#not one shop has let me pay in installments for the past eight years

[hungrydogs-if]

if anyone ever doubted how dumb i am, know that somehow i accidentally ordered myself a whole ass bed without really meaning to.

[chain-unchained]

December 12 - Part 2

It was like déjà vu, walking into the mines; it was hard to believe that their nearly ill-fated adventure was only a few months past. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though the harrowing encounter with the slime boss was still fresh in their minds.

For Abigail of course it was just a brand new adventure, uncharted territory waiting to be explored. “Alright, so how does this work?” Her impatience dripped from every word as the boys filed in behind her. “Do we sign in or something?”

“Yeah—er, well,” Ashe stopped at the sight of the unmanned rescue station, “usually, at least… that’s… weird. I could have sworn that Ellie would be here today…” For Abby’s sake, he clarified, “Usually there’s someone here to check us in.”

“Oh, you’d have loved her Abby.” Sam elbowed her with a grin. “She was a real cutie. Real shy, too. Totally your type.”

Her face fell. “Really? Damn it. I’ll have to sneak up here on another day and try to meet her. Penny’s the only other girl in town that I’d consider and she’s too into Maru to pay me any mind…” She sighed. “You boys have it so easy.”

“Well,” Ignoring that, Sebastian blew on his frigid fingers to warm them as Ashe looked over the log book, “what’s the plan now, Ashe? Are we still gonna go in or what?”

“… It… should be okay.” There was real hesitation in his voice, though his uncertainty was eased somewhat by the sight of Percy’s signature on today’s page. Besides, if something did happen to go wrong, he did have that as a last resort. “I think as long as we sign in we’ll be okay.”

Abby cocked a brow. “Why do we need to sign in if there’s no one here?”

“Trust me, Joja will know and you’ll be banned in a heartbeat.”

He scrawled his name hastily in the entry beneath Percy’s and stepped back so that his friends could do the same. While they did that, he stepped behind the station and retrieved a box full of safety equipment for them to make use of. After what happened last time—not to mention this growing sense of foreboding-- he didn’t want to take any chances.

By the time he returned to the sign in desk, Abby had finished adding her name to the book. At least, he had expected it to be her name, but instead—

“Really?” Sebastian was wholly unimpressed. “You used your Discord handle?”

“Like I’m dumb enough to put my actual name in here.” She twirled the pen between her fingers, wearing a cheeky grin all the while. “I’m not gonna risk mom and dad finding out. They’d flay me alive.”

Both Sebastian and Sam exchanged a long look; after a second, Sam snatched the pen from her and they both hastily amended their sign ins.

“Speaking of Discord,” she pointed a painted nail at Ashe, “you need to give me yours so I can invite you to our server. I’ve been meaning to ask you for awhile now but it always kept slipping my mind. And don’t even think of giving me that ‘I’m too busy’ b.s.,” she added as the farmer opened his mouth, “I know for a fact that you’re scrambling for stuff to do now that winter’s here.”

“I-I wasn’t going to say that--” he absolutely was, “--I was just going to say that I don’t have a Discord.”

“Well you have a phone, right? Or a laptop?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.” That one day of rotten luck had seen to that.

“… Wait, really? But—” She was aghast. “How do you survive?”

Sebastian paused in the middle of strapping a hard hat onto his head. “Really? You’re just now learning this?”  

“I already said that it kept slipping my mind!” She strode forward and grasped Ashe’s face with both hands. “Seriously, how do you not have at least one of those things in this day and age?!”

Now Ashe was feeling quite embarrassed. “I just—never have the time to use them, so there wouldn’t be a point to replacing—”

“Oh, I so know what you’re getting for the Feast this year.”

“N-No no, actually no, please don’t—” He paused. “Wait. Feast?”

Sam tugged off his gloves and tugged on a pair of work ones. “Yeah. The Feast of the Winter Star.”

“… What’s that?”

“Oh, right, you’re from the city. It’s just another festival. It’s how Pelican Town celebrates Christmas.” He grinned. “There’s a big feast, and everyone does a Secret Santa present exchange. Nothing too crazy, but it’s kinda fun to shop for a gift for a different person every year.”

Sebastian grimaced. “Yeah, it’s fun until you get Haley as your secret buddy. I got her last year.”

“And I got her the year before.” Abby strapped on some protective gear, but stopped short of the hard hat. “God, that sucked. She totally shit on the gift I got her.”

“Haley does kinda have rich white girl tastes,” Sam nodded.

Even if she did… “I know that she can be… hard to deal with,” Ashe fidgeted with his own hard hat, “but she’s not that bad…”

All three of them looked at him like he’d just said the earth was flat.

“Yeah, she’s over the top, and she’s loud, and she isn’t afraid to speak her mind, but… she’s a person too, y’know? And she knows that nobody likes her…”

Now their attention shifted from him to each other. “Are you feeling alright?” Sam finally asked.

“Huh? Yeah, of course… I just… Y’know what, nevermind.” He slapped his own cheeks and unstrapped the pickaxe from his back. “Why are we standing around talking when there’s loot to be had?”

The sudden about-face didn’t go unnoticed by his friends. It was eerily similar to the one he pulled the last time—compounded by him just not seeming like himself recently. But it was hard to have a conversation with someone’s back, and so they had to hastily follow him into the elevator leading into the left mineshaft—well, Sebastian and Abby followed, dragging a reluctant Sam behind them. The blonde had a severe case of claustrophobia and fear of elevators.

“This is new.” Sebastian said, with Sam clinging to him for dear life as the elevator began its rickety descent into the depths of the shaft.

“Mhm. Joja installed it… last month, I think?”

“Damn. You’ve been hitting this place that hard?”

Ashe grinned meekly.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because I have no sense of restraint and this is par for the course for me?”

“… Actually, yeah. That just about sums it up.” He patted Sam’s back. “You’re okay, Sam. Nothing’s gonna happen. You can let go of me now.”

“Y-You don’t know that for sure!” If anything, Sam only clung to him harder, and Sebastian just rolled his eyes and put up with it. There was no getting out of that vicelike grip once it was locked.

 ####

 Even though it was the bastion of the very thing that he was once addicted to, Shane still made it a habit to visit the Saloon after work. It was a place to go that wasn’t straight back to ranch—of course he loved the place, but there was something suffocating about heading straight home after an eight hour hell shift stocking shelves. And the free sparkling juice that Gus would slip him was nice. It helped with the cravings.

“Hey Shane!” Emily was the first to greet him as he stepped in through the swinging double doors. She usually was, always with a smile. “Glad to see you! I wasn’t sure if you would be up to visiting with all that snow out there.”

“I mean, this place is right on the way home, so it’s not like I have to go out of my way or anything.” He took a seat at the bar, and on cue Gus set a cup of sparkling something in front of him—might have been cranberry just on first sniff. “Thanks, Gus. This a new drink or something?”

“It is, it is.” The portly fellow was all smiles as well as he cleaned a mug. “Courtesy of our favorite farmer. I thought you ought to have the honors of giving it the first tasting.”

“Well shit, I better not say anything bad about it.” He took a swig and let the flavor mull over his tongue. It was equal parts sweet and tart, and nicely carbonated—it tasted vaguely like the fruity drinks that he once was into, back in his edgy high school years. “That’s pretty nice.”

“As expected of produce from Ashe’s farm.” Emily leaned against the counter. “Speaking of, how’s he doing lately? It feels like an age since I last saw him.”

“Fine, as far as I can tell. Still a crazy busybody always doing something.” He sighed and swirled the deep red liquid around in the cup. “Won’t lie, I’m starting to get real worried about him.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Just—how do I put it? He just doesn’t seem like himself lately. He’s saying and doing all the usual stuff, but… iunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I just get this feeling that it’s an act.”  

“Well, if anyone could tell it’d be you. You know more about him than anyone else.”

“But that’s just it!” He threw his hands up. “He’s so tight-lipped that even after—fuck, how many months has he been here--?”

“Nine months,” Gus answered, bemused.

“Thank you-- after nine months, I know basically fuck-all about him.” With his fingers he began to count what he did know, “I know he lived near the capitol, I know he used to work for Joja, and I know—well, I’m pretty sure that his mom died. That’s it. Fuck, I don’t even know if he has allergies. That’s bad, right?”

Emily tapped her finger against her lips, contemplating. “Mmm… Not necessarily? Doesn’t it just mean that that stuff hasn’t come up yet? I mean, are you expecting him to just sit you down and go ‘this is my life story’ like in a badly written movie or book?”

“No, what—of course not.”

“Well then, what’s the problem? If it really bothers you so much, talk to him about it. Tell him that you would love to hear more things about him from time to time.” Playfully she poked him with her elbow. “Some people just need that little extra nudging to open up, after all.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right on that… Maybe I can get the ball rolling on one of our dates. Oh, speaking of,” he set his glass down and turned to Gus, “can I reserve the back room for the next few Sundays?”

Once more Gus looked amused. “Are you finally going to take me up on that offer I made when you first got together?”

“Maybe. This is literally the only thing I could think of to make him take a break, short of strapping him to a chair in front of a TV.”

Emily hid a laugh behind her hand. “I’m glad you’re choosing this instead of that. Maybe you can talk him into stopping by sometimes, too. I miss that sunshine he brings with him.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.” Shane finished off the drink and paid for the reservations. Honestly, he missed that sunshine too…

[mscoyditch]

Spitalfieldslife blog post 2020-04-29. By the Gentle Author.

It is my pleasure to publish this profile of the famous herbalist of Spitalfields by Patricia Cleveland-Peck, gardener and writer.

Of all Spitalfields’ past residents, one name stands out above others – Nicholas Culpeper, born on October 18th 1616, a herbalist and medical practitioner operating from Red Lion St (now Commercial St) who devoted his life to healing, and especially to healing the poor.

While apprenticed to the apothecary Francis Drake of Bishopsgate, Nicholas accompanied Thomas Johnson (later editor of the 1633 edition of Gerard’s Herball) on plant hunting excursions. He loved herbs since boyhood and became expert at their identification, essential in those days when almost all ailments were treated with plants. Herbals served as handbooks for doctors in which each plant was named  together with its ‘virtues’ or uses. Nicholas’ skill in this subject, coupled with the fact that he was very caring, meant that the people of Spitalfields flocked to him – sometimes as many as forty a morning – and they commonly received treatment for little or no payment.

This was not popular among Nicholas Culpeper’s qualified medical colleagues who were infuriated by his view that, “no man deserved to starve to pay an insulting, insolent physician.” He also believed in “English herbs for English bodies,” and went out gathering his own herbs from the countryside for free which did not endear him to the apothecaries who often insisted on expensive imported exotic plants for their ‘cures’.

In those days, there were strict divisions between what university-educated physicians, apothecaries and barber-surgeons (who drew teeth and let blood) were allowed to do. Physicians were expensive, so for most sick people the first port of call would be their own herb garden or still room, the second the ‘wise woman’ down the road, the third a visit to the apothecary –  after which, for many, there was no other option but to let the illness run its course.

In 1649, Nicholas inflamed the establishment by producing an English translation of their latin ‘bible’ the Pharmacopoeia Londinensis which included all the recipes for their medicines. Published as A Physical Directory, it not only revealed the secret ingredients but gave instructions on how to administer them – one of his most important contributions, as it provided the first effective self-help book to which people could turn.

Even more galling for the medical fraternity was the fact Nicholas had never completed his apprenticeship, and chose Spitalfields to set up a semi-legal practice because it was outside the City of London and thus not governed by the rules of the College of Physicians. Spitalfields in those days was quite different from today, beyond the site of huge priory of St Mary Spital stretched the farmland of Spital Field. The priory had been dissolved under Henry VIII although parts of the precincts were still inhabited, and it was an area which attracted outsiders like Nicholas who, as well as treating his patients, was  something of a political radical. In his pamphlets, he railed against the king, priests and lawyers as well as physicians. Consequently he was no stranger to controversy and at one point was even accused of witchcraft – just one of the many troubles which accumulated to beset him during his life.

The first of these even occurred thirteen days before his life began, for it was then that his father died leaving his mother without support. She and the new-born Nicholas were obliged to return to the protection of her father, William Attersole, vicar  of the little village of Isfield in Sussex. Attersole was not happy about this arrangement but, although he did not welcome the child, he did see it as his religious duty to provide instruction for him as he grew. Young Nicholas learned the scriptures and the classics, he studied mathematics and, under his grandfather’s guidance, began to take an interest in astrology which later featured in his own works. He even stole a book on anatomy out of the library (where he was only supposed to read the bible) and read it in a barn.

Importantly, he also spent a lot of time with his mother who we know owned a copy of Gerard’s Herball. She was responsible for the health of the household and, from his later works, we can glean the fact that he soon became familiar with all the local Sussex ‘simples’ or wild herbs. We know only little of this period of his life, but it is thought that he went to school in Lewes before – at the age of sixteen – setting off for Cambridge ostensibly to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps by studying theology. Once there, he began to attended lectures on anatomy and, perhaps frustrated that he couldn’t change to medicine, he spent most of his time smoking, drinking and socialising in taverns.

Yet the reason for his dropping out is a sad one. Young though he was, before leaving Sussex, Nicholas had fallen in love with Judith Rivers, a local heiress. She reciprocated his love and thus, knowing her family would never consent to the relationship, they planned to elope. They were to meet near Lewes and marry secretly, but on the way Judith’s coach was struck by lightning and she was killed. Nicholas was devastated and spent months sunk in melancholy. There was no question of his returning to Cambridge to study medicine or anything else. Eventually he chose to come to London and become an apothecary. Socially, this was a step down but he enjoyed his time at Bishopsgate and became very proficient.

Nicholas was twenty-four when he found love again. Called to treat a Mr Field for gouty arthritis, his eyes fell upon the fifteen-year-old daughter of the house, Alice. By a stroke of good fortune, she too was an heiress and it was her considerable dowry which enabled Nicholas to build a house in Red Lion St, Spitalfields from which he conducted his practice.

When the Civil War broke out two years later, the anti-royalist Nicholas signed up with Cromwell. Once his profession was discovered however, the recruiting offer commented, “We do not need you at the battlefield…come along as the field surgeon since most of the barbers and physicians are royal asses and we have use for someone to look after our injured.” Later, during the battle of Reading, Nicholas himself was wounded.

On his return to Spitalfields, he devoted himself to study and writing, and produced a number of books including a Directory for Midwives. Nicholas recognised that this was an unusual topic for a male herbalist, writing in the dedication, “If you (the matron) by your experiences find anything not according to the truth ( for I am a man and therefore subject to failings) first judge charitably of me…” Having grown up so close to his mother, Nicholas had a deep respect of women but this book may also have been inspired by some painful experiences in his own family for, although Alice bore him seven children, only one daughter lived to adulthood.

In 1652, Nicholas published his master work The English Physician also known as Culpeper’s Herbal which became the standard work for three hundred years and is still in print. It was sold cheaply and made its way to America where it had a lasting impact too. By 1665, ten years after his death, Nicholas’ name  was so well-known that the Lord Mayor of London chose to use it alongside that of Sir Walter Raleigh in a pamphlet about avoiding infection from the Great Plague.

Nicholas Culpeper deserves to be remembered. He was always on the side of the underdog, he opposed the ‘closed shop’ of earlier physicians and he promoted sensible self-help. He also tried to offer reasonable  explanations for what he wrote – “Neither Gerard nor Parkinson or any that ever wrote in a like manner ever gave one wise reason for what they wrote and so did nothing else but train up young novices in Physic in the School of Tradition, and teach them just as a parrot is taught… But in mine you see a reason for everything that is written.”

He died in 1654, aged only thirty-eight, of tuberculosis and is believed to be buried beneath Liverpool St Station.

Images:

1. Nicholas Culpeper (1616-1654)

2.Title page of the 1790 edition of Culpeper’s English Physician & Complete Herbal, published by C.Stalker, 4 Stationer’s Court, Ludgate St.

3. A Plate from the edition published by Richard Evans, 8 White’s Row, Spitalfields, August 12th, 1814.

4.Red Lion House, Nicholas Culpeper’s home in Spitafields. Becoming the Red Lion Tavern after his death, the building was demolished in the eighteen-forties as part of road widening when Commercial St was cut through to carry traffic from the docks.

5.“Culpeper’s house, of which there are woodcuts extant, it is of wood, and is situated the corner of Red Lion Court and Red Lion Street, Spitalfields. It is now and has long been a public house, known by the sign of the Red Lion, but at the time it was inhabited by the sage herbalist, it was independent of other buildings. While in the occupation of Culpeper, who died in 1654, this house stood in Red Lion Field and was as a dispensary of medicines (perhaps the first) of very considerable celebrity.” The European Magazine and London Review, January 1812. Red Lion St and Red Lion Court as shown on John Horwood’s map (1794-99) before Commercial St was cut through in the nineteenth century.

6. Plaque commemorating Nicholas Culpeper installed thanks to a campaign by Spitalfields Life

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Eight

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I’m a tiny bit late getting this latest chapter of my @cssns story posted this evening but I'm going to try my best to get back on track with posting updates every other Monday as long as the real world doesn't get too crazy.

The last chapter had Emma reacting to learning she was related to the Mills sisters, angrily lashing out at Regina about keeping such a huge secret from her before getting drunk and having a heartfelt talk about it with Killian. As she settled in to sleep off too much rum, Killian was rendered unconscious by an invisible attacker. This chapter picks up the next morning and by the end of this installment, you'll have a good idea who the real villain of this tale is and an inkling of what Emma has gotten herself into.

As always, I want to thank the event organizers for all of their hard work.  Definitely looking forward to the completion of all of this year’s stories and for the newly announced 2020 event!  I also want to extend huge thank yous again to @lassluna for all of her help as a beta reader and to @cocohook38 for the incredible art work featured in the header.

Catch up from the beginning on AO3, FF.net or here on Tumblr:  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven

The morning sunlight filtering through the break room mini blinds was every bit as unpleasant as Emma had expected when it hit that perfect angle to land directly on her face. Her head throbbed from her over-indulgence in rum last night, but she had no one to blame but herself. Tossing the blanket unceremoniously over the back of the sofa, she pushed herself up to a sitting position just as a somewhat bewildered Graham strolled in to brew his morning coffee.

"Emma? What are you doing here?" he asked, face scrunched in confusion. "Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah," she replied groggily as she stretched and forced her feet to the floor. She stood up to find the room only spinning slightly but increasing her nausea. "Had a little familial disagreement so after a few drinks with a friend, I came here to sleep it off."

"Must have been one rough night…"

"You don't even want to know…" she insisted as she made her way into the locker room in search of a change of clothing. She'd learned a long time ago to always keep a clean shirt and a pair of jeans on hand for emergencies. This way, she knew she had something available to make herself feel a little more human and look at tad more presentable before she embarked on her quest to confront those who'd kept her mother's real identity a secret from her. "Are you making coffee?" she called out to Graham as she changed from yesterday's attire.

"Just starting it now."

"Think you can make it extra strong?"

"I think I can manage that," Graham replied as he fished two mugs out of the cabinet mounted above the break room sink. He placed the mugs on the counter, knowing better than to ask anything else about her night. He'd slept off his own drunken benders in some unusual places too, so before switching on the coffee pot, he removed the bottle of aspirin that they kept in the cabinet and placed it next to her mug. He knew she'd appreciate it.

Emma emerged a few minutes later sporting a clean, rust colored tee shirt and blue jeans, eagerly inhaling the enticing aroma of the fresh brew. Graham was no longer in the break room but she immediately smiled when she saw the aspirin bottle atop the counter. Coffee and a few pain relievers were just what she needed right now before she set off down the street to have a chat with a squirrely pawn shop owner.

**********

Fueled by caffeine and a reinvigorated desire to get some answers about her mother's mysterious past, Emma stormed her way across and then down half a block of Main Street with Gold's potion booked clutched tightly in her left hand. Since the aspirin hadn't yet had time to kick in, her head was still pounding which was leaving her in no mood to take any crap from the pawn shop's owner.

Gold had opened up the shop for business at exactly 8AM, mere minutes before Emma shoved open the entrance door and stomped her way to the counter where the proprietor stood. She dropped the book onto the display case in front of him, almost hoping that the glass would break. Unfazed by her action, Gold glanced down at the potion book resting on the countertop then back up at the deputy's irate face.

"Good morning, Deputy Swan," he greeted her with little emotion in his voice and showing a considerable lack of interest in the very item that he'd requested her to retrieve for him.

"I found your book," she informed him very matter-of-factly, patting it with her fingertips to ensure she had his attention. "Found the little surprise inside of it too…"

"Surprise? Whatever are you talking about, Ms. Swan?" She wasn't the least bit surprised that he'd feign ignorance of the photograph and letter and she wasn't buying it.

She flipped open the book's cover to reveal the photo of her mother as a child and the faded, handwritten letter from her grandfather. "I suppose you're going to deny that you knew these were inside the book?"

Gold shrugged nonchalantly as he carefully lifted the aging photograph to examine it. "I loaned this book to Cora a very long time ago. I certainly can't speak for what she might have stuck inside it's covers."

"But you knew…"

"Knew what, Dearie?" he rudely interrupted her statement.

"You knew that Cora and my mother were sisters," she stated, undaunted by his apparent disinterest. "Why is it that everyone in this town thinks that it's such a horrible thing for me to know who I'm actually related to around here?"

"I would suppose it is because they weren't certain how you might react to learning the truth about your mother."

"And I suppose that it should have been left up to me, not them!" she countered, raising her voice angrily. "I've had it with all of the secrets! I want those items that belonged to my mother as I kept my end of the deal and I want you to spill what you know about my history!"

"Do you think you can handle the truth about your lineage?"

"I'll let you know. Now, why don't you start telling me what the big secrets are?"

"Fine," he relented as he made his way over to the ornate cabinet where he'd stored the items belonging to Ava Nolan. "You fulfilled your end of our deal by returning my book so your mother's items now belong to you." He tugged open the cabinet door and removed the small box and books he'd shown Emma the previous day and then placed them atop the counter. "I will answer some of your questions as a courtesy to your mother as well, but not out here. How about we go have a seat in my office where it will be more private for you to interrogate me?"

"Lead the way…"

Gold held the heavy beaded curtain aside as he gestured for Emma to pass through the doorway to his office and storeroom that lay beyond the sales floor. The decor of this not-for-public-eyes area was even more eclectic and disturbing than the shop itself but since she wasn't here to debate his decorating choices, she withheld commentary. She was only here this morning to learn about her mother, not discuss interior decorating.

"Have a seat, Ms. Swan," he said, directing her to a fancy upholstered chair that was probably as old as the town itself. Emma sat down on the offered chair, but she didn't allow herself to get too comfortable. She wasn't planning this to be a long, social visit. "I don't have all of the answers you seek, but what would you like to know?" he asked as he took a seat to her right on a burgundy divan.

"I guess we'll start with the same one I've been asking since last night - why was my mother's identity and place in this town such a secret?"

"That was a choice made by your family, I'm afraid. As you know, Storybrooke is a town with an unusual pedigree that they sought to protect. How much of the history of this town do you know?"

"I know a little. I know it was founded by the Blanchard family after the Civil War, in the late 1800's."

"That is correct - your great-grandparents founded the town in 1872, selecting this remote area of Maine to create a safe haven for those who wished to practice the magical arts, both dark and light. They welcomed fellow witches and warlocks and opened a portal across the bay to connect to other magical realms. However, the magic that Storybrooke was founded upon came with a price. To secure the magic that supports the town's infrastructure, your great-grandparents formed a pact with a very powerful warlock from a distant realm. That warlock agreed to share his extensive powers with the town of Storybrooke in exchange for an agreement that he could return whenever he chose and demand a duel for the powers of any practitioner he chose. Should his chosen competitor lose, he would gain their powers, Should the opponent win, the warlock would consider the debt paid and leave forever."

"That seems like an awfully big price to pay just to have magic in this town, but I don't get what that has to do with my mother…"

"I'm getting to that," he assured her, frowning at the young woman's impatience. "The warlock has returned to Storybrooke twice since the town's inception and has won the challenge both times. Your mother was his unfortunate second victim."

"She lost her powers?" Emma asked, partially for clarification, although she'd understood Gold's explanation of the warlock's competition, so she already knew the answer.

"She did. Her challenge caused her to be tricked into making an ill-advised choice, but that's really all I know of it. After losing her magic, she attempted to stay here in town and live a normal life. She married widower Robert Nolan, had you, but then one day, something changed and she took you and disappeared."

"When I was growing up, she never once mentioned that she'd had powers of any kind," Emma stated as she attempted to process all of this new information. "I always thought that she'd run from something bad, maybe something abusive, but after meeting David and learning about our dad, that didn't make sense anymore and now it makes even less sense… What caused her to run away from her home and family?"

"I'm afraid that you'll need to ask those questions of your family. I can't tell you what pushed her away or why they kept her identity a secret from you, but now, if you don't mind, I should be getting back to work."

"I understand. One last question though," she began as she stood up. "Do you have any idea what ill-advised choice she had to make?"

"Afraid not, dearie. All I know is that the warlock came into town and weaseled his way into her life, leading her to that decision. She chose poorly."

"What the hell did she have to choose?" Emma repeated the question to herself while exhaling a deep sigh.

Gold shook his head and shrugged as he ushered her out of his office. "I don't remember much from that time, but from what I do recall of your mother, it likely involved a man."

"What?" she exclaimed as she crossed the threshold back into the main shop. "What do you mean by that?"

"Growing up, your mother had very bad luck with the men in her life. Your grandfather died when she was still rather young and she had a string of boyfriends but few serious relationships. Perhaps your brother or your cousins will remember more?"

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better…," she muttered under her breath as the old man disappeared behind the curtain without another word. Befuddled, she gathered up the few belongings her mother had left with Gold, collected the photograph of her mother and aunt along with her grandfather's letter and wandered out to the sidewalk completely lost in thought. She now had the knowledge that her mother had once possessed magical powers but lost them after being on the losing end of some sort of challenge from an evil warlock - a challenge that had involved some sort of choice - but what? By Gold's description, this challenge had taken place a few years before her mother had run away to Boston so it didn't seem as though the loss of her magic had been the catalyst that caused her to bolt. So, what had it been? What choice had the warlock forced her to make? Had it actually involved a man like Gold had suggested or was there more to it?

She was anxious to see what was inside the mysterious box Gold had held onto for all of these years and to learn more about the books that accompanied the box. First though, she had to take a break and feed her grumbling stomach. The coffee had been a good way to start the morning, but she needed to fuel her growling belly and Granny's was tantalizingly close… Three or four more cups of industrial strength coffee couldn't hurt either.

She took a step into the street, barely noticing the car parked curbside in front of the pawn shop and too distracted by her own thoughts to realize that there was another person in her path. She walked straight into that unseen pedestrian, the collision sending them both tumbling to the asphalt. Emma managed to hold on to her mother's box, but the books fell from her grasp.

"I'm so sorry…,' she began to apologize profusely to the man she'd collided with. "I wasn't looking where I was going…" She pushed herself to her knees and began to gather her belongings, almost afraid to look to see who she had so awkwardly run into. "Are you alright? I hope I didn't knock you over too hard…"

"It's alright, Emma…," the familiar voice said with a chuckle. "This isn't exactly how I planned to run into you, but I'm not going to complain." Recognizing the voice, she flushed with embarrassment. It may have only been Walsh, but she would rather he not see her this flustered.

"Walsh, I guess we literally ran into each other," she said with a shy, awkward grin. "I'm really sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"No worries. I wasn't really paying attention either. I was just heading over to visit Mr. Gold and see if there were any updates on my incoming shipment. What about you? I thought you were off today but that intensity in your gaze says otherwise."

"Oh, I was just returning a book to Gold in exchange for this old stuff that used to belong to my mother. Now I'm heading over to Granny's to get some breakfast and take a look at this stuff. Wanna join me? I'll buy to make up for getting your suit all dirty…"

"I just might take you up on that offer," he said as he brushed some invisible dust off of his dark, coffee bean brown suit. Yeah, she had coffee cravings on her brain again… "Let me finish up my business here but I'll stop over when I'm all done."

"Sounds good," she replied with a hopeful smile. "I'll take my time. After last night, I'll probably need to go through a couple of pots of coffee…"

"Last night? What happened last night?"

"Let's just call it an interesting night that ended in a few too many drinks after having way too much unloaded on me too quickly…"

"Ah… I have heard that the full moon can lead to some overwhelming revelations around here…"

"Oh, just a few revelations… But I'd better let you get back to business. I'll save you a seat if you decide to take me up on the breakfast offer."

"Sounds great, Emma. I'll try to keep things short," he offered, not exactly promising that he'd make it but leaving her hopeful that she might gain some company for breakfast. She had so much to process and she hadn't even gotten to the relatives yet. Maybe it was best to have someone to share the discoveries with her instead of sitting in the diner alone?

Walsh held the smile on his face until as Emma continued (cautiously this time) across the quiet street towards her intended destination of Granny's diner. Once her back was fully to him and he was no longer in her purview, he straightened his sport coat and reset his composure. Projecting a decidedly more business-like demeanor, he entered the pawn shop to seek out its owner.

Alerted by the jingle of the bell attached to the door handle, Gold knew that someone had come into the store, but believing it to be the deputy returning with more inquiries, he responded before poking his head around the curtain.

"If you're back for more, there's not much else I can tell you," Gold said as he stepped around the room divider to see that the person awaiting him in the lobby wasn't Emma Swan, awkwardly finding the face of Walsh Gibbons instead.

"More about what?" a confused and curious Walsh asked as he noted Gold's reaction.

"Mr. Gibbons. My apologies. I thought Ms. Swan was returning with some additional questions about the items she just obtained from me." Gold did his best to conceal his embarrassment over his faux pas of making the statement before confirming his audience.

"Ah, yes, she mentioned that she'd traded for some old items of her mother's."

"A few small things," Gold said, not intending to go into further detail. "So, how can I help you today, Mr. Gibbons? As you're aware, the ship carrying the items you desire isn't due into port until Monday. The captain expects to be in the harbor around noon should fair winds prevail."

"Yes, I'm aware of that delay. I'm actually here for something else, specifically some assistance with a particular potion…," Walsh informed him as he reached into the right hand pocket of his sport coat, withdrawing a folded slip of paper that he slid across the glass countertop to Gold. "Think you can put that together for me?"

The pawn shop owner picked up the paper warily, slowly unfolding it to see what was being requested of him. "I believe I have all of the ingredients for this but whatever do you need it for?"

"That is my business," Walsh replied with haughty tone. "Your business is to make it for me, right?" Gold found himself reminded of his conversation earlier that week when he'd assured Emma that his dealings with Walsh were strictly business. Clearly word had reached Gibbons who was now throwing it back at him. "How long will it take?" Walsh asked to snap Gold back to the present.

"If I have everything required, I can have it to you in about an hour. Let me take a quick gander at my storeroom."

"Please do. I'll wait."

Gold vanished behind the heavy fabric divider while Walsh waited impatiently to learn if the potion could be completed in a timely manner. The shopkeeper was out of sight for less than two minutes when he returned with his response. "I do have all of the necessary ingredients. The potion will be ready for you in an hour."

"Perfect. I guess I'll go take Emma up on her breakfast offer while I wait," Walsh grinned. "See you in an hour."

Gold stood silently behind the counter as Walsh exited his shop. He'd made many potions for Gibbons over the years they'd been doing business together, but this latest request had him puzzled. It was unusual, even for Gibbons, but business was business.

**********

Elsewhere in Storybrooke, (at least he hoped he was still in Storybrooke) Killian Jones had awakened in near total darkness. His last recollection was of walking a very tipsy Emma to the Sheriff's station then returning to the Jolly Roger - but how long ago had that been? There was no way to know if it was day or night or whether minutes or hours had passed. He vaguely recalled a choking sensation that he might have dismissed as a dream were it not for the lingering ache in his neck.

He knew he was no longer aboard his ship as there was nothing familiar to any of his senses - no gentle rocking and swaying on the bobbing waves nor any scent of marine air or teakwood. No, wherever he was, it was dank and dark. There was no light filtering in through any crack in the stone or cement walls of this chamber and there was a musty, earthy odor to his surroundings.

Where the hell was he?

Using the nearest wall both for support and to gain his bearings, Killian pushed himself upright, immediately realizing that he was missing something - his hook. He knew he'd been wearing it when he'd left Emma but now its familiar weight wasn't there. He still wore the brace that secured it yet the prosthetic implement itself had been removed.

A renewed vulnerability washed over him as he inched his way along the wall in the inky blackness yet he was determined to take stock of this prison. His hand felt for any recess or crack that might signify a possible exit as he made his way to the chamber's first corner. He continued moving to his right along the second wall discovering that it was little more than an arm-span distance between the corners. Whatever this awful hole was, it was narrow.

The third wall proved to be only slightly longer than the second which provided him a rough estimate of the room's dimensions - approximately six or seven feet wide and perhaps nine or ten feet wide. It would be about the size of a small storage room or closet - or even an actual prison cell.

But at least there was some hope. As he reached the next bend, his hand came in contact with wood. A door frame. A doorway. At least if the room had a way in, there was a chance he could find a way out, although that might prove a tad more difficult without his hook. His hand surveyed the frame and door in search of a key hole or some type of locking mechanism but he found neither. Whatever purpose this chamber served, it was secured from outside which left him with the chilling realization that it just might be a prison cell and he was its unfortunate occupant.

Questions flooded his brain as his psyche tried to make sense of his situation. Where the hell was he and how the bloody hell did he get here? He didn't remember leaving the Jolly Roger, at least not willingly. He'd sensed no one else on deck with him and a skirmish would certainly have drawn the attention of his crew.

Someone had brought him here and locked him away in this miserable, lonely pit, but who? He'd barely been in this port for a week but had he unexpectedly crossed someone unwittingly? There was so much he needed to know…

"Hello?" he shouted in the direction of the sealed door, unsure if anyone would even be listening. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Hearing nothing except the echo of his own voice and the pounding of his heart, Killian slumped against the nearest wall. He knew he needed to think this through and to conserve his energy. There was no indication of any water or provisions left here for him so either his captor planned to bring him sustenance or he was intended to slowly starve to death - the latter being an option he wasn't prepared to consider.

[wewererogue]

The Norwegian prison where inmates are treated like people

[by Erwin James / The Guardian, February 2013]

On Bastoy prison island in Norway, the prisoners, some of whom are murderers and rapists, live in conditions that critics brand ‘cushy’ and 'luxurious’. Yet it has by far the lowest reoffending rate in Europe.

An inmate sunbathes on the deck of his bungalow on Bastoy. Photograph: Marco Di Lauro

The first clue that things are done very differently on Bastoy prison island, which lies a couple of miles off the coast in the Oslo fjord, 46 miles south-east of Norway’s capital, comes shortly after I board the prison ferry. I’m taken aback slightly when the ferry operative who welcomed me aboard just minutes earlier, and with whom I’m exchanging small talk about the weather, suddenly reveals he is a serving prisoner – doing 14 years for drug smuggling. He notes my surprise, smiles, and takes off a thick glove before offering me his hand. “I’m Petter,” he says.

Before he transferred to Bastoy, Petter was in a high-security prison for nearly eight years. “Here, they give us trust and responsibility,” he says. “They treat us like grownups.” I haven’t come here particularly to draw comparisons, but it’s impossible not to consider how politicians and the popular media would react to a similar scenario in Britain.

There are big differences between the two countries, of course. Norway has a population of slightly less than five million, a 12th of the UK’s. It has fewer than 4,000 prisoners; there are around 84,000 in the UK. But what really sets us apart is the Norwegian attitude towards prisoners. Four years ago I was invited into Skien maximum security prison, 20 miles north of Oslo. I had heard stories about Norway’s liberal attitude. In fact, Skien is a concrete fortress as daunting as any prison I have ever experienced and houses some of the most serious law-breakers in the country. Recently it was the temporary residence of Anders Breivik, the man who massacred 77 people in July 2011.

Despite the seriousness of their crimes, however, I found that the loss of liberty was all the punishment they suffered. Cells had televisions, computers, integral showers and sanitation. Some prisoners were segregated for various reasons, but as the majority served their time – anything up to the 21-year maximum sentence (Norway has no death penalty or life sentence) – they were offered education, training and skill-building programmes. Instead of wings and landings they lived in small “pod” communities within the prison, limiting the spread of the corrosive criminal prison subculture that dominates traditionally designed prisons. The teacher explained that all prisons in Norway worked on the same principle, which he believed was the reason the country had, at less than 30%, the lowest reoffending figures in Europe and less than half the rate in the UK.

As the ferry powers through the freezing early-morning fog, Petter tells me he is appealing against his conviction. If it fails he will be on Bastoy until his release date in two years’ time. I ask him what life is like on the island. “You’ll see,” he says. “It’s like living in a village, a community. Everybody has to work. But we have free time so we can do some fishing, or in summer we can swim off the beach. We know we are prisoners but here we feel like people.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect on Bastoy. A number of wide-eyed commentators before me have variously described conditions under which the island’s 115 prisoners live as “cushy”, “luxurious” and, the old chestnut, “like a holiday camp”. I’m sceptical of such media reports.

An inmate repairs a bike. Photograph: Marco Di Lauro

As a life prisoner, I spent the first eight years of the 20 I served in a cell with a bed, a chair, a table and a bucket for my toilet. In that time I was caught up in a major riot, trapped in a siege and witnessed regular acts of serious violence. Across the prison estate, several hundred prisoners took their own lives, half a dozen of whom I knew personally – and a number were murdered. Yet the constant refrain from the popular press was that I, too, was living in a “holiday camp”. When in-cell toilets were installed, and a few years later we were given small televisions, the “luxury prison” headlines intensified and for the rest of the time I was in prison, it never really abated.

It always seemed to me while I was in jail that the real prison scandal was the horrendous rate of reoffending among released prisoners. In 2007, 14 prisons in England and Wales had reconvictions rates of more than 70%. At an average cost of £40,000 a year for each prisoner, this amounts to a huge investment in failure – and a total lack of consideration for potential future victims of released prisoners. That’s the reason I’m keen to have a look at what has been hailed as the world’s first “human ecological prison”.

Thorbjorn, a 58-year-old guard who has worked on Bastoy for 17 years, gives me a warm welcome as I step on to dry land. As we walk along the icy, snowbound track that leads to the admin block, he tells me how the prison operates. There are 70 members of staff on the 2.6 sq km island during the day, 35 of whom are uniformed guards. Their main job is to count the prisoners – first thing in the morning, twice during the day at their workplaces, once en masse at a specific assembly point at 5pm, and finally at 11pm, when they are confined to their respective houses. Only four guards remain on the island after 4pm. Thorbjorn points out the small, brightly painted wooden bungalows dotted around the wintry landscape. “These are the houses for the prisoners,” he says. They accommodate up to six people. Every man has his own room and they share kitchen and other facilities. “The idea is they get used to living as they will live when they are released.” Only one meal a day is provided in the dining hall. The men earn the equivalent of £6 a day and are given a food allowance each month of around £70 with which to buy provisions for their self-prepared breakfasts and evening meals from the island’s well-stocked mini-supermarket.

I can see why some people might think such conditions controversial. The common understanding of prison is that it is a place of deprivation and penance rather than domestic comfort.

Prisoners in Norway can apply for a transfer to Bastoy when they have up to five years left of their sentence to serve. Every type of offender, including men convicted of murder or rape, may be accepted, so long as they fit the criteria, the main one being a determination to live a crime-free life on release.

I ask Thorbjorn what work the prisoners do on the island. He tells me about the farm where prisoners tend sheep, cows and chickens, or grow fruit and vegetables. “They grow much of their own food,” he says.

Other jobs are available in the laundry; in the stables looking after the horses that pull the island’s cart transport; in the bicycle repair shop, (many of the prisoners have their own bikes, bought with their own money); on ground maintenance or in the timber workshop. The working day begins at 8.30am and already I can hear the buzz of chainsaws and heavy-duty strimmers. We walk past a group of red phone boxes from where prisoners can call family and friends. A large building to our left is where weekly visits take place, in private family rooms where conjugal relations are allowed.

After the security officer signs me in and takes my mobile, Thorbjorn delivers me to governor Arne Nilsen’s office. “Let me tell you something,” Thorbjorn says before leaving me. “You know, on this island I feel safer than when I walk on the streets in Oslo.”

Through Nilsen’s window I can see the church, the school and the library. Life for the prisoners is as normal as it is possible to be in a prison. It feels rather like a religious commune; there is a sense of peace about the place, although the absence of women (apart from some uniformed guards) and children is noticeable. Nilsen has coined a phrase for his prison: “an arena of developing responsibility.” He pours me a cup of tea.

“In closed prisons we keep them locked up for some years and then let them back out, not having had any real responsibility for working or cooking. In the law, being sent to prison is nothing to do with putting you in a terrible prison to make you suffer. The punishment is that you lose your freedom. If we treat people like animals when they are in prison they are likely to behave like animals. Here we pay attention to you as human beings.”

A clinical psychologist by profession, Nilsen shrugs off any notion that he is running a holiday camp. I sense his frustration. “You don’t change people by power,” he says. “For the victim, the offender is in prison. That is justice. I’m not stupid. I’m a realist. Here I give prisoners respect; this way we teach them to respect others. But we are watching them all the time. It is important that when they are released they are less likely to commit more crimes. That is justice for society.”

The reoffending rate for those released from Bastoy speaks for itself. At just 16%, it is the lowest in Europe. But who are the prisoners on Bastoy? Are they the goodie-goodies of the system?

Hessle is 23 years old and serving 11 years for murder. “It was a revenge killing,” he says. “I wish I had not done it, but now I must pay for my crime.” Slight and fair-haired, he says he has been in and out of penal institutions since he was 15. Drugs have blighted his life and driven his criminality. There are three golden rules on Bastoy: no violence, no alcohol and no drugs. Here, he works in the stables tending the horses and has nearly four years left to serve. How does he see the future? “Now I have no desire for drugs. When I get out I want to live and have a family. Here I am learning to be able to do that.”

A convict works on Bastoy prison farm. Photograph: Marco Di Lauro

Hessle plays the guitar and is rehearsing with other prisoners in the Bastoy Blues Band. Last year they were given permission to attend a music festival as a support act that ZZ Top headlined. Bjorn is the band’s teacher. Once a Bastoy prisoner who served five years for attacking his wife in a “moment of madness”, he now returns once a week to teach guitar. “I know the potential for people here to change,” he says.

Formerly a social researcher, he has formed links with construction companies he previously worked for that have promised to consider employing band members if they can demonstrate reliability and commitment. “This is not just about the music,” he says, “it’s about giving people a chance to prove their worth.”

Sven, another band member, was also convicted of murder, and sentenced to eight years. The 29-year-old was an unemployed labourer before his conviction. He works in the timber yard and is waiting to see if his application to be “house father” in his five-man bungalow is successful. “I like the responsibility,” he says. “Before coming here I never really cared for other people.”

The female guard who introduces me to the band is called Rutchie. “I’m very proud to be a guard here, and my family are very proud of me,” she says. It takes three years to train to be a prison guard in Norway. She looks at me with disbelief when I tell her that in the UK prison officer training is just six weeks. “There is so much to learn about the people who come to prison,” she says. “We need to try to understand how they became criminals, and then help them to change. I’m still learning.”

Finally, I’m introduced to Vidor, who at 72 is the oldest prisoner on the island. He works in the laundry and is the house father of his four-man bungalow. I haven’t asked any of the prisoners about their crimes. The information has been offered voluntarily. Vidor does the same. He tells me he is serving 15 years for double manslaughter. There is a deep sadness in his eyes, even when he smiles. “Killers like me have nowhere to hide,” he says. He tells me that in the aftermath of his crimes he was “on the floor”. He cried a lot at first. “If there was the death penalty I would have said, yes please, take me.” He says he was helped in prison. “They helped me to understand why I did what I did and helped me to live again.” Now he studies philosophy, in particular Nietzsche. “I’m glad they let me come here. It is a healthy place to be. I’ll be 74 when I get out,” he says. “I’ll be happy if I can get to 84, and then just say: 'Bye-bye.’”

On the ferry back to the mainland I think about what I have seen and heard. Bastoy is no holiday camp. In some ways I feel as if I’ve seen a vision of the future – a penal institution designed to heal rather than harm and to generate hope instead of despair. I believe all societies will always need high-security prisons. But there needs to be a robust filtering procedure along the lines of the Norwegian model, in order that the process is not more damaging than necessary. As Nilsen asserts, justice for society demands that people we release from prison should be less likely to cause further harm or distress to others, and better equipped to live as law-abiding citizens.

It would take much political courage and social confidence to spread the penal philosophy of Bastoy outside Norway, however. In the meantime, I hope the decision-makers of the world take note of the revolution in rehabilitation that is occurring on that tiny island. (94)

[mybukz]

Work-in-progress: When Plan's Stolen by Fate by Deborah Wong

Image by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

When Plan’s Stolen by Fate (Novel excerpt from “One Maple Summer’) By Deborah Wong

It’s July 2010. I’m praying the germ-infused Boeing 777 will land in one piece at Vancouver International Airport, and my Nokia 1202 from back home will function. The Pacific Coast forces may have stolen a bit of my luck as I now have no signal—the battery was well-fed and ready to kick ass.

“If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to call me,” Sandy, the UBC accommodation officer says. Her smile shines sunnier than the Kellogg’s TV happy family commercial.

I thank her and she hugs me.

“Is there a public phone I can use around this area?”

“There’s one at the concierge but it’s under repair. You can try the one at the Student Centre, about ten minutes walking distance.”

“Alright, thanks for the info.”

“No worry. Take care.”

My heart sinks faster than the Titanic; my headache from the jet lag keeps me up like synchronised car hydraulics coupled with Eminem’s rap. To make matters worse, I’m unable to call my parents about my safe arrival—thanks to my dead phone. Sitting here alone, I want to throw myself off the bouncy comfortable bed, snooze off, and let the tantalising air joyride into a lullaby. No one would yell at me for falling asleep; I smell like an overripe durian.

The digital clock in black and white on the wall states 4:44pm.

With a foggy light brain, I try to balance and change into a fleece hooded sweater and denim shorts. I have no choice but to head to the Student Centre. I hope to stumble—miraculously—onto a phone booth. I roll my Holy Rosary in my pocket.

I step out of the dorm and lock the door like an infant experiencing the glaring evening sun at the foreign land. The cold breeze sweeps onto my face and penetrates my head and whole body. I solemnly declare my brain frozen without the help of immense scoops of Haagen Daaz.

I hear thumping footsteps. I brace for the worst. My hand grips the tree, and I prep myself to fly kick à la Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon.

As the footsteps get closer, I punch out my left fist and yell.

When I open my eyes, a man in glasses frowns. “Are you okay?”

I clear my throat and adjust my hooded jacket, embarrassed. “Of course, I…was practising my Kung-Fu.”

He smirks. “You picked the wrong place. What if I carried a knife and I stabbed you as self-defence? You’re lucky I’m not a pervert. You never know what a motherfucker will do. Next time don’t hide behind the tree.”

“Okay, thanks for your advice.” I choke as I feel my face heat up like a red lobster.

“Have a pleasant day and a great summer.”

“I know this sounds crazy but if you don’t mind, could you please lend me your phone? I need to send a text home.”

He turns and studies me.

“I know this sounds weird but I just got here and my phone isn’t working. I really, really need to send a text to my dad back in Kuala Lumpur, to let him know I’ve reached here. Why don’t I pay you a dollar?”

He thinks for a while. “Alright, I won’t charge a cent.” He takes out his Blackberry. “You want to type it yourself?”

“It’s better if you type it for me. It’s your phone anyway.”

“Okay.“ He types like a world champion, listening to me. “You may want to take a look before I send the text.”

I quickly read it. “Okay, you can send it now. Thank you.”

“That’ll be fifty cents service charge.”

“WHAT.”

“Hey, I was joking. I may charge if you’re texting your boyfriend. Anyway, welcome to Vancouver and UBC. I stay in Pacific Crescent.”

“Where is that?”

“Go straight from here, right behind the Asian Studies building, near the Nitobe Memorial Garden.”

“That place looks posh. I’m sure it cost you quite a bit.”

“I have friends coming over very often; hence staying in a dorm isn’t a smart choice. An apartment feels more like a home to me.” He glances at his gunmetal watch. “I need to rush to the convenient store. It’s a great pleasure knowing you.”

“Do they sell any sandwiches or pastries?”

“They only have selection of sandwiches, instant salad and packed sushi.”

“Great, maybe you can show me the way?”

“Sure, no problem…”

“I didn’t get your name.” I walk beside him.

“I’m Jun Nakamura.”

I have not been in this foreign land for twelve hours and I’ve been invited to this house party. Jun tells me Mansfield Heights is the most eventful student housing area in UBC, coming alive only in summer.

There’re blue poles along the cemented walkway and red lightings at each corner. If anyone looks suspicious, ready for misdemeanour or voyeurism, one presses the emergency intercom, a safety object for students, a deterrent. On the other hand, if I were in such situation, I’d run for my life and be sure to look out for this emergency button.

“There’s surveillance camera installed in each lamppost for supervision that links directly to the Vancouver Police Department,” Jun says. His hair is ruffled into pointy soft spikes. He is wearing peasant’s crinkled cut washed jeans and a white t-shirt that reveals his fine avid gym-goer chest.

“So, what kind of party your friend’s having?”

“Booze drinking, cigarettes smoking, chatting and whole loads of eating; take a look around you, it is Friday night but we have to clear the coast by midnight.“ He stops and studies me. “Have you been to any house party before?”

“I did but it was long time ago.”

“How long is long time?”

“I think about fourteen years ago.”

“Whoa, that’s like immeasurable yards away. Anyway we’re here.”

Jun ambles to this NHL nightclub bouncer lookalike, except he has a crimson face and dirty blondish hair. Their greeting is front and back palms slapping and then fists punching like the ghetto Harlem boys.

“Oh c’mon, we don’t welcome underage here.” He stares at me.

“I’m already twenty-eight.”

He laughs. “Sorry, my bad…But you don’t look like your age.”

“So, am I invited?” I raise my brows.

“Of course, you PYT, I’m Montgomery Peterson. Everyone calls me Monty.”

“I’m Maxine Cheong, nice to meet you, Monty.”

Out of nowhere, a girl hops into Jun’s arms, giving him a bear hug, and a quick peck on his cheek. She has porcelain skin and raven shoulder-length hair. “You’re late!”

“Kendra, I want to introduce you to Maxine from Malaysia.“ Jun lets go of her.

“Oh, how un-fucking-believable…” She covers her mouth and smacks his arm. “So, you decided to change your taste for the better, huh?”

“Well, I’m not Jun’s girlfriend,” I smile, curtly.

“Don’t be so serious and spoil the party, or else I’ll throw you out.”

I turn to Jun. Everyone seems to have gone quiet.

“I was just joking. I’m Kendra Choi.” Her tone becomes friendlier.

“Maxine Cheong.”

“You have the coolest name here in Vancouver so far lucky-lucky you.”

Jun returns to the crowd after answering a phone call. “It’s Makoto and he’s stranded at the guardhouse with Yosuke and Paul. The security guard refused to let them in, despite their party invitation pass.”

“Speaking of that guard, he kept calling me a Mongolian and asked whether my family slaughtered horses for a living,” Kendra says.

After Monty and Jun leave to rescue their friends, Kendra and I bump past party-goers before reaching the house living room. She speaks into my ear. “Sorry to disappoint you but it’s still too early to spot a drunkard.”

“I guess they’ll become Intoxicated Cinderella by midnight.”

All the seats are occupied. I have to sit on the carpeted floor, among vinyls of Ozzy Osborne, Green day, Dave Matthews Bands, Cypress Hills, Queen, David Bowie, Rage Against The Machine, just to name a few. Kendra has returned from the washroom.

“Monty once formed an indie rock band during his teens. The band was quite a success from Port Coquitlam to White Rock. But then a fight broke out a day before they were supposed to sign a million-dollar record deal. You wanna know why? The bassist caught the lead guitarist fucking his girlfriend in their trailer. Hell broke lose. All the instruments were damaged by the bassist who ran amok. Worse still, the boys have to pay off the loan and the damaged instruments to the music shop.”

“What instrument Monty played?” I refuse to accept an opened cap bottled drink from a random guy.

“Drums and percussion. He was also a turntablist,” she says with a shrug and a snort, “but one lesson that no other guys will ever learn: do not let your girlfriend join the band practise. Girls fall head over heels with men who play guitars or drums.”

I grab a can of Dr. Pepper from the refreshment bar, while Kendra fills up a plate with finger food. A guy by the banister eyes us before taking up with a girl. Both head upstairs after the guy winks at me.

We spot a three-seater sofa.

“These seats are meant for both of you, my exotic princesses,” says a Hispanic-looking man. He has been feeding another man with bacon stripes.

The Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged record is spinning in the vintage oak wood player. I’ve always been mesmerised by Kurt Cobain’s baritone voice.

“I don’t like his grinding dick voice.” Kendra walks to the player and lifts the needle with the cue lever. “Thanks to Janis Joplin, Joan Jett and Amy Lee, rock music is in my blood now.” She puts on a vinyl of The Runaways, that Cherry Bomb song filled with chattering noises and perfumed muskiness.

“I love X-Japan. Do you like them?”

“Me too!” We do a high-five. “But if you want me to wear a hanbok and play the gayageum in front of Korean men. No way José! Over my dead body! It looks damn submissive. I’ve been referred as a ‘leftover woman’ for not yet being married.”

“You’re not alone. I hear that very often. It happens to me as well. And what a cruel term is that? Nowadays in the Asian community, single and unmarried women are hiring men online to be their boyfriend to please their folks during festive seasons, or to attend their friend’s wedding.”

“Women have the earning power and are financially independent too. Some will have to succumb to the social pressure of not wanting to be called ‘leftover’, hence they get married and start a family, work their peachy-butts out, struggle to get promotion at work, earning more monies for the sake of their children. In the end of the day, it’s always easy to say. But to preserve such feminist though is difficult.”

“I’m in my thirties and not looking forward into getting married,” she says.

“Let’s make a toast to both of us, the most attractive leftovers.”

I raise my paper cup.

She pokes her nose. “Damn, how come I don’t even know you’ve been drinking orange juice? Let’s get you a beer.”

“I’m still recovering from jet lag. Sorry.”

“You should come over to my place one day and we’ll cook up a storm.” She stretches to grab two bottles of beer. “I invite Jun along too. He’s good at ramen, sushi, butter-poached seafood and miso soup.”

“Isn’t that…a big task for him?” I take a bottle but put it aside.

“Give me a break. That guy’s a chef.”

“Jun…is a chef?”

“That smoochy-bear, he is freakingly dedicated and talented. He has worked in Washington DC’s Marriott for couple of years, and then quit after he was promoted to an assistant chef. As to why he quit, well, Jun doesn’t talk about it.”

“…must be those shitty management politics.”

“I still think teaching is the best work so far. Less office politics.”

“You’re a teacher?”

“I teach English to adults and young adults in Tokyo.“ She wipes bread crumbs from her mouth. “And I know this is something uncommon. Even my grandparents are strongly opposed to anyone of us working there due to the Japan-Korea Disputes. So what’d you do for a living?”

“I’ve worked in an insurance company’s claims department for three years. It’s a huge department but most employees quit after the three-month probation. I handle mostly personal accident, employees’ medical bills reimbursement and at times on workers’ provident fund dispute.”

“Any weird cases you’ve dealt with?”

I lean my head on the sofa. “I was reading a decomposed body autopsy report in the food court and a waiter cringed when he saw those bloodied photos of torn phalanges on the claim file. He asked whether the man’s still alive. I said he should be lucky that his fingers didn’t fly into his colleagues’ mouth. His reaction was like this…” I imitate the painting from The Scream.

“Your work is very CSI-ish, so to speak. By the way, I’m curious as to how Jun and you get to know each other.”

“I bumped onto him when my cellphone isn’t working and he helped me to send a text message home.”

“I think you’ve missed the most crucial part.” Jun is walking toward us with a bottle.

Kendra sniffs Jun’s neck. “You smell like fresh from the crispy oven.” She puts her arm over his waist. “He is always so helpful, but inviting you to his friend’s party is his first time. Lot of girls are trying to get their hands on him too.”

Jun whispers to me. “She’s out.”

She clutches her beer bottle, a smile forming on her face. “But you serve a good impression on me, but my experiences taught me not to trust an acquainted human girl too much.”

Later that night, Kendra follows me like a puppy afraid to lose direction. Her eyes stay on Jun whenever we’re engaged in an ear-to-ear conversation because of the loud music at the DJ stands. She puts three Budweiser in front of me. “You have to bottoms up. I don’t care.”

I still have those butterflies in my stomach and don’t have much appetite. But towards the second bottle, Jun pulls Kendra to the kitchen area, and asks Makoto to bring her more food.

Approaching midnight, Makoto offers to drive me back to the dorm, even though it’s only ten minutes walking distance. I’m unable to find Monty to bid goodbye. Jun tells me he’s already passed out near the toilet bowl, and he carries grumpy Kendra into the back of Makoto’s car. I wind down the window, inhale the gentle ocean breeze as the car moves along Marina Drive, but the tranquillity ends with Kendra counting chicken and sheep in a slur.

*

Deborah Wong: "My works have been published on numerous online journals and paperback magazine, including Crack the Spine, Rat’s Ass Review, Eksentrika, Thought Catalog, Liquid Imagination, Strange Horizons. Some are forthcoming from Frozen Wavelets and Seagery Zine. I have performed at local reading groups and open mic poetry sessions. I am currently working on a fictionalised travel memoir and some speculative poetry and fiction. I have an ongoing artwork-poetry crossover project with an emerging Australian artist on Instagram. You can follow me on Twitter @PetiteDeborah ‘When Plan’s Stolen by Fate’ is the first chapter of my work-in-progress semi-autobiographical novel ‘One Maple Summer��. The novel is about my intensive creative writing workshop at the University of British Columbia in the summer of 2010. At 28 I traveled for the first time 12 thousand kilometers to the other side of the continent. My debit card and cellphone failed, and the one-month stay at a pen pal’s place turned out not as imagined. However, things navigated otherwise when I received accolades from my creative writing course instructors. Discovering the melting pot of diverse cultural background of acquaintances made traveling worth a lifetime.”

[satellitephonebuy-blog]

Top  Reviews and Complaints about Safelite AutoGlass

I am a trucker (18 wheeler). I have tried 2 Safelite windshields and both got traveling cracks (DOT FAIL!) from a ding that, on a properly laminated windshield would have just been a nickel-sized ding. Safelite truck windshields are junk. I don't know what sort of laminate (if any) they have from their foreign-made garbage, but I will only use OEM or OEM quality henceforth.

My windshield was hit by several rocks from the back of someone's truck on the freeway. I ended up with 5 tiny chips in my windshield. Took my car to Safelite to fill the tiny chips. When I got my car back there was an eight inch crack across my windshield. I should it to them right away. They said that can happen when it is filled. Let me give you a quote to replace the windshield. I said, "Why should I have to pay?" I then called the main number who told me that can happen. Let me give you $50.00 off the cost of the replacement. I am going elsewhere that charges less.

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R of Blairsville, GA

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Dec. 12, 2018

I needed my back car window replaced. I called Safelite on a Sunday, and they had me scheduled for two days later. I live in a rural area, but they came to my house at the time they promised, and Randy did an awesome job replacing the glass. They worked with my insurance. Very friendly too. They’ve made a customer for life.

Carol of Berlin, NJ

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Dec. 8, 2018

I made appointment after listening to rep. on phone saying Safelite best and fastest way to get replacement auto glass. I know it's hard to find glass for order cars. Was told I would have replaced today. Took off from work. Tech called 2 hours before appt to say shop they ordered from never got glass? Formatted texts telling me they are sorry. To have a nice day? Maybe in by Monday and installed Tuesday? Why not be sure before setting appt? Disappointed! They had to know availability after or before setting my appt. It's 24 degrees out. Shrink wrap won't prevent damage. Make sure you get confirmation of availability! I didn't and now stuck!

Marilyn of Clarksville, TN

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Dec. 6, 2018

My window was down and would not come up. They found out why that was and told me what was needed. They covered my window with plastic until it could be repaired. These guys never turned me away. Thank You. Safelite for having such wonderful staff.

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Richard of Cortland, NY

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Dec. 3, 2018

After reading many of the comments on this board, I was seriously concerned with having this company do my windshield replacement. My car has a lot of electronic stuff that is controlled by the material in the windshield. I was afraid some of this would no longer work after the replacement. My insurance company uses Safelite and I told them my concerns and they assured me that if there were any problems they would take care of it. Anyway, everything was done quickly and efficiently and everything works! The experience was excellent for us.

Mark of Philadelphia, PA

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 24, 2018

Read the reviews on their site and decided: What could go wrong and then scheduled my appointment at my home... The installer removed my old windshield and all trims wipers etc. Then told he could not install the new one due to there being some rust looking dirt around perimeter of the rim (my truck is 20 years old and in very good condition)... After checking it for myself and concluding it was sound and not actual rust, the installer still declined to put it in and left me high and dry with no windshield at all... I should've listened to my gut after reading some of the other negative reviews. Fool me once shame on them. Fool me twice shame on me.

Scott of Kenosha, WI

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 24, 2018

USAA uses Safelite Glass for auto glass repairs and refers me here. Have had issues in the past too. Couple years ago, took multiple calls to schedule appt then they never showed up or cancelled at the last minute - not sure which. Rescheduling was a major hassle again. This past time, we had 9AM appt this morning for windshield replacement. Because of all the past problems, called yesterday to ask if windshield was in - said was on backorder and was scheduled to come in December 8th - 2 weeks away. Asked if they would call me when it comes in - "oh yes sir - we'll call you". Saved myself a trip going in this morning when there is no windshield to install because they never called to let me know.

John of Horicon, WI

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 24, 2018

I can't say how disappointed I am again with these idiots. My truck was broken into and I made specific plans with the dispatcher and again the technician did read the notes. I was out of country and had to have the spare key from my truck driven down to airport hotel where the window was broken. Oh did mention it was winter and it's snowing by a friend and his number was also given to Safelite. They are great at one thing - screwing up the entire replacement. I'm not going to use them ever again in fact I would rather have my eyeballs poked out with a rusty fork than have to go through the incompetence again.

William of Half Moon Bay, CA

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 17, 2018

Replaced windshield in my wife’s car, then had to come back to fix the poor job. Tried to get them to come to my house (25 minutes) to replace my car’s windshield. Refused to come despite ad that says they will do mobile repair at my choice. Can’t believe in their service or quality of repair.

Sara of Melvin, MI

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 15, 2018

My insurance company (Liberty Mutual) sent Safelite to my house to repair a stone chip the size of half a pea. There were two tiny cracks on either side of the chip and I needed it fixed before it cracked. The guy came out and "fixed" it. About 10 minutes after he left I got in my car and saw no difference, and there was a noticeable divot in the windshield that wasn't even filled flush. I called them and they assured me it was fixed and would NOT crack. I said it is not fixed and WILL crack. She again assured me it wouldn't and though "it may not look fixed it is, and won't crack".

Well, like I said, 11 days later it cracked across my entire windshield and now I have to pay to put in a completely new one. They told me it's a known risk that repairs DON'T WORK and by signing their form I was well aware of that. DO NOT USE SAFELITE. If you do, DO NOT SIGN THEIR FORM, IT RELEASES THEM FROM FAULT when they send a hack out and he doesn't know how to do a chip repair.

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Gianna of Buffalo, NY

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 15, 2018

Safelite already replaced two windshields on the same vehicle and this morning I noticed my windshield was cracked again. This will be the third windshield I've had to have replaced by Safelite. During previous installments, they did not replace the rearview mirror which is attached to the windhield, properly. They did not use adequate adhesive and it fell off while driving. During installation, the tech used vice grips on the antennae which stripped the paint. I believe Safelite takes advantage of insurance companies who offer glass coverage, and inconveniences their customers with shabby work and inferior products.

Richard of Monroe, MI

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 9, 2018

I ordered 2 windshields for my classic cars. 1971 Chevelle and 1982 Camero. Scheduled an appointment with them, the day before the installation scheduled they called and said I would have to bring the Chevelle to their shop. I have no plates on the car so I said I would have to bring it later. But I would like the Camero done on schedule the next day between 8 and 12. Called them at 12 they said they canceled the appointment so after taking off work and waiting 4 hr. They said they were sorry. I scheduled replacement with Floral City Glass in Monroe MI great job, less expensive and done on schedule.

Kenneth of Houston, TX

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 5, 2018

Just had great experience having our 2016 Jeep Wranglers windshield replaced at my home in Houston. The technician's name is Anthony. He contacted me to say he could arrive much earlier than expected (huge plus because had 5 hr window which I hate)... Not only did he arrive within exact time he stated, but my jeep was rather dirty since it’s been raining so much in Houston and he took ample time properly wiping all the windows... which had me stunned seeing this?!

Nowadays (especially young staff) technicians rush thru jobs doing it very half-assed! Anthony took his time paying attention to details and afterwards explained exactly what he’d done, plus reviewed the warranty in layman terms. I’d say including fair pricing, I couldn’t imagine receiving better service with a genuine attractive smile than I received earlier today... Thanks again to my technician. As in the field you guys are who we customers see as THE COMPANY>> irregardless how big or small the vendors may be...

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Ric of Harrison, AR

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 4, 2018

Having a cracked windshield on 2004 Cadillac Seville, called Safelite to replace. Installer came to home, installed windshield. No problem. 2 weeks later, at 70 mph on Freeway, windshield rubber molding ripped out, slammed up to roof, destroyed sunroof deflector & roof paint. Installer did NOT replace the molding which IS PART OF THE INSTALL PROCESS! Reinstalled a new glass by a body shop who did it right. Beware of this outfit using amateurs to install product!

Marc of Hernando, MS

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Nov. 3, 2018

Technician arrived on Time. Started to work but did not have the Proper Tools to Remove my Windshield, So we waited for another Technician to show up... 50 minutes to drive 12 miles??? What the H?? He brought the "TOOL" we needed and job was finished 35 minutes later. Before my technician put my windshield on I noticed my headliner hanging down in front of my passenger visor. I asked him about it and he quickly replied "That was already there." I KNOW IT WAS NOT AS I HAD JUST CLEANED MY INTERIOR!!! Now I'm going to have to buy spray on glue and fix it myself. Safelite Customer Service has a Horrible Reputation in Satisfying their customers. My repair cost me $100.00 more than anyone else.

Jeff of Otsego, MI

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 31, 2018

Had appointment. My man called me. Was late then got here and told me he couldn't touch my truck. I have a very nice F150 with a painted to match visor over the windshield with the yellow lights. So I wasted half my day for nothing. Thank you AAA for sending them to me n ed very again first place I called said, "No problem. They're coming tomorrow."

Mike of Elk Grove Village, IL

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 25, 2018

Safelite damaged my vehicle, and made me go through a 6 long week ordeal. 1. They sent an incompetent technician to work my Mercedes. 2. He scratched the car, dropped a couple of screws in the engine area and best of all didn't even install the glass properly. He had audacity of asking for 5 stars on his survey. 3. Then a manager comes in saying he'll fix everything. He did not. He was good at coming up with excuses. He was good at making me feel stupid and dumb. He outright lied about installing new wind strip when it was clearly visible that is was same old weathered strip. Please be aware! Find a company that knows how to 1) respect customers and 2) do the job.

Susan of Orrville, OH

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 24, 2018

My technician showed up without proper equipment, said he'd be back within an hour & left. Tech came back 90 min later. I was working & couldn’t keep an eye on him. (They advertise peace of mind, right?) Technician installed the windshield & left without contacting me. Hours later I get off work & to my car for the 1st time & see ripples in the black strip along the top of my windshield. Technician left my keys turned on, therefore my car needed jumped before I could leave work. They send out a second tech the following day, who says the ripples are "normal" and applies more glue & tape.

I called corporate to resolve the issue, very disgusted with this company. Management is very rude, not taking responsibility for any wrong, stating the Tech has been with the company for 2 yrs, etc. No offer to compensate for the inconvenience or having to jump my car before I could go home after their Tech killed my battery. Safelite is a joke. Don't waste your time, you're better off taking a day off work & having your windshield replaced by true professionals.

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Linda of Mequon, WI

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 22, 2018

They gave me a window 8-5. Driver called at 3 and said he'd be here by 4. I called 4:30 and they said he was running late. Talked to mgr twice. Now sipped to come by 6! Wasted a whole day waiting. 10 hours total wait if they get here ever. Don't recommend this company in any way. Useless customer service. They just don’t give a damn.

Stacey of Minneapolis, MN

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 22, 2018

The first mobile appointment I had was canceled because it was misting out and they don't work in the rain. The second appoint was cancel, without my knowledge. The guy showed up, told me he couldn't replace since it was in a busy street and I stood in the middle of the street with him for 5 minutes and only one car passed us by. I think moved my car to a parking lot and he said he could take it from there. He did nothing other than cancel my appointment (without telling me) and just left. I text him multiple times and no response. When I asked why he didn't fix it like he said he was going to he told me I had been rescheduled. I asked to when and where and he didn't respond. Unprofessional! Wasted my time and his! And wasted company resources.

Pall of Edmond, OK

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 18, 2018

Safelite technician attempted to fix a 1/2" chip in my windshield, but while doing so applied too much pressure causing the chip to crack 18" across. He then handed me a $350 quote for a new windshield. After complaining, the corporate office offered me a $50 discount on the new windshield. Lolololol! How is this company in business???

Kimberly of Albuquerque, NM

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 15, 2018

I had my windshield replaced with Safelite then I got a stress crack. They came out to look at it. The tech said it was a stress crack then all of a sudden he says it was a rock. Sent a picture to his manager and the manager says six rocks at my windshield when no rock hit my windshield whatsoever. Now they are refusing to replace the windshield which is under a lifetime warranty. This place is terrible. Do not do business with them. They lie and scam. It’s one of the worst businesses out there.

Heather of Pierpont, OH

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 15, 2018

I have a cracked windshield and had set up an appointment two weeks ago. I checked my messages, emails and even the invoice page messages for any issues daily. Day came for them to arrive. I took vacation hours to stay home and wait for them. Only message I had received was one from "Gary" that stated he would be by around 12pm-5pm, and that he would text when he was arriving.

I waited all day and checked my messages every half an hour. Not a single message about being on his way or having issues finding my place. In the end I gave up after 5 pm and decide to leave the house to get something to eat. As I am driving I get the message that my appointment was canceled. No reason, no anything. This was 15-20mins after 5 pm.

I am now upset and call the customer "care", I get a woman saying she has no idea why and that she will email the guy but that is all she can do besides set up a new appointment. I can't spend ALL MY VACATION TIME WAITING FOR AN APPOINTMENT THEY CAN CANCEL 15 MINS AFTER ITS LATEST TIME! It is utterly ridiculous and the lack of actual caring for the customer is appalling. I refuse to make a new appointment and am gladly willing to take my business elsewhere. I would send screenshots of my messages if it let me do so here. I'd advise to not trust this company.

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Cecelia of Peoria, AZ

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 10, 2018

Cross country trip, bad hail storm in Colorado Springs, called ins. asap. Sent to Safelite Customer Service. Three different operators unhelpful; unsympathetic, would not schedule for 5 days; no attempt to find a way to help travelers. Asked for shop on the way to Kansas, still would not schedule for a week. Fortunately local Denver shop was sympathetic and obliging. Forget 800; go in to actual store.

Brian of Baton Rouge, LA

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 8, 2018

Rachael out of Baton Rouge, LA was very nice and did a great job on fixing our chip on our windshield. Only took 20 mins. I would come Back to Safelite for our future repairs on our windshield and approved our insurance. They worked very nice together!!

Jason of Clovis, CA

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 6, 2018

Safelite rep, Jeff, arrived at my residence, immediately requested that I move the car to his liking and proceeded to walk around the vehicle, to include photographing the outside and inside of the vehicle. Upon questioning his intent, of roaming around and photographing the interior, Jeff responded in a rude manner and was insufficient in his reasoning. Jeff was asked to leave and Safelite was contacted. Having utilized Safelite in the past and referring several clients this correspondence was disturbing. A company dependent on its customer service should hire better communicators or provide better training. The convenience of their service does not outweigh personal respect.

Jon of Brunswick, OH

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 6, 2018

I took a day off of work to wait at home and the technician never showed or contacted me. I had to call Safelite to find out that he didn't even know about the appointment that I made two weeks prior. The customer service reps, local and national, didn't seem to care.

Kathy of Newport, NC

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 5, 2018

Safelite came out to fix 2 windshield spots. In the commercial it looks great, however that's not what we got. The spots are still there, still look the same with something like clear nail polish over them and charge is $189. Disappointed and you can't even tell anything was done. One is pencil eraser size and other is smaller.

Joe of Osseo, MN

                   Verified Reviewer                

Original review: Oct. 2, 2018

Was going on my 3rd Safelite windshield this year and they don't stand behind their product. 2 windshields were about a month old when the first one got a crack from a rock that flew up, the other cracked on its own. I called immediately, took pictures, and the representative that scheduled the appointment and mentioned that I wouldn't have to pay because it was only a month old. I get to the appointment which was just a waste of time because they refused to replace it saying that it was a not a stress crack, which it appears to be. I just left and I won't be using Safelite anymore. I will be going to small claims court to see if I can get my money back for this defective windshield. No one should have to pay full price for the 3rd windshield within 90 days of each other. Just sad that big companies can act like this.

[allenmendezsr]

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[imallaboutthatbellownow]

On the stage, there are no actors.

Human au where Blue Diamond is an actress kidnapped by stalkers.

Blue was the stage name she and her wife had chosen. They wanted to remain intriguing to the world, but keep their home life private. Blue and Yellow Diamond were extremely popular in the scene. They'd dealt with death threats from homophobic loons in the past, but as a general rule of thumb their lives were peaceful. That was until one day when Blue opened what at first seemed to be a heartfelt letter from a fan. 

 "Yellow, listen to this. I think I have an admirer. Dearest, beautiful Blue.”  Yellow frowned.  “They know you're married..." Blue giggled and took her hand. "No they probably don't. I mean just because there's no real difference between ourselves and our stage personas, doesn't mean we're transparent to the audience. As far as anyone knows outside our group of friends, our characters are married...anyway It's a nice letter. Just listen!" 

   Yellow smiled just slightly and kissed her ear, whispering.  “Okay. But you belong to me."  Blue shivered, blushing as she turned and kissed Yellow's lips.  "I love it when you talk to me like that." Yellow chuckled.  "I know. Now hurry up so I can remind you why."  Blue set the letter down and kissed her deeply.  "Hm...nope you've done it now. Basically I'm the most beautiful thing they've ever seen and they hope I'm happy. It's signed, The Pearls." Yellow kissed her again, picking her up to carry her to bed.   "I'm sorry I'm a jealous wife..." She mumbled into Blue's neck, provoking a soft moan that sent shivers between her legs.  "I'm not. " Blue giggled, running her hands through her wife's hair.  "I should read you fan mail more often." Yellow looked up into her eyes for a moment.  "Read the fan fics on Tumblr. We have a very wild sex life..."  Blue outright laughed at this and kissed her again.  "Shut up and get your clothes off!"  Yellow put a finger to her lips.  “Yes my clarity..." 

.... 

 Blue padded out into the kitchen again a few hours later, nude, her long blue hair covering her breasts, and started making a few sandwiches. Yellow was practically snoring back in the bedroom, but she knew the blond would also be hungry when she got up. 

That's when her eyes fell on the envelope half hazardly strewn with the rest of that days mail. It appeared there was still something in it. She reached in and pulled out a small bubble wrap bag. Inside that there was a very exspencive looking diamond and pearl necklace. Blue and yellow pearls and gems interlinked to look like a sparkling lace choker. Part of her was excited, but that was something very personal and it made her uncomfortable. 

Yellow padded out behind her, sleepily burying her face into Blue's hair.  "You got up..." She took the necklace and stared at it. "It suits you. " the concern in Blue’s voice was evident as she responded. "It came with that letter." Yellow frowned as she sighed. "It still suits you. I think it'll be okay. It's probably not real." 

She hooked it onto Blue and turned her to look. "Breath taking..." Blue Blushed softly again. "It is..." She whispered as she caught a glimpse in the microwave. Yellow kissed her deeply, running her fingers through Blues hair. "The necklace is pretty, but I meant you." Blue was caught between a blush and a giggle. "Oh stop it. I made you a sandwich. Sit down, I'm going to get clothes."

 Later that night the two headed to dinner. It was their anniversary and Yellow had spared no expense. As they walked into the restaurant, Blue noticed a poster.  "The Pearls. A sensual acrobatics act like none before, live one day only." 

 She looked over at Yellow.

 "Hey. I think this must be who I got the letter and necklace from. We should go and thank them. This looks really interesting. What do you suppose sensual acrobatics are?" 

Yellow raised a brow at this as they were taken to their table. 

"Well, the one I saw in college was a bunch of girls doing interpretive dance of the kama sutra with a lot of elastic and very little clothes. I can already tell this one will be more sophisticated. We can go if you want. I'm a little interested though. Look at their outfits. Notice a theme?" 

Blue nodded. 

"Blue and yellow. But it looks like there are four. I like the white outfit best. I'm really intrigued. I wonder if it was like an ad or something. We'd get them a lot of business if we showed up. That's a little disappointing if so." 

Yellow kissed her hand. 

"I kind of hope that's what it was. I ended up reading that note. It's...romantic. Look blue, I just want you to be careful. I don't have a good feeling about this. I know you say you'd be honored to have a stalker, but it can get very dangerous. And really it scares me. I'd be shattered if anything happened to you."

Blue knew not to over question Yellows instincts as they’d been very accurate in the past. She looked into Yellow’s honey eyes and and nodded with a soft smile.  “I’m sure that’s all it is. if this gets any deeper i’ll go to the police. but for now, let’s look at it as a publicity stunt.”

Yellow nodded and kissed her fingertips, closing her eyes. “and enjoy the rest of the evening. i have a surprise for you at the end of the night...”

......

The two walked through a candlelit garden alone later that night, arm in arm.  “i can’t believe it’s been five years.” Blue whispered and Yellow kissed her temple. “feels like we’ve been together our whole lives...and i can’t wait for five more. and ten more. I love you so much, i sometimes wish we could crawl inside each other and become one being so we’d never be apart again.” While Yellow was completely serious, Blue began to giggle at the image produced by her words.  “I’m sorry...just...i know what you mean but the image i got was just too funny!” soon Yellow was laughing too and when they got to a cross roads Yellow stopped her, pulled her into the middle before going down on one knee before her. Blue gasped softly as she reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and produced a glittering green diamond ring.  “Blue...” she took a deep breath. “we’ve been together for eight years, five months, and thirteen days, and i’ve cherished every second. i know i couldn’t give you the wedding you’d always wanted, but now i can. will you renew our vows with me next year?” Blue smiled brightly and nodded as Yellow slipped the ring onto her finger.  “so this is why you told me to wear my wedding ring on my right hand.”  she giggled and leaned down, kissing Yellow softly.  “how could i say no? this stage show has brought us so much.”  she pulled Yellow to her feet and Yellow kissed her for a long moment. Blues heart fluttered and she sighed happily, melting into yellows arms.

Blue woke with a yawn late the next morning to find a rose and a card on the pillow in Yellows place. She giggled as she read it.

"My radiant clarity. I'm sure after last night you're totally spent, so lunch in bed it is."

Blue was picking the petals off the rose and laying them in a heart shape on yellows pillow when her wife came in with a tray.

"You're up. Good morning. "

she set the tray between them on the bed and kissed her deeply.

"we can use those in the bath later."

Blue entwined her fingers with yellows for a moment while lunch cooled enough to eat. She rested her head against her shoulder and closed her eyes. She was most content when she and yellow were on break from the show. It was fun while they worked on it, but that was a lot of time reversing and writing and prop building for the next installment. They were on break now for a few more weeks and she and yellow were already brain storming another act. Soon it would be getting back to work all over again. For now she was happy to have some much time to spend with her wife.

"okay so anniversary is over. Vacation is coming to an end. I want to talk business. " yellow raised a brow at this and a smile tugged at the corner of lips. "Got a new idea?" Blue nodded. "This season starts off with the diamonds on vacation, only to find themselves in the middle of a murder investigation. I know, it's pretty cliche, but people seem to like it most of the time." Yellow shrugged. "I'm sure we could put an original spin on it. Or at least twist it a little. My sister has been wanting in on this for a while now." Blue got excited and covered her mouth with a squeal. "We could dress her in all pink and have her not really be dead and we can work the ending into the season after that! Please yellow?! I'll write the whole thing and coach her and take her shopping!" Yellow chuckled. "Okay okay okay...ill call her this afternoon! " blue squeaked and tackled her, kissing all over her face before hugging her tightly. "Yay I'm so happy! You won't regret it! I can't wait to get to work!"

A few weeks flew by quickly and Yellows sister had excitedly joined the act. She would be known now as Pink Diamond. Blue was showing her around the set, introducing her to the crew. "And here's the dressing room. Yellow and I usually change together so we'll let you use it first. We can all do make up together though." She opened the door to show her. "These are our new costumes for this season. I've called the tailor to get your measurements so we can sit down and start designing yours." She noticed something on her dressing table and picked it up. An envelope addressed to The Diamonds. Opening it she found two tickets and a note. "Dearest clarity Blue and wife. Please accept these tickets to our show, one night only, and stay after for a special performance just for you." Once again it was signed The Pearls. Pink frowned softly. "That's kinda creepy. Didn't you just say you and yellow were going to that?" Blue nodded with a frown. “it’s a little weird i’ll give it that, but Yellow and I suspected it may have been a publicity stunt and they just wanted us to come so they sent me a...nice...letter. i would have thought they’d want us to pay for tickets.” Pink shrugged. “i mean they get a lot more by giving you tickets. they’re probably telling everyone you’ll be there. so people will show up even if you’re not really going. are you going?” Blue nodded. “it looks interesting, i want to thank them for the note and this beautiful necklace.” Pink smiled as Yellow walked in with the tailor in toe. “afternoon.” Blue waved and took Yellows hand. “let’s go get a coffee while they’re playing dress up.” Yellow chuckled and nodded. Pink yelled after them. “HEY! nice to invite me you jerkwad! I’ll take a tall pepermint okay!” blue nodded. “we’ll be back soon!”

Yellow was ordering the coffee as Blue was in the bathroom. As she stepped out she accidentally bumped into someone. "Oh sorry i..." But she stopped in her tracks as she noticed who it was. "Well, if it isn't the devil herself." She had blue backed into the wall in no time. "What are you doing here?!" Yellow looked up, eyes widening. "What the hell did you think you're doing?!" She set the coffee down and the woman stepped back, allowing Blue to run to her. She was visibly shaking as she clung to Yellow. "Oh...i see. We're still playing that game. I'm not going to hurt you Mira." Yellow hissed and pushed Blue gently behind her. "Her name is Blue. Now who the fuck are you and what are you doing to my wife?!" She chuckled. "I wouldn't let go of her. She likes to play this game where she makes herself faint to get attention. Once it starts, everything you do or say will become a threat. I'm not doing a damn thing except using the bathroom. I had no idea it was her in there. I'm the x she probably was scared to tell you about. Anyway, I just needed to touch up my make up. I'll be going. Oh but...Blue is it? One more tiny thing." She watched the light leave Blue's eyes. "I've moved back and it's over. You'll probably be seeing me around with my new girlfriend. So get used to it. You and I are over. I'm sorry it ended the way it did, but please, let's just try to stay out of each other's way." She then looked back to Yellow. "I'd catch her if i were you. Its rather hot actually. Take her home and fuck her like you mean it. She'll be super wet." With that she left, glancing up just in time to see Blue hit the floor. She smirked to herself as she walked away.

Blue woke, heart beginning to pound as she heard Yellow. "There's unfortunately nothing I can press charges for. She didn't do anything...except be a complete disgusting bitch. If she comes near Blue again I'll do what I should have done and punched her in the fucking face. I'll be back, I'm going to check on her. The paramedics said she was just shocked..." She sat up as Yellow entered and the tears started immediately. "Blue..." Yellow sat beside her and held her close. "It's okay. Who was that?" Blue clung to her. "That was the x I told you about." She bit her lip as Yellow gently pushed her back to look into her tearful eyes. "The one you have a restraining order against?! If I had known..." Blue shook her head, sobbing harder now. "Had. It expired a few days ago. I didn't have enough time to try to get it reinstated! There's....things I didn't tell you. I should have. But I was afraid you'd be disgusted by me..." Yellow shushed her and hugged her close again. "Not right now. Wait until you calm down. I don't want you fainting again." She gently ran her fingers through Blues hair. "It doesn't matter. " Blue shook her head. "It does. Because I might have to go through the trial all over again. What she said...shes Not completely wrong. It started as her idea and then I...kind of liked it. I liked it rough. And sometimes. " she pulled away and curled up. "Blue, you can tell me. I was just really scared. If it's some kind of kink I won't hesitate to try it if you want...probably..." Blue closed her eyes. "No. I don't want to play this game with you. Not the way she did anyway. One day she actually choked me out...and I liked it. It's true that I liked her attention when I fainted, but she's the one that started it and she'd do anything to get me to do it in public. She kind of raped me a couple times. I'd wake up in random places. Her car, a bathroom...i'm actually surprised you hadn't heard of me when we met. It just kept getting crazier and crazier and I couldn't get control. Finally one day she hired some guy off the street to pretend to kidnap me with a knife. I beat the hell out of her when I woke up to her hand up my skirt in an alley, and the guy keeping watch. I was just so embarrassed and scared and I realized i had to get out then and there. I repressed the kinks. And then I found you. And you were perfect and amazing and I played with the idea of asking you about it, but I wanted to marry you and didn't want to sacrifice that possibility." She bit her lip. "She likes to see me crumble. She's the one that likes the public attention. And she wouldn't keep it in the bedroom. And now..." She whined as she clutched the hem of her skirt. "I want you to forgive me." Yellow's eyes widened as she was told the full story. "Blue..." She pulled her close again and kissed her head. "I'm Sorry. If I had known i wouldn't have let her out the door. I'd like to beat the shit out of her. But blue, you're what's most important. Let's go home and relax. Pink heard the sirens and drove over so we'll go home. We'll rest and if you want, I'll go back to the police department with you tomorrow to file another restraing order." Blue nodded, closing her eyes and for a moment she squeezed Yellows hand. "I'm just thankful you understand and still want to be with me." Yellow bit her lip. "Sounds like she was pretty abusive." That worried her about what ever new girlfriend she was talking about. But that was a thought for later, when Blue was out of earshot...one for a good friend.

later at home, Yellow had put Blue to bed, insisting she rest, and called her friend. not long after, he was at the door and she closed the bedroom door. Blue was unaware of this friend, and if she had any say in it, she never would. he pulled off his black leather gloves and cracked his knuckles. “so tell me what’s going on.” Yellow sat across from him and bit her lip. “i’m not entirely sure honestly. but i worry for another woman. after everything you did for me, i thought you would be the best person to handle this. Blue’s psycho X showed up today. she apparently had a four year restraining order, but it was recently lifted. from what i’ve gathered, the bitch was extremely abusive, sexually and emotionally, and probably physically as well. it’s not fair to Blue to go into detail so i wont, but believe me when i say there’s a reason i called you. this woman is bad news and she’s apparently got a new girlfriend. that’s who i’m worried about. the things this woman did to Blue...” she looked away, biting her knuckles. “probably not far off from what she’s probably doing to this girl. here’s all your info. for right now i just want you to watch her. see if she’s repeating behavior. look for things like women randomly fainting in public...” She slid a folder over to him with all the information she could find on the woman. “what do i owe you?” He shook his head. “if it’s like you say it’ll be my pleasure. i know you don’t call me lightly. if i can help her, than i’ve been repaid. how are you doing anyway?” Yellow smiled softly. “really good. Blue is exactly what i needed. i really enjoy what i do. i forget some days how far i’ve come. it’s like none of it happened now. i’m living for me now and i have everything i ever wanted. it wasn’t until the incident today that i realized it had been so long since i even noticed my scars. it kind of threw me back i admit, but i’d do anything to keep her safe. and i feel like this afternoon was a threat. in short, i’m healing a lot better now. i know i’ll never been fully healed, there will always be the dreams, but having her really helps. she’s there for me without question when i need her, and i had no idea she’d been through that. she’s just so graceful and full of life. we’ll have to talk about this at some point. i want to help her heal. but for right now i need to make sure she’s safe...” he nodded as he stood and tucked the folder under his arm. “i’ll let you know what i can find. but if i see it happening...” she nodded also. “i trust you’ll do the right thing.” 

A few days passed with no word or incident and it was time to go to the performance. Yellow walked up behind Blue and hugged her as she stood looking over herself in the mirror. She was trying to act normal, But Yellow knew the look in her eyes. “so beautiful. i hope you like tonight. it’ll be interesting to finally meet these people. what’s on your mind?” Blue looked up into her eyes in the mirror for a moment before sighing, “that obvious? well...i’m a little nervous honestly...your sister seems to be a little unnerved by it too. i just...i’m not sure it’s a good idea now.” Yellow kissed her ear softly. “we’ll stay for the show and leave when it’s over. we can just explain that we’re too buisy with our own show to stay." Blue nodded, looking down to the necklace she'd been wearing the whole time. "It is really pretty and I should thank them..." Yellow kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly. "Let's go. We'll have dinner out after the show?" Blue nodded. "Sounds good. " Blue was mesmerized by the performance and half way through she'd forgotten all her fears. The woman were very tiny, almost child like in stature and incredibly flexible as they danced around each other. It was just as the last act was finishing that Yellow got a text from her friend. "Be right back. Have to make a call." Blue nodded. This wasn't all that out of character for her. When yellow got into the bathroom and called, she was met with a panicked voice. "Don't take Blue to that performance! It's been set up by that woman!" Yellow didn't even answer as she hung up. As she was trying to make her way back into the auditorium, throngs of people were already leaving, preventing her from getting through the hall quickly. "Blue!" She cried as she looked around. She got back in to find Blue on stage with the white pearl who was actually quite a bit taller than herself. "Blue!" The woman she was talking to suddenly grabbed her arm and spun her around to face Yellow, holding her tightly against her chest. “YELLOW!” she started to run but before she could get three steps, something came down hard on her head and the last thing she saw was Blue falling into the other womans arms.

Yellow woke in the back of an ambulance and was held down by several paramedics. “you have a concussion and you’re attached to an iv! stop!” she ripped the oxygen mask off and struggled against them. “MY WIFE?! WHERE IS MY WIFE?!” they looked at each other and then down at her. “we’ll talk about that in a few minutes but you need to calm down first!” she screamed as she once again tried to come off the gurney. “you tell me where she is or i’ll tear this thing apart to get out!” one of the paramdics motioned to a police officer. “cuff her. she’s a danger to herself.” She narrowed her eyes, about to fight again when her friend came up and shook his head. “Ashlyn stop. Mira is unharmed for the moment, but she’s making demands.” Yellow stilled almost instantly and they cuffed her to the gurney. “she’s still in there? if...if i hadn’t checked my phone i would have been there with her...” she looked over at him as he stepped up into the ambulance and took her hand into both of his. “it’s going to be okay. if you need to blame anyone, it’s me for not texting you sooner. right now we need to focus. we don’t believe she wants to kill Mira. but there are four total. one of them is this new girlfriend she was talking about and as far as i can tell she’s a hostage too. she wants to talk to you...” Yellow laid back. “okay. i’ll give her anything she wants. i just need her back. safe.” she tried to hold back the tears but she’d never been so scared in her life. he handed her the phone. “hello?” the woman’s voice was quiet on the line. “by now i’m sure you’ve been told what’s going on. i have some...demands but really what i want will only be mine by choice. it’s actually her needs i’m considering here.” Yellow held her breath. “just tell me what you want.” She laughed on the other end. "What I want is for your wife to leave you. But she's not awake enough yet to make that decision. In the meantime we require some things I deliberately didn't get. Just so I could add insult to injury when she walks out on my arm. I also want you to give a press statement at noon tomorrow. We'll need things for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. So I think whatever Mira would like best for both. I'll contact you again later when she wakes. The idea that I had killed you was too much for her. Also, Ashlyn Star sounds like a really good pornstar name. Maybe if you take that up you'll be more successful. No wonder you took her last name." Before Yellow could respond, she hung up. Yellow felt sick and she looked up. "Steven. Take my credit card and go to the store. Listen close and write this down." He nodded and pulled out the notepad and pen he normally kept in his breast pocket. "Ketchup, iceberg lettuce, lemons, herring, redpepper." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Also two steaks, most expensive you can find, one of them new York strip, Blues favorite...and whatever else you think is good. Under nightstand is..." She began to sob and he put the notepad up quickly, hugging her tightly. "It's gonna be okay. I'll get everything. I'll even get extras. I'll make sure it's perfect. You won't need to worry. You'll get her back safe." He then went to kiss her ear and whispered. "8 pm tomorrow. No later i promise..." She sobbed into his shoulder for a few moments, clutching his jacket. He reluctantly pulled away and slid his fingers gently down her cheek. "Try to relax. " she nodded. "And eggs. " 

 After the police delivered the things, Yellow was sent home. She got no sleep at all and checking the safe only made her more anxious. He hadn't taken it. She was sure he'd understand. But there was no way of asking him since her phone was tapped. The sound of it ringing startled her and she bolted when she heard Blue's ringtone. "Blue!?" There was sobbing on the other end and it took all her strength to slide down the wall. "Yellow. I don't have long. So I just wanted to hear your voice one last time. I...i'm leaving you." Yellow choked. "Blue no. I need you. Please. We'll find a way. " "tick tock..." She heard the crazy woman in the background. "She's got this place totally mapped out and she's got two accomplices. Anytime I refuse her they..." She screamed. "Stop it! Let me go! Yellow! I'm sorry, I'll always love you but I can't do this!" She screamed again as the phone was taken from her. "It's time Mira. They know what they're doing. Don't fight them, they like it..." She bit her lip as she watched Blue fall limp. "I can't wait to have her again. She's agreed. If course it was because I threatened to kill you if she said no. I needed her a little more worked up to get her to the fainting point. I knew talking to you would do the trick. Oh and do open your door, I've left you a little...present. I contemplated using it for later, but I decided a momento to remember her by would be nicer." Yellow crawled to the door and found a box with the necklace and a CD. "Don't you dare touch her." She managed to hiss before Steven came in. "Too late for that. Enjoy your present. " with that she hung up. 

Steven took the phone from her and pocketed it before lifting her from the floor. He carried her over to the couch and went back for the box. "Just as I thought. This necklace was a recording device..." Yellow stared at him, heart pounding, finding it hard to breath. She'd never had a fainting spell before but she was close now. "Put it...in the laptop. " Her voice was weak. Steven frowned "I don't think..." She clutched the pillow beneath her. "I need to know!" He did as he was told and a video popped up with a title card. "Blue and yellow. 2011 _ 2018" for the next ten minutes, a clip show of everything romantic or sweet they'd done while Blue was wearing the necklace played and Yellow broke down. It ended with her preposing again but this time there was a new clip. One of Blue tied to a chair on the stage, a pale white hand wrapped somewhat tightly around her throat from behind, but all she could see was the shadow of the figure. "I'm..." Blue's voice sounded so out of that she almost couldn't believe it was hers. "Sorry...but i'm in love...with someone else now." The fingers slid up to grip her chin and turn her face. "White..." She whispered. "Samantha..." the figure dressed all in white leaned down, kissing her deeply as the camera panned in on their lips. When Blue fell limp yellow lost it, screaming and tried to come up off the couch but he quickly caught her as her legs once again gave out below her. "Bitch!" She screamed. "I'll..." But before she could finish the sentence, he kissed her deeply. She stilled, eyes widening before taking a deep breath. He let her go and gently pushed her back. "Relax. Breathe. This is exactly what she wants. She's working you up to see how far she has to go before you'll hurt yourself. Don't let her win. Have faith in me." She bit her lip and nodded. "I believe in you. Please don't leave me alone right now. " he shook his head. "I came over to check on you. I was worried that you might hurt yourself. " she looked away. "I thought about it. But when Blue found out...the pain In her eyes. I've been clean for nearly six years. But it's hard. Especially without her here. I know it goes against everything in therapy, but she really is my solid place." He nodded and helped her to her bed. "I'm gonna spend the night." Steven and Yellow had a very complicated relationship. In elementary they were best friends, he moved away in middle school, in high school he'd changed so much she couldn't stand him, and for a very brief time they dated in college. They fought like cats and dogs for months while he tried to pull her from a very abusive relationship, and once successful, they dated again until she had healed enough to try and find love again. That's when she found Blue and her life had never been the same. She had been afraid to tell Blue any of this, but now she feared what she would be when she escaped. She closed her eyes and curled into him. He'd always been there when she really needed him, even when they had fought and she took comfort in his true love for her. 

Blue woke slowly, feeling again the multiple sets of hands caressing her. But she was also there, watching a live cast. It was yellow and her heart skipped. “yellow...” She sat up slowly and looked down at herself, nearly screaming as she realized she had been changed into a wedding dress. “ah...just in time my darling. you’re soon to be ex has heeded my demands...she’s about to speak, i’ll turn it up so you can hear.” 

yellow was visibly having trouble keep it together as she stood trembling in front of a fairly large crowd. "I don't know why you wanted me to do this. But I'm here. I hope you're allowing Blue to watch. If...you can hear me, I just need you to know that I love you more than my own life and I just want you to be happy..." "I am in fact letting her watch. Now someone is going to approach you with a present. This is not anyone involved, just a random bystander. Another hostage if you will. So please don't stop her. I have trained assassins on the roof..." yellow looked up, eyes widening as she saw a gun pointed down at her. The woman emerged from the theater in tears and slowly made her way. "She's torturing her. Please do what she says but get her out of there. I've been a fan of yours for a long time. Since YouTube. Please..." She handed a small pouch to her with a suppressed sob. Yellows eyes grew dark as she saw it was blues wedding and engagement ring with a small note. she slid the rings on her finger and bit her lip as she read it. ‘my love. my clarity and my strength. it’s over or she’ll kill you. goodbye...’ “unfortunately...it’s over between you. fire.” the woman in front of her shoved her to the ground just as the gunman fired and the live stream cut off. Yellow didn’t even have time to scream as she hit the ground and the woman fell on top of her. blood began to cover her and she lost it soon after, falling limp. Blue screamed, knocking the chair over as she tried to get up. “I WILL KILL YOU!” she screamed. the two women were surprised by this and righted the chair. “release her.” They did as they were told and Blue was on her feet. she had almost made it to the woman who was now going by White Diamond, before she was backhanded so hard she hit the floor and slid back. the taste of blood filled her mouth and it trickled from her lip. she lay there on the floor trembling. “she’s dead Blue. now there’s no distraction from me.” the pearls pulled her back to the chair but didn’t tie her down as Pink Pearl, White’s new girlfriend, came into the room slowly. “White...let me speak to her alone...” she pulled out a napkin and dabbed it on Blue’s lip. White motioned for the pearls to come with her. Blue moaned softly as she closed her eyes.  "Blue..." She spoke softly. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea she was like this. Please forgive me. " Blue began to cry. "She's a monster. There's nothing to forgive. I had no idea she was like this either. I don't understand though, why are you still with her? This started months ago." Pink looked away with a frown. "I fell in love with her. And I wanted her to be happy. She made it sound like the three of us would be together. But this isn't what I thought would happen and I'm really scared. I don't think Yellow got shot. Don't worry. I warned that girl and told her to warn Yellow." Blue heard commotion in the next room and jolted at a very loud bang. "Oh god, what was that?!" She began to tremble as she saw Steven appear in the doorway. "She's killed herself. I tried to stop her..." Pink looked up, eyes widening. "D- dead?" She whimpered softly and crumbled. Blue likewise was somehow devastated. “Yellow is waiting for you at the hospital. there’s an ambulance right outside.” the sound of paramedics could be heard in the next room and that’s when Blue was gone. the realization that it was over and that she’d never have to deal with this woman again, saddened her and put her mind over the edge. 

When she woke again, Yellow was laying beside her in the hospital bed. She turned to face the sobbing mess beside her and kissed her forehead. Yellow bolted to sitting and pulled her closer into her arms. “Blue!” Blue took a few deep breathes, trying to fend off the tears. “shhh.” she sat up herself, beginning to break down. “Yellow...i thought i’d never see you again. but she’s dead. she killed herself. at least...i hope she’s dead. as horrible as i feel for saying that...what happened to the other girl? she was going by Pink? and the others...?” Yellow frowned. “Pink was released from the hospital a few hours ago. they just wanted to check her out. you were really dehydrated and they found some weird drugs in you system so you’re stuck here for another day or so. until it clears and we make sure there’s no residual side effects. but i’m not leaving you.” she kissed Blue’s head softly and took her hand. “i’ve been crying since i woke up. a fan of ours, the girl with your rings. she was shot in my place. she’s gonna be okay. i went and visited her a while ago. but the shooter and the two others were nowhere to be found.” she gasped softy and clung to Yellow who held her just a little tighter. “shh...it won’t happen again. i’ll keep an eye out.” Blue whimpered. “they were wearing masks. there’s no way of knowing what they really look like.i just...want to go home.” they looked up as there was a knock on the door. a slightly heavy set man with long curly black hair was in the doorway with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and daffodils. Yellow smiled and nodded. “How’s the lady doing?” He sheepishly set it on the bedside table. “you...” she whispered, drawing closer to Yellow. he nodded. “i suppose she’s got a lot to tell you but for now, i’m Steven. a really old friend.” She bit her lip and looked up at Yellow who seemed strangely serene. “Yeah when you come home we need to have a long talk. Steven was able to find a way in and was coming to save you. unfortunately i...” she looked away. “i couldn’t.” Blue rested her head on Yellow’s chest. “i’d rather you be safe. it’s okay. She...was really dangerous...” she looked up to Steven for a minute. “so...you saw her kill herself? you said you tried to stop her...”  he nodded with a soft frown. “said something about this being her plan the whole time. i don’t know, she seemed...angry. she left a note...i don’t know if it would help or hurt. i took a picture of it with my phone since the police collected it as evidence.” she gripped Yellows hand tight and nodded. “i want to see it.” as she read the note, Yellow looked up at him in confusion. Blue gasped and fought back tears. “i guess i was always jealous of you. i could never quite get my hair that golden, or my eyes that Caribbean blue.i didn’t just want you, i wanted to be you. to tear off your skin and wear it. you’ll never know how damaged  i am. so this is it. i was going to do it durring the live stream but i couldn’t put you through seeing my brain matter spilling all over the floor.” Blue felt sick at that part. after a few seconds of clenching her jaw and a few deep breaths she continued. “this is our final goodbye. it was a good game while it lasted...” she handed him back the phone. “i just hope Pink was spared the horrors she laid on me.”

a few weeks later Yellow invited Steven over. Blue was feeling better, though she was still having periods of tears and weakness. Yellow had patience with her, even when she would scream at her and lock her out of the bedroom. Yellow understood all that, and today was when she thought it was good to tell Blue everything about her past. Steven sat quietly talking to Yellow while they waited for Blue. "So how bad is it?" Yellow sighed deeply. "Off and on it's pretty bad. When the nightmares started she would scream at me to go sleep on the couch and lock me out. I can't get her to tell me what they're about. That's a really strange reaction. " he nodded. "But you know what I'm asking..." yellow bit her lip. "No. I think that's just something I've struggled with my whole life. Stuff happened in middle school. But that's really unimportant now. She's getting better. She's had a couple fainting spells...mostly when she sees something that reminds her. There was a news article in the paper about the whole thing, and that bitches face was on the front page. I thought I was going to be sick." Steven grimaced and nodded. "It's kind of unreal how famous you've gotten. I saw that." Yellow leaned closer. "So how did you do it?" He was silent for a moment. "Well I knew I couldn't use yours. Blue doesn't deserve to get congical visits you know. I'd have to make it look like a robbery but that was too suspicious. I've got the right friends and I secured a small handgun. The spineless acrobats ran as soon as they saw me so they were no problem. I'd written the note, but didn't actually leave it. I knocked her out, put the gun in her hand and fired. I'll spare you the details after that." Yellow shivered and nodded. "So I can once again thank the crystal gems?" He nodded with a smile. "Birdmom doesn't know though." She chuckled at this. "For the better." They looked up as Blue slowly unlocked the door and came out. She hadn't dyed her hair in a while so the now honey blond looked like she had ombre hair. It was becoming, but the heavy circles under her puffy eyes told a story. She sat down in Yellows lap and hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry. Don't listen to me if it happens tonight. I feel terrible waking up without you." She looked up at Steven and tried to smile. "I never did property introduce myself did I? You're a friend of yellows? She said you were coming over today." Yellow wrapped her arms around Blue. "We need to talk about things." Blue looked up into her eyes for a moment before nodding and pulling away. She sat next to her and took her hand. "Well...ill start from the beginning. Steven and I have been really good friends since before school. He lived next door with his dad and his aunts. We've had ups and downs, but this bastard went and got a phycology degree to get me out of a really abusive relationship. " she chuckled even as she teared up. Blue's eyes widened and she started to speak but yellow stopped her and looked to Steven who snapped his fingers three times. I'm return she snapped hers three times, taking a deep breath with each. "I experimented a lot in college. Men and women, mostly women. Drugs alcohol...the drugs is how I found him..." Blue took her hand and kissed it softly, looking up into her eyes. She wanted to tell Yellow it was okay. But she feared speaking would break her. Yellow nuzzled her face And kissed her forehead. "I should have known. But I was barely eighteen and I was on my own for the first time, and I had been denied so many things. My family thought I would marry Steven. Hell, at one point I thought I would. But this guy seemed so nice at first and Steven and I had a falling out earlier that year. And I started to notice girls a lot more..." She was trembling now as she closed her eyes. "I'm not going to go into detail because I'll probably have another break if I do. It was just a really bad relationship. He hit me as lot, and other things. I don't think I was sober the entire time, and I almost dropped out because of it. I don't know how I kept my grades up. But afterword, Steven pulled me back together. He switched his degree to phycology just to help me." Steven took her other hand and kissed her fingers gently. "I have always loved you and I'd give my life for you a thousand times over. I'm just happy to see you in a healthy relationship, sober, and clean. And since then I've been able to help so many more. Don't feel too bad, this is way more fulfilling than being a geologist astronomer ever would be." Yellow smiled softly but pulled her hand away as she saw a pained look in blues eyes. "Is...there more to this? Please tell me you're not leaving me? I don't like the way that just happened. " Steven was the first to speak. "I'm sorry. No we're not involved like that anymore. And when we were it never went very far. And even then it was pretty one sided. You never really get over your first love. And no matter how many women are in and out of my life, I'm always going to love her like that. But I also respect her feelings and I know she'll never love me that way. And I'm okay with it, because she loves me like family, and that's way more important to me." Blue was skeptical but nodded. "So you think you can help me? In that very short time she did more damage than she did in the three and a half years we were together. I've been having horrible nightmares about those things that helped her. I think it has something to do with Yellow holding me. They're feeling me up in a soft bed, then they start having sex with each other while they take turns..." She bit her lip and began to cry softly. She choked on her words and yellow pulled her close. "I'm so sorry. Tonight we try just holding hands okay? Hopefully you won't have it again." She kissed blues head. Steven frowned as he saw the look on her face. It wasn't so dissimilar to one he saw for years on Yellows so he grabbed her attention. "When I snap my fingers I want you to respond but with deep breaths okay? You're having a panic attack. And that's okay, but we're going to try to stop it." She nodded and he snapped his fingers. She repeated the way yellow had and he did it again. After a few minutes, she felt better and rested her head on Yellows chest. "I love you so much." She whimpered and yellow hugged her tighter. "It's gonna be okay." Blue sobbed into her shoulder, hugging her tightly. "Maybe telling you will stop it. I wake up still feeling the hands." she was shivering and Yellow hugged her just a little tighter. “i’m going to have him come over once a week for you okay? i was a wreck after my ex and we lived together for about a year. if you want me sit with you while you talk to him i will. but i think you’ve had enough for...” Blue stopped her with a deep kiss and shook her head. “i’m in a lot of pain and i want...to start now. i do want you with me.” the look in her eyes told Yellow she didn’t exactly trust him. She nodded and stood. “i’m gonna go get a drink. do you want something?” Blue nodded. “water, thanks.”

she jumped as Steven took her hand gently. "I want you to know one thing. Whatever your breaking point, however shattered you feel, it's okay to not be okay. Don't trivialize what happened to you. It's going to affect you for the rest of your life. It's okay to take as long as you need to start feeling safe again. But yellow is going to be there for you in ways I won't be able to be. You have a good support system. My phone is on all the time. If you need to talk and you don't want to talk to her, call me any time. Day or night. Even if it's three am." She nodded. "Thank you."

After a few weeks, blue made the decision to go on with the show as planned. They went in and rehearsed four times just to catch up. Blue found she felt safest on the stage and she started to heal. she was  still having terrible nightmares but waking Yellow helped. And she and yellow implemented the snapping technique to break her panic attacks. Collectively they decided new rings might help. A symbol of the new start they had planned. There was an outpouring of support from their fans, some sending extra money and presents. Blue had never felt more loved in her entire life. That's right about the time that pink pearl came back into their lives. Blue was grateful for this, as she had worried constantly about her. She even joined the show and unexpectedly, Yellow's sister started to like her. Yellow hadn't considered the idea that she might also be bi because she'd never seemed interested in girls before. None the less, blue and yellow were supportive. For nearly two months things got back to normal for the most part. But Steven started hanging around more often, and she didn't like the way he looked at Yellow. This caused a few problems with Yellow insisting that nothing was going on. But Blue just had a feeling they were keeping a secret from her. This exploded one night when Yellow got very drunk and started texting him. Blue had tried very hard to ignore her feeling, but the conversation seemed serious and Yellow was hiding her phone and deleting texts. Finally she exploded. "You know you're not being nearly as sneaky as you think you are." Yellow looked up, eyes widening for a moment. "What?" Blue began to cry softly. "If...you want someone else just tell me and we can work it out. If I'm not enough for you...." Yellow frowned but was silent. They were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Blue instantly froze. "It's two am..." Yellow grabbed her gun from the safe, suddenly feeling pretty sober. She looked out, not thinking about her phone until she turned to see Blue trembling. To make matters worse, there was a giant poster on the door of Steven kissing her. "This is how I had to find out?! You've been fighting with me for weeks about This! She doesn't suspect does she?! I can only guess how the rest of this went! I fucking hate you right now! After everything!" Yellow made a split second decision she might regret. "I just...i didn't want to hurt you. With everything that was going on...i wanted to wait until the show was over..." blue threw the phone at her and ran into the room sobbing, locking the door behind her. Yellow picked up the phone, texting Steven to come and get her. She leaned against the bedroom door and closed her eyes. "I still love you Blue. More than anything. So please don't cut me out. Tomorrow when I'm sober and you've had rest, let's talk. I...ill leave my key. Make sure the door is locked. Those bitches were here. They're the ones who knocked and left the fucking poster. I'm sure they're gone for the night just..." She looked into Blue's puffy tearfull eyes as she opened the door just enough. " You better hang onto these. We need to finish out the season. I hope you don't think you're taking one of the cars tonight. Because I swear I'll beat the living hell out of you." Yellows heart broke as Blue dropped all four rings into her hand. "No. Steven is coming." "Of course he is..." She looked away. "I...ill see you tomorrow at rehearsal. We'll talk then." She nodded and solemnly made sure the doors and windows were locked and left all her keys on the table, locking the front door on her way out. When she got into the car she broke down. Steven was quiet as he drove. "Tell me what happened. " he whispered as he helped her into the apartment. She went straight to his liquor chest and grabbed the strongest thing she could find but before she could drink more than a few gulps, he pulled it away from her, hugging her tightly. "You know that won't make it better...just tell me everything." Yellow fell into him, nearly screaming as she cried. "It's over! She thinks I was cheating with you! And I let her believe it! Those things showed up at the house and posted a fucking poster size print out of you kissing me and I was deleting out texts so the only one she saw was you asking if she suspected! I don't know how to fix this! I just want to die!" He frowned deeply and pulled her back and onto the couch. "We'll fix it Yellow. You're so drunk right now that I might need to take you to the hospital. How much did you have before you started drinking in front of her?" Yellow took a deep breath. "Pint of jack and a tab of acid..." Steven nearly screamed as he pushed her back to look into her face. “where and why the fuck?! i’m sorry but you’ve come this far to relapse for no reason?!” Yellow brushed at her tears, angry now. “it was a small dose it ran off before i even had two shots and there was a reason! those bitches said if i didn’t take it, they’d tell Blue that you killed her ex! they didn’t say they were going to reveal that you kissed me, so thanks a fucking lot for that! if you hadn’t been such a dick i wouldn’t be here right now!” He narrowed his eyes. “i kissed you to silence you because your fucking house was bugged by the cops! i’m taking you to the hospital! and when i find them i’m going to kill them too!” 

The next day, yellow and Steven walked in to the theater, yellow stone faced. She cracked a tiny smile at Blue who simply looked away. "Blue." But the rest of her words fell silent. Blue looked up at her a moment. "You're early. I didn't expect you so soon. I am unprepared for a talk." Yellow bit her lip so hard it almost bled. "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't want you to find out that way. And I still want to be with you. But I think for the moment it'd be best if I moved out for a while. We'll finish out the show and then talk about moving back in together. " blue nodded. "I need time to think about this. I don't want us to end like this. If it's going to happen than I want it to be on good terms. I just feel so betrayed. After everything I went through." Yellow looked down, finding it hard to look at Blue and lie through her teeth. "I guess I always had feelings for him and I couldn't help myself. I was wrong. And I don't want to lose you over this. Please don't think that you're not enough. You're the reason I'm alive. I just...he came to my rescue. And...i don't know blue. I love both of you. Equally. I didn't think I had the capacity to be poly but I guess I do." Blue was silent as she stared between them. Something was off about this whole thing. "Have you fucked yet?" Yellow and Steven were taken aback and Steven looked like he'd be sick. "No. I don't want to have sex with him. I just...i want the cuddles and the kisses and stuff like that. I'm just not into him sexually. Men have to be a certain type for me." Blue nodded. That answered far more than yellow had intended. "I'm gonna get dressed. Pink should be arriving soon. She's bringing your car. I...i called her this morning, I know I probably shouldn't have gotten her involved, but I needed to talk to someone and she was my best option. " yellow grimaced. Pink would have her head. But she couldn't back out just yet. So she nodded and waited for the enevitable drama that was about to unfold.

After first rehersal, blue went back to the dressing room to change her make up...and get away from Yellow and Steven for a bit. She had gotten about as far as removing that mornings make up, and reached for the foundation when she froze. In the mirror she caught movement but when she turned, no one was there. She quickly put the foundation on and was looking for her eyeliner but to her dismay it was missing. She froze once more, heart pounding as she heard something hit the floor behind her. She sat there silently until she heard a soft voice. "Blue, turn around." But that was impossible. She turned slowly and found it on the floor. She carefully picked it up and bolted for the door, only to find it locked. "Blue, I just want to apologize. Stop." She turned, screaming as she saw a vague form of White materializing in front of her. "You're not real!" She tried again to open the door. "Blue. Stop. I don't have enough energy to stay visible too long. Just please." She reached out to Blue and touched her face gently, but the sensation for Blue was like spiderwebs of electricity and before she could even scream again she was out. Yellow was the first through the door, stopping in her tracks as she saw blue on the floor with a transparent white sobbing over her. They locked eyes for a few seconds before she vanished and yellow knelt beside her, taking her hand and patting it gently. "Blue?!" The anger and hurt were set aside for a while as Blue came around. "Yellow..." She whispered as she rested her head on Yellows chest. "White was.. " Yellow hushed her, holding her close. "I know. I saw her too. It's going to be okay."she took advantage of Blues sudden need for her and held her close, knowing this would neither last long, nor happen again for a while. Pink appeared shortly and looked down at them. "What happened? Are you okay Blue? Do you need anything? " blue smiled weakly up at her. "Just a drink. I...dont want to be alone right now. I....saw a ghost. " tears sprang to her eyes and she sobbed into Yellow. Pink gasped and ran to get her a cold drink. Yellow picked her up and carried her back to the set where they had comfortable furniture. She sat on the fainting chair and held Blue in her lap. "She was trying to apologize but I just couldn't stand to see her." Yellow sighed deeply as Pink came back with her drink and that was the end of her physical contact with Blue. She frowned subtly and looked away. “i don’t know how to fix this. hopefully because you got the gist of what she was saying, she’ll be able to move on.” Blue looked up at her for a moment, feeling as though Yellow were hiding something, but she’d let it go for now.

Later Yellow sat alone on a park bench, clutching a crumpled up letter. “okay i’m here...” from the tree in front of her, the two acrobats known as Blue and Yellow Pearl landed. “how the fuck do you keep finding this shit out?! and why do you want Blue so bad that you want me to keep hurting her for you to be silenced?!” Blue Pearl, the normally silent one, spoke softly. “quite simply, we have a suicide pact. and the only thing left on our list before we die is to fuck her. buuuut.” She turned to Yellow Pearl, going up onto her toes and spinning slowly like a music box. Yellow was always slightly impressed by their seemingly supernatural abilities to balance and bend. it made her sad to see such talent lost on two women so sick. Yellow Pearl finished for her, tossing a little bag with a white substance. “we want her to leave you organically, if you break up with her she’ll pine away and probably kill herself. then we wouldn’t get to have any fun with her. see White’s mistake was the idea that she could drug and rape her into submission. we want her to fall for us. to want us. and as long as she doesn’t know who we really are it’s entirely possible.” Yellow was growing sick. both at the drug in her hands, and the words they were saying. she knew then that she was right to have White killed. she grimaced at the thought of what Blue probably went through in just the short time she was with her. then her focus turned to the bag. her heart began to pound. it had been over a years recovery the first time and she’d told herself she’d never do it again, especially not because she had Blue. but now to keep her, she was prepared to do anything. but she knew this wouldn’t be enough. once she started again it would quickly snowball. “i can’t take it alone. i need Molly too.” Blue giggled. “we like Molly. you’re in luck. but you’ll owe us.” Yellow bit her lip, feeling the bile rise in her throat. “okay. just...please don’t tell her.”

Steven was worried by three am when she hadn’t returned. he called Blue but she hadn’t seen her since they left the theater. then he got a call that scared the hell out of him. “Blue i’m sorry. okay i had your bitch ex killed. it doesn’t matter who. i can’t keep doing this.” Steven decided then and there to put the tracker back on her phone. “Yellow, this is Steven, where are you and what have you taken?” Yellow broke down into sobs. “some park. i don’t know. they gave me coke and some molly. i want whiskey. bring me a bottle of whiskey and a hand gun. i’m gonna end it. Blue doesn’t deserve this. you don’t deserve this. why am i alive?! why did i hide my knife?!” Steven was in tears at this point. “Just tell her everything tomorrow. losing her that way is a hell of a lot better than this.” Yellow curled up on the park bench as they watched. they’d been there for hours with her, taunting her, trying to get her to kill herself in various ways. Yellow Pearl saw a car drive by with a phone lighting a mans face. “he’s found her.” she quickly injected Yellow with something that made her still almost instantly before dashing away. Steven didn’t even turn the car off as he threw it in park and bolted over to her. “Yellow?! fuck! answer me! Yellow?!” He smacked her hard in the face to try to elicit a response and when he got none he looked around. fortunately she’d left the syringe behind and he was able to rush her to the hospital.

the next morning Yellow woke to another hard smack in the face followed by her sister’s screaming. “you stupid bitch!” she attempted to fend off another. “how could you do this again?! do you really want to end it so bad that you’d do this to her?! i thought you were...!” Blue’s voice entered the fray and Yellow broke down. “That’s quite enough Pink. this isn’t how you handle these things.. i understand you’re angry and you have every right to be, but violence and screaming won’t help her.” Pink turned to her. “you didn’t see her last time! you didn’t call 911 while praying to every god that she’d survive! you weren’t there to clean up the blood when she slit her wrists! Dad and I were!” Blue was quiet. “i wasn’t. you’re right. but i had a very close friend die in my arms from a heroin overdose in highschool. and i wish i had been nicer to her. my aggression pushed her over the edge.” tears formed in her eyes. “Yellow...why? is this why you’ve been pushing me away? i wish you had told me.” Yellow couldn’t speak she was sobbing too hard. she wanted to tell Blue everything. Pink looked down, tears in her own eyes. “i’m sorry Blue. i think i should go now. i just wanted to make sure she was going to be okay.” Blue smiled and hugged her tightly. “you’re a way better person than me. because i love her through all her stupidity but i don’t always like her. now is one of those times.” Blue didn’t let go of her. “no matter what happens to yellow and i, promise we’ll still be friends.” That cut Yellow deep.”i promise. i love you Blue. you’re like a sister. i loved you the second she brought you home to meet us. i knew you were going to be a great addition to the family even back then.” with that she looked back to Yellow one more time with a heavy frown before leaving. “she really knows how to cut.” Yellow finally choked out. "i’m sorry Blue. you deserve so much better.” Blue sat beside her. “i think the two of us need to sit down and talk about things.” Yellow stared at her for a long moment. “i don’t understand. why do you still want me? i’ve cheated on you. i’ve hurt you...you’re so much better than me.” Blue slowly climbed into bed beside her and laid her head on Yellow’s chest, tears welling in her eyes. “because before you i thought i was nothing. i thought i wasn’t worth loving. even before White i had really terrible relationships. abusive in some way or another.” she closed her eyes. “i’ve missed feeling you beside me. i confess...i’ve had another woman with me. not...exactly that way. she really likes me. and i kind of like her. i’ve just been going crazy without you. we haven’t even kissed...” Yellow bit her lip. “i’m sorry.” Blue looked up. “why? i feel like...” Yellow leaned down and kissed her deeply. “i’m sorry that i’m a jeaous wife and i haven’t been cheating on you. i lied. but there’s something going on and i can’t tell you. but i want you to keep that woman there, whoever she is. if things happen between you than it’s my fault for not being there. just...stay safe okay? don’t answer the door if you’re not expecting someone unless you know who it is. if i can get this under control i’ll come back and never ever let you go again.” Blue sat up, looking into her eyes for a long moment. she’d lied to call Yellow out on her bluff, and it worked. but now she had more questions. she decided she’d let it go for now. “go on.” Yellow sighed. “go back home. i’m just going to lay here and cry for another six hours until they let me go. i didn’t do too much really. they want me to go to rehab but there’s no way i’m leaving you completely alone for three months.” Blue frowned deeply. “i worry Yellow. i’m not inherently against drugs. but some of them scare the hell out of me and coke is one of them. and what the hell did you shoot up?!” Yellow grimaced. she didn’t know. the doctors hadn’t told her because they assumed she knew. “i didn’t. my dealer did. i have no idea what it was...”

she laid back on Yellows chest and closed her eyes again. "Please go to rehab. I'll make sure I'm not alone. It sounds like he was trying to kill you. When Steven called me, I rushed over because we weren't sure you'd live. They had you on all kinds of wires and a breathing tube. They wouldn't let me in at first. It wasn't until they put you in a room. I...ive been here with you all night. I just went to get coffee. Sorry about your sister..." Yellow chuckled a bit. "It's okay. She doesn't know anything. All she knows is I'm cheating on you and I'm suddenly back into drugs that almost killed me. I was so bad Blue. By the end of it I just couldn't stop. I went to rehab three years in a row. And it finally was just too much. I came home, took a bunch of pills, drank a bottle of jack, and slit my wrists. She has every right to be pissed at me. It was a hard time for the family in general. They were trying to make me religious but by that point I'd just lost everything." Blue frowned and squeezed her hand gently. "I'm so sorry." Yellow nuzzled her softly. "I love you so much Blue. Spend some time with her. After last time I'm sure she's really hurting. And I'm not gonna make her happier. But if you could tell her that I'm sorry." Blue nodded and kissed her deeply. "I'm only leaving because I unfortunately have something important to do. But I will be back." Yellow paled as something dawned on her and she grabbed Blue’s arm before she could leave. “oh my god i’m so sorry.” Blue looked away and sighed. “it...it is what it is. it’s not as bad as you think. i found someone to fill in for you until you can come back. i discounted the tickets too. just because everything is so...well i certainly won’t be kissing her. i just want you to get better Yellow. i won’t pretend i’m happy. i’m an emotional wreck without you. i’m sad, i’m scared, i’m hurt, i’m angry, i’m worried.” she took Yellow’s hand and squeezed it. “the amount of support we’ve gotten outweighs the bad. so i’ll tell you what? you go to rehab and i’ll have your sister and her girlfriend and maybe this understudy move in until you come back.” Yellow shook her head. “i do it without. it’s going to hurt like hell but...i just need to settle something first.” she watched as tears formed in Blue’s eyes and her heart broke as she felt Blue break away from her. she left without so much as a goodbye. Yellow bit her lip, fingers digging into the bed as she stifled a scream. 

   two women found Blue sitting alone outside of the theater that evening. One dressed in white, the other in black. at first she thought they were children, but as they approached the age showed in their faces. She shivered as she saw the one in white because she was so ghostly pale it was almost as if the dress were a part of her. otherwise it was clear these women were twins. “you look lonely.” the one in black spoke. she seemed friendly, but the other one was simply staring at her. “i guess i am.” Blue looked up. they seemed familiar. “I’m Marissa and this is my wife Claira.” Blue was taken aback. Wife? but every feature was identical down to the horrifyingly pale skin and ice blue eyes. their blond hair was even the same length and cut. “i thought you were sisters.” Claira giggled. “we are.” Blue had a sinking feeling. she wasn’t one to judge relationships. coming from a very religious back ground herself, she knew what it was like to be called sick and the like. sometimes by her own family. by the time she left her home town to move to middle of nowhere Kansas, only her mother would talk to her once a year. But something unsettled her about this. “Claira we’re not supposed to scare her away. you know that’s not normal.” Blue bit her lip. “it...it’s okay. i mean you’re adults right? and you love each other? you’re not being forced?” Marissa shook her head. “we’re almost forty. we’ve been in love our whole lives. we thought about trying other people. but no one quite fits us like we fit each other. anyway, we just wanted to see if you were okay. we live in those apartments over there. and we noticed you sitting alone. where is your beautiful wife?” Blue broke down. “in the hospital. and i just don’t want to go home to that giant empty house alone again.”  She knew she had made a mistake then. Claira smiled brightly at her and offered. "You can come home with us for a little bit. We'll cook you dinner and maybe put on a movie. What do you say?" She giggled as she reached a hand out to her. Blue but her lip. She'd seem rude if she turned them down, but they were creeping her out and she didn't want them to follow her. She nodded slowly, taking her hand and standing. but the longer she was with them, the more irrationally scared she got until suddenly a horn beeped to her left. “yellow?!” Yellow had pulled up next to her in Steven’s car. “when did you get out?” She waved to the two before getting into the car. she gave a startled yelp as Yellow sped away, glaring at the women as she passed. “stay away from them!” Blue was completely distraught as she quickly pulled her seatbelt on. “what’s going on?! how do you...?” Yellow slammed on the breaks at a red light and looked over at her. “those are the acrobats! those women have been blackmailing me for weeks with drugs! listen...i’m taking you home and then i need to tell you some things.” 

but they didn’t go home. they pulled up at an unfamiliar apartment.”Yellow...where are we? this isn’t home.” Yellow sat there for a moment as though in heavy thought. “it’s Steven’s place. i didn’t think you should be alone.” Blue started to get uncomfortable. the voice had changed. “you’re not Yellow...” Yellow turned to her for a moment before getting out of the car. “we’ll talk inside. come on.” Blue followed her. that’s when she started to notice. In the darkened car this woman was almost indistinguishable from her wife, but now in the street lights of the apartment complex, she realized with horror that this wasn’t Yellow at all. it hadn’t occurred to her that this woman’s hair was a darker shade and had no visible signs of bleaching. “who are you?” the woman turned and spoke again, though Blue could see an internal struggle going on. “you know who i am Blue. i’m sorry. i just...those women are bad news. i had been dating Pink for quite some time before all this. and they called me. they’ve been watching you for years.” she clutched her head and stumbled. Steven growled as he ran over. “you! give me...” He stopped as Blue turned to him, eyes wide. she wasn’t breathing. White chuckled. “sorry. i had to borrow your car. those bitches were about to drug Blue and...” she threw the keys to him. they watched as a white mist left the woman’s body. she screamed as she looked between the two of them before running off. Steven had bigger things to worry about. “Blue...” he snapped his fingers, gently touching her face but she was too far gone. he sighed softly as he caught her. “rest...i’ll make sure you’re safe.” He bit his lip as he watched her fall limp in his arms. “what the hell is going on?” he carried her up to the apartment and put her to bed. after covering her he brushed her hair out of her face. “sorry yellow...but i’m telling her everything i know tomorrow.”

The next morning blue woke with a scream. She had no idea where she was and she sprang to her feet as the door opened. “Steven?!” she began to sob. He sat beside her and took her hand, pulling her gently back onto the bed.. "It's gonna be okay. " she pulled away from him with a startled gasp and shivered. "I don't trust you! " he bit his lip. "You'll have reason for that when I'm done. But first, come out and I'll make you breakfast. Or you can cook if you really don't trust me. Whatever is going to make you more comfortable." blue stared at him a moment before getting up. He followed her to the living room and they sat down together. "Thank you for the offer, however I'm much too upset to eat right now. You and yellow have been keeping secrets from me and I need to know what's going on. I know you aren't together...but I also experienced your feelings for her. She's mine okay? Why do you even hang around if you know she won't ever be with you? " He nodded before looking down. He clutched his pants as he fought back tears. Something he'd been doing a lot of lately. "Because I know eventually I'll find the woman for me. Yellow and I have been really close friends for thirty years we had our downs, our falling out. But being friends is far more important to me than any other kind of relationship. I know she's happy with you... " blue stared at him. She really didnt get it. She'd never known a man who had romantic feelings for a woman to stay just friends with no hope of being together. he looked up at her with a deep frown. “listen...if you want to go to the cops after this i get it, just please hear me out first.” Blue stood and Steven shook his head. “please sit down. i’m not going to hurt you Blue. i just don’t want your marriage to go to shit this way.” She slowly sat back down. “if you even try....” he nodded. “i have nothing on me. listen...Yellow has gotten herself into a lot of trouble.” Blue huffed, looking skyward for a moment before nodding. “i figured that out...” He sighed. “it’s pretty typical for her honestly. i love her but before you...anyway. you may have figured out by now that White didn’t kill herself...” he waited for her reaction. she stared at him, the wheels turning in ways they hadn’t before. she hadn’t questioned it honestly. “well even if you didn’t...the thing that Yellow has gotten herself into trouble over is the fear of losing you because she had me kill White.”Blue gasped a hand coming to her mouth. he didn’t move or speak for a long moment as she trembled, her breathing shallow. finally he snapped his fingers. she bit her lip,returning them. they did this for nearly five minutes before she could get a handle on it. “Yellow has been blackmailed by those creatures. they’ve been giving her the drugs and telling her to take them or they’ll kidnap you and hurt you again. i’ve been going behind her back to try to find them so i can kill them...” Blue looked away. “they live across from the theater...” Steven’s eyes widened. “what?” she nodded. “Whites ghost was there last night. i just kind of sat on the steps. i’ve been so lost without her. i’ve been terrified she’ll turn up dead and i’m angry she suddenly seems so distant. when i need her the most she’s just....gone. and then lyeing to me about the two of you and...” tears welled in her eyes and she burried her face in her hands. he slowly moved closer and wrapped his arm around her. he was surprised she not only let him, but leaned into him. “was she so far gone? was she so twisted that you had to kill her?” he nodded. “there were some things i didn’t tell Yellow and if you want to cooberate them with Pink you can. do you want to know?” Blue looked up and shook her head. “right now i just really want to go home. we can talk about this later right?” he nodded. she got up slowly and looked down at him. “i don’t at all condone this.” he grimmaced. if she only knew how much blood was on his hands... “i understand.” she looked away. “i might go to the cops.”Steven sighed softy. “i know. but the important part...do you still love her?” She nodded, biting back more tears. “if she had killed White herself i’d still love her. i have my own fucked up past. i may not have actively tried to kill myself but i did wreckless things and i prayed every night and every morning that today would be the day. this would be it. i’d become normal or i’d be murdered. Yellow makes me want to live. i know how unhealthy that is and i don’t care. she is my everything and it’s because of her that i might not go to the cops. so just please take me home.”

The drive home had been awkward to say the least. Neither spoke until Blue got out of the car. She had calmed considerably in the thirty minute drive. "Thank you. I do want to talk to you but I really need some time to think..." he nodded. "I just want you to know Blue, whatever you think of me, I have your best interests in mind. If I hadn't found out the things I had, I wouldn't have killed her. But what she had planned...you need to know but not right now. Go rest and call me when you're ready. I'm going to be keeping Yellow at my place for a while. You don't want to see her on drugs. It's really bad and the withdrawal is even worse. But I've helped her through this before so I know what to do. I'll make sure she comes home in one piece okay?" Blue nodded and went inside. She thought to argue but she needed time away from Yellow too.

"Blue. We need to talk. Get up." She heard whites voice. "You're dead..." there was an exhaustive sigh and a hand roughly shaking her. "I'm aware, thank you. But we need to talk." Blue opened her eyes for a moment but she was so tired she couldn't hold them open. "I'm so tired." She suddenly felt whites body press against her. "You know even in this form if I use enough energy I can rape you..." Blue screamed and bolted up, turning to the grinning figure. "That got you up..." Blue narrowed her eyes and stumbled backwards. “BITCH!” White laughed. “yeah i know. will you sit down and listen now?” Blue sighed deeply and cautiously sat back on the bed. “Steven told me some things...” White sighed. “yeah well that’s not what i’m trying to tell you. those women have been after you for a lot longer than even i realized. they called me.” Blue stared at her. "What....do you mean they called you? How would they know?" White nodded. "I didn't ask questions. But now I know. They look stupidly young but they're 39. Identical twins...lovers If you hadn't already figured it out. And they've tried to get you into bed from the moment you got to this shitty town." Blue stared at her a moment. "How do you know all this?" White snorted. "I'm dead honey, there's nothing I don't know now past present or future. It's a fucking trip. But that's not important. What is, is that I wronged you in so many ways. And I need to fix it before I move on. Because once I'm over there I don't get to come back. And...im not ever going to see you again." Blue gasped and tears came to her eyes. "White i..." She shook her head and looked away. “i can’t talk about that and the less you know the better anyway. just know that i’m honestly getting what i deserve and it has nothing to do with you. so don’t blame yourself or anything okay? but we’re getting off track. you need to stay away from them. it’s some sick game to them. and if you go with them it will destroy you. way more than anything i did. i’m so sorry that i hurt you. and what i need now is to see that you’re safe while those things are about, and to hopefully gain your forgiveness.” Blue looked away. “i can’t forgive you right now. but thank you for....” she turned to look back but White had gone again and she broke down in tears once more. 

Blue felt like she was walking into a trap as she went back to Steven. He was shocked to see her at his door but he pulled her inside quickly and sat her down. She was even more pale than usual. “Blue? What’s wrong?” Blue sighed softly as the tears started.”i want to trust you. i don’t understand you but i want to trust you...” Steven took her hands and looked into her eyes. “if there’s anyone in this world you can trust beside Yellow, it’s me.” Blue looked down. “but...i don’t know anything about you. you’ve known her longer than i have and she never once mentioned you. there has to be a reason for that. she must not trust you.” he let go of her hands. “or she doesn’t want to scare you. listen, i’m going to tell you some things about me and you’re not going to like them. it started with Yellow herself. i was raised by three amazing women and from a very early age they tought me about religion and how to be a good man...but they also taught me that sometimes good people have to do ugly things. because there are ugy evil people in the world. i dunno if i’ll be forgiven for what i’ve done but i took justice into my hands when the law sat back and did nothing. she didn’t want you to run away because of me and she knew that eventually you’d find out the truth.” Blue looked up at him again. she was disheveled and warn down. “what truth? are you saying you’ve killed before?!” he nodded. “but let me explain.” she pulled her hands away and nodded. “please.” he continued to look her in the eyes as he spoke. “you know a few details already. Yellow came from a really sheltered Hindu family. her mother was very depressed and killed herself when Yellow was seven. Pink was only three and doesn’t remember any of it, but yellow found the body...”    

[stillpartofthisworld]

Synopsis: Angus learns first-hand the risks of his career and begins a new one. Taako isn’t happy.

(I deserve to burn for what I’ve written….)

Story under the cut! Note: Major character death

"You gonna need this gift wrapped?"

Taako snaps out of his daze and brings his attention to the small human girl in front of him. She was holding a book in her hands- the newest installation of the Caleb Cleveland: Kid Cop series. For a moment, Taako wonders why he's there. In a small, cozy bookshop, looking down at a girl who defo needs some face cream, those pimples are just-

"Sir? You alright?"

Oh .

The world finally sews itself back together, memories clicking into place as Taako waves his hand in the universal "no" gesture.

I'm not alright.

"Nah, no gift wrapping for me, hombre. How much is the kid book?"

She tells him and he pays, giving her a tip because that's what he felt like doing today, not because of the understanding look she gives him, or the casual slide of the tissue box that he clearly did not need (he wasn't about to ruin his eyeliner for anything). He gives her a few extra gold and even the name of a good cleanser (it'll do magic, honey, no pun intended-) because that's what he felt like doing as he exited the small shop and put on his sparkling frame sunglasses, even though the sky was overcast with clouds. It was a fine day, he told himself, and he was doing just fine as he headed over to Lucretia’s house.

---

Lucretia's modest cottage is sometimes referred to as a "safe house".

It's a quaint little place, all brick and class-the same things Lucretia herself was probably made out of. Most of the actual property is a green space, filled with forest and meadow and a small greenhouse for Merle's more...interesting specimens. It's also quite close to the Neverwinter Grand Library, Lucretia's only pride and joy on the prime material plane. She spent an unholy amount of time there, only coming home for a change of clothes and to chastise the guests who use her home as a sort of vacation house.

She spends a lot of time at home now.

Taako slips in through the kitchens back door with a key that hangs fashionably around the neck of his hat. It's one of the few copies Lucretia had made for the IPRE crew, along with a few others. Through the years, her home became sort of like the Starblaster all over again, filled with Lup's laughter, Davenport's postcards, Lucretia’s writing, Magnus's hugs, Merle's dances and Barry's stammer. It was what "home" meant to them now, even when they each had an apartment, a bungalow or a lab somewhere else on the continent. It was where they truly came together again and lived, making up for the lost time through closeness and touch and sight.

It was now also home to whispers and deep sighs, which Taako could hear all the way from the other side of the house.

"...worried about him, Magnus. He's been like this since..."

"...seems to be getting a bit better. He was able to get up yesterday, wasn't he?"

"The symptoms aren't...we can't wait for Lup and Barry forever. He can't wait-"

"He's a strong boy, 'Creesh. He already seems to be on the mend."

"So were you. All those years ago, so were you. "

The voice cracks and dissolves into muffled sobs. Taako hears Magnus's footsteps as he gets up and hugs Lucretia tight, as if he could shield her from the fate of the boy that lay in bed a floor above them.

The same boy Taako was going to see now.

The wooden steps didn't creak under his light weight as he sneaks past the pair and tiptoes up the cedar staircase. Even from this distance, he can hear the boy's labored breathing as he fights a losing battle for his life. Each breath, each step assails the wizard with memories, memories of how, exactly, this all came to pass.

The memory of Angus, dirty but whole, screeching and jumping into Taako's arms when they finally land back on the material plane in the Starblaster.

The memory of Angus's face, stricken but resigned, as the crew starts to decide how to restart and rebuild on this broken continent.

The memory of his cherubic, beaming grin as Magnus offers to take him in, with Taako appearing every so often for impromptu magic lessons.

The memory of a boy slowly but surely maturing into a young man, to the point where Taako isn't even sure exactly when Angus came to be his height, or when he was able to cast level eight spells like it was nothing. He, unlike most teenagers, never adopted a sullen or snappy temperament. Taako is almost sad that this never happened. Almost.

The memory of Angus, now seventeen years of age, taking on a case of a mysterious death by apparent poison. He enlists the help of Lup and Barry for this task, reportedly sending them samples of blood and plants every so often.

The memory of Magnus showing Taako the note Angus left him, detailing that he had found the murderer and would be capturing him during a train ride to Rockport. Back soon, he wrote.

The memory of Angus in a hospital, seizing and shivering violently as Merle tries to draw the poison out of his system. The culprit is gone in a wisp of ash and screams, and the authorities try to explain what had happened to a sobbing Magnus and pale Lucretia. The culprit had apparently found a new species of deadly mushroom spores. Barry and Taako both shoot a glance at Magnus.

The memory of Lup sitting Taako down in their room, telling him what they already both knew. The mushroom shares the exact same qualities as the one they had found on another plane a century before, the one Magnus had succumbed to all those lifetimes ago. Angus is not much younger than the IPRE Magnus. Lup reassures him that they are trying everything they can to create a cure. Taako smiles and high fives his sister, digging his feet into the floor in an attempt to stop them from shaking.

The memory of Magnus rushing in and finding Taako curled up in a ball on his chair, dry sobs escaping him as Magnus holds him tight, nearly crushing his ribs and making him forget whether or not he's breathing.

Is he breathing?

Taako takes a breath.

He's standing outside the kid's door now. The door is never shut, never locked in fear of missing something, of missing someone. The room is dark, save for a lamp beside the bed where Angus lay. He's sitting up now, reaching for his glasses in order to make out the small figure that stood at his door frame. They were no longer the wire-rimmed, owl-eyed glasses he had worn in his childhood-these looked professional, rectangular shaped with gold frames and pieces of jade at the temples. That was Taako's gift to him on his sixteenth birthday. How happy he had looked when he looked in the box. How vibrant. How youthful.

The vibrancy he had less than a year ago has been drained from McDonald's very being. The detective looks ghastly pale, with deep purple bags under his eyes even though he had just woken up from sleep. He moves slowly, painfully, deliberately, as if living needed to be choreographed to ensure minimal pain.

Taako moves closer as the boy's eyes focus on him, and his listless features carve themselves into a deliberate smile. "Hello, Sir," he rasps weakly, waving at him with long, skeletal fingers as he grasps for a drink with his other hand, missing the glass on his nightstand by a mile.

Taako waves his wand. The glass gently lowers itself into Angus's outstretched palm, the water from the pitcher floating up from its vessel to fill the glass. Angus smiles and takes a sip, clearing his throat as he settles himself into a cross-legged position. The light green shirt that used to be barely his size now hangs free from his body, his legs still covered by the heavy duvet. He seems to get chills often. It also seems to be summer.

Taako breathes.

"Hey there,kid," he says as he ruffles the kid's hair. "Guess what your dude bought you?" He puts the book behind his back and flashes him a smirk when he sees Angus's face scrunch into a small scowl at his words. "I'm not a kid, sir," he protests, which only makes Taako want to call him a kid even more. "And I already know you got me the next Caleb Cleveland novel. Your hand tapping gives it away.” Angus pauses, bringing up information catalogued in that huge brain of his. “Are you nervous, sir? You always hand tap things when you're nervous.”

Damn. The kid’s dying and can still read him like a book.

Hesnotdyinghesnotdyinghesjustsick-

“Why would I be nervous, bubbleh? I'm just giving you a hint.” He flashes him a sly smile, as if he had planned everything in advance while handing him the book. Angus, to his credit, just rolls his eyes and accepts the gift, his frail arms straining to carry the weight of two pounds of writing. A memory assails the elf-one of Angus challenging a slightly drunk Magnus to a pushup competition and carrying the weight of both Davenport and Merle on his back before collapsing in a heap of laughter and sweat, glasses pushed up to the top of his head. The boy had loved to show off his strength to the rest of them, especially when they treated him like the ten year old they had met so long ago on a train to Rockport. Humans-so quick to age. So quick to die.

But never quite this quick. Never quite so young.

Angus pushes his glasses up his nose and winces uncrossing his legs and letting himself sink farther back into the bed. The book had already been set on his lap, and judging by the dazed yet determined expression the human had, he was set on reading it all before he fell asleep again, something he was now prone to doing (Magnus used to doze off at the most inopportune times when they were on that planet. They thought he would be killed by his sleeping spells before the poison took him). He saw the boy’s hands dance along the cover of the book, excited to read the newest adventure of the character he had strived to be like for years. He also saw the pain and weariness that coursed through his body, as if living needed to be choreographed to minimize pain, and he had stumbled on a number he did not know.

Taako takes a breath.

“Wanna hear a bedtime story kid?”

He casts a feeble Mage Hand, picking the book up from the human’s lap and flipping it open to the first page. He looks up to see Angus staring at him, a myriad of emotions swirling beneath his dark pupils. He could see some happiness, yes; through the way his eyes crinkled at the idea of being read to at such an age, and the way the boy said “Thank you, sir!” as if he had just saved the kid's life.

But mostly, all he saw was weariness.

Angus was tired.

So, so tired.

The thought stays with him as he begins to read aloud, watching the child sink into his bed and slowly close his eyes. The only indication that he was awake was the regular expansion of his chest and the way his mouth quirked upward when Taako uses different voices for characters. After a while, Taako forgets to look at the boy every so often, losing himself between the pages of a book that both of them are too old to read. It's a welcome distraction, and Taako doesn't even notice when the boy's breaths start to even out and deepen.

He does notice his name being whispered from the back of the room.

“Taako?”

He turns around to see Kravitz.

The reaper is still in the smart suit of his profession, the only flashes of colour being in the blood red of his tie and the gold bands that adorned his hair (both which were obviously chosen by none other than Taako himself). He has a clipboard in hand, and he glances down at it briefly before looking back at the wizard. He looks absolutely stricken as he whispers Taako’s name again, causing the elf to put down the novel and tilt his hat backward to see him in full.

“‘'Suuuuup, babe,” he shout-whispers. “You finished work early today.”

Kravitz swallows, his Adams apple bobbing visibly in his throat. “N-not yet, exactly.” His voice still carries a Cockney accent, growing fainter by the day as Lup bullies him about it during work hours. He only uses it on solo missions now. Taako swings his feet and gets off the chair, gently setting the book on Angus's nightstand, not taking his eyes off Kravitz for a second. “Aww,” he cooes, striding over and straightening the reaper’s suit, smoothing the collar as he asks “Did you miss me? Your boss isn’t going to like it if you skimp on work just for lil’ol’me.”

Kravitz looks down at him and for the first time in his life, Taako can't read his facial expression. The reaper brings his hands up to his chest and curls them around the elf’s, sending shivers down his spine and for a second Taako nearly loses his balance, caught in the riptide of both fear and excitement as he watched Kravitz try to find the words to say in a moment he has no name for-

“Taako,” The words are slow, hesitant and Kravitz drops off for a bit before swallowing again and continuing. “Could you cast Blink?”

What?

Taako overrides his confusion with an arrogant eyebrow raise. “That's a spell slot, babe,” he says, splaying his fingers on Kravitz's chest because dammit, that kid was right, I really do tap my fingers - “Mind telling me what for?”

“You’ll know when you cast it.”

The tone is enough to get Taako untangled from his grasp and ready the spell, fear coming over him in a cascade as his eyes begin to close, memories nearly a century old dripping into his brain like ink of monsters-

3

Of eyes-

2

Of darkness-

1

Blink.

The world seems to bleed in front of Taako’s eyes, slowly yet instantly losing their color and tangibility around him. His body does a quick 360, an instinct instilled in him from years of scanning, spotting, scaring, running-

He does not find the Hunger (how could he, how could he).

He finds something much, much worse.

“Hello, Sir.”

Angus McDonald sits on the edge of his bed.

The boy detective looks better than he has in months. His sickly posture and demeanor are nonexistent, and he slides off the bed and walks toward Taako with the ease a young man should carry, as if living was a wild dance without choreography. His glasses are gone too, although he does paw at his shirt for a second, looking for them although he doesn’t really need them now, does he? He comes and stands in front of Taako, hands in his pockets and a sheepish grin on his face.

“Ango?” Taako looks at him, blinking. “You can’t be here.Did you use a spell slot in that condition, kid?”

Angus looks at his mentor, the sheepish smile watering down into something a bit sadder, a bit regretful. “I didn’t need to this time, Sir. Apparently, you can Blink into the ethereal plane...or you can just die.” His gaze shifts away from Taako, settling on a figure behind him. “Isn’t that right, Kravitz?”

Taako turns and sees his boyfriend in all his monochrome glory, nervously glancing between the two mortals. He looks a bit guilty, Taako realizes. Like he had known this was going to happen. Kravitz sees the realization dawning on his face and sighs, flipping pages on his clipboard. “Angus McDonald, seventeen years of age, dead by poison aftereffects.” He looks at Angus, who nods imperceptibly and Kravitz clears his throat to read the last line. “Slated to become a reaper under the guidance of Her Worship, the Raven Queen.”

Silence.

“Ok, what .”

Taako gestures at Angus. “This kid. Is seventeen. Seventeen! That isn't even half a century yet! And you're telling me he’s dead?”

“Sir, I did die of poison.”

“You were getting better, Ango. I heard Lucy talking about you downstairs.”

“She's certainly not going to be happy with a dead body in her house, is she?” Angus smirks a bit and Taako stares at him, exasperated.

“Is this a phase for you, kid?” Taako leans in and pokes Angus’s chest, his heart dropping as his finger actually meets flesh. He keeps going. “Are you finally going all emo on us? Death isn't a good thing, boy, take it from someone who’s been there, done that .”

“Hey,” Kravitz mutters, but Taako ignores him.

“Listen,” His voice drops, his voice drops in that way it only does when he's negotiating, when he's bargaining, when he's desperate. “The Raven Queen owes us, like, a bajillion favours. I'm sure we can get her to overlook a soul.”

“And go back into my body?” A flash of pain goes through Angus’s eyes, and for a second Taako regrets not thinking of all the suffering this child has gone through in his fragile human body. “No, thank you.”

“We still have Barry’s body-making thingamajig.” He could practically hear Barry now, chiding him and telling him to “stop referring to the blah-blah-blah as a thingamajig!, but the thought of his family still gives him a small dose of confidence. They had outwitted death over a hundred times; they could do it once more.

“That takes months to work.” Angus points out. (Kravitz mutters something about breaking the whole damn rulebook, but they both ignore him.) He's about to open his mouth again when Angus puts a hand on his shoulder. “Taako,” He says, and for some reason Angus suddenly looks much, much older than seventeen. “Thank you for thinking about me, I-I really appreciate it. But I've known that I've been dying for weeks now. I've settled my accounts and everything-my will is in my nightstand drawer, take that to Lucretia by the way-and I got Kravitz to secure me a job so, so I'm not really gone, sir. I'll just be a while.”

Taako feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

He's felt it before, when he saw Magnus taken over by darkness as the Starblaster flew away all those years ago. He felt it every single time his sister died, when she became something other with her lover to save them all. He felt it multiple times here, even when his mind was split and his memories fractured. He felt it every single damn time he looked at Lucretia's face.

“Don't patronize me, kid,” he mutters and knocks his hand off of his shoulder, tipping his hat down to shade his face. “Fine, go. Don't blame me if Lup makes you work your ass off.”

Angus is silent for a beat before breaking into a beaming grin and enveloping Taako in a bear hug. The elf goes stiff in his arms but allows this to happen, trying to remember the paper-and-blood smell the detective had when he was alive and ignoring Kravitz and his nervous habit of twirling his scythe.  “Don't worry about me, sir!” he says and Taako nearly says “Screw it,” and shoots Kravitz for even daring to take this one good thing away from him but he doesn't, he merely nods and says “Good luck with reaper training, homie,”

And just like that he's gone, walking side by side with Kravitz and the spell wears off, Taako appearing back onto the material plane 10 feet from where he cast, sinking back into the chair beside Angus’s dead body. It's only been minutes, primary flaccidity already setting in but other than that he looks as if he's just sleeping.

Taako stares at him for a long time.

He should probably move, go downstairs and tell the rest of them the news, give Lucretia his will and assure them that he was coming back to annoy them all as a reaper in probably, like, a week but he just sits there, stewing in the cool darkness of the room before a knock echoes and Lucretia comes in, balancing a tray of food in one hand.

“Angus?” she says and stops when she sees Taako. “Taako? What are you-” She reads his expression and her face goes slack, hands moving up to her mouth as the food tray hits the floor with a loud crash.

“No.” She says, and the sorrow in her voice is like a jolt of electricity, racing down his spine and restarting his heart and mind as they both process the still body lying on the bed.

“No, is he-?”  

“He's a reaper, now, Lucy, calm down.” He’s by her side in an instant, holding her by the elbows because she'll crumple to the ground if he doesn't, just as she did every year Magnus died on the Starblaster even though she knew he'd be back and dammit, he's feeling a bit shaky as well.

“Were you-” she swallows, drawing her eyes away from the bed and towards him, and in that moment he felt nothing but pity and compassion towards her, like all those times when they would drink tea and mourn together in those horrible cycles where both Magnus and Lup died, the vitality of the group drained with their nonexistence.

“Were you there for it?”

“The kid knew his time was coming, Lucretia. He even left a will for you, we talked in his ghostsona.” She chokes back a sob and he sighs, rubbing her back. “You did everything you could, Lucy,” he mutters, feeling the vibrations of the wood floor as Magnus rushes up the stairs, probably to investigate the loud crash. “You always do,” he says and suddenly Magnus is there, he's there and he's staring at Angus and it looks like he's reliving his own death all over again. He reaches for the two of them and they let him envelop them in his arms, all of them shaking as they take in and truly realize that death wasn't something they had the luxury of running from anymore.

-

He's back a week after his funeral, already able to hold a scythe casually in one hand and look through files with the other. He's back and he looks healthy and happy, talking about his new job looking through the special cases that hadn't been solved yet (“He's already Big Momma’s fave,” Lup teases and Angus blushes before clapping back, “Is it because I can actually do my job?”. The whole group explodes into laughter, even as Lup pulls up her sleeves and Barry has to physically hold her back from fighting him.).

He's back, and he's happy and Taako tells himself that's all that matters, but when the boy reaper puts his arms around him and he's cold, unbearably cold Taako nearly crumples in his arms and cries, wanting to tell him that he was sorry, he should have protected him somehow, he should have saved him somehow from death but he just smirks and calls him “boy icepack” before retiring into the kitchen and whipping up some mean ceviche.

Because sometimes, it's all you can do.

[xhostcom]

The Best SEO Plugins for WordPress Newbies

Wordpress sites can no longer afford to ignore SEO.

Nearly all internet activity starts with search: 93% of all Internet experiences start with a search engine and 40% of ecommerce traffic across the world comes from search. Most businesses have recognized this and adapted accordingly — 61% of companies named SEO as their biggest priority last year. Sure, you can generate leads with PPC campaigns and pay to be a top result. But 80% of people say they ignore the advertisements in search results. Take a moment to analyze your own habits. When you want to do something online, where do you start? If you’re anything like me and the majority of internet users, you start with a search engine. You type in some keywords or phrases and probably don’t scroll past the first few results before clicking on a site. Sounds about right then, that the first five SERPs receive 67.6% of all clicks. In short, you need to be prioritizing SEO and be a top result if you want to have any chance of driving organic traffic to your website. But if you aren’t an SEO expert, where do you begin? Fortunately, there are plenty of great SEO tools available. If you have a WordPress site, there are a number plugins you can install that will really help you out. Which ones? That’s exactly why I developed this list of the best SEO plugins for WordPress newbies. It details the top 8 plugins and how they’ll help you improve your SEO. 1. Yoast SEO The Yoast SEO WordPress plugin has been around for more than a decade. Over five million websites have installed it, making it one of the most popular options. One of the best parts of Yoast SEO is the ability to create and manage your XML sitemaps. This is much easier than having to code your sitemap on your own, especially if you don’t have much of a technical background. Yoast SEO helps you identify and avoid duplicate content, so you won’t have to worry about being penalized by Google, and it offers templates for titles and meta-descriptions, which will make your pages more appealing in SERPs. You can install the Yoast SEO plugin for free to access all of these features and benefits. But there is also a premium version for $89 annually that gives you upgrades like: Page previews on different platforms Suggestions for internal linking Redirect management options 24/7 support No advertisements At the very least, I recommend trying the free Yoast SEO plugin for WordPress. 2. The SEO Framework The SEO Framework plugin is another great option for you to consider. I like this WordPress plugin so much because it’s built for smaller enterprises as opposed to massive corporations. Its interface blends naturally when integrated with WordPress, so it feels as though it’s supposed to be there, as opposed to appearing obtrusive. Here’s a look at one of the better features with this plugin. The plugin offers a colored scale, showing you exactly how to optimize each post for search engines. All you need to do is hover your cursor over the bars in the SEO column to reveal notes for how to specifically improve certain pages. As you can see from the screenshot above, this note explains how the title can be improved for SEO purposes. The SEO Framework plugin is free and doesn’t have any ads or upsells to pester you while you’re working. Overall, I’m happy with the way this lightweight plugin performs. 3. SEO Squirrly SEO Squirrly is designed specifically for people who aren’t experts in SEO. Other plugins have different ways to access and implement SEO suggestions, but SEO Squirrly brings this to the next level. Take a look at its live SEO assistant feature. Here’s how it works. You just have to input the desired keyword that you’re trying to rank for with the article you’re writing. As you write, green lights and popup suggestions will appear in real time explaining how you can work that keyword into your content. Imagine having an SEO expert standing over your shoulder while you’re writing — that’s what you get with SEO Squirrly. The content reports are another great feature that’s ideal if you’re outsourcing writers or using multiple writers across your company to produce content. These reports give writers additional insight about SEO based on what they wrote. SEO Squirrly also has a tool to analyze your competitors’ content, so you can find ways to outrank their pages. You’ll also be able to track your progress on a weekly basis. 4. Broken Link Checker Google algorithms will penalize you for broken links, so the Broken Link Checker WordPress plugin is extremely valuable for your website. If you’re like me, you have tons of internal and outbound links in your blog content. You can control the pages on your own site, but the status of pages on other websites is out of your hands. Here’s an example. Say you used a quote, image, or statistic from another website in one of your blog posts. But for one reason or another, that other site got rid of that page or merged it with another piece of content without including a redirect. Now you have a broken link on your site. The Broken Link Checker plugin will identify any broken link on your site and make it easy for you to remove, edit, or dismiss the problem with just a couple of clicks. Not only is this great for SEO, but it’s also important in terms of user experience. You don’t want your website visitors to click a link to a broken page. 5. All In One Schema Rich Snippets All In One Schema Rich Snippets will improve the way your pages appear in search engine results with rich snippets, which are a brief and more interactive summary of your page. They contain things like pricing, photos, star ratings, or reviews. This popular schema markup plugin can help you add things such as: Videos Articles Recipes Events People Products Articles Rich snippets benefit all websites, but they are especially important for ecommerce sites. Users won’t have to go through as many steps to read a review of your products. They can see the star-rating from the search engine results page. Adding rich snippets will tell search engines exactly what information to include in the search results. 6. Rank Math Rank Math allows you to manage all of your on-page SEO needs for every type of content on your website. This WordPress plugin is so effective because it’s integrated with Google Search Console, so you’ll see all of the important information directly from your administrative dashboard in WordPress. Rank Math also lets you manage meta tags for things like: noindex nofollow noarchive This WordPress plugin will tell you which keywords you’re ranking for, and also show you how many impressions you’re getting for various searches. Rank Math also identifies any errors that Google sees on your site. All of this information is easy to access, read, and digest. Furthermore, Rank Math has features for: XML sitemaps Rich snippets Internal linking recommendations 404 monitoring Redirects Local SEO Image SEO Rank Brain is definitely one of the best SEO plugins for WordPress. It’s great for those looking for a one-stop-shop for all of these features. 7. SEMrush SEO Writing Assistant The SEMrush SEO Writing Assistant plugin for WordPress isn’t as widely used as some of the other plugins we’ve looked at so far, but it’s still a top choice to consider. SEMrush has one of the best online toolkits available for SEO. The brand is a big name in the SEO industry, so I definitely wanted to include its plugin on this list. In order for this plugin to work, you need to have an account with SEMrush, which you can register for free if you don’t have one. The free account will give you access to just one template, so you’ll probably want to upgrade to the premium plan to use this plugin. The plugin analyzes your content and gives you scores based on how SEO-friendly the writing is. You’ll see text suggestions that will explain how to improve your content for SEO purposes. With the writing assistant, you can also add your target keywords. The plugin will offer recommendations for you based on those keywords. For a great SEO WordPress plugin other websites aren’t really taking advantage of, definitely consider the SEO Writing Assistant by SEMrush. 8. All in One SEO Pack The All in One SEO Pack is well-known and popular. It has more than two million active installations on WordPress. As the name implies, it’s another “all in one” plugin for your SEO needs. One of the reasons why it’s so popular is it’s clean and easy-to-navigate dashboard. The essential features of All in One SEO Pack are free, but you can upgrade to a premium version for $57 per year. If you own multiple websites, you may want to consider a business license, which lets you use this plugin on up to 10 sites for $97 annually. You can even purchase an agency license for $419 per year to use the plugin on an unlimited number of sites. With that said, if you have a basic blog or startup, the free version will likely meet your needs. It’s great for beginners, but I know plenty of advanced WordPress users who use this plugin as well. It’s probably the most similar to Yoast SEO, which we talked about earlier. The biggest difference between the two plugins is the interface and pricing options for organizations of different sizes. Conclusion Your website needs to prioritize SEO, that's an absolute must today. I wouldn't expect you to become an SEO expert overnight. But you should at least be taking advantage of some of the SEO tools available online. If you have a WordPress website, there are countless plugins at your disposal. However, I think it’s best to focus on the top eight that I’ve covered above. There’s something for everyone on this list. Some of these plugins are for specific SEO features, while others cover a wider range of SEO elements. If you enjoyed this post, why not check out this article on SEO Link Building! Post by Xhostcom Wordpress & Digital Services, subscribe to newsletter for more! Read the full article

[lorainelaneyblog]

Letter to the Prime Minister

Dear Prime Minister Trudeau,

I am the woman who was tortured over a period of years, up to, and including, the present, with chemicals, noise machines, fly pasts, alterations of objects in my apartments, plants, bugs, damaged furniture, theft, sirening, stalking, a tasing, and a shooting, by the Vancouver, Toronto, and Ottawa police departments.

Further, I was nearly a casualty of a Carlington landlord, who assaulted me with paint fumes, in the apartment where I still live, and I believe the apartment to harbour the remaining toxicities. 

Further, this landlord, of which I speak, assaulted me with gasoline, and plastics, so that I could not breathe well for some years.

Further, I am of the belief that many people infringed on my copyright for Bros Before Hos, The Equality Apocalypse.

Further, I have been a victim of the mental health system, including pinching of my fingernails, a sprained ankle, confiscation of foot wear, when I had open wounds on my feet, being refused soap, and being told to use the alcohol cleanser when I had open wounds on my hands. I was tied down, denied an adequate diet, denied food supplements, inadequately supplied with toilet paper and towels, and finally gasolined, again, by someone in the hospital.

Further, I was instructed to push down the garbage, since my chemical affection caused frequent trips to bathroom. 

Further, I was exposed to toxic cleaning fluids, and further, I was assaulted with Haldol gaseous. I awoke to hear my roommate gasping for breath, as I was. Once it was naphtha, or something like it. 

Further, once, several nurses stormed the bathroom, and kept telling me not to shower so often.

Further, upon admittance, a single vial of blood drawn caused a chemical overload, nearly causing my death.

Further, in the PSA, I was given a bed pan to go to the toilet in the room, on the floor. I was never asked if I wanted to use the bathroom.

Further, a security guard, female, watched me toileting, and conducting rituals, to stay alive, throughout the night.  

Further, there was untreated rashing, from chemicals, all over my body. I was given hydrocortisone, which I thought would aggravate it. A glaxal based cream was helpful.

As for the police, the chemicals were aviation gas, the propellant for dry ice, and what I believe to be, white gas, mustard gas, and hydrogen gas. Also, I am, currently, this day, being gasolined in my apartment at #15 - 1481 Morisset Avenue, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.

Further, several substances have been used in this very apartment, over the past four years, in addition to substances by the landlord, by the police, I believe, since access to all my apartments would be difficult to achieve. They include joke shop chemicals, like cat urine, garbage, and exhaust, also gasoline, it’s lighter smelling than real gasoline, what I believe to be an industrial adhesive, which caused a slight aching sensation in my sinuses, as well as paint thinners, at least two kinds, one made me smell funny. On that topic, there have been times over the past years, when I could smell like a toxic waste dump, it’s chemical, and it comes out in the urine. Plastics, I have been blowing out of my nose for four years. In fact, you can’t blow your nose anymore, the air sticks, I don’t know how else to describe it.

Further to the plastics, the fear in shortness of breath is very real. I found, and this is very private, but some people know, rest assured, that I would find, as a sex worker, if someone was on top of me, I wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

Further to the plastics, again, they adhere to the inside of the nostrils, and, perhaps, sinuses, causing nose bleeds, though I was using drugs in my nose, a bit, at the time.

Further, even the joke shop chemicals cause headaches, though not sinus pain.

Further, noise machines have been installed in adjacent apartments at times, in a hostel, on a roof top, and in a man hole. These provide such a grinding sound, so as to compel one to move.

To elaborate on the noise machines, it would be hard to compare the noise with the surrounding construction noise, but it would be all night, compelling me, along with the inundation, with the propellant for dry ice, through the penthouse fan vent, to move to the small bedroom where I preferred to see clients, saving the queen bed for myself. The irritation I felt at paying $1950 per month and being unable to utilize the master bedroom and ensuite cannot be overstated.

Further, it was upon making this move that I heard what I suspected were officers on the adjacent roof, talking, and, presumably watching me through infrared cameras.

Further, there were fly pasts, including small planes, and helicopters, large planes, up to 747′s and larger, I believe, on a flight path, but loud, and deviating. One incident involved the chemical bombing of my open windows and a concurrent chemical bombing of the penthouse, at the time, bathroom fan vent.

This continued, in Vancouver, through fan vents, for several years, including shorter stints, with less intensity, in Ottawa and Toronto.

The hovering and fly pasts continued too. Sometimes there is a dump of aviation gas. Even this past summer.

Once, I wrote a nasty letter to Global News complaining about the traffic helicopters, and, that night, a helicopter hovered for over three hours.

Once, a friend of mine was helicoptered too, for three hours.

The disruption of the planes and helicopters cannot be overstated. They are loud, and annoying.

Further, there were intentional air craft simmerings, on the water front in Vancouver, once by Cobras and in Kanata, at a small airport, I believe, well within earshot of my building, causing ear pain, and extreme annoyance. 

Further, the police entered my apartment a number of times, tilting pictures, putting in bugs, the live kind, once putting an old pair of 50 Cent tickets in a book I was reading, confusing me immensely, once putting a green glow worm in my kale.

Further, there were a number of thefts, and what I believe to be called exchanges, of my belongings, so many over the years that I still have memories of things that have been missing for years, including my only two pairs of glasses.

It is my belief, on that topic, that my townhouse, at the time, in Kanata, was entered while I was sleeping, as, at first, the arm of my newer glasses, and the screw, lay beside the glasses, themselves, in the morning. And then both pairs were missing the following morning.

And finally, the old, ugly, scratched, and discoloured pair of glasses turned up again.

Further to exchanges, almost every pair of Victoria’s Secret panties were exchanged, and it took me some time, again, sick as I was, to realize that they were not mine. This is disgusting. I could have got a disease from them.

Further to my mental health experience, blankets are shorted, leaving one cold, I was a little bit attacked by my roommate, and nothing was done. I was a victim of unlawful confinement by a young man I let kiss me, he would entrap me in the bathroom, and I would beg to leave. Further, the same young man would hump me unsuspectingly in front of the microwave every morning, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Nothing was done. He was sent home. I did several months more.

After my transfer to The Royal, it was decided to place me on Seroquel, I have no idea why. I was perfectly calm, as opposed to when they were going to take more blood, I was calling out, “You’re gonna kill me! You’re gonna kill me!” Further, the security guard bent my wrist, and I called out, “You’re gonna break my arm! You’re gonna break my arm!” I almost died on Seroquel. One night, my legs were kicking uncontrollably, and I was falling off the toilet, sick as I was.

Further, I have since been told, by my psychiatrist, that there was liver damage. Further, I am blamed for drinking beer.

Further, my apartment keys, which the arresting officer showed me were placed in my wallet, disappeared in emergency, and also, money was missing, about two hundred dollars, and also, change.

To further illuminate the sprained ankle, I was dumped into a transfer chair, while engaging in passive resistance. I limped around the hospital for two months. On that note, that was also when my thumb nails were pinched. I was obviously conscious, as my eyes were flickering.

I was sufficiently depleted by each hospital stay, I came to realize I would lose eight pounds with each stay. Further, the medications gave rise to many side affects, such as deep wrinkles, frown lines, sore feet, exhaustion, sexual dysfunction, and agitation. 

Further, with respect to the police, my computer has been hacked for several years. I believe material has been stolen. The screen jiggles up and down almost always, and, most recently, side to side. The hacking also involved the theft of four hundred pages of original material, and, maybe, the installation of some porn on a roommates computer, which ended up on mine, as we were connected at the time, and she placed it there. It included a scene of beastiality, which I believe to be illegal. It has since been removed, parts of it, anyway. 

The jiggling makes it impossible, at times, to use my computer for blogging, and email. I no longer write in Word, since I can’t afford it. I would prefer to, as some of my work is private, but I see no point, as I can’t hide anything, and I’m a drug user, so all my money goes to that.

On that note, I believe that my phone calls are tapped since, a few times, during a drug deal, a police vehicle happens to appear, though Carlington is a busy neighbourhood for such crimes, at least it was. 

Further, in an apartment on West 11th was where the tasing took place. It was not painful, as I understand it to be, because it was through the wall, but it caused my body to tense into a curl, and vibrate, and I knew what it was.

Further, once, I believe there was an obstacle course set up for me, while I was driving. I would even guess that two police officers, a man and a woman, on bikes, sports bikes, not ten speeds, who drove quickly and haphazardly, in a diagonal, actually, across the middle of a residential street, were wearing dark contact lenses and grey tone clothing to appear evil.

Further, on another occasion, a driver pulled out right in front of me, while I was driving along 12th Avenue in Vancouver, unpredictably, and late, after looking right at me.

I believe I was on camera frequently, even infrared camera. This was embarrassing for me. I would notice responses to my movements in the form of laughter and conversation, even, once anyway, two phone calls. 

Further, sometimes officers, as I believe, will throw rocks or something up under the appliances, disturbing me at night. Further, they will knock on the wall, causing me stress, and a reason to go check the door. Sometimes, there is a noise at night, which I believe to be exclusively to frighten me.

Further, I believe the officers still enter because of tilted pictures. Also, there was a spatula, missing for years, which was replaced recently. The same thing happened to a foot file.

An Ikea quilt deserves special mention, it was exchanged, and I was left freezing under an old technology quilt, I suppose, with black feathers, freezing. I am still cold, because whatever that landlord used to jack the heat, stayed with the apartment, whether it’s dirt in the lines or what have you, it’s seventeen degrees, borne out by a call to the city last spring, after freezing for four winters.

Further, and I take this moment to apologize for the haphazard nature of this letter, but such as it is, I’m sorry, Prime Minister Trudeau, I also experienced a few moments of deafness, due to construction noise, in the downtown eastside, prior to the 2010 Olympics, as well as weeping, due, specifically, to a certain machine, and frequent migraines.

In the hospital, after getting arrested under the mental health act for refusing to leave Vancouver City Hall at closing time, I was diagnosed as having “somatic delusions.”

Upon arrival in the downtown eastside, in a higher end apartment on Water Street, I was the victim of acidizing, not knowing what it was at the time, my father said to me, “What’s wrong with your face?” It turned my skin yellowy brown, and rough for a period of several months. My skin, to this day, peels, and is rough.

Once, I was hanging a picture, and then went out for a walk. A truck licked up my heels, and when I returned home, the picture was askew by eight inches.

Further to the deafness, I had gone to visit my father when I noticed that his voice was a whisper, frightened, I said, “Dad! Dad! Your voice is a whisper.”

Once, when at 550 Taylor, there were two fake fires. I heard later that someone had lit a jacket and two phone books on fire, and not been evicted. At the time, due to the chemical bombing, I phoned the security desk, and said the following, “I know you’re involved in this,” and was told this, “You can’t prove anything.”

Much later, in Ottawa, while living, for a short while, in a townhouse in Kanata, where the police had taken up residence in the attic to white gas me, I believe, I was shot at. I have a tiny bit of experience with guns from army cadets, and, though I have never seen a round fly, I believe it was a .22 caliber, it fluttered by me, about a meter behind me, as I trudged through the snow late, about 10:30 PM, at night.

Further to the damage to furniture, besides annoying nicks and scratches, the pins were bent on a chest, and on my sofa, causing them to shift dangerously, and a wheel was bashed off a table, leaving a rough metal edge, and leaving the table permanently unstable. I believe that the stove was chipped, in a relatively new building. 

Further, it is my belief that something, perhaps gasoline, as I’ve heard from God, was added to my vodka, causing extreme discomfort, in my bladder, for seven months.

Further, I would like to emphasize that whenever a client was present in my home, all assaults would cease. I could not prove anything, ever. 

During one phase of the torture, I began writing what I call the Armageddon letters, including, in one, the suggestion of a “whispering campaign,” which, to me, was the only way anyone could help, as I felt, since my building emptied out, that anyone who spoke for me, or, complained about the environment, would be done too, with white gas, I felt. This effort was to no avail, and created further vulnerability.

Further to the fake fires, in one, the stairwell was filled with smoke, and the other stairwell housed a massive shit. I’ve heard of shit from fire fighters, in the boots of female would be fire fighters, so I wondered if they had become involved. 

When I called the police to report the gases, I was told immediately, “We’re not coming out.”

Further, I am of the sincere belief that I have been channel blocked for years. I noticed it first about the age of thirty three, as I phoned Shaw in Vancouver and asked for CNN, which I never received, nor the BBC. CNN looped a weather story. I forget what was on the BBC. In addition, though I believe I have always been, since, a victim of this, channel blocking, it was made clear to me at this address, as, first, though I had yet to pay for cable, the English channels disappeared from a small TV given to me by a client, and then the channel channel disappeared, leaving only French stations.

On this note, when my things arrived from storage, in a rage from chemical affection, calmly, however, I threw my large TV out the window, and served five and a half months under the mental health act at both the Queensway-Carleton, and The Royal.

On the topic of the chemicals, the spot under my nose was burned red, and bubbly, though not exactly blisters, more just round and red. Also, my skin was blotchy. 

Further to the landlord who tried to kill me, he also used bleach and birch sap, I believe it is, which caused coughing. He would also, regularly, take a shit on the roof, near or in the fan vents, causing the smell to spread through the suite. It is my belief that he would also use semen and shit and boil it on the roof, placing it in the fan vents. I understand e. Coli has an airborne quality, and this worries me too.

In Toronto, in an effort to escape the torture in Vancouver, and also as evidence of call tapping, I was about to sign a lease when, that night, there was a gas used in the hostel, and a noise machine too. This caused me to move again, closer to family, who have since taken up an opportunity to live in [ ], leaving me alone again.

It is my belief that I have no allies at all. I walk the streets for errands, and for exercise, a bit, and nobody looks at me anymore, unless they are laughing. This is my home now. And I have no one. And I have no money either to save myself from ridicule, and ostracization. Nobody looks at me. I’m not that old. I’m not that ugly. But this is how it is now.

To return to the green glow worm, though I was suspicious that the police were entering because of picture tilting, they would always choose one picture, where I ate my dinner, and it was right against the furnace, so that I would wonder if it was vibrating itself sideways. The green glow worm was on a cookie sheet of cooked kale, and despite my suspicion, the truth escaped me. I ate the kale around it, as I was being pushed out of that apartment, and was exhausted and hungry from working seven days a week in massage parlours.

Further, also, once there was a massive cockroach, and once there was a BC spider, when I first arrived in Ottawa, that is.

Once, I confronted the officer whom I thought was responsible for the majority of the chemical torture on West 11th, saying, “Why are you torturing me?” And he only snorted. 

Further, once, I was doing laundry, and, on that note, the dryer was gasolined once, and a man raced in, looked right at me, and walked out. I believe the police also exhausted up the parking garage a few times, right next to the laundry, which I would do daily.

Further, I suspected, at any rate, thought, that I had noticed many cars stalking me while I was running on the canal. The cars were very similar in appearance, older, and small, like hatchbacks or something, causing me to wonder if police officers would have a second car for this purpose, for the purpose of crimes, Prime Minister Trudeau.

Further, in Vancouver, I noticed that a bird call was installed along my running route. I could hear it whirring. On that note, bird calls were also used around my apartment, and, even, possibly, at this apartment, a few years ago.

I have neglected to mention that I was both stalked and sirened all the time, even when I was out, even out with a favoured client, even being helicoptered or planed with him. Once, I was planed in a neighbouring small town where family were living at the time. And once I was planed when visiting a friend in [ ].

Having said that there was never any corroboration, there was once. It had become apparent to me that a din would ensue the moment that my client and myself turned to each other to have sex. Once the din was so obvious, that we both remained silent for some time. The din included sirens, planes, helicopters, beeping garbage trucks, and drive bys in general. I was right on the lane.

Further to one of my mental health stays, I was, once, after fleeing medication, locked in a room with no toilet for three and a half days. It smelled of piss.

I believe I was the subject of gossip by nurses, once over hearing a nurse declaring, “sexual grandiosity.”

At one mental health stay, I noticed the tea had been removed. At the desk, I was told, “You don’t need three tea bags.” 

I had specific, I felt, tampering with my food, once, believe, my cranberry juice was replaced with communion wine, and, these are the worst, two pieces of white fish tasted like moldy plant pot soil. I had to spit them out. ALL of the meat caused my ovaries, and bladder, pain.

At one stay, I was denied walks, in the form of being left out of the timing for leaving. Once, I signed up, and was not collected. I would see the walking group forming and not be invited. I know this is protocol, from other hospitals.

This seems petty, but the plentiful cereal at night was replaced by humous and crackers or a tiny yoghurt.

This brings to mind incidences which occurred nightly at one hospital, I would, despite the frequent urination caused by my chemical affection, be encouraged to drink “a little more” water with my nightly medication. I begged and pleaded, and the encouragement only continued.

My room was moved repeatedly. Once, I asked to be moved away from a shitter, and I was moved, only to be moved again the next day.

This brings to mind another set of complaints. This time, at the shelter. I was chased for being naked, right into my room, by a staff member. A woman from the street was plaintive, asking for something, I thought it was a blanket, and the response was sarcastic, and unrelenting. After being told to turn in paraphernalia and bottles, I handed in a beer can, and was locked out for three hours. I missed curfew once, sitting at McDonald’s, and my bed was stripped of all my carefully washed linens and blankets. The sweater that I had been using as a pillow was taken too.

Further, this is the kicker, I had had one appointment with that landlord, and my housing worker at the time, and I was about to sign the lease the next day, and I was moved from a single room where I had been staying for a few months, to a triple. That day, I was sick from, I believe, a bout of salmonella. Several social workers stood at the door saying my name repeatedly, the ambulance was called, and then the police. At one point, the accountant came into the room, and shoved the dresser so hard that it bent the pins on my nightlight. I showed the police. The police helped me move many garbage bags full of things into the new room.

There were two occasions when I had to get up early for appointments, and, both times the hot water was turned off.

Recently, gasoline was sprayed outside my window, at night, so I had to get up, after a nap, and wash all my sheets and pillow cases, or change them anyway, and wash my body, as it was summer, and I was naked, and, I understand, from my helper in heaven, Patrick Crean, that more would have absorbed into the body, without coverings, like when you pump your gas.

The most recent assault was with gasoline, directly into the apartment.

Recently, I was removed from my Community Treatment Order, and yet I am still compelled to take medication. I don’t understand this. I actually consider it to be blackmail, the way I’m coerced by the threat of being placed back on the Community Treatment Order, should I fail to comply “voluntarily”. Further, I find the shot in the rump to be extremely undignifying.  

Further to my mental health stays, at one hospital I was strapped to the bed five times, with what I perceived to be dirty restraints, against my bare genitals. It was hazardous to be forced into lying down for long periods because of the need for the toilet. Further, on one occasion, I was exhausted and stumbling for three days from, I believe, one dose of Valium.

Further to my brief tenancy at a townhouse in Kanata, there was a home invasion. It was almost surreal, as I was so frightened that I was praying, and God led me down to the basement, and I could hear someone running around the second and third floors.

Further to that time, I was arrested under the mental health in a most disruptive way. First of all, I had no idea I was being considered for arrest, second, I was in the bathtub when the officers entered, the female officer telling me brusquely to dress. Thirdly, a former “crime” was cited as a reason for the arrest, an incident where I had become lost in my new neighbourhood, and was sitting in a parked car, albeit illegally, I was not charged, but only driven back home.

I was subjected to four years of stalking by non-police fans, I knew who they were, but would not say their names, feeling responsible, in part, for my own silly behaviours, such as an offensive tee shirt, and a gang bang contest.

The stalking involved throwing rocks at my building. Once, pennies were scattered around the entrance to one of my apartment buildings, also dimes. I don’t know who all was involved at times. When I first noticed fan activity, they were calling my name in the downtown eastside. At the same time, I felt I hadn’t a friend in the world.

Once, I went for a jog, only to discover the entire neighbourhood looking at me over the previous night’s hovering helicopter. 

Once, at St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver, I was not permitted to return to my home in Ottawa, the stipulation was that I had to find my own psychiatrist. I was lucky to find one, having to call several individuals.

Prior to that, the reason for my admittance, was that I confronted a family member about some memories of rape as a child, only to be bruised on the arm, wrestled to the floor, and later arrested for refusing to speak. The fact of the matter is, I did not turn a trick in my mother’s apartment. I had sex with a client, but was not paid, as we had an arrangement.

In Ottawa, I could tell men were sharing video of me, because I saw a reaction from someone I’d never seen. There was a rash of clients wanting to take video. 

Further to the single room that I stayed in, for a period of time, at the shelter. This room, unlike the others, was dirty. The sink smelled of urine, the corner had splatters of vomit and, maybe, shit, and all of the walls had been written on in red. I cleaned the room mercilessly with Lysol, only to be turfed out of it, for only two days, just to inconvenience me, I felt.

Further to that room, it overlooked two restaurants, and I asked for curtains to no avail, eventually hanging a blanket I found on the street, and washed, on one side. The mirror, hung unevenly by the contractor, was most welcome.

Further to the landlord who tried to kill me with paint, allow me to illuminate that this onslaught involved hours upon hours of paint fumes, through the open windows and the fan vents, giving rise to constant vomiting, in rituals, to stay alive, including the pounding of water, moldy, from the tap, and one episode of unconsciousness resulting in white drool from the mouth.

Further, this landlord failed to provide heat for all of October, November, and December that year.

Further, I had to walk from Morisset Avenue to Preston Street four times, each day, in an attempt to pick up my ODSP cheque, and was finally accused of cheque fraud by a clerk holding two pieces of paper, one with a photocopy of my signature. I had signed many cheques that summer, at the bank, from the shelter. I left, quickly. The following month, begging, again, for my cheque, my address was recited, and it was incorrect, so I asked, “How could I commit cheque fraud on a cheque I never received?” The response was incoherent. 

The last day of walking, I went unconscious for about two days, and couldn’t walk when I woke up. I soon discovered that the pee can I had been using, to avoid further chemical contamination from the painted bathtub, had been turned into a shit can by, I assume, the landlord, and he had also used all of my toilet paper, and my torn newsprint, and it was thrown everywhere, all over the can and the bag I was shitting in, again to avoid further contamination from the bathroom.

Further, he placed an LED nightlight beside my “toilet.”

Years ago, at the start of my stint in prostitution, I applied for worker’s compensation after quitting a job, which was disallowed at the time, and was asked about my prostitution income, and was told, “Can’t you just do that?”

My doctor, my medical doctor, refused to give me a note stating that my chemical toxicity would make having an attached garage a terrible thing for me, should I ever be placed in housing. 

I was recently quoted a twelve year wait from this place where I almost died from toxicity. 

Though it is not illegal, the officer who, I believed, was white gassing me on West 11th, shook a dusty rag out on me, while I was cleaning my new used car.

I don’t know the law, but I received one strike and lost my driver’s license over a drug seizure.

Once, another landlord bellowed my name in the hall two weeks before the rent was due, because my roommate had moved out.

Once, a third landlord, of the other apartment I was pushed out of, banged on the door, calling, “I know you’re in there.”

Each time, I’m so traumatized by the move that I forget who my friends are. Once, my mother and I didn’t speak for two years.

The first eviction involved an oven that took six months to fix. Later, in this apartment, the oven took a year to fix. A faulty oven is most depressing.

I have a call in to the city currently about the lack of heat in this apartment. The thermostat is good for about six degrees, and that’s it. I freeze all winter long. The by law officer came out, and checked the temperature, and it is three degrees below the legal limit, and nothing has been done, save, I was given two heaters which cost a fortune to run, and peel, what I believe to be, lead paint off of the walls, and spew it into the air.

Both evictions were actually push outs, as, both times, I was allowed to remain a tenant as long as quit working there. This is illegal, I believe, to dictate how to use my apartment, with nothing official, God tells me.

My character was slandered, as, at the time, I had nothing but a marijuana habit, and the landlord did too, ironically, and she wrote in her testimony that she had read in my journal that I was “hooked up on high speed,” and thought it was another drug addiction.

Further to the police, they broke four pairs of running shoes, and stole a pair too.

Further to running shoes, which are expensive, at this apartment, they stole one runner, and, after I threw the other one out, returned it.

Further to unlawful landlords, at another place, the landlord rang the bell at ten o’clock at night for an hour, when I wasn’t answering. Another time, the same landlord, rung the bell for an hour at one o’clock in the morning, and then entered. I was shaking like a leaf.

At that same place, a townhouse, the police entered one night while I was sleeping, I believe, and broke my two epilators. I had bought a second one  when I immigrated to Ontario in order to escape the white gas torture in Vancouver. Some five years later, I went downstairs to find both of the epilators broken. On the same day? Are you kidding me?

Further to the damage to furniture, they spray an antiquing compound on fabric, they did it to a very expensive pair of shoes once as well, they sprayed the antiquing compound on the fabric of a chest, a new one, from The Brick, and it has caused the fabric to fall off in dusty chunks for five years. Every time I go and sweep, there’s new fabric junk on the floor.

Further to my health, when the agent orange landlord, I believe it’s called agent orange, the bathtub, I may have mentioned it was called unguents, I now realize that this is the wrong word for it, it’s a bathtub shellac, in any case, and it causes such tremendous illness so as to cause my asshole to bleed for a year. There are also two occasions of internal bleeding, different composition, which come out in the washroom.

Further, my small B’s turned into D’s and fell. Thanks for that, guy.

Further to injustice, once I thought I was going to go blind from something, and God was telling me what it was. I believe it’s called hydrophane eyes, which causes sticking in the morning, and pain with water. Now I can open my eyes under water again, because I was helped in heaven with picking the plastic out of my eyes, and rinsing, the pain I do not recall.

Recently, I reported a rape to the police which happened some years ago, and, lo and behold, the police showed up unannounced, well, in the stairway, two seconds away. And one thing which really irked me was I asked about my medication, which they are not allowed to do, as, as far as I know, there is no active CTO on me right now, though a call to the rights advisor did not solidify an answer. Further, it was most annoying, and, I believe, illegal, when the social worker in attendance said, upon my assertion that I had gone for my shot that afternoon, “And you’re tellin’ the truth?”

Further, I was accused of having said I didn’t want to take my medication, as though, it seemed, this was some kind of crime in itself.

There was a doctor some years ago, who shoved a speculum in hard, causing my eyes to water. It was for a colposcopy. 

When I arrived in Ottawa, a noise machine producing a wave sound was placed on a roof top, for eight months. I used to have to wake up and put the TV on loud on a fuzzy station in order to sleep again. I doubt the neighbours were very happy, in either case.

The was a bus stand off once, which, I believe was not my fault, though it is likely on my police record. This is when there was some snow in Vancouver, and the bus was very slow, and, upon getting on the bus, I said some friendly comment about how busy it was, and was told, “You’re lucky to have a bus at all,” to which I replied, “Oh, fuck off.” The transit police, came, the police came, and nothing was done at all, except to get me off the bus, which I was refusing to do. Funny.

There were four masturbators, or streakers, encountered by me, as a young girl, in Kitsilano. 

There was a very bizarre experience in the townhouse in Kanata. It was on a highway, and cars from another part of the world were driving along it. It went on, seemingly for days. I had never seen anything like it, in all the car rallies in Vancouver, and Ottawa, around town, never.

When I arrived in Ottawa, I noted someone staring over at my balcony, and I felt sure that he was a police officer, broken hearted, over a move away from Vancouver. I feel sure of this. Thus, I feel sure that certain officers are moved around to torture me. Maybe even to this day.

I was so sick, and God told me--this is before the bathtub shellac--that my endocrine system was arrested. I had been running a lot, well, not a lot, but every other day or so, and I found that I was no longer able to take a running gait.

I lost it a bit in the hospital, at Queensway-Carleton, I had been refused soap for so long and I came out of the washroom, and was refused soap again, and I dragged my hands down the front of the shirt of one the nurses, and, I forget, but God tells me I said something like, ‘You take my shitty hands then.’ I kind of remember, but not totally. My memory has been extremely affected by abuse, I believe, not impact but ingestion, of, I believe, God tells me, anyway, e. Coli. I can’t remember anything sometimes, like names, places, like now, I can’t even think of anything to say, but I forget so much.

Some time ago, from a finance course I had taken at night school, I was awarded a small silver bar, which has been missing for some time, though I may have misplaced it. 

Further, I noticed recently, after tucking away a card repeatedly, that there is only one business card of mine left, little works of art, of which I was quite proud. I was saving one of each, and I had designed them myself in Publisher.

Further to police harassment, once, I made a piece of torte for an officer whom I believed was torturing me, and out of my set of cutlery disappeared a dessert fork. Do you think that is fun having a piece of cutlery missing for fifteen years?

A doctor told me to stop talking to God.

Further, some months after I received my apartment, and the torture had ensued, and the landlord had disappeared, only to be replaced by a man of the same name, and startlingly similar in appearance once, only, the rest of the time, I felt sure it wasn’t him, but a gangster in his stead, the ODSP financial worker who I had been assigned to, also disappeared, and was replaced, though I never met her, by a woman of the same name, with a different voice.

Further to the police torture, my favorite blanket was shortened by four inches. You think this isn’t noticeable, but it is. When you lie on your back, your feet stick out. Of course, I can’t lie on my back, my lungs strain, I blowfish, or I suffocate from orthodontics.

Further to the police, they stole my black cardamom, and all my jewelry went missing from this apartment, albeit, probably cheap, from my thieving [ ]. 

My [ ] made me an ‘L’ ring, and I threw it in the garbage for God. God tells me that the ring was worth $7000. I had no idea, but I followed the orders of God, though, knowing they were real diamonds, feeling it strongly, because they were so pretty.

Items of clothing were stolen, and I’m still having nightmares about it. Also, five new socks were stolen from the laundry at the shelter, as well as other things, says God.

The police, probably oiled two down jackets, one long, and one short, one expensive. 

The same chest with the antiquing compound, had its lining torn. If you don’t think that’s annoying, you have another thing coming.

Further to the police torture, I tasted come in my flour when I fried it. I had removed the lumps before using it, but I missed one. The sugar was lumpy too.

Further to the Agent Orange torture, I now have a gross looking and feeling bump on my sphincter, and, though I can’t bring myself to examine it, my asshole is ruined. As well, I have an annoying, similar, bump, on the roof of my mouth. I believe it’s from that. Acid bumps, God told me. Thank you, landlord.

Further, when I was arrested under the mental health act for throwing my TV out the window, the police, I believe, threw my massage table out the window on top of it, and the gangster landlord informed me a year or so later that it was found out there.

Further, my erstwhile [ ] had a key cut, and, God tells me, stole a bunch of stuff too. I still have nightmares about all my favorite tee shirts going missing.

Further to the police thefts, my box of new PEACEKEEPING tee shirts was stolen some years ago. And further, my two epilators, after being jacked, were stolen.

The police, or someone, God tells me, put gasoline in my vodka, back at an old apartment. My bladder hurt for seven months.

Further, the police in Ottawa cut the zipper on a new winter coat. 

There is a cop in Vancouver, at the time, who deserves special mention. I once caught him in flagrante delicto with someone in his apartment, where he was living to torture me. His torture was replete, every fifteen minutes, for years. I have heard, from God, that he is good now.

Further, I have been told that there are new burns from acidization over the past few years or so, maybe less.

Lately, there has been a sharp increase in assaults with chemicals, over the past three weeks or so. This reminded me of a time when the police threw a lit cigarette into my window sill. The window was open.

This letter is subject to amendments.

Yours Truly,

Loraine Laney

[beanjuice-duh]

The UNTAMEABLE Peggy Schuyler

a/n: ... guess who finished 6 episodes of kimmy schimt? meee.  summary: Peggy is a sweet but strong willed girl who is taking on the city with her untamed spirit. She rooms with some colorful individuals and manages to make some great friends all the while hoping her past doesn’t bite her in the ass. warning: unedited/raw draft drabble & corny ass plot w/c: 1865

1. Peggy & the Boys

“Welcome to Fatro Bank, how can I help you?” 

“Yes, hi, I’d like to take all the money out of my bank account please.” “Name Ma’am” “Margarita Schuyler, but everyone calls me Peggy.” “Mm…Ma’am you have eighteen-thousand dollars in the bank with us…” “I know, I want it all.”

Nothing beat the summer in New York City. It was an aesthetic to get use to. The noxious fumes of cars and trash, the neon colors of signs meeting the contrast of bland and lonesome concrete, yes the city was not for everyone. Making it here meant selling a bit of humanity. Manners and dignity were often second hand traits to survival, the hustle and bustle. It was no place for a girl of eight teen sporting a semi-expensive yellow dress in the middle of Brooklyn’s busiest intersection. It was no place for wide brown eyes and a duffle bag full of dreams and wonders.

It was not a place for the tamed and the easily broken. 

It was a good thing that among the many things the youngest of the Schuyler girls had was an untamed spirit. Of course running away at nineteen was unheard of. Peggy deliberated for days before her big scheme whether she was suffering from some sort of stress crisis. But from what? Perhaps the pressures of having two seemingly perfect sisters and who were leading perfect lives? The idea of going to college and unsure what to pursue or maybe the boy her father had introduced her to was finally getting on her last nerve? “ugh…” she grumbled scratching her arm, all of it was giving her hives. She shook her head and began walking down the line of lovely brownstone apartments. “Excuse me.” She walked up to a man with large, mane like hair. “Are you selling these homes? I’d like one, please. Something with a view…ooo and maybe some shelves…” The man turned his head and arched an eyebrow. “You would hm? Sure darling let me toss in some open floor plans and a pool on the roof while I’m at it.” “Oh I don’t need a pool, maintenance on those are In.Sane.” Peggy giggled looking around. The man in the purple suit ran a hand over his puff of hair, letting it spring back to form. “Darlin’, why don’t you run back to your mommy and daddy. Unless you got 10k to drop on me every month these houses are not for the likes of you.” “Pay…you?” “Yes, darling, see I bought these houses off some I dunno, immigrant family or whatever, flipped them for profit and fun. Its like…playing monopoly with…a lot more racial displacement and gentrification.” “That sound awful.” “I’m a Jefferson, its what I do. Now, leave before I call the cops on your pretty little behind”  Thomas wiggled his fingers as Peggy made a face taking a few steps back from the front steps of the building. He was a very mean man who had a very nice voice. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, no matter. Surely there had to be another place. The hike around Brooklyn’s more scenic areas reminded her of visits to her aunt in Manhattan. Lovely buildings with iron fences and small rooftop gardens, more importantly the adventure that waited at every corner. Peggy found a few cats, a couple with triples riding a bike while drinking juices, and a homeless man she traded 50$ for his snap-back hat. This was the most fantastic day already! And it wasn’t even noon. Peggy paused in front of another row of lovely buildings and noticed there was a sign beside the stairs that read ‘Property of Thomas Jefferson’ and a phone number. “Here too? Man…he must really like monopoly.” She turned up her lip and kept walking. It seemed every building she tried so far was owned by Thomas…Finally after two hours Peggy hiked herself away from the soft, urban scenery of the upper class too…a drastically different view. She took two steps back and felt the warm, bird singing ambiance of the nicer neighborhood then took a step forward and was immediately met with the sounds of police sirens and crying babies. “Trippy…” she muttered walking down the cracked sidewalk, the buildings were mostly condemned with a few where shirtless men lounged on the stoop. They catcalled her and she immediately turned around. “Hi I’m Peggy Schuyler and most definitely not your…’Mama’ do you know where I can find a place to stay” after some crude offers and red faced insults the men were left dumbfounded as Peggy stormed off. Having left a copy of her eldest sister’s book ‘Women: how to treat them, how to love them’. To be honest she was just happy to get rid of it, it weighed a ton. Eventually she stopped a particularly rundown looking apartment with a large shouldered black man sitting back in the stood with a bag opened. She was on guard, ready to breeze past him when she noticed there was a ‘Roommate Wanted’ sign beside him. “Oh! Oh are you?...” “Yes!” The man exclaimed, “can’t a black man knit on his property without the police—oh you’re not police. Sorry, I’ve been frisked twice. I’m having a bad day.” “I’m so sorry why would anyone do that to you?...what’s frisk?” “They pat me down looking for something, then they laugh at me when they find my back is full of yarn and knitting needles. You honestly can’t win this some people.” Hercules shrugged a bit. “what can I do for you lil lady?” “Sir, I am looking for a place to stay!” Herc looked her up and down taking in her shiny flats and yellow dress… “That hat…does not go with your outfit” He commended on beaten up Red Soxs hat. “I wanted to blend in with New York.” “Rule one: New Yorkers HATE the Red Sox, also I think that hat has fleas.” He motioned to her head, suddenly Peggy tossed the hat aside and began scratching her head feverishly. “As for the place, we need a roommate, but I don’t know…” “Please, please, please I can pay!” She opened her duffle bag and Herc took a step back. He hadn’t seen that much money in years. “I’ve been walking for hours and I can’t find a place that isn’t owned by that…Jeffy guy.” “Ok, hold your roll sweetheart” “Peggy, my name is Peggy.” “Ok Peggy, why do you have all that cash are you some…new age drug dealer?” “No I’m…” She paused wondering if this would be the time to reveal she was a wealthy daughter to a wealthy lawyer from upstate. “I won the lotto?” Herc looked at her for some time and crossed his arms. Peggy felt sweat bead up against her neck as she held back nervous giggles that would give her away in no time. “Alright…but you have to pass the roommate test with the rest of the guys.” “Of course!” wait, guys she paused. She followed Herc up seven flights of stairs until she was huffing and panting. He opened the door to a cozy, and slightly musky smelling apartment. He gave her a quick tour of the kitchen which only had two working burners and a microwave. Also a fridge that if it wasn’t buzzing meant it wasn’t working. The living room where various video games and pants were scattered, and three doors. “Alright, so that room is John’s, this one is mine, and that was a closet but Alexander uses it. He doesn’t take up space…I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping on the desk he installed there anyway. Rent is 250$ a month not including water and gas. We split that evenly and I do the grocery shopping, you want anything you gotta leave me the cash for it.” Herc smiled a bit. “How does that sound to you?” Peggy was already digging through her things and slapped cash into Herc’s hand. “Awesome, sauce!” “Alright, well if you wait about two seconds you’ll meet John.” He took the money and walked into one of the rooms. “Johnny” Herc cooed in a strangely affectionate voice. The door closed, there was some rustling, some stumbling, then the door swung open again and Herc walked out with a smaller, freckled man punching his arm playfully. “John, Peggy, Peggy John. She wants to move in.” “Hiya!” Peggy beamed offering her hand. John looked her over and nodded, “sure, she’s cute so she fits in perfect with us.” He gave her a toothy grin. “I’m John Laurens, I work in the pet shop about seven blocks away.” “That’s great!” “Sure if you love puppy mills and kids running in trying to tap the fish tanks.” John shook his head and went to the fridge. “Surprised Alex let you bring someone in.” “Well…” Herc rubbed the back of his head. “Didn’t say Alex knew yet.” With that, John let out a hard laugh. “Alex is gonna be piiiiissed” Peggy looked between the two men, dropping her bag on the floor. “Who is Alex?” “Currently the only one paying rent.” John chuckled. “I just started working so I’m not seeing a paycheck for a bit. Herc works from ‘home’ manning his Etsy shop. Alex works with the government.” “Woah..” Peggy blinked, that was impressive. “Like a spy?” “More like…uh…he’s the guy that does the research for the guy who does the speeches for the guy who suggests things to some of the city council members. So I suppose down the change of government work…yeah its kinda cool.” Herc shrugged a bit taking a plop on the couch, uplifting some dust and moths. “To sum it up, homeboy argues for a living.” “I’m fairly certain if he’s not arguing he dies…isn’t that what we signed for when he took him in?” “I’m sure it was mentioned in the fine print.” The three joined in laughter, though Peggy had no idea who the third roommate was, he sounded fantastic. She couldn’t wait to meet him! She settled in for an hour, cleaned a bit, spoke to Hercules and John about their lives as she skillfully avoided any questions about her life. Eventually the door swung open again. The man that walked in was pretty small in comparison to John and Herc in both height and frame. He dropped his messenger bag on the floor and dragged his feet towards the small room. “Hey Alex, long day?” “mhmm” He groaned, eyes shut as he tread like a zombie through the house. Herc and John nodded, adding in “well we found a roommate” “Nice…” he yawned only half listening, his mind was aching. No sleep for three days and nothing but work was finally coming down on him. Nothing they could say would stop him from hitting the bed and falling asleep for the next week. “Yea she’s great you’ll love her.” Herc spoke low watching Alexander slid into his room. “Alright, I think its all settled!” Peggy clapped her hands once she was presented with the lease, she had just finished her signature when an unholy, high pitch screeched came from Alexander’s makeshift room. “SHE?”

[jokerepair74-blog]

2:00PM Water Cooler 10/2/2018

By Lambert Strether of Corrente.

Readers, here is a shorter Water Cooler to get you going; I’ll add more when I finish posting on teeth. –lambert UPDATE All done.

Trade

“New Nafta Has American Corn Farmers Breathing Easier” [Bloomberg]. “The U.S.-Mexico-Canada Agreement secured Sunday is expected to allow leaders from the three countries to sign an accord by late November. The accord alleviates the risk that Mexico, the biggest importer of U.S. corn, will turn to competing exporters such as Argentina.” • And just in time for the mid-terms!

“What if Trump’s confrontational trade stance actually works?” [CNN]. “The NAFTA 2.0 agreement, or USMCA as Donald Trump wants to call it — and he would appear to have won the right to call it anything he wants — ought to be sending chills up the spines of diplomats and trade negotiators around the world. Trump largely got his way. And now, no one can tell him his bull-in-a China-shop way won’t work.”

‘Will USMCA affect Canada’s drug prices? Depends on what happens next, experts say” [CBC]. “The United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA) will extend the minimum “data protection” period for an expensive class of drugs known as biologics to 10 years, up from eight. Biologics — some of the most costly drugs on the market — are used to treat a large range of diseases, including many cancers, arthritis and multiple sclerosis. The change could cost Canadian taxpayers tens of millions of dollars annually, according to one estimate.”

UPDATE “Auto makers would gain new certainty on factory investments and other manufacturers would avoid feared disruptions under the new North American trade accord” [Wall Street Journal]. “[The deal] sets the stage for major relief for an auto industry that feared costly new tariffs could unravel two decades of investments under the North American Free Trade Agreement. The new deal is a big win for Detroit’s Big Three auto makers, which rely heavily on factories in Canada and Mexico to build cars and trucks for the U.S. market. But the new rules could also force car companies and their parts makers to alter supply chains to meet tougher new rules on regional content of cars. That’s likely to have more impact on foreign auto makers that source parts abroad.”

UPDATE “Timeline: How a new North American trade deal happened” [Supply Chain Dive]. “Relive the drama of the talks to renegotiate the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) with the timeline below.” • No.

Politics

2020

Concrete material benefits:

I want to congratulate Jeff Bezos for doing exactly the right thing by raising the minimum wage at Amazon and Whole Foods to $15 an hour.

Let me thank the hundreds of Amazon workers who contacted my office and the Fight for $15 movement, which has been leading this effort.

— Bernie Sanders (@SenSanders) October 2, 2018

Sanders gracefully gives credit to the real drivers, too. That said, this could be a smart move by Amazon, which needs warehouse workers in a tight labor market. And Amazon is still a predatory monopoly that should be broken up. And why not $20? Nevertheless, take the win!

“Hillary Clinton’s Favorable Rating Still Low” [Gallup]. Well, the voters are wrong. Again.

“Biden Is Preparing for 2020. Can He Overcome the Hill-Thomas Hearings?” [New York Times]. “[Joe Biden’s] name has been invoked frequently in recent days, mainly by Republicans, for leading the 1991 hearings when an all-male, all-white Judiciary Committee aggressively questioned Anita Hill about claims that Judge Thomas had sexually harassed her. The hearings have long been a source of discomfort with Mr. Biden among Democrats who remember the process.” • Er, can Biden overcome condemning a generation of students to debt slavery?

2018

34 days until Election Day. 34 days is a long time in politics (as we are seeing right now with Kavanaugh. And what about Rosenstein?).

“GOP Cuts Into Democratic Lead for Congress” [Political Wire]. “A new Quinnipiac poll finds Democrats leading Republicans in the generic congressional ballot by seven points, 49% to 42% — a drop from the 12 point lead they had last month.” • One poll….

“Polling in Real Time: The 2018 Midterm Elections” [New York Times]. • This is a neat project. OTOH, in the back of my mind, a small voice is telling me “I hope the voters are gaming the Times….”

“Politics and the New Machine” [Jill Lepore, The New Yorker]. From 2015, still germane: “Pollsters rose to prominence by claiming that measuring public opinion is good for democracy. But what if it’s bad?”

NJ Senate: “New Jersey Senate Poll: Menendez, Hugin in Dead Heat” [Bloomberg]. • Too funny. The Senate hangs in the balance, so the Democrat strategy is to force a corrupt hack like Menendez onto the ballot. Go Blue!

NY-12: “Obama announces endorsement for Ocasio-Cortez” [The Hill]. “Obama is supporting a total of 260 Democratic candidates in his second list for U.S. Senate and U.S. House, governor and state legislature.” • Well, I wish he hadn’t.

* * *

UPDATE “Renovation Records Undercut Ford’s Exit-Door Account” [RealClearInvestigations]. “Ford testified last week that she had never revealed the details of the alleged attack until 2012, when she was in couples therapy with her husband. She said the memories percolated up as they revisited a disagreement they’d had over her insistence on installing a ‘second front door’ when they had remodeled their Palo Alto, Calif., home…. The need to explain a decision her husband ‘didn’t understand,’ Ford testified, pushed her to say she wanted the door to alleviate symptoms of ‘claustrophobia’ and ‘panic attacks’ she still suffered from an attempted rape allegedly perpetrated by Kavanaugh in high school during the early 1980s….. Ford never specified when the renovation took place, leaving a possible impression that it and the therapy session happened around the same time. But documents reveal the door was installed years before as part of an addition, and has been used by renters and even a marriage counseling business. ‘The door was not an escape route but an entrance route,’ said an attorney familiar with the ongoing congressional investigation. ‘It appears the real plan for the second front door was to rent out a separate room.’… Palo Alto city records show that a building permit for an additional room and exterior door was issued to Ford and her husband on Feb. 4, 2008 — more than four years before the May 2012 therapy session where, she says, she first identified Kavanaugh as her attacker.” • This reads to me like the reporter hasn’t actually seen the documents; otherwise, they would be embedded in the post. So presumably we’re relying on the anonymous lawyer for their interpretation. Big if true, though.

Realignment and Legitimacy

UPDATE “No Law Without Politics (No Politics Without Law)” [Jedidiah Purdy, Law and Political Economy]. “[I]t has been an article of faith–or at least a relentless rhetorical trope–on both sides of the [Kavanaugh] fight that ‘politicization’ of the judiciary is a kind of corruption and crisis…. I think we have to look into the abyss and admit the possibility that politics really does come first, that the question is not for or against politicization, but what kind of politicization.” And: “It is a tragedy of American left-liberalism that this idea has less traction than it should as a progressive ideal precisely because there is so much arbitrary exercise of legal power, and so unevenly distributed, that it is easy and understandable to think of rule of law as an elite conceit.” • This deserves careful study, and more attention than I can give it now.

Um:

Twitter has suspended, and perhaps permanently banned, the account of Georgetown Professor C. Christine Fair, apparently due to this tweet: pic.twitter.com/wN2OvrgRcA

— Glenn Greenwald (@ggreenwald) October 2, 2018

To the quesion of fact: Fair can call Kavanaugh a serial rapist if she wants, but that doesn’t make him one. Fair also devalues a serious charge, in the same way that liberal Democrats reflexively emitting “Racist!” devalues that serious charge.

UPDATE “data demystified #4: How liberals and conservatives talk about progressive issues” [Data for Progess]. On college debt: “The clearest disconnect is that language that discusses debt or loans is employed differently by liberals and conservatives. Conservative use this language to talk about their own experiences and how they achieved even with loans. Take this example from someone who identifies as very conservative and opposes free college tuition: ‘I came from a poor economic background, and I have student loan debt. It [was a] choice to enroll in college. It is the student’s responsibility to pay, not taxpayers.’* In contrast, when liberals talk about loans in the context of tuition it is still about their own experiences, but they see it as not wanting others to face the same burden.” NOTE * Which, of course, they do not do.

“Why e-voting is a bad idea for Australia (and maybe the world)” [Asian Correspondent]. • A useful review of how Australia does paper ballots. Ends with a mention of blockchain, though. Get away! Get away!

Stats Watch

No official statistics of note today.

UPDATE Retail: “Study: More People Will Eat Bugs if They’re Up-Marketed as Luxury Item” [Courthouse News]. “According to a study published Tuesday in Frontiers of Nutrition, if marketing can appeal to a person’s self-indulgent tastes they might look past the bug on their plate…. Researchers behind the recent insect study say labels like “eco-friendly” or “fair trade” lose out to advertisements that play up pleasurable aspects, like taste. Insects have not scuttled into the mainstream, but researchers said it’s all about presentation. The study authors note lobster, the marine crustacean with bug-like qualities, is synonymous with fine dining but that wasn’t always the case.” • Fair enough!

Manufacturing: “Primera Air to File for Bankruptcy Citing Airbus Delivery Delays” [Bloomberg]. “[Primera Air], which along with Norwegian Air Shuttle has attempted to upend the existing trans-Atlantic thoroughfare with low-cost, long-haul flights, was forced to pay excessive costs leasing in planes to cover for the ‘severe’ delay in deliveries of the state-of-the-art A321neos. Primera had orders due to be powered by CFM International’s Leap engine…. Airbus’s A320neo family has suffered major delays due to production and design issues with the Leap as well as Pratt & Whitney’s geared turbofan, the competing turbine option on the aircraft.” • Hmm. Both engines?!

The Bezzle: “Unraveling a Tesla Mystery: Lots (and Lots) of Parked Cars” [New York Times]. “In some cases, cars have been marked — with a bar-coded sticker or with grease pencil on the windshield — to indicate that they are inventory vehicles, meaning they have no customers awaiting them. Some markings indicate repairs required before the cars can be sold, like scratches, dents or components that don’t work.”

Tech: “America’s first ‘sex robot brothel’ in Houston faces resistance” [South China Morning Post]. “Kinky S Dolls, a firm that bills itself as the first ‘adult love dolls rent-before-you-buy service in North America’, sells realistic-looking life-size dolls with basic artificial intelligence functions – and also offers them for use by the half-hour or hour at a warehouse in Toronto. Now the firm is targeting Houston as the first market in a planned US expansion, but is meeting resistance from a Christian anti-sex trafficking and anti-pornography group and the city’s mayor.” • Sommi-451, Cloud Atlas: “Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”

Tech: “Amazon’s Alexa knows what you forgot and can guess what you’re thinking” [Guardian]. “At an event in Seattle on Thursday, the technology company unveiled a new feature called Alexa Hunches that aims to replicate human curiosity and insight using artificial intelligence. ‘We’ve reached a point with deep neural networks and machine learning that we can actually program intuition,’ said Daniel Rausch, the vice-president in charge of Alexa’s smart home features. Once it is activated later this year, Alexa Hunches will observe its owners’ interactions with connected smart home devices like locks, lights and electricity outlets. When Alexa believes it has detected a regular pattern, such as turning off a television set before bed, the voice assistant will remind owners if they forget to do it, and offer to fix the problem.” • If your intuition doesn’t tell you having a device that records your every move and sends it to a corporate server is a bad idea, how good is your intuition?

UPDATE “Fed’s Powell Backs Ongoing Gradual Hikes for ‘Extraordinary’ Economy” (transcript) [Street Insider]. Powell: “The unemployment rate stands at 3.9 percent, near a 20-year low. Inflation is currently running near the Federal Open Market Committee’s (FOMC) objective of 2 percent…. From the standpoint of our dual mandate, this is a remarkably positive outlook. Indeed, I was asked at last week’s press conference whether these forecasts are too good to be true–a reasonable question!”

Honey for the Bears: “75% of the ultra-rich forecast a US recession in the next two years, survey finds” [CNBC]. “The U.S. economy is firing on all cylinders, yet 75 percent of ultra-high net worth investors predict it will hit recession by 2020, a J.P. Morgan survey found. Of those expecting an economic downturn in the U.S., a fifth of respondents — 21 percent — believe it will begin in 2019 and 50 percent expect the next recession to start in 2020.” • It’s like they’re talking themselves into it.

Health Care

“The Real Lesson from the Downfall of Theranos: We Need to Nationalize the Healthcare System” [In These Times]. “[F]or all its insight into the ‘fake it ’til you make it’ culture of Big Tech’s gold rush, Bad Blood [the business history of Theranos] leaves out the same critical point that’s missed in most mainstream media discourse about Silicon Valley’s race to ‘disrupt’ the healthcare sector: It will never, ever happen, and human history offers us no reason to believe that it will. These companies’ business models monetize the failures of our system, and therefore have a vested interest in fortifying the structural barriers to the universal and equitable distribution of care….. Insurers are explicitly incentivized to avoid paying for policyholders’ care, which is why they hire so many administrators to pore over claims in search of technicalities on which to deny them. That’s an inherent tension no app can fix.”

“Taken For A Ride: M.D. Injured In ATV Crash Gets $56,603 Bill For Air Ambulance Trip” [NPR]. “Groggy from painkillers, [Dr. Naveed Khan, a 35-year-old radiologist] managed to ask the doctors how much the flight would cost and whether it would be covered by his insurer. ‘I think they told my friend, ‘He needs to stop asking questions. He needs to get on that helicopter. He doesn’t realize how serious this injury is,’ Khan recalled.” • Impressive. Even “groggy with painkillers,” Khan tries to be a “smart shopper”!

Another world is possible:

Today I had to go to the hospital in Taiwan bc I ruined my knee. The receptionist was hesitant to accept me / I had to sign a waiver saying I wouldn’t sue the hospital for how expensive treatment is for foreigners.

For X-rays, briefly talking to a dr & meds, it was $100 USD.

— Emily Cardinali 柯依薇 (@emilycardinali) September 19, 2018

Police State Watch

“Chile: 20 secret police jailed for Pinochet-era crimes” [Deutsche Welle]. • Finally. I hope the same thing happens to Gina Haspel, one day.

Class Warfare

“Rent control foes hire California NAACP leader after her group opposes initiative” [San Francisco Chronicle].

“The case for paying every American a dividend on the nation’s wealth” [MarketWatch]. “Early in 2019, 100 randomly selected lower-income residents of Stockton, Calif., will start to receive $500 a month. In exchange, they’ll need to do, well, absolutely nothing, and can spend the money on absolutely anything… In many ways Stockton, whose pilot program runs 18 months, is a perfect petri dish in which to rethink and innovate on the centuries-old dilemma of how to give more money to those who need it most. This racially diverse city of about 315,000, 80 miles from far wealthier Silicon Valley and San Francisco, was walloped in the 2008 financial crisis — the median home price plunged almost 70% — and declared bankruptcy in 2012. Though it emerged from that bankruptcy in 2015, Stockton is a stark example of how uneven the U.S. economy’s decade-long recovery has been. The city’s median household income is about $46,000, almost 25% below the national average.” • The headline is deceptive; Stockton’ s residents aren’t getting a “divident” on “the nation’s” [sic] “wealth” because they have no ownership rights. All they are getting is bread (and, presumably, circuses, which Silicon Valley is all too happy to sell them).

News of the Wired

Welcome to the third world:

American tech adoption has flatlinedhttps://t.co/iJgwtZ81kV pic.twitter.com/TVp27emkyt

— son of an asylum seeker, father of an immigrant (@doctorow) October 2, 2018

Poor broadband, lower adoption by elders (no doubt due to the horrible UI/UX of so much software).

* * *

Readers, feel free to contact me at lambert [UNDERSCORE] strether [DOT] corrente [AT] yahoo [DOT] com, with (a) links, and even better (b) sources I should curate regularly, (c) how to send me a check if you are allergic to PayPal, and (d) to find out how to send me images of plants. Vegetables are fine! Fungi are deemed to be honorary plants! If you want your handle to appear as a credit, please place it at the start of your mail in parentheses: (thus). Otherwise, I will anonymize by using your initials. See the previous Water Cooler (with plant) here. Today’s plant (JG):

JG writes: “We are vacationing in Chile and the vegetation is marvelous. Geraniums are as big as hedges. Roses are in bloom. I have no idea what this plant is but I like the art.”

* * *

Thank you!

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This entry was posted in Guest Post, Water Cooler on October 2, 2018 by Lambert Strether.

About Lambert Strether

Readers, I have had a correspondent characterize my views as realistic cynical. Let me briefly explain them. I believe in universal programs that provide concrete material benefits, especially to the working class. Medicare for All is the prime example, but tuition-free college and a Post Office Bank also fall under this heading. So do a Jobs Guarantee and a Debt Jubilee. Clearly, neither liberal Democrats nor conservative Republicans can deliver on such programs, because the two are different flavors of neoliberalism (“Because markets”). I don’t much care about the “ism” that delivers the benefits, although whichever one does have to put common humanity first, as opposed to markets. Could be a second FDR saving capitalism, democratic socialism leashing and collaring it, or communism razing it. I don’t much care, as long as the benefits are delivered. To me, the key issue — and this is why Medicare for All is always first with me — is the tens of thousands of excess “deaths from despair,” as described by the Case-Deaton study, and other recent studies. That enormous body count makes Medicare for All, at the very least, a moral and strategic imperative. And that level of suffering and organic damage makes the concerns of identity politics — even the worthy fight to help the refugees Bush, Obama, and Clinton’s wars created — bright shiny objects by comparison. Hence my frustration with the news flow — currently in my view the swirling intersection of two, separate Shock Doctrine campaigns, one by the Administration, and the other by out-of-power liberals and their allies in the State and in the press — a news flow that constantly forces me to focus on matters that I regard as of secondary importance to the excess deaths. What kind of political economy is it that halts or even reverses the increases in life expectancy that civilized societies have achieved? I am also very hopeful that the continuing destruction of both party establishments will open the space for voices supporting programs similar to those I have listed; let’s call such voices “the left.” Volatility creates opportunity, especially if the Democrat establishment, which puts markets first and opposes all such programs, isn’t allowed to get back into the saddle. Eyes on the prize! I love the tactical level, and secretly love even the horse race, since I’ve been blogging about it daily for fourteen years, but everything I write has this perspective at the back of it.

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Source: https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2018/10/200pm-water-cooler-10-2-2018.html

[abutterflyobsession]

Doctor Who AU: Part 13

actual plot!

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/twelve/ao3

“I have to admit, when I found out that the pendent wasn't made of Yectumial crystals I was thrown for a bit of a loop. Only temporarily, of course, but thrown all the same.”

Roland's voice was echoing softly around the room and Bog's head was swimming with endless forests, wooden spaceships, and faces craved into craggy bark. It took him a few moments to come to terms with the floor being made out of level tile instead of an uneven mat of plants, branches, and moss. He had no attention to spare for whatever the preening nitwit was droning on about.

“Wooden spaceships?” Bog asked, still seeing the improbable vessels drifting through space, traveling from one star to the next, “For real?”

“Your people are good at growing things,” the Doctor said, her voice sounding strange, echoing off the bare walls of the art shop instead of being absorbed into the stillness of the forest.

“Stop calling them that. 'Your people'.”

“Embrace your heritage. Your roots, if you will.”

“Fairly sure you made that pun already.”

“It's a classic. Worth repeating.”

“Excuse me,” Roland sounded annoyed, “I was just outlining my previous plan! I suppose I won't bore you by repeating it, but be assured that it was nothing less than brilliant.”

“Open your eyes, marsh man,” the Doctor ordered Bog, “you're still drifting back into the pendant's data storage.”

Bog opened his eyes. He hadn't realized they had still been closed, so many images were still playing out across his mind's eye.

“Um?” Bog asked, finding that the Doctor's golden eyes were only inches from his. The lingering traces of the forest burning up in the embarrassment of realizing she had her hands on either side of his face, fingertips pressed to his temples.

“Finally,” the Doctor took her hands away and Bog felt something slide out of his mind, like a lost train of thought, “Took you look enough to snap out of it.”

“Really, I am monologuing and you could at least make a pretense of paying attention!”

“Sorry, yes,” the Doctor waved her hands in apology, “It's just, after a few hundred years of doing this same thing over and over again . . . well. You get to know the ins and outs of it, don't you? Your first plan was rendered obsolete by new information, you thought of some new clever scheme instead and now I'm shocked and awed and probably say something like 'you'll never get away with this'.”

Roland folded his arms over the front of his perfectly tailored green waistcoat, a petulant look on his face, “Well, if I had know I was boring you!”

“I do think the topic has come up once or twice before.”

“I didn't know you meant it.”

“No, no, please, go on with what you were saying. You figured out the pendant wasn't made of Yectumial crystals? Did you figure out what it actually was made of?”

“Admittedly,” Roland unfolded his arms and paced across the shop, the movement showing off his highly polished shoes, “That took me a few days to puzzle out, so I took the time to do a little painting and clear my head.”

“A few days?” Bog asked, “It hasn't even been a day since your barbershop of evil.”

Roland spread out his arms, gesturing at the shop, “Darlin', please explain to your glorified houseplant that we are standing in a time machine.”

“It's not his fault he was raised to believe in linear time.”

“Still. Luckily you left me a nice genetic sample to give me some clues,” Roland pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket, “When you were so kind as to slice open your houseplant's hand.”

“I dropped the scalpel,” the Doctor pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, you did, buttercup. Thank you for that. Interesting blood sample. Mainly just the dull human DNA, but a very strong hint of Cheem. Obviously that must have been what activated that nanotech cloud. Which gave me a little idea.”

“I don't suppose it was to quit bothering us and take up a career in toothpaste ads?”

Bog rubbed his eyes, only half paying attention to the meticulously groomed buffoon strutting back and forth in front of the paintings. He'd just learned a whole lot about his family history. Practically everything, really. Even why the original primrose stone—the primrose seed—had been cut up into smaller pieces. The sheer amount of information was still churning around in his head, trying to find space enough to settle in.

“Darlin', would you keep your pet quiet.”

“No. I enjoy how he breaks your stride.”

“Really, darlin', when are you going to get over this phase of dragging home strays? You know they just all run away or die and break your hearts. Not to mention all the wasted effort of training them.”

“Heel, boy,” the Doctor pushed Bog back when he bristled at Roland's comments, “let's hear the end of the monologue.”

“Thank you,” Roland spun his finger through the curl that fell over his forehead, “I've always been fascinated by the Cheem. Such idiotic space hippies. Wooden spaceships, can you believe it? The insane thing is that they worked.”

Bog rolled his eyes, then bit his teeth together, a sudden flood of information about the wooden spaceships slamming into his head, prompted by Roland's comment.

“They grew them. They grew spaceships with nothing more than a few seeds and a little dirt. Everything organic. The environmentalists would flip their lids over how disgustingly nature-friendly it was. Of course, the skill of growing these ships has been, sadly, lost to time and Cheem are forced to slum it with the rest of us in metal ships.”

Roland frowned at one of his self-portraits.

He straightened it and the frown disappeared.

The Doctor started scanning the room with her sonic screwdriver, whipping it behind her back when Roland turned back around.

Bog had a headache.

“Yes, as I was saying,” Roland brushed an invisible speck of dust off his shirt cuff, “If some incredibly dedicated, absolutely brilliant individual of an advanced species happened to rediscover these lost methods of shipbuilding . . . that would be a remarkable thing, would it not?”

“It would be okay, I guess,” the Doctor shrugged.

“Just think, for one moment, everything it must take to grow a ship. And what sort of things you could do with these growing skills, aside from making spaceships. You could, for example, grow an unlimited number of soldiers.”

“And take over the world,” the Doctor sighed, sounding bored, “but they would just be plants. A spaceship has to have a pilot, your soldiers would need to be controlled. The number of people it would take to control your plant army . . . you might as well just have a conventional army.”

“Hm, yes,” Roland clasped his hands behind his back and considered a painting of his profile with an air of sadness, “you'd need some sort of massive artificial intelligence program to make it work.”

Bog's heart stopped beating for a moment, realizing dawning.

“If only four hundred years ago someone had installed an AI security program to protect the remains of their culture's history. Something like what you would need to control a cloud of nanobots. Oh!” Roland spun around, snapping his fingers, “Just like that one you set on me earlier!”

“Still,” the Doctor edged in front of Bog, “there's the problem of getting access to that information. The security program is obviously not friendly to outsiders.”

The pendant was in Bog's hand, his knuckles turning white from their death grip on it. Yesterday the necklace had been some unfortunate family heirloom that his mother trotted out on special occasions. Now he knew it contained centuries of history, most of which had thought to have been lost. Even if he didn't consider it his personal history it was still important. There were people on earth and people somewhere in the stars that had thought the past of their people was a closed book, never to be reopened. The pendant held the stories of so many people. Stories that their descendants should know.

Now this well-tailored moron wanted it.

The man who had casually broken a mirror and held it to the throat of his own sister-in-law.

“Then it's lucky, isn't it,” Roland said with a charming smile and theatrical wave of his arm, “that I've got someone on hand with admin, access, isn't it?”

Roland snapped his fingers and the floor curled up like a cresting wave.

“Hah, I'm kidding! It isn't luck. I'm just that good.”

“How does he keep doing that!” Bog threw himself at the barred door, trying to find a handhold before the floor was pulled out from under him.

“Later model of TARDIS!” the Doctor aimed her sonic at the oncoming wave of tiles, “Psychic interface! You can manipulate it with a thought!”

“I'm surprised he can spare a thought for anything besides his own reflection!”

The tiles wavered under the whistling of the sonic, but did not stop. The tiles crested, bearing with them several easels. 

Bog looked the Doctor in the eye and said with great sincerity, just before the wave crashed down on them:

“I hate you.”

[lewishamledger]

Hitting the right note

Tunday Akintan has played the sax with stars like Amy Winehouse and the Foo Fighters. Now he and his wife Jasmine have opened a bar in Lee that combines their passion for music and food

WORDS BY NIKKI SPENCER;  PHOTO BY JOHN YABRIFA

Saxophonist Tunday Akintan and his wife Jasmine opened Lagos Bar on Lee High Road at the end of last year so they could share their love of music and food.

Tunday was born and lived in Lagos in Nigeria and came to London aged 17. “There was a place near our house [in Nigeria] where people used to go and play music and dance,” he recalls as we sit in his cosy bar and chat over coffee.

“As a young child I was drawn to the music and when I was about seven or eight I would run errands for the musicians just so I could be around them and watch them play. I still remember that joyful noise and the idea with Lagos Bar is to replicate that here.”

From an early age Tunday – who cites Afrobeat legend Fela Kuti as another musical inspiration – wanted to play the saxophone, but his father had other plans.

“My dad was very against music and there was no question of me having lessons. He just thought that musicians were a nuisance and that they didn’t have any money. He wanted me to follow him and become an accountant.”

However, Tunday began to teach himself to play other instruments by accompanying his mum to church. “My mum is a big churchgoer so she took me with her and there I got to play the drums, the tambourine, the cowbell and all sorts.”

Tunday’s father had previously lived in London for many years and had family here, so when Tunday was older his dad asked if he wanted to study accountancy in the capital. “I said yes, although I knew in my heart I didn’t want to be an accountant.”

He went to stay with his father’s cousin in Elephant and Castle but after six months he dropped out of college and decided to pursue his own dreams. He found a music shop on Walworth Road where the owner let him pay for a saxophone in instalments and he bought books to teach himself.

One day he was on a 53 bus that took him past Goldsmiths in New Cross.

“When I first arrived in the UK I chatted to a girl at the airport who mentioned she was going to be studying at Goldsmiths. I just remembered that name and that you could study there, so I got off the bus and went in.

“I found the music department and introduced myself to Colin Crawley who was a music teacher there. I said, ‘I have come from Nigeria and I want to study music’.

“I didn’t have the qualifications to do a degree but he told me about a six-week summer course. By this time I had started playing drums and keyboard in local churches and I used the money I was paid to pay for the course.”

Over the next five years Tunday enrolled on dozens of short music courses at Goldsmiths and eventually got a place on a music degree. “Every time I did a course I asked what I could do next. I could paper a wall with all the certificates!”

He began to fund his studies by playing saxophone in bars and clubs. “One night I got chatting to a DJ on the street. He noticed my saxophone case and asked me to come and jam with him at Cafe de Paris. The manager liked it so much he hired me on the spot and I played there for five years.”

For a while Tunday worked with Amy Winehouse. “I met her at a gig and we worked together before she was famous. I wasn’t surprised she got noticed. She had a passion and belief in what she was doing.”

Since then he has played saxophone alongside everyone from Jools Holland, the Foo Fighters, Songhoy Blues and Lemar to French rapper MC Solaar, and he also has his own band that tours and performs every year at the Southbank Centre.

He met his wife Jasmine at Goldsmiths and they have always talked about opening their own bar.

“I love making music and Jasmine loves making food and they go hand in hand. We just wanted to share what we love with people who we knew would love it too.

“As a musician I am booked to play at other people’s venues all the time but I have always dreamed of creating somewhere of my own where I could play saxophone, where other musicians and DJs could play too, and people could come and listen and drink and eat and chat.”

After years of looking at places all over south-east London they finally came across the former Flames restaurant on Lee High Road and set about transforming it. “The vision we had would have been impossible if the bills were mounting up so we have done everything ourselves.

“We got the keys last July and spent months doing it up. We changed the entire place, removing the low ceiling and painting everything. Friends said we were mad and it was very tiring, but we did it.”

All the fixtures and fittings are recycled, from the bar top, which they found on the street near where they live in Bermondsey, to the lights, which Tunday made out of old trumpets and trombones.

“Aside from making music, I love making things and using my hands,” he says.

Six months on, Tunday says he and Jasmine are overwhelmed at the response they have had to the bar. “People often walk in and just say, ‘Wow!’ which is so lovely after all the hard work.

“We are only small but customers say we have created something very special and it’s personalised. Everyone who buys a drink gets to request a tune from me on the saxophone.

“We have big windows at the front and one evening recently a couple were walking past and stopped to look in.

“People started beckoning them inside and made space for them at one of the tables and they ended up chatting with everyone. We love the way that music brings people together.”

As well as playing live music and hosting DJ sets in the bar, they also have a space downstairs, where Salsa Motion offers salsa classes every Thursday evening. Lagos Bar is open during the day for coffee too, with the added bonus of being able to listen to Tunday rehearse.

“I usually practise for about seven hours a day so rather than doing that at home I now do it here.”

The final piece of the jigsaw has been put in place with the opening of their kitchen. They have started by serving a small European menu cooked by Jasmine on Friday and Saturday nights.

“We wanted to get everything else right before we started serving food,” Tunday says. “As they say in Nigeria, before you invite the king and queen you need to prepare the palace, and now the palace is ready.”