photoshopped and poorly at that. The list of Lilly Beth's tall tales was vast. They included that she had met Kate several times, Mister was a RAF pilot, Cook make enough stew for their entire village of shut-ins, Mister waved rent for the entire village because of covid, she was a barrister, she was a buyer for an auction house, she was a violinist, she could sing beautifully, she was a muse for a famous artist, she got her ice cold milk straight from the village dairy (insert eye roll here), and on and on.

A monster was born. The more attention Lilly Beth got, the more she loved it, and the bigger the tales got. Not only that, but she also started getting sloppy. Her use of British words began to slip, her photoshopping skills were appalling, and her tales were becoming increasingly unbelievable. With each embellishment, I became even more convinced that Lilly Beth was a con artist who was no more a British aristocract than I was. During this time, Lilly Beth also set up a second group where she and other group members would verbally duke it out with Meghan Markle fans and then try to recruit members to come to their defense. It was like watching an episode of Jenny Jones show when it devolved into a fistfight amongst the guests. I got to the point where I posted less often, and I would go days or weeks without visiting the group. When I did, I would post and fly out of there. The entire group became like primary school kids trying to outdo each other to attract Lilly Beth's attention with their tricks. Watch this, Lilly Beth…No, watch me, Lilly Beth…Look at this Lilly Beth. A few times, I knew Lilly Beth was lying and full of "shite" as she would put it. Once, she said her husband, Mister, had been at a wine-tasting with Harry and that Harry had come in "knackered." I asked why Harry was tired, and she said, Nooooo, knackered means he was drunk. Hmmm…while I don't pretend to be British, I do have Brits as friends and have only heard of knackered meaning tired. As usual, when questioned, she slithered away and stayed gone for several days.

Finally, the beginning of the end happened one day when two former members who were booted from the group—something that happened on a weekly basis for one offense or another— blogged on tumbler some of Lilly's supposed "tea." Tea was the term the group used for inside information. The supposed inside information was a bit like the overly vague guesses of a carnival psychic. If the “tea” was specific, then it was usually a rewording of a DM or other tabloid story. Then, shortly after the Tumblr brouhaha, Lilly Beth posted that someone on twitter was saying she lived in Alaska and that Lady L lived in Arizona and how hilarious it was that someone was making such crazy accusations. She laughed maniacally about it…LOLOLOLOL!!!!! This was her trademark over the top response to anything even mildly humorous. Then, the balloon popped, the air escaped from the overstretched bladder in a split second with a whoosh. When members tried to access the site all that was there was a message that the group been archived. Like the carnies they were, the frauds scurried off into the shadows leaving behind hundreds of confused and incredulous former members. It turned out that Lady L and Lilly Beth were no more connected to the British Royal Family than am I. In fact, they were a mother and at least one of her daughters, posing as British aristocrats all the while living in the United States. For a year and a half, they had perpetrated a gigantic fraud on hundreds of unsuspecting, and some suspecting like myself, women from nearly every continent and country on the planet. Former members quickly found other groups to join to maintain the friendships formed within MMTCD. Everyone wondered, why would these women have gone to such lengths to fabricate such intricate and detailed lies? What was their end game? Were they setting the group up for financial fraud, were they data-mining for identity theft, were they just stroking their egos, or were they creating an alternative reality vastly more interesting than their mundane, sad lives? I doubt we will never know, but how very ironic that two complete charlatans and frauds created a group dedicated to uncovering another charlatan and fraud. Isn't it ironic, don't you think?

[epic-summaries]

Women in Mythology - Morgiana

Warning - violent murder

Before I talk about the Morgiana, let’s talk about the clever slave trope. Obviously this trope isn’t very modern ‘cause value dissonance. But it was actually a pretty popular trope in classical plays. Like Messenio in Plautus’ Menaechmi which was based on a lost Greek play. (Side note The Menaechmi is a fun read.) The trope is basically what it says, it’s about a slave who used their wits to out smart the people around, classic trickster stuff. However, in this case the “good” example are trickster in the service of their master while the “bad” example are trickster to spite their master and try to get their freedom (hey maybe slavery is bad guys and that’s why they want their freedom). Morgiana is an example of the “good” version of the trope, also one of the few female examples.

Morgiana is a character in probably my favourite of the tales in 1001 Arabian Nights (I use that title because it mixes the two most popular titles together), Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Which was added to the collection of stories by Frenchman Antoine Galland when he heard it from a Syrian storyteller. Though, ever since the first time we have an Arabian Nights collection people have been adding stories to it until the point that yeah it’s our best source for a lot of Arabian, Persians and other middle eastern folktales.

Okay background out of the way, let’s talk Morgiana. She is a slave for Cassian, the greedy idiot brother of Ali Baba. He’s the one that gets killed by the forty thieves and ticks them off that someone found their secret. And after Ali finds Cassian's body in four, Ali brings him home so he could have the proper burial rights. And Morgiana is entrusted with the body (Ali takes over Cassian’s household, including the slaves, after he died.) Ali and Morgiana decided that Cassian should died of natural causes. Because if they tell people that hey look my brother was hacked up someone will talk and the thieves will find out that Ali Baba has been stealing from them. So, Morgiana goes to the apothecary and asks for medicines for her master. She wants to make sure everyone knows that Cassian is deathly sick. Meanwhile, she finds a tailor willing not only sew something in dark and blindfolded but also not to tell anyone about it (they bribe him). So, they get him stitched up and announce that Cassian died from a mysterious but very natural illness.

Success! Right?! Well not exactly.

See if you can bribe a man once, another man with more money can bribe him again.

So, the thieves find out that hey this tailor just stitched up a dead body! And it’s not hard to figure out that hey it was probably the body we hacked up and then disappeared. So they asked who did you do this job for. But the tailor is like I was blindfolded the whole time so I have no clue. But maybe if you blindfold me again I can remember the way (ummm sure). So he does. And the thieves mark the door because they will come back at night to kill everyone inside. Morgiana coming back from the market, sees the mark on the door and marks other’s doors with the same marking. The thieves can’t find the house and become angry. They go back to the tailor and this happens again. So on the third try the leader goes with the tailor and and remembers everything about Ali Baba’s house. I assume they brought the tailor to Ali Baba’s house in the first place because A. they couldn’t find another place or B. they can’t transport the corpse around without suspicion.

So, the leader of the thieves go to Ali Baba’s house as an oil merchant and he just so happens to have 38 jars. The leader shows Ali the one jar with oil and Ali is like sure we can house you for the night. While Ali is asleep and the thieves are waiting the signal, Morgiana finds out that hey there are people in these jars. So, let’s put boiling oil on everyone and kill them. The leader goes to give the signal but hmmm no one is coming out. He finds out that they have all been boiled in oil. The leader runs away. And thus Ali and his innocent family are saved. Ali is so grateful that that he gives Morgiana her freedom! Yay.

So, after some time the leader of the thieves and the last one standing hatches a plan of revenge. He befriends Ali Baba’s son and invites himself for dinner. Morgiana (apparently still friends with the family and goes to family dinner) notices that ummm that’s the guy that tried to kill us. So, she’s like let’s have a show! Oh look swords, I know how to dance with these. Wanna see? And leader of the thieves gets a dagger in the throat. Now only Ali knows about the open sesame cave and hence gets all the money. And this is all thanks to Morgiana. Who now is his daughter in law.

In the beginning Ali Baba is pretty clever but he is really out shined by Morgiana. This is a woman whi will get shit done for what she believes is for the greater good. That and this little woman killed 38 grown ass mem using only her wits… and dancing skills. Now she’s the wife of a rich merchant and will probably inherent Ali Baba’s riches. I can imagine him trusting her with the secrets of the cave and what the magic password is.

Previous post in series: Macha

Next post in series: Hausos

[runwright]

A look back at 2016

2016 Goals

Running/ Health and Fitness

I didn't hit any of the fitness goals I set for myself. I took the entire winter and almost the entire spring off running. My bike needed to be fixed and I didn't get it repaired until October.  Exercise was sporadic at best for most of the early part of the year and by the time summer rolled around, I was carrying some extra weight, feeling heavy and stiff and not able to train for any races. Needless to say, I didn't even attempt to train for the marathon.

Financial

As the year progressed, I learned more about myself and about life and changed my financial goals. I put some things in place to start following one of my passions. I knew it would take a while before it would be financially feasible but now I get to do what I love. The bills are still being paid but I wasn't able to pay off my debts or save much. That continues to be a goal for 2017.

Personal Development

I completed my reading challenge to read 100 books by December 31st. It took me the entire year to get to that number because while I got ahead of the schedule during the summer months, in the fall I got consumed with other projects and that was also the time I started spending way more time exercising and going on other adventures and slouched on the reading. When I got back to the challenge, it was a race to try to finish by the end of the year but I did it. Other reading challenges and goals that I completed in: Non-Fiction reading challenge ( I read enough NF to get the Master title) Winter Reading Challenge - I read 12 of the 14 books but couldn't get to the category to read 2 books with the same title. They had to be the same spelling and everything and I just missed out on that part. I participated in the Popsugar Reading Challenge and read 35 of the 40 categories. I read 20 of 26 qualifying books for the ABC challenge. I took 2 John Maxwell workshops I trained 2 Pathfinders to complete their syllabus so they could be promoted to the next class. I took a challenge to be fluent in French and while fluency still evades me, I did get a lot of practice.

Writing

2016 was the year where my life changed. I finally released my first book, a short story collection entitled It's Complicated: Short Stories About Long Relationships. With that, I became a published author with nationwide distribution and my print book made it to several international countries. Off the top of my head, I can tell you that I have readers in USA, Canada, Germany, Jamaica, Antigua, Trinidad, Malawi, Sudan. For a tiny self-published book where I didn't spend a dollar on marketing, I'd say this is a dream come true and a motivator to keep writing. I also released a Kindle version of my book on Amazon so I can't say where in the world awesome people are downloading and reading my book but it is a joy to get a little residual check every month that comes straight from writing the things that make my heart sing. I wanted to publish more books in 2016 but I got a little sidetracked by success :-) so I have to push those other goals to 2017. I did do a lot more writing though so I have a lot of new material that just needs to be collated and edited. I participated in NaNoWriMo and wrote almost an entire new novel from that project. I also returned to my first love - poetry - and put together a collection that just needs a little fine tuning before I can make it available to everyone to read.

Spiritual

I didn't complete the challenge to read the Bible in a year but that was to be expected since I've never done it. Maybe it's not a realistic goal for me while I'm reading so many other things. Maybe I should just focus on reading and studying parts of it as I've bene doing.

Blog and Social Media

I am not good at tracking finances, especially keeping track of blog income but I do know I didn't make anything close to the income I'd wanted to get from this blog. I had hoped to have way more followers on my social media but it's hard going sometimes, especially when you get a little distracted or demotivated and stop posting the kind of content people look for. That's something I have to be better at doing in the future.

Travel

2016 was a disappointing year for travel. I didn't go on any of the trips I had planned at the beginning of the year but I did fit in some other spontaneous adventures - hiking, backpacking and staycation trips so that kinda made up for it. And how did I stick with my daily resolutions and intentions?

2016 Resolutions

Start everyday with worship and intentional living reminders - Check Study Sabbath School lesson and read Bible everyday - Check Drink 8 cups of water everyday - Yes. I spent 2016 being very well hydrated Get high-intensity workout for at least 20 minutes everyday - I got better with this as the year wore on Practice French for at least 5 minutes everyday - Most days, I spoke in French, even if it was to myself. Visit sick and shut-in members more often - Yes Work on my to-do list everyday instead to stop procrastinating - Yes Be intentional in my relationships - Yes Do something creative everyday - write, draw, compose music, sew, make art, create videos - Yes. I even increased the medium and took on YouTube in 2016 Keep sugar intake to a minimum - I tried. I did stop buying big bags of candy to store in my cupboards so that was a step in the right direction Keep my blog fresh and relevant with layouts, good content and interesting images - Hmmm. You'd be the judge of that, I guess. Stay engaged with my social media followers. I tried. Keep in touch with my family. I did reconnect with some family members. Take better care of my hair - Yes Make everyday an adventure - Yes. Most days, I made time for a mini adventure, even if it was just taking a different way home :-) Overall, 2016 was a great year.

The Overview

I wrote and published a book and it brought some experiences I know I wouldn't have had without making that step. I had book signings where people introduced me as an author, I went to a couple of book events and met other authors. My best book signing was probably the one where I was autographing copies of my book on a bus heading across state lines.  I also met some famous authors like JoJo Moyes I started a YouTube channel called Runwright Reads where I focus on bookish discussions. It was a new challenge to not just put my thoughts in the written word but also to see how I could engage with a viewer and communicate my personality through self-filmed video. In just about six months, I have about 230 awesome followers and every one is a new friend to talk with about something I'm passionate about. I went to some live concerts and heard some engaging music, watched some artistic movies, read informative and entertaining and motivational books, took some inspirational classes. I went to a Yankee Game, went to Giants stadium and met current and retired players. I met some great people online and IRL. YouTube subscribers and blogger friends aside, I also made a few new friends through my work, through church, and a few fitness enthusiasts through the running and bike clubs. There were also a few people I've known for years and who, in 2016, our conversation changed to include talk of more enduring themes. All of these, as well as my family and friend relationships made my year a very social one. On a sad note, I lost some friends and family members in 2016. My dear, dear friend Leslie Phipps died suddenly in June. After spending the day in her company at church, she went home and went to bed and didn't wake up. That was the most shocking loss I think I've ever experienced. In December, Uncle Harry, a man whose face still bears a extra wide smile in all my memories of him, also passed away after a short illness. And sprinkled throughout the year, there were several church family and extended family members who just fell. I heard about the passing of several friends in Jamaica who I remember from my childhood, neighbors and family friends who I will never see again when I return to Jamaica. Each of those losses was hard to recover from but I tried to focus on the good memories to move on. It helps to have good people  to talk things over with and have fun with now. It was hard to say goodbye to 2016. It was a very good year and I want to carry that progress into 2017 as I focus on accomplishments. What was your best memory of 2016?

This post first appeared on http://runwright.net