#ophelia: i wish we did not live in a society

[queenaeducan]

i'm starting a collection of the unhinged ophelia druid-specific dialogue from act 3 of bg3 b/c i think it's funny how many people she bullies in the span of one afternoon

[myriamas]

❂

there was a question that played on the tip of the regent's tongue, one which would result in the lady of skyreach opening herself in a way that she had not done so yet - the court healer was an individual she had grown closer to during her fertility checks, when she came to notice the years that stretched without her conceiving of another heir for sunspear. almost as though her body rejected any other child to be brought into the struggle that was the marriage between the two suns of dorne; for there to be two suns in the sky was surely a sign of doom.

"i don't want you to just feel the weight of responsibility though, you know?" myriam spoke, her words natural and quick in their ancient tongue, stretching slightly upon the set of pillows and blankets that stretched on the mosaic tiles, bringing her chin to rest upon the top of her knee as she tucked her leg in, her anklet glinting in the firelight.

she leaned forwards to blow on a cup of masala chai, the steam momentarily rising to her features as she blew upon it. a handy way to help ease the throbbing pain at the back of her head as a result of the wine she had taken to the night before. "that is the way we all start our married lives. but why?" she asked, almost rhetorically; her facial expression showing signs of confusion as well as irritation at the manner in which daughters held the honour of their families - even in dorne. it was not held between their legs as in other parts of westeros, but held in their heads and their manner instead.

there was no denying there was great responsibility in knowing that soon, one would enter into a new chapter in their lives: dorne, as liberal as it was in forms of expressions and sexuality, remained with the same heavy handed respect for marriage. it was a great matter for a daughter to leave her home and become a wife, more so even when she was to become a ruling lady of another great banner house; she remembered the sounds of the wedding flutes, and the quiet mourning at the pit of her stomach as she wondered why society seemed to view a bride as something to mourn as well as celebrate. to mourn over what she would leave behind once she passed the gates of her home, to her new home - in this, they were the same as every woman across the continent.

"nobody is watching to observe your abilities…you have nothing to prove." because between the two of them, it was dastan who had been caught up in the social scandal of the all the ages: it was dastan who would benefit more from this union than ophelia fowler, who could marry any other. and yet, myriam considered it a blessing from the mother that of all people to help her family in such a way, it was ophelia. "i know how i must have come across…" she began, in matters regarding both sofina and selene. one, she had grown to love, and the other, she had grown to wish she heard news of her lost at sea. "and i stand by it. but you are neither of them."

a part of her still felt uncomfortable in thinking about how it felt as though her brother had been taken advantage of in his grief: that in his lowest days, paying coin for companionship to fill a missing body laying beside him, a woman had found a way to latch onto him and bleed him dry. truthfully, myriam regretted not slipping large amounts of moon tea into the woman's chai. she would have, if she did not think her brother would have removed her forever for it. "you know everything that's happened…you've seen it, as the world has." house allyrion, as much as they were known for their steadfast loyalty, were also wrapped up in drama after drama.

she would not tell dastan. as much as she loved her brother, she would not betray the confidence of a woman: especially one who was to become her good sister, her own mother's good daughter. the woman who would birth more cousins for leila, should everything work out in the end. "but do you want from the marriage?"

.

in the midst of the tea ritual, ophelia's vocal protest, a gentle symphony of reluctance, was hushed by myriam's insistent hand, leading her away from the ceremonial duties to the appointed seating. it was an unfamilar transition into a role that ophelia had until now reserved for myriam. but she understood the look myriam gave to her as soon she would be a lady of godsgrace and a good sister to the very woman before her.

a mantle of weight descended upon ophelia's shoulders — a cloak she was familiar with, yet now draped with heightened significance. the responsibility to uphold the venerable name of godsgrace, to carry forth the storied legacy of house allyrion, resonated within her. a desire, a silent promise to myriam, to not falter in this newfound role, to be the steadfast companion the family would need. 

myriam was a woman who allowed herself the range of emotions all of them would feel, unlike others of the court who closed themselves off completely. but still it was rare for ophelia to see this emotion so close to the surface. ophelia reached across the subtle gap between them, taking myriam's trembling hands into her own. a gesture, both tender and solemn, whispered of solidarity. "i feel a great responsibility and honor to know that." she uttered, hoping to provide solace amid the tumult that must be engulfing her good sister. “to have your trust and your families trust means everything to me.”

in the span of that shared moment, ophelia traced the contours of the complex tapestry ahead. myriam, a steady guide, and dastan, a familiar companion of her youth, now a man she was destined to see through new lenses. the uncharted waters of marriage lay before them, and she couldn't help but wonder how this rearrangement of bonds would unfold. would he be able to see her other than just a friend. as something else?

ophelia wished for a companion in her life but yearned for love. real unwavering love.

"i wish for the light of your home to endure, much as it did in the days when you and dastan were growing up," ophelia expressed, her gaze a reflection of genuine warmth. she yearned for that enduring sense of belonging, a home where echoes of laughter and shared stories resonated much as her home did in skyreach. "it will always be your home, even as sunspear embraces you. my mother says, we leave a piece of our heart in every home we have."

[missvane]

The evening light was fading across the page of her open book, but the words were but jumbled letters as Ophelia attempted to digest the information. The carriage rocked gently back and forth, a sensation that hardly helped the unsettled state of her stomach. The fingers of her free hand drummed quickly against the seat, a sight her father was watching with a small, knowing smile.  

“Nervous, dear?” 

“A touch,” Ophelia answered without looking up from her book. She even turned the page for effect. A new page of incomprehensible words met her eyes. Her chest tightened as the carriage began to slow. She had dreams of standing at the front of a lecture hall, tens and tens of curious gazes turned to her, all ears perked to listen to an academic woman. The idea energized her to no end. The same could not be said for the attention of society, of the mamas who saw her as competition, to those looking for a flaw in her curtseys, or a faux pas. There were rules here that she didn’t quite understand, and some that she did but simply could not bring herself to care for. She was not a gifted dancer, or very skilled at flirtatious small talk... 

The prospect of meeting the queen certainly interested her, but Ophelia wanted it to be for some scientific discovery, or for being the first woman to teach at Oxford... Decidedly not because she was a prospective wife, a future child bearer. She wanted to be judged for her wit, and tenacity, not her dress and manners.

And yet, a bit of the knotted feeling came from the idea that her future husband stood somewhere in those halls, an idea that both frightened and thrilled her. Would she dance with him? Take a walk through the gardens? Or maybe they’d--

The carriage came to a halt, and Ophelia snapped her book shut, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Looking out of the window, the woman could see dresses and coats in nearly every shade, feathers and hats reaching towards the darkening sky as they made their way toward the house. The building itself shimmered with the light of countless candles, and Ophelia felt as though she might swallow her own heart. 

“You know, I used to find a dark corner at balls like this-- the shadier the better.” She looked back at her father, whose hat now sat in his lap. “I’d, uh, sip the refreshments until the idea of dancing didn’t feel like a death sentence. That’s where your mother found me. All but dragged me out to the bloody dance floor.” He chuckled, shaking his head, and Ophelia smiled. 

“I wish I had an ounce of her character...”

“Oh darling, I’m certain she’d say the same of you. And her spirit did not translate to skill. Your mother was a lively but floundering dancer.” Ophelia couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I wish she were here,” She said, the laughter still dying in her voice. 

“Me too, Biscuit, me too... Shall we?” 

“I don’t suppose I can say no?” 

“Right you are.” He knocked and the ceiling, and the driver quickly opened the door. 

Outside, the spring air boasted a surprisingly warm breeze as Ophelia took her father’s arm. Chin up, shoulders back, smile. Under different circumstances she would have marveled at the architecture, been dazzled by the lights, and the music that softly drifted out of the house. But tonight she could hardly spare a single thought as they moved closer and closer to their introduction. And the stairs! She could just see herself catching the hem of her dress under her heel and falling face first down the staircase. An entrance you’ll never forget! She could feel the heat in her cheeks, that damning condition of a blush, a beacon to the world of the feelings that rushed and danced in her chest. A betrayal of her own body. Only one couple ahead of them now. She could see the presenter’s mouth moving, but the words. much like those in her book, seemed to be of an unknown language. And then it was her, standing at the top, in the center--

“Presenting Miss Ophelia Vane, and her father Sir Rupert Vane!” The eyes that shifted up towards them each held a small weight of their own, a weight that made her feel two stone heavier as she descended. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Smile! Don’t trip... But it seemed they were not that interesting, as the attention was redirected with surprising swiftness to Ophelia’s delight. 

The endless decent did, in fact, come to an end and at the bottom of the stairs they were met with a choice. Be marched in front of the Queen of England herself, or tour the room... 

“Shall we take a closer look at those Grecian statues, Papa? Or perhaps find the refreshments and a shadowy corner?” 

“I never doubted you were mine for a second.” Her father quipped, and the pair stepped into the room. 

• • •

Ophelia will take a tour of the room!

[megashadowdragon]

what celtic-pyro said  below

I just…hm…I think Lostbelt 2 had its flaws, for sure, but I don’t think all the criticisms being hurled at it are entirely fair.

First, people saying the “girls need to have kids by 15″ thing is a gross kink thing: I disagree. It’s fully intended to be disgusting, disturbing and unsettling. A clear sign of how dystopian this world is for humans that everyone who isn’t Gerda only reacts to with horror and shock. Gerda herself merely states it as a fact of life in the human settlements and there’s no moment where anyone is pressuring her to have children by 15 (beyond the implicit societal pressure at least). What bothered me about Agartha a lot was the way the female-on-male abuse was framed in an almost fetishistic context and jokes were made about it, like Astolfo joking about how he’d look cute in chains (bonus points for character derailment there). We don’t get that in LB2. I don’t mind ‘dark’ themes within a work as long as they’re handled in a way that doesn’t glorify or fetishize them and LB2 definitely did neither of those things.

Second, certain comments made by characters that caused many to cry “Romani’s law” over. Caenis’s remarks about Ophelia in particular were…interesting, at least in the context of his/her relation to Wodime. Their name escapes me but I saw a REALLY good analysis on him/her that put many of Caenis’s early dialogue in LB1 and LB2 into perspective (I’m so sorry my brain’s kind of fried so I forget what your name is!). I’d like to say overall that Fate is a franchise dealing with characters from history, so unsurprisingly they’ll sometimes say something politically incorrect (looking at you, Napoleon!). Plus, given the society she lived in and her own personal traumas, Caenis making that “cracked jar of oil” comment about Ophelia seemed fairly in-character, because it may have been how she saw herself when That happened.

Third, Napoleon’s one-sided crush on Ophelia. While he started off pretty immature about it, he recognizes that pursuing her may not be what she wants, and furthermore, could end up jeopardizing the mission. This is why he forms a temporary contract with you. I was fully expecting him to go off the rails obsessing over her (as one other FGO player had claimed he did) but I actually like how he ended his role in the Lostbelt chapter. Selflessly using his final moments to reach Ophelia so she could free herself of Surtr’s control and get to safety. It reminded me a little of Cu Chulainn’s (equally one-sided) crush on Rin, and how he similarly ends up saving her at the cost of his own life. (Alright it’s no secret Napoleon was my far my favorite thing about Lostbelt 2, he was just fantastic all around and added a lot of flair to cutscenes on top of being a top-tier free anti-Divine unit with great gameplay)

Fourth, Scathach=Skadi. I’m still less than happy that the devs went and made her a ScathachFace, and the in-universe explanation didn’t really do much in the way of telling us why Scathach, specifically, was chosen to be merged with Skadi, beyond a clever nod to a very niche, New Age conspiracy of the two being one and the same person. Having said that, this chapter warmed me up just a tiiiiiiiny bit to Skadi as a character. I really wish she’d simply been her own character separate from Scathach, just one with similar themes in her backstory, but I digress. I ended up not hating Skadi, only that she effectively body-snatched my wife the Godslayer.

Fifth, the dialogue apparently being repetitive. I didn’t really notice it too much? I guess the overarching themes were repeated a lot (love, hate, killing and sparing, ice and fire etc) but it didn’t seem that overbearing. Maybe it’s just me but I wasn’t noticing it getting to be a bore.

EDIT: One more criticism I don’t agree with, that Napoleon had no place in the Lostbelt chapter and should’ve been in Lostbelt 1. Yes, getting to shine in Anastasia would’ve let him finally take revenge on his Grand Armee’s defeat against the Russian Winter, and he also fittingly represents revolution and enlightenment. But otherwise he doesn’t really tie into the overall plot of the Russian Lostbelt, nor would he be much good against the Yaga or Ivan. Gotterdammerung, meanwhile, is full of Divine enemies where Napoleon’s anti-Divine Noble Phantasm was a huge boost.

Plus (and I made another post about this) he’s a literary foil of sorts to Salieri. A similarly fictionalized identity of a person who really existed in history, who offers something to that Lostbelt that both its people and its Crypter either didn’t have or were missing. Russia didn’t have music, and while the Yaga had no need for it, it was something Kadoc missed and something that helped us defeat Ivan. The children of Gotterdammerung had no heroes, nor wishes or dreams, but it was something Ophelia desperately needed, and it was through the things Napoleon represented that Surtr was defeated and Ophelia saved.

Now one criticism I think IS fair: Ophelia definitely deserved better. Without question. I’d have liked to have learned more about her or seen her have a subplot of having to choose between her friendship with Mash and her love for Wodime, or of being able to live without her Mystic Eye laying out every possibility for her and having to make those choices of her own accord. Or being able to fangirl over having Sigurd without Surtr’s influence, or getting to meet Napoleon a second time. There were SO many things the story could’ve done with her character arc, and I’m mad we’ll never get to see any of it in canon.

[takerfoxx]

RD Walpurgis Nights 7: Part 3

“I just couldn’t understand it,” Homulilly said. “I mean, how could something like that exist? How could anyone protect it? It didn’t make any sense!”

“I hear you,” Ophelia said. “I thought pretty much the same thing after it was our turn. I’ve even talked to other former Void Walkers to have them explain it to me, and I still don’t really get it.” She tilted her head to one side. “So…was that what caused you to freak out?”

“What? Oh, no. That was just the start.” Homulilly let out a small, bitter chuckle. “I, uh, I kinda had it all explained to me too, right after.”

“Who? By Astrid?”

“Er, no. S-See, I ran into someone who…Um, you know how you sometimes get annoyed at Charlotte when she gets super blunt and says something kind of mean?”

Ophelia frowned. “Er, yeah…?”

“Well, I ran into someone like that. Super blunt, I mean. And she wasn’t at all nice like Charlotte is.” Homulilly sighed. “Actually, she was kind of a jerk.”

…

Then…

In sharp contrast to the high spirits and happy chatter from earlier that morning, the feeling that hung over the group as they exited the museum was quiet and melancholy. What conversations that were to be had were done in low, somber tones, and most everyone seemed to be lost in thought.

Homulilly was no exception. If her grip on Gretchen’s hand had been strong going in, now their fingers gripped each other so tightly as if a moment of separation would take the other away forever.

“Well, damn,” Mitty said suddenly. “Gotta say, I knew they were gonna drop a bombshell on us, but I didn’t think it was gonna be that dramatic.”

Homulilly shot her a poisonous glare out of the corner of her eye. Did that girl ever stop talking?

“Did you already know about that?” Gretchen asked.

Mitty shrugged. “Pretty much. I mean, there’s a hell of a lot of difference between knowing about it and seeing it, but yeah. Alyssa already told me most of it.”

That new name got Homulilly’s attention. “Alyssa?” she said.

“Yeah. My girlfriend.”

Suddenly Mitty had Homulilly’s full attention. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Hey, don’t sound so surprised, you’re gonna hurt my feelings! Of course I have a girlfriend.”

Homulilly wracked her memory for anyone by the name of Alyssa. She didn’t really spend much time with the rest of the class, but nothing about that name rang any bells.

“She’s already graduated,” Mitty added. “So you probably don’t know her.”

Oh. Right. Of course she was. “You’re dating someone who’s already graduated?” That was odd. Usually those still going through the orientation program didn’t fraternize much with those already fully integrated into Freehaven’s society, her and Gretchen’s friendship with a certain lively Walpurgisnacht quartet notwithstanding.

“Yup! Funny story about that, actually. You know how I said that someone I knew turned into a witch, and I took the contract to, uh, save her?”

The brief hesitation at the word “save” was very short, but Homulilly noticed it. She probably had been about to say “kill,” but remembered who she was talking to and swapped words at the last second. “Yeah…?”

“Well, that’s her.” Mitty grinned, flashing those perfect teeth of hers. “Nearly scared me right out of my skin, running into her. You know, it was sort of the first time I felt that everything was gonna be okay.” Then a brief look of pain flashed through her eyes. “I mean, it sort of hurt that she didn’t really know who I was. That sucked. But hey, that just meant that we could start over. You know, build from the ground up.” The grin returned. “And did we!”

Gretchen perked up. “Okay, but you’re the one that…” Then her tongue seemed to tie itself up in her mouth. “Er…that…”

“Killed her?” Mitty finished for her.

Gretchen winced, but then nodded.

“Hey, don’t be so nervous. I mean, you guys are witches, you’re the ones that oughta be taking that personally! But yeah. Yeah, that was me.”

“Okay, but when you met her again, did she…feel like she knew you from somewhere?”

Mitty’s eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement. “Uh, no? I just told you that she didn’t recognize me. Since, you know, her memories were all gone.”

“I know, but what I mean is, did she find you familiar? Like, did she feel like you two had already met, even if she didn’t know where?”

“Oh! So you mean soul resonance?”

Gretchen nodded. “See, there’s this other group of witches, another Walpurgisnacht, that we’re friends with. They’ve already graduated too, but when we met them, there was like this…” Her face scrunched up. “Like this…”

“A pull,” Homulilly said. “A feeling of connection, like we had always known each other in our hearts, even if our heads didn’t know why.”

“Huh,” Mitty said. “Well, that’s just damn poetic. You’ve got a gift for words, Homulilly. You ever think of joining the Poetry Club?  We do slams every Thursday night.” Then, before Homulilly could ask what a “slam” was, Mitty said, “But yeah, I know what you’re talking about. Some kinda weird connection between magical girls and witches that kill each other? Or witches that join together, or people that used to know each other, or, uh, etc. etc. etc.”

“Pretty much,” Gretchen said. “When Lilly-chan and me met, we didn’t even know each other’s names, but there was this feeling that we had always known each other.” Her fingers tightened around Homulilly’s, and she tilted her head to flash a loving smile. “And no matter what happened next, we were going to face it side-by-side.”

Any linger doubt about Gretchen’s feelings for her melted in Homulilly’s heart, to be replaced with warm relief and adoration, with just a little bit of guilt for having doubted her in the first place.

“Wow,” Mitty said as she stared. “The notes you guys pass in class must be wild.”

“Well…”

“Hey, that’s a good thing.” Mitty entwined her fingers together and stuck them behind her head as she looked out over Freehaven. “I mean…you’re gonna need it, right? With what they just told us, right?”

A sour feeling twisted in Homulilly’s gut, overwhelming the warmth of Gretchen’s words. She looked over at the other girls in her class, all of whom were gathered in small, whispering groups or standing by themselves, staring out into the distance. Most of them looked worried, some outright scared.

It was then that Homulilly realized just how lucky she was. Like Astrid had told them, facing the bleak inevitability that was eternity would be considerably easier with someone by their side, someone to love and support and be loved and supported in turn. And while there were a handful of other couples among them, pairings like her and Gretchen were still a bit of a minority.

To be honest, Homulilly still didn’t really understand why. As far as she knew, most of the other girls were still heterosexual, carried over from their previous lives. But why though? There were no boys around, and girls were so much prettier anyway. Why not accept the way things were?

Then she glanced down at her arms. Well, okay. Maybe she wasn’t the one to throw stones when it came to accepting the reality of things. Still, she did consider herself pretty fortunate. She and Gretchen had been together since day one, and them falling in love had been nothing short of an inevitability. That at least gave them a leg up on the situation.

“Though if you ask me, their timing kinda sucks,” Mitty said. “I mean, couldn’t they have waited until after the festival to drop that on us?”

“Maybe that’s why,” Gretchen said in a small voice. “Maybe they hoped that it would, I don’t know, cheer us up?”

Mitty thought for a moment. Then she shook her head. “Nah. If you ask me, it’s just bad planning.”

Homulilly wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation. It was hard to listen to others when you felt as sick as she did.

“I’ll…be right back,” she said to Gretchen.

Her girlfriend already looked troubled, but now she looked concerned on top of it. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just…I just need to use the bathroom, so…”

With that, she quickly scampered off.

Homulilly made a beeline for the bathroom, starting off slow so as not to give away the panic attack she felt forming but giving up on that about halfway there, ending things in a rush. She darted inside, shoved the door shut, and practically collapsed against it.

Her breath was coming in quick, frenzied pants. Her hands were shaking, and she felt cold and clammy.

This was it. She had always felt that something was off, that her new life was just a little too perfect. And here it was. It was a trap after all. Just like the wishes were a trap. Just like everything about the Incubators were a trap, all designed to squeeze every drop of juice out of their souls. Out of children’s souls. One day, one small, naïve girl is tempted to make a poor decision, and she is henceforth damned for all eternity, and there was nothing anyone could do about it! Trapped. They had been trapped. That’s all the afterlife was, just another trap for them to be exploited in death the same way they had been in life.

She thought about the sort of day it was outside. Per usual, the weather had been perfect: the sky a beautiful shade of blue, the air pleasantly warm, and a gentle breeze was blowing in from the sea, bringing with it the smell of salt. Freehaven itself was just as lovely as ever, a tranquil city full of happy people.

Ever since day one, it had been drilled into her head just how much of a paradise their new home was, and how fortunate they were to have it to spend the rest of eternity in. And honestly, Homulilly had never had reason to believe otherwise. Sure, she had a basketful of personal problems and anxieties to work through, but that was fine. She had plenty of help at hand to that, and all the time in the world to adjust, and when she did, she and Gretchen would be together forever, enjoying their eternal second life in a state of bliss.

But now the other side of the coin had been revealed, and everything made so much more sense. Freehaven was the way that it was because it had to be: to keep those trapped in the maze from seeking out the bait.

For one reason or another, Homulilly’s past self had made such a choice, and she was damned. Gretchen was damned. Their friends were damned. Everyone was damned! Millions, perhaps even billions of little girls, all tricked into standing in line at the slaughterhouse. Some got there faster than others, some had a more pleasant time of it perhaps, but in the end it didn’t matter.

All roads lead to Oblivion.

It wasn’t fair!

Homulilly was in such a state that she barely noticed the sound of a toilet flushing behind her, followed by the stall door opening. One of the other sinks ran water for a bit, and then a wry voice with a slight British accent said in a wry tone, “Let me guess: you’re one of those new girls that though you was going on a nice field trip, only to get a truth bomb dropped on your sweet, ignorant head. Am I right?”

Homulilly stiffened in place. Then she slowly turned to look at the other person in the bathroom with her. The other girl was tallish and very thin, with tight skin that clung tightly to the shape of where her skull used to be and a long, angular face. Her shoulder-length hair was bright violet, as was her weary eyes. She wore a brown flight jacket over grey turtleneck sweater and a long black skirt. She was drying her hands with a pair of paper towels as she dispassionately watched Homulilly, waiting for her to respond.

“Um…” Homulilly said as she tried to come up with something to say. Unfortunately, her tongue had completely tied itself into knots. “Er…”

The girl snorted. “Though so.” She tossed the paper towels, straightened out her hair, and sighed. “So, you finally got your peek behind the curtain, saw the dark side of paradise, learned what it its that fuels Omelas. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

There was something so familiar about the girl, but Homulilly just couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t the feeling of déjà vu she had gotten with Gretchen or any of the Ladoga girls; this wasn’t a sense of innate connection of the soul, but more of that this was something she had met once before, just long enough to make an impression but not long enough to become familiar.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. I’ve seen that look often enough. You kids come here all scared and confused, don’t know where you are or why you’re here, have to get used to the whole ‘being dead’ thing. Then, just when you think you’re getting the hang of things, they go drop that bit of information on you. ‘Oh yeah, there is a way to die for real and just get it over with, but you gotta go join a psycho death cult for like a couple hundred years, and it’s run by a genuine, bonafide Incubator. This is what their deathday party looks like. Have fun with that information!’”

Homulilly struggled with her own tongue to come up with some sort of response, but in the end all she was able to stammer out was, “Why?”

“Eh?”

Now that her tongue was loosened, the words came out more easily. “Why’d they wait? Why’d they hide it from us? We should’ve known about that!”

The sour girl sighed. “Aw, shit. Good fuckin’ job, Annabelle Lee. You make one smartass comment, and suddenly you gotta play therapist.” Then she shrugged and said, “Kid, lemme tell you something: they used to do exactly that. The Void Walkers used to be part of the fookin’ orientation. You learned about that when you came in. Except…turns out that dropping all that on a bunch of scared little girls still freaking out all that other shit kinda makes them freak out more. They had breakdowns, meltdowns, and more than one going full witch. So hey, they figured, ‘Give the kids a couple years to get used to things. Let them get at least sort of stable, and then we’ll let them in on the know.’”

Homulilly’s jaw dropped. “How long have they known?”

“Who?”

“Everyone!” Homulilly’s arms flailed in the air, trying to indicate the whole of their surroundings. “Everyone in the afterlife! How long have they known what was going on over there?”

“Oh, that’s what you mean. And they figured that out a long time ago. I mean, you just learned about the war, didn’t you? I thought that covered everything.”

That was true enough, but it hadn’t covered everything. “What’s wrong with them?” was Homulilly’s next question.

“Them?”

“Them!” More arm flailing followed. “Those Void Walkers! They looked like they were…I don’t know, possessed! How could they just give themselves up like that, knowing what we know? I thought everyone here hated the Incubators!”

Annabelle Lee’s thin lips twisted into a humorless smirk. “You haven’t been here long, have you? Like, a couple years, right?”

Homulilly nodded.

“Then shut up.”

Homulilly jerked back like she had been slapped. “Huh?”

“You like it here, don’t you? Here in lovely Freehaven, the city by the sea. Beautiful, happy town full of beautiful, happy people, enjoying their little slice of Heaven.” Annabelle Lee leaned over to poke a finger into Homulilly’s sternum. “Well, while you’re still coming to terms with your last truth bomb, let me drop another: most of the afterlife ain’t nearly as nice as this. Most girls don’t wake up to find a whole organization of nice, helpful people just waiting to do everything they can to make things easier. Some wake up in darker places. Some have to figure it out as they go along. And many can’t.”

“I-”

“And even the ones that do…hell, even the ones lucky like you, who wound up here or in one of the other nice places, you think you’re immune? Hey, do me a favor: when you leave here today, take the time to look out over the city. Take in the sights, feel the warmth, breathe in that clean air. It’s all very lovely, and you get to stay here forever. But here’s the problem that nobody knows how to solve: forever lasts an awful long time. It just keeps going and going and going, and everything stays the same. The afterlife, the city, you. And there’s gonna be the day…not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even until a hundred years from now, but mark my words it will come, the day when you looked out the window over your little slice of Heaven, and you will hate the sight of it.”

“But-”

“So you decide to move! It’s a big afterlife, there has to be something out there to shake eternity up! You head off to one of the other nicer places! Cloudbreak, Steel City, whatever. It doesn’t matter, all you need is a little variety, someplace new to start over. And hey, it works. You’re breathing fresh air, and enjoying the new pace! You’ve been revitalized, ready to face the rest of eternity. Guess what happens after that?”

“It…it gets old?” Homulilly guessed.

Annabelle Lee nodded. “Yeah. It gets old. All over again. So you move again and start over. Again. Then you do it again. And again. You run out of nice places to go, so you start going to the not-so-nice places.” Annabelle Lee’s violet eyes were already on the sour side of cynical, but now they darkened even further. “Then you start ending up in the bad places, where those unlucky in death ended up. You see what’s been done to them and where they have to spend eternity. You start meeting others like you, those who’ve been around way too long and have seen too much. You realize that you’ve run out of places to go, and the very thought of returning to somewhere just sticks in your craw. You feel trapped, a rat in a very, very large maze. And it don’t matter that it’s being run by an Incubator, it don’t matter that you’ve seen what getting released looks like, you start realizing that it’s the only way out, the only way to make everything stop. And you start wondering how you look in black.” She looked away from Homulilly to her own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when she spoke next it seemed to be just as much at herself as it was at Homulilly. “All roads lead to Oblivion.”

This wasn’t how the day was supposed to be going. Homulilly was supposed to have a nice field trip to the museum with Gretchen, wander the exhibits together, enjoy the sights and learn something about history. She was not supposed to be having her entire world torn asunder and end up having the harsh realities explained to her by a grumpy stranger in a bathroom. Her sight was starting to blur as tears welled up, and her throat was constricting, making the next words hard to push out. “But…that’s not fair!”

“What ain’t?”

“It’s not fair!” Homulilly repeated. “We’re dead! It should be over! They got what they wanted from us! Why can’t they leave us alone?”

“Oh, the Incubators?” Annabelle Lee shook her head and rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Well…duh? You really think they care about what’s fair? They’re already in the business of screwing over little girls. Of course they’d keep it going after we’re dead.”

Homulilly took a deep breath to compose herself. She raised her arms and let them drop back down. “So…that’s it? I’m trapped, and there’s nothing I can do about it?”

Then Annabelle Lee did something sort of odd. She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. She seemed to studying Homulilly’s face, almost like she was searching for something. “Tell me something, kid. You got someone special in your life?”

Again Homulilly was taken back. “What?”

“You heard me. You got someone special to you, someone you care about more than anything?”

Homulilly stared at her. Why would she want to know that? “Yes,” she said after a long moment.

“Someone you arrived with?”

“Yes,” Homulilly said again, quicker this time. “We’re a Walpurgisnacht, her and I.”

“I see.” Annabelle Lee sighed. “Well, then you’re luckier than most. You want some advice?”

“Sure.”

“This special person of yours, do everything you can to keep her close. Because as much as you might think you need her, you actually need her far, far more than that. There will come a day where she’s the only thing worth getting up for, and her smile will be the only thing that hasn’t gotten old.”

There was so much weariness in Annabelle Lee’s voice, so much pain and sorrow. Though she didn’t look a day over sixteen, Homulilly realized that she was looking at someone very, very old, and not just by a numerical count of years. This was someone who had endured uncountable hardships, hardships that burdened her still.

Homulilly wanted to ask her exactly what she had gone through to make her the way she was, but before she could loosen her tongue the bathroom suddenly burst open and two newcomers entered.

The first was a small child, a girl that looked to still be of grade-school age, though all things considered that didn’t mean much. She was Caucasian, with curly blonde hair and golden eyes,  and was dressed in a pink shirt and a pair of overall shorts. The other was a tall, willowy girl who looked to be in her late teens. Like Homulilly, she had Asian features, with pale skin and a long, glossy black hair that had an odd leaflike growths protruding from the strands. She was dressed in tight black pants, a black blouse, and a white jacket. A silver cross hung from a slender chain around her neck.

The small blonde ignored Homulilly and marched right up to Annabelle Lee to scowl up at her. “There you are! What’s taking you so long?”

Homulilly was a little startled by the sudden intrusion, but what happened next was even odder. As soon as the pair had entered the room, Annabelle Lee’s face seemed to soften. The hard edge melted away, her eyes brightened a bit, and she even smiled a little.

“Sorry about that, squirt,” she said. “Got caught up with something.”

“Goodness gracious,” said the other girl as she shook her head. “I was starting to think you were trying to drop a-” Then she caught sight of Homulilly, and her eye widened in alarm. “Oh.” A pause, and then. “Uh-oh.” She then turned back to Annabelle Lee, now openly glaring. “What did you do?”

“Why Elsa Maria, whatever are you talking about?” Annabelle Lee said innocently.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Elsa Maria growled. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing! She was already like that.”

Elsa Maria folded her arms over her chest. “Why do I find that so hard to believe?”

“You tell me! She just went on that freaky truth bomb tour that they show newbies. And I…” Annabelle Lee shrugged, “filled in the gaps, that’s all.

Sighing, Elsa Maria buried her face in her hands. “Oh, good Lord! See, this is why I can’t take you to church anymore!”

“Not seeing how that’s a bad thing.”

“Shut up.” Then Elsa Maria turned to Homulilly. Bending over a bit so that they were eye-to-eye, she laid a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. “Hey sweetie, I’m so sorry. Please don’t listen to her. She’s just a sourpuss that loves to ruin everything.”

Homulilly had to admit that as strange as the last few minutes were, having her skeletal shoulders touched without revulsion by someone who wasn’t Gretchen, Ophelia, Charlotte, Oktavia, Candeloro, or Cheese was an even stranger experience. Granted, she was wearing a thick jacket, but something about Elsa Maria’s body language told her that she wouldn’t have hesitated even if her bones had been exposed. That was…unexpected, and not entirely unpleasant.

Finally she managed to unwind her tongue and say, “No. No, it’s okay. I had questions, and she was just being honest.”

Elsa Maria shot a glare over to Annabelle Lee. “Yeah, but still…”

“It’s fine,” Homulilly reassured her. “Really.” Then she turned to the violet-haired girl in question. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Sure thing, newbie.”

Elsa Maria frowned. She looked into Annabelle Lee’s face in a suspicious manner. “Well, even so, don’t think for a moment that I approve one bit about your brand of ‘truth.’” She grabbed Annabelle Lee by the arm and pretty much hauled her out of the bathroom, the little blonde girl following close behind. “I’ve seen what you think passes for delivery, and it’s no wonder the poor girl is distraught.”

“I told you already, she was already a wreck!” Annabelle Lee complained. “I actually helped her! Stop assuming the worst about-”

The door swung shut, muffling the rest of their conversation.

Homulilly stood in the bathroom, staring at the door. Through it, she could still hear Annabelle Lee arguing with her…friend? Girlfriend? Minder? Whatever Elsa Maria was to her, it was clear that she and the dour Annabelle Lee had been together for a long, long time. And as sharp as her words had been, there did seem to be a comforting familiarity to them, as if their bickering was just a common routine that they enjoyed playing out.

Then Homulilly turned to look at herself in the mirror. She…looked the same as always: same long black hair, same dark violet eyes, same petite figure, same bony hands peeking out of the sleeves of her jacket, same bright crimson spider-lily growing out of the top of her head.

When Homulilly had first arrived in the afterlife, she had been so self-conscious about her appearance. With her arms being what they were, she had been terrified that everyone would be scared of her and think of her as a monster. But though she still didn’t like to have them commented on, the sight of those bare bones no longer bothered her the way they had. In fact, she barely thought about them these days. And ever since she and Gretchen had fallen in love, well, the sight of herself in the mirror made her smile more often than not. Being wanted by someone, especially someone like Gretchen, really did much to improve how she saw herself.

But now, as she stared into her own eyes, she found herself regarding herself in a new light. She thought of that weary, bitter look in Annabelle Lee’s eyes, and picture it in her own. She thought of that sour look on Annabelle Lee’s face, and saw herself walking around with that same expression.

Then she thought of all those Void Walker she had just seen images of, walking around with unnaturally pale skin and all-black outfits. Not a single one had seemed happy, content, or even the slightest bit at peace. They had all been breathing despair, with the only positive trait being the raw determination in their eyes.

Homulilly was already a few shades paler than most, and now, in her mind’s eye, she saw herself fully bleached white. She saw her bright green jacket replaced with someone plain and black. She saw the petals of her flower dyed black. Overall, it made her look like a corpse.

Shivering, Homulilly exited the bathroom. She made her way back to the group, who were still huddled together and looking all sorts of lost and dismayed.

All except for Mitty.

In sharp contrast to the others, Mitty looked much more at ease as she chatted with Gretchen. The two were sitting side-by-side on a bench, with all of Gretchen’s legs gathered up around her as she often did when she was feeling uncomfortable. In contrast, Mitty was lounging in a relaxed state, one leg folded under her with the other swinging back and forth. She was turned toward Gretchen, her left arm draped over the back of the bench.

Though Homulilly couldn’t hear what was being said, she could guess at the subject. Gretchen was feeling a little scared by what she had just been shown, and Mitty was working to put her at ease. Suddenly Homulilly felt a healthy dose of guilt start to squirm in her gut. She ought to have been the one to be there for Gretchen instead of running away. But no, she had to think of only herself instead of sparing a single thought to how Gretchen might be feeling.

Then Mitty laughed and reached over to playfully tousle Gretchen’s hair. The pink-haired witch giggled and blushed.

Suddenly Homulilly’s guilt vanished, to be replaced with white hot anger. Oh no. No way. Mitty did not get to touch her Gretchen like that. That was reserved for Homulilly and Homulilly only.

Homulilly almost marched right up to her to confront her, but another stop made her stop. Sure, Mitty was almost definitely making the moves on her girlfriend, but what was she going to do about it? Mitty was, well, older, prettier, and more confident, pretty much everything Homulilly was not. And getting into a fight in front of Gretchen wouldn’t help anyone.

Homulilly needed advice. She needed to talk to someone who was also older than her and had more life experience. She needed the help of a fighter.

…

Now…

“A fighter?” Ophelia said, puzzled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Homulilly didn’t say anything. She just shot her a sidelong look.

“Wait,” Ophelia after a beat. “You mean me? You wanted me to fight Mitty for you?”

“No! Not actually fight! And not specifically you, just…any one of you guys! I just wanted someone to talk to for, you know, advice.”

“Advice on how to fight Mitty?”

“Not physically.” Homulilly looked down at her bony fingers. “She’d kick my butt. I mean…”

“Fight to keep Gretchen.” Ophelia sighed. “Homulilly. Seriously. Did you really think Gretchen was going to leave you for her?”

“No! Of course not, I just…”

“Did you think she was going to cheat on you or something? I thought you trusted her.”

“I did! I mean, I do, it’s just…uh…”

“You didn’t trust Mitty,” Ophelia guessed.

Homulilly cringed, but she nodded.

“Right,” Ophelia sighed. “Okay, what happened after that.

“Well, there was no more classes after I got back, but Gretchen still had her committee meeting,” Homulilly said. She made a face. “And I didn’t want to be alone for the evening-”

“Then why not go to the damned meeting?” Ophelia said. “You’d be with Gretch and be able to keep an eye on Mitty.”

“I…I don’t know,” Homulilly admitted. “I should’ve, but I wanted to talk to one of you guys first. Except, uh, things got…complicated.”

…

Then…

“Sorry, dear,” said the librarian behind the counter, whose nametag identified her as Mary. “Charlotte’s not in today.”

Homulilly’s face fell, followed soon by her petals. “Oh,” she said. “But I thought she had Sundays and Mondays off.”

“Usually, yes, but she asked for today off. I mean, didn’t you hear? She’s got an interview with Corbit Fausk!”

Oh, right. “That’s today?” Homulilly said.

“It is! Isn’t it exciting?” Mary beamed. “One of our own, being represented by Corbit Fausk! We might have to do an autograph signing here!” She went back to the books she had been sorting. “Anyway, she should be in tomorrow. Shall I pass along a message?”

“No,” Homulilly said. “It’s fine. I can talk to her later.”

With a sigh, she turned and walked away from the front desk toward the exit. Well, that had been a bust. She didn’t often need a sympathetic ear, but today she most certainly, but Gretchen was with the festival planning committee AGAIN, Candeloro had already left for Orya’s Furnace, Ophelia was at work at the power plant, and for once Charlotte was unavailable. Homulilly and Gretchen had popped into the library several times in the past to chat with her, and she had always been happy to see them. But the one time Homulilly really needed her, she was gone. It wasn’t fair.

Homulilly was so occupied with her pouting that she almost didn’t notice the person coming the other way until she had nearly ran her right over, causing her to drop the books she was carrying. “Hey!” the other person snapped. “Watch where you’re going, you weed-headed-”

Homulilly jerked her head up, as shocked by the sudden insult as she was by the collision.

“-oh. Oh! Shit. Homulilly, right? Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

It was Mitty.

Because of course it was.

“Um…” was all Homulilly thought to say. “What…what are you doing here?”

Mitty quirked an eyebrow. “Er, why? Am I not allowed to go to the library?”

“I…I thought there was a meeting.”

“Oh. That.” Mitty shrugged and knelt down to pick up her books. “Jada called to say she was going to be late, so I took the extra time to run over and return some books.”

“Oh. Um, sorry for running into you.”

“S’kay. Hey, you know, it’s only a couple days until the festival, so you should come along!”

“Me? Go to…the meeting?”

“Sure! Why not? It’s not like we check ID’s or anything. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Homulilly couldn’t fathom why Mitty would want her around. She was after Gretchen; of that Homulilly was certain. Maybe she wanted Homulilly to be around to watch so she could rub it in?

“I’ll…think about it,” Homulilly said in a neutral tone.

“Cool! Well, see you around.”

Homulilly watched as Mitty made her way into the library.

Then Homulilly abruptly stopped and smacked herself in the forehead. Okay, she was an idiot. There was someone she could talk to, someone who worked nearby, and not for something really busy like a power plant, didn’t have an interview with a super popular agent, and wasn’t out of town for the weekend.

The Magi’s Gifts Emporium was located further down the hill, around where the newly arrived worked to settle in crossed over to the places infested with tourists. It really was a wonderful store, like something out of a fantasy world. Which, as Homulilly reflected as she stepped inside, was kind of exactly what it was.

Unfortunately it was much busier than normal. All the people coming in for the festival filled the place and packed the aisles, browsing the merchandise and clambering over the shelves like monkeys.

Homulilly hesitated at the entrance. She still didn’t much care for crowds, especially ones made up of strangers. Her hand moved over reflexively to grasp Gretchen’s, only to come up empty. She looked down at it in surprise, and then remembered.

Right. That’s why she was here in the first place. She was on her own, and if she didn’t want to end up being on her own for the rest of forever, she needed to pull herself together and not back down. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward.

It was like stepping out into a gale. Immediately Homulilly was buffeted on all sides by bodies and noise. She felt a flurry of panic start to flare up in her stomach. No, no, no, she couldn’t break down now. She had to hold it together. She had been through crowds before.

But then there was usually someone with her. Several someones in fact, who could form a barrier around her. Now it was just her and all of them.

An Indian girl pressed past her without so much as an excuse me, her eyes looking right past Homulilly. But then they dipped down to focus on Homulilly’s hands, and her brow rose. It was just the briefest of glances, but Homulilly caught it. She hastily folded her hands into her elbows and hastened forward.

Strange faces passed. Music and voices assaulted her ears. Arms and shoulders jostled her. Homulilly kept her face forward and forced her way forward, hoping that she would break through before she lost her mind.

Then, right when she thought that she was going to suffocate, she was out, having made it past the aisles to the more spacy music section. There were still a lot of people around, but they weren’t packed in nearly as densely as before, and Homulilly was able to breathe.

Shaking a little, Homulilly looked around for Oktavia. She was usually teaching her students in the corner, which was roped off for her lessons. However, today it was empty.

Homulilly’s heart fell. No, no, no. Please, don’t let her have gone through all of that for nothing. Please let Oktavia be there, because if she didn’t have someone familiar to talk to soon she was going to start pulling her hair out and her flower up by the roots.

Then, right before Homulilly completely lost it, a door opened in the back of the store and Oktavia came out in her mechanical chair. Accompanying her was a despondent blonde girl with a heavily freckled face with an instrument case in her hand.

Homulilly slowly breathed out. Oh. Okay, Oktavia was there. It was just probably too crowded to conduct her music lessons out in the open, so she was having them in the back room. Thank God.

Still, she didn’t want to intrude and interrupt the talk Oktavia was having with her student, so Homulilly sidled over behind a drum set to wait. Despite the babble around her, she was close enough to hear what was being said.

“I’m never going to get good,” the girl was saying. “I keep trying, but I can’t get the hang of it!”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Oktavia said patiently. “Everyone sucks when they first start out!”

“Did you?”

“Me? Well, no,” Oktavia admitted. “But that’s because of magic or whatever. But I’ve taught lots of kids, and let me tell you: each and every one of them sucked when they first started out. Now at least seven of them are performing in symphonies, three have their own band, and one just dropped her third solo album.”

“But…they’re probably special. I’m not. I keep trying to find something special at me, but nothing clicks!”

Homulilly sighed. Yeah, she knew how she felt.

“Special? Oh, come on, don’t give me that,” Oktavia said in a stern tone. “Special is just a word people use to justify quitting! Thing is, you can be the most talented person in the whole afterlife and still accomplish nothing. I’ve seen it so many times, girls with so many natural gifts that it’s incredibly unfair, but they think that means that they can just coast by and never work at anything, so they never do and never do anything with those talents! Meanwhile, you get other girls who have to work twice as hard to be half as good as them, but they end up creating masterpieces.”

Homulilly leaned in closer to hear better.

“See, here’s the thing: there’s nothing that’s worth having that isn’t worth fighting for. And sometimes you have to fight harder and longer than most people, but that just makes it better in the end! And when you do finally get there, it’ll mean more because of what you had to go through to get it. So don’t let it get you down. It’s okay to get frustrated, but use that frustration as fuel instead of letting it make you stop, okay?”

Homulilly’s breath caught in her throat.

This special person of yours, do everything you can to keep her close, Annabelle Lee’s words echoed in her head. Because as much as you might think you need her, you actually need her far, far more than that. There will come a day where she’s the only thing worth getting up for, and her smile will be the only thing that hasn’t gotten old.

Homulilly’s bony fingers clenched into fists. Right then. No more standing by passively. Gretchen was hers, and she was going to fight for that right.

A few moments later Oktavia’s student left the store feeling a little better about herself. She wasn’t the only one. Oktavia went about her day without knowing that Homulilly had ever been there, but that didn’t matter. Homulilly had heard what she needed to hear from her anyway.

[sirens-gemberry]

You’ve Unlocked a Cutscene from “Soren Ren-egade Sharp”!

Continue?

>Yes

No

Warnings are for the following: Sexual Assault Implications, Alcoholism, and familial abuse. Stay wary farmers! 

It’s been a solid six years since I started working at the corporation. The corporation. It’s been hell on earth itself to do. Joja Corporations, after all, is not the nicest place on earth to go to every single day. Today however, was particularly...different. That morning, I found myself getting a pounding headache, reaching towards my phone. My alarm was distinctly going off beside me, a blaring noise I quickly shut off with slightly trembling hands. Another day, another paycheck that may as well mean fuck-all by then. It’s not like I’d get out of here, and that idea always shook me to my core.. My brain was fuzzy, and I found myself briefly confused trying to remember the events of last night. “Nngh… Fuckin hell, my head...what’s the time? Hell- what date even is it?” I mused to myself, a hand gently reaching to ease the tension from my throbbing head. For a few moments, I sat there, still, before checking the date on my phone. Ah, February 15th. Spring was just a week or two away. With it, likely allergies and a painful amount of medication. I resisted the urge to groan at the thought, instead opting to lay there for a few moments and update what was happening in the online world. I hummed to myself, scrolling through my phone, and wondering what would come about today, before checking to make sure that everything was in order. ‘Homework assignments turned in, assessments turned into the big boss man at corporations yesterday...I should be fine today, so long as I don’t get dragged back off to his office…’ Ugh, the thought makes me shudder. I finally reach over and don my glasses, golden rimmed that I adjust with a sigh, before noting my laptop was beside me. My vision was still blurry though. ‘Oh, must’ve forgotten to put it away after that video game session last night. Oops.’ I sigh, setting the laptop aside and staring outside the window, white curtains letting small streams of sunlight in. The city was already busy to hell, cars rushing to and fro from and to work. Man...sometimes I wished the city was a nicer place, since I always loved the constant bustling and hustling...and maybe just a tad more quiet. But hey, we can’t always get what we want, no matter how hard we try...I swallow through a lump in my throat, slowly trying to will myself to not lay back down from the plague of exhaustion, and instead to just keep going- to keep moving. I had people depending on me, no matter how much I didn’t want to be productive some days. I had to keep going. So, I pushed myself out of bed, damn well near tripping along the way- a mental note to order a new prescription in the near future- before sighing and pressing my ear to the door. My parents could be faintly heard arguing to the side, which was nothing new. Those two have been doing that for as long as I can remember. It still aches my heart, though, to see a relationship come to pieces like that… It worried me for my own future, especially considering I was twenty-two and still living with my family. ‘It’s no wonder my sister wanted an out..’ I thought, sighing to myself with a sense of guilt plaguing my mind... ‘I really do miss her, sometimes…’ Still, I had to focus. Shaking my head out of it, I quickly go to get dressed, trying to hum to myself to distract the nostalgia clouding my thoughts. I had a feeling it was going to be a long day...

Sure enough, the day left me drained, and shaking. As I was walking home from work, I was far too close to a breakdown for my own good. I tried to steady my breathing, focusing on grounding myself rather than letting it consume me, but I kept just thinking the same things. It was disgusting...and there was a lingering sense of a seething hate for myself as I had walked home that evening. I hated work, and I hated my boss… He always did unspeakable things to me, and my body, that I never wanted. Never consented to. He didn’t care though, and that’s what hurt the most. I was nothing to him.. Everything felt like it was burned, and I could already see bruises imprinting themselves into my wrists. When I got home, my father was out at the time, leaving me alone with my mother. The thought made me cringe. Truth be told, I wasn’t paid enough to get my own place and get the hell out of here. At this point, it felt like I’d never escape...I just wanted an escape. But it felt hopeless. My mother scowled upon seeing me, noting the likely bruises that have begun to flower over my skin. I impulsively pulled my jacket up to cover the marks, even if they were already spotted. “Well, looks like you had fun at ‘work’ today, huh?” She said curtly, walking over and using my jaw to forcefully tilt my head to the side, examining each hickey that lined the side. I muffle a soft whine from the pain of the force. “You really are just your boss’s toy, aren’t you? Of course you are, you’re not even competent enough to do your work correctly.” “Can you please not do this today?... It’s been a long day, I just need something to drink.” I replied, unable to keep my voice from trembling slightly. I was so tired of this same bullshit, day in and day out. She’s always like this, and I was never enough for her. Nothing I did was enough for anyone, and it left me feeling awful at the end of the day. Out of reflex, I flinch when I felt her hand come into swift contact with my cheek, sending me tumbling into the wall next to me, and nearly falling onto the floor. “Don’t talk to your mother like that, missy!” She said firmly, “You will not have attitude in this house!” “B-But...I’m not...I’m not even giving y-you an attitude…” I mutter, swallowing away the lump of fear in my throat, threatening to consume any breath I had. Slowly, I got back to stable footing and giving a shaky sigh. I needed to get back to my room, or I’d definitely get my ass handed to me. “M-May I please go to my room, mother?” I asked softly, trying to keep my shaking hands behind my back. She gives a curt nod. “Maybe you’ll think about what you’ve done that way. Now go. I’ll lock the door next time you come home to a bruised neck.” She said firmly, before I quickly nod and skitter out of the room, making sure to grab one of the bottles from the fridge before headed into my own room to lay down.

I quickly changed into a small nightgown, it feeling too warm in the room to wear anything else. I just wanted nothing else but to let the world fade away, until I couldn’t tell up from down. My stomach groaned in protest, but I shook my head, instead sitting down on my bed and looking at the bottle’s label. Just some off-branded weird beer my father got. I preferred scotch, but frankly, it was probably wiser that I didn’t have anything stronger. No food with too much alcohol is especially dangerous, so I’ve heard. So, I quickly downed most of the bottle before setting it to the side and laying down with a shaky sigh. The few friends I have, have started getting concerned, like Ophelia. They were such a sweetheart, I really didn’t deserve having a friend like them. They’ve tried to get me to stop drinking, and to eat more, but I always politely declined. I was a bit on the overweight side anyway, it wouldn’t exactly hurt. Everything was fine. I had things in control. After several minutes of laying there, staring outside the window and wondering what to do with the rest of my night. I hum to myself, eventually sitting up to grab a small journal from underneath my laptop. Maybe I’d write a little bit, a few poems just to get through the night so I can continue being useful to other people… So that’s what I did, keeping my body hunched over the journal as I wrote for a while, and letting each word ring true through the pages. I was so passionate about so many things, so many creative, lovely, amazing things...But almost no one cared. Sometimes, I wished someone would care. But that’s okay. It doesn’t make a difference to society anyway, so why should it matter to others? I sigh, and look up to the ceiling, looking towards my phone. My sister would likely still be awake at this hour, and she hasn’t called in a while. ‘No wonder, I’m already a pain in the ass as it is without bothering her while she’s been away.’ I thought to myself, but still picking up the phone and setting the journal aside. “...Still. I should check up on her, just to make sure everything’s okay.” I spoke to myself in a soft, somber tone, “I might not be the older sibling, but I do have to be responsible for her, too. I have to look out for her. It’s what I wanna do.” Still, I hesitated briefly, feeling a wash of dizziness nearly encapsulate me. Fuck, I really should’ve remembered the effects a lack of food will do on an inebriated body. I sigh, reaching over and grabbing the bottle, before taking the last few sips from it and setting it aside once again, and pressing to call her number on my phone. I laid back down, pressing the phone to my ear and listening to it ring….ring….and ring some more. Eventually, she answered. “Ren? Jeez, man, do you know what time it is? Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Then there’s a notable tense pause, “Nothin’ bad’s going on, is there?” “N-no, no, not at all. I know it’s kind’ve late, n’m’ sorry for that.” I muttered quietly, staring emptily up at the ceiling as I listened for my sister’s response. “Dude, are you drunk again? What the hell have you been up to lately?” Ah, that figures. I can never seem to keep a solid normal tone when I was a bit tipsy. I felt a cringe grace my features, before mustering through my embarrassment to speak up again. “Y-Yeah. Just out a bit too often lately.” I lied through my teeth, though, either way. I didn’t want her to really know that this...well, alcohol problem I’ve been developing was from my own spiral into suicide. It’s been like that for four years already, anyway. I didn’t want to admit that this was going to be my end, to myself or to others. “...I guess….” She didn’t believe me, not by any regard, but it was likely she was too tired to question it, before continuing. “Anyway, I guess things have been okay. I moved again, after work not quite...well, working out. I needed something new, and something new to work on.” Yasmine explained, and I sat up a bit out of curiosity. “You moved? Where to, man?” Man, what can happen within two years… “Ah, it’s this little Valley town area. You know that envelope grandpa gave me before he passed?” Yasmine continued after a small moment. From the sounds of it, she sounded at least a bit excited about it. “Yeah, of course.” “Apparently it was the deed to the ol’ man’s old farm. So I’m living there now. It’s okay, I guess. I do kinda miss the city on occasion, but eh. I visit often.” Yasmine continued, and I felt my throat catch at something that came to mind. ‘This could be your escape. All it takes is to ask..’ ‘I couldn’t ask, that’s selfish...especially with how often she went off about how she just wanted to get away from me...‘ I reminded myself, before snapping out of it when my sister spoke up again. “Ren? Ren, are you still there?” She asked, slightly curious. “Ah-! Yeah, Yeah, I’m here. Just thinkin’...” I replied, giving a sheepish grin, and nervously looking away to fiddle with the strings of the nightgown. “...Is everything okay?” She asked a moment later, curiosity further shown in her tone. She’s known how our family is, but she didn’t know just how bad things at work were getting on top of it. How bad everything was getting on top of it. “Yeah, I’m...I’m okay. You know how it is with mother and father, ahah. It’s...I’m fine.” I stuttered a bit as I spoke, trying to at least feign my stability, even if it was being held up with the strength of hopes and toothpicks.... “Ren…” Hope and toothpicks, what can I tell ya, “Are you sure? I mean, I’m your sister. I’m supposed to at least know if something’s wrong…” I fell quiet, feeling a small surge of emotion flicker through my aching heart. My sister wasn’t exactly the nicest person on the planet, but she at least did always try to protect me. She protected the both of us for as long as she could, until she went off to college. I took college online, if only because I function better on the computer, rather than with other people.

I tried muffling a soft sniffle behind the palm of my hand, tempted to hang up the phone before everything would come crashing down, before Yasmine sighed softly. “Hey, no crying now, okay? Just take a breath, and tell me what’s up, okay?” I take a shaky breath, trying to find my mental footing again, before laying back down and hugging one of the pillows on my bed to my chest. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m not gonna cry on you now..” I mutter softly, managing a small laugh after a moment, before feeling my gaze flicker from my wall, to my sheets, as I spoke. “...I’m so tired of being here, Yazzy. Work is so stressful it makes me want to yank my hair out, my friends are all concerned because I keep showing up with bruises on my face, and I feel kinda…” I trailed off, the word I was going to say slipping out of my brain’s grasp. My sister catches on though, and sighs. “Trapped?” “...Yeah.” A silence falls over the line, as we both contemplate what I said with a heavy air in the room. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything...she might just call me a crybaby again, or laugh at me, or something..’ I couldn’t help but think to myself, my grip around the pillow tightening with each thought, ‘What if she just thinks I’m weak..?’ For a few minutes, this continued, with me constantly being too tempted to hang up the phone, and biting my lip to a point I tasted iron in my mouth. It was then I finally spoke up. “Yas…?” “Still here, just...thinking about somethin’.” She throws my excuse back into my face, and I resist the urge to sigh in mild irritation. “Should I call back?” I asked, and I heard her hum in disagreement. “Nah, just give me a minute.” I hear as she sets the phone down, getting up and grabbing something. There’s undistinguished murmuring of my sister for a few minutes like this, as I stir in my thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t have called, if all she’s going to be concerned about is me..

“M-Maybe I should just go, I’m probably just tired and-” “Ren.” “-when I’m tired you know I never really think straight-” “Ren.” “-but hey maybe we should talk again soon in the future when I’m in the right mindspa-” “REN!” Her shouting jostles me from my rambling, feeling pink heat my cheeks, before muttering a skittish ‘...Y-Yeah?’ into the receiver. There was a notable pause, as if she wasn’t sure if she should even say what she was about to say, before she spoke with an air of confidence into the phone. “Two weeks. Pack your bags, and get on the next bus down here. Okay?” “Huh-?!” Before I could even ask what she exactly meant by her words, the line went dead. I was left staring blankly at my phone for a few minutes, trying to process what the hell just happened. Eventually, I sighed, setting my phone down with a yawn. I shouldn't think on it too hard right now. My brain would just kill itself trying to wrap itself around her words. ‘I’ll ask her about it tomorrow… If this is even what she wants.’

We discussed things later on that morning, before I had to go into work-- the damn woman sounded like she didn’t even sleep that night-- as I was getting dressed. It was almost surreal, but the deal was made. She’d let me work with her there, on the farm, until I got my college degrees and found a job elsewhere that’d be better suited for me. Least, that was the plan. I had two weeks to get everything prepared before headed over, where she’d meet up with me at the bus stop. For the first time in a long time, I was genuinely excited when I went into work. If only because of what I knew I had to do. IE; slam that name-tag of mine into one of the bosses’ faces. Metaphorically, unfortunately. One can dream, after all. I put in my two week leave notice, before returning to my work. The bosses all seemed appalled, and threatened me, but I shrugged them off, as I walked back to my desk that morning. Things seemed to finally be looking up, and I couldn’t be more excited! Just the hope that things could be different for me, left my shoulders light. But honestly, I should have known that they wouldn’t drop the conversation that easily. My bosses weren’t one to take no for an answer, especially not from ‘breathing fleshlights’ like myself. Ugh. Those guys grossed me out, with how they spoke to me… But that didn’t matter now. I could finally move forward with my life. I could finally breathe again.

It must have been a few days before I would officially move out, when I headed into work one morning with a small pep in my step. I greeted the other co-workers, and headed to grab the work I did from yesterday to put into the input bin. “Sharp!” My boss’s voice yelled over the crew, and I immediately flinched and near dropped the papers. “My office, now!” ‘Shit… What did I even do this time!?’ I swore to myself silently, shaking my head and setting the papers aside, taking as slow strides as possible to delay the inevitable. When the door closed behind me, I paled a bit with a bit of grimace when I find my boss locked the door after it shut. “Uhh...I-Is everything alright, Boss…?” I managed to stutter, trying to force a smile onto my face that never came, before slowly laughing and rubbing my arm awkwardly. The blouse I had worn that morning awkwardly shifts around my form, as I try to avoid eye contact as soon as possible. Eyes dart between the uncomfortably feminine shirt, to the dark blue floor below. “I figured, Ms. Sharp… since you’ll be moving on to a new job in a few weeks, that I should offer you one last bonus, for all the hard work you’ve done..” My boss explained, causing me to give a rough gulp. I knew that tone, and I also knew his ‘bonuses’ weren’t very good… Or rather, I never had a choice in the matter. Still, I shook my head. “I-I’m fine, S-sir…” I mumbled sheepishly, trying to reach behind me to unlock the door- even when I knew it wouldn’t budge, “I-I’ll pass…” The sneer on his face widened, getting closer to my face until I could feel his breath against my cheek. I forced myself to not shudder at the contact. “I insist, dear. After all, you deserve the best after working for Joja Corporations for so, so long…” “I s-said...I said no.” I stated, more firmly. I don’t know why I bothered protesting anymore, he still did what he wanted regardless, and no one would believe me if I told anyone. It’s why I haven’t told anyone yet. My Boss, Mr. Langarb as he was called, laughed. He laughed, and I felt my arm begin shaking with the urge to smack the shit out of him. I kept it to myself though. I couldn’t get myself fired before my leave, that’d ruin my job applications later on in life. It didn’t take long for the anger to pass though, as the next thing I knew, my hands were above my head, held tightly in one fist. The other was quickly roaming, roaming, and tearing away at the blouse until it actually did tear. ‘Shit!’ I swore to myself, shaking my head and trying to pull myself free from his grip. But, I’m not that strong. I never have been, mentally or physically. “Now, you’ll see what happens when you say no to me, do you understand, Laila?” His words hissed in my ear, as I kept my head turned away from his. “L-let me go…I-I’ll report you to the police, I’ll let everyone know what a skeeze you are!” I retort, trying to keep my voice from trembling. Further fear kept its chain on my heart, as I saw that a few of the other bosses- from different sectors of the area- watched, and slowly started to approach as well. Langarb laughed, grabbing my chin and forcing my head to look at him. “You’re so funny sometimes, Sharp. You don’t get it yet, do you? No one will ever respect, or trust you. No one will believe a whore who can’t keep her mouth shut.” He spat back at me, as I scowled darkly at him, starting to kick and trying to hit something, but missing each and every time. I really needed some self-defense classes, god damnit. Still, the predatory looks in each and every one of the eyes I felt on my tiny form only caused a sense of nausea as I was pulled back, only to be slammed back into the wall hard- getting me to stop squirming. “So go ahead. Speak all you want. Your choices don’t matter. You’re alone in this.” He whispered in my ear harshly, before pulling me back once more and shoving me into the crowd of perverted managers behind him.

Later that night, I stared emptily at the wall. I had been laying there, on my side with my knees curled into my chest, for what seemed like hours now. Every couple minutes, I just found myself hurling whatever I could when I thought about what happened that morning. His parting words before I left for the evening being stuck and glued in my mind.

‘’You’ll never find anyone who treats me as well as I do, Sharp. Remember that. No one would ever love you the way I do.’’

I shuddered, violently, trying to will the memory beyond the fog that’s kept me distant all night since. I swallowed down the bile threatening to come back up again, rolling onto my other side and staring outward, towards the dresser. “How could I let that happen….augh, dumbass…” I swore to myself, shaking my head. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if I had done something different...Or maybe I shouldn’t have taken Yasmine’s deal to begin with…’ But in the end, it all circled back to how tired I was. Tired physically, mentally, emotionally. Everything felt unbearably numb, between the bruises along my side and the tears beginning to make a new set of tear tracts down my face. Ophelia kept blowing up my phone, asking if I was okay. I hadn’t spoken all evening, unlike the normal. She was so worried, and that sickened me even more. ‘I don’t want to worry anyone when I get there… I want to show my sister how capable I can be, and can become. When I move there, I’m going to do my damndest to not let anyone treat me that way.’ I thought to myself, before closing my eyes to try and stop the blur of tears in my vision. ‘...But what if he’s right? Who would love me for me? I don’t even love me for me…’ My thoughts kept conflicting themselves. I found myself unable to sleep that night, nor the nights after, as I tried to chew through my own self doubt, in which would never fade.

The next few days went by in a dull blur, as I didn’t even bother myself with going into work until the last day. I got hounded for it, but I just...couldn’t escape the numb feeling. It ached, dully, in my heart. I just was waiting to escape, to get the weight away from my shoulders. But, nothing prepared me for when the day had arrived. Ophelia saw me off, dark hair covering their light brown eyes, and I was near squished in a giant hug. “Hey now, you better be doing some great things out there, Renny!” They told me, and I gave a small cough. “Ophelia...please...can’t breathe-” I struggled through a small laugh and gasps of air. They let me down a moment later, giggling. “Sorry, sorry.” “It’s alright. Your hugs are probably the best.” I noted with a giggle, rubbing my arm- which was now sore from being squished. “Awh, Renny!” “Don’t start.” I instantly quipped in, jokingly pointing their way with a laugh. They burst out laughing as well, a melody that fills the bus terminal. I smile quietly, hugging them tightly in return with a small squeak like sound. They’ve been my best friend since high school, and moving away after we’ve been close to each other for so long almost tore my heart to shreds. “I’m gonna miss you, though, too, Pheli.” I went on to say, “Don’t you forget about me.” Ophelia smiled, not even phased by how tight my hug might’ve been, instead gently patting my back and hugging me again in return. “I would never. You know that, Ren. You’re going to be the best person you can be, I can feel it. Just...make sure to call, okay?” Ophelia’s voice began to break at the end of her spiel, and I look up to see the tears in her eyes, dropping into her glasses. “Hey, now...don’t cry. I’ll call every night, okay?” I felt my own eyes begin to water, pulling back a bit to press a platonic smooch to their cheek, “I better get going, bus is gonna pull up any minute now. I’ll be seeing you, alright?” I step back a bit, letting Ophelia dry their eyes a bit and nod. “Yeah, don’t wanna miss your bus, you bi idiot…” They mumble with a shake of their head. I laugh, shaking my head. “See ya, you gay bastard!” I quickly wave behind me, scooping my bag over my shoulder before taking off further into the terminal. I faintly heard them call out a ‘See you later!’ behind me as I took off. About 30 some minutes later, I kept my gaze outside the window of the bus, as it headed off, staring at the city as it passed...Jeez, I took the bus so many times- mostly to get to and from work or other places, since I didn’t drive- but I never thought… That there would be a last time as someone who lives in the city. I smile to myself, despite having to quickly wipe away the tears in my eyes once again. I’d miss the city, if I was entirely honest. I loved the bustling and hustling, and the constant never-ending stream of activities that was provided. Every week there was some new trend to try, or something interesting to partake in. Yet, I was never happy living in the city. ‘I’ll need to come back and visit Ophelia sometime...I’m sure they’ll appreciate a good visit.’ I thought to myself, yawning quietly. Damnit, fuck motion sickness. I don’t remember what it was called, however, but it was basically a degree of motion sickness where it tires out the patient, rather than making them nauseous. Just another reason to keep me away from the driver’s wheel at all costs. I kept my bag held close to my chest, staring out the window with a soft sigh. ‘I hope things’ll be different soon…’ I thought to myself, before I ended up dozing off to sleep.

I woke up when I heard a sudden hiss in my ear, my shoulder being shaken. “Ren? Ren, wake up you idiot-!” I blinked my eyes a bit, left over exhaustion making everything feel disoriented. I look over, to where my sister was leaning over beside me, before shaking her head, “Good grief, you weren't waking up before. C’mon.” She stood up a bit straighter, motioning for me to follow her off, “Grab your bags and let’s get moving. It’s a little later than normal, so we’ll be starting off again in the morning.” I nod a bit, my brain still fuzzy from the ride over, before slowly getting to my feet and slinging my bag over my shoulder, before quickly following her off...and instantly reeling because ew sun. “Ah-!” I cover my face for a few moments before letting my hands slowly fall back to their sides. “Easy, it’s bright. Trust me, I don’t like it either.” Yasmine went on to say, before giving a proper pat to my shoulder, “You’ll get used to it though.” I nod a bit, taking a moment to appreciate that my sister was still wearing a black Legend of Zelda t-shirt and a pair of capris. Plus, she smiled at me. I couldn’t quite make out if it was genuine, or a forced one- I never could quite guess with her- before she laughed a bit and shook her head. “Dude, you look like you’re looking at an alien.” She said with a raise of the brow, “You good?” “Yeah...yeah, it’s just been a while. It’s good to see you sis.” I reply, trying to shake the fuzz out of my head until my head manages to clear out a bit more to focus on everything else around me. Looking around, I found myself giving a half smile at the environment around me, bright and green and just the perfect photo opportunity for the first day of spring. I found myself unable to form words, simply taking a moment to catch my breath and come to realize that this...was really happening. This was real. This was what my life would be now, if only for a little while. My sister took a few steps ahead of me, looking back to me with a teasing smirk, likely knowing that this was exactly how I’d react. I was an easy person to read, on the surface of my personalities. Sometimes she calls me the ‘walking cliche.’ Still though, her smile faded to a more relaxed grin, before chuckling as I looked back to her. Without even faltering, she makes a small gesture around her, before turning and walking off with parting words- leaving me to scramble behind her.

“Welcome to Stardew Valley, kid. Cmon, we’ve got some work to do.”

[iceice-baeby]

Was tagged by: @scarlet--holmes Answer 11 questions and make up 11 new ones, then tag people to answer the new questions again. Do you believe in conspiracies? That really depends on the conspiracy. If it actually has any backing and sounds logical, like “Erdogan planned the Putsh on himself to make himself look better and gain more power” I think that sounds perfectly logical. And honestly, who would be surprised at that one. Would you rather go to the past or the future? Why? That is a good questionnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. But I think into the future, new technologyy and science ficiton, if humanity makes it so far! How did your parents meet? No idea, and dont care. Pinapples on pizza: yes or no? Yes. Because its tasty, deal with it Which city would you like to visit? Oh god. There is way too much cities I wanna visit... BUTTTTTTTTTTTT I think London again. I really loved it when I visited there, and now I actually speak the language properly xD Tell us something about your OCs (if you have any)! DUDE. Which one? I have too many. I can just go with like... four for a moment here.

Okay, here we go then. 1.) Melissa Hummel One of the infamous Failures, a fairy that is still very tiny and doesnt even have wings big enough to support herself, so she cant even fly. She may be the most useless fairy around, since her magic doesnt even work as well as it should, but se still has some bite. The most grumpy, agressive and antisocial fairy you can find around. Will always drag her friends into the biggest bullshit. What she doesnt have in literally anything else, she gained in her will to fuck up the life of everyone around her. Senior Student in “The Academy of Failures” 2.) Ophelia A mild mannered Dryad, seemingly completely harmless, friendly, and only shy’s away from people a lot. However, she is not a normal Dryad, bound to a tree. Instead, she is one of the rare Flowerbound Dryads, her flower being an Orchid. With her flower she was born with the power to suck the life out of other Dryads, like Orchids suck the life out of trees, and she is the specific type of Failure known as “Parasyte”. Considering how Failues are treated in Orchid society, she was originally planned to be killed right after her birth, but her family was one of the most influencal ones in her world and she was spared thanks to them. Her family still thinks that it could be useful to have her as a threat in their backhand, and send her to the Academy of Failures to integrate her into normal society well enough to blend in. Ophelia does not mind. If it wouldnt be for her family she would be dead, so she accepts their will. 3.) Feliks Yuriovich Dubinsky Now to an OC from another story of mine, Feliks. He is a russian, kind hearted plant-fanatic, and works for the “Organisation” as an agent for special cases. The Object his powers are tied to is his headscarf, and the powers he DOES possess thanks to it is life control. Well, only plants so far, control or making of more complex life forms would need a lot more training. He lives together with his husband Louis, their Munchkin cat Baguette and his Partner in the Organisation, Nora. He is one of the most valued members of the Organisation, if only for the fact that he makes the least of trouble and goes through with the most solved cases. He is loyal, upbeat and stays calm even under a lot of pressure. He never really looses his nerves and can work with a lot of different people really well, he has quite the calming aura. 4.) Nora Klein And as for the last OC, Nora, the main character of one of my stories! She is of German nationality, cynical, suicidal and immortal. She discovered that she accidentally got superpowers with her new little hourglass when she had planned on shooting herself in the head, but failed to die through it. Now, she is understandably pissed, and the fact that the Organisation found her through it and recruited her sort of against her will and now keeps the little hourglass with her superpowers locked away so she cant destroy it does not help her at all. She is sarcastic, snarky, depressed and hates her job, but still has to do it. The only thing that does make her life better is her Partner Feliks, who slowly warmed up to her and won over her heart, and now does his best to make her life as bearable as possible. And she appreciates him a lot for it. She also slowly befriended his husband as well (and his Ex but thats another point), and becomes more and more open as time goes on thanks to her beloved partner. (The story will end up in a poly relationship btw, between Feliks, Nora and Louis)

Do you have any “guilty pleasures”? I do, but nothing I will admit to xD What is your Zodiac sign? Does it suit your personality? Capricorn, and... only half. Only a little bit, not as much. Do you have a favourite period in history? Victorian England, if only because I really love Steampunk a lot. Are you planning to enter a university? Why or why not? I am, but I fear I do not have the grades for it. However, I would learn to learn some things I could not learn otherwise. How did you discover your favourite fandom? I wish I could remember. I love Hetalia and I wish I knew how I started with it.

Now to my questions: 1. Which answer of the “Would you fuck your clone” meme would be your response? 2. Tell me about your favourite of your OCs 3. How many Exes do you have? 4. What is your favourite animal, and if you could have ANY animal as a pet, which one would it be? 5. The OTP of your OTPs? 6. Most hated character that deserves to be flinged into the sun? 7. Worst fandom that deserves to be flinged into the sun? 8. What is a game you really love the characters from, but where the story is weak? 9. A game where the story is great, but the characters weak? 10. Russia or America: If you would visit one or the other, which one and why? 11. Rifle, Bow and Arrow, Gun or Crossbow? Tagging: @softestconnor, @theeggshavelegs, @giripans-googlehistory, @artsbysmarty, @askbountyhunterjones, @wait-what-pancakes, @paachubelle, @askhunterludwig, @asktheitalianempire, @spitfire-diavolo-lovi, @hetaliatime

[francesbeau]

Othello - Quote Analysis - William Shakespeare

Started: 30th of April 2021 Finished: 30th of April 2021 

Act One Scene One: 

- Iago talking about Cassio: “great arithmetician/mere prattle without prance” Targets Cassio’s lack of experience 

- Iago talking about Cassio: “A Florentine never damned in a fair wife” Mentions outsider status to disconnect him from the dynamism of Venetian life. Depicts Cassio as a bachelor to create more realism, goes against Cinthios original play.

- Iago: “We cannot all be masters, nor all masters truly be followed” A corruption of the master/servant relationship. Draws upon the tricky servant trope (servus callidus) King James had just been appointed to so this was very topical. 

- Iago: “I am not what I am”, teasingly obscure and creates the question of who really is Iago? Also makes an allusion to 12th night where Viola says “I am not what I am” This showcases how vows about dissemblance can have benign intention. 

- Iago to Brabantio: “look at your house, your daughter and your bags!” asyndetic listing highlights women as secondary importance. 

- “An old black ram is tuping your white ewe” explicate reference to miscegenation. women as an extension of property. Subdued pun to make Brabantio the victim of violation. This sexually suggestive language is because black rams are associated with lust and sexual potency and its horns imply its the reincarnation of the devil. 

- “You’ll have your nephews neigh to you, coursers for cousins, and jennets for germans” Paronomasia is where words nearly sound alike, similar to eye rhyme. Cluster of racial attacks. 

- Brabantio: “thou art a villain” - Iago: “you are a senator”. Dissonance of identity, highlights corrupt higher structures. 

- Roderigo: “tying her beauty, duty and wit in an extravagant and wheeling stranger” 

- Iago: “However, this may gall him with some check” - Subdued equestrian metaphor of a horse being pulled back by reins. 

Act One Scene Two: 

- Iago: “By Janus” Appropriate God to evoke as it is the twofaced God.

- Othello: “Keep up your bright swords” Where Christ, betrayed by Judas, is arrested he order Peter to “put up thy sword into thy sheath” 

Act One Scene Three: 

- Duke: “Valliant Othello” first person to use his name and its the most important man in all of Venice. 

- Othello: “Rude I am in speech, and little blessed in the soft phrase of peace” Actually highly articulated. Spezzatura -  ‘certain nonchalance, so as to conceal and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort’

- Othello: “I won his daughter” - Links to patriarchal norms, Romeo and Juliet there is challenge for Paris to win and “woo” Juliet. 

- Othello: “The anthropophagi and men...” The allusion to the race of the cannibals in the Odyssey called Laestryganes who tried to eat Odysseus. 

- Othello: “she wished heaven had made her such a man” Kind of fickle and would love any man with same fantastical tales. 

- Desdemona: “divided duty” / “I saw Othello’s visage in my mind” Blackness of face is merely a deceptive outward show and his true countenance lies in the mind. 

Othello: “Nor to comply with the heat of young affects” - He is confining his sexual passion due to his stereotypes and has a lack of matched enthusiasm. Separates himself from sexual desire. Could be guilty repression. Freud: Sexual instincts are allied to emotional condition of fear” 

- Duke: “your son-in-law is far more fair than black”

- Iago: “our bodies are gardens to the which our wills are gardeners” - whole soliloquy goes on to examine to argument that if we didn’t have rational minds to counterbalance our emotions our desires would take over. 

- Iago: “these Moors are changeable in their ways” / “Moor is of free and open nature”

- Iago: “when she is sated with his body she will find the errors of her choices” Sexual reference

- Iago: “womb of time.”

- Iago: “twixt my sheet/ done my office” anxiety within marriage links to 2.3 when he calls Othello the “lusty moor” who leapt into his “seat”

- Iago: “Cassio’s a proper man” Acknowledges adversaries advantages. 

Act Two Scene One

- “What from the cape can you discern at sea?” Begins in storm which is symbolic of passions of Cyprus. Starts with the limitations of light and foreshadows metaphorical blindness. 

- “Our great captains, captain” 

- Othello: “oh my souls joy if after every tempest come such calms” / “If i were to die twere now the to e the most happy, for I fear my soul hath her content to absolute” Last time Othello is truly happy 

- Desdemona: “Our loves and comforts should increase even as our days grow”

Act Two Scene Three 

- Othello: “Are we turned Turks?/For Christian shame” Evokes intermittent conflict between European powers and the Ottoman Empire

- Othello to Cassio: “what's the matter, that you unlace your reputation thus.” 

- Iago: “I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear” Link to Hamlet where the King was poisoned by it being poured into his ear

Act Three Scene Three 

- Iago: “Ha, I like not that.” / “Nothing My Lord, or if, I know not what”. Plants seeds of suspicion with mysterious interjection 

- Othello: “Excellent wretch, perdition catch my soul. But i do love thee, and when i love thee not chaos comes again” Oxymoran - doesn't have a grip on emotions. breakdown of cosmos and order as chaos is the undoing of the gods. 

- Iago: “Honest My Lord?” Othello: “Honest? Ay, Honest.” Anadiplosis is the repetition of the last line of previous conversation

- Iago: “My lord you know I Love thee” - John 21;15 “Lord thou knowest I love thee” 

- “Beware my Lord of Jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feeds upon”

- Othello: “Haply for I am black and have not these soft parts of conversation” - Endemic to Venetian culture are attitudes that Othello cant inculcate. In the shape of Iago the venomous rage of society that are rocked by the elopement play out. 

- “She s gone, I am abused and my relief must be to loathe her” 

- “I had rather be a toad and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than to keep a corner in the thing i love” - This metaphor places emphasis on the embarrassment of cuckoldry. The animalistic imagery is interesting as toads are insignificant and gross which highlight how he feels. Women is the aggressor.

- “I think my wife be honest, and think she is not”

- Iago about a fake dream from Cassio, “I heard him say, ‘Sweet Desdemona let us be wary and hide our love”

- Iago to Othello: “I am your own forever” language of service, however Iago hints at mephisteplion bargain by which Iago has ensnared his soul. 

Act Three Scene Four 

- “There is magic in the web of it”, assumes bizarre shape of perverted trail

Act Four Scene One

- Iago: “to kiss in private” aggressively plants seeds of images of animated sexual congress 

- Othello about himself: “A horned man’s a monster and a beast” Sign of cuckoldry 

- Othello: “My heart has turned to stone” / ‘He Beats his chest’ / “sweeter creature” (like Cassio’s dream) 

- “I’ll chop her into messes” Truculent 

“Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile” - complex conceit, crocodiles generated spontaneously and a proverbial hypocrisy. Plutarch suggests that crocodiles wept when devouring their victims. Crocodile pretends to be in distress to lure victims in. 

Act Four Scene Two

- Othello about Emilia - “a lock and key of villainous secrets”

- Desdemona: “I understand a fury in your words, bot not the words.” 

- Emilia: “she forsook so many noble matches” - links ti act one scene two: she shunned the wealthy curled darlings of our nation

Act Four Scene Three

- The whole song of willow, link to Hamlet as Ophelia fell from a willow tree and drowned after finding out her husband did not love her. 

- Emilia: “if wives do fall” - Post-lapsyrian, eve’s fall from grace. 

- “The ills we do, their ills instruct us so” inverts traditional male leadership role. 

Act Five Scene One 

- ‘Iago wounds Cassio in the leg from behind and exit’ - constant scene controlment. Displays talent for improvisation. 

Act Five Scene Two

- Othello: ‘Think on thy sins’ Desdemona: ‘They are the loves I bear to you’ could be a reference to race but more so an allusion to the sin of living a human more than god. 

- Othello: “A murder which I thought a sacrifice” Zenith of insanity.

- “The sun and the moon and that affrighted globe” Christs crucifixion similar events. Globe theater in terror. 

- “It is the very error of the moon” - Power of the moon can induce madness

- “Base Indian who threw away a pearl” - Matthew 8 Merchant who looses everything trying to obtain a pearl. 

- “Malignant and a turband turk” - symbolically annihilating both Iago and himself. Whole speech is about the salvation of a soul peppered with semantics of Orientalism.

- Lodovico: “this heavy heart with heavy heart relate” Rhyming is emblematic of balance that civilized Venetians are saturated with

[tamitha-t-shepard]

Episode No. 1: The Past is Always present

Our Dearest Everleigh,

We are sorry that our last letter caused you such misery amid unexpected joy. Though, you must feel, as we do, that our concern is only natural given the circumstances. We hope this letter finds you well—and still unmarried.

Please understand, it is not that we believe him to be unworthy of you, but that it is impossible to know one way or the other. For a young man of such striking abilities as you describe to remain wholly unknown to our kind for the first thirty years of his life is an unusual and unlikely occurrence. But for him to suddenly appear on The Furthest Shore without any recollection of a past or home, family or friends is inconceivable. As no one has yet come forward that can claim any knowledge of him, we must urge you to postpone your marriage until our return. Even as I write, Ophelia is booking our passage, and most of the morning has been spent packing in such scramble and haste as to be comical were it not for our anxiety that we are already too late. I know that what we write must pain and disappoint you, but we cannot help but fear for your sake—nay, for both your sakes, if he is as friendless and innocent as he appears to you. There is darkness at the root of this, we are sure, and until any light can be gained, you must guard your heart.

Remember, “the past is always present.” Those words followed our family from The World That Was to the shore where you now stand, and they have served us well for over three thousand years. While most of the Others have perished, our kind has not only survived but flourished in The New World. It is because we do not forget. We are The Living Memory of all that was. If a Darkwell knows anything with certainty, it is that, however deeply buried or seemingly distant, the past is inescapable. It will always find you.

With Much Trepidation and Ceaseless Love, Your Aunts,

Odessa & Ophelia

P.S. —And so will we—find you that is— if you even think of eloping and abandoning the manor before our return. It is much better to defy us in the comfort and safety of Darkwell and risk our displeasure rather than undo the work of many generations. The last time it was left uninhabited, it took your great-grandmother six months to find it and six more to coax it back to The Furthest Shore. So much can happen in the space of a year; who has the time to go chasing after a cross, anxiety-riddled house with unresolved abandonment issues?

The Goring Letter, as it later became known in the Darkwells’ Book of Books, was written after Odessa and Ophelia Darkwell were booted from Portal Travelers’ Grand Tour of Royal Coronations Through the Ages.

Organized by the sisters and arranged through the Interrealm Historical Society of The New World, of which they were longstanding members, it was meant to be a long and well-deserved holiday. Their guide, Shaemus McPhail, accused the sisters of intentionally referring to him as Shameless McPhail, constantly correcting him on ‘historical inaccuracies of grave error,’ and despite repeated warnings, wandering away from their group to discuss current events with the locals. There was also a confrontation that resulted in an altercation between Ophelia and Richard III over the return of a Darkwell family heirloom ‘borrowed’ by the York brothers before the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross in 1461.

After being banned from their tour group (and all future Portal Travelers historical tours), they decided to travel onto its last stop alone. While in London, they received a letter from their niece, Everleigh Darkwell, informing them of her intention to marry against their wishes. Everleigh wouldn’t discover their reply until a few months into her marriage while she was weeding the garden, tucked inside one of Odessa’s prize rhododendron bushes. Until that moment, it never occurred to her to question their absence. Only the Darkwells’ neighbor, Nettle Larkspur, was convinced something must have gone wrong when the sisters weren’t among the guests at Everleigh’s wedding. As she told her own niece while walking home from the reception, ‘it is not in Ophelia Darkwell’s nature to have missed the opportunity to put a stop to the wedding and deny everybody of The Furthest Shore a piece of the cake.’

Still, the sisters weren’t expected to return from their holiday for several weeks after their niece found their letter. It wasn’t unusual to have heard nothing from them. The mail was no more reliable than the weather in a place like The Furthest Shore. Even an express (and its hapless messenger) could be lost for weeks or months, and sometimes, years before turning up. Besides, Everleigh was in no rush for the return home of her aunts. She knew that while Odessa may not approve, she would resign herself to her niece’s choice sooner than later and welcome her new nephew into the family. Ophelia, however, was most likely of the opinion that Everleigh’s marriage to an unknown witch without a name or family was a tarnish on the Darkwells’ reputation only an annulment could remove.

Ophelia would return home ready to wage war, doggedly determined to rampage down the path she believed was ‘the only proper way,’ dragging the others along until eventually they fell into step beside her. That was how it had always been as long as Everleigh could remember, but this time, she could not—would not—bend to her aunt’s will. As painful as the thought was, the possible necessity of leaving the only home and family she knew occurred to her more than once. Her first responsibility was now to her marriage, and like all young wives, she was eager for the comfort and happiness of her husband. Where he was not welcomed, she could no longer remain.

Her aunts’ lack of faith in her judgment and the family pride that ranked higher in their consideration than the niece they brought up and treated as a daughter, taught Everleigh the importance of self-reliance. This resulted in the further discovery that she, too, possessed a strength of will as formidable as theirs. In other words, she was determined to have her own way and for everyone involved to be happy about it. She was no longer in the business of pleasing her aunts or fanning the flame of their inflated sense of what she owed her family to be worthy of the name of Darkwell.

It was a long-honored tradition in The Furthest Shore for the groom to take the family name of his bride. She had half a mind to further shock her relations and neighbors by taking her husband’s last name, but that would have to wait until he either remembered what that name was or his family came forward to claim him. But apart from her daydreams of rebellion, Everleigh clung to her belief that time and distance would smooth the ruffled feathers of her aunts’ pride. If not, the impending arrival of the newest member of the Darkwell family would serve to heal the breach once Odessa and Ophelia returned. At least, that had been her hope until she read their letter.

Portal Travelers were prohibited by their lawyers from discussing any details relating to the Miss Darkwells, Richard III, or the events that transpired during his coronation feast at Westminster Hall. They were currently under investigation by the Interrealm Portal Authorities (IPA) in conjunction with the Time Travel Sanctions Enforcement Agency (TTSEA). The only thing that IPA could confirm with certainty was the Miss Darkwells were asked to leave the tour shortly after the incident, and their current whereabouts were unknown. They wondered if Everleigh would be so kind to let them know of any word from her aunts as the Miss Darkwells was still wanted for questioning and apologized that their agents had been prevented from contacting her sooner.

Both organizations attempted to reach her several times by phone and letter. No sooner did they dial the number then they were put on hold while “God Save the Queen” played on an endless loop; every letter came back marked ‘return to sender’—and stamped with a smiling and winking skull. They couldn’t understand it as The Furthest Shore was well within their jurisdiction. They even sent agents to Darkwell Manor, but like her aunts, they were now missing and could not be located.

Everleigh wasn’t surprised to learn that her aunts’ tour was short-lived. Or that they were responsible for a time anomaly and a new portrait hanging in the east wing dated 1483 by an unknown artist, portraying Richard being accosted by two finely dressed noblewomen, or that they took off on their own without a word to anyone, including herself. In the best of circumstances and on their best behavior, Odessa and Ophelia could be impetuous and unpredictable. Revered throughout The New World for their brilliance as witches and the integrity that marked their practice of the craft, they were also infamous for their outlandish, eccentric, and contrary natures.

Everleigh could trace them as far as the Goring Hotel in London on the afternoon of June 3, 1953—the same date as the Goring Letter—but not beyond. They, had in fact, booked their passage home to The Furthest Shore, but an unidentified woman canceled the booking by phone less than an hour after it was made. Similarly, a Ms. H—only the ‘H’ of her signature was legible—paid their bill at the desk and politely asked to have a handful of the sisters’ letters mailed directly. Everleigh couldn’t think of who the woman was, and no one at the hotel was able to give a satisfactory description of her beyond her being rather tall and of indiscriminate age with no discernible accent. But what struck their niece as odd and out of character wasn’t that a mystery woman was running their errands, but that no one remembered seeing her aunts leave the hotel after their bill was settled.

Above all, Odessa and Ophelia enjoyed being seen, heard, and attended to while traveling—and causing as much trouble and inconvenience to others as was in their power fulfilled their two main requirements of any holiday—entertainment and relaxation. The sisters were always curious and impatient to see how enthusiastically they were wished away by the hotel staff and other guests by the end of their stay. Surely, there must have been at least one disgruntled employee or cranky patron of the hotel who’s good nature was tested by Odessa and Ophelia as they left.

For reasons unknown, they went to great lengths to conceal themselves—and to keep their niece in the dark as long as possible. As the months passed and there was still no word of them, Everleigh, like her aunts, could not shake the feeling that darkness was at the root of it. She couldn’t bring herself to mention her suspicions to her husband, but in the privacy of her own thoughts, she couldn’t help wondering if her aunts had stumbled upon something to do with his past—or the reason for his lack of one.

She could recite every word of their letter faithfully, and the concerns and fears which seemed so trivial and unsubstantial when she first read it, now struck her as natural and reasonable. She had rushed into a marriage to a man who was not only a stranger to her, but to himself; he had no memory of who he was or the life he led before Everleigh found him wandering the shoreline alone. Her aunts were troublesome, demanding, and often exhausting, but they also spent the better part of their youth raising, teaching, and loving her without complaint or ever implying that they would have had it otherwise. She was their joy and preoccupation for the first twenty years of her life, and in that time she was treated with kindness, affection, and most importantly—especially for a young girl who lost both parents at an early age—they made her feel safe and wanted. Her aunts’ disappearance and the mystery of her husband’s origins became so intertwined in her imagination she could no longer untangle the one from the other.

Darkwell Manor was too quiet, too somber, and lost much of its color and vibrancy without the presence of Odessa and Ophelia. One by one, the sisters’ familiars wandered away from the manor and did not return. Even Ophelia’s favorite, a large black tomcat that called himself Pagan, gave up hope, and one afternoon, Everleigh watched him saunter out of the work kitchen and through the back garden gate without a word to anyone. He didn’t look back as he went, and no one had seen him since. Inside the walls of Darkwell, there was stillness, darkness, and a chill to be found in every room. The garden her aunts were so proud of sunk into despondency and decay. When it became impossible for Everleigh to tend to it herself, the Larkspurs were kind enough to take over its care. Still, even the deft hands and horticultural prowess of Nettle Larkspur wasn’t able to restore it to life. Only the rhododendrons continued to thrive, growing large and lush, overwhelming the smaller plants withering away nearby. Everleigh began to hate them and refused to have them in the house any longer. Darkwell was in mourning—for whom or what she wasn’t sure—but grief, like a shroud, descended over the manor.

The evening that marked the first anniversary of Odessa and Ophelia leaving Darkwell before embarking on their grand tour, Everleigh lay awake in bed, her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds of her sobs. Her husband lay beside her pretending to sleep as he listened. The next morning, she woke with a start to the sound of her husband’s voice calling her—and another’s as well—a familiar voice and the only voice that was capable of yelling the entirety of her name as though it were a string of obscenity-laced expletives. Ophelia Darkwell was home.

Before she could lift herself out of bed, her husband came through the door and breathlessly announced, “Everleigh, there’s a madwoman in the garden that wants you.”

“Yes, I know. It’s the Aunts,” Everleigh said brightly as she pointed to her robe lying on a chair near her husband, “Can you help me, please?”

“Is Odessa out there too?” she asked as he helped her into the robe.

“No, I didn’t see anyone else,” he said.

“Well, she’s never far behind Ophelia,” Everleigh said and turned to see the state of her husband’s mess of thick curls, rumpled clothes, and unshaven face, “Look at you—they’ll think I don’t take care of you.”

“Beloved, your eight months pregnant,” he pointed out. “I think that’s more likely to be the topic of our conversation with your—”

“Everleigh— Morgana— Gloriana— Alberta— Odeira— Darkwell!” Ophelia yelled, “If you do not come down here at once—what has THAT WOMAN done to my garden?”

“Maybe we should just pack and skip the introductions,” Everleigh suggested. Her husband only smiled and held out his hand which she took, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

As they came down the stairs and into the main hall, they could hear every word Ophelia uttered clearly and distinctly, which was no small feat considering the size of the house or the thickness of its walls. Everleigh was sure that the whole of The Furthest Shore now knew that the Darkwell sisters were home. Once outside, Everleigh stopped on the steps leading into the garden holding onto her husband’s hand to prevent him from going any nearer. They watched as Ophelia, on her knees and turned away from them, was attempting to pull the gnarled remains of a dead rose bush from the ground with only a trowel and her bare hands.

“—and to imagine that this is what I come home to! A slack-jawed nephew-in-law that runs away as soon as he sees me— as if he’s never seen a proper witch before; a ruined garden—what could Everleigh have been thinking to let Nettle Larkspur near it? I know it was her—daft woman left her trowel behind. Just like her, too, to do more harm than good. DO NOT THINK I DO NOT RECOGNIZE YOUR HAND IN THIS NETTLE LARKSPUR! Where is that girl?”

“Here, Aunt,” Everleigh called out as calmly as she could manage. “Good morning, Aunt Ophelia. Where is Aunt Odessa?”

“Good morning?” asked Ophelia, getting up and wiping the damp dirt from the front of her skirt while turning towards her niece, “Does any of this look good to you, Everleigh Darkwell? I am seriously displeased that you allowed—all of this,” she said, making a vague gesture that appeared to encompass the state of the garden, Everleigh’s large stomach and the husband who’s hand was beginning to tingle and grow numb in his wife’s unrelenting grip. “Where is everybody? Where is that tomcat—I gave him one job to do while we were away—to keep out the mice and rabbits. BILE OF THE BEAST—where is that damned heretic of a feline— Pagan!”

“He’s gone,” Everleigh told her.

“What do you mean, gone?” Ophelia asked incredulously.

“They’ve all gone, Aunt Ophelia. I’m sorry, but when you and Aunt Odessa didn’t return all of the familiars went off too—where is Aunt Odessa?”

Ophelia did not answer. She made her way to an old stone bench as the young couple watched as Ophelia began to rock where she sat, wrapping her arms tightly around her as though to prevent a sudden pain from escaping, before finally and quietly saying, “Not here, obviously. Do not you have eyes, child? Cannot you see that I am alone?”

A cold spell had come to The Furthest Shore during the night, and it began to snow—a light, soundless fall that clung to Ophelia. She was wearing only a thin, yellowing blouse and a long, slim gray skirt torn at the hemline, now damp and stained with dirt. She was shivering. She seemed diminished and older and yet, more childlike and at a loss than her niece had ever known her.

Everleigh’s eyes began to sting and cloud as she took in her aunt, and the meaning of her words began to sink in. She was startled by the sudden revelation of what she had always known but taken for granted. Her aunts were but two halves—only whole when they were together. A ‘split soul’ is what their kind called it. To Everleigh’s knowledge, the sisters had never been apart from one another for more than a few days at a time.

“I do not know how it happened,” Ophelia said, looking up at her niece, “I turned only for a moment, and when I turned back, she was gone. Vanished. I do not know how I let it happen.”

Everleigh could not move or speak but felt her husband let go of her hand and watched as he approached Ophelia, slowly and carefully. He took off his coat and put it around her shoulders.

“You aren’t dressed for the weather,” he said. “Should we go in?”

Everleigh watched him help Ophelia from the bench, marveling at the unlikely sight of her aunt leaning against him as they walked, his arm around her, and her hand clasped in his.

“What are you called, or are you still wandering about with no name?” Odessa asked him.

“Marc,” he told her. “Marc Darkwell.”

“Hmm, it is an ancient name—an auspicious name,” she said thoughtfully.

“Yes, Everleigh said so too.”

“A family name, of course. And was the naming done properly? Were you named at The Veil?”

He replied he was.

“It is a good name for a great man to have,” she told him. “The spirits of The Veil do not make mistakes. They see further and know better than the rest of us.”

“I’m honored to bear it.”

“As well you should be if you are to be a Darkwell.”

When questioned by Everleigh, her neighbors— and the IPA agents that finally found their way to the door of Darkwell Manor— about Odessa’s disappearance or her own unexplained absence, Ophelia would change the subject to the unusual weather for the time of year, or how unkempt the Larkspurs garden was looking these days, before abruptly leaving the room.

She was not home many days before she discovered she preferred the company of her nephew-in-law to her niece’s. He asked incessant questions, too, but they were questions that did not pain or disturb what was left of her peace of mind. He wanted to know everything about the Darkwells’ family history, the manor, and especially, his namesake. Ophelia would tell him the stories she knew while pretending not to notice Everleigh as she hovered nearby, silent and scowling at Marc and herself while rubbing her stomach as though she and the unborn child were plotting their revenge.

When Everleigh could no longer stand it, she declared that unless her aunt was prepared to tell her everything, she had nothing further to say to her. This suited Ophelia better than Everleigh knew. She had promised to say nothing, and a Darkwell keeps her promises. Even if she had not, Ophelia knew she couldn’t bring herself to tell Everleigh how close she had come to danger—how close they had all come—and may yet still be.

Thank you for reading the first episode of The Daughters of Darkwell.

If you enjoyed it, please consider becoming a patron. However much you give, however often you give, your support matters. Your patronage not only keeps me in pens, but makes it possible for me to share this story with you, earn a living as an author, and fund future projects.

[tdrcharmschool4]

Charm School Homework #5: Mama Always Said I was Original… - Critiques

Kushboo, Luna, Marina, Nikita, and Ophelia are nowhere to be found, but we’ve found some new characters asking for critiques. Let’s see how they did!

Kushboo

Hi! My name is Granny Panny and at 85 years, I’m Delhi’s oldest MILF. I think that means I am modern, incredible-looking & fabulous. I support LGBVAUD rights also. Now I want to share my beauty and happiness with the world so I’m looking for friends on The Facebook , Instant gram as well as Grinder. Please be my friend ? I will teach you how to do yoga and bake you cakes for being my friend. If you will be my friend we will be soo happy and I will never ever leave you. Il love you for ever and ever and ever don’t worry. Here are some photos of me to keep in your heart. I can send you many many more. Can I have your number ? I love you. 

Analyse: KUSH. BOO. STOP SNATCHING ME BALD LIKE THIS. THIS is a character, and there are so many directions I can see this going for the test, so I really look forward to see what you do with that! The age makeup reads well, and I think the accessories really help to play up the “old person who thinks she’s cool” kind of vibe (aka Toni). I wouldn’t be mad at the hair being even rattier, but all in all, I really like what you have here. The fact that you’ve already got the humor of the character down in writing bodes well for the acting in the test. I can’t wait to see the full look and how this character is realized for the acting challenge!

Harper: I think you’ve got a really good start here! I got a sense of who your character was from your picture and bio, but I wish you had taken it to a draggier place. While I liked your aging effects, this is still a drag assignment! Sometimes you will be tasked with impersonating someone who doesn’t wear much makeup, and it’s important to adjust the drag makeup to fit the character (neutral shades, softer blends, etc) rather than to eliminate it entirely. So instead of doing regular old lady makeup, try using neutral colors, playing around with a more droopy cut crease, and adding sagging lashes to give off an older vibe while still maintaining a drag aesthetic. I would also like to see you refine the character a bit more, because right now there’s nothing separating her from a standard grandma stereotype. What makes her unique? You have all the materials you need here to put together a great character, and I’m looking forward to seeing your submission!

Luna

Latoya Toyota, formerly known as MariCruz Dominguez, is your every day girl from the hood. Her favorite activities include having herpes and being disowned by her mom. She’s single and is not ready to mingle because because “ese puto vato  El Cris” cheated and she doesn’t fucking play all that, cris why’d you do that Rebeca is a worthless piece of shit I’m the better sister. But, the thing that makes Latoya different, isn’t her personality, or her good heart; it’s that she’s been dead for 15 years. She died in 2002 when she finally caught on with the whole chokers trend, expect she wasn’t the smartest so she didn’t really grasp the whole “it’s not supposed to choke you” thing. But this minor detail doesn’t stop Latoya; after Hell FINALLY got service, she now is a devoted YouTuber that focuses on vlogging, lifestyle, and creamy beauty. She says “ Ey putas we didn’t have no beauty shit in the 90’s I had my Tia Cruz teaching me how to do a smoky eye so don’t fuken come for me cause love trumps hate” hell doesn’t bother either, as she’s had “a burn” since 1996 from Raul so the burn doesn’t really matter at all. Her hobbies now include, cutting a bitch for fun, looking for famous people in hell to get a pic, and living in eternal damnation. You can find a link to her patron below because fuck dude like she JUST started YouTube and it’s already ad hell like what the fuck also lol ad hell get it cause she’s in um. Anyway SUSCRIBE and SMASH that like button down below putas

Analyse: The first few sentences of your description, I was like “OH NO DON’T PLAY THAT CARD,” but then we got to the “she’s been dead the whole time” twist, and I was drawn in. I think makeup-wise, you can do more to show that part of the character and make it ooky-spooky, but right now, if I didn’t have your description, the pictures would just read very “stereotypical chola character.” I think the YouTuber character is going to be great to take into the challenge, because it immediately conjures up a very specific kind of image and personality. Really my biggest critiques going forward for the acting are to make sure that the look itself reads what you want it to and to make sure the humor doesn’t rely solely on stereotypes. Latoya might be a character, but we want to see Luna’s sense of humor shine through. Good luck on the test!

Harper: Hi Adore Delano Latoya! So first off, I liked how much detail you put into your bio. Even though your slutty chola ghost character was a bit all over the place, I still understood who this character was and where she was coming from, and I think she’ll give you a lot of options to be entertaining in the test. I will encourage you to make sure that your jokes are not getting repetitive, though… try to find ways to make her funny on multiple levels. Being a ghost leaves a lot of room for real subtle humor (can’t pick stuff up, pop culture references from 2002, etc), and I hope you will capitalize on that! I would like you to kick the look up a few notches, including brow coverage. I think you were probably barely alive during 2002, and so I really hope you’ll do some research into the fashion trends because I am an old bitch who remembers Y2K! It’s such a fun era of horrible fashion so I really hope you will take advantage of that. Nice work!

Marina

This is Susan Johnson-Johnson. Her mother and father had the same last name, but her mother insisted on hyphenating it. She also claims that her father is related to Dwayne the Rock Johnson, which is a bald headed lie as her bloodline is whiter than cottage cheese. Susan claims a lot of outrageous things and most of these tall tales are meth and tobacco induced. Being an ex prostitute due to her failing business, she is no stranger to a good drug. However, she’s very connected to spirituality and has a dream of running a successful tarot card business, which is why she wears her headwraps. I hope you enjoy my original character!

Analyse: Hi, Marina! I see some of the makeup critiques you’ve gotten being applied here, so it’s great to see that growth. The headwrap and fan add to the look and give it a level of interest, but I think my main probably with this submission is that this story is just all over the place in no sort of cohesive way. I think part of your challenge going forward into the test for this week is to make sure that you have a fully thought out and realized character, because right now, I’m not entirely sure who she is. When you only have a few minutes of video for the challenge, you don’t have a lot of time to spend introducing the audience to your character, so we want to be able to get that right away from the look, mannerisms, and personality of the character. I think you’re headed in a good direction, but for the test, I want to see you kind of clean up those loose ends and really give us a fully thought-out character in your submission. Good luck!

Harper: Alright, so I really enjoyed your biography, but I think there was a bit of a mismatch between your character’s description and her appearance. Before I read your bio, I assume that you were a part of a royal Court or a princess or something. From your description I would almost imagine some kind of hippie druggie chic (side note: tobacco does not get you high so I don’t know if that part makes sense), an ornate fan and sequins doesn’t really read meth-head to me. I do like the headwrap, but I’d like to see you wear a wig with it rather than use it as a wig replacement. Lashes and nails always, even for homework assignments.  I think you have a good head start for a character, but really make sure that you are putting the details in place. As always, the deans are here to give you feedback as your brainstorm if you need it. 

Nikita

Ophelia

I may look scary but I’m really nice, I promise!!! Hi new friends, my name is Misery but everyone just calls me ‘Chip’! For the most part, I like to spend my time helping as many individuals as I possibly can and adventuring!! Believe it or not through, I wasn’t always the happy go-lucky creature you see today though :( My ancestors originally descended from a demon many eons ago. Based on this, for generations, my tribe was subject to ridicule and fear from people on the surface, just based on our appearance! Can you believe that?!?! Eventually, they took their society underground, taking to steal from and enslave denizens of the surface world. I grew up experiencing and witnessing so much pain and misery but I always thought 'things could be different than this!’ Eventually, because of the horrible atrocities they committed, I saw my friends and family BANISHED by an unforgiving god, while they gave me a second chance if you will at life by being made to live on the surface! I wandered for a years trying to fit in with society and find my purpose, until one day I encountered a group of adventurers said to have been passing from village to village, helping people wherever they went and from there, I knew that was my call-….. Whoops! Sorry, I saw a butterfly with a broken wing and I wanted to heal it!!! :D ANYWAY! From then on, I’ve just been travelling from town to town, spreading good cheer and helping people!!! Whenever, I get sad or upset, I just think of the second chance that my friends and family didn’t get… :) Byeeeeee!

Analyse: Remember when I said I was excited to see where your creativity led you in this week’s challenges??? Because THIS is why I was excited! I think you’ve got a super creative concept here with the demons-for-an-ancestor-but-I’m-not-mean-I’m-nice character, and there’s definitely some storyline and drama that can come from just that. I think part of the challenge for you will be making sure that the character doesn’t read as very one-note in the video challenge, and make sure that we’re not just getting the same joke or idea over and over. For the look, I would love to see it feminized a little more. I know your art is a lot more blurred in the expression of gender and you’re not going for female impersonation or hyperfemininity as much, but the issue I’m seeing with submissions is that they can often read more “man with face paint” than drag, and while TDR is very much a place to explore and grow in that, The Real World™ isn’t always so open, and so before you have people coming for you and saying “that’s not drag,” you want to shut their mouths with your polish, execution, and creativity. Good luck on the test, and I can’t wait to see what you do with this character!

Harper: I appreciate you for trying something ambitious, but I think you missed the mark of the assignment here. I warned you about relying too heavily on a visual character, and I think you feel into that trap this week. The look of the character is not the important part of this assignment, having a well developed character that you will be able to act with in the test is. Almost all of your biography is background information on your character’s family history rather than telling me who your character actually is. I think it’s great that you are putting thought into that stuff, but it’s all extraneous when I still don’t really get a sense of your character on a complex level. Since you decided to go down this road, I will really want you to drag it up and not rely on body paint to be your makeup. Right now the prosthetics are a bit sloppy, and if you are giong to wear them I’d really like to see them refined. You can use hot glue to change the texture, or even adding painted effects. You’ve got your work cutout for you this week, make it work!

[circular-time]

So... Gallifrey One diary

The key to landing a Gally ticket after three years of trying, it turns out, is to say “Oh, I’ll never get into Gally. But that’s fine, because I love LI and Regen.” *click* HEY!  (Yes, it helps they fixed the servers.)

Unfortunately, I also landed a whopper of a sinus infection. So I had to pace myself.

Here’s everything I can remember about the weekend; brace yourself for a long post!

Thursday— I finished my portrait of Anneke, then, so sick I shouldn’t have been driving, I clawed my way up the 405 freeway on the back of Emerald Tiger. Figuratively speaking.

I poured into the hotel around 4.30. After unpacking and resting, I slithered down to LobbyCon where I met @comic-rust looking dapper in Four’s Logopolis outfit sans coat.  He was far too kind and took me to dinner, where we had a pleasant geekfest.

Kim-- Kim, drat, I am so terrible at names! led me down to karaoke, since I had not yet figured out the majority of Gally takes place on a subterranean level like Jabba’s palace. I people-watched for a little while before sinus headache and off-key singing decided to part ways.

Friday—

Panels! Panels! Panels!

11 AM  - The Ties That Bind Us promised a meet & greet for diverse fans, although by the time I arrived (fifteen minutes late) it was a fairly sparse audience with a panel telling us how great Gally was compared to lesser cons like LI Who and Regen. I kept my mouth shut. When in Rome... 

12 PM - Gentlemen’s Agreement — Frazer, Peter Purves and Prentis Hancock (Space:1999) rambled about their work on various shows. They kept poking Prentis to use a mike so we could hear him, which became a running gag. Frazer finally dangled a mike in front of him like a sound boom in a classic Who recording. Peter told funny production stories about old massive TV studio cameras, the challenge of setting them up for filming to avoid crossing their cables, and a Who director who kept doing just that.  Peter reminded us that early Who was filmed “as live,” with exactly an hour and a half to record the episode after rehearsal and the dry run to figure out said cameras. He recounted how Morton Dill (that hillbilly he played on the Empire State Building in The Chase) turned out to be his unwitting audition. He’d impressed the regulars enough — and, crucially, William Hartnell liked him — that Maureen suggested him to replace Russ & Jackie (Hartnell was very distressed about their leaving). So Peter had 3 weeks’ notice that he was joining the show. He’s always stressed his good luck, being in the right place at the right time. I wish I could remember what mischief Frazer got up to in that panel; he’s always a hoot.

1PM - The Sarah Jane Adventures — Katy Manning came for the second panel in the same room. There was fond reminiscing about Nicholas Courtney and Lis as well as Katy being her usual hilarious blind-as-a-bat batty self, waggling her butt while climbing over everyone. Also ranted about her room not having a full-length mirror, forcing her to teeter on the loo and try to see in the bathroom mirror; cue humorous hand-waving as she described falling into the toilet a la Trainspotting and surfacing in other people’s toilets. (She told this story a few times throughout the con). She mentioned the UNIT adventures coming up in which Jo and Mike and Benton team up with new Who UNIT. Jo and Osgood work together. Katy’s glad she doesn’t have to pretend to be young, for a change). Somewhat eclipsed by Katy, Matt Irvine, the K-9 operator, joined them and talked about the ins and outs of operating the dog. He kept the original K-9 in his workshop all those years so it’s still around.

For these panels I was sitting next to @rachel-aldridge​ wearing a perfect Dodo cosplay. I’m sure Peter approved.

Note to self: Gally schedule is confusing; it shows when panels start but not when they finish, and some start on the half hour. I missed Anneke’s interview (woes!)

At some point I peeked out of the cave mouth basement entrance to see the Deluge:

(From Wunderground) 

But I forgot to photograph anything because my brain was full of phlegm. Rain was sheeting down outside, but we were very snug down in our basement apart from some flooding in the main bathroom. STC reported lots of trees blown down back in OC, freeways blocked by water. 

2 PM -  You Just Got Holtzmanned! Gender-Swap Panel with @whovianfeminism​ and others was brilliant, of course. There was lots of intersectional discussion about representation/nonrepresentation of gender and genderqueer, people of color, class in Britain which is mostly lost on American audiences, characters with disabilities being few and far between, the Geena Davis 17% study and similar studies showing how men tend to perceive the ratio of women talking/existing in a given group as much greater than it is. We talked about the fact that Who EU and spinoffs like Class have better representation since they’re not controlled as closely by BBC bean counters deciding what will sell best at home and abroad. I especially liked the discussion of the pros and cons of genderbending— recasting established male characters as women — vs. creating original female lead characters. Also the pitfalls of so-called “color blind” casting vs. acknowledgement of the issues various minorities face.

3 PM - Lalla Ward Interview with Gary Russell: I try to separate actors from characters, but let’s face it, Lalla puts an awful lot of herself into Romana...

... so, hella charismatic, intelligent, and poised, with decided opinions about things (including what personal questions Gary asked that she wasn’t about to answer). She has a glare that could shrivel diamond as well as a smile that could make it bloom. 

Lalla talked about her early career — it turns out she went into acting mostly as a dare and challenge to herself, when she was originally trying to be an artist. She started with a Hammer film (recently rewatched and was a bit shocked by gore), and played Ophelia in Derek Jacobi’s Hamlet. From Jacobi she absorbed the advice that people shouldn’t be actors unless they absolutely need to be, because otherwise they won’t have the drive. 

Her first Who role was Princess Astra, of course; she had no idea Mary Tamm was leaving (in fact she recalled Mary saying in the cantina that she was thinking of doing another season). So it was a surprise to be asked back. She was chosen because, the producer said, Tom got along with her, making her “worth her weight in gold.” 

Talk turned to costuming. Lalla said that for her first serial (Creature of the Pit, filmed out of order) she was wearing something “glamorous” that would’ve looked good on Mary but not on her, after which she worked with June Hudson to find her own style. 

(She hated the white scarf with the pink coat because it snagged on everything!) Lalla had the idea that Romana would shop at bazaars in different times and places, mix and match time periods to create her own distinctive style of no particular era. 

There was some frank personal talk about the brief romance/marriage with Tom and the dangers of getting so lost in the characters you play that you lose sight of yourself and the other person. Sounds like Tom was more head over heels with her, though that’s hindsight. She was not especially enamored of JNT (part of the reason she left) or his choice to replace her with Adric. Yeah, I know, most of this isn’t new news.

Finally, Lalla talked about her work with Danville Hall, a care home in Britain for actors and others associated with the acting profession; she spoke passionately about how society must do a better job of looking after the old. Gally’s charity auction at Gally raised over $18000 for Danville Hall and left her in tears; Lalla’s first two quilts —portraits of her dogs— were auctioned off.

Later in the afternoon came a Big Finish panel that’s kinda blurred together with the later ones and...

5.30 Paul McGann & Daphne Ashbrook Panel— Unfortunately by that time I was wiped and I don’t remember a thing other than Paul’s magical soft, soothing voice. ;) Oh, and his talking about Steven Spielberg sussing out he was lying through his teeth when he said he could ride, but still hiring him for Empire of the Sun and getting him a riding instructor. Paul clearly loved the horses and as usual was being too modest by half, saying the horses did all the work.

8.30 The Fan Club Invasion was the meet & greet I hoped for in the morning, a low-key social gathering. New Who fans found themselves suddenly wildly popular, since the icebreaker game/scavenger hunt asked for “someone who has never seen classic Who.” I rescued one (I hope) from a well-intentioned nerd trying to tell her classic Who stories in the most boring way possible. More importantly, I found a local Who group: Real Time Lords of Orange County.

Happiness Patrol— I caught the tail end of Dominic Glynn’s amazing show which I missed at Regen. I loved his arrangement of Colin Baker’s “Ten million years of absolute power. That's what it takes to be really corrupt!” speech and theme song.

Alas I was turning into a slug and couldn’t make it to Paul Cornell’s late-night podcast, which by all accounts was fantastic, and involved blacksmithing? I dunno. 

A lot of attendees liveblogged on Twitter — it’s well worth perusing Twitter’s #gally1 tag. Lou Jameson and others remarked on a red Dalek on someone’s balcony. Sure enough, it was across the courtyard from my room the next morning, storm or no storm!

(oh say can you seeeeeeee..... )

...and the Dalek was still there!

On Saturday morning, I made the unwise decision to try fresh-squeezed orange juice while on antibiotics. So I missed most of the day. But first...

10AM - Creature Feature panel - Nick Briggs hosted a roundtable with various monsters including Barnaby Edwards and Nicholas Pegg. (The short and how-the-hell-does-he-fit-he’s-too-tall Dalek operators.) Simon Fisher-Beck was there as well making tasteless jokes, and Jimmy Vee (new Who) and everyone else kept mock-scooting away from him. They gushed about various co-stars, especially Billie Piper. Nick confessed to an attack of evil, freaking out Jenna Coleman by whispering to her through her headphones while she was inside the Dalek. Barnaby recounted falling out the bottom of his Dalek in the first Dalek episode and alarming Billie Piper while she was doing a heck of an acting job. And he and Nicholas Pegg described the gushing-exploding-Dalek mess in The Magician’s Apprentice. Mud, McD chocolate shakes and compost squirted EVERYWHERE including inside the Daleks. (Nick called the episode “Poo of the Daleks.”) They went back to their hotel afterwards, totally covered in mud, and alarmed the patrons. (Having gone on 8-day horseback riding/camping trips and disturbed a wedding party in a hotel in much the same way, I know exactly that look of “uncleaaaan!”) 

After that, autograph alley time, where I tried not to make a fool or pest of myself while face to face with con guests. Lalla was polite but appeared to be nonplussed by my silly Lalla portrait (below) which I had side by side in the portfolio with the one I asked her to sign. Louise Jameson was sweet and encouraging about the Leela portrait I put in front of her. 

I snapped a few photos of great cosplays including @rachel-aldridge​ in her Black Orchid Tegan outfit (great pose!) and a Five wearing brainy specs (yay!)

Alas I didn’t get into the Nick Briggs/Barnaby Edwards Kaffeklatsch (missed cutoff by two). I was barely holding up the wall by that point, so it’s just as well. I returned to my room to faceplant for a couple hours until the world stopped spinning and the hot/cold flashes eased off. 

My main regret was missing the June Hudson panel; she’s the famous costumer of classic Who in the mid-seventies. Much love was heaped on her all weekend by stars and fans, richly deserved.

2PM Days Gone By — lovely classic Who panel with Katy, Anneke, Frazer, Peter, Prentis Hancock and Michael Troughton, but I was so blasted all I remember is Katy’s adorable/sad story about how proud she was to try and do her own stunts the first day— they had her roll out of a moving car! Got it perfectly on the first take, but tore all the ligaments in an ankle on the second take; Jon found her sobbing later being afraid she’d be sacked and defended her against idiot directors (I infer the last bit). Anneke repeated her story about how she was the one who wound up doing Pat Troughton’s hair, and also the general observation that if he hadn’t been able to establish regeneration and show that the show could continue without Hartnell, none of this (the con, fandom, Who) would  be here now. A fan put Peter Purves on the spot by asking him to sing Last Chance Saloon. He said “Fuck off!” but eventually, with everyone pestering him with lyrics and singing at him, he did it, for the first time since the episode was recorded, and he sounded fantastic. Anneke and Frazer got up and danced (why didn’t I get my camera out quick enough)? At the end, Michael Troughton distinguished himself by making the sound of Woody Woodpecker heard on a scratchy 45 record player — uncannily accurate— and the sound of a cat being sick— even more uncannily accurate. 

3PM - The highlight of my con was seeing lovely @barnabyedwards​ in late afternoon at the autograph table. He’s written one of my two fave BF audios and directed many more, and I’ve exchanged occasional Twitter banter with him for years, so I’ve been eager to meet him, all the moreso since I kept being confused by the other Barnaby Edwards listed in the schedule for LI Who. (They finally met at Gally; no observed Blinovitch effect.) When I told him my Twitter handle, Big Finish Barnaby lit up and said “Oh, it’s YOU!” Hugs all round. I asked him to autograph Emerald Tiger and picked up his cute "Barbara: Queen of the Galaxy” postcard, although I feel bad for not buying any of his finer art. I’m afraid I inflicted my art on him (he browsed through both my portfolio and another fan’s), and he very kindly gave me some tips.

This is an awful picture, like I said, but I don’t care because BARNABY IS SUCH A DEAR:

(Yeah, my bad eye was showing.) 

Outside it had almost stopped raining by Sat afternoon, and cosplayers collected under the “cavern” overhang [photoset and K9]. I was menaced by Sutekh and minions while helping a couple Fourth Doctors take pictures of one another. Afterwards: 

Then it was back to panels/interviews. I caught the tail end of an interview with Deep Roy, an amazing actor who’s played everything from Mr. Sin in Talons of Weng-Chiang to Scotty’s assistant in the Trek reboots. 

4.30 PM - The Gallifrey Chronicles panel was GREAT, Scott Hancock hosting (he wrote/directed recent audios) with Lalla, Lou, Sean Carlsen, John Leeson, and Gary Russell. Scott asked them what they wanted, and “another season of Gallifrey!” was the consensus. Exec Producer Jason Haigh-Ellery in the audience confirmed a new season, and then Scott spoiled that it’s going to be set in the Time War. Sean Carlsen spoiled me about plot points I haven’t heard yet (I’m up to Season 3), but he’s so cute I forgive him. I didn’t realize what a huge Who fanboy he was, so stoked to be working with Leela and Romana! Lou and Lalla talked about their “cheese and chalk” relationship, how they clash over their hippie/homeopathy vs rationalist/science worldviews, and how their friendship works despite having to “agree to disagree.” Which they and some Gallifrey writers have woven into the Romana & Leela dynamic. They loved playing/parodying each other in Spirit. I think this was the panel where Lalla mentioned she’d bloody well make a better president than the one we have. Much applause. (We mostly avoided politics this weekend, although it was the elephant in the room; veiled #resist comments peppered nearly every panel). 

John Leeson was too adorable, breaking into the K-9 voice to answer some questions, and at other times was quite naughty (when asked how he liked voicing two K9s and having three mistresses he said “Doggy heaven. We’ve already discussed the doggy position.”) He’s usually the last to know when K-9′s going to be used and hasn’t yet been contacted about possible new movie.

Gary Russell talked about how frustrated he was in the 70s that there were no female characters on TV but love interests or characters in menial/supporting roles, until Tenko (landmark show about female prisoners of war in WWII in which Louise Jameson starred). He felt female friendship and characters were interesting and not seen in media enough. So Gary initially came up with the idea of Gallifrey after seeing how Lou and Lalla hit it off while recording Zagreus; he wanted a West Wing style political drama with two strong women as the leads. He did consciously rewrite characters as women a lot during his time on BF, although he apologized for not hiring more women writers when he was producer.  I hit the mike to comment about how the relationship between Leela and Romana in Gallifrey is welcome and unusual in Doctor Who, because its leads are usually a man and a woman; SF in general seldom develops relationships between women or explores how they work together (or even how they argue.) 

In the evening I attended the Gallifrey reception where fans sat at small tables and the guests circulated in the nerd equivalent of speed dating. That meant we had brief face-to-face time with Lou, Lalla, Sean Carlsen, John Leeson, Matt Irvine (K-9′s designer, the self-described “back end of the dog”), Phillip Hinchcliffe, designer Roger Murray-Leach. Really great, although I feel bad for everyone who can’t afford this kind of thing (the organizers said it helped fund Gally and bring more guests). 

Lou was as warm and Earth Mothery as ever, Lalla gracious and warmer in person, looking understated but stunning in a kimono whose designer she was careful to note (and I’m not fashionable, so I can’t remember). John Leeson was adorable and sweet and so happy to be spending time with fans and clearly loves being K9. Phillip Hinchcliffe was dignified but delighted that some of us were listening to his new Big Finish audios— he was pushing them in a charmingly genteel way. Roger Murray-Leach, the designer of Weng-Chiang and Invasion of Time and a lot of the classic Fourth Doctor era, was glad we’re still having fun with his work (I gabbled something about “you set the stamp on Gallifrey and established what it looked like in all our minds,” which seemed to please him.)

The reception ended just as the Masquerade was letting out— that’s where I snapped the fab gel guard, Omega and Alpha Centauri with Three.

Sunday 

Hooray, I did NOT have orange juice and made it through most of the day without feeling diseeeeased!

Yes, the red Dalek was still there.

The @whovianfeminism​ meetup was cancelled after she was called away by a family emergency. It sounds like she had a thoroughly rotten weekend. :(   [Update: :( :( We should send warm thoughts her way. ) I hadn’t checked online, so I went down to the meetup as did writer Valerie E Frankel, who wanted to pick our brains for her book on the women in Doctor Who. She and I chatted. I’m afraid I got a little defensive at her characterizing most classic Who companions as 20-year-old miniskirt-wearing screamers. She seemed surprised when I pointed there were some alien companions, some scientists, that Vicki and Barbara sometimes wore trousers and/or sensible shoes, and that one fan has has found a lower scream-per-episode ratio for many classic companions than modern ones. Also I argued that miniskirts aren’t automatically a marker of sexism, but were originally something 60s women chose for themselves to be liberated, and that Sarah Jane was originally portrayed as a proponent of women’s lib. Frankel disputed me (She hadn’t seen SJ’s intro) and said that she saw classic Who through her “personal filter,” a modern perspective, and that she was basing a lot of her impression of classic Who women on Polly in Power of the Daleks (which is about as bad as it gets, admittedly). Frankel was planning on covering Charley, had heard of Evelyn, and I also suggested Erimem because (a) PoC and (b) first 50 Main Range are free on Soundcloud. I pointed her towards The Marian Conspiracy as well.

At noon I finally caught Anneke for a quick hug and friendly chitchat; she was so much fun at LI and Regen, and I’m sorry I didn’t see her more this time. She’s really enjoying having a second crack at taking Polly on new adventures and is all excited about an upcoming Short Trip.

12PM -  Loiuse Jameson Interview clashed with the Big Finish roundtable, woe! But I’m not about to miss a minute of Lou. She talked about nearly killing a cameraman with a knife throw (after which Leela’s knife was swapped for a blunt one), about having trouble with Tom until she finally stood up to him in Horror of Fang Rock (but they get along now), and about how Stuart Fell the stuntman discovered sexism on set when he was dressed as her for a stunt and got his bottom pinched twice. Once again she talked about how she modelled Leela’s body language and heightened senses on a little girl she knew upstairs plus her own dog (a pharaoh hound mix). She occasionally had her dog on the set; it was well-behaved except when she was being “attacked,” then they had to put it in another room so it wouldn’t protect her. Also while rehearsing her departure, the dog came over by John Leeson and mimicked his body language, both little doggy heads going down and being sad because Leela was sad. The producer tried to talk Lou into staying, but she refused partly because she wanted to move on, partly because the character of Leela was being weakened and forced to ask lots of "What Doctor/Why Doctor?” questions. She’s really enjoying recording Leela for Big Finish nowadays. I was intrigued to hear about her work on that 1980 series Tenko, a powerful show written by and for women. She’s been working almost continuously all her life. Right now she’s directing a play based on a boy who committed suicide from cyberbullying; producers have contacted her about turning it into a film.

And then as I was leaving I saw the cosplay twins Chihiro and Chieko in their Weeping Angels costume and landed the best con photos I will ever take by waiting for Lou Jameson to come down that hallway. :D

1:30 PM - Scary Monsters and Super Geeks— a tribute to Who fan David Bowie (whom Katy hung out with while dating Jimi Hendrix?! she was part of a wild crowd and enjoyed every minute, clearly). Paul McGann was crestfallen to learn Bowie had turned down the part of the Master for the movie because he was working on something else. They discussed a lot of Bowie’s career; big lovefest. I love the fact that male British actors are more relaxed about remarking on other men’s beauty; Paul referred to Bowie’s “unearthly beauty” while discussing Man Who Fell to Earth.

I had a photo with Lou, Lalla and the REAL, original K-9 (his eyes were lit, although you can’t see it!) Ignore my ghastly posture; look at Lalla and Lou being photogenic and gorgeous!

4.30 PM - Look Where We Are, Look Where We Started was an absolutely amazing panel on the women of Doctor Who ably hosted by Deborah Stanish of Verity! podcast; she managed to ask thoughtful questions tailored to each and every one of: Lalla Ward, Louise Jameson, Anneke Wills, Katy Manning, Katrin Stewart (Jenny Flint), Naoko Mori (Torchwood), Christine Adams (new Who & Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Hattie Hayridge (Holly on Red Dwarf), June Hudson, Daphne Ashbrook. What a lineup. The young and old, working and retired, actors and designers/artists. Can’t possibly summarize it all.

Here’s a few more of my miscellaneous cosplay photos including a greate couple dressed as John Cleese and Whoosername from City of Death.

Wrap-up had everyone come onstage (and dear gods Michael Troughton keeps imitating a cat being sick FAR TOO WELL the goofball), and we filled the auditorium.

Apparently some people kvetched at this con for not having enough guests? True that there have been more Doctors at the other cons I’ve attended, but this was a heck of a lineup, and that still wasn’t all of them— there were Titan comics, EU and new Who people I barely saw. I’m just sorry William Russell had to cancel (and Miles Richardson, who’s filming), as I fear I’ll never see Russ. 

Afterwards I went up for final LobbyCon, where I met @colinbakerstreet​ and @zetasigma​ (sporting the spiffy CIA outfit), plus @d_compare on Twitter (nice academic nerd, notice his Twitter is about half Who and half #resistance). Barnaby was down there too— no, @elvisomar​, he had not brought edibles but was flattered we liked his cooking Tweets! A hug goodbye. 

The Resistance was never far from anyone’s minds, although we spent most of the weekend taking a brain break and hiding from the storm. 

Monday 

Leisurely breakfast. Flight delays out of LAX meant a lot of guests were milling around in the lobby; I saw Lalla, Lou, Matt Irvine, Phillip Hinchcliffe, John Leeson who was delighted at the con experience and chatted cooking with me (he had to get home since he’s the cook in his family). 

I drove home listening to Primeval since it’s easier to focus on driving and not get distracted if I already know and love an audio. And then I collapsed and slept most of the day with a VERY annoyed cat pressed against me and making sure I couldn’t escape.

It was tons of fun, and I’ve met a few new fans to keep up with. I’ve been incredibly depressed and not sleeping well since the inauguration, so a brief break was just what the doctor ordered, sick or no. 

[DISCLAIMER: I wrote this down Monday night and Tuesday after the con, and my memory is by no means perfect.]

[castilium]

Demonic Bodhisattva (III/R)

                         In one night, she lived through approximately a year and a half.

The night had been the same as any ordinary when Mashu laid her head down in wonder of whether tonight would be another sleepless twilight. She wasn’t certain when consciousness surrendered her to the forces that be and she was released from the frozen temporal state of Radiale Island. Nightmares that plagued her before the current city’s conception unfolded as reality.

26th December 2017. Everything they knew came under siege; in the dying days of their time together, humanity’s observatory entered a lockdown from which it never emerged.

31st December 2017. Beastly tears through pristine white looked over the hallways slathered in the blood and corpses of staff members who had given their everything to see humanity’s preservation salvaged from the flames of Incineration. With screams, the door of the Shadow Border crashed down and separated a small band of survivors from Da Vinci, her paling lips smiling with her typical mischievous, regardless of the hand punctured through her torso. The ghost of Romani Archaman alone would have to tend to the room left unpopulated. What had been nightmares transitioned into reality; Chaldea fell.

Anastasia                                                                                   Stars

For all the close calls and out-of-the-box tactics they had deployed throughout the Grand Order, nothing compared to the wastelands of abandoned Earths of their journey. All of Da Vinci Lily and Holmes’ genius went into seeing their flickering flame continue to burn in the gales of an unrelenting storm. And by comparison, the skeleton crew of the observatory might as well have been a full-fledged army; resources were scarce and death by failure to meet bare human requirements had become a genuine threat.

As pure white as Russia’s snowscape or Scandinavia’s crystal had their Earth become. As vacant as China’s endless fields. As eerily beautiful as India’s paradise. And no matter how much effort, she couldn’t understand how this had transpired, why it had happened after the rescue of humanity from Solomon’s flames. This emptiness... it was no desert of a Singularity, no error of the past: it was their home. No simple resolution would come through the recovery of a Grail, no simpler days awaited at the end of a Rayshift. Just as with Chaldea, they had lost everything. Taken not alone through a Beast’s power, but human participation.

Götterdämmerung                                                                     Cosmos

The resolution of the Remnants had allowed for a little longer, the illusion that humanity could be united under a single cause. Though troubled by her inability to join Ritsuka on the front line, Mashu had taken solace in that she could carry on Roman’s legacy as best she could. They were simpler days. At that time, routine. Times that, although peppered with their own danger, were relatively innocent, eased by the occasional seasonal activity to lift the mood, with the scheduled departure of staff closing in. They were days that, with that separation on the horizon, with the price of completing the Grand Order, Mashu had treasured particularly dearly. Days she could never picture ending. Nor, in a way, would she wish to, if it meant holding onto Ritsuka’s hand.

In her mind, Mashu couldn’t understand why Team A would have wished to reduce all of that —and everything more — to ashes to scatter into the cosmic winds. They had all been recruited for the same purpose, the same end-goal... why wasn’t it a relief that the mission could be achieved despite the horrendous circumstances? Da Vinci’s belief it was grief stemmed from jealous certainly made sense, Mashu believed it likely a factor of Kadoc’s motivation in particular, even if he would never admit it aloud. He and Ritsuka were like two sides of the same coin, but when it had been flipped, it was her side face-up, leaving him in her shadow, to hear of her achievement later down the line.

So fitting was it, that competition between mages who valued such methods would mirror itself in the fight between Lostbelts for dominance, with the planet as their prize. She’d compare it to a Holy Grail War, but that would only be insulting towards the Heroic Spirits who had given their all. It was human nature, not that of Servants, that vied for supremacy over one another, to tear someone else down.

S.I.N.                                                                                         Gods

Which made the Crypters’ contest such a curious affair internally. So assured had they been of Kirschtaria’s victory that there was none truly competing wholeheartedly. The British and Southern America Lostbelts were already brinking on collapse, presumably rendering them not so an issue. However, she yearned answers and knew everyone else would, as well as certainty that their dissolution would be as simple as that. Oh, how Avalon decimated such hopes. But had they given up on Pan Human History, and why? Why would they forsake their points of origin, their loved ones, all they knew for strange new worlds?

As it turned out: survival. Just as Mashu had rejected Goetia’s purgatory, they had chosen alternatives under duress, their very lives dangling from the Alien God’s fingertips, woven with such threads she could easily snap.

Mashu really hadn’t known anything about them in the end. Their motives were naught so self-absorbed. Kirschtaria’s intentions were far nobler than perhaps even Chaldea’s. Ophelia had yearned to weave a meaningful relationship with Mashu. Hinako hardback barrier had been not to observe out of disinterest but fear of her true nature being exposed. They had been her teammates, and she hadn’t understood them at all. What place had she to ██████—?

Yuga Kshetra                                                                           Animus

This was her fault. If she had accepted Goetia’s ideal, only one world would have vanished. But she watched many more disappear without so much as a lasting impression on the cosmos. If she had given into Goetia’s purgatory, Ritsuka could have been spared this. Da Vinci and Roman could still be alive. Fou wouldn’t have had to give up his power. Team A wouldn’t have been forced into this position.

It was all because SHE had selfishly rejected an eternity for all, believing transience enhanced momentary value. Who was she to make that judgment call on behalf of ██ humanity? What made them any better than a Beast? No... they were worse. SHE had doomed the world.

The peace in Scandanavia and China, she robbed them of it. The contentedness of Atlantis’ people, she brought chaos. And Ritsuka bore the brunt of accusation and ire, while Mashu stood by quietly behind ██ shield.                                      coward

                       You ran away from anything different to what you know.

       Each of Ritsuka’s wounds that could not be healed—

                                    Chaldea’s fight was wrong. No... SHE had been wrong.

    And brought about humanity’s end—

Atlantis                                                                                    Antrum

She did wonder if it was in her nature, as a being recreated by the power of a Beast. She loved humanity, as did Ritsuka.                         A destructive love. A love that robbed others for their own desires.

          A corrosive love that scolded Ritsuka from its intensity, the heat of battle meant to prove it.

                    Give up.

She didn’t want everything to have been meaningless. All the suffering to mean nothing.

So you’re happy to continue huting others to spare your own conscience?

That wasn’t it. It was to get humanity back. To give Ritsuka a world to go home to. A world to bring Roman back to.

           Kirschtaria Wodime believed in you two.

                                                                     "And we failed him?"

Humanity had placed its future on them. A burden far greater than any one or two should shoulder, and yet, they were the only ones who could ███. It had been their mission to correct what Galahad deemed their mistake, and prove humanity had a future. It did. She believed in it.

Olympus                                                                                  Unverse

So far gone were the days of the moral high ground. The blood that stained them was no longer merely that of monstrous enemies but societies clinging desperately to life as they were cut down. Driven to madness or desperation and despair.

What makes Pan-Human History ‘right’?

"I don't know, but I won’t give up on it. And Senpai wouldn’t".

Again, she was speaking on somebody else’s behalf; imposing her ████ onto them.               

Your relationship is one-sided.

                                     You will be the death of Ritsuka Fujimaru.

Just as all those corpses strewn about at her feet. Amidst the burning wreckage of a town, all manner of fae and bestial bodies lay, drenched in blood, their skins drained of colour. Among them, Wag and Rob, her saviours from the Avalonian wilderness, nearby was Beauregard with his chest mangled.

                                                      『GAHALAD!��

The girl turned in search of the ███’s origins, but none living could be discovered. All around, her world burned.

█████ had burned away long ago. Romani Archaman’s body was inhabited not by his own soul, but another. Leonardo Da Vinci had departed the world, leaving behind but a replacement harbouring stored data. Olga Marie Animusphere’s visage had declared war on the world. Surrounded by scarlet shimmering with the reflection of crackling flames, the girl stood in her pure white garb, free of taint.

Galahad... that was right. She couldn’t be human. No human would slaughter so much as『Mashu Kyrielite』.

Avalon                                                                                      Anima

    『Child.』

Again, she was beckoned. A voice that cleaved through the destruction with ice composure. But even without visible source, she knew what it meant. What is it you want to be?

                   “I want to save everyone. I don’t want anyone else to suffer and die”.

The Child of Prophecy. That was the role Galahad was to play. In this sinking timeline, she had to find a way to avert the oncoming calamity, so their lives could continue without interruption. It was her obligation to save all that she could, salvage whatever life could be brought back from the brink. The shield beside her would serve such purpose, and in that moment, she felt complete. She knew what had to be done, what she could do. What she would.

The Forest                                                                            Animusphere

The beauty of Avalon would be wasted if it were to disappear, much like the populous roaming its lush colours. The enormous ruptured Tree in the distance had instilled within her a sense of dread ever since Wag, Rob and Winky had discovered her. Not just the jagged cut, but something of it emanated foreboding. In the dreamland that was Avalon, it stood incongruously, tilted like its trunk had broken under the weight of whatever it bore and crashed down upon the Earth. Yes, it was a dream, the █████s’ deaths weren’t of this reality.

                                                                                             You ran away again.

She was doing what had been commanded of her by fate. So that none would endure the pain that tore into her at the heart of a bloodbath. Chosen by the world, Galahad's Camelot would shelter all, leaving none in the shadow of that Tree to suffer a gruesome demise. The journey she had been on across the ███, finally, she would manifest the power to see her purpose realized — the culmination of her entire existence. In the shadow of the Norwich Disaster, she stood alone in preparation for the █████ task of her fight. Curses gathered into a single behemoth, the area was vacant other than Galahad herself. She believed; the footfalls of a rapid approach and pants alerted her to one more as her voice screamed out—

                                        『MASHU!!』

                                                          “...Senpai?”

Despite the conflicting stories competing in her head, one thing stood out — that girl was important. And no sooner did her presence clear the storm within Mashu’s mind than lightning rained down from the sparkling watery skies, spurning Mashu to act. Just like the light of Goetia’s attack, when her body gave its last wish to see Ritsuka live.

                                                         “Senpai—”

It was a familiar ceiling that greeted Mashu when her eyes opened; the home located on Radiale Island, the sound of Fou’s cooing coaxing her back. From the sheets, her body pushed itself up, crossing to the window where the same Spirale greeted her back. Nothing in the city had changed, but Mashu herself...                                                                she had awoken from the long dream.

[brilliantpride]

LOSTBELT 4: SAMSARA OF GENESIS AND TERMINUS (YUGAKSHETRA) FINAL COMMENTS: YAKO KOIZUMI. 

Pepe had asked her at one point, sitting beside her as they ate grilled bananas: “What are you thinking about?” It was probably meant to be lighthearted. They didn’t actually want to know, it’s a pleasantry, just meant to get her talking. She watched the flames, absent-minded, her mind quiet for once. 

“My parents.”

They didn’t ask more questions after that. She didn’t expand on it. 

...Can she remember their faces?

Their hands. The sound of their voices. Their laughter. Their eyes. Their wrinkles. The way her father practiced his handwriting. The way her mother loved to make artwork. The smell of her mother’s cooking. The smell of her father’s pancakes. Their angry voices. Their sad voices. Their happy voices. The family photographs decorating the fridge. The evenings, when Yako was done her homework, and there was nowhere to go, and they sat in quiet, her father reading a fantasy book and Yako and her mother watching some drama her mother was really into (and, to be fair, so was Yako, but she was too cool to say so.)

Yako sits in the warmth of the flames. It’s a relief. Even if she might struggle to remember things, at least she hasn’t lost the memories most important to her.

...How cruel, to take these things away from people.

Her parents will die someday. It’s an inevitable fact of life, unless she wants to get into some real sketchy Magecraft. She will be left alone, with only their memories to comfort her. Maybe her father will go first, and the house will be empty without his gentle spark; maybe her mother will go first, and the house will feel bare without her decorative touches in rebellion of the austerity enforced by Yako’s grandparents. Maybe, in a terrible accident, they’ll both leave this world at once, and she’ll be left by herself once again. 

But she’ll have their memories. She’ll have the parts of herself made of their successes and mistakes. The quirks she picked up from them. The way her mother taught her how to write, the way her father taught her how to whistle, the way she twirls her pencil because she saw her father do it, the way she folds her laundry to save space in a drawer like her mother showed her.

It’s the same with everyone else. Servants will disappear when their job is done, but she’ll still have her memories of them to carry her forward. Ritsu and Mash might move on without her, but she’ll still have the memories of the trials and friendship she shared with them. 

To erase those things...

...she just can’t accept that. 

“It’s always someone deciding for other people,” she mumbles, “what’s good for them, instead of letting them decide for themselves. It makes me sick."

“I’d say you’re doing the same thing,” Pepe replies sharply. It’s cutting. It’s every bit accusatory, even if their tone doesn’t seem to indicate it, and even if they still smile at her, friendly and easygoing.

That’s right. “Yeah. Guess so.” Just because she wouldn’t want to live here... there’s plenty of people who would. People who already do. They have their own culture, here, their own lives, their own experiences. And she, without the input of every single person on this planet, has chosen to end their existences so that she can save the people she loves most. 

Why is it wrong for her to want to do everything she can to see her home again? It’s not like she was the one who put everyone in this position---if anyone, it’s Kirschtaria Wodime who should take the blame! She’s just fighting for her home! It’s not like she raised the Trees of Emptiness that killed off her world and planted new ones in its place! She’s just trying to take back what was taken from her! 

...But if she’s doing the right thing, why does she still feel a weight in her chest?

-

“In your world, the powerful decide the fates of the weak,” Pepe says later, standing in a field of white flowers. “It’s cruel and unforgiving, and so many things slip through the cracks. At least here, it’s peaceful. There’s hope for the future, and love to be had just by being alive. You could live a full life here. It’s never been troubled by war or revolt. Life is simple here. People are happy.” 

Ritsu is sturdy. Yako isn’t. Her guilt, that never quite sunk in before, sits heavily in her stomach now---maybe because she’d never thought of it as her doing it. ...No, it was Ritsu and Mash this whole time absorbing the fault, wasn’t it? The Master of Chaldea, their Shielder-class partner, and some punk who plays with magic and thinks it makes her a hero. She’d been standing by their side, but never quite saw herself as important enough to be seen. 

But Pepe sees her for what she is: not just an accomplice, but an agent of devastation to the Lostbelt they’re trying to protect. In fact... this is kind of her story, too, isn’t it? She’s the one Pepe journeyed with, as she tried to right a sinking ship. She’s the one they entrusted themself to (as a prisoner, but more than that, as a temporary ally), not Ritsu. And now, even though it’s Ritsu standing against them as a Master, they’re not blind to her, like Akuta, Kadoc, and Ophelia had been. They see her, they judge her, and the weight of that judgment presses down on her.

“You people fighting for humanity always say you want peace, but then you go and reject a world like this---a truly peaceful place. It’s like you can’t conceive of a world not dominated by pain and suffering. So I don’t ever want to hear you say that Proper Human History is more peaceful than any of these worlds.” 

With an easygoing grin, they say, 

“Trust me---your world is a crueler, more disgusting hell than any world you’ll find in a Lostbelt.”

...Pain and suffering, huh. 

Yeah, it’s not like she hasn’t felt that. 

War. Revolt. Rebellion. Death. Disease. Plague. Lack. Starvation. Thirst. Exposure. Machines and crimes of society that grind humans into pulp and then expect them to put themselves back together or be cast out completely. It’s not like Yako doesn’t understand their disillusionment; it’s something she’s felt keenly, as a person who never seemed to fit in with a normal life, who wondered what the point of living was when all that waited for her at the end was to be forgotten, who spent all her time wishing for a fiction to whisk her away because normality was so unbelievably painful and numbing. 

It would be wrong not to call it a cruel, disgusting hell. 

“But at least we have a future,” she says, stepping forward. She stares at Peperoncino with the full weight of her guilt, and her decision. “Hoping you wake up tomorrow isn’t hope for the future. Just wanting to live isn’t enough.” 

She takes another step forward. Karna stares down at her. 

They don’t dream of tomorrow. They don’t wish for anything from their future. Somebody’s gotta show them what it means to hope! To wish! Not just someone---

It’s gotta be ME!

"Making something happen when it all seems lost is what it means to be human!”

Our struggles and our suffering aren’t for nothing! It’s because we struggle now that we can dream of a better tomorrow! But when everything’s perfect, what do we have left to dream about?! When you rip away the people we love the most, and don’t even leave their memories behind, who do we have left to fight for, and carry on the dreams of?!

“I know I’m fighting selfishly... I know I’m not always fighting for good reasons. But I can’t accept this kind of world where heroes don’t exist and life is always easy! Because a world without heroes... Without stories or memories or hardships... Where your loved ones just disappear, and you don’t even know it, because they aren’t perfect enough... I can’t accept that! I refuse it, with everything inside of me! And if that means I have to take down everyone else with me, then so be it!”

Her chest heaves. Her throat hurts. But this is her honest declaration of war: she will make her stand here, one way or the other.

“...You’re right, Mx. Peperoncino. I agree with you,” Holmes pipes up, as Yako gets more tongue-tied the more she talks. Has he always been so eager to pipe up? “I doubt that any Lostbelt is as awful as the modern world Mr. Ritsu and Ms. Yako hail from. But that’s all the more reason for us to be proud of it! Any history daring to call itself Proper Human History should aspire to overcome all manner of hells!” He sounds resolute---a kind of determination she’s never seen from him before. (Maybe it’s his protagonist-ish side coming through? He’s a hero, in some respects, too.) “If anything, this journey has only made me more certain that mankind has chosen the most difficult route possible, and these two have spent their whole lives on the forefront of that route. If they wish to continue down this path, we will be there with them every step of the way!”

...So that’s what it is. That’s what keeps her fighting. Because it’s a world where things are hard, she can dream, and feel accomplishment, and look back on legends of people who did amazing things for inspiration. It’s because of that that Heroic Spirits can be born from humanity’s wishes! Memories, stories, and heroics... Those are the things she’s fighting for! 

Pepe smiles the same as always: perfect, beautiful, and strong. The Karna beside him disappears, and Ashvatthama takes his place. ...Truly, it’s a battle between Masters once more. They’re not about to get at that Tree without breaking past these two. 

“You’ve fought hard and bravely to get this far, right? And not just here in India, but everywhere you’ve been. So now’s the time to take responsibility for making it all this way.”

Yako swallows, and lifts her head. Flames crackle around her body; the flowers under her feet catch fire, but don’t burn. She won’t run away. No way. She’s more fired up than ever! 

Scandinavia Peperoncino, enemy to Humanity, Crypter and iconoclast, declares,

“I want you to thrill me one last time, just like you’ve been doing all along.”

-

"...And that’s the end of my report.” 

Yako shuts off the audio recorder. That about wraps it up, she thinks... She taps Ody’s notification in the corner of her tablet; a pleasant chime comes out of the speakers. A bubble reading [ Glad you’re safe. ] pops up. ...Hehe, but you were there the whole time, weren’t you? Right beside her, like everyone else. 

“Ody...” she says, tapping on the voice-assistant icon, “do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

A buffering icon pops up. [ What do you mean? ] they say, after a moment. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Yako flops over in bed, her tablet beside her. “I’m just... tired, I think.”

The silence stretches on, until the tablet chimes again. [ I don’t know, Yako. ] Their voice sounds... indistinct? [ I am the Chaldea Simulator Observation Delegation Unit, Odysseus. I can’t dream of a better future. I have no attachment to the past. I can see all of Proper Human History in a text file. But I do not exist inside of it like you do. ]

‘So what do you think, as a human from Proper Human History?’ is the unsaid follow-up. 

“I’m worried,” she sighs. ...It’s her own room. She’s talking to a machine like it’s a therapist. But... Ody is basically her friend now, too, right? It’s not the first time she’s rambled aimlessly at them. “...Sometimes I get dreams where I’m standing in front of the Enma-Tei, but I know I’m not allowed to go in. Or if I do go in, it’s like... I’ll have to answer for everything I’ve done. Can I do that yet? ...Do I even know what I’ve done?”

[ Would you like me to go through Chaldea’s database of dream symbolism? ]

“Nnnno thanks. Just. Thinking. I guess it weighs me down more than I thought.”

Another quiet beep. 

[ I am glad you survived, ] they say, finally. [ I know without the advancements of Proper Human History, I would never have been created. We would not have met. I would never have gotten to meet Chiemi. Or Ritsu. Or Mash. Or Leonardo da Vinci. Or Meuniere. Or Kawata. Or Octavia. Or Tomarin. Or--- ]

"You can stop there.” No need to go through the entire roster. ...Haha. Is that really enough to make it all worthwhile? ...For Yako, it just might be. Selfish, loving, possessive, and above all, striving for her own future. If she’s going to be selfish, she’d better not be conflicted about it. 

Do what you want to do because you want to do it. Pursue the things you want to obtain because you want to have them. Clasp your future in your hands, because it’s yours.

That’s how she’s always lived her life. And that’s how she’ll answer for it, when it’s reached its end. ‘I did what I thought I should do, and I have no regrets.’

Even if it’s a lie, she’ll make herself believe it.

[ Would you like to go sailing, Yako? ]

Know what? Yeah! She sure the hell does! “Alright, fuck it. Let’s go together. I’ll take you on a thrill ride around the ice floes, how’s that sound?”

[ Cold. ]

“You’d better get used to it! A sailor’s gotta be ready for all kinds of weather!”

[thaitealeaf]

Every time I miss her, I read this and remind myself how much she truly wanted it to all end... and then I’m back to myself again.

The lad frowned. "I don't like that explanation, Harry," he rejoined, "but I am glad you don't think I am heartless. I am nothing of the kind. I know I am not. And yet I must admit that this thing that has happened does not affect me as it should. It seems to me to be simply like a wonderful ending to a wonderful play. It has all the terrible beauty of a Greek tragedy, a tragedy in which I took a great part, but by which I have not been wounded."

"It is an interesting question," said Lord Henry, who found an exquisite pleasure in playing on the lad's unconscious egotism, "an extremely interesting question. I fancy that the true explanation is this: It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us. They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us. In the present case, what is it that has really happened? Some one has killed herself for love of you. I wish that I had ever had such an experience. It would have made me in love with love for the rest of my life. The people who have adored me — there have not been very many, but there have been some — have always insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care for them, or they to care for me. They have become stout and tedious, and when I meet them, they go in at once for reminiscences. That awful memory of woman! What a fearful thing it is! And what an utter intellectual stagnation it reveals! One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar."

"I must sow poppies in my garden," sighed Dorian.

"There is no necessity," rejoined his companion. "Life has always poppies in her hands. Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment. It fills one with the terror of eternity. Well — would you believe it? — a week ago, at Lady Hampshire's, I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future. I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel. She dragged it out again and assured me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state that she ate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any anxiety. But what a lack of taste she showed! The one charm of the past is that it is the past. But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over, they propose to continue it. If they were allowed their own way, every comedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in a farce. They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of art. You are more fortunate than I am. I assure you, Dorian, that not one of the women I have known would have done for me what Sibyl Vane did for you. Ordinary women always console themselves. Some of them do it by going in for sentimental colours. Never trust a woman who wears mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirty-five who is fond of pink ribbons. It always means that they have a history. Others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good qualities of their husbands. They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins. Religion consoles some. Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a woman once told me, and I can quite understand it. Besides, nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner. Conscience makes egotists of us all. Yes; there is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not mentioned the most important one.”

"What is that, Harry?" said the lad listlessly.

"Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking some one else's admirer when one loses one's own. In good society that always whitewashes a woman. But really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the women one meets! There is something to me quite beautiful about her death. I am glad I am living in a century when such wonders happen. They make one believe in the reality of the things we all play with, such as romance, passion, and love."

"I was terribly cruel to her. You forget that."

"I am afraid that women appreciate cruelty, downright cruelty, more than anything else. They have wonderfully primitive instincts. We have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters, all the same. They love being dominated. I am sure you were splendid. I have never seen you really and absolutely angry, but I can fancy how delightful you looked. And, after all, you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful, but that I see now was absolutely true, and it holds the key to everything."

"What was that, Harry?"

"You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romance — that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that if she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen."

"She will never come to life again now," muttered the lad, burying his face in his hands.

"No, she will never come to life. She has played her last part. But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died. To you at least she was always a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare's plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Shakespeare's music sounded richer and more full of joy. The moment she touched actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away. Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your head because Cordelia was strangled. Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of Brabantio died. But don't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane. She was less real than they are."

There was a silence. The evening darkened in the room. Noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. The colours faded wearily out of things.

After some time Dorian Gray looked up. "You have explained me to myself, Harry," he murmured with something of a sigh of relief. "I felt all that you have said, but somehow I was afraid of it, and I could not express it to myself. How well you know me! But we will not talk again of what has happened. It has been a marvellous experience. That is all. I wonder if life has still in store for me anything as marvellous."

"Life has everything in store for you, Dorian. There is nothing that you, with your extraordinary good looks, will not be able to do."

"But suppose, Harry, I became haggard, and old, and wrinkled? What then?"

"Ah, then," said Lord Henry, rising to go, "then, my dear Dorian, you would have to fight for your victories. As it is, they are brought to you. No, you must keep your good looks. We live in an age that reads too much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful. We cannot spare you. And now you had better dress and drive down to the club. We are rather late, as it is."

[robertmcangusgroup]

The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Thursday 19th October 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. Raining ”Cat’s and Dog’s” this morning, rain is coming down so hard that it’s impossible to see the street.. I managed to take Bella out for a very quick walk between the downpours, I know she’s a water dog, it’s me that’s not… Went to Vistalaser clinic in Marbella yesterday, to have my eyes checked after the operation Tuesday, I am pleased to say that I have been given a clean bill of health and that glasses are no longer required ….

WORLD WAR II LIFEBOAT DISCOVERED NEAR ORKNEY ISLANDS…. According to a report in The Herald Scotland, underwater archaeologists with the Shiptime Maritime Archaeology Project have found a small vessel lost on October 13, 1939, after a German submarine attacked HMS Royal Oak, which was moored in Scapa Bay. More than 800 of the 1,200 battleship’s crew were lost in the attack. About 100 of the men escaped to the small steam-powered pinnace, which had been tethered to the side of HMS Royal Oak. But the small lifeboat, designed to carry 59 people, capsized and sank. It was found about 1,000 feet from HMS Royal Oak. “The site will now be recorded and will add to our knowledge surrounding the sinking of HMS Royal Oak,” said Pete Higgins of the Orkney Research Centre for Archaeology.

VOLUNTEERS COLLECT 500,000 'NURDLES' FROM BEACH AT BO'NESS…. An estimated 540,000 plastic pellets were collected from a small section of beach on the Firth of Forth. Volunteers spent eight hours collecting the lentil-sized pellets, known as nurdles, from the shore at Bo'ness. However, the charity behind the clean-up said their activity was "barely noticeable" and nurdles still make up a large proportion of beach sediment. The pellets are melted down to make plastic products ranging from bin bags to bottle tops.The UK processes around 3 million tonnes of plastics a year, almost all in nurdle form. The pellets are easily spilled during handling, and if they are not cleaned up, they can end up down drains, in waterways and eventually at sea. Fish and seabirds can mistake them for food and they can release potentially-toxic chemicals into animals that eat them or feed near them. The beach clean on the western edge of Kinneil nature reserve in Bo'ness was organised by Fidra and Marine Conservation Society Scotland earlier this month as part of The Great Nurdle Hunt. Fidra's project officer Madeleine Berg said: "Although we collected nurdles all day, we barely scratched the surface. "From these estimates, there must be many millions on this small stretch of beach alone."

INVESTIGATION AFTER PLANE LEAVES TAXIWAY AT STORNOWAY AIRPORT…. An investigation is under way after a plane bound for Glasgow veered off the taxiway at Stornoway Airport on Lewis. Flybe said the aircraft went on to the grass after its wheels made contact with taxiway lights while turning on Sunday evening. Emergency services were alerted but none of the three crew or 29 passengers on board flight BE2975 was hurt. A spokesman for the airline said the plane was undergoing an engineering inspection.Passengers were bussed back to the terminal and those who required it were provided with overnight accommodation.Most were all able to travel on flights on Monday. The spokesman said: "Flybe and Eastern Airways sincerely apologise to its passengers for the inconvenience experienced the safety of its passengers and crew is the airlines' number one priority at all times."A spokesman for Highlands and Islands Airports (Hial) said: "We are working closely with the airline to ensure the aircraft is safely returned to service as soon as possible. "The plane is currently secure and airport operations continue to operate normally."

SPIRITED REVIVAL FOR FALKIRK SINGLE MALT WHISKY DISTILLERY…. A Falkirk distillery which operated for more than 175 years until its closure in 1993 is to be reopened. Ian Macleod Distillers will resurrect Rosebank at its site on the banks of the Forth and Clyde canal.The distiller said its plans include a visitor centre to help tell the story of the Lowland single malt. It follows Diageo's announcement on Monday that it will reopen malt whisky facilities in Brora, Sutherland, and Port Ellen on Islay. Diageo transferred the Rosebank trademark to Ian Macleod Distillers, which purchased the site from Scottish Canals. The distillery was built in 1817 but has lain empty since it was closed by Diageo in 1993. Original bottles of Rosebank single malt currently sell for hundreds of pounds.Ian Macleod Distillers managing director Leonard Russell said Rosebank was "one of the most respected and sought after single malts in the world" He said: "As such, this is an extraordinarily exciting project for us. "To bring back to life an iconic distillery and quintessential Lowland single malt is truly a once in a lifetime opportunity." Mr Russell said that the company had also acquired existing Rosebank casks with a view to releasing "some truly scarce and extraordinary whiskies."

PENNINE WAY WALKER RESCUED ON FINAL LEG…. A walker had to be rescued on the Pennine Way after getting injured on the final leg of her 268-mile journey. Border Search and Rescue Unit was called out to assist as the remnants of Hurricane Ophelia were about to hit Scotland on Monday. The 38-year-old woman was stranded in a refuge hut after slipping while descending Auchope Cairn.She was unable to walk after spraining her ankle but was taken to safety before conditions deteriorated. The BSARU team made its way to Sourhope Farm south of Kirk Yetholm in the Scottish Borders where farmer Rob Flintoff helped ferry them to the hut.Team leader Stuart Fuller-Shapcott said: "The lady was clearly competent and had completed more than 90% of her walk when she had her accident. "It's a pretty steep bit of ground coming off Auchope Cairn, with loose rocks and tussocks, and she was simply unlucky. "She did well to reach the safety of the refuge hut, and we're glad she made the call when she did." He added that she had been lucky to be rescued on Monday morning before the worst weather hit. "A few additional hours' delay could have meant our having to evacuate her either by stretcher or helicopter, which in the storm that blew up in the afternoon would have been a much more serious undertaking," he said.

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today, 

Our look at Scotland today is of Kilted Yoga... 

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Thursday 19th October 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in 

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus