#midnight scorchers

[spilladabalia]

Horace Andy - Ain't No Love In The Heart Of The City

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Vengeance of the Moon Knight #3

[assembling-sparks]

[CHAIN GROUP THETA-OMEGA REQUESTING COMMUNICATION.]

… Hello? Is anyone there? We got your message. Please respond.

— Dreams Of Midnight Whispers, Senior Iterator

[Transcript]

AS: Ah- Hello! I am pleased to see my message is being received!

AS: It is a pleasure to meet you Dreams of Midnight Whispers.

Scorcher: WA!

AS: My companion is excited to hear from you as well, it seems.

Scorcher: WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA WA!

AS: Scorcher, please, settle down…

[talonabraxas]

The Connection Between the star Sirius

and New Year's Eve on Earth

Did you know that at Midnight on New Year's Eve, we are directly 'downstream' from the brightest star in our skies, the star Sirius?

Yes, deeply embedded in our cultural celebrations of New Year’s Eve for the past 70 years lies a hidden celestial synchronicity. It turns out that the star Sirius is intimately linked with our tradition of ‘ringing out the old and ringing in the new’ with jubilant celebrations at exactly midnight on New Year’s Eve.

One could say that we are showered with the blessings of a brilliant shining star at that magical moment – and somehow we seem to sense this, jumping up and down with glee!

IMMORTALITY

Because Sirius is the brightest star in our sky, in antiquity it was known as ‘The Shining One’ or ‘The Scorcher.’ The ancient Egyptians called Sirius ‘Isis’ (Sothis) and built their calendar around the heliacal (with the sun) rising and setting of this magnificent star (this occurs in July).

The Egyptians believed that Sirius had a tremendous effect upon life on our planet. In particular, they felt that Sirius could bring immortality to humans and oriented the pyramid at Giza to the Sirius light. Some historians attribute the Giza pyramid alignment to the Pharaoh’s desire to gain immortality after death by traveling to Sirius in his ‘light body’ or Ka.

SYNCHRONICITY WITH OUR SOLAR YEAR

The Sirius system is directly "upstream" of our solar system within the galactic arm of our Milky Way Galaxy (the Orion arm). Modern astronomy has determined that Sirius is traveling directly towards Earth at many thousands of miles per hour. By coming directly towards us, Sirius creates an axis of rotation with Earth relative to the stellar background. Because of this, of all the stars in our skies, only Sirius exactly matches the length of our solar year, 365.25 days. This exact correlation has led some to surmise that Sirius is related to our Sun as a binary star.

Sirius Stargate Talon Abraxas

[exploding-salmon-heart]

My OCs of my buddy’s delightful dragon story

I love them dearly look at them they’re so cool look

Midnight and Dawn are Astral Lumens, Salamander is a Magma Scorcher, and Parky is a Frost Storm.

[aerococonut]

Post 6 sentences from a WIP and then tag 6 people.

tagged by @draculastarion

...

The small mirror she shares with Karlach is precariously leaning against the back of the wall, barely big enough to show her whole face. It’s enough to show the dark smudges around her peridot eyes, luminous against the pale, sun-deprived skin. Midnight hair hangs limp out of its braid, cascading down her back like a waterfall and tumbling over her shoulders. 

The straight-edge of her fringe bothers her. She’s done hiding. 

The first cut is wobbly, hesitant. The second is easier. The third, as precise as a surgeon’s hand.

Little by little, she pulls and cuts until her hair parts to the side and falls around her face. Some of it feathers around her chin, a few shorter strands brush her cheek and highlight the scar – the truth of the night she was abducted. Not saved.

------

Tagging: @scorcher-in and anyone else who wants to join in!

[ts1989fanatic]

Breaking up is hard to do. And sometimes there's screaming involved. Taylor Swift’s Tampa fans were ready for it and then some on Saturday night when the 33-year-old titan of pop music closed out a historic three-night stand at Raymond James Stadium.

In some ways, the scene was reminiscent of nights one and two. Ornate costumes themed to each era of Swift’s career were everywhere. A birthday girl wore a sash to mark the occasion. Someone in the lower bowl was completely covered in pink Christmas lights. And there were countless outfits that quoted lyrics (including a little Swiftie wearing one that said, “screaming, crying, perfect storms” on a shirt’s blank space).

Save for the exclusion of “Illicit Affairs,” addition of “Don’t Blame Me,” and two surprise songs—”Mad Woman,” with The National’s Aaron Dessner on piano, and the first live performance of “Mean” since 2018—Saturday’s setlist also didn’t stray far what fans have seen in cities like Glendale, Las Vegas and Arlington.

But the last dance in Tampa was unique from the two before it in a way that fans likely won’t soon forget.

For starters, the third outdoor date of the “Eras” tour was a scorcher. The feels-like temperature before Gracie Abrams opened the show clocked in at 92-degrees. The Los Angeles-born songwriter acknowledged the weather, telling the crowd, "it's hot here, I hope you're drinking water." And while she, and especially direct support beabadoobee, turned in solid rock sets to whet the the palate, Saturday's crowd was thirsty for Swift in a way that the stellar opening night crowd just could not match.

Saturday saw only 614 more people at Raymond James than Thursday—and brought Swift’s three-day attendance total in Tampa to a staggering 206,459—but it sounded like there was an extra bowl’s worth of bodies in the stadium.

After screams pierced the sky as the sun set, Swift directly acknowledged the volume before “Lover,” when she told 69,131 of her biggest fans that they’d reached uncharted levels of “vibes, and screaming, and fashion."

“I think what we have on our hands tonight, Tampa, is a supercrowd,” she concluded.

The screams did not die down. At times—like on “Love Story” and during the high notes on “Don’t Blame Me”— her vocals were drowned out by the singalongs.

Before “Mean” in the surprise song part of the set, she said, “The vocal talent, it’s deafening, it’s just so loud, and that makes it so fun for us.”

She wasn’t lying. Fun and carefree were two prominent moods during the three-hour-15-minute performance. Swift is undoubtedly always confident onstage during concerts, but there were several extra layers of joy in her movements from the get go.

On “Cruel Summer,” she pirouetted as if she didn’t have to be on her feet for 42 more numbers. At least twice in the set, through that trademark red lipstick and beaming white smile, she playfully (and spontaneously?) stuck her tongue out at the crowd (first on “The Man” and then after the “And he never thinks of me Except for when I'm on TV” lyric on “Midnight Rain”). The hair flips on “Look What You Made Me Do” almost felt feral, and tassels on her gold dress shimmered as she spun like a kid in a rainstorm during “Fearless,” where she pointed straight at the stage as she sang, “And I don't know how it gets better than this.”

Swift was just 18 years old when that song, the title track from an album that won two Grammys, came out. And despite the growth she’s experienced since, Saturday night saw Swift meet her wide-eyed fans with the same kind of innocence from that era.

The band and dancers got in on it, too.

On “You Belong With Me,” longtime guitarist Paul Sidoti was beaming in an ear-to-ear smile as his boss laughed while leaning on bassist Amos Heller as she belted out, “Hey, isn't this easy?”

Dancer Jan Ravnik was soaked in sweat during the Red block where Swift gave her hat to a fan on “22,” grabbed their hand and blew a kiss. One dancer (and I swear I will update this post with hithes name when I find out) twice stole the song, once on “Style” and again when he took a solo on “Bejeweled.”

In short, Swift, along with everyone else in the stadium, was on fire.

The only time the crowd ever really hushed was on non-singing passages from Evermore and Folklore cuts like “Cardigan,” as fans hung on to every note, just waiting for Swift to come back to the microphone so they could sing along again.

Swift’s Tampa finale felt like the kind of set an artist plays on the last date of a tour that marks the end of a fruitful career. But at 33 years old—despite 17 years of music behind her—Swift is just entering her prime and absolutely dominating the post-pandemic touring game, with no one even coming close. What’s more is that based on the hordes of super-young fans in the audience, a new generation of Swifties is ready to grow up with the back catalog, and whatever comes next, guiding them to adulthood.

So that’s the big question Tampa fans were left with as the smoke from the post-”Karma” fireworks faded into the humid night. What is next?

In a podcast interview released just months before his death, the late-Laker great Kobe Bryant pushed back when host Jordan Harbinger suggested that he wouldn’t have an artist like Swift on in his car.

“I do,” Bryant said, adding that it’s important to listen to people who do great things.

The Black Mamba noted how long Swift has been on top of the game, and wondered how, and why, she does it. He more or less begged to get into her headspace in the writing room, talked about the challenges of re-inventing yourself, and the pressure of having to be better than your last time on the playing field. The pressure to follow a No. 1 album with an even superior one, Bryant suggested, is unimaginable.

“I don't care if you like her music or if you don't like the music. Look at what she's doing—that's frightening stuff. It's unbelievable to be able to pull that off over and over and over and over,” he said. “I look at things like that, and try to learn from her as much as I can.”

Swift fans have learned to dissect easter eggs in their hero’s movements, but only she truly knows what’s over the horizon or when she’s going to get there. Whatever, and whenever, it is, you can bet that her followers will be there—loud, hot and ready as ever—to cheer her along.

Setlist

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

Cruel Summer

The Man

You Need To Calm Down

Lover

The Archer

Fearless

You Belong With Me

Love Story

‘Tis The Damn Season

Willow

Marjorie

Champagne Problems

Tolerate It

…Ready For It?

Delicate

Don’t Blame Me

Look What You Made Me Do

Enchanted

22

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

I Knew You Were Trouble

All Too Well

(Seven)

The 1

Betty

The Last Great American Dynasty

August

My Tears Ricochet

Cardigan

Style

Blank Space

Shake It Off

Wildest Dreams 35

Bad Blood

Mad Woman

Mean

Lavender Haze

Anti-Hero

Midnight Rain

Vigilante Shit

Bejeweled

Mastermind

Karma

[coneygoil]

Y’all, it’s so hot here. The heat index was 96 degrees/35 Celsius at midnight last night! I was so worried about my chickens. I went out and checked on them around that time and they were still panting. It’s gonna be another scorcher. It’s been a full time job just to keep them remotely cool.

[am-reggae]

Horace Andy – Midnight Scorchers Sello: On-U Sound – ONULP153C // LP / Vinilo // 2022 /// Edición Limitada / Vinilo Color Naranja // ====================== A companion album to Midnight Rocker produced by Adrian Sherwood // Featuring new tracks; radical dancehall re-works with MC interjections from Daddy Freddy and Lone Ranger; and stripped back instrumental version excursions in classic dub reggae style // Includes download card /// ================= ESTADO: ==================== LP Nuevo - Precintado // ============ 32€ ============

[feely-touchy]

Burning the midnight oil

Again, for some reason

Soot collects under my eyes

I've started seeing stardust everywhere

In nooks and crannies that need sweeping

The universe calls out sweetly

In that cool voice

Asking, "Why are you still up?

To keep company with the possums?"

I hear the hum of the distant highway

Someone racing somewhere in a hurry

Don't they know the night is colored black in molasses?

That the syrupy song of the crickets is a lullaby for a reason?

Ain't they any sense?

I contemplate going outside to watch the moonlight for a bit

But the summer evening's swan song is a scorcher still

Instead I'm lit by the low glow of the television

Half-empty

Waiting for sleep to somehow take me

As if I were a spoiled child

Whisked away to the soundtrack of the dull roar of a party by a doting parent

Afraid of what having a bedtime means, I guess

Passed too tired from the weary day

My old bones settle

[paulisded]

The Ledge #560: Home Plays

This is another of those shows that really has no format. It's pretty much a rundown of the music I've been listening to around the house the last couple of weeks. There's some great reissued vinyl by Thee Headcoats, Beat Happening, Bottle Rockets, and others. There's old faves pulled out of the stacks by the likes of Jason and the Scorchers, Hypstrz, Curtiss A, and (shockingly) The Replacements.

But I also made room for some new tunes, highlighted by the return of Minneapolis faves High on Stress with their new single, "Over/Thru". I have no word as of this point whether it's a sneak preview of a new full-length album, but I'm obviously hoping that's the case. Other new tracks include tunes by Huck 2, The Downhauls, Lone Wolf, and The Tearaways.

As for the "52 Weeks of Teenage Kicks"series, I aired one of the more interesting remakes that I've found of this fabulous song. The story goes that at some point many years ago, former Young Ones star Adriam Edmondson "accidentally" bought a mandolin. After learning a few chords he began to play a few old punk rock faves. This led to him forming a Celtic-leaning band, The Bad Shepherds, whose albums primarily covered those same punk songs he had found himself learning on his new instrument. So in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I felt it a perfect time to air The Bad Shepherds' "Humours of Tullah/Teenage Kicks/Whiskey In the Jar/The Merry Blacksmith" medley.  

Again, I'm putting out a request to all musicians and wannabe musicians to submit your own version of "Teenage Kicks". If you have any questions, or have a version ready for me, contact me at paulisded@gmail.com

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SHOW!

1. Adrian Edmunson & The Bad Shepherds - Humours Of Tullah/Teenage Kicks/Whiskey In The Jar/The Merry Blacksmith

2. High On Stress - Over Thru

3. Huck 2 - Neighbor

4. Lone Wolf - Beggin Me

5. The Tearaways - Saturday Everyday

6. Beat Happening - I Spy

7. Beat Happening - Bewitched

8. Glaxo Babies - Stay Awake

9. The Speedways - A Song Called Jayne & A Lie Called Love

10. The Toy Trucks - I'm On the Dish But I Ain't No Rag

11. Beat Farmers - There She Goes Again

12. Lou Reed - Hangin' 'Round

13. Johnny Thunders - Another Girl Another Planet

14. Heartbreakers - Love Comes In Spurts

15. Heartbreakers - Blank Generation (version 2)

16. The Downhauls - A Hazy Shade of Winter

17. Waste Man - Changes

18. Gary Kaluza - Angry Gandhi

19. The Lords of Altamont - Slow Death

20. Crash Street Kids - Little Girls

21. Crash Street Kids - Shake It Up

22. Curtiss A - Afraid

23. The Magnolias - Keep it inside

24. Suburbs - Superlove

25. Hypstrz - In The Midnight Hour

26. Hypstrz - Action Woman

27. Thee Headcoats - Too Afraid

28. Thee Headcoats - Cowboys Are Square

29. Paul Westerberg - D.G.T.

30. The Replacements - Lost Highway

31. Jason & the Scorchers - Lost Highway

32. Jason & the Scorchers - Broken Whiskey Glass

33. The Bottle Rockets - Indianapolis

[seeker372011]

Day 11- homeward bound

We left the Eyre peninsula headed to Renmark on the Murray river,and as we drove from Port Augusta the blue of the Gulf Spencer and the grey and reddish brown of the Flinders Ranges sang their beguiling siren song entreating us not to leave.

But leave we did, driving without pause till a few kms out of Burra when we pulled over to take a photo of the Midnight Oil house; and then again very briefly at the lookout at Morgan, where we were offered fine views of the Murray, still very full and flowing fast though perhaps not as fast as it was when we passed this way 10 days ago.

Our first real stop was at Lake Bonney in Barmera where we drove a bit around the lake and discovered that Donald Campbell, back in 1964 had attempted to break the world water speed record on Lake Bonney, (he was unsuccessful). He reached 347.5 km/h but the lake was too small and the waves created by the speeding vehicle - the Bluebird-were too dangerous.

There is a Bluebird cafe on the lake front honouring this attempt.

We were tempted to head on to the Banrock Station- not far away but it was just too hot and uncomfortable, so we drove on to Berri, duly impressed by the enormous facilities of the Berri Estates and the many other vineyards along the way.

We stopped at the river, near the bridge, but the heat had completely sapped our energy.

With no enthusiasm for any more exploring we headed to our Caravan park in Renmark to settle down for the night, all worn out.

The minimum tonight is supposed to be 37 deg C . And we have no air conditioning….

Tomorrow is another scorcher.

[aquariumdrunkard]

‘Round About Midnight: A Conversation With Adrian Sherwood

We caught up with legendary producer Adrian Sherwood on the heels of his latest effort behind the boards: Horace Andy’s new album, Midnight Scorchers.

“I���m just very, very proud of it. We didn’t rush it. We spent two years making it. We started it before lockdown. And we kept improving it, so I was sending Horace back and forth to Jamaica. Let’s do this better. Let’s do this again.”

[burlveneer-music]

Jeb Loy Nichols - The United States Of The Broken Hearted - Americana as filtered through a long-time ex-pat and Adrian Sherwood (On-U Sound)

On-U Sound are proud to present a new album from longtime friend and associate of the label, Jeb Loy Nichols. Produced by Adrian Sherwood, with careful arrangements framing twelve beautiful, acoustic-based songs. The album features contributions from the likes of Martin Duffy (Primal Scream/Felt) and Ivan “Celloman” Hussey, fresh from his work on the massively acclaimed duo of Horace Andy albums, Midnight Rocker and Midnight Scorchers, both of which featured songwriting contributions from Jeb Loy. Jeb Loy comments: "The United States Of The Broken Hearted has been forty years in the making. I’ve known Adrian, and considered him one of my closest friends, for that long. During that time we’ve spent more hours listening, and talking about, music than anything else. Reggae, Country, Folk, Jazz, Soul; it’s been the backdrop to our friendship. Adrian introduced me to some of my favourite music; Count Ossie, Culture, Harry Beckett, Mulatu Astatke. Through the years we’ve listened to Sun Ra, Lee Perry, Ornette Coleman, Johnny Cash, Woody Guthrie. A couple years ago, on a visit to Adrian, I mentioned Gram Parsons’s concept of ‘American Cosmic Music’, the melting mix of musical genres that constitutes a uniquely American sound. We talked about recording a record that incorporated all the influences I’d gathered, from Bluegrass to Jazz to Reggae to Soul. The United States Of The Broken Hearted is that record. We wanted to include Folk (Deportees), Country (Satisfied Mind), protest songs (I Hate The Capitalist System), and songs of my own that bore the marks of those that had gone before. I sang the songs and played guitar; Adrian brought in friends and fellow travellers to finish them. It’s all there, Soul, Jazz, Country, Folk; and underlying everything, Adrian’s Reggae infused production.” Adrian Sherwood adds: “This is Jeb’s ‘Great American Songbook’, he’s become such a great singer and songwriter over the years. This is a beautiful piece of work reminiscent of our mutual love for the Miracle album I made with Bim Sherman. I’m really proud of this record and it’s a fitting follow-up to Long Time Traveller.” Jeb Loy Nichols - Guitar, Vocals Ivan "Celloman" Hussey - Cello, Bass Martin Duffy - Keyboards Dave Fulwood - Trumpet Paul Booth - Saxophone, Flute Horseman - Percussion Ghetto Priest - Backing Vocals Prisoner - Drums, Programming Produced by Adrian Sherwood All songs written by Jeb Loy Nichols, except ‘I Hate The Capitalist System’ written by Sarah Ogan Gunning, ‘Deportees’ written by Woody Guthrie & Martin Hoffman, and ‘Satisfied Mind’ written by Red Hayes & Jack Rhodes

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 26

Author’s note: As always, thank you for your lovely support! Slightly shorter chapter today but I hope you’ll enjoy it just the same. Chapter 26 On the ropes Like clockwork, Haymitch stirred only a few minutes in. With a grunt and a sigh he ran his leather-dry tongue against the inside of his mouth. Barely awake he groped around for the hip-flask, forced open a sleepy eye to check the room off as empty and brought it to his lips. Drops from heaven. He sucked on it like a fretful, hungry baby and grunted in relief at the burning sensation. Just two more sips. Heaven, or hell more like it. It took everything in his power to lower the flask again before he lost his last ounce of control. He slipped it back inside his pocket til next time and rubbed a thumb against his aching temple. How long was I out for? The only telling of time was the sun, peeking through a different window. The scarce light seared his brain like razor blades despite the curtains and he pressed his hand over his face, groaning. What he wouldn’t do for a real proper night out. A chance to just drink himself senseless and fuck the consequences! Pretend for one second of his godforsaken life that he was a man with no obligations. No responsibilities. He rolled more than rose from the couch.  His knees popped like logs burning in the fireplace. Today would be another scorcher, for sure. Even in just the undershirt he was all sticky and disgusting. Steadied against the coffee table he swallowed a flood of salvia when the room tilted and his stomach with it. No. Get a grip. He couldn’t afford losing even one of those precious few mouthfuls. Not until he had replenished his supplies. And he had to, soon, at least once before the birth. But carrying twins took its toll on Effie, especially this late in the pregnancy. She napped all over the house. Fingers and toes crossed he’d manage to sneak downtown, buy a bagful and hide the evidence before she woke. And even if not, what choices did he have? A flare-up was better than the alternative.

Breathing through his nose the queasiness subsided. For now, anyway. His knees quivered but felt like they’d actually hold him up this time. The ringing in his ears gave way for mockingjay song and that’s when he picked up on something else. Voices. Oh, God. Not visitors this early. Anyone knocking here spelt trouble. Probably Mrs. Bitch again. Complaining as usual. Still not trusting his spaghetti legs Haymitch felt his way through the house. Effie shouldn’t have to deal with the neighbor’s bullshit alone. But just as he was about to turn the corner with a perfect snarl at the ready, Haymitch slowed to a stop. For he recognized that voice. And it didn’t belong to a bitch. “The Capitol doesn’t feel like home to us. It never did.”

Haymitch drew back at the sound. He was no eaves-dropper. Not beyond the occasional bedtime story, at least. Yet there was something in Annabel’s tone, in those chosen words that kept him rooted to the spot, incapable of movement. Hidden just out of sight he strained his ears so as not to miss one syllable.

“Life is mad out here.” With the phone built into the wall, much like the mouth pieces in the Training Centre, he heard Annabel almost as well as he would Effie. “The house is a wreck. Half of it sealed off. Neither June nor myself goes to bed before midnight. We cook for ten. You should see the stacks of dirty dishes piling up every night! And yet...”

Her voice faltered.

“It’s different here. Out in the orchards. By the water’s edge. Easier. Every meal doesn’t feel like I’m waging a war. I’m more me fixing a clog in the kitchen than I ever was during all those years in the Capitol. June feels the same way. We’ve talking about it. Many times. There’s… there’s nothing keeping us in the city. Not really. Not anymore. The house would probably be on the market already hadn’t you showed up. It’s not our home. Haven’t been for years. But... perhaps it can be yours.”

The heat rising further and further up Haymitch’s face with each word uttered pounded his ears so he almost didn’t hear the rest of the exchange. He clutched the edge of the wall, palm slick against the paint.

Effie’s and Annabel’s voices blurred together like static. White noise. Black spots swam across his field of vision and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

“You don’t have to decide anything on the spot,” Annabel said. “If you want to buy or rent it we will hold it for you until then. We’d love it if you stayed. You and the children. That way you don’t have to start over fresh in another district. If it’s like you said and Twelve isn’t an option …”

Haymitch let go of the wall, arms slumped at his sides. Breathing heavily, cheeks so hot they stung, he just turned on his heel and lumbered off down the corridor.

He needn’t hear no more.

xXx

Effie Trinket would be the first to admit her thirst for coffee. Out of all people in the District 12 team she was definitely the caffeine addict. She used to litter the Training Centre with empty cups. Of course, the night owls Cinna and Portia helped too.

“Good Lord, what the hell is this?” Haymitch choked and spat his mouthful back in to the cup the first and last time he ever drank Effie’s concoction. “I’ll have heartburn for the rest of the Games now. What a witch’s brew! No wonder you need pills to sleep.”

“Just add some milk then, if it’s too overwhelming,” said Effie and poured herself a cup of the black tar she called coffee. “Oh, that’s good.” Eyes closed, she ran her tongue over her top lip. “That’s amazing!”

“Whoa, sweetheart,” Haymitch said and formed a T with his hands. “You’re gonna gimme a hard-on.”

“Well, that’s your problem,” Effie said into the cup. “Not mine.”

Back when they slept together Haymitch needed only hold the mug right under her nose to pull her from her slumber. Freshly ground coffee and a gorgeous, naked man - what better way to start the day?

Caffeine was by far the hardest thing she had to give up when the home pregnancy test came out positive.

Even now, when the smell wafted out from the kitchen her heart beat a little faster.

Or maybe it wasn’t just the coffee.

“Think about it,” Annabel spoke in her memory. “Talk to Haymitch. Maybe this is the best first solution.”

“Hey,” she said with a soft knock in the door frame. Haymitch’s eyes flitted to her as he set the butter and blackberry jam on the table.

He turned to the stove. His broad frame covered the action as he poured himself a cup from the pot but she didn’t have to look to know it was already filled half-way up.

“There’s fresh water melon,” he muttered and nodded toward the fruit tureen filled with ice. “Remember, the doctor told you to drink more in this sweltering heat.”

“I remember. What a gorgeous breakfast table.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t have much choice, do I?” His voice sounded hoarse and raspy. That’s what screaming yourself out of nightmares did to your vocal cords. “Who wants their eggs raw?”

“They weren’t raw last time,” Effie objected.

“No. Boiled green.”

True.

She ruined most dishes she tried her hands at, even when she followed a recipe. With Haymitch at the helm there was at least a 50 % chance the food turned out edible.

“Well, I’m starving,” she said to say something. “All three of us are.”

Haymitch poured some milk into his pretend coffee and lifted it from the counter. Even with two hands, the cup rattled the saucer.

“I got it!” he snarled when she tried to help. He set it by his empty plate and slumped into a seat. Righted the cup up so as not to spill any precious drops. “Well?” he said, looking back at her. “We’re gonna eat or what?”

Effie pulled out a chair. With this ever-growing planet of a belly she swore she was getting clumsier and more immobile by the hour. And settling herself into a seat was the easy part. That she managed on her own.

Getting up, whether from the bed or the couch or the tub that was a whole different matter. If she was to regain her feet before the end of the century Haymitch must assist. Poor Haymitch. He turned red as a beetroot each and every time she stepped onto the bath rug, butt naked and dripping with suds.

“Didn’t take you for the squeamish type,” she smiled, being wrapped in his bath towel. “Since you put these babies in me in the first place.”

“It’s for your sake,” muttered Haymitch, eyes on the floor. “‘scuse me for being considerate.”

“Oh, I lost my last scrap of dignity months ago,” said Effie with a wave of her hand as he helped her on with the bath robe. “And I fear you better get re-used to the naked female form, sweet Haymitch. Childbirth isn’t exactly a covered-up affair.”

She poured herself a glass of orange juice. Haymitch, on the other hand, didn’t touch any of the delicious food. Not even the coffee. He just sat there, drooped in his seat. Eyes vacant. Arms crossed against the table to hide the tremors.

New wrinkles marred his forehead, adding ten years to his age. His nose was all red and runny, like after a walk in the cold. His eyes too. They shone in the light from the windows, ringed in bruise-like shadows. Had it been anyone else other than him, she might have mistaken them for tears. But this was Haymitch Abernathy.

“What?” he asked when he felt her staring. Effie bit her lip and moved her attention to the bread basket.

“Mind if I take the last one?”

“Help y’self. Why you askin’ me for?”

Her hand closed around the lone rye bun sitting on a bed of cardamom biscuits. It was so quiet around the table you could hear the puff of wind when it rustled the apple tree.

Finally Haymitch breathed a sigh and grasped for the ear on his cup. Hand trembling like a puppy in the rain, it rattled the saucer and a toffee colored drop bloomed up over the table cloth.

He tried again, using both hands and this time he brought it all the way up to his lips but the china clattered against his teeth and he only managed to scald his tongue.

“Oh, fuck my day…”

He set it down and scooped up some ice from the fruit tureen instead. He rested it against his temple and closed his eyes, like he’d just been in a fight.

“Do you want something for your head?”

Haymitch snorted.

“Like what? A blunt object?”

“We can go down to the pharmacy. It opens soon.”

“Why bother? Nuthin’ works.” He grabbed one of the cardamom biscuits and dunked it in his cup. “Not where you’re lookin’.”

“Maybe some fresh air then? Couldn’t hurt. I need to visit the Forum anyway. Perhaps you’d like to join?”

“Fine with me.” He moved the handful of ice to the center of his forehead. A trickle of water ran down his wrist. “Don’t see what we need though. Got so much stuff already we can open our own store.”

“Well, we better stock up as much as we can now while we have the chance. Diapers and whatnot. Once they’re born time will be tight.”

“You’re the boss.”

They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Haymitch sucked up his coffee one biscuit at a time and missed all the fleeting looks coming from across the table.

Effie nibbled her sandwich. Usually she savored every bite but the taste reminded her so of District 12 it took three efforts before the food went down.

Dark rye bread baked with sunflower seeds told of breakfasts in bed. Lunches at the bakery. Hidden squeezes of Haymitch’s hand around hers in busy times – warm and steady. A stolen kiss or two when no one else was looking.

There was simply no point talking with him right now. She’d seen him like this a hundred and one times during the Games. Before ten o’clock Haymitch Abernathy’s door sign hadn’t switched to “open” yet. Didn’t matter how many times you knocked. Years of hard-earned experience taught her that.

Just leave him alone. Better for all involved.

She gasped and her hand flung to her side. The twins had been calm for most of this morning. Just stirs and the occasional rolling over. But this kick, right in the ribs, was so brutal and unexpected she’d be damned if they didn’t plan it together. Like they disapproved of her previous notion.

Ow. She rubbed the spot. You’re growing too strong for me, little ones.

Her gaze shifted to their father but luckily, her discomfort slipped under Haymitch’s radar this once. He just gnawed on his biscuit, mind miles away. Someplace where she couldn’t reach him.

What a sad irony. She needed him sober, level-headed, for this kind of talk but at the same time it was a futile mission, discussing their children’s future before he had a few good drinks in him first. Because without them, all he really heard was the desperate call for help from his own abused body. Lost in some kind of in-between state. A fish gasping for breath in a puddle.

Patience. She had to be patient. This was too important. The right moment would arise. It just wasn’t now. Far from it.

Maybe tomorrow, she told herself when her cheek touched the pillow. Tomorrow will be better.

At yet, each day Haymitch looked worse. Worn like a wrung-out rag. Like something tossed in the trash bin. He kept to his room more than he used to and sometimes when she walked by his door at night she heard him roll and roll over in there. Moaning, like he had a fever.

He still joined in their daily activities but he talked only when spoken to and in such clipped sentences you’d think he paid for each word. If she suggested something he agreed to it, without fail and then spent all their “bickering time” saved up, hunkered in a bay window with the hip-flask.

She preferred their fights. Absolutely. Didn’t matter what it was about. She could work with that. At least when they fought they met each other half-way, once the storm blew over.

What was she supposed to do with all this silence? When Haymitch drew back into himself like a turtle in its shell. Became a wall with no door handle.

He always was a man of secrets. Of endless roadblocks and checkpoints. Almost as soon as you passed through one of them you had to stop at the next.

Even when they were at their rawest, most vulnerable; skin on skin, heart to heart with nothing shielding them from one another, the glimpses into his soul – the places where the ghosts resided – were so rare. Like the northern lights or a solar eclipse. She knew next to nothing about his life, about his past. This man who’s children she was about to bare into the world.

It wasn’t his fault, this shadow over his life and she tried to respect his boundaries. But when she felt them kicking within her, these two little ones about to join their fractured, patched up family, tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t help it.

Time. Just give him time. He’s still coming to terms with being a father. This decision can wait. Annabel said so. If he needs space just give it to him. Let him come to me. He will when he’s ready.

Besides, there was something else tugging at her attention.

It happened a little over a week ago. The first time.

Haymitch showered and Effie stood by the kitchen counter, making pomegranate juice to the sound of water gushing through pipes.

She hummed a simply little note to the twins. Bits and pieces of a half-forgotten lullaby. Her hands were sticky from the juicy pulps and she sucked the sweetness from her fingertips. She was really burning through not only the bread supply but the fruit crates as well.

With the pomegranates scored in to chunks and all those delicious, ruby seeds taken care off she was just about to plug in the blender when she drew a sharp breath and doubled over, clutching her tummy.

Eyes squeezed shut she pressed her hand against the counter, the other one in to herself. Her abdomen was tight as a drum. Pain, like period cramps but turned up to eleven, clutched her insides.

A whimper pressed out between her lips and she fought the urge to hold her breath like she normally would when hurting. Instead she forced air in to her lungs. In and out, in and out, counting the seconds like between lightning and thunder.

It lasted no more than a minute. Less even. Then it went away again with nothing but her moist forehead as proof it happened at all.

It rattled her. Quite a bit. It happened so out of the blue. No warning. Carrying Amy and Ian, while uncomfortable, had been such smooth sailing. Compared to her last pregnancy this one was a breeze.

But it seemed like she was finally having those Braxton Hicks contractions after all.

She never told Haymitch. He had enough of his own problems and she didn’t want to add to the pile.

It happened again a couple more times. That tightening of her lower abdomen. Always in the wake of Amy and Ian being particularly active but far in between and not nearly as painful as the first one.

All normal. Nothing but what to expect.

Not that Haymitch would listen to reason. He’d go in to full panic mode and drag her to the hospital no matter what she said.

She already did the rushing in when she carried Alex. This was just more of the same. False labor. She even called her doctor while Haymitch still showered, just to be on the safe side.

It did of course wreck her last shrivel of hope for a 40 weeks pregnancy.

It could happen any day now.