#or are we drinking ourselves to oblivion m

[uncaffeinatedbirb]

Arcane nation, how are we holding up?

[natromanxoff]

12 - Nicknames...

Hello Playmates. Firstly a slap on the wrist for me. In the last thingy that I wrote I said that we were at Madison Square Gardens when John Bonham died. Well, according to someone in the good ol' U.S. of A. we were in Boston that night, so I was a day out. Also this very kind person, who "didn't want to burst my bubble," informed me that David Lee Roth said the same thing every night. I'm sure he did, I just said that I liked his onstage patter. There has to be some sort of joke about bursting bubbles and pricks, anybody know any?

Did we all get our Spring magazines? Credit to young Jacky and Val, they still do a great mag. In it were the answers to the last competition, and I have to be honest, I didn't have a clue about most of the questions. But here is a little bit of trivia. Q.8 (who, according to Roger, first suggested Another One Bites The Dust be released as a single) The actual very first people to suggest AOBTD be released as a single was The Royal Road Crew. We were lurking around at Musicland Studios while the fab ones were mixing, and I think it was Jobby who said it would be a huge hit. When we told the band they just glared at us and told us to mix some more cocktails. I suppose Mr Jackson saying it sounds more impressive than "Our pissed road crew said ..."

Q.10 (where did the "young man" who was stung on the knee by a wasp come from?) I had completely forgotten about "Two Sharp Pencils." The verses in that song, The young man from Dundee and The lady from Bude, were two stupid rhymes that I used to recite, and RT liked them and made a song out of it. I really hate to take to much credit (lying bastard) but 'Two Sharp Pencils' is also one of mine. It's very hard to explain, but the pencils are placed in a good looking girls ears, and whilst holding the pencils you can pull her head to .......... Enough said. Don't go all sexist on me, it was only a joke.

Q.20 (it was a question about who's nickname was who's) Nicknames. I did not know that Deaky's nickname of Birdman was common knowledge. Here's a little competition from your's truly. Does anyone out there know how he got it and when he got it, and anything else that goes with the story?????? Still on the subject of nicknames, some of you smarter people might have guessed that most of us had them, and that Crystal isn't my real name. It's actually Susan. When I started to travel with the band the first person to inherit my drum keys was a young guy, compared to the rest of us, who had worked with bands like the Thompson Twins. He wore stupid clothes like bondage pants, so Trip gave him the name - Mr. Modern, and it stuck. Whilst on tour in Japan, Mr M met a charming lady who we named Madam Butterfly, and this charming lady gave him his very first dose of the clap. By the end of the day Modern was getting very pissed off with us all, because every time he saw anyone, we would all clap him. I wrote on the gong flight case "Mr Modern has the Crap," and the last time I saw the case it was still on it. The last drum monkey we had, on his first day of rehearsals plugged a 110v keyboard into the 240v power supply and blew it up. British people here might remember a TV program called Auf Wiedesein(!), Pet. Ratty remembered the name of the arsonist in it, and so we had - Moxie. In-between these two wonderful people we did have someone else. We had a European tour coming up and Modern had moved on, so I interviewed a few people at Pembridge Road. I told one guy he had the job and asked him if he had anymore questions, and his first was "Who does Freddies gear?" He only knew me as Crystal, so I replied that Ratty did it. "Who looks after Brian?" Jobby. "Sound?" Trip. "Lights?" Idiot Boy. By this time he's looking a bit bewildered, and I said, "Obviously these are all nicknames and here's a little tip, you're gonna get one, and if you don't like it don't say anything otherwise it'll stick." Sound advice. A few weeks later we all turn up in good old Munich to start rehearsals. I'm in Rogers suite and said, "I suppose you should meet your new roadie at sometime." So I get on the phone and call his room, and when he answers the phone I said, "Hello Shag Nasty," and the dickhead said "I DON'T LIKE THAT." Welcome Shag.

We had to start how we meant to carry on, so we all headed to the Sugar Shack that evening. This could have been Spike's first day as well. Us old timers know how to pace ourselves, but dear old Shag has to drink himself into oblivion in the first hour, and proceed to pass out. A red rag to a bull. We pile him up with glasses, bottles, ashtrays and anything else we can find, and after a few hours Brian decides to head off, and being a nice guy said he would get Shag back to the hotel. We get him down to the limo and throw him in the back while Brian gets in the front, and on the way to the hotel he decides to decorate the limo with, amongst other things, diced carrots. So far this is not good job security. During sound checks Roger would spend forever tuning his kit, and during the show, with the heat of the lights and his pounding, would continue tuning during the show. On one occasion, sound check over and kit perfect, we head off until showtime. During the first number of the set RT is looking a bit put out, and after the first song starts frantically re-tuning the drums. This continues for quite a few songs until he starts to look relaxed. After the show Shag is summoned to the dressing room, and RT said, "Er Shag, after the soundcheck did you re-tune my kit? And the reply was, "Oh no Rog, I wouldn't do that, I just tightened up the loose ones." Back in Berlin and it's five minutes before show time, and Gerry comes up to me and says, "Look's like you've got your old job back for tonight." Why? I look round and Shag is being carted off on a stretcher, with an oxygen mask, drip and everything. What else can this clown get up to? For the last two million years Queen have finished the show with Rock You, then Champions, when the lights would come down, FM running around like a madman, RT standing up and hitting all his cymbals and playing just the bass drum with his right foot, BM playing the never ending power chord whilst keeping an eye on the drummer and JD wondering where we're going clubbing. As the lighting rig came to a standstill, Rog would sit down, and cue the rest of the band for the finish with two smacks on the snare drum and then an almighty crash of the cymbals, and it's over for another night. Play the tape. Shag had done this a couple of dozen times already, so you would think he knew. Wrong. On one night, Rogers doing his standing up bit and our beloved Shag thinks, "The stool is in the way." so he removes the offending stool. When Roger goes to sit down, there's nothing to sit on and he goes arse over tit off the back of the riser, and he's lying there winded. I tell Shag Nasty to hide for a while and try and get the drummer to his feet, and needless to say he's very pissed off. The lights have stopped and Brian has played the longest chord in the history of the universe. Roger finally gets back behind the kit, does the two hits and cymbal crash to finally finish the show, and then completely trashes his kit. I'm glad I didn't have to rebuild it. Needless to say, Shag did not last to long. Until next time.

Crystal

[jettingtothemoon]

Costume Party

➳ pairing: alucard x trevor x m!reader ➳ genre: fluff, modern au ➳ warnings: swearing, suggestive themes?, alcohol usage ➳ word count: 2337 ➳ rating: pg-15 ➳ summary: In which you and adrian throw trevor a surprise halloween party. ➳ a/n: a request from wattpad

What better place to throw a Halloween party other than Dracula's castle itself? Well, what used to be Dracula's castle. Now, it was your home but it wasn't like you lived here alone.

"Here?" Adrian questioned, looking at your for confirmation that he had chosen the correct place to hang the fake cobwebs.

You smiled, happy to see him taking this seriously despite originally thinking it might not have been a good idea, "Yeah, that's perfect."

It had been your suggestion to prepare a surprise Halloween party for Trevor when he arrived back home. He was in need of some fun, especially after such a long trip. Well, it was only a few days but those few days were very long without him. Both you and Adrian had missed him a great deal.

It's the 21st century so of course, you both called him while he was away but it just wasn't the same as seeing him in person. What better way to welcome him back other than with crazy costumes, fake blood and a keg full of beer? Well, he would at least appreciate the boose.

"Who did you invite again?" Adrian questioned, climbing down from the chair he had previously been standing on.

You finished putting up the last of the decorations in your hand and turned to him, "You know, a few people we know. The castle will be well filled out befitting a great party."

Adrian hummed and walked over to you, "Well, we better get you in a costume before they get here."

With a grin, you happily followed Adrian upstairs to the bedroom. He had already picked out a costume for you, although he made sure to keep it a surprise until this very moment.

"Is that a dress?"

Once again, he hummed and picked up the torn, tattered and bloody white dress, "Trevor will be Frankenstein and you'll be his bride."

After a very brief second of silence, you burst out laughing. It wasn't anything you would have ever expected from Adrian. Actually, you had expected him to make you dress up as a werewolf or a vampire-like himself but no, here he was putting you in a dress.

"Alright then, but doesn't that leave you out?"

"Well, I of course will be Dr Frankenstien himself. A vampire version, obviously. I think that makes me your owner." Adrian explained his idea behind the costumes and how he wasn't left out of it.

You raised an eyebrow and chuckled whilst eyeing up the dress he had prepared for you, "Our owner? I don't think Trevor will like that."

"No, but I'm sure he will be more than pleased to have you as his bride. Oh, and just in case you're not comfortable in the dress I brought some shorts for you to wear underneath."

You smiled and began to change, noticing how Adrian wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was eyeing you up. When you had managed to pull the dress on properly, you tried to reach for the zip only to find that it was out of reach.

As if on cue, Adrian circled around you and slowly began to pull the zip up, "Don't you look pretty."

"I feel ridiculous. You know most of the people coming to this party are my friends right? I will never live this down." You sighed, although you weren't going to oppose wearing the costume Adrian had specifically picked out for you.

"They'll simply be too stunned to care. You look beautiful my love. Now, time for the make-up." He clasped his hands together excitedly.

It was nice to see him enjoying himself. A Halloween party wasn't something Adrian agreed to immediately but the second you told him that he could pick out a costume for both you and Trevor, well, his thoughts on the matter changed entirely.

Make-up was a must for Halloween. Even if it simply meant some face paint and a bit of fake blood. For Adrian, however, it was simply another fun activity to do with you. With a look of complete concentration on his face, Adrian worked his magic and made you look like a bride befitting the undead Frankenstein.

"There, now just let me spray some temporary colour into your hair and we'll be done."

Once your costume was complete, Adrian instructed you to go finish off laying out the snacks and drinks. And so, you left him to change into his own costume and started by lugging the beer kegs into place.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

A familiar voice echoed from behind you as Trevor ducked under the spooky tunnel you had created at the entrance of the castle out of a few black sheets and lots of string.

You turned around with a smile, "We're having a Halloween party. I'm the Bride of Frankenstein."

"And where is this Frankenstein, huh? I might just have to duel him for his bride's affection."

It was embarrassing just hearing him say it but Trevor had always been a little possessive of you and Adrian. He was just like that with the people he loved.

"That would be you, actually. Come on, we don't have long and you need to get in your costume." Adrian explained, ushering Trevor up the stairs the moment he reached the bottom.

He was already in his costume, although he was only about halfway through spraying the white colour onto his golden hair. It was a simple costume. A white lab coat that was covered in splatters of fake blood, accompanied by the trail of red that ran along the side of his mouth. Of course, to top it off he was colouring his hair and donning a pair of long black gloves. Not to mention, his fangs were on full display for all to see.

"If you try to paint me green I swear to God Adrian..." Trevor grumbled as he followed after the blonde.

Not long after they disappeared upstairs, guests began to arrive. You were left to greet them all, laughing with them when they mentioned how great your costume was. By the time your lovers returned, the castle was flooded with a sea of people, all dressed up in gory costumes that matched perfectly with the decorations you and Adrian had spent the better half of the day putting up.

"I know what you're thinking, such a dashing monster. You know, I'm usually the one killing the monsters, not pretending to be one." Trevor chuckled as he and Adrian rejoined you.

He hadn't had much time to rest after coming back from his trip, if he had any at all, but he didn't seem the least bit tired. In fact, he looked ready to party. Music boomed through the castle, trembling through the very foundations and, like a leaf in the wind, Trevor was blown along with it. Well, blown over to the beer.

Adrian stood by your side, wrapping an arm delicately around your waist as he leaned into you, "You know, I think this is the best idea you've had in a while. Now, whilst he drinks himself into oblivion, why don't we have a little fun ourselves?"

Before you could ask what he meant, you were whisked away into the crowd of bodies. You certainly hadn't invited this many people but you weren't surprised that more people showed up. The news of a Halloween party in the haunted castle must have spread through town rather quickly.

Adrian took your hand in his and danced so slowly with you, despite the fast pace of the music. He wasn't dancing to the music at all. No, he was simply dancing with you. You rested your head against his shoulder with a smile, welcoming his embrace after such a long and tiresome day. Although, you suspected it would be an even longer night.

"Come on you two, stop being so boring and drink with me!" Trevor yelled over the music, interrupting you and Adrian as he grabbed both of you and pulled you over to where the drinks were.

Trevor was never one for romance, although he had his moments. Now, however, was not one of them.

He shoved a pint of beer into your hand and then passed one to Adrian, who sighed with a roll of his eyes and downed the drink in one. You soon followed suit. The pints soon turned into shots and, before long, the three of you were really rather drunk. With a hearty laugh, Trevor wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his entire weight falling onto you for a brief moment before he found his feet again.

"We should do this all the time."

You chuckled, "Do what? Dress up as monsters and party?"

"No. Drink, party and fuck to our hearts' content!" Trevor declared with yet another laugh.

It was nice seeing him having fun without any stress. He liked to stress. Too many monsters to kill, not enough monsters to kill. Not enough time at home with you and Adrian, too much time stuck at home. He was hard to please but always told the two of you how you made his life worth living, even if mostly when he was drunk or simply feeling extra sappy.

"You know, we haven't actually done that last one yet." You smirked.

Just because Trevor wasn't home for a few days didn't mean that you and Adrian hadn't, well, had sex. Of course you had but there was something about it when it wasn't all three of you, it just wasn't complete. Enjoyable, yes. But in the end you'd always wind up lying in bed wondering what Trevor was up to, amusing yourselves by joking about how he was probably lying in bed all grumpy because the two of you weren't by his side. He always missed you when he went on his trips and the two of you certainly missed him. Adrian went with him sometimes which meant that you were home all on your own until they returned, although they always made sure not to be gone for too long.

"That is true. Think we can ditch our own party and head upstairs?"

Before you could answer, Adrian stumbled past yelling out nonsense right before collapsing onto the sofa.

"Or not." Trevor sighed, although you simply giggled at the state Adrian was in.

Neither Trevor or Adrian were good at holding their beer but, when it came to Trevor at least he could function somewhat rationally no matter how smashed he was. Adrian, on the other hand, was and will always be a paralytic drunk.

"Let's get him to bed." You chuckled, dragging Trevor along to help you carry Adrian up the stairs.

The blonde grinned at you and extended his arms out towards you as if he knew what was happening, grabbing at the air between the two of you as he slurred, "Up, up. Let's gooooo."

You shook your head and went to help him up but, before you could, Trevor had beaten you to it, "Can't have my bride tugging this sack of potatoes up the stairs, can I?"

"Just get him to bed, I'll clear everyone out. What time even is it? One? Two in the morning?"

"Three. It's almost three in the morning." Trevor groaned and threw Adrian's arm around his neck as he gently picked him up.

With a nod, you headed over to the speaker, unplugging it before yelling at the top of your lungs that the party was over. You thanked everyone for coming as the left, sounding almost like a broken record as the swarm of bodies passed you and began heading home. There were a couple of people completely lying around but, after checking they were all still alive, you decided to just leave them to their sleep and sleepily began to head for your room.

When you got there, neither Adrian nor Trevor was anywhere to be seen. It didn't take long to find them though, you simply followed the sound of someone being sick until you reached the bathroom. And there they were. Adrian with his head down the toilet and Trevor, sweetly holding his hair back and rubbing circles into his back.

"This is your fault." Adrian sulked before throwing up what was left in his stomach.

Trevor simply continued to rub those soothing circles into his back and, once Adrian was done, allowed him to fall back against him, "I know, I know. I'm sorry."

"Let's get you to bed." You yawned, crouching down beside Adrian before you helped Trevor get him back on his feet.

The three of you staggered along back to your bed. Adrian was the first to flop down into it, his hair splaying out on the pillow as he landed on his side of the bed. 

Trevor noticed you were struggling with the dress and came to help you unzip it. Although he didn't stop there and also went as far to push it over your shoulders until it fell onto the floor.

"You had to be wearing shorts under it." He sighed and buried his head into the crook of your neck.

You chuckled, "That's never stopped you before."

He hummed against your skin, kissing it softly before letting go and allowing you to step out of the dress. For tonight the paint, fake blood, hair colouring and make-up with have to say but there was no way you were going to wear that uncomfortable costume to bed. Trevor seemed to agree, at least to some extent, and pulled off his shirt before climbing in beside Adrian, carefully pushing his long hair over so that he wouldn't lie on it.

"Come on then." He spoke with a soft voice and lifted his arm so that you could lie against him.

You didn't waste a moment and crawled onto the large bed, squeezing up against Trevor as you rested your head against his chest.

Adrian, who you had both expected to have already conked out by now, rolled over and placed a hand on the other side of Trevor's chest with a sleepy smile, "We missed you."

"Yeah, yeah. I missed you too." He spoke with a slight blush, although you were certain that was because of the alcohol.

And so, snuggled together in bed, you finally fell asleep as three once again.

[scurvgirl]

The Woods, Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Uthvir belongs to @feynites

Darevas belongs to @selenelavellan

Miriel is toeing a dangerous line. 

Twins in Arlathan AU

Miriel wakes with a pounding in her head. She tries to open her eyes but everything is too bright. Her stomach protests the slightest movement with waves of almost overwhelming nausea.

“Was she attempting to run?” A voice asks, loud and garbled by the fuzz in her ears.

“I cannot say. She wanted to be in the garden, we told her she was not allowed and she went anyway.”

“She struggles with rules.”

“I have overheard her conversations with the Lord Darevas, it seems her social graces are non-existent.”

Right, no benefit of the doubt here. Just…suspicion. She is unknown and clumsy to them. But they seem to forget they are unknowns to her as well, just as suspicious. And by the sheer amount of her falling unconscious since encountering them she is willing to say they are a greater danger to her than she is to them. Not that they’ll listen to her now

But she can try.

She opens her mouth, dry and a bit painful but she can speak, “I just wanted to feel the sun.” Her voice is hoarse and gross but they both pause.

“You were told not to go out there.”

“…If your direct authorities were always your parents, wouldn’t you develop a sort of innate rebelliousness?” She asks. The pounding in her head spikes and she winces.

“That is enough talking, you need rest,” the healer says and Miriel feels the prickling of healing magic before she falls back into oblivion.

**

When she wakes next, there is no pounding in her head but her body is sore and weak. How long has she been laying down? She pries her eyes open and slowly forces herself to sit up. Her body is sweaty and pungent, her hair a rat’s nest, and still she is in that brown robe. 

The room is the same, with gray walls and a few cots occupied by randomly injured persons. Her head doesn’t hurt but it feels strange and she has the distinct feeling that a significant amount of time has passed. She turns to see a glass of water on her bedside table. She leans over and gulps it down just as a healer spies her.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she says and hurries to Miriel’s bedside.

“I wasn’t trying to run,” Miriel says immediately and the healer waves her off.

“I believe you, but you still shifted while concussed. We put you into a magically induced coma to allow your brain to recover as much as it could without interference.”

Miriel blinks at her. A…coma?

“How long?” She whispers.

“Ten days. You still need a week to recover, but you should be safe to walk around,” she replies, checking over Miriel’s body to make sure she’s alright.

“If they’ll allow it.” She doubts they will since well…she hasn’t exactly shown she can be trusted with it.

“That depends on what you say now,” it’s her interrogator from earlier’s voice. She turns to them somewhat…surprised by their appearance. She thought them larger, but they can’t be that much bigger than her.

She blinks that at them while they loom over her, arms crossed, their face drawn into a disapproving scowl.

“You have taken such a keen interest in me, I promise no one in our camp is that important. My mother, Caution, is the highest ranked out of all of them. I-I gave you all the names and positions I swear. My stint in the garden was just…boredom and a need to not be inside.” The healer hands Miriel another potion which she drinks despite its horrid taste.

“Taking you at your word when you refuse to follow the rules brought before you is understandably difficult,” they say. There are spikes on their armor, all around their shoulders and gauntlets – a style she distantly remember hunters being fond of.

“It is like being in a cage,” she replies softly, “the ceiling is too low. And yes, I broke a rule, but it wasn’t to run – I don’t know this place, where exactly would I run to? And to whom? The only people I know are still in the woods, in danger from…something.”

They perk at that and step closer, “What are they in danger from?”

“I don’t know. It could be other rogue hunters, a demon, maybe one of Ghilan’nain’s beasts – we’re close to the boundary. Whatever it is, it is there and is dangerous. But you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be taking such an interest in this,” she says. Their eyes narrow and she resists the urge to grin. She may not have many social graces but she can tell when someone is looking for something and they are digging deep.

“Twelve of ours have gone missing, how many have you lost?” She whispers.

“Have you seen any atypical marks in the ground? Tracks not made by hunters or typical game?”

“If we had, we would have tacked them ourselves.”

“How many caves are within the area? Grottos, outcroppings, large holes – anything that would allow someone or something to hide?”

“There are three caves, though we know for a fact that two of them are home to bears. We stayed clear of those, particularly when there were cubs. The third my mother always told me to stay away from, she said that she had a bad feeling about it.”

They nod and turn to wave what appears to be a guard over from the shadows.

“This is Sanaste, they’ll be monitoring you for the duration of your recovery. After you take us to your people, you will be expected to take us to this cave. I have other duties I must attend to now, do not do anything reckless,” the interrogator that reminds her entirely too much of the hunters of Andruil’s palace leaves and their underling approaches the bed.

“Are they always like that? All…’grr, spikey spikey, fear me’?”

Sanaste laughs and nods, “A bit yeah. You get used it, Uthvir is very professional, they take their work seriously.”

“Clearly. Am I permitted to walk around a bit?” She asks the healer and she snorts.

“Does my answer matter?”

“I am uninterested in passing out again, so yes it matters.”

“You may walk around, though I would advise against leaving the healing space right now. Sanaste, perhaps you could take her to the library on this side of the palace?” The healer suggests.

“And taunt me with books I am not allowed to read?”

“Can you read?” Sanaste asks and she scowls at them.

“And write. I was thirty when we ran, it’s not like I grew up there.” It’s not like she’s some wild animal, she knows how to read and write and do all the things these people do. 

“The library is beautiful, Miriel, you can enjoy it without having to read,” the healer says and frowns at Sanaste.

“Are assumptions not dangerous in your line of work? Had you held onto such an assumption that she could not read…would you read confidential material in front of her? Write them?”

Sanaste turns bright red and looks at their shoes, “Of-of course not.”

“Food for thought, now excuse me, if my ears tell me correctly, some fool grabbed a sword by the blade. Miriel, if you need anything, feel light headed, come back and ask for Hamiris – me.” Hamiris smiles and rises from her spot to go tend to a profusely bleeding man swearing his injury was not his fault.

Miriel turns to Sanaste and they help her out of her cot. She sways for a moment but the world doesn’t spin and she straightens out her back, sighing in relief as the vertebrae pop.

“I think I first want to visit the bath,” she says before walking over to the pools. Sanaste follows her and she turns, frowning.

“I can bathe myself.”

“Spymaster told me to keep an eye on you,” they reply and she lets out a long breath. Fine. She walks into the bathing room and picks out her soaps and vials before consulting with the assistant there on which pool does what. After a moment, she decides on a pink hued pool enchanted for relieving muscle aches and tensions.

It is…the most wondrous bath she’s ever had. She indulges in the water, sinking down past her shoulders to revel in the relief. The water is apparently enchanted to gently press against her body in swirling motions to slowly ease tension. After ten long minutes, she sits up and begins the slow process of washing herself clean of all the oils that have built up on her skin.

“Taking your time, eh?” Sanaste jokes and she rolls her eyes.

“I was unconscious for ten days, my body hasn’t moved in ten days. Before it was unheard of for it to not move for ten hours. I am so stiff and oily.” She sinks beneath the surface of the pink water and hums in delight at the full body effect.

“Are there any other robes? That one is old and I’d rather wear something clean,” she asks the assistant at the front of the room. He sighs and searches through another cabinet, procuring a long burgundy robe. She finishes washing herself and reaches for the towel, wrapping it around herself being she goes and retrieves the new robe.

“You are covered in scars, how –

“Most of them are really just dramatic scratches. I learned to fight, fell from trees, ran into trees, and once I was on the wrong end of a deer’s antlers.” She shakes out her hair and dresses quickly. The robe is much longer than the brown one, trailing behind her as it sags around her shoulders.

“Are people generally taller in Mana’din’s territory? All of your robes feel exceptionally large,” she comments as she tries to tie the waist of the robe higher up where her waist actually is.

“Not particularly, Mana’din herself is quite petite. It is supposed to be loose, it is the style right now.” Sanaste explains and she makes a face. ‘Loose’ is not exactly comfortable nor is it practical, there is entirely too much fabric – what if she has to defend herself?

“It’s supposed to come off the shoulders, like this,” Sanaste adjusts the neckline so that it’s less awkward plunging and more aligned so that it stretches from one end of her shoulder to the other. It also pulls the waist up to a better position. While the robe is still long and the opposite of what she’s used to, it will have to do.

She braids her wet hair back then leaves with Sanaste towards this apparently amazing library. They help her through the hallways. The walls are so close together and the ceiling is low and no matter how much the light the windows let in, she feels almost trapped. She has frontwards and backwards…potentially through the windows as an escape route.

Thankfully the library is not far and Sanaste is quick to thrust open the heavy doors to reveal –

“Shit,” she whispers as she walks into the grandest room she has ever been in. It must be multiple levels high, with shelves lining all the way up to the ceiling. The other stories have walkways interrupting the shelves and some people mill above her, pulling books off shelves and walking away with them. Light streams in from the windows on the opposite wall from the door. The windows frame a gigantic fireplace that she feels poses a risk to the books. But there are wards to prevent that, she thinks.

“Er, yes. It’s really that impressive?” She guesses that someone who sees such impressive things every day becomes blind to how impressive it is. She can’t remember seeing so many books in one place before…perhaps when she lived at Andruil’s palace when she was younger, but it’s been a long time and all the memories she has of that place are obscured by the chaos of her death.

It’s like a forest of books and she wants to read them all. She strides to one of the shelves and pulls out a book, reading its title

“Evening of Eternity – interesting. Is this book good?” She asks Sanaste and they stall.

“I’m not sure.”

“Hmm.” She pulls out another one.

“Mistress of Mine.”

“We appear to be in the romance section,” Sanaste says, joining her by the bookcase to inspect their own books titles.

“What other sections are there?” She asks and they shrug.

“There’s adventure, suspense, thriller, mystery, I am pretty sure there are at least a few high fantasy books in here – there’s a series about a winged people that is very popular right now. Lots of political intrigue.”

“It sounds fascinating! They all have wings?”

“Yes. It’s about a niece to the empress suddenly becoming empress herself after brutal assassinations.”

“Oh that sounds so interesting. Damn this concussion, I can’t read.” She turns to them and widens her eyes.

They sigh and head over to another bookcase to pull out a hefty looking book.

“I’ll read the first chapter aloud and then I’m done.”

They curl up in a nook of the library, and Sanaste keeps their voice low so to not draw attention. They are not the most skilled orator but they are decent enough that she asks for them to just read one more chapter.

“I said one!”

“But it’s so good! Please, and just think, you’re keeping me here instead of me escaping you and running wild.” She grins up at them and bats her eyelashes. They narrow their eyes for a moment before sighing and turning their attention back to the book. They grumble about being a glorified babysitter or something then set to reading the next chapter.

Luckily for them, she needs to move by the end of it. It is very good and she wants to read more – but later, right now she is inclined to move.

“Is there anywhere else?” She asks and they pause before shaking their head.

“No, everywhere else is off limits. At least until they decide if you’re safe…or not. They could decide to lock you up still.”

“That’s a nice thought.” Their look tells her they don’t appreciate her sarcasm but she shrugs it off and starts to walk around the library. She snares a ladder and climbs up it to the second story. Sanaste makes a noise of disapproval but she’s just on the second floor – what else is the ladder for other than climbing?

There are…so many books. How does one even begin to choose what they are going to read? They had a grand total of three books in the woods, and she read each beyond counting. She had started coming up with her own little stories, not particularly good, but entertaining in the interim. Always in the interim. Uthbora was much better at writing the stories. She’d speak them around the fires, and they’d all sit enraptured.

She wonders if these books are just as good or if they’re better.

“It is incredibly frustrating, Sanaste, to have all these books here but unable to read them. And it’s not because I can’t read, but because a healer says no.”

“You struggle with being told ‘no’?” They ask and she rolls her eyes.

“Just when it comes to my safety, I know my limits and what I can do. If someone said no to me poking them, for example, that would be easy to follow. But following someone else’s guidance when it’s me?” She clicks her tongue as she pulls out a particularly colorfully bound book.

“It’s awful,” she murmurs, opening to the first page of the book. They’re in the mystery section and this particular book seems to be about a murder the guards who investigate it. She hums then puts it back.

“I can feel it though, the exhaustion just behind my eyes as I try to read. There is a strain. So since I am unable to read, I want to move.”

Sanaste sighs and explains once again that she is currently only permitted this library, the hallway, and the healing annex. Her expression sours and they offer to read more of the story to her. She itches to move but there is literally nothing else to do.

So they read to her until it is time for her to return to the annex for her supper. It is a plain meal consisting of bread, steamed vegetables, and a small selection of cured meats. Sanaste is given their own plate of food and they eat in companionable silence.

After dinner is another round of healing that lasts for several hours. The healers bustle about her, making her drink foul potions, asking her questions about her well-being and if she is complying with their rules of recovery. She tries to tell them all multiple times that she is fine, but they ignore her words and focus on slowly weaving healing magic into her head. It is deeply relaxing, at least, and she nearly falls into a trance as they work.

By the time they are finished, the sun has set, and Sanaste looks to be flagging just a bit. They lean against the wall, head back and eyes closed. She should sleep, she knows, but there is a restlessness that lingers.

The others in the room are beginning to turn in for the night, making her feel guilty for her inability to do the same. She drags a hand down face and contemplates asking for something that will make her sleep when the door opens. Curious, Miriel sits up and almost grins.

He strides over to her, dressed in dark hues that make him almost blend in with the darkness of the stone walls.

“My lord,” she inclines her head and the air spikes with both annoyance and happiness.

“I was kept in meetings all day, and have only now gotten free,” he bemoans.

“Have you eaten? I’m sure someone can get you food if you’re hungry –

“I ate. I had been meaning to see you after you woke up but everything got pushed back because of the meetings.”

Her brow furrows but her lips quirk up, “You wanted to see me? Do you wish to hear more about the woods? As important to me they are, they are still just woods.”

He pauses for a moment, and she tries to read him through the mask. The porcelain shields everything, though, and it leaves her simultaneously frustrated and curious.

“Not precisely. But there is something I would like to show you, that is if you’re up for it,” he says and she sits up, grinning.

“Oh I’m up for it, concussion be damned,” she says, eager to move around.

Sanaste coughs behind her and she winces. Right, her guard.

“My lord, I am not sure if she has been cleared to go wherever you are planning,” they say diplomatically. It’s bold of them, to defy him like this.

“I am clearing her right now. You…can just stay here, rest a bit, I’m sure she has put you through your paces today.” His tone is playful and light and Miriel plays along. She plays at offense, leaning back, bringing her hand to her chest, but smiling.

Sanaste averts their eyes, unsure of what they should do.

“I am perfectly agreeable when I want to be, I’ll have you know,” she says. Darevas chuckles and returns his gaze to her.

“It’s the when you want to be that gets you in trouble.”

“You make it sound like I’m incorrigible.”

Sanaste snorts, “That’s because you are.”

Darevas gestures to them, “See? You’re outvoted. You’re a troublemaker.”

“I’m not the one who keeps coming back, though, so what does that make you?” She shoots back before thinking properly. Her eyes widen and she realizes what she said could be taken poorly. She bows her head but there’s retaliation. Darevas hums for a moment before replying.

“Curious. Intrigued. I’ve met so few troublemakers like yourself,” there is a hint of something in his voice that she can’t quite place but it makes her blush. Sanaste sighs and mutters about Uthvir is going to kill them before retreating back to their chair. Darevas stands and extends his hand out to Miriel.

“Come! Our time is limited!” He exclaims. She takes his hand then they are off. He takes back into the hallway and they travel down the length of it, passing several guards and rooms. She averts her eyes from the guards at first but they seem unconcerned to see Darevas leading her through the palace. Has he done this before?

He rounds a corner and she has to focus on her footing and keeping up.

“Where are we going?” She whispers.

“You’ll see!”

A surprise then. As a rule, Miriel isn’t too fond of surprises – there’s too much room for them to be bad. But none of her little internal alarms go off at the prospect of Darevas surprising her…so either she is blindsided by him or nothing bad is going to happen.

Both, potentially.

He leads her down a small flight of stairs and then around a bend. They stop just outside of a pair of glass doors, hints of light from the other side spill through the glass and she angles to see more clearly.

“Are you ready?” He asks, giddy.

“Ready for what? I am unprepared for anything hostile, but something pleasant – yes,” she answers and she swears he rolls his eyes even if she can’t tell behind the mask.

“To fight a dragon, obviously.” He turns and opens the door and guides her into the space. Her breath catches as she realizes what it is. It’s an enclosed garden of sorts. Full of night blooming flowers and bioluminescent plants. There are even a few glowing lizards she sees scurrying from bush to bush. There is an odd-looking tree in the center of the garden, dark heavy fruit hanging from its branches.

There is a small spring burbling up just beyond the tree and several small birds flit around it. Little lights line the walkway though the garden, guiding her slow walk through.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, reaching out to touch the black night tree. Its bark is waxy but jagged, creating a smooth but sharp surface.

“I’m glad you like it.” He reaches up and plucks a fruit from the tree. He shows her how to open it, revealing a squishy dark purple interior.

“Is it edible?”

“It is, not to my tastes, entirely too tart.”

She reaches into the fruit and pulls out a section. It’s not entirely dissimilar from an orange, though she’d say it’s closer to a grapefruit and a coconut in terms of shape and texture. She takes a bite. Darevas is right, it is exceptionally tart, but not unpleasantly so.

“It would go well inside of a pastry, or the juices could be used to make a beverage. Where is this tree from?” she asks, continuing to nibble on the pieces. It could pair with a pomegranate, she thinks, and perhaps strawberries to sweeten it a bit.

“After my sister took over for my uncle, there were chaotic energies swirling around in parts of the territory. Over time, it mutated some of the trees and this type was the longest living. Little ecosystems began to form around it. It’s called a Night Tree. These are night fruits.”

She looks back up at the tree, at its odd skin and the imperfect shapes the night fruits make. It is not a pretty tree, but it is strong, supporting the weight of several creatures lingering in its branches. An armored serpent slithers across a branch and turns to look at her, its four eyes reflecting the light. She has never heard of any of the animals she sees in the garden and she wonders if they are all results of these mutations.

“This is amazing, thank you,” she whispers and he chuckles.

“Ah, the night fruit is also being considered as a new dye source because of the tendency to stain things purple,” he says and she pauses before realizing –

“My lord, did you stain my mouth purple?”

He tries to keep himself from laughing but his shaking shoulders tell a different story.

“Darevas!” She playfully shouts before hopping over to the pond to wash her mouth out. There are glowing fish in the water, all with a third eye on top of their heads. They swim away when they spy her, retreating into the rocks. She rinses her mouth out as much as she can, laughter finally beginning to bubble up from Darevas.

“Yes, my lord, laugh at my expense,” she teases.

“Aww, you’re cute with a purple mouth, though.”

“Anything else you’re not telling me? Like if it’s poisonous?” She asks and the laughter stops.

“I would not poison you,” he says suddenly completely serious. She looks up from the pond, brows drawn.

“I apologize if I insulted, my lord. It was callous of me.” For a moment she was in the woods again, Varas having pulled one over her for the millionth time. And there was that one time where he did get her to nibble on something poisonous, but that had not been intentional.

Darevas walks over to her and she is struck once more about how unsettling his mask is.

“Thank you. Would you care to see the rest of the garden?” He extends a hand to her again and she takes it. The path is surprisingly long and winding, and there are so many types of plants she did not know.

“Serendipity would love this,” she murmurs, eyeing a fern that appears to have color changing fronds.

“Someone you lived with?”

“A botanist, or at least he was a botanist in training when he ran. One of Andruil’s crueler hunters favored him, unfortunately, so he ran.”

Darevas nods, “I have heard some of the rumors surrounding my aunt before she died. They are hard to hear sometimes.”

“It was not all bad, my lord. But yes, it was a trying time to be a follower of hers. My parents tried to keep me from it, but there was only so much they could do. And Serendipity was ironically unfortunate enough to not have anyone keep him from the clutches of a cruel person. My mother is fond of saying that when leaders are cruel, it gives their followers license to be cruel themselves. It’s normalized.”

Darevas stops and stares at her for a moment, “Are you trying to influence me, Miriel?”

“Any influence is of your conscious, my lord, I do not mean anything by it.” She bows her head and almost regrets her words. Almost. The truth of the matter is that Andruil was cruel, and her actions led to her death and the subsequent chaos. It will be difficult enough transferring the power over to Darevas and Felasel, she is uninterested in more chaos, more death for her people.

But she supposes they’re their people as well, and it is up to them to decide what to do with them.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he says after a long moment and some tension eases from her, but she does not pick her head up. That is, until a gloved finger moves under her chin and guides her gaze up to his mask.

“There is no need to fear, I do not wish to harm you.”

She bites her tongue from saying that wish and will are two different things. She has pushed her luck enough for one night. Instead she studies his mask, the slits over his eyes and mouth and wonders what he looks like.

“Why do you wear the mask?” She asks. His hand drops and they resume walking.

“Tradition mostly. My father first wore because his form can be unsettling for some. My sister wore it.” He shrugs, “It just seemed right to wear it.”

“And is your form unsettling as well?” She asks.

“Ah, you want to see under the mask do you?” He teases and she blushes.

“And if I am curious?” She asks back. Several glowing insects buzz around his head, creating odd shapes along his mask. It’s a bit ironic that the Lord Dirthamen wears his mask to conceal his unsettling appearance but the masks themselves are unsettling in their own way.

Darevas reaches up and pulls his hood down, revealing another head cover to secure the mask to. His hands begin to undo the fastenings for the mask.

“If you do not feel comfortable, I don’t mean to impose or –

“Don’t worry,” he says, unfastening the last strap and pulling the mask away.

He looks…normal. Handsome, really. His eyes are a bright blue, framed by long dark lashes and equally dark eyebrows. His mouth is wide, like he should always be smiling.

She blinks and almost doesn’t believe that this is what he looks like.

“Surprised?”

“I…don’t know. You are much more handsome than I was expecting.”

He grins and there is such pure mirth in his face that has her breath catching for a moment, “You find me handsome?”

She turns from him, blushing, “And water is wet, my lord.”

“Oh no, no, no. I’m Darevas without the mask, none of that ‘my lord’ business.”

“A mask makes the lord, then?”

He chuckles, glancing down at his mask.

“It helps to keep some part of myself separate.”

That makes sense. She’d hate to think he is stuck in that mask all the time, save for sleeping or eating. But after a moment he secure the mask into place and pulls his hood back up.

They walk back through the garden, and she stands slightly closer to him than before. It helps to know his face, to know that he really is just a person behind that mask. Though she fears that it will simply make her bolder in her teasing and assertions.

He leads her back to the healer’s and she stops to smile at him.

“Thank you for that, it was very kind. There is so little I can do at the moment and I have been confined to such a limited space.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. There is something I would like to show you in the morning, if you would like. If not…I could have it delivered.” There is a hesitance to his voice that is endearing, and she wonders if that mask also provides him a crutch of sorts to hide his face in such situations. Does he blush? Or feel the need to look away?

“No need to deliver, I will go with you. The healers like to do morning healing sessions, however, so I am unsure of how early I can go.”

“That is not an issue, not to worry. Good night, I will see you in the morning,” he opens the door to the healer’s and she waves her goodbye. The door shuts and she returns to her cot, eager for morning.

[lady-hammerlock]

Assassin’s Creed Rogue - The Novel - Chapter 13

29th July 1757

I do believe it was during our journey to meet with La Vérendrye that Liam revealed to me the true purpose of the box and manuscript. Perhaps it was during the many hours that Liam sat with Achilles in his grief that the mentor revealed the truth to him. Perhaps Liam had already known. I do not know, but I do know that Achilles knew the truth of it all long before he chose to inform the rest of us.

And perhaps you who are reading this, whoever you are, already know about the manuscript and the box, and so my explaining it now will be meaningless, but perhaps not. Perhaps this is all just as new to you now as it was to me then.

The manuscript and box, you see, when used together, were said to point the way towards ancient Precursor sites of immense power. The Assassins, and, I assumed, the Templars, wanted to reach these sites in order to harness whatever mysterious power lay within. I had already heard tales of fantastical weapons; swords that could rouse the hearts of men, and Apples of Eden, ancient artefacts that could force those around you to carry out your will. I will admit that in those days I was more than a little curious as to what sort of artefacts the manuscript and box would lead us to.

We had arranged to meet with La Vérendrye at the port of Saint James. As far as I could tell the fort was little more than a freezing pit that offered passing vessels a safe place to refit and resupply. When we arrived we discovered that La Vérendrye’s ship, the Gerfaut, had been severely damaged. She was still afloat, but it was a close thing, and she was in no shape to venture out onto the open seas. It would take weeks and a lot of hard work to return her to the beautiful state in which La Vérendrye preferred to keep her.

Liam and I found our French comrade sitting on a crate near the port, taking large swigs from a suspect looking bottle. I don’t know what it was that La Vérendrye had been drinking, but as we approached him I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The man was already at least half way drunk.

Le Chasseur stood nearby, a couple of bottles of the same cheap alcohol placed by his feet, although judging by the fact that he was still capable of standing perfectly straight I did not think that he had imbibed nearly as much as La Vérendrye.

I don’t mind admitting that after everything La Vérendrye had put me though, when I saw the opportunity to revel in his own pain a little, I took it.

“Chevalier,” I greeted him. “What happened to your vessel?”

He didn’t even look up at me. Instead he took another long drink from the bottle in his hand.

“I got myself into a bit of a scrape,” he replied, sounding every bit as bitter as I had expected. “Sent three ships in all hands to their watery graves. The Gerfaut nearly followed them down.”

He went to take another drink from his bottle, discovered that it was empty and angrily threw it aside.

I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be getting anything more out of him. Chevalier de la Vérendrye was not as full of wrath as I had anticipated. Instead, seeing him so drunk and broken was almost disappointing. I suppose I could empathise with him, at least a little. After all, if I had been in his place and it was my beloved Morrigan that had been so badly damaged, I probably would have turned into a bitter, drunken wretch as well.

I turned my attention instead to La Vérendrye’s pirate ally, who was apparently content to simply stand back and watch La Vérendrye drink himself to oblivion.

“I trust your fate has been better Le Chasseur?” I asked.

“Indeed,” the pirate replied. “My sources informed me that Samuel Smith has searched far and wide looking for answers on how to make that strange box work. He just returned from New York.”

Le Chasseur grabbed the remaining couple of bottles from off the ground, tossed one to La Vérendrye who opened it with relish, and kept the second for himself.

“Where is Samuel Smith now?” I asked Le Chasseur.

“Refitting his schooner,” Le Chasseur replied with a grin. “If you hurry, you can catch him there.”

Le Chasseur grabbed a map from somewhere within his coat and tried to pass it to me, but before it had changed hands, La Vérendrye had jumped to his feet and snatched it out of Le Chasseur’s grip.

He stood there, taking a swig or two from his most recent bottle of alcohol as he gazed at the map. I contemplated snatching the piece of paper back, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead I stood behind La Vérendrye and tried to get a good look from over his shoulder.

Le Chasseur told us that Samuel Smith was travelling on board a ship named the Equitas. The map charted the Equitas’s last known location and projected course. He gave us all of her details, and told us all that he could about her movements. He was right. The Morrigan would hopefully be able to intercept the Equitas, but only if we made haste.

There was just enough time to resupply the Morrigan, and to fit her with a few new puckle guns that Le Chasseur had acquired for us as a gift, although I don’t think any member of my crew was sad to leave Saint James behind us so quickly.

As we made ready to leave we were granted another surprise to go along with Le Chasseur’s guns, although this one was far less pleasant.

I had not invited La Vérendrye onto my ship, much less asked him to accompany me on my pursuit of Smith, but he stumbled onto the Morrigan right as we were about to weigh anchor. He was still clearly drunk, and I cursed under my breath when he announced that he would be accompanying Liam and myself on our mission, but I refused to let La Vérendrye’s presence get to me. I was sure that he wanted me to be miserable, so I was going to be anything but. He did not make it easy though.

If I had thought that having La Vérendrye on board had been a pain in my arse the last time, he was even worse when he was drunk. He yelled his complaints about the Morrigan and her crew at the top of his lungs, complaining about her speed, her durability and anything else that came to mind. I am sure that the Morrigan was not as large or fast as his beloved Gerfaut, but I did not see how that gave him any right to be so disparaging.

“At least my ship is till seaworthy Chevalier,” I fired back in anger.

Eventually he began to sober up and get himself back under control, but I was already holding the Morrigan’s wheel so hard in my rage that I was afraid my fingers might leave indentations in the wood.

It wasn’t long before we spotted the Equitas, right where Le Chasseur had told us she would be.

“Lady luck never ceases to smile upon you Shay,” La Vérendrye commented, and I frowned.

It wasn’t luck. Despite how much La Vérendrye liked to put down my ship and my crew, it was skill and careful planning that had allowed us to catch the Equitas. Le Chasseur’s reports had been correct, and the Morrigan had made even better time than I could have hoped. That was why we had found the Equitas. Luck had nothing to do with it.

The three of us; myself, Liam and La Vérendrye, all knew that Samuel Smith was the man who controlled most of the Templars wealth. He was an important figure, and La Vérendrye argued that we should kill the man as soon as we possibly could.

I knew that we couldn’t however, and told my companions as such. After all, Lawrence Washington had entrusted Samuel Smith with the Precursor box. If he still possessed it and we fired upon the Equitas, then we might send it to the bottom of the ocean along with the ship and the high-ranking Templar on board.

We couldn’t risk it, or risk engaging with the Equitas at all. There was nothing for it but to follow the Equitas until it pulled into port.

The Equitas must have spotted us, because it changed its heading and turned towards the north. We kept pace with it, and all the while I wondered what the devil the captain was playing at.

Their plan soon became clear. The Equitas made for a large channel; one which had almost completely frozen over with ice. Rather than be deterred by the ice however it powered forward, cutting through the ice almost effortlessly.

“She’s hoping she’ll lose us,” Liam commented, turning to me and grinning. “Thinks either we’ll brave the ice and get ourselves caught, or that we’ll go the long way around and lose them completely.”

I returned his smile.

“If that’s what the Templars are hoping for then they’re in for an unpleasant surprise,” I replied.

La Vérendrye looked between the two of us, clearly unaware of the reason for our confidence. I called for full sails and Liam relayed the order, and the Morrigan charged after the Equitas at full speed.

I could see La Vérendrye growing concerned as we approached the massive sheet of ice. Little did La Vérendrye know that Liam and I had added a few very important upgrades to the Morrigan since he had last joined us on board. We had invested in some new cannons and upgraded the armour on her hull for a start, but the most crucial upgrade, at least as far as our current journey was concerned, was the addition of an ice ram on her hull.

This beautiful piece of modern technology meant that even a smaller ship like the Morrigan would be able to plough through ice sheets like those in front of us as though they were nothing. Considering how often my travels had taken the Morrigan and myself to the frozen north in recent months I had considered it a vital addition.

This was the first time that we had tested out the ice ram, and as we started to successfully cut through the ice the men let out cheers of triumph. Even Chevalier de la Vérendrye’s manner changed from fearful doubt to pleasant surprise. I could tell that he was impressed. Perhaps this ice ram would be the thing to finally get him to compliment the Morrigan. I was underestimating how much of an arse he could be though.

I let out another cheer as we cleared a particularly thick sheet of ice.

“Don’t waste time congratulating yourself,” La Vérendrye snapped in reply.

I found myself frowning, if only for a moment, but then I told myself that I would not let La Vérendrye’s terrible manner bring me down. The ice ram was a wondrous success, whether La Vérendrye was willing to admit it or not.

We continued the chase, the Equitas leading us to parts unknown. She was clearly desperate to be rid of us, but seemed as unwilling to engage in open combat as we were. I became more and more certain that the Precursor box must be on board the ship, and Smith and the ship’s crew were doing everything that they could to protect it.

As we continued to chase after the Equitas they began to drop flaming barrels of tar and pitch into the water behind them. The sea’s current made them drift towards us, and it took a lot of clever manoeuvring to avoid them. As it was one of them made contact with the Morrigan’s hull. The flames turned some of the rigging to ash, we lost one of our lifeboats, and her side was scarred by a nasty black mark and a few small holes that the men quickly patched up as best as they could.

Eventually the Equitas pulled ashore at a small island that appeared to be of little consequence, and which was situated many miles from any sort of settlement. We weighed anchor a little further down the shore. Samuel Smith and his allies knew that we were coming, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t still take him by surprise.

I left Liam and La Vérendrye on board the Morrigan and swam ashore. The island was covered in a thick blanket of snow, but there were still trees enough for my purpose. I took to them as soon as I possibly could, and travelled through them, just as Kesegowaase and the other Assassins had taught me, until I spied Samuel Smith’s encampment.

The Templar had wasted no time in preparing for my arrival. He had surrounded himself with guards and seemed to be yelling at them.

As I grew closer I soon realised he was not shouting at his men however, but at me. I was taken aback. I had been careful. It did not seem possible for him to have already spotted me. It soon became clear that his voice and the wild gesturing of his hands were not being pointed in my direction however, but rather at the clearing as a whole.

He was screaming and yelling at the whole island in an attempt to communicate with me. If an observer had not known about my presence then they might have thought Smith a madman.

“You will regret this!” he shouted. “Think about what you are doing, Assassin. Your brotherhood is using you!”

Smith knew that I was coming, but it was clear that he had no idea where I actually was, otherwise his men would have already shot me. I watched him for a moment, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the words that he was shouting. They were affecting me more than I would have liked to admit, poking at old scars that had barely begun to heal.

I frowned, forced myself to focus on the Templar, and waited for the perfect moment to strike. I could already tell that Samuel Smith would be an easy kill. His hand shook as he held a sword in front of him. Even if I hadn’t managed to sneak after him, I doubt he could wield the blade well enough to even injure me in a proper fight. It did not seem fair, but I forced myself to harden my heart, as I had learned to do all too well during my time with the Assassins.

As soon as the perfect moment arrived I leapt down on top of the Templar, my hidden blade plunging into his chest, right where I knew his heart would be.

Samuel Smith immediately fell to the ground, the Precursor box flying out from within the folds of his coat as he did.

“This cannot be,” Samuel Smith cried out as he reached for the box. Even in his death throes he was focussed only on protecting the damn thing.

I kicked it out of his reach. None of Smith’s guards moved to pick it up. I was in that strange in between land between life and death once more, trapped in an intimate moment with Smith right before mortality claimed him.

“No!” the Templar cried out, as though the loss of the box had hurt him even more than the blade which had plunged through his heart.

I leaned down and picked the box up. I remember thinking that it seemed so small for something which held so much power.

On the ground by my feet Smith did his best to crawl after me.

“Do you even known what that is?” he asked me.

“An ancient artefact,” I answered. “A treasure from those who came before.”

“Yes,” Smith gasped as death began to claim him, and then appeared to lose all will to fight. “It matters not.”

He paused, and began to cough up blood. My attack had skewered his lung as well as his heart. His death was not as quick and painless as I would have liked, but judging by how weak he was growing, and how difficult he seemed to find it to speak, it would not be too long regardless.

“Some of the greatest scientific minds of all Europe,” Smith continued, his breathing laboured and his words slow, “could not… make it… work…”

I had the box. I also had answers as to why it had taken us so long to track the blasted thing down. Smith had travelled to Europe to seek answers, and yet he still had not found any. I could already hear Liam’s voice telling me that we had scored a grand victory; that it was a time for optimism. It was perhaps easier to convince myself I was glad at Smith’s passing than it had been with Washington’s; after all, I had finally made progress after months of stagnation; but I was not glad. Victory against a man who could not hold his sword straight did not seem like a victory at all.

Regardless, I had other things to focus on. As Samuel Smith let out his last breath and his heart stopped beating once and for all, I was plunged back into the living world, and discovered that Samuel Smith’s guards were aware that I had killed him and had begun to surround me.

I had to kill a couple of them before I fled, heading back in the direction of the Morrigan. The guards chased me, but could not follow me through the trees and over the steep rocky surfaces that lay between themselves and my ship. By the time I reached my destination there were no guards in sight.

I passed the box to Liam and shook off some of the freezing cold water that clung to my jacket. As I expected my friend immediately tried to convince me it was a time for celebration, but I found I could summon no joy.

La Vérendrye was apparently hiding away in the cabin he had claimed as his own, nursing the last of what was proving to be a dreadful hangover, so at least I could voice my doubts to Liam without the French man overhearing.

“I don’t feel much like celebrating,” I tried to tell my friend. “I know we have to get these artefacts back, but at what cost? Samuel Smith could barely hold his sword straight. Killing him was…”

“Necessary,” Liam interrupted me.

“But,” I began, about to say that Samuel Smith had never done anything against the Assassin cause. The man was a glorified paper pusher, for god’s sake, but I was not allowed to say more than that single word before Liam was interrupting me once more.

“But nothing!” Liam snapped. “Smith was a dangerous man, a Templar, and what’s worse he had the Precursor box. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded, realising that there would be no point in arguing with Liam, not in his current mood.

Needless to say, I was not proud of myself, and I was beginning to find it very hard indeed to pretend that I was. I could no longer convince myself that I believed everything Liam was telling me.

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[hucc]

Hackney Umpires v London Fields @ London Fields Sunday 16th September

If I was to say: Martina Navratilova, I reckon you might, depending on your knowledge of tennis, mention the longest winning streak in open tennis history. You might also bring up the career grand slam in singles, doubles and mixed doubles. Or you might reflect on the pioneering activism for gay rights, gender equality and vegetarianism.

If I was to say: Dennis Taylor, then you’ll recall the cheeky finger wagging Irishman who in 1985 at just after 1am on a Monday morning won the snooker world championship watched by 18.5m viewers the highest viewing figures for any UK programme ever after midnight.

And if I was then to add Eddie ‘The Eagle’ Edwards to my growing list, I reckon you would finally get it and say: sports people that wear glasses!  And you’d be right.  Because, fresh from his exuberant 44 not out against Islington Lions last week, here is Manny ‘the Hawk’ Hawks one week later batting at 9 against London Fields driving gloriously for 4.  Here is Manny ‘Crazy Hawk’ Hawks ramping the Crème de Menthe of London Fields’ bowling attack to fine leg. Here indeed is Manny wagging that lower order tail again like a man possessed.  Has Manny purchased a piece of English willow handcrafted to his particular specifications?  Has he knuckled down in the nets honing his technique to perfection?  No he has not.  Instead Manny has got himself a new pair of glasses and it turns out being able to see the ball makes something of a difference when it comes to batting.  The man who’s batting was so experimental he would take an avant guard when he came to the crease has reinvented himself as a post-impressionist.

Two things follow from this:

In the same game Manny also gives our captain, highest all time runscorer, and batting legend Anthony out LBW for the second week in a row (lesson: some you win some you lose with new glasses)

And

2) Chief Archivist and glasses wearer MK O’Brien is out for 0 after 5 of the scratchiest balls witnessed outside of a sexual health clinic in Amsterdam (lesson: you can lead a horse to water but it’s not going to get properly forward to a ball on a length and backward point is always going to take a blinding catch).

Right that was all a bit crickety in my view.  Let’s match report people.

Hackney Umpires v London Fields a short history:

2013 - LFCC 189-7; HUCC 136-7; Draw (we insisted on village rules ha-ha)

2014 - LFCC 178-6; HUCC 170-6; Lost by 8 runs (a scoreboard related confusion meant we somehow lost an over at a crucial stage, we are scarred for life by the experience)

2015 - HUCC 203-4; LFCC 204-4; Lost by 6 wickets (we score loads of runs and feel invincible.  LFCC do the same and it turns out we were eminently vincible after all)

2016 - LFCC 336-8; HUCC 55-10; Lost by 281 runs (winners and losers all traumatised by the sheer scale of the annihilation.  This was utter humiliation and physical punishment on the grandest possible stage.  We are scarred for life by the experience)

2017 - HUCC 229-3; LFCC 138-10; Win by 91 runs (a triumph such as can scarcely be believed, all that scarring is shrugged off as mere preparation, hooray for us and all we stand for etc).

Obviously 2016 looms large in all our minds.  Even those who did not take part in that game.  Even our three new ringers: Jared, Tom and Chris are duly informed that they have to bear some responsibility for the utter shambolic failings of that 2016 side, the shamed XI, the unspeakables.  6 of today’s team were involved that day.  For the sake of their own credibility I won’t reveal who.

Anthony loses the toss and LFCC opt to bat first.  ‘Shit, that’s exactly what happened to us in 2016’ think Dave Fawbert, David Dawkins, Anthony Pearce, Kannan Navaratnem , Manny Hawks and Chief Archivist MK O’Brien.

So yeah those 6.  Plus the three ringers of whom we have the highest possible hopes (yes people they actually play cricket), plus Harry Richardson and Kieran Kumaria. Harry, has only missed one game all season and that was thanks to Ryan Air.     Kieran, can do no wrong, his batting average is ludicrous, his bowling parsimonious in the extreme.

We have a good side on paper.  This was indeed also a good side on the ludicrous greengrocers’ astroturf of Wray Crescent. So paper, astro, surely this will be a side to prevail on the grass at London Fields.

Kieran and Manny open our bowling. Kieran’s first 5 overs cost 3 runs, and God knows how they got those 3. He was immense.  The opening batsman survives a big shout for caught behind from Manny and Jared wearing the gloves.  It’s a massive shout, a shout I can still hear ringing in my ears, but there is doubt, the batsman stands his ground and we plough on.

After 9 wicketless overs Anthony has seen enough and brings Harry into the attack.  And talking of Ryan Air the very first ball took a direct route to somewhere it turns out the batsman didn’t really want to go.  A loosener’s loosener of a filthy trundling full toss is bunted into the air by the railway sleeper carrying kiwi and Manny’s eagle eyes make sure it lands safely far away from its intended destination.  Given full licence to experiment a double bouncing straight one in the same over also goes straight to the fielder and we celebrate wildly only to be informed that the laws of cricket have gone mad and that’s a no ball.  Seriously though if we can’t have the double bouncing straight one as a killer ball I don’t know what hope is left for village cricket.

Anyway I’m going to race through the next passage of play featuring as it did a few trademark Catches an Umpire has Not Taken interspersed with those inspired bits of fielding where Kannan shows he will still put his hands on the line for the cause. Newbie ringer Tom Curtis bowls 7 straight overs for just 22.  Just before drinks Chris snaffles a sharp caught and bowled chance. And after 18 overs we have restricted London Fields to just 76 runs.  

But they have 8 wickets in hand and the Fields come out fighting after the break.  Wickets now start to fall but the runs flow too.  Kieran fired up in the field completes an outrageously good full length catch and then executes a fabulous run out with a throw from the deep.  He finishes off proceedings with two well deserved wickets in the final over and we are chasing 211 to win in 35 overs.

Do-able we say to ourselves as we relax during the interval.

Do-able the old timers reflect as we bask in the idea of lower order relaxation while the ringers do the hard work for us.

So do-able we think as Tom Curtis and Dave Fawbert compile a 50 run partnership without loss after 10 overs.  Dave hits some punchy backfoot drives as he reaches the landmark of 100 runs for the season, then falls as he starts to go through the gears.  Kieran enters the fray.  But then watches from the non-striker’s end as the wheels come off, Tom’s bowling efforts seem to catch up with him as he plays on. Jared and Chris both start with good looking shots but fall cheaply.  And then with drinks approaching Kieran gets the thinnest of edges and has to walk.  5 wickets in as many overs and the do-able turns don’t-able.  David Dawkins though has other ideas and rebuilds resolutely with the skipper.  Anthony carrying an injury just wasn’t himself and Manny puts him out of his misery upholding an LBW appeal.  Harry and the Archivist come in, offer up catches, and are sent on their way.  The Manny show entertains us for a while until he runs himself out on 19 but we are on a one-way slide to oblivion and David completes the season in fitting style by being stumped.  Only Kannan remains unbeaten for a club record 9th time.  

So we lose by 74 runs (just in case that wasn’t clear from the above).  A performance of heart and spirit, with an even mix of quality both good and questionable.  A shame a season that has mostly seen success ends on low.  But with the benefit of the glasses of hindsight I think we can ramp Sunday’s game to the boundary to get a bit of perspective.

LFCC 210-8 (A Turner 89; K Kumaria 2/14 M Hawks 2/46)

HUCC 136-10 (T Curtis 30; M Hawks 19)

Hackney Umpires lose by 74 runs.  Man of the match Tom Curtis.    

Up the Umpires!

[higherthan-orions-belt]

I went into this whole trip looking for something anything. my computer is lagging to the nth degree

I’m tripping acid by myself in the basement of my dorm and I’m really struggling with this alone feeling. it is seeping through my pores. I keep looking to my phone, wondering if there is anyone awake plagued by similar existential crises that I am feeling. I wonder if anyone is up at 2 AM thinking about me and I know that no one is. I am searching for love in a place that it feels no one is looking for it, except me but my friends who all want the same as I are finding it, existing, claire has a boy in her bed right now who loves her and I am just wondering whats wrong with me?

am I not good enough?

for someone else to love?

the “let people answer this” feature is poppign up on my screen and it made me realize that I dont I dont want anyone to answer whether I am

good enough to love.

I think I am good enough to love but for some weird reason that feeling is not enough. for some reason I am seeking personal validation from a man wanting to be in my bed. somehow this weird frat culture has taken me away from my schooling and made me so wrapped up in the idea of taking someone away from a one night stand making someone want to have me someone wanting to call me theirs.

I am sitting in the basement the same basement claire and I have blacked out so many fucking times drinking ourselves into an oblivion and for what? we have cried here, I brought a boy here last week and blacked out and he had to help me to my room and for some reason I am wondering why the fuck he doesnt want to date me.

I wouldnt want to date who I am right now

I fucking go out every night and get wasted with random boys who wont even remember my fucking name tomorrow. this culture bullshit I’ve been feeding into really has me fucked up i’m looking in the mirror like “is this what I’ve really fucking become?”

I was a little girl filled with intelligence and passion and a want to change the world and here I am, wasting my time in arizona when I should be trying to get an education getting fucked up on weekdays and crying about a boy who hasnt thought about me

since he got out of my bed but I cannot get you out of m yhead. this feeling hurts. I want it to end and it is existential crises like these that make me want to take a knife to my throat. part of me wants to reach out for help but the rest of me knows that I am no longer in a place where my screams will be heard. I have no one close enough to me that will wake up out of their sleep to listen to me cry on the phone. I cannot call him. he will be like who the fuck is this bitch, calling me at 3 AM? what am I to her? that she thinks she can come ot me

for help?

help is such a word I want to fucking scream to everyone, especially you you, who knows what its like to smell the iron of your own blood and watching it seep through the tiles of your parents home as you breathe and feel them all deeply as you are hoping one will be your last. you do not exist.

I dont know that I’ll ever find someone who has deeply romanticized the efforts of dying as I have. and if I do, they probably wont ever speak to me again

because I’m a raging fucking mess