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jomiddlemarch · 8 months ago

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By Yonder Shining Star

He had not expected to begin with a reprimand.

“I don’t bite, you can stop lurking in the doorway,” Dr. Blythe said, not glancing up from the chart she was writing in. Foyle suspected she would have sounded much the same if he’d come upon her while she finished closing an incision after a long surgery, the same wry tone that had a hint of impatience in it. There were few enough female surgeons in England, even fewer egalitarian ex-pat Canadians, so it didn’t take much to infer she must be brilliant and driven, used to those around her finding her an anomaly. An Original, they would have said once in London society and been more accurate perhaps, but not a remark he’d offer if he wanted to get anything helpful from her. That’s why he was here, he reminded himself. It had been a long while since he’d needed reminding about his work.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I’m—”

“You did mean to interrupt and you’re Detective Superintendent Christopher Foyle of Hastings,” she said as she laid the pen down. He’d heard her described as “attractive enough” and had wondered enough for whom before he met her. Now, he found himself pinned by her grass green eyes, startled into silence like a green lad, feeling a fool as he hadn’t for years.

Decades really. Sam would burble in wonder to see him struck dumb while Milner would only give a brief and comradely nod of recognition.

“You’re well-informed, Dr. Blythe,” he said.

“You expected that,” she said. “That’s why you’ve come, to pick my brain, to winkle out some piece of information, some cipher that will break the code you can’t. To solve your case. It is a Godawful mess, I’ll give you that. The pathologist’s report was quite detailed. Almost literary.”

“I’ve come to ask for your help,” he said simply. Because he thought she’d prefer it and because it couldn’t think of what else he might have said.

“You might as well sit down. You’ll have to forgive me—I can’t offer you a cup of tea or even a biscuit,” she said. “I haven’t an assistant who sees me fed and watered.”

Something about the way she’d said it was an alert.

“The other surgeons do. Any of the nurses are glad to fix them a cuppa,” Foyle offered.

“I don’t know about glad, exactly, but it’s in that general way. I’m meant to fend for myself. It’s my own fault I’m not much good at fending. I was spoiled, growing up, with our housekeeper Susan. There was never an evening without a little snack prepared and her solution to any problem was the teakettle on the stove and a slice of fresh pie,” she said. She had a square jaw and her auburn hair was sprinkled with grey and tucked back in a practical snood, but there was a certain whimsical nostalgia in her expression. “She was a splendid bustler, our Susan, and that you may tie to, Mr. Foyle. And now I’ve run on and run and you want my help or whatever help you think I can give you, so you may as well begin winkling.”

“You have a way with words,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me. I’m by far the least eloquent person in my family. It’s no accident I’m a trauma surgeon,” she said.

“It was an observation,” he replied. “And it’s because of your family I’ve come to speak with you.”

“It’s Walter,” she said, any dry humor entirely gone from her voice, from those arresting green eyes. Saying the name of her brother dead these twenty odd years aged her; Foyle saw the lines her face fell into when she despaired, the nights of grief that never entirely abated.

“Yes. Because of what he wrote, Dr. Blythe,” he said, wondering if the clarification would bring her any relief. Wondering at himself for thinking of that first. Rosalind, who’d ever been generous, would not begrudge him an interest, a possibility, but he worried what it meant for his duty to the dead men, whose murders he was charged to solve, no matter that other men were dying across the Channel, that he risked making Diana Blythe’s hand unsteady when she held a scalpel or a needle trailing suture.

“A poem,” she guessed. Hoped? The alternative was most likely one of his letters, perhaps one he’d written to her, one she wouldn’t want to surrender or corrupt by handing it over to be part of a criminal investigation.

“Yes. The poem, the famous one,” Foyle said.

“The Piper,” she said, her color back. “He’d have hated it, positively loathed what happened with that. All the breathless sentiment, the rallying and the women who memorized it, that sickly sweet melody Tremaine wrote for it—I swear it would be tattooed over half of Canada and all of PEI if people thought it was within the bounds of polite society. It’s not even close to his best work, I want you to know—”

“I know. I met him. In the trenches,” Foyle said.

“Fuck,” she said softly. And then, “I beg your pardon, I shouldn’t speak so—”

“Plainly? You can’t imagine I’d take any offense,” Foyle said. “I met your brother only a few days before he died.”

“Before Courcelette.”

“Yes. I was very young and he wasn’t much older, but he’d been fighting for several months longer than I had, maybe a year. I didn’t think anyone could live that long in that hell and still find something worth living for. Could still remember anything beautiful,” Foyle said.

“It was that bad?”

“It was worse,” Foyle said. Something in her face told him she would not challenge this, nor would she make him explain. Rosalind hadn’t done either, which was why he hadn’t cracked up entirely before Andrew was born. “Whatever he wrote to you, it was worse.”

“He didn’t tell us anything. Not even me,” she said.

“You were close,” he said.

“I thought so. The night before he died, he wrote a letter. To our younger sister Rilla and a friend, Una. She was in love with him, Una, we all knew that, but he didn’t love her that way. I thought we were close, closest to each other over everyone, but he didn’t write to me,” Diana said.

“Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he knew you would be able to tell if he held something back. If he lied to try and protect you,” he said.

“Perhaps. Is that what you did, Detective Superintendent Foyle? Did you lie and keep secrets?” she asked. No one had ever dared before, not Rosalind, who’d admitted once she did not want to know everything about him.

“Christopher. My name is Christopher,” he said. “A long time ago, I was Kit. That was when I knew your brother.”

“I’m Diana. How does Walter’s poem have something to do with a triple murder?”

“There have been five murders thus far,” Foyle said. “It’s complicated, will take some time to explain. There’s a Lyons round the corner, quiet enough this time of night. We might have that cuppa—”

“If there have been five murders and somehow my brother’s poem is crucial to finding the killer, I’ll need something stronger. Bitter will do. I’d offer to stand you a pint, but I imagine that’s not considered ethical,” she said.

“No, nor gentlemanly,” he said, surprising himself.

“We’ll go Dutch,” she said, getting up from her desk and walking around to take down her coat and cram her barely fashionable hat upon her head. The coat flapped around her legs, obscured in a pair of drab tweed trousers, an unremarkable pair of brogues on her feet. She was beautiful.

“We haven’t much time,” she said, passing him at the door.

“I know it’s late. You must have an early surgery tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. I ship out in a few weeks,” she said.

“France?”

“France,” she said. “I never wanted to go before. And now I can hardly wait.”

“I won’t waste your time,” he said.

“No, I don’t think you will,” she replied.

#foyle's war au #aogg #christopher foyle #diana blythe #christopher foyle x diana blythe #crossover au #dr diana blythe #walter blythe #the piper #both walter and foyle served in wwi #excerpt from a slow burn I probably won't write more of #for clarity this is all there is #I just imagine it as part of something larger #rosalind foyle #foyle's war

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liverpool-enjoyer · 2 years ago

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footballers reacting to a younger teammate calling them dad

requested by sane max!!! ty for requesting <3 @calm-smol

leo: he doesnt say anything but he is a little confused. like yeah he has kids but he doesnt feel like hes a dad to his teammates. so next time he sees neymar he goes "do you see me as a father figure?" n ney chokes on his drink.

ney: it sends him into a crisis. like yes he does have a kid already but for ppl in their TWENTIES to be seeing him as their father??? he spirals, literally asking every one of his friends "do you think im getting old??" probly gets hammered that weekend to prove hes still Youthful.

milner: he always rolls his eyes when his teammates call him that cause he thinks theyre poking fun at his age. in his defense they kinda are but they also mean it affectionately!!

kdb: spends months adamantly disagreeing with anyone who says hes been treating erling like his kid, but when erling accidentally calls him dad one day he can deny it no longer. so he takes the L n accepts it.

luka: he thinks its sweet!! he'd ruffle the young players hair n if he continues to get called that he wouldnt rlly mind.

luis: now he sees himself as an older brother. so when he gets called dad he'd be like "would a dad do THIS" n then take the poor player in a chokehold n give em the noogie of a lifetime.

lewy: when gavi or pedri say dad to get his attention he jus goes "yes?" yeah this aint new its literally just wednesday. but the first time one of them call him that he gives them a big hug n is honored they consider him a father figure <3

sergio: he acts rlly irritated, but when hes talking to luka alone, he refers to the younger players as "our kids"

pep: "exCUSE ME???" yeah your ass is doing laps sorry bro.

klopp: girl have you seen this man??? dude has loving papa written all over him. n he loves his boys so much n treats em all like his own so he doesnt even bat an eye when they call him that anymore, he answers to it as much as he does to "boss"

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susiehunsecker-remade · 10 months ago

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"Dallas is more like Hunsecker than he can admit: they are both prigs, self-righteous, and combative. Susie is accustomed to being smothered, and Steve is willing to take over that task from her brother. He loses the confrontation over her because he can’t leave well enough alone or get past his own ethical superiority. Dallas is a cipher and no hero; credit Milner for getting that."

— Sweet Smell of Success: The Fantastic Falco by Gary Giddins for Criterion, 2011.

#Is anyone else here insane.#sweet smell of success #susan hunsecker #j.j. hunsecker #there's more from this essay about jj and susan #mostly about how susan and jj are a lot like daisy and tom from the great gatsby #in that jj and tom are both self-righteous conservatives #and how susan and daisy shrink into themselves the same way during confrontations about who they should be with #I'm just crazy right now. I love you susan I love you jj....

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aemondslefteyeball · 2 years ago

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In the Flat Field (1)

[Future!Aemond x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Spooky shit]

[Summary: The year is 2864, and mankind has spread to the stars. You and your partner are a part of the Exoarchaeologist's Guild, exploring the known universe on the USS Vhagar. When the two of you enter a new frontier you make a discovery that will either make or destroy both of your careers at the Guild. If you can make your way back to it, that is.]

Word Count: 4.3K

Chapter One

A gut pull drag on me

Into the chasm gaping, we.

Vhagar’s engines thrummed softly in the background while you set the plates down on the little table in the dining room. After they were arranged and the replicator was shut off, you expanded the hologram that sat confined in your watch. Pulling up the menu, you clicked on the ship’s comms and sent your best friend a ping that the food was ready. A few minutes later Aemond arrived in the kitchen, sweat coating his brow from where he had been overhauling the backup wiring in the lateral thrusters. “Hey, love.” A wide grin pulled across his face, his eyes widening at the Arrysian stir-fry before him. “This is why we’re partners.” His face softened for a second, and your heartbeat quickened in your chest. He went to the wash station, dipping his hands into the electrostatic fog before settling down at the table.

“The reports on the Milner vase came back, it’s from approximately 2146, sometime in the spring but the carbon atoms aren’t stable enough to tell precisely when it was made.” Aemond nodded as you briefed him. The two of you had been hoping it was made in the 2060s when the Carythian empire had been in its golden era. Nonetheless, the guild would want it when you two returned to Valyretos so into the storage lockers it would go. “I was thinking maybe we could push further into Juliet Quadrant, I looked through the Guild database and couldn’t find many records of archaeologists coming here.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Hotel Quadrant has been overrun since they found that temple.” Aemond had always leaned towards misanthropy, which was pretty funny considering he devoted his life to rummaging through dead peoples’ shit. As the two of you talked about your plans and input the vectors into Vhagar’s nav system, Aemond grabbed your plates and placed them back into the replicator, where it dematerialized them.

You two fell into a comfortable silence as you thinned out the scrubbers. The plants had been growing a bit too thick, and it posed a risk of clogging up the dioxide filters. The pair of you dictated the report on the Milner vase together, bickering like an old married couple as to whether it portrayed Nienna or Valeich. Despite your back-and-forths, you two had always been two peas in a pod. You remembered when you first met Aemond back at the Academy. Long, silver hair draped over a handsome face. On the left side of it, a cybernetic implant sat. Valyrian steel laced into his cheek, a crystalline transceiver sitting where an eye normally would. His demeanor intimidated you back then, and you had the same classes for months before Aemond finally approached you and asked if you would study for the preliminaries with him. The more you got to know him the more shocked you became, as you had assumed his family pulled strings to get him into the academy. You had friends at Telmar IV and none of them had any good stories about his older brother, and even less about his father. Studying his face for a moment, you reflected on how the years had changed it. The minuscule amount of baby fat that had clung to his face as a fifteen-year-old had faded, and you couldn’t deny he was quite the handsome man. But Aemond was… well, Aemond. You couldn’t think of any time he seemed more interested in any one person over his work. That being said, it seemed it was the reason you two fit so well together. Both of you refused to ever stop pushing, and it led to you being valedictorian, and Aemond the salutatorian. It was a miracle you beat him out, but the final exam tripped him up just enough that you edged in a victory. To your surprise, he didn’t seem jealous at all. When your final GPAs were announced he just pulled you into a hug and tentatively asked if you two could be partners after graduation. Eight years later, the two of you were sailing off into Juliet Quadrant on the USS Vhagar. It was Aemond’s pride and joy, a smile dancing across your face at the memory of the hours spent in his hangar. He had never grown out of tinkering with her, you supposed.

“Something on your mind?” Aemond’s right eyebrow was quirked, amusement glimmering in his violet eyes.

“Remember when you were building her?”

An easy grin pulled across Aemond’s face as he pulled another plant from the wall. You swore you saw a blush on his cheeks for a second before he turned towards the compost bin. “I remember warbling on about her engine schematics for hours.” He turned back to you, something unidentifiable in the back of his eye. “I don’t think anybody had ever really sat and listened to me like that before.” There was a comfort to the admission, an easiness that only came with eleven years of companionship. When the two of you finished, the plant matter was deconstructed by the bin before being spread over the mycelium racks in a fine mist.

Nebulas of magenta and sea-foam green spread out before your eyes, the viewscreen set to record the star system as you two settled into the cockpit. Aemond sunk into his crash couch with a groan, pausing for a moment before he followed your line of sight. “Gods that’s beautiful,” he muttered.

“You’re beautiful.” When Aemond turned to look at you, he was met with your raised middle finger.

He chuckled before shaking his head, looking down at the controls. “It remains a great mystery as to why you’re single.”

“A great tragedy.” You teased, clasping your hands for dramatic effect.

“Mmm,” Aemond replied, something shifting in his gaze as he leaned closer toward you. You smiled at him coyly, one leg crossed over the other.

Suddenly the proximity klaxon sounded, the view screen flashing red. Vhagar’s point defense cannons were locked onto an asteroid 437 kilometers in diameter. You looked to Aemond, engaging the railguns and cutting minor paths through it before Aemond finally launched a PDC round into the asteroid that sent it shattering out into the frontier. The two of you breathed a sigh of relief. No pieces of the asteroid were large enough to cause actual damage to Vhagar. As soon as the two of you started to relax, the ship was hit by a small rumble. You looked to Aemond in confusion, and he looked to you in worry. Whatever jostled Vhagar had to be something particularly nasty, and it would be better to get the hell out of dodge time now. Sensors were reading that a nearby star had started a coronal mass ejection registering off the Gerardys Scale. As you engaged the joysticks, the ship was hit by a wave that sent it tumbling through the vacuum. Aemond’s arm snapped across your chest as if he was going to hold you in, and you shot him a strange look. You were both literally strapped into your couches. Despite the futility of the gesture, your heart rate increased. Another wave wracked the ship, and it froze suddenly. The system had entirely changed. Literally. You and Aemond looked at each other in confusion for a moment, pulling up your vitals. Both of you were sober and all was were clear, which only left the impossible. You two were somewhere else, in a dimensional freefall before your surroundings shifted again.

The ship solidified in the goldilocks atmosphere of a thus unidentified planet. You braced yourself for another few minutes, expecting to find yourself in yet another strange new system. When no shift happened, you and Aemond stared at each other. “What the fuck?” You whispered as he let out an ‘Mmm’ of agreement. “Should we land?”

Aemond’s brow furrowed for a minute, and you saw the light on the side of his implant flicker. Another thing you loved about Aemond, he ran almost every major decision through that implant of his. “Yes.” He stated simply, as you nodded. While Aemond had always been able to destroy you in engineering, you were the pilot. Autopilot was engaged until the stratosphere was breached, from there you set the controls to manual and landed Vhagar in a vegetated field. The two of you opened the comms before sending out an emergency message to the guild. When the ping sounded your heart dropped into your stomach. For the first time ever, Vhagar was unable to transmit. Your wary gaze met Aemonds again, and you shot him a smile you hoped was comforting. He had designed Vhagar so she synchronized with his implant, and the expression on his face told you he was just as lost. Environmental sensors showed nothing of note, while cobalt-blue vines spread out as far as the eye could see. No signs of sentient life read from the field, but the two of you had another hope in mind. Two klicks off into the distance stood the only artificially constructed building you had seen in this hemisphere. You and Aemond took another glance at each other. Periwinkle stucco rippled into basalt before it shifted to plastic siding. Wherever the two of you had landed, it was a far cry from anything you ever had seen before. Really read, heard, or thought about even. In short summary, you guys were up shit creek with no paddle.

“Well,” Aemond said flatly, his voice revealing the slightest waver. “We’ve definitely found something new.” You nodded as your boots crunched into the vines beneath your feet.

You let the silence hang for a second longer before it dawned on you. “The asteroid.” When your gaze turned to Aemond, his brow was knit together with the steel implant. You stopped for a moment, Aemond following in tandem. Pulling up the hologram screen from your watch, you expanded it into view mode. Aemond’s hand came to rest on your waist as he stepped closer towards you, eyes fixed on the screen. Clicking on the recording of the flight data, you pull the asteroid’s hologram out, setting it into a field of its own before programming Vhagar to run a simulation of its flight path.

“What in the seven hells?” Aemond whispered, your mouth going dry as the two of you watched the path of the asteroid. It was moving as if on a track, with a constant velocity. The vector was straight, clear-cut, and too mathematically neat to be natural. Aemond reached into the hologram as well, overlaying the simulation onto the schematic of the system. When he pressed play, you brought your thumbnail to your mouth, resting it on your teeth for a moment. That was it, this was something nobody in the guild had ever discovered before. Your heart sank at the realization that the two of you had unknowingly destroyed a priceless artifact.

“It’s a…” Aemond looked at you for a second, his lilac eye narrowing at you as he tried to follow your train of thought. “Aem, I think it’s a cosmic-scale Rube Goldberg machine.”

“Who could have built it?” He murmured, talking more to himself than you. “And why?” His right fist clenched as the light flashed in Valyrian steel. “Implant’s got nothing.” He finally concluded. Nothing of this scale had ever been done before, though to be fair this was just a theory as of right now. Maybe there was some psychoactive chemical in the atmosphere that Vhagar’s sensors didn’t pick up. It would certainly make more sense than either a machine spanning an entire solar system or an asteroid that seemed to move in the weirdest orbit you had ever seen.

“After we destroyed it, the ion storm started.” You reflected out loud, your finger tracing over the light blue flashes of the hologram as the world shifted around the two of you. Cerulean skies melted into emerald and rose, but the two of you quickly found the bigger mystery. “After that is when things started getting… weird.” You said simply, wishing there was a word that more accurately described stumbling across a space oddity.

“Before we were thrown into the singularity…” Aemond picked up. You nodded, fidgeting with your hands. Aemond’s thumb rubbed little circles into your waist before he gently massaged the spot that always bothered you. Worry dissipated, as your gaze shifted to your best friend. If nothing else, you were relieved he was here. You leaned into him, inhaling the scent of leather and pine. Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s going to be alright, love.” He murmured. As he said that, your boots sank into bubblegum-colored sand. You pulled away and shot each other a look of mutual understanding. The environment was changing rapidly, but a building still stood. A queer patina shimmered over the roof tiles as they morphed into thatch, less than half a kilometer away now. You pulled your boot out of the sand, going to place it before you until a patch of ice rippled beneath your foot and you lost your balance. Aemond, thankfully, had quicker reflexes than most humans due to his implant. His arm snaked out to grab you before steadying you on your feet.

“Thanks.” You prayed that you weren’t blushing. Aemond just wasn’t interested in you like that. Aemond wasn’t really interested in anybody like that.

After a quarter-kilometer trek that thrust you into six different biomes, the two of you finally came to the ever-changing sight of the house before you. Grand French doors were adorned with stained glass that seemed to produce its own light. The images danced across the panes, but when Aemond scanned it he found no power source. Glass figurines revelled, read, and leaped as the glass changed colors. “I know this is probably a stupid question,” Aemond furrowed his brow, a gentle look in his eye as he glanced toward you. “But you’re recording all of this, right?”

Aemond smiled at you, ruffling your hair suddenly as you batted his hands away. “You don’t ask stupid questions, that’s why we’ve been together for so long.” Been together. Sometimes you wondered if he did it on purpose. If he knew and was just rubbing salt into the wound. But his eye held no indication of mockery, and an easy look rested across his chiseled features. Like when you two first met. The years had hardened his face, but the remnants of the dorky teenager reemerged. Your dork. After a moment, he reached to open the door, the knob shifting to a beautiful ivory as he opened it. While the house seemed to be more fixed than the outside was, a foyer flashed in and out of existence, staircases moving throughout the belly of the beast. Hair raised on your neck, animal instincts screaming at the uncanny nature of the morphing environment. The two of you stepped through doorways into rooms that flashed in and out of existence, often finding yourself in new parts of the house. Decor flashed in and out of different cultures, times, and places. One minute Veltruvian lamps cast their plum glow across the walls. Others, class candles burned into your retinas. Walls of ebony stretched out across the basement the two of you had stepped into, and you traced your fingers along it, taking in the sight. Aemond beelined towards a desk, his gaze focused. Picking up the piece of metal, he turned it over in his hands before his gaze panned over to you. Holding it up, he laughed. “A sextant!” Blue light flickered out of the implant as he ran his fingers over the bronze. “18th century Earth.” A happy grin overtook his features as he unzipped his backpack, placing it in. Technically it was supposed to go to the guild, but you could pretend you didn’t see it in his room. Ebony walls shifted into cherry as you two stepped into a bedroom. A large, soft bed took up most of the space, but your gaze flickered to the closet.

“Jackpot.” You said, throwing the doors open before tutting disappointedly. All men’s clothes, and way too large for you from the looks of it. You flipped through the hangers, finding a long black trench coat. Pulling it off the rack, you held it up to Aemond’s shoulders, giving him a look. Aemond humored you, shrugging off his coat and tossing it onto the bed before pulling the trench coat over himself. The sleeves were a touch too short, but Aemond cut quite the strapping figure in it. You pulled your fingers up to your mouth and let out a wolf whistle. Raising your finger to spin it, Aemond shook his head as he chuckled. “C’mon CoverGirl.” You cheered. He pulled the coat off before tossing it over his shoulder and strutting across the room. When he reached you, he paused for a second, his face twisting as if he was thinking. When it continued on for another second, a nervous smile flashed across your face. “I’m starting to smell smoke.” You teased, taking the coat and putting it back on the hanger. You paused for a second after placing it back on the rack, shoving the coats off to one side and dropping to your knees. Before you, a small door stayed in place, the trim melting between shades of eggshell. You turned back to Aemond, and the blue light flickered before he nodded. Taking a deep breath, you opened the latch to Pandora’s door. The tiny door opened up to a full-length hallway and you started to poke your head in before Aemond lunged to grab you.

His leather jacket was back on him, expression serious as he turned the light in his implant on. Brick and stone flashed across the walls, an oil spill of different materials swirling before your eyes. Stepping into it, he gestured for you to follow before putting an arm out in front of you protectively. While his arm unfortunately was not singularity-proof, the sweetness of the gesture was appreciated. Exposed pipes of different metals lined the ceiling, the ripples easing the further along you traveled. The two of you came to a halt before the large iron door and you swallowed harshly. There was no sign of a spindle on the door, but it was cracked. A glimpse of light peeked out. You wracked your brain trying to remember any time that you had seen a safe that didn’t close from the outside. “Stay behind me,” Aemond muttered, with you nodding and moving to the opposite side of the frame. Aemond pressed the door open, ancient hinges creaking in protest. You peeked in to see Aemond staring at the room in shock. Light shone in through a bowed window, dust floating through the sunbeams as it bounced off one of the mirrors and right into your eyes. Flinching and holding a hand up, you came to Aemond’s side. “There can’t be a window here.” He muttered. “There’s solid brick around the entire room.” His head shook in disbelief, staring out into the yellow sky. “We’re in the basement.”

“Aemond.” He was pulled out of his train of thought before you gestured to the rest of the room. Dust stirred in the air, tickling at the back of your nostrils. Sunlight shone onto a neatly made, though clearly neglected bed. The walls were a solid beige color, with an armoire and a little kitchenette stacked into the small space.

“Did you hear me? There cannot be a window here.”

“I heard you.” You snapped. On the table, an old journal disappeared, and a radio appeared in its place. Aside from that, the room was still. The walls remained as they were, and whatever plagued the rest of the house seemed mitigated here. The eye of the singularity. Realization dawned on Aemond as he shot you a look. The emotion was unreadable for a second before you finally recognized it. Fear. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen Aemond truly scared. You wondered if you ever had. Aemond paced around the room, stalking about with an anxious expression on his face. “I’m going to get a reading on that door.” Pulling at the straps of your backpack, you stepped out of the iron door, and into the largest room you had ever seen.

Columns of shelves reached as high as you could see, the musk of the ancient room pervasive. Stepping down a row, you pressed yourself against a shelf and took a deep breath in. Okay. You and Aemond had been separated. It would be alright, you told yourself. Thus far you returned back to the same general area within the singularity itself. Your position in spacetime seemed fixed, but it shifted around you like a kaleidoscope. After you regained your head, you continued to creep down the rows. Strange bottles lined the walls, filled with different colored mists. You couldn’t articulate what it was, but every instinct screamed at you.

In the presence of something that was ancient when man was still fish, something stirred off in the distance. That’s when it sounded again. Heavy footfalls grew closer while you skirted around the wooden shelves, taking advantage of every blind spot around the bottles. A myriad of swirling colors spun within the glass, hypnotizing. You edged along the row slowly, checking your surroundings before making a dash to the next one. Upon getting there, you pinched your nose and exhaled through your mouth silently. When your heart rate slowed and your mind cleared, you snapped back to the task at hand. Escape. That’s when you caught sight of it through the reflection on the bottle. Ducking back behind the panel of wood, you looked at the bottles on the opposite shelf through the corner of your eye. Whatever it was, it was large. Stretched abnormally tall, the creature was broad, visual static flickering through the body. Ink seemed to stretch over the skin in a shifting calico pattern, blinking in and out as the creature let out a low wheeze. Two massive, gray pits swirling in what you could only assume were its eyes. A clicking rang out through the silent rows, and you took extra care to maintain your cover. Thuds fell onto stone floors at an uneasy tempo. Inhuman. An uncharacteristically long pause between one footfall and the next. Purples and greens spilled into the shifting skin pattern, your eyes intermittently flicking to the bottles. Something between a gurgle and a click emerged as the creature stalked about, dragging its spindly fingers along the dusty shelves. Suddenly it came to a pause, the colors in it shifting as it stopped to examine the shelf. The spot where you had braced yourself after first seeing the thing. Fuck. The speed of the clicking increased, and you felt a strange sort of joy radiating off of the being. It canvassed the room carefully, prowling towards the row you had previously been at. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pressed yourself against a new row, eyes trained on the bottles. Keeping your hands at your side so as to not leave another breadcrumb for whatever the fuck that thing was, you continued down the row. The creature ambled around as if it had all the time in the world, happy gurgles emerging from its abdomen. A soft peach glow shone around it, your eyes drawn in. It was strangely beautiful in contrast to the grotesque nature of the being. Something pure and celestial, mesmerizing. A dreamy smile passed across your face as you stumbled onto the shelf closest to you. Fuck. If the thud from your contact wasn’t enough, a bottle fell off the shelf and shattered before you had the chance to grab it. A flat voice emerged from the shattered glass as an ancient recitation sounded in a language you couldn’t identify. You slapped your watch, having it record a sample of the language to analyze later. A much, much bigger fish to fry had clambered over to the end of the row. The ecstatic clicking picked up in tempo, and your eyes widened in horror before you scrambled onto your feet to sprint as fast as humanly possible. The eerie gurgling emerged as the creature stalked behind you. You didn’t spare a look behind you, propelling your legs under you as quickly as you could. The dank room seemed to expand ever larger around you, but you weren’t sure if it was moving or whether it had always been this large. Rows tall as skyscrapers flickered in your field of vision for a second before bricks flashed through. Clicking sounded behind you until you were stumbling over smooth concrete on the outside of the bedroom. You fell to your knees and vomited on the cement. Your vision blurred and your head pounded. Each individual cell of your body felt as if it had been individually beaten, and you dry heaved after everything was out of your stomach.

Aemond came to pull your hair back, worry pulled across his face as one arm patted you gently on the back. When you finally finished, you turned your bloodshot gaze to meet his. The fear was still palpable in Aemond’s eyes, but you could see relief dawning in them too as he pulled you in for a hug. “Nice to see you too, Y/N.” He teased. Your arms shook as you wrapped them around his midsection, inhaling the scent of leather and soap.

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

Ahh! Second series starting!!!! Let me know what you all think, this one will probably be a bit sparser in updates than STGM but shouldn't be less frequent than every other week. Love y'all have a good weekend drink water

#aemond x reader #hotd x reader #aemond x you #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x y/n #prince aemond targaryen

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tuttle-did-it · 30 days ago

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Murder She Wrote ‘The Dying Game’ guest stars,

Kate Mulgrew - best known for ST:VOY, ST:Nemesis, ST: Prodigy, Mrs Columbo, Cheers, Dallas, Throw Momma from the Train, Roots: The Gift, Ryan’s Hope, Warehouse 13, Orange is the New Black, The Man Who Fell to Earth, Murphy Brown, Batman: The Animated Series, Mercy. 3 of 3 appearances. (god this woman looks so fucking good in white.)

Peter Donat (The X Files, Mission Impossible, The FBI, The Waltons, Mannix, Hawaii Five-0, Godfather Part II, Charlie’s Angels, Lou Grant, The Outer Limits, Mrs Columbo, Dallas, Father Dowling Investigates, Murder She Wrote TV movie)

Andy Lauer - Caroline in the City, Iron Man 3, Jane Doe series, Matlock, Doogie Howser MD, 21 Jump Street. He’s moved into directing and producing, as well.

Martin Milner, started as a child actor in Life with Father, The Land Ranger, Dragnet (TV show 1952-1955), Science Fiction Theatre, The Life of Riley, Gunfight at the OK Corral, Rawhide, US Marshal (TV), The Twilight Zone (1960), Gidget, Valley of the Dolls, Dragnet (TV series 1967), Columbo, Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, Adam-12, Fantasy Island, MacGyver, the New Adam-12, Diagnosis Murder. 4 of 5 appearances.

Musetta Vander - best known for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate SG1, ST:VOY, Boy Meets World, Diagnosis Murder, Babylon 5, Wild Wild West (film), O Brother Where Art Thou?

10.17 Episode aired Mar 13, 1994

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shesnake · 10 months ago

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c4 utopia, mr robot and uhhh mayhem

🥰😃🥰🥰

Utopia

My rating (1-10): 10

My favourite character: Wilson Wilson and of course jessica hyde

My least favourite character: donaldson... i'd kill that fucker!!!

The character I think I'd be friends with: ian. we love spider-man 2

The character I think I won't hit off with: milner?????????

My favourite episode/scene: season 2 episode 5 COMMENCE

Whose clothing style I like best: grant's astronaut tshirt in season 2 is so special to me... I once bought one for my little brother

Times I watched it (and if I would again): too many to count

Mr. Robot

My rating (1-10): 10

My favourite character: Elliot of course. but also darlene and leon and joanna

My least favourite character: Angela

The character I think I'd be friends with: Darlene

The character I think I won't hit off with: Dom

My favourite episode/scene: the first meeting with whiterose, future day in don't delete me, elliot waking up while mr robot is secretly meeting with angela and tyrell, leon talking about frasier and knight rider, lesbian airport scene carly rae jepsen needle drop!!!

Whose clothing style I like best: ...... vera

Times I watched it (and if I would again): currently going through my first full rewatch since the show ended but maybe the first 2 seasons twice?

mayhem

My rating (1-10): 8

My favourite character: derek

My least favourite character: lester

The character I think I'd be friends with: melanie

The character I think I won't hit off with: derek

My favourite episode/scene: I FEEL GREAT MARK

Whose clothing style I like best: ??? drenched in blood always peak fashion

Times I watched it (and if I would again): maybe 3 times?

#divinecruelty #replies #mayhem 2017 #mayhem #utopia #mr. robot

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kwebtv · 2 years ago

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TV Guide - July 6 - 12, 1963

Martin Sam Milner (December 28, 1931 – September 6, 2015) Film, stage, radio and television actor. Milner is best known for his performances in two popular television series: Route 66, which aired on CBS from 1960 to 1964, and Adam-12, which aired on NBC from 1968 to 1975.

He guest starred in many television series during the 1950′s through the 1990′s. Among them were The Stu Erwin Show, Dragnet, The Life of Riley, Navy Log, 7 The West Point Story, Wagon Train, The Millionaire, Rawhide, The Twilight Zone, Laredo, The Virginian, Fantasy Island, MacGyver, Murder, She Wrote and Life Goes On. He also starred in The Swiss Family Robinson during the 1975-1976 season. (Wikipedia)

Glenn Corbett (born Glenn Edwin Rothenburg; August 17, 1933 – January 16, 1993) Actor in movies and television for more than thirty years. Corbett came to national attention in the early 1960s when he replaced George Maharis in the cast of the popular CBS adventure drama Route 66. He followed this with roles in high-profile films and television shows, including a guest role in the original Star Trek series, the daytime soap opera The Doctors and the prime-time soap Dallas.

In 1963, Corbett replaced George Maharis on Route 66. Corbett, playing Lincoln Case, co-starred with Martin Milner during part of the third season and the fourth and final season of the series (1963–64). In 1964–65, he had a role on Twelve O'Clock High as Lt. Tom Lockridge for two episodes.

Corbett's other television roles in the early to late 1960s include Wes Macauley on It's a Man's World (1962–63). He was featured in 1964 as "Dan Collins" in an episode of Gunsmoke titled "Chicken" in which a man gets an undeserved reputation as a gunman when he is found at a way station with four dead outlaws at his feet. Corbett was cast in a 1965 episode of Bonanza, titled Mighty is The Word, in which he portrayed a gunfighter who finds religion and becomes a preacher, only to be confronted by a vengeful man whose brother he once killed. In the 1965–1966 season, Corbett guest-starred on The Legend of Jesse James. Corbett also guest-starred in an episode of The Virginian, entitled "The Awakening", in which his character, David Henderson, is a destitute former minister who has had a crisis of faith and comes to Medicine Bow just as a dispute breaks out at a local mine over safety issues. He appeared as "Chance Reynolds", a regular cast member on The Road West (1966–67). He guest-starred in the second season Star Trek episode "Metamorphosis" (1967) as Zefram Cochrane.

In 1971, Corbett had a guest appearance with Mariette Hartley on Gunsmoke (episode: "Phoenix"). In the 1970s, he had guest-starring roles on the television shows The Mod Squad, Cannon, The Streets of San Francisco, Police Woman, The Rockford Files, and Barnaby Jones.

In 1976, Corbett joined the cast of the NBC daytime soap opera The Doctors as Jason Aldrich. He stayed on The Doctors until 1981. Throughout the 1980s, Corbett was a recurring guest star on the long-running television series Dallas as Paul Morgan from 1983–84, and then from 1986–88. (Wikipedia)

#TV Guide #TV #1963 #Martin Milner #Glenn Corbett #Route 66

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saveugoodmadam · 1 year ago

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warm hands, cold world

a/n: this was originally published as part of my @newsiestober2023 collection on quotev using the prompt "gift of magic".

a couple of content warnings: descriptions of injuries, implied physical child abuse

Stanley Milner, known to his friends as Specs, was by all accounts a regular teenager. Perhaps an overly happy one, but nothing out of the ordinary.

That was, until the night the strike went wrong.

Splasher whimpered pitifully as the policeman's truncheon crashed downwards onto his arm. Specs dashed from where he had been holding the line of safety with Albert and dragged the kid into a nearby alleyway.

"Jesus." Albert muttered. "That's broken pretty bad."

"Specs... god, it hurts... why does they hate us?" Splasher kept whispering. Specs' hands ghosted over the broken arm. He knew he could do something, but it would risk a secret his family had kept for hundreds of years...

"Ah, darn it." he muttered. He rubbed his hands together gently, then placed them on the broken arm. His palms heated up and when he had removed them it was like the arm hadn't ever been broken.

"The hell was that?" Albert asked, taking his eyes off the fight for a second to take in the miraculous events.

"Uh, magic." Specs admitted sheepishly. "It's a family thing. Y'know, a gift. Each of us gets magic to be used for something helpful. For me, it's healing. For Stray, she can understand animals."

" 'n ya didn't think ta tell us that when fellas came home with big shiners from fights by the docks?"

"We's not supposed to tell people. It's supposed to be for emergencies."

"Well." Albert said, turning back to the carnage. "There's yer emergency, kid."

Specs knelt over an unconscious Finch, holding back tears as he knitted the boy's skull back together. He brought the boy into a tight hug as he woke back up.

"Let me back out there!" Finch begged. "Gotta keep fightin' "

A sudden scream came from Race, who picked himself up from where he leant against the wall of the alley. "They's got Crutchie!"

Finch broke from the hug, and ran to try and help the boy who'd been an older brother to him since they met, but was cut off by Buttons, who held him back from further harm with a quiet self-hatred for his actions.

"Finch! Finch, please. Run, don't let 'em get you. I'll be fine, ya hear me?" Crutchie wheezed, coughing as Snyder and his goons dragged him away. Specs pressed desperately against Buttons' other arm, his hands outstretched and the palms almost burning with the want to heal the older boy's wounds, but to scald Snyder's palms first.

He worked tirelessly through the night, healing wound after wound, reknitting bones back together and after that he went straight to the Refuge and found Crutchie's dorm room. Well, dorm would be one term for it. It was dirty and cramped and miserable. Crutchie himself was sat by the window, trying to write a letter by moonlight. His hands shook a little as he wrote and signed off the letter.

"Hey, Crutchie."

The older boy started at the noise, obviously on edge after the events of the day.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's me. It's Specs."

Crutchie tried to smile at him, his partially healed split lip starting to bleed again.

"Hey, Specs. I got a letter for Jack, wouldya be a pal and give it to him for me?"

Specs took the letter that was pushed through the bars to him. His hands pulsed with warm, magic energy. Though he tried to reach out towards Crutchie's battered face to try and heal a cut or two, he couldn't reach.

"Don't let all the fellas worry about me, alright? Don't let 'em come along and try to break me out. I'm one tough bird, I'll survive old Snyder. Yeah?"

Specs tried to muster up a smile.

"Yeah. Okay. Be safe."

The after-party of the strike win was immense, but Specs could feel Crutchie's tiredness from a mile off. That night, he climbed up to the rooftop. As he had guessed, his friend was still awake whilst Jack slept curled up beside him.

"Hey. Has anyone had a look at your cuts yet?" he asked quietly. Crutchie, suddenly looking infinitely older than the plucky kid he usually played the role of, shook his head.

"Nah. They'll be fine." he croaked.

"Well, just let me have a look, okay?"

He traced his hands over the cuts on Crutchie's face. Then the ones on his arms. Then a few on his shins. Shuddering, he healed up a few nasty, methodical lash marks on his back.

"God, that man's an animal. I hope he stays locked up for good." he muttered spitefully. Crutchie just nodded.

"So you's got magic hands, huh? Don't see that every day. Do you think..."

The question hovered, unsaid.

"No. I can only heal fresh wounds."

"Makes sense. Can you heal... mental wounds?"

His eyes flicked to Specs'. The hurt in them would have been too much for a grown adult to bear, and it was a wonder that a kid could bear it all.

"I don't know. I- I'll try."

He put his hands either side of Crutchie's head and concentrated. Very soon, the boy's eyelids drooped and he slumped forwards against Specs, breathing deeply as he slept. Specs gave a small, tight smile. He hoped it had worked, that he could relieve a little of the pain any of his friends had ever suffered whilst he couldn't do anything to prevent it.

He fell asleep soon after, his warm hands providing a cosy heat in the cold night.

#newsies #my words #me.txt #cw injury

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flower-zombie-rob · 2 years ago

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This big studio shit is so fucking horrendous i cant even. I was invited to a warner brothers uk careers event mere days before the actor strikes and in the midst of the writer strikes. And through this, we get another glimpse at the pure amount of jobs that are going to be destroyed in the most creatuve industry there is because of those ai fuckers and the fact that people wont be paying their workfirce because of it.

Like, i dont think people who arent in the film industry realise just how many jobs there are. Its not just writers and actors that will be affected. Makeup teams, costume designers, milners, floor runners, entire assistant directing teams, casting departments, set runners, screenwriters, producers and production teams, and litterally thousands more aspects that you dont even know could be a job are going to go away almost completely if actors, background or not, become ai generated and edited in by non unionised, overworked cgi artists for the sake of saving higher ups the money. This kind of thing hasnt hit the UK film industry yet, but if nothing is done about it and these comoanies can make it work in the USA, you'd better beleive it'll bleed into the UK film industry too considering how many hollywood projects are actually made in the UK(almost all of them, especially the big budget ones). This is a massive, serious thing that needs public support from all corners because if not, the millions wanting to get into this creative industry have no future. Im one of the people who could no future if this ai thing is taken too far as a studying filmaker. This is important and none of the people striking are lazy or want more pay because theyre selfish, these ai generation tactics are bordeline violating for people who dont vave wny legal rights to take these companies down for using their likeness, voices, faces, written work, draft scripts, art, concepts, etc without their permission to replace them. It is by all demands increadibly fucked up and anyone in support of the use of ai to replace creatives in the film industry, fuck you i hope your favourite films and series get cancelled.

#sag aftra #sag aftra strike #actor strike #writter strike #hollywood strike

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theoutcastrogue · 2 years ago

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Old school multitools

mid-19th/early 20th century, Sheffield

Gold-mounted penknife by Joseph Rodgers & Sons, Sheffield, last quarter of the 19th century. With twelve folding blades and accessories, including bodkin, borer, hoof pick, and corkscrew, stamped with the maker’s details and mark of a star and cross, fitted with rounded mother-of-pearl scales retained by four gold-capped rivets, four finely engraved gold terminals, and vacant gold shield-shaped escutcheons, 11.3 cm (closed)

Folding pocket knife by John Petty & sons, Sheffield, late 19th century. With nine folding blades and accessories, including pen blade and button hook, gilt fillets, filed details including gilt spring backs inlaid with engraved mother-of-pearl plaques, and tortoiseshell scales inlaid with engraved copper alloy flowers, 11.7 cm (closed)

Sportsman 'Wharncliffe' knife by Rodgers, Sheffield, early 20th century. With folding blade stamped ‘Wharncliffe’, saw, corkscrew, awl, shaped farrier’s hook, inlet picker and tweezers, natural staghorn scales, brass fillets, and vacant German silver escutcheon, 10.4 cm (closed)

Multi-blade penknife for exhibition. With over one hundred folding blades and accessories including awls, borers, saw, scribes and bodkins, the main blade marked with a pair of crossed spurs at the base, fitted at each side with tortoise shell scales each retained by five minute German silver screws, and fitted with horn pick and German silver tweezers,12.0 cm (closed)

Coachman's knife, James Rodgers, Sheffield, mid-19th century. With eleven folding elements including signed blade, saw, farriers hook, fleam, trace borer, and corkscrew, iron fillets and natural staghorn scales with concealed tweezers, pick and concealed knife, 9.5 cm (closed)

Watts pattent cycle knife, Sheffield, late 19th/early 20th century. With four folding elements including tyre lever, pincer and blade screw driver, and nickel plated body stamped ‘Watts Patent’, 10.7 cm (closed).

Motoring knife. Probably by John Milner & Co., with ten folding elements including blades, screw drivers, bottle opener, spanner, corkscrew and trace borer, nickel-plated body, and steel loop.

Stand knife, 20th century. With four folding elements including button hook anGold-mounted penknife by Joseph Rodgers & Sons, Sheffield, last quarter of the 19th century. With twelve folding blades and accessories, including bodkin, borer, hoof pick, and corkscrew, stamped with the maker’s details and mark of a star and cross, fitted with rounded mother-of-pearl scales retained by four gold-capped rivets, four finely engraved gold terminals, and vacant gold shield-shaped escutcheons, 11.3 cm (closed)d gouge, nickel-plated body stamped ‘Celebrated “Stand” army knife’, with loop, 10.7 cm.

Engineer's knife, by W. Mills & Son, Sheffield. With four folding elements comprising three differing blades and a ruler, the body with a continuation of the ruler on one face, inscribed ‘Bristol’ and with an F2 biplane.

Sportsman's knife, by Rawson Brothers, Sheffield, late 19th/early 20th century. With eleven folding elements including large blade, saw, trace borer, bodkin and farriers hook, copper alloy fillets, mother-of-pearl scales, and vacant German silver escutcheon, 11.7 cm (closed)

Coachman's knife, Wilkinson, London and Shefflield, late 19th century. With eight folding elements including signed blades, farrier’s hook, scoop borer, corkscrew and cartridge extractor, copper alloy fillets, nickel silver body stamped ‘Par-a-gon’ on each face and loop, 12.7 cm (closed)

tinyurl.com/yr4hd4pr

#tools of the trade #folding knife #multitool #sheffield #england

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promethea-silk · 1 year ago

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Informed Consent

Oddly enough, receiving the missive from Ricard brought a sense of relief to have a reason to leave the estate walls. She had cooped herself up in her room the days following the altercation with her brother-in-law and while she was actually enjoying time alone, Cordelia was itching for time outside. Of course, she didn't necessarily need a reason to leave, she could come and go as she pleased, but this made things a bit more interesting. The woman had, afterall, been eagerly awaiting to hear what her newest business partner had in store for her.

Thankfully, by this time, the bruising around her eye and neck had faded to soft purples and dull yellows, it made covering them a bit easier though their presence was still noticeable. It bothered her little, though, as she made her way through the streets with her chin high, waltzing directly up to the Milner estate and announcing her arrival. Darkened lips tugged into a brief smirk as she thought of their prior meeting, the last time she had walked through the doors. She had poked and prodded, working Ricard up with tidbits of rumors to coax a reaction from him. It worked.

When the door opened, Cordelia leveled her gaze with the man who greeted her. “I received word that Mister Blythe wished to speak with me, he should be expecting my arrival.”

Vincent offered a quick bow before opening the door further, allowing her space to pass through. “Of course, this way ma’am.”

Once she was inside and the door was closed behind her, he offered to take the woman’s coat before guiding her through the darkened halls, stopping in front of the two large wooden doors that led to Ricard’s office. The young man cleared his throat before knocking loudly, announcing their presence and started to speak before promptly being cut off.

“I know who’s here and why, Vincent. Bring Lady Gray in.”

“I…as you say, sir.” The man offered a sheepish grin and another small bow before pushing the door open and allowing room for the lady to pass.

Inside, Ricard was standing next to the fireplace, his vest undone, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest - he wasn’t disheveled, but did look as though he’d been working the better part of the day, perhaps two. He waited for the door to close before looking towards his company, trailing his tongue across one of his canines. “Good evening, Cordelia.”

“Remember we had a very clear discussion about how we didn’t want this business to involve the Cress family?”

The ebony haired woman stood her ground upon entering the room, looking over the somewhat unsettled man. She couldn’t help but grin when his back was to her and once the sound of the door clicked behind her, her feet began to carry her across the room. With each step, she began pulling the tips of her gloves from her fingers, one by one until she could remove them completely to set them aside to a nearby table. “Ricard.” The two syllables dancing from her mouth calmly as a regard in greeting.

Coming to stand before him, she offered a casual tilt of her head as her lips pressed together in a soft hum. “Hm, actually, I believe it was of agreement that you and your men would go nowhere near the Cress estate. In fact, I believe I stated fully that your ex-betrothed was involved here.” Still, her tone was calm, reassuring even as she looked at him curiously.

“Well your brother-in-law just made her more involved.” He sighed heavily, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “I just received word that Damien was spotted in Tailfeather with Valeria Cress. The pair…reportedly, spent some time in one particular set of stables together. Didn’t have a man on the inside, the details from there are fuzzy.”

He looked up, running a hand through his hair. “And this is where it gets…messy. If Vahalia Cress finds out that we knew that this happened and didn’t inform her, then things are likely to end poorly. But that also means informing her how we knew that this happened.” Dark eyes locked with hers, “Which is that I’ve been tailing Damien Gray.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, taking in the bruising and making a note to ask about it a bit later, as he waited for her response.

“Oh, I had every intention of informing Lady Cress of whatever happenings we learned about the two of them.” Her reaction held no surprise and very little concern, she had prepared for this, in large part. “Vahalia has forbidden her sister from spending time with Damien outside of supervised events, or perhaps in general, the details on that I am unaware of. While I hold no ill will toward Valeria, she has no business with my brother-in-law, or rather moreso, vice versa. I have my own dealings with Vahalia, I would rather see Damien not muck it all up.”

With his gaze locked to hers, she mirrored the look, blinking slowly. The time she had spent the last few days had given her a calm that very little was doing to break through, it had infuriated Eivor and perhaps now would seem confusing to Ricard, yet here she was.

Ricard exhaled sharply through his nose as he shook his head, uncrossing his arms to lean on against the mantle of the fireplace, cursing under his breath. “That almost makes things worse.”

“I’ve no issue tailing Damien Gray - the man has been drinking a bit too much, gambling a bit too much, typical activities for someone trying to keep their mind busy. Fine, no issue with that. And as long as Valeria Cress stayed at the Cress estate and away from this mess things were fine - but they had to try and be fucking sneaky about things.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “So I’ve got the go ahead to share this information then - both on the same page, no blow back, no secret meltdowns, not gonna stab me after I get back from this meeting or anything, right?”

Her lids fluttered in a few quicker blinks as she fought to stifle a bit of a snicker. “That has really brought you so much concern, has it?” A hand reached out toward his lower abdomen though she held her distance. She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I am not going to stab you, Ricard. I dislike the information as much as you and Vahalia will, truthfully, but you did the job I requested and paid for. I can and will deal with the Cress’ in regards to the blowback on my end on my own.”

His fingers drummed against the stone mantle before he pushed away, pacing the length of the room - arms crossing over his chest once more. “I mentioned before about the road to hell and what that’s paved with, right? I’ll rest easier when the information is in the hands of those it needs to be and I can be done with it. The Cress family is not one I need to be concerning myself with. Not anymore.” He approached the fireplace once again. “What happened to your neck, and your eye?’

She took a deep breath and nodded, watching as he walked away and began pacing. “I understand.” She replied simply, shrugging her shoulders to herself, though. “With your aversion, I am quite surprised you agreed to take on the task in the first place. I might say it was admirable but I have a feeling as though there was reason far beyond admiration.” When he returned near to her and the question came, her eyes finally broke from his to look into the fire at their side, the flames mirroring in her almost poetically. “Oh, hardly a concern, the man these hands belonged to won’t be doing it again, I trust.”

His gaze narrowed, the broken eye contact doing nothing to alleviate the nagging questions, “I’d beg to differ - whether the man has thoughts of doing it again or not, I’d argue that the fact he did it once makes knowing his name worthwhile - knowing the type of man he is and all that.” Thoughts drifted for a moment to another house, a front hall, as he lay bleeding, and still, he’d never had thoughts of laying a hand on the one who’d caused the injury - animosity be damned. He broke out of the thought with a quick shake of his head - “You’re under no obligation to share, of course, secrets have their place.”

He ran a hand over his face tiredly, “-and back to the topic at hand, I took the job because I thought, perhaps foolishly, that Valeria would be only peripherally involved and I’d be able to sidestep that information while obtaining what you wanted and needed. I didn’t think he’d do this, this quickly.” A huff of frustration left him as he moved to sit down in a nearby chair. “I’ve done idiotic things, but for fucks sake.”

With a sigh, she returned her attention to him, her ever present somewhat arrogant demeanor about her. “What are you going to do about it? Defend my honor?” The dry tone she carried was far likely uncalled for in that moment but it danced from her lips easily. “Giving you his name would only further make things difficult for you.” She warned with the slight twitch of her brow.

He waved a hand out towards her, “Depends on who it was and how much I knew about the person, but as I said, you’re under no obligation to share - secrets have their place. Just curiosity born of concern.”

His retreat to the chair simply caused her to turn her body to allow for ease of communication to remain. “Are you… afraid of her?” Finally the question came as her own eyes narrowed over him almost tauntingly.

The hand fell back to the armrest as his eyes narrowed. “Who? Vahalia? No.” He quickly adjusted his shirt as he settled his head against the back of the chair. “We’re not terribly fond of one another - as I’m sure you could tell, and I don’t particularly want to go have this conversation because I’m sure she’ll find some way for this to be my fault, but I’m not scared of the woman. What makes you say that, Cordelia?”

Her reaction was very pointed as she lowered her gaze to him. Cordelia couldn’t hold back the scoff as she slowly closed the distance and yet remained simply standing over him with hands coming to rest on either hip. She was relieved the topic of her state of being had come and gone quickly just as she had hoped. “What makes me say that? Hm… let’s go down the list, shall we?”

Her hands came together so that with each point she would make, she tapped a finger to the opposite pointer finger. “You vehemently insisted that this job keep you away from the Cress estate, upon learning of Valeria’s deeper involvement you have turned to somewhat of a mess, your immediate concern is angered repercussions from me following a meeting with her… which, of course, you seem incredibly distressed to see to.” Ending her explanation, she dropped her hands to her side and looked at Ricard pointedly. “I think that sums it up.”

“My history with the Cress family is complicated, which I believe we’ve discussed to a certain extent. I haven’t known you long enough to discuss all the details of the history, but it’s a tale to be sure. And it is better for all involved and for your business endeavors with Vahalia that anything I’m doing tailing your brother-in-law stays as far away from her family as possible. This -” he waved a hand around indicating the general area, “-could be interpreted as trying to keep tabs on her family and not just on him. Which goes over like a bag of lead bricks.”

“I think it’s the right think to inform her about who Valeria has been seen with - but doing what I thought was the right thing also left me bleed out in a front hall before, so forgive me if I seem a bit skiddish at the prospect.”

Cordelia pursed her lips as she brought a hand to rest over her abdomen around where she had taken notice of the scar on his person the day they happened upon one another at the baths. Raising a brow, her head tilted at this. “So she did that to you.” It was inquisitive in nature but also more of a realized statement.

Ricard shrugged one shoulder, as best he could given his position. “Aye, she did. It was quite the argument that led to it too - as I said the day at the springs - get to know me well we enough and perhaps one day you’ll get the story behind it. For now it’s just a scar, and now you know the person who gave it to me.”

“Mm.” A nod came with her hand falling back to her side, lips pressed together now in a thoughtful hum. “Would you like me to deliver the information? It could be said I had my own people following Damien and happened upon them.”

“No.” The answer was swift, to the point. “I may not want to have the conversation, but I won’t avoid it. And I won’t hide from Vahalia Cress. I found the information, I’ll deliver it, and if she doesn’t like it, then I’ll have to deal with the consequences.” His eyes closed for a moment before they reopened as he stood, once again running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have to mention I’m working for you - that’s up to you whether I do or don’t, but I need to know your preference before I speak with her.”

Her shoulders rose and fell in a gentle shrug. “Do what you will, the offer will stand.” She eased a bit in her stance as her eyes followed him as Ricard stood to full stature. “I have little preference on if she knows or not, she knows we have connection already I believe…” Cordelia glanced off in thought for a brief moment. “…either way, tell her if you’d like, I feel there really isn’t a way around the fact the you were working on my behalf. After all, what other reason would you have for tailing Damien?”

“I just needed to know if you had strong feelings one way or the other - have all the information going on, so there are no misunderstandings.” Another long exhale. “I appreciate the offer, but as I said, I need to be the one to tell her. Doesn’t matter who hired me to do the work, I did the work, therefore I’m the one responsible.”

“Well, as long as you don’t … meet an untimely demise, keep me updated, hm?” Hands came together to rest just below her abdomen as Cordelia raised a brow expectantly as if waiting for anything else. “Was that all, then?”

“That was all, an update on where things stand and…to let you know I’d be speaking with Lady Cress about what I found.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll send a missive in the next day or so - I imagine it’ll be a brief meeting.”

A simple nod with another hum before she moved to pluck up the gloves she had set aside previously. “Very well.” Her response was simple as she went about putting the gloves back into her hands and though she made way for the door, paused. “Good luck, Ricard.” She remarked with a bit of a playful tone before disappearing behind the door.

Ricard sighed as he watched her go before returning to his place before the fire.

He was going to need a hell of a lot more than luck.

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