#please help i know next to nothing about london geography

[deconstructthesoup]

Does anybody know if the Dead Boy Detective Agency has a canonical address

Asking for fic reasons

[cuttoothed]

For day 1 of @aspecarchivesweek for the prompt “wish”. Someday I will write something that isn’t jmart, but that day is not today.

Ace Martin character exploration; Jon/Martin; some Martin/OMC

Warnings: internalized homophobia (brief); internalized aphobia (ongoing); reference to having sex while intoxicated; reference to having sex reluctantly (though not coerced); outing of ace character in their absence

*

Martin spends a long time wishing he was normal.

It starts when he’s fourteen. Well, no, it starts much earlier than that, but it’s when he’s fourteen that the nebulous muddle of feelings coalesces into something impossible to ignore. That’s when all the boys and girls in his class start making eyes at each other while pretending they aren’t; start talking about who they’d like to snog behind the bushes at the bottom of the sports field, and Martin feels something twist in his stomach when he realizes that the person he’d like to be behind the bushes with is Stephen Dowling, who has dark hair and blue eyes and snaps gum between his teeth all day long.

Martin never says anything about it, of course, tries not to even think about it, but he knows it’s not normal. As if he needed one more weird thing about him along with all his sick mum and his jacket that pulls tight across his shoulders, the seams fraying because he needs to get another year out of it before they spend money on a replacement. He keeps his head down and secretly believes that this part of his life will never be over.

*

Eventually, this part of his life is over.

He is nineteen and living in London in a cheap flatshare with three other people, he has a job at a real academic institution, and he has a boyfriend.

Ramesh is sweet and funny and has soft brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Martin’s ever seen. His heart flutters in his chest every time they’re together, his breath catching in his throat and spilling out as laughter. Martin feels normal, because this is London and nobody cares if he walks down the street with Ramesh’s hand in his, if he kisses his boyfriend in the queue for the chippie. It’s like a weight Martin never knew was there lifted off his chest and he can breathe properly for the first time in his life.

He and Ramesh go out for almost a month before they’re in Martin’s flat alone one night, all the others gone out, and Ramesh presses him down on the sofa and kisses him and crawls a hand inside Martin’s jeans. Martin feels hot and cold all at once, his stomach coiling sick and every muscle in his body tensing up for fight or flight. He pushes Ramesh away—too hard, too clumsy—and guilt courses through him at the hurt look in Ramesh’s soft eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ramesh asks, and Martin can’t say, his heart pounding and his hand clenched painfully tight against the arm of the sofa.

“Sorry,” he’s able to say eventually. “I just, umm…”

“It’s all right,” says Ramesh, though he still looks hurt and confused and Martin has the feeling it’s not actually all right. “I probably surprised you. We can wait for next time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Martin, grateful at the reprieve. They sit on the sofa and watch a film instead, and Martin scarcely follows the plot as he tries to calm the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him want to flinch every time Ramesh’s shoulder touches his.

Next time is the same. Martin apologizes again, and Ramesh says it’s all right again and then two days later breaks up with him.

“I just don’t think it’s working out,” he says, and Martin knows it really wasn’t all right after all.

*

Martin’s sick of wishing he was normal, and what is it they say: fake it ‘til you make it?

He gets drunk and takes home a man he doesn’t know and has sex. He scarcely remembers it the next day and he’s too hungover and miserable to try, but he’s proven to himself that he can have sex and that’s the important thing.

Having sex is normal. It’s what people in relationships do. Martin doesn’t know why he has the hang-ups he does, but he just needs to get over them and learn to relax a bit. Having a couple of drinks helps, he finds.

He has a few boyfriends here and there, and having sex really isn’t a problem. There are better things he could think of doing with his time, but it’s fine. There are even some nice things about it, like feeling close to someone. Intimate.

Eventually, he thinks, maybe he’ll stop feeling like he’s faking it.

*

It isn’t that he gives up on relationships. It’s just that there are so many expectations that Martin feels he always fails to live up to, so many rules that it seems like everyone but him instinctively knows. Trying feels like more hassle than it’s worth.

And then he gets transferred to the Archives and there is Jonathan Sims with his imperious glare and devastating voice and Martin is fourteen all over again watching Stephen Dowling snap his gum in Geography class.

“You really need to stop mooning,” Tim tells him. They’re at the Institute holiday party and they’re all a bit sloshed, and Martin can admit to himself that yes all right he was mooning a bit over Jon, who’s stood at the bar with his back to them, talking animatedly with Elias.

“I am not mooning,” he says, because there’s no reason he has to admit it to Tim as well. “I was just...contemplating.”

“Contemplating Jon’s arse,” Tim snorts, and then Sasha plonks down three shot glasses on the table in front of them and sits down in a rush.

“Who’s contemplating Jon’s arse?”

“Martin, of course.”

“I am not—” Martin begins to protest, but Sasha shushes him, pushing a shot into his hand. It smells of cinnamon and the liquid inside is bright red.

“Hopeless case,” sighs Tim, and drinks his shot. Sasha does the same and then gives Martin a sympathetic smile, her eyes a little bit unfocused.

“If it’s any consolation, Jon doesn’t shag anyone.”

“Sasha!” Tim scolds, and she suddenly seems to realize what she’s said, her eyes going wide.

“Shit,” she says. “Sorry, god, I shouldn’t have said anything. Martin, please pretend you never heard me say that.”

“Okay,” Martin promises but his brain is snagged on ‘Jon doesn’t shag anyone’, how she said it so easily, matter of fact, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. He looks up at the bar where Jon is still standing with Elias, his slim hands gesturing as he talks.

“Drink your shot,” Tim tells him. “It’ll help you forget about Sasha’s big mouth.”

Martin drinks his shot, which is absolutely sickening, but he doesn’t forget.

*

There is one bed in Daisy’s safe house.

It’s evening when they arrive and Martin is exhausted, a bone deep weariness that might be from the travel or the fear or the fog that’s seeped under his skin. Jon looks tired too, dark circles under his eyes and now that Martin’s really looking at him for the first time in months, he’s amazed Jon hasn’t just shivered apart at the seams by now. He is filled with the desire to take Jon in his arms, as if he might hold the fragile pieces of him together, and he thinks that he could.

He saw Jon, in the Lonely, even if they haven’t talked about it since. Saw how Jon felt about him, so yes, Martin thinks he could put his arms around Jon and it would be welcome. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t, except that there’s a part of him that still feels like it’s trapped behind glass, abstracted and numb, and it keeps his arms by his sides while his heart yearns against his rib cage.

In the meantime, there is only one bed, and they both stand looking at it for a few moments, considering the implications and the fact that they have only just found each other again after months of absence.

“There’s enough room,” Jon says eventually, his voice soft and tired. Martin nods; there is enough room.

It’s cold, and they both climb under the covers in socks and tracksuit bottoms and long sleeved t-shirts, pile the thick feather duvet and two blankets over them. It feels like being cocooned, their combined body heat gradually warming the mattress, the slow even sound of Jon’s breathing warming something in Martin’s chest.

He’s here, he’s here with you. You’re here with him.

In the gentle dark they gravitate together, drawn close by the longing that’s suffused all their months apart. When Jon’s lips press gently against his, Martin thinks his heart might burst. He kisses back, and at last that trapped part of him breaks free and he lifts his arms to wrap around Jon, pulls him against his chest. Jon makes a soft, surprised sound and he breaks the kiss.

“Martin,” he says, careful the way he has been since he brought Martin back, as if a wrong word might shatter him. “I need to tell you, before this goes any further—”

“It’s okay,” Martin tells him. “I don’t want to have sex with you either.” It feels so good to be able to say it that Martin could cry or laugh or both.

“Oh,” says Jon, and then huffs a soft laugh. “Well that’s—that’s good, then.”

He kisses Martin again, and leans in against him, close and warm and filling every part of Martin’s awareness. Martin knows he left all hope of normal behind years ago, before worms and fog and evil circuses. But the fact that he gets to have this—just this, with the man he loves; no expectations and nothing to fake; and for the moment at least, no fear. This is far, far better than normal.

And Martin couldn’t wish for anything else.

[newtonsheffield]

Our dearest angel Molly, I might be very deep into the rabbit hole of the BSU (clinically speaking). I was watching last night High School Musical (WHAT TEAM?! WILDCATS!!!!!) and every time Chad and Taylor were on screen, I couldn't help but picture Greg and Lucy, if they were using their awesomeness for evil (just the 1st one) instead of good (good = sailing the Kathony ship like two amazing capitans).

I mean, COULD YOU JUST LOOK AT THEM???!!!

I could totally see Greg and Lucy doing this in more than one situation. Specially the last one as they witness Kate and Anthony denying their feelings for each other or just being their adorable selves. Told you: way too into this rabbit hole. Send help

I'll let you be and call my therapist, brb!

Keeping brooing the southern hemisphere bro's wave 😎

Okay, Okay, OKAY!

Number 1, I love High School musical forever and always. But also, Camp Rock slaps too, my dude.

Lucy and Gregory are the chaos twins, imagine Lucy spinning in her chair one day and saying

"Gregory, do you want to do something a little bit mean, but also very very funny?" And Gregory just abandons whatever he's already doing, scooting his chair over to her desk like. "Whatever you're planning, let's do it."

In fact... shall we????

Lucy really couldn't say what had sparked the idea when she looked back on it. Only that when the notice for the conference Kate had been booked on past her desk, and she'd seen the hotel that was hosting it, something had nagged at the back of her mind. Thinking, thinking, thinking, about the connection. Had she stayed there? No, that wasn't right. She'd seen the name printed somewhere she was sure. Her fingers drummed across her desk as she wondered, looking at the hotel online, and then she remembered.

Because there, on the website posed for a picture at the reception desk, was Cynthia from Lucy's Lower sixth geography class. Satisfied that she'd solved the puzzle Lucy moved on with her day, planning to book Kate's accomodation when she'd finished her filing.

"Jesus Christ Bridgerton!" Kate's voice snapped, swaying away from Anthony, her eyes flickering embarrassedly as he pushed lightly against his chest. Lucy smirked, whatever had occurred this time didn't really matter. The result was the same, Kate and Anthony in denial, really someone just needed to lock those two in a room together and- an idea struck Lucy like a bolt of lightning. She smiled sympathetically as Kate passed, closing her office door with a sharp click. Waiting patiently until she was sure Kate couldn't hear her.

"Hey Gregory!" Lucy hissed at her counterpart. Gregory looked up from his CatWoman comic, his eyes curious. "Do you wanna do something that's a little mean but also could help two people fall madly in love?" A grin broke out on Gregory's face, dropping his comic, scooting his chair towards her his lollipop dangling from his mouth. "If this is about Anthony and Kate, whatever you're doing: I want in."

Lucy smirked happily. "So, this conference they're going to next month?" Gregory nodded looking startlingly like a golden retriever puppy. "I'm going to book them into the same hotel room." Gregory guffawed. "Excellent, only one problem: You really think Kate's just going to hear they have to share a room and go Oh no, there's nothing we can do! ?" Lucy tutted disapprovingly, "Ahh Gregory, my sweet summer child." She said, taking the lollipop he was offering her, tapping the photo of Cynthia on the screen with it. "It's all about who you know."

Gregory's brow furrowed again, as Lucy picked up the phone, dialling the number there. "What are you-?" He started, but Lucy waved him off. "Hi, may I please speak with Cynthia Jackson please?" She said politely when the phone was answered, waiting on hold. "Whose Cynthia? Also you watched Game of Thrones?" Gregory said his head tilted curiously. "We went to school together. And yes, I'm not a savage." "You think someone you went to school together is just going to help you with a random favour? She might not even remember you." Gregory said, scoffing lightly. Lucy sighed. "Gregory, you have no idea how well liked I am." Gregory opened his mouth to speak again but he was stopped by the buzz on the other end of the phone.

"Hello, this is Cynthia?" The voice on the other end said, Gregory leaning in close, tugging the receiver from Lucy's hand so it rested between them. "Cynthia! It's Lucy Abernathy from Talbot's!" "Oh my god. Lucy it's been ages. How's things?" Lucy shot Gregory a smug smile who looked astonished. "Are you still seeing Mitchell?" Lucy cleared her throat. "Thankfully no." She could feel Gregory looking at her a little intently, curiously. as Cynthia made a sympathetic noise. "I actually work for a law firm in London now. I'm a PA for one of the lawyers here, and she's coming to yours for the Family law conference next month." "Oh yeah?" Cynthia said a little confusedly. "I wondered, if you wanted to play a tiny little game, just like we did at school." Lucy said as lightly as she could manage. She had Cynthia's attention now, she could tell, even over the phone. She'd always been one to cause mischief.

"What kind of game?" Lucy hummed victoriously. "Well maybe not a game, but you see, My boss, Kate, is travelling with the other lawyer from the firm and well, I think they just need a little push." Gregory chuckled beside her. Cynthia cooed. "Oh my god, it's like a romantic comedy, what are we thinking?" Lucy laughed. "Now we are going to make a booking for one room. And under no circumstances can they be allowed to change that booking, or go to another hotel."

Cynthia laughed brightly. "I love this, but you're sure she wants this?" Lucy sighed, her eyes darting back to the door behind her Katharine Sheffield engraved on brass. "Yes, she's definitely in love with him. Now we're going to make this booking under Sheffield-Bridgerton. That's spelled..."

When she got off the phone Lucy couldn't help but feel a little smug as she high fived Gregory, popping her lollipop in her mouth with a satisfied sigh. "Easy, Bridgerton." The door to Kate's office swung open startling Lucy a little, Gregory toppling sideways off his seat, falling against her. "What are you two up to?" Kate said suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. Lucy fixed her face into a look of exasperation. "Gregory has lost Anthony's credit card again, and the bank was giving him a little trouble."

Kate hummed sympathetically, walking towards the kitchen seconds later. Gregory rolled his eyes. "Do I always have to be the incompetent one?"

Lucy tutted, turning back towards her desk. "Do you really think Ktae would believe I was?" Gregory fixed her with an odd look, pushing away from her desk so his chair spun back to his own. "You're right. You, Lucy Loo, are a terrifying genius, and I'm proud to call you my friend."

And for he life of her, Lucy couldn't figure out why his statement made her equal parts thrilled and devastated.

[queencarolinemikaelson]

A Mystery Never Fully Explained

//Klaroline AU Week// - Day 1 - All Human AU

x

There really was no two ways about it, Klaus Mikaelson was a diva.

A prima donna, even.

There was an urban legend in the theatre industry that once, while rehearsing his role as Beast in Beauty and the Beast, Klaus opted to sit his dressing room, rather than ‘save’ his leading lady from the wolf attack at the beginning of act two.

“I was just throwing the moron to the wolves,” Klaus allegedly said smugly, to the rightly irate director.

Yep, he was biggest drama queen in the theatre industry.

All who worked with him agreed Klaus was actually a soprano in a baritone’s body. Though they would never say it to his face. Nope, to his face, all were perfectly lovely.

Because, no matter how many three-year-old-esque tantrums he threw, or crazy demands he slung at a company, or assistants he fired, Klaus Mikaelson was still the best.

Contemptuous he may have been until the very last second, but once he was under the spotlight, he was magic.

No note, nor line was missed. His honey voice caressed every ear like a lover. His impeccable acting could bring to life every character from King Herod to Jean Valjean.

So naturally, when casting for a reinvigorated West End production of Phantom of the Opera, whom else was to set to play the titular character?

Rehearsals certainly weren’t easy for the crew.

The nature of the show meant already two divas needed to be cast for the roles of Christine and Carlotta. How were they to cope with a third.

But they had managed to make it to opening day without too many scuffles until – 

“What the bloody hell do you mean Bonnie’s in the hospital!?” Klaus roared. “Who is going to do my make up?”

“Have some compassion, Niklaus!” Elijah, Klaus’ brother – who also happened to be his manager, (and what was more pertinent, the only one who could make any sense of a tantrumming Klaus) – sighed. “She is in the hospital, after a car accident!”

“We are opening in three and a half bloody hours, Elijah! I refuse to have my Phantom butchered by some blonde-bimbo-beauty-school-drop-out, playing face paint, just because Bonnie decided to have an accident!”

“Oh be reasonable,” Elijah snapped, though made the mental note to tell Ms Bennett just how indignant Klaus was about working with anyone else. Surely that was some vote of confidence? “She was hit by a car!”

Klaus glowered, but didn’t return fire. Even Klaus, diva or not, knew car accidents were bad.

“There are two options,” Elijah said, after both men had a moment to calm themselves. “You can have your makeup done by the associate head of make up. This will require you to leave your dressing room, and join some of the other cast members.”

“I don’t mingle with the peasants, Elijah,” Klaus pouted, petulantly. “They chatter and natter about inane things, and I cannot focus on what is important. Which is the work!”

“Fine! The second option is you trust Bonnie’s substitute. A Ms Caroline Forbes, currently the head of artistry on Broadway’s Phantom of the Opera.”

Klaus rolled his eyes intensely. He hated Broadway. He hated working on Broadway. And with people who worked on Broadway. And just people in general, but that was beside the point.

“Brother, my feelings about Broadway aside, I’m not sure if you’ve seen a globe recently. But this is London. Not New York City.”

It was Elijah’s turn to roll his eyes – honestly maybe it was time to quit, and live as far away from Klaus as possible.

“I’m well aware of the geography, Niklaus,” Elijah groaned, rather uncharacteristically. “Ms Forbes, an old friend of Ms Bennett, is currently visiting London. Had tickets for tonight’s show, in fact, so is very well placed to aid us tonight.”

“Fine,” Klaus grumbled, after a moment of contemplation – though there wasn’t much to contemplate, no make up was so bad that he would endure the blather of other cast members. “This Broadway woman will have to do. But I refuse to be pleasant to her.”

“I would expect nothing more of you, Niklaus.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door of Klaus’ dressing room.

 “Ahh, that will be her.”

 “You did not just approve her to come backstage before consulting me brother!” Klaus growled.

“Well,” Elijah said, buttoning his suit jacket as he stood up, an air of finality in his tone. “As you so eloquently put it, brother you’re ‘opening in three and a half bloody hours’, there really isn’t any time for your arguments.”

Elijah strode away from the sulking Klaus, and greeted the woman on the other side of the door.

“Ms Forbes,” he said politely. “Please come in, and thank you so much for this, the company is indebted to you.”

“Please, call me Caroline,” Klaus heard a bright, cheery voice say, though she was still blocked from his sightline. “Anything for Bonnie!”

“And how is she after the accident?”

“Shaken,” the woman said, her bubbly voice suddenly laced with worry. “Her injuries are mostly superficial, but her arm will be in plaster for the next few weeks.”

“I see,” Elijah said, before they both came round the corner, and Klaus was able to get a good look her for the first time. “This is Niklaus.”

“Hi!” she said, smiling a smile so bright, he should have been wearing sunglasses. “Caroline.”

She held out her hand for him to shake, but Klaus just looked spitefully at it, before looking away.

Klaus couldn’t believe his misfortune. She was a blonde bimbo.

“Right,” Caroline said, a little disheartened, as she withdrew her hand.

“Anyway, Miss Forbes, I’m terribly sorry, but I have to dash. The world does not cease for Niklaus, although he’d like to believe it would. I’ll catch up with you both later.”

The two of them chuckled together, much to Klaus’ chagrin, and then Elijah left, the same way Caroline had just arrived.

“So,” Caroline said, sitting herself daintily beside him. “You and Bonnie have been working on some pretty cool techniques for your look.”

Klaus said nothing, just stared pointedly at her.

“She took me through her plans for tonight, anything you –”

“We actually open very soon, and I would very much appreciate it if you just got on with it,” Klaus snipped. “Though try not to talk, love. It will be a bit painful otherwise.”

“There’s no need to be rude,” she said, as she raised her eyebrows coolly. “I was just going to ask, if there’s anything you wanted to tell me before you get started. Latex allergy, warm ups that need doing, that kind of thing.”

“No, nothing to share,” he muttered. “And as if I would need to do warm ups.”

“Okay!” Caroline said brightly, trying to ignore his cockiness. “Then let’s get –”

“I do warm up, but not near the help,” Klaus interrupted. “If you want a free show then go back to Broadway.”

“Yep, I get the picture. I’m just going to –”

“Urgh, the quality of Broadway is nothing on the talent of those of us on West End.”

“Mmhmm, I understand, Broadway is the worst. But please –“

“In fact, I swear Broadway casting directors just goes to Times Square and nab any old riff-raff street performer to make up their ensembles. It’s lunacy _”

“Uh huh, I get it, Broadway suck, but Klaus I really –“

“I’m literally the best in the country. I have won multiple tony awards, even a grammy award. I have more original cast recordings under my belt than –”

In years to come, Caroline would swear herself black and blue that it was an accident. That it was a mere, yet mildly severe, slip of the hand brought about by loss of concentration because of Klaus’ continual ramblings.

And she would never live it down. But she would also be revered by many because she actually managed to make Klaus Mikaelson shut the hell up for once in his life.

For, at that exact moment, Caroline’s deft hands wiped fast drying liquid latex over Klaus’ mouth, and Klaus, who was completely stunned by the movement, did not move quickly enough before the latex dried.

Sealing it completely shut.

“Oh my god, Klaus, I’m so sorry!” Caroline said, with all the correct emotions. She certainly sounded convincingly mortified, until she followed up the with a quirked eyebrow and the comment, “though, try not to talk, love. It will be a bit painful otherwise.”

And, to Caroline’s amazement, Klaus stopped squirming, stopped trying to form words when his amplifier was completely blocked, and Caroline was finally able to get to work.

“What a happy little accident,” Caroline said, jovially, now a little more at ease that he wasn’t being so obnoxious. “Might just snap a little picture, I’m sure Elijah would appreciate it.” 

Klaus narrowed both his eyes at her.

“Oh? Don’t like that idea?”

Klaus just remained stock still, the menacing look still etched on his face.

“But you are so cute when you’re not talking!” Caroline joked, before quickly realising what she said, and going a lovely shade of magenta.

Somehow, Klaus managed to smirk, even without full use of his mouth.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Caroline said, with all the bravado of someone trying to dig themselves out of a hole. “You know you’re cute, why deny it?”

Klaus just shrugged, and dismissively inspected his nails.

“Fine, let’s get on with it,” Caroline said. “And if you’re a good sport, I’ll dissolve the latex before it’s time to sing!”

xxx

“All done!” Caroline beamed, happily inspecting her work.

It was a little under two hours since Caroline began Klaus’ transformation, and a little under twenty minutes since she freed him from his gag.

In the past twenty minutes, even though he had the option of railroading her for having the audacity to seal his damn mouth shut, Klaus found himself, funnily enough, keeping his damn mouth shut.

Experiencing Caroline as she worked was rather mesmerising.

She certainly wasn’t anywhere near just a blonde-bimbo-beauty-school-drop-out as he feared. She was very talented, extremely precise, and had an almost unparalleled eye for detail.

But further than that, at any given moment, her face was liable twist and change, letting him know exactly what was going on. It was rather endearing.

She filled the silence in with bits of chatter, about the different steps she was up to in his transformation, about her life, and just about many inane things really.

And, though Klaus despised the inane, coming from Caroline it felt natural and a little bit lovely.

“You do look fantastic,” Caroline said, proudly, spinning him around in his chair so he could more closely inspect her work. “Definitely like a weird dungeon dweller who’d fall in love with beautiful young things who sing to you!”

“Then you nailed the brief love,” Klaus quipped. “I don’t recognise myself.”

“Well, I would be worried if you did!” Caroline giggled, squeezing his shoulder briefly. “Then you would have to admit to me that you’re a weird dungeon dweller who’d fall in love with beautiful young things who sing to you!”

“I’d never admit it, love,” he said nonchalantly. “Though, I have to say sincerely, your work is impeccable. Bonnie’s work is excellent, but you’ve provided just an extra spritz of something else.”

“Not bad for a Broadway babe, huh?” Caroline winked, nudging him with her hip.

“Not bad at all.”

In that moment of eye contact that so often follows a tease, Caroline was stolen by the glint in Klaus’ eye.

“So umm,” she said, looking away. “Where to next for you, Mr Phantom, sir?”

“Warm up, last minute director notes, back here for a costume and touch ups.”

“I’ll stay here until you’re ready for your touch ups.”

“I look forward to it.”

And with a wink, Klaus was off.

xxx

A few hours later, Caroline was back in front of Klaus’ face, tenderly wiping away the residual make up.

The show had gone off seamlessly. And honestly, Klaus was so completely on cloud nine by how it all went, he was actually being pleasant to those around him.

And now he was with Caroline again, and that was a joy in and of itself. Though he’d never ever admit it to anyone.

Klaus couldn’t help noting how soft and delicate Caroline’s fingers, and the stroked along his skin at different places.

“Nearly done,” Caroline murmured, concentrating on removing a particularly stubborn strip of latex. “Nearly done.”

“Not a problem, love,” Klaus said, absently. “This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in months.”

“Opening night behind you,” she replied. “That’s got to be a relief.”

“Mmm.”

He shut his eyes, and felt himself get mildly lost in the sensations, until –

“Klaus,” she said, softly.

“Mmm?”

“We’re finished.” 

“Oh.”

“Umm,” Caroline said, searching for something to say. “I guess I’m done for the night, unless…”

“Unless?” Klaus prompted.

“Well, I’m really hungry, but I don’t know where is any good around here…”

“Are you asking me out?” Klaus smirked.

“What! No?” Caroline blustered. “I mean, I am asking you to go out, but not out. Not like on a date out.”

“Glad to hear you’re so indignant at the idea of a date with me,” Klaus teased in mock offence.

“I’m not indignant! Dating you would be fun, I think! But this wasn’t a date! I’m just hungry, and I thought you would be too!”

“Dating me would be fun would it?”

“Oh shut up. I’m leaving.”

Caroline grabbed her coat and huffily stalked from the room.

“But you’re hungry, and don’t know where to eat,” Klaus grinned, hurriedly gathering his own things so he could follow her out.

“I can google it, I just thought company might be nice,” she snipped. “Glad you arrested me of my illusions so promptly.”

“You wound me, love!” he laughed, catching her hand in his, and stroking a thumb along it gently – apparently her skin was as soft under his hands, as it was on his face. “Come on, let me take you to my favourite post show hang out. You’ll love it.”

Caroline stopped walking, and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Not a chance, love,” Klaus quipped.

Caroline couldn’t help the wry smile stretch across her lips.

“Fine.”

And so it was, the two went to that post show hang out that night. And the night after that. And the one after that. Until Caroline had to leave, back to her home, back to Broadway.

And, in a mystery never fully explained, Klaus put aside his distaste for the iconic New York creative hub, and somehow ended living in New York, reprising his role as the Phantom on Broadway, only a few short months later. Before going on to perform many more incredible shows there.

It was a mystery.

Unless you were familiar with Caroline Forbes.

Then it wasn’t much of a mystery after all.

 xxx

This prompt came from ~somewhere~ literal years ago! “You’re the one person who can do my elaborate stage makeup so every night you spend half an hour in close proximity to my face and I am distressed”. I started writing this in 2015, and it finally was in a state that was nice and shareable. Hope you enjoyed! Happy AU week klaroliners!

[typicalmidnightsoul]

Prythian Valley - Chapter 1

Secrets

 New person of interest: Helion Daye.

Here’s a question how far would you go to hide a secret, to protect it? How far would Helion go to hide a secret? What if the secret wasn’t a thing but a person and what if he wasn’t protecting something horrific but a…relationship? As Nesta and Audrey are coming out late from cheerleading practice hoping to just relax in Nesta’s hot tub will a chance situation rock her to her core and question her loyalties?  Cassian always knew Nesta carried burdens but he was angry at God for giving her burdens to carry which weren’t hers, burdens which made her cry in the dark in school when he was coming back from football practice.

One last question....How young can a criminal be? 

Prologue here

A/N : IM BACK GUYS. I WAS IN LONDON FOR EID BUT NOW I’M BACK GET READY FOR AN ONSLAUGHT OF FIC UPDATES. HAPPY BELATED EID I LOVE YOU ALL.

Helion Daye, 9 years older than Nesta and like an older brother to her from the age of 3. They were nerds for life and he was a much respected former student of Velaris High. When Nesta moved from LA to Prythian Valley with her mother it was Helion who got special permission from the principal and showed her around his old school. Helion was now a part time university lecturer, owner of Daye Publishing and part time party boy.

 But he had a secret, one that went back to his younger days when he was a sophomore. No one could know, because if they did then it would mean nothing to him, but to the other keeper of the secret…

She would be destroyed.

 Her name was Mrs Clarissa Vanserra; she was an English and Art teacher in Velaris High when Helion was in school. She had started teaching when she was so young, only 22, and when Helion stepped in her English class he almost dropped to his knees.

 She was so beautiful, but what struck him the most was… she was helping a boy with tissues, a boy who his friends had been bullying outside. She turned to him and he almost crossed the distance and kissed her. He found out she already had children; her eldest was a 3 year old, the same age as his little Nessie. And as one thing led to another they had an illegitimate relationship, an affair.

 She was ashamed of it, because she was married and as Helion later found out it was an abusive marriage. He tried to tell her to leave him but she wouldn’t hear of it, she had children with this man.

The affair never truly ended… he had to leave for Uni as his mother in LA had got him into one of the best ones in the country.

 But Clarissa was carrying Helion’s child. She knew it was his. And she told him she… she told him she aborted it because it would only stop him from achieving his dreams. After he left Clarissa thought that was the end of her and Helion’s story but she was wrong.

  Nesta came out of double geography stretching her limbs Luna next to her, Feyre and Amren were exchanging homework apparently.

Nesta was about to walk up to them when she saw…

“Helion!!” She ran to him and he picked her up spinning her around, he laughed as he set her down,

“Hey Nessie,” he chuckled,

“Hellcat what are you doing here?!” She asked,

“Well I wanted to see my old school, and try outs for the football team and its new captain is being picked, I’m also now an advisor for the school newspaper so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

Feyre and Luna gave him a hug and he said, “Where’s Mrs Vanserra’s new class, it’s not the old one. I needed to talk to her about the placement of the newspaper office.”

Nesta was confused but Eris came up behind her saying, “My mom’s old class is now a biology lab, her new one is in the second floor.”

To most people Helion was glad to see Eris but Nesta could see the tightness in his eyes when Eris came up to them. He nodded and headed upstairs.

Nesta gave Feyre a hug and told her to tell mom she’d be home late with Audrey.

Feyre nodded and headed off to her last class.

--------------------------

 Audrey and Nesta were packing up their stuff. They had spent more time after practice to choreograph a new routine for the upcoming matches. They headed upstairs to return the locker keys to the janitors office. He had let them stay earlier do long as they lock up and leave the keys in his office. As they were returning they went past the new newspaper office,

“Damn!” Audrey whispered, “Helion’s done a good job.”

Nesta nodded and they went to the back entrance that led to the parking lot. As they went past Mrs Vanserra’s office Nesta froze stopping Audrey.

Before Audrey could gasp, Nesta put a hand over her mouth.

Because there… there was Helion and Clarissa Vanserra standing a breath apart, Helion tracing the skin on her hands whispering something to her.

Nesta made up different circumstances, maybe he was blowing something out of her eye, or she could be hurt, or maybe she had a panic attack and Helion was comforting her.

But as Helion picked up her hand and intertwined their fingers pressing a kiss to the spot below her ears Nesta could no longer kid herself. They had an affair.

Audrey pulled her out and to their car.

As Nesta started it Audrey said, her voice hard, “tomorrow 6am at the office, are we going?”

“You bet your ass we are.”

--------------------

Helion was setting up the new office, when Nesta and Audrey stepped in. Audrey shutting the door and leaning on it to add another layer of soundproof and defence.

“Hey girls, it’s a bit too early but I guess if you missed me-“

“How long?”

He raised a brow, “Pardon?”

“How fucking long Helion have you been sleeping with Clarissa Vanserra?” Nesta ground out.

His face drained of any colour and he swallowed, “How-how-“

“We saw you after school yesterday.”

He let out a strangled breath and dragged a hand through his hair, then turned to Nesta taking her hands in his and sitting her down on a chair,

“Nes, listen it’s not-“ she snatched her hands away, he took them again a pleading look taking over his eyes,

“You want the truth, I’ll tell you all of it,” he took a deep breath, “ I was a sophomore, Feyre’s age and she was a new teacher, we fell in love Nesta, she had a notebook and she wrote stories in them and I fell hopelessly in love with her words with her, it’s like what you and Cassian have”-she growled-��forget I said that, anyway, she loved me back but she had children, and she was married, an abusive marriage albeit but she wouldn’t leave her children. And then I left for uni but every time I visited the valley I’d meet her and we’d…”

He shook his head, “Nesta please don’t tell anyone. No, please don’t”

“Why?!”She was crying now, “Why not?! You have an affair with a married woman with the mother of my best friend, why can’t I?”

“Because I was there!” He shouted,

Nesta looked at Audrey and back at him, “Where?”

“When Amarantha died, the day she died, the night she died, I was there, we heard someone laughing and talking and… i was there with Clarissa.”

Nesta exchanged a look with Audrey who was suddenly furious,

“No! Nesta had to protect Feyre and now you!”

Helion looked startled, “Why? What happened with-“

“Not now,” Nesta said, “We will keep your secret Helion. But you know we have to tell Luna, she won’t tell anyone either. But why can’t we at least tell Eris or-or”

Helion stood up gathering Nesta’s hands in his, tears slipping down his face,

“We had underage sex Nesta, and I got her pregnant. She had an abortion later but… the cracks are still in our relationship from it. Do you understand the gravity of this situation? I, a 15 year old got a 22 year old teacher pregnant. She could lose her job, I could go to jail, and she could too. Please.”

Nesta stumbled back as Audrey slid down the door hands in her hair.

“A child?” she whispered and Helion nodded.

Nesta nodded, “You have our word Helion, we’ll keep your secret.”

Audrey opened the door as Helion thanked them,

They left telling Luna to meet them at Pop’s.

-------------

Luna slurped her milkshake in shock.

“I cannot believe it. And we are not allowed to tell Eris?”

Nesta shook her head.

Audrey leaned back into the booth and groaned.

“What if Eris hates us?”

Audrey and Nesta hadn’t ordered anything. They’d just came in and started rambling. Pop Tate came over,

“What can I get you girls?”

“Turkey club burger, chilli fries and my large regular milkshake for me Pop,” Nesta answered.

“Chicken club, curly fries and my regular milkshake,” Audrey said as Pop smiled at them and hurried off.

“Stress eating?” Luna asked.

Nesta waved her off.

The TV blared quietly in the background as Nesta turned her head.

“A washed up truck was found late yesterday night-“

“Pop can you turn it up please?” Nesta asked as Pop did so.

“By the sheriff’s office. If this red truck belongs to anyone then it can be claimed from the sheriff’s office. Now moving onto todays main headlines…”

 Nesta’s face was etched with horror, as was Luna’s and Audrey’s. Nesta put on a fake smile and turned to Pop,

“Hey Pop, could you pack ours up and also pack in Feyre, Elain and Jonah’s regulars and Mom’s double chocolate milkshake please?”

Pop nodded and gestured to Demi who was preparing the orders.

Nesta let out the staggering breathe as Audrey dialled up one of their friends.

“Leo? We need you to take Jonah to Chicago tomorrow.”

Audrey looked at Nesta. Nesta nodded.

“They found the truck.”

-----------

Nesta rushed in as Elain seemed to be making coffee. Feyre and Jonah were at the table. Jonah was Nesta’s half-brother, the loving result of her mother’s affair. Jonah wasn’t that fond of Feyre or even Elain for that matter but he loved Nesta, a love that went really deep. He was in middle school and his best friend was Cassian’s sister, the youngest Narenz: Nyx Narenz.

She slammed down their takeaway and said, “Go eat in your rooms. Don’t come out and Mom will never know you had takeaway for breakfast.”

They all exchanged looks. Then they all ran to their rooms, grabbing the paper packages.

 Nesta strutted into her mother’s study.

But her mother was already staring at the TV screen. Hand over her mouth in horror. She walked up to her mother wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t worry Mom, we’ll sort it out.”

Her mother started shaking her head, “No, no I have already got you involved way too much. I will not allow you to-“

Nesta shook her slightly, “Hey mom, I’m doing it either way. Plus I’ve got everything planned out.”

“I can’t put this on you. I need to protect my baby boy, need to protect you.”

“You’re handling things on the inside. Let me handle this. Besides he’s my brother too you know.”

Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. Nesta took the remote and turned off the TV telling her mother to stay here.

She walked down the hallway to the main door and flung it open.

Her eyes narrowed,

“What do you want?” she snarled.

--------

 Cassian swallowed and asked himself if there was a time of day where Nesta did not look fucking gorgeous.

Her hair was pulled into a long sleek ponytail, and she wore a tight long sleeved sheer meshed crop top with a red dragon print. It showed a black bra underneath and was paired with a black mini skirt and black gladiator heels.

He put on a cocky grin and said,

“Your sister said she needed a ride because Rhys’ car is in servicing.”

She snorted, leaving the door open, “Feyre! Your chauffeurs here!”

She turned back to him, “I’m picking up Nyx at 7:30 for the slumber party, all right with you?”

He nodded, “Who else will be there? Nyx hates all of us and hasn’t really told either of us three who’s coming?”

“Nyx doesn’t hate you, the three of you are just annoying, and I don’t disagree with her. And to answer your question, Roxy and Alec are coming.”

Cassian chuckled, “Ouch, no wonder you’re her favourite.”

She rolled her eyes and made her way back to the study. But Cassian knew Nesta and he could see her shoulders sagging from the burdens she carried. He could see a scared little girl behind those stormy eyes today and that terrified him. But before he could dwell on that matter Feyre bounded in and dragged him to his car.

-----------

Cassian bumped fists with his crew and went to take a long shower. As he came out he saw Nesta in her cheerleading outfit, rummaging around in her locker. He stalked over to her leaning against the adjacent locker.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Nesta Archeron. What’s the residential ice queen doing so late at school,” the next part wasn’t intended to be cruel but the jealousy Cassian harboured at the fact that Nesta wasn’t his leaked through him as he whispered, “Or shall we say who’s heart is she breaking?”

She slammed her locker shut and as she looked up at him he faltered. How did he not notice? Shit.

Her eyes were red, and her voice sounded slightly broken.

“Are you done Cassian?”

She swallowed and out a hand to her mouth running past him to the toilet.

 All Nesta could see was…memories of the blood on her hand. Of the bleach as she used it. As she burned her mother’s old rug because of the red stains on it. She remembered the gore and as much as she tried to push it away it just kept coming back.

She puked her lunch into the toilet and then felt strong warm hands hold her hair back. Long soothing strokes were made on her back and she managed to say,

“Cassian you can’t be in the girl’s toilet.”

“I think I can handle detention for being in here for you puking.”

A few minutes later she was washing her face in the sink. She steadied herself as she gripped the sides. Cassian put a hand on her lower back and guided her outside.

“You need some fresh air.”

She sat on back step that led to the parking lot.

Cassian kneeled in front of her, her eyes were still red.

“Nesta please tell me, what happened?”

No answer, just silent sobbing.

“Nes please. Or I’ll tell Feyre and Elain and let them handle it. You need to tell someone or you’ll break down again.”

Nesta shook her head profusely, “No, no, please it’s just… I can’t handle these secrets, Helion having an affair with Eris’ mom for so fucking long, he-he had a baby with her, he-he had sex with her when he was 15. And got her pregnant. Even though the baby was aborted I and he was at the river when Amarantha- and then there’s Jonah-“ she broke down sobbing.

Cassian waited a few seconds letting it set in. Helion the school’s former golden boy had an… affair? With a married woman?

He pulled Nesta into his arms.

They stayed like that for a long time before Cassian asked,

“What about Jonah?”

She opened her mouth to answer before her phone buzzed.

“I need to go. Mom’s worried.” She picked up her stuff, and as she walked away from him he said,

“I’ll give you a ride-“

“No, it-its fine.” And as she walked away he could’ve sworn he heard,

“Thank you Cassian.”

 Coming up Next:

 Nesta crossed her arms at her mother,

“Jonah is going to Chicago with Leo and that’s final. Leo will take care of him, she would never allow anything bad to happen to him.”

Her mother opened her mouth but the study door burst open,

“You can’t take Jonah away from me!” Nyx pleaded at Nesta.

But Jonah held up a hand and stepped toward his older sister.

There was fear, Nesta realized in her 14 year old brother’s  silver eyes as he looked up at her and asked,

“Is it because I killed Tomas Mandray?”

---------------- 

 Tags:: @skychild29 @aesthetics-11 @perseusannabeth​ @awesomelena555​

[thepulta]

“Faaaaaaaire?”

Westlie jumped in her seat and whirled towards the screeching. There was a child loitering around the front arches of the library, casually kicking the carpet. It had to be what, eight? No older than ten?

“Faaaaaairee?”

She smashed her hip jumping out of the chair and nearly tripped over her skirt. Westlie strung out several whispered curses and made a flying tackle in the lobby, clamping a hand over the child’s mouth just as it inhaled for another screech. “You’re in a library you little shit! Jesus, don’t scream.”

“ ‘ah can talk as loud as ‘ah want!” The little goblin raised the letter with one arm and fucking punted her shin as hard as its little legs could. Westlie squeaked in pain and shot a glance around the rest of the library. The struggle was being watched by several students.

“God damn it, just give me that.”

“Pay me!”

“Jesus Christ, I paid in advance.” Westlie fished in her pocket and found a penny with some lint. She shoved it forward. “Don’t spend it all on candy.”

The urchin had the nerve to blow raspberries in the middle of the library entrance. It tossed the letter at her - Westlie snatched it midair - and raced away. There were a few polite coughs around the room and some less polite snickering. Westlie’s face burned as red as her hair as she slipped back to her seat.

She opened the note, laying it out flat so she could read it and straighten her desk at the same time. It was written in the same neat, pointed script she remembered from London. Fitzroy did not write unnecessarily.

.

Welcome to Port Prosper, Miss Faire. I��m glad to hear you arrived safely, and I apologize for The Pyrrhus’ tardiness. I hope you spent a comfortable evening at The Shroom.

The crew is currently loading a shipment of hours, which will most likely take the rest of the afternoon. I’ve decided to give them the night off since our passenger hasn’t arrived, which of course, extends to you as well. If you desire, you can meet us on the dock, port 2, at 8am tomorrow morning after another night at The Shroom or this evening at 5pm simply to get acquainted. You may also feel free to sleep on board the Pyrrhus, although it’s unlikely anyone else will be aboard the ship.

The next port of order will be the Eleutheria Transport Relay whenever our passenger arrives.

              Your Captain,

               Fitzroy

.

Funny, the Eleutheria Relay was the one place she hadn’t obsessively practiced navigating to. Westlie resisted the urge to open her books back up and pour over the seasonal wind speeds, trying to weigh her options for the night. She didn’t particularly feel like spending the night alone on board a ship she didn’t know. Then again, she could be at risk of looking tardy. Fitzroy had given her the option though, and it seemed like everyone else would be doing the same. Westlie puffed out a breath and folded the note back up, taking the opportunity to glance around the library. The students from earlier had gone back to their work, bent diligently over thick dictionaries and maps. The place was quite lovely, not as big as the one in London, but close. The entrance was grand and domed, with three wings to the right, left, and front. Books lined the walls of the bottom floors with desks lined towards the entrance. Three spiral staircases granted access to each of the three upper levels with bookcases where one could look down upon the massive (Surface-made, Westlie knew) Pakistani rug at the entrance. The walls were white, blue, and gold; there were a lot of Tuscan columns. ...a lot of them. The architect’s dreams must have been supported by Tuscan columns.

Westlie shelved her maps, absently drifting to another section and running her fingers over the titles. Flora and Fauna of Northeast Albion, A-N. Pteridophyta (Ferns and Horsetails) and their relatives in the southern areas of the Reach: a biologist’s memoirs. Edible varieties of fungi, 5th Edition. Geography and Biology of the Prosper Mountains, Revised and Selected by the Author with Illustrations. She selected that one. That was probably the reason for the gravity abnomaly around the island’s southern tip. Not that the biology of the mountain would help with that, but she was still killing time.

She took the book back to her seat, fanning the pages as she got settled. It opened to several depictions of the mountains around Port Prosper, lovingly illustrationed with several different angles. Gravity... gravity... Westlie yawned as she scanned through the pages, scribbling notes every so often as she found something useful. It ended up being mostly plants with a brief foray into naturalism about the shape of the mountains compared to others in the Reach (fairly large, minus Lustrum’s positive menagerie of peaks and valleys) while having nothing about the gravitational pull. At least she knew the abnomaly existed. Westlie shut the book and glanced up at the clock. 4pm. Well, she’d done enough for one day, hadn’t she?

Port Prosper was in the throes of dusk as she stepped out of the library. People thronged the streets, bustling to and from factories. It reminded her of London. Westlie slipped between the crowds, greeting a peddler and trading pennies for several hotbuns. She munched on one as she made her way back to the hotel, absentmindedly browsing the shop windows. The styles here were slightly different. A little higher on the ankle, a little wider in the hip, a little smaller in the chest. Westlie peered at one jacket with an upright collar. It buttoned down the front like her vest, but it had sleeves and the the collar was enticing. ...it was also a lovely shade of burgundy.

... it was ‘a night off’, wasn’t it?

Westlie slipped inside the shop and waffled over the decision for several minutes before finally giving the shopkeep the sovereigns. The jacket fit like a glove and did a fairly good job of matching her hair. Westlie felt like glowing as she walked down the street, dodging pedestrians and occasionally running children. Her time was her own; there was no sister, no Arthur, no Mary to reign her back. No judgement.

She’d wasted so much time, hadn’t she. A memory of Morgan popped up, unbidden, per usual - and in a bar, also per usual. Westlie had had one of her abysmal days; something about missing deadlines. There’d been a lot of screaming; a lot of accusations. She remembered not even wanting to drink, just huddling in the corner as Morgan sat there with her. They’d been older teens at that point, maybe. “You know,” Morgan had hesitated. “You could come with me on my next trip. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Father would murder me.”

Morgan had hesitated again. “... we don’t have to come back.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Westlie snorted, because it did seem ridiculous. “I have to work. I can’t just fuck off.”

They sat there in silence for a long time. Morgan finally leaned over and curled on her shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but something akin to it and possibly more meaningful in their affectionless world. She’d let out a soft sigh as they huddled together. “...you’re so unhappy, Wes.”

They hadn’t said anything for the rest of the evening.

Westlie had forgotten about that whole encounter until now and there was a deep, sudden pang of longing for the weight of her sister on her shoulder. She let it settle, heavy in her heart. There was always the possibility they could bump into each other at a port. Morgan travelled voraciously. It was all she did, honestly. Westlie wasn’t sure if she did it to put a small dent in Arthur’s enormous sums of cash, to escape London and that horrid house, or just because she loved travelling and mischief. Regardless, from eighteen years onward she did all three things quite well. When she came home, it was a daily coin flip until she’d leave again. Westlie came to expect a note on her dresser with the lump sum of travel money taken, an address (occasionally), and some form of cheery goodbye. Sometimes, it was in person, like the last time she’d seen her a few months ago.

Westlie’d been woken up at 2am by a knock at the window to find Morgan sitting on her carpetbag in the garden. She remembered thinking it was a distinctly Morgan way to leave town at 2am. She kept throwing pebbles until Westlie opened the window. “Goodbye, Wes! I took a few thousand sovereigns this time!”

Westlie remembered making a rude gesture, half-asleep. ...Annoying but not surprising. Morgan just laughed.

“Don’t tell, but I packed that box of sunlight from the shop too.”

Westlie’s eyes shot open. “That- Fuck, Morgan, that’s expensive!”

“Don’t worry about it! It’ll all take care of itself.”

“You’re going to get robbed blind by some asshole carting around a fucking box of sunlight- What the fuck- What do you even need it for? You’re such a dipshit. Why do I have to deal with this? You know those take months to get in. Goddamn it, Morgan.” Westlie considered grabbing the rope and taking the box back but in the time it’d take to tie it Morgan would absolutely be gone. That was probably why she hadn’t said goodbye normally in the first place. Fucking sneaky.

“Shhh, shh shh shh~” Morgan spun around and blew her a kiss. “Westlie, you worry too much.”

“I worry for both of us. Fucking give me that sunlight. Father’s going to skin you alive when you get back.” Westlie hung halfway out the window, debating if it was worth jumping and squashing the fuck out of the little kleptomaniac.

Morgan gasped in pretend horror. “Oh, I forgot, I have thousands of sovereigns and I won’t be back for months.” Her mouth turned up into a cheeky grin. “Westlie please, you know me better than that. The old bastard won’t remember a thing.”

“I’ll remember!”

“You love me though~” Morgan grabbed her carpetbag and blew Westlie another kiss. “I’ll see you later! Sorry I left so soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Morgan!”

Morgan slipped into the darkness with practiced ease, and Westlie glimpsed a cheerful goodbye hand wave before she disappeared into the shadows. Saucy prick.

Westlie remembered going back to bed pissed as hell she’d have to pick up the pieces from stolen sunlight no less. Jesus Christ, there was embezzlement and then there was that. She did remember going to sleep after that and opening up the shop in the morning, but the memory grew a bit fuzzy. Westlie scowled at the irony because she’d tried to forget about it to save her blood pressure, regardless of the outcome she couldn’t quite remember. God, Morgan did the dumbest shit. 

Westlie was not going to miss that.

Even with the memories she was still more relaxed than usual as she approached The Humble Shroom. A few skyfarers milled about now after arriving from various ports, footmen moving boxes in and out of the lobby. Westlie took a moment to appreciate the soft touches of civilization they put on display. A rug, a lamp that had probably lived a former life in a grandmother’s cabinet; several crystal sconces on the wall that flickered appealingly. The rooms were off to the right, but there was a soft concerto playing off in the corner from the left where a doorway opened into another room. A bar? Probably where breakfast had been offered earlier. There were more skyfarers milling in and out. Westlie hesitated. She didn’t feel like going to her room and studying, but she didn’t want to stay out and about either. She didn’t need to drink, just... people watch. Tea would be nice.

The bar was excellent for her chosen past time; there were faces from all walks of life. A few stovepipe hats huddled in the corner while miscellaneous groups of suits - with patches or tears and without - circled about at random. There were three shelves of drinks, the aromas of mushroom wine and hard liquor circling about; a waiter handed off a plate of steaming something that smelled delicious. Westlie took a seat in the back and ordered tea, pulling out a piece of paper to work on navigating to the relay. It was far, but it wasn’t that far; a few days to a week or so. There was a bit of tricky gravity somewhere in the region and she tapped the pencil on her lips, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled to recall the numbers.

Someone cleared their throat nearby and she blinked, jerked back to reality. “Hello-?”

Jesus Christ it was Fitzroy.

He looked the slightest bit more worn with a bit of coal dust on his jacket, but otherwise quite the same and unmistakable. “Good evening, Miss Faire. You look well.”

“Thank you. You... you too.” ... she could die on the spot, or she could just die later after she made a complete fool of herself. Or she could have a normal conversation like a normal person. Westlie cleared her throat and folded up the paper while Fitzroy made a questioning motion to the chair across from her. “Yes, please, feel free- have a seat.”

He sat down and crossed his legs, pulling out a pipe from his pocket and taking his time stuffing it. After a good long minute he put up his hand to flag a waiter and glanced at her. “Would you like something.”

“No- ah, thank you. I have tea on the way.”

“Excellent.” His face betrayed nothing if that was the right or wrong answer. “Is that a 1890 Elegant on the shelf? I’ll take a small glass of that, please.”

There was heavy silence until the waiter brought both the tea and mushroom wine. Fitzroy lit his pipe and the smoke puffed lazily, adding to the rich scents around them. Instead of handing it off like the wine, the waiter chose to pour the tea himself. (He did not pour it the way Westlie liked it; she could already tell it’d been seeped too hot and it gave off the slightly acidic odor of a burned teabag. She held her tongue and comforted herself that the bitterness would keep her insides awake as she worked.) Fitzroy took a sip of his wine and savored it. Westlie did not enjoy the tea but she kept her face neutral.

When he placed his drink back down he faced her, dark eyes scrutizing. “I assume you received my note earlier?”

“Yes, sir. About an hour ago, I think.”

“I know the rest of the crew has divided themselves up across the city, so it was a good choice to stay put for the night.”

Westlie couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded.

“As far as introductions go, you’ll meet them all tomorrow. I recently accepted another applicant as Navigator, an Owen West. I understand he’s been a reliable skyfarer for some time. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Westlie hadn’t. “He seems a bit shakey, but capable. I’ve known the rest of the crew for significantly longer. Marion is quite the ingenious engineer; Selmer is relable and loyal to a fault. Elijah is the kind of man who should be into politics but makes an excellent signaller instead.” He chuckled at a private joke and took another sip, re-crossing his legs and focsing on her. “I can’t speak for Owen, but the others were needling me about you.” There was a thin, not unkind, but not wholely trusting smile and Westlie could very clearly see the impression her interview left on him. “I was going to simply wait until morning, Miss Faire, but if you pardon me for noticing, you are not quite the same person I met in London and I know very little except your father is the kind of man I rarely associate myself with.”

Westlie took another sip of bitter tea, purposefully scalding her tongue as she tried to think. She drew on the remains of her evening, the calm purposefulness as she walked from the library back to the hotel. Why not be honest? She met his eyes and they were supicious, wary, but not unkind. He was being honest in his observations, and she wasn’t the same person in London. “I ran away.” That seemed the most straightforward, blunt way she could put it. Westlie sat the tea cup back in its saucer, half wondering if she was required to give more information. Fitzroy didn’t say anything. She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘I couldn’t take it anymore’ didn���t seem like the best phrase to describe it. Neither was ‘I’m nobody’, or ‘I don’t know who I am’, even though that was absolutely the truth.

Westlie hated sweet tea. She forgot, put two sugar cubes in her half-drunk cup and stirred it.

“Were you working on the Eleutheria Relay route?” Fitzroy broke into her thoughts and Westlie met his gaze again, briefly.

“Oh, before you came. Yes, actually.” She dug into her pocket and handed over the sheet of paper. Fitzroy browsed it. The look wasn’t quite like the interview; there was no judgement, just thoughtful acknowledgement. He was trying to distract her - he was actually quite good at that. Westlie stored that information in the back of her mind.

“You mapped this from Tratinson, didn’t you?”

How-?

“There’s a small abnomaly about three leagues in.” Fitzroy placed the paper on the table and pointed out the column of numbers halfway down. “Tratinson ignores it, because he considers abnomalies smaller than .5 newts to be immaterial. However, it’s enough to increase speed and throw off the trajectory of your second curve here.” He pointed to another set of numbers. “It’s never a big issue because the pull is small enough it doesn’t run you into any islands, but still. I have to look at the book, but Richards takes more of the northern abnomalies into consideration despite his occasional miscalculations.”

Westlie felt a deep flare of respect feed the hunger inside her. She could learn from him. She opened her mouth, couldn’t find which questions to ask, and settled on looking deeply appreciative. “Thank you.”

Fitzroy bobbed his head and took another drink. “It comes with experience.” He paused. “You were obviously well-trained.”

An image of her father brushed across her mind and Westlie’s hatred for the man flared deeply and uncontrollably. “I received a 102 on my piloting exam.” (For the fourth time, because Arthur kept forcing her to retake it, even though she passed the first exam without problems.) “And charting courses is... a hobby.” (It was an obsession. Definitely an obsession, probably unhealthy; kept her from losing her mind after hours of numbers in the ledgers.) “It helps me stay focused.”

She took another sip of tea and nearly spat it out. The sugar made it completely undrinkable. Westlie settled on refilling the cup until near overflowing, hoping between the bitterness and the hot substitute she could scald her tongue and ignore it some more. Between all of it she felt a minute, calmer spark of anger and she grabbed onto it, meeting Fitzroy’s eyes. “I was a navigator on one of my father’s ships. I think that’s what he planned for me to do until he realized I couldn’t take his commands mid-voyage and I wouldn’t save half a crate of supplies by driving through a shitload of scrive-spinsters.” Westlie reigned herself in. “After several instances like that, I worked in the shop instead for a... significant amount of time until I decided that... didn’t suit me.”

She glanced at Fitzroy and his face was blasé, but attentive.

“I won’t let you down.” Westlie remembered her stupid fucking mantra from the morning before and it just felt like something needed to be said. “I know I’m... quiet, and I know...” she hesitated, because it was a bitter pill. “I know my father. Nobody knows him better than I do. I can’t help where I came from, but I want to learn.” Please. She hoped it went unspoken. “And I learn quickly.”

Fitzroy finished his drink and there was the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You have the job, Miss Faire.”

“Well I-” Westlie moved to take a sip of tea, remembered the saccharine taste in her mouth already and thought better of it. “-You asked,” she tested the waters with a hint of a dry look. “Sir.”

“And I am grateful I know more about you than when we started.” Fitzroy stood up to take his leave, pulling out several coins for the wine. “For the record, Miss Faire, I don’t question your abilities. Anyone who can chart a course by memory under the duress you were under deserves second attention. However, I feel an understanding between us that your father’s company does not require nor, if I may be so forward, deserve special attention, is in order.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Westlie interjected, before she realized what the hell she said.

Another barely visible hint of a smile played on Fitzroy’s lips. “Well my drink is done, but it appears we are firmly in agreement. If you have time after getting settled tomorrow, I might be available to discuss the Richards and Geralt maps if that suits you.” He made a brief bob of the head. “Goodnight, Miss Faire.”

Westlie stared at his back and then at her incredibly shitty tea as he walked away, finally downing the rest of the cup in one disgusting shot and pouring herself something vaguely more palpatable. She slumped back in her seat. That... went well. Tentatively? Possibly? Jesus she needed to go to bed. Getting tea was supposed to be relaxing, and- gods this was shit. Westlie resisted the primal angry urge to dump all of the tea on the ground, dance on the ashes, and refuse to pay; instead she put down coins for her tab and slipped out of the room, trying to decide if Arthur or Fitzroy was more dangerous when angry.

-=-

In her room that night, Westlie dreamed about something peaceful. She woke up after midnight but she couldn’t remember it, just... something about flowers, something about returns. There was a subtle longing for a name, a face; it itched at her mind, making her sleepily tousle her curls. Fucking dreams. Westlie yawned, pulled the pillow closer, and fell into a now deep, dreamless sleep and the feeling was gone in the morning.

-=-

Selmer was a beast of a man. Owen looked horribly nervous. Marion looked... chipper. Elijah looked like he could murder someone in his sleep but probably wouldn’t because he was the nicest of all of them. He’d tipped his hat a bit as Westlie arrived, discerning something as she searched for Fitzroy and headed for the small group of people on the dock around him. That was probably what Fitzroy meant about his alternate self in politics; that was a niche skill. She joined the group, lurking a bit on the outer edges as Fitzroy muttered into a clipboard. After several minutes of writing and scribbling he looked up, unemotionally scanned each of their faces, and made several more notes. It seemed like a lifetime before he put it away.

“Westlie Faire, your crewmates:” Fitzroy nodded to each punctually. “Selmer Gallway, Marion Gascoigne, Elijah Fry, Owen West. Feel free to chat a bit to each other before boarding. I need to submit these reports to the Ministry.”

Westlie felt a rush of euphoria that she wasn’t submitting the reports. Jesus Christ she was free. Fitzroy walked away towards shore and everyone eyed her silently, expecting her to say something. “... Hello.”

Selmer looked like he was going to explode after another five seconds of silence. “‘s a bright day gov’nr! You from around these parts?” He grinned, and he showed all his teeth, flashing a blinding giddy white.

“Ah, from London, actually. I assume you are as well.”

“O’aye, but I packed me bags a long time ago. ‘ah followed Marion on board. A capt’n always needs ah good shov’lah. An a wrench!” He hip-checked Marion and she rolled her eyes.

“Right, right. Well, welcome aboard, Faire.” Marion gave her a little casual unofficial salute. “The Pyrrhus is a great engine! I know you’ll love her. Have you been aboard any others?”

Westlie hesitated, “I ah- some Bediveres.”

Marion’s eyes gleamed. “Now there’s ships! Nothing’s better than the Pyrrhus, obviously, since I’ve helped make our own improvements, but ahh, the Bediveres are gorgeous. Have you driven them? I hear their handling is a little rough around the edges since one of the steam propulsion gaskets blocks the radius grav hinges.”

Westlie had heard about radius hinges exactly once when she and Morgan were shit-faced drunk in a pub on Elinore St. and an equally drunk engineer following Morgan around started bitching about radius hinges and Altanis locomotives for a full hour before they all passed out. She remembered absolutely nothing of that conversation. “I uh- I have driven one.” I was seventeen; please don’t ask about turning radii. “I do remember how fast it was.”

Elijah patted Marion on the shoulder as she opened her mouth to ask more questions. “I’m sure there’ll be time to show her the improvements once she’s settled. Speaking of which-” he gestured a bit into the ship. “The crew’s quarters are to your right from the hatch. Would you like some tea?”

“I would, actually, yes please.” Westlie gave a brief little nod to Owen as she passed by, following Elijah gratefully, and Owen nodded back, his face grave but not unkind or unwelcome; he’d just seen a bit too much. She knew that look.

When she stepped through the hatch, the Pyrrhus itself smelled of hours and cinnamon. It wasn’t a heavy scent, just enough she noticed. The air was wet though, steamy, like Marion had been warming up the engine earlier. There was thin wood panelling on the sides of the walls, polished to a soft sheen through multiple scratches. (Four claws had been dragged down the wood with deep, deep indents at one point.) It was all very orderly though. The crew obviously took great care with their upkeep; the same with their quarters. It was neatly swept, no cobwebs, electric sconces lining the far wall between the bunks. Elijah motioned to the bed at the end of the row where her trunk was sitting, to the right this time, right against the hull; it was opposite the engine, so was probably at least in port, the quietest end of the ship. Westlie glanced around at the bare walls, wondering absently if she could fit them with shelves like the other engine had.

“None of us care to decorate,” Elijah offered helpfully, reading her mind. “But I’m sure Fitzroy wouldn’t mind. I’m-” he gestured at the door, “-going to make that tea if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped back, spinning around for a moment in the doorway. “Oh the passenger should be here soon, Selmer just carried in her trunk. We don’t know her name yet, but she’s sleeping in the Captain’s Quarters, across from the hall.”

“Oh, excellent.” Westlie had no idea what to do with her hands. What did a first mate do with their hands? She settled for a curt nod of the head. “Thank you, Elijah. That helps.”

His lanky frame disappeared from the doorway, and Westlie took a breath as she opened her trunk. Everything was there (of course it was there; she’d just re-packed it forty minutes before) so she closed it and sat down on the bed. A deep sting of fear hit her as she looked around; the casual, not-quite perfect orderliness of the bunks. Selmer’s? messy pillow. Either Elijah or Owen, they both seemed like good candidates, had repurposed a crate by their bedside and stacked several dozen books on top of it. There were a few more bunks but they seemed untouched. Marion must have moved her quarters somewhere else - which was eccentric actually. Westlie vaguely mused if Fitzroy would let her sleep in the map room. Did they have a map room? They probably had a map room.

She puffed out a breath and looked around the room once more, trying to memorize the small details. The iron bedframes bolted to the floor (advantage: no creaking) the wooden floors fitting snugly against iron walls, the four bare walls curving into an iron ceiling. A soft breeze whispered around the hull and Westlie had a feeling she would get some very nice whistles in the middle of the night being right in the corner. That was alright. This was ‘home’ now, wasn’t it? It was what it was.

A deep pang of not-quite-loneliness, not-quite-sadness hit her and Westlie pushed up her chin a little. No emotions allowed now. She was done here; it was time to work.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, brushing off her skirt and heading out of the room.

The very first thing she learned on her own was that the Pyrrhus echoed, deeply. The metal walls carried sound; literally carried, where if you leaned in close you could probably see the tiny vibrations of the sheet metal. No whispers were safe. There was the hiss of the kettle in what she assumed was the mess quarters  and a roaring, boisterous laugh from Selmer. There were quick footsteps above her - possibly Owen.

“She’s very quiet,” Marion said from the kitchen, and a jar rattled with crackers or some sort of foodstuff. “Do you think she’s alright?”

“Juz giv’ ‘er time to settle in; Willy was pre’y quiet too,” there was a vigorous thump on the table. “Tea man!”

“Gods, you’re so impatient. It’s not ready.”

“You bloody know, Mar’on, you need to make ‘lijah a little thingamabobber that’ll heat the tea up twice as fast. Hook it up to the engine all fancy-like-”

Westlie hesitated at the open doorway to the mess hall, wondering if she should knock to announce her presence, but it absolutely was not necessary as she was almost blown over by the force of Selmer’s, “OI GOV’NAH.” He thumped the table again. “’e got apples, an we got ‘ese kipper snacks and if ‘lijah ever finishs that ‘ere bloody tea ‘e’s got some ought lovely black. Captain says ‘s from India but I think i’ tastes the same as London’s. Once ‘e finishes you can be the judge.”

Marion smiled and patted the table (in a much, much softer, friendly way). “Westlie, right?” she nodded. “We didn’t have breakfast earlier - or Selmer did-”

“But ‘ah’m always down for second breakfast.”

Elijah visibly, almost audibly rolled his eyes.

“-but we were going to have something if you’d like to join us.”

Westlie sat down closest to the door a little grateful for the offer so she didn’t have to figure out where to place herself. “Tea and a few snacks would be lovely, thank you.”

The conversation fell silent with just the hum of the kettle and Selmer tapping the table and fidgeting. Westlie vaguely wondered in the uncomfortable quiet if she was too attuned to it. There was a lot to be said in silence. Selmer very clearly did not think the same way. Finally he leaned forward. “Yous ‘ear the Captian was thinking about a new gun?”

���He did mention it to Owen the other day.” The kettle finally whistled and Elijah moved to pour. “We don’t encounter problems too much though. Is it worth it?”

“Eh, it won’t be too hard to install. Can’t hurt to have a nice bit of firepower now, can it?” Marion took her mug and sipped it gratefully, even though it’d barely seeped. “Absolutely worth it. Thanks, Elijah.”

“Thank you,” Westlie took her mug and settled back, letting the warmth flow through her hands as Elijah handed the next mug off to Selmer. There was a much more comfortable pause as they sipped, Selmer grabbing kipper snacks from the bowl in the middle of the table and tossing them tournament-style into his mouth. He crunched loudly. Westlie wasn’t sure why she wasn’t annoyed at his behavior. He was the spitting image of some of the skyfarers in Morgan’s bars; loud, obnoxious, bustling, but there was a sweet cheerfulness too. Maybe she just needed to be around someone that relaxed right now.

A knock at the hatch startled all of them.

Selmer bounced up, “I got it,” and he was out before anyone could put down their mugs. The hatch opened, and there was an unintelligible, questioning voice. “Oi yas, right this way, gov. I’ll carry in your cargo don’t bother with it. Step right this way.”

“Should we...?” Westlie made a vague gesture to the door. “Help...?”

Marion shook her head with a quick smile. “Selmer’s got it. He likes to feel busy.”

The room was significantly quieter after Selmer left and nobody felt like breaking it. Westlie considered asking where they’d been before London, but it seemed like such an empty question. Or any tales; maybe there’d be something useful. Fitzroy did say they’d been on the longest. For some reason she couldn’t quite muster up the words. The silence was comfortable at least though, Marion seemed to see she didn’t feel like talking and Elijah seemed comfortable with the silence as well. They listened to the footsteps reverberate about the Pyrrhus until Selmer hollared down the hallway. “Cap’ains back!”

Marion offered for Westlie’s tea mug and she handed it over, a few sips left. She tossed them in the sink before going through a back door into what Westlie assumed was the engine room. The cab. Fitzroy said they’d be taking off after the passenger arrived. She nodded once to Elijah before heading out and to the side, climbing up the tight stairwell on her left to the second floor of the Pyrrhus.

Owen was already inside the cab, a few maps spread over the table in the middle of the room, steam hissing from a pressure gasket. He glanced up as she walked in, smiled, and then refocused on whatever he was doing. Numbers, it looked like. Westlie hesitated before pulling the scrap of paper she’d been working on the night before out. “I ah- I did some crunching last night if you want to use this.”

Owen glanced up and blinked. “Oh... Oh, Tratinson. That’ll help actually, thank you.” He took the sheet and Westlie was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room again.

It was a lovely cab. There were some references and maps in small bookshelves in the back, the familiar panels for navigating in the front. The Pyrrhus had bronze handles, steel interworkings with pipes of steam and cables welded to the sides of the cab, leading to the nav panel. The top was slightly domed with curved, arching blue windows for less drag, riveted along all their edges. It was somewhat soothing, Westlie mused, looking at the world through blue-tinted glasses rather than red ones. All the Bediveres had rose or yellow tinted glass. Something about looking more professional and yellow light being bad for your skin; turned the crew sallow.

There were footsteps up the stairs and she somehow picked out Fitzroy’s step in the hall, firm, patient, cat-like. He nodded to her and Owen as he entered the cab. “Everything ready? The cargo is on board. Adelia is settled.”

Westlie instinctively looked for the pressure valve, noting it’d only been a few minutes since the engine grumbled to life under her feet. “Almost. 50 psi to full capacity, sir.”

Fitzroy nodded acknowledgement, checked a pocketwatch, and went through the backdoor, letting a burning blast of steam and soot into the cab. His voice was almost drowned out. “MARION, NEW RECORD TO 250.”

There was a barely intelligible cheer from somewhere in the engine room which Westlie had to assume were Selmer and Marion. She found herself smiling a little as Fitzroy shut the door, brushing off his collar. “She’s done excellent work,” he informed Owen and Westlie without looking at either of them. He browsed the numbers on the table, checking the maps. “Mm, this looks good too. Pressure update?”

Westlie glanced again. “285, sir.”

“Close enough. Owen, take us out, please.”

Owen was already at the controls. They lifted with a lurch, the engine giving an angry hiss as the locomotive released steam from below. Westlie turned and stared out the window, resisting the urge to press her nose against the glass as they rose above Port Prosper. The library shown in the distance, the morning glinting off the glass in the dome with the mountains stretching beyond that, little plants dotting the slopes. Homes cuddled about the city, painted in red, grey, yellow, blue; Prospans weren’t picky. They grew ever more dotted and sparce further from the center, farms drawing lines in the landscape. The wind picked up as they rose higher.

Owen pushed the engine forward and Westlie felt the whisper of the breeze as it brushed the windows. Through the blue tint it was all so very alive, and it felt like... like being in love. Westlie had no idea how to confirm the feeling, but her heart squeezed and the rest of the world fell away. It was so beautiful. This was what she wanted. The love ached like a new happy fire in her chest and she embraced it, pulled it tight around her. It was easier to handle than her anger since it just glowed without burning, with a soft tender warmth. There was no action to it either, no demands, just a deep well of peace. She was never going to let this go, she swore quietly as Port Prosper faded away. She would die before she stopped traveling with the wind, watching these islands pass by, blessed by the soft glow of the fungi along their edges. She’d worked hard and she’d gotten so lucky. So very, very lucky. She would make every single second count. Damn the man who tried to take it from her.

[lewiscarrollsocietynorthamerica]

CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears

‘Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); ‘now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!’ (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). ‘Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,’ thought Alice, ‘or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.’

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. ‘They must go by the carrier,’ she thought; ‘and how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

    Alice’s Right Foot, Esq.       Hearthrug,         near The Fender,           (with Alice’s love).

Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!’

Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.

‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ said Alice, ‘a great girl like you,’ (she might well say this), ‘to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!’ But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, ‘Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!’ Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, ‘If you please, sir—’ The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: ‘Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!’ And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.

‘I’m sure I’m not Ada,’ she said, ‘for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I��m certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say “How doth the little—“’ and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:—

    ‘How doth the little crocodile      Improve his shining tail,     And pour the waters of the Nile      On every golden scale!     ‘How cheerfully he seems to grin,      How neatly spread his claws,     And welcome little fishes in      With gently smiling jaws!’

‘I’m sure those are not the right words,’ said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, ‘I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down and saying “Come up again, dear!” I shall only look up and say “Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else”—but, oh dear!’ cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, ‘I do wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of being all alone here!’

As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit’s little white kid gloves while she was talking. ‘How can I have done that?’ she thought. ‘I must be growing small again.’ She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

‘That was a narrow escape!’ said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; ‘and now for the garden!’ and she ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, ‘and things are worse than ever,’ thought the poor child, ‘for I never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!’

As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, ‘and in that case I can go back by railway,’ she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

‘I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. ‘I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’

Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.

‘Would it be of any use, now,’ thought Alice, ‘to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.’ So she began: ‘O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!’ (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother’s Latin Grammar, ‘A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!’) The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

‘Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,’ thought Alice; ‘I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.’ (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: ‘Ou est ma chatte?’ which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. ‘I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.’

‘Not like cats!’ cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. ‘Would you like cats if you were me?’

‘Well, perhaps not,’ said Alice in a soothing tone: ‘don’t be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,’ Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, ‘and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. ‘We won’t talk about her any more if you’d rather not.’

‘We indeed!’ cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. ‘As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the name again!’

‘I won’t indeed!’ said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. ‘Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?’ The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: ‘There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!’ cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, ‘I’m afraid I’ve offended it again!’ For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it, ‘Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don’t like them!’ When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, ‘Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.’

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Is Account Management becoming invisible?

It has been nearly five years since Jenny Plant issued her near-rant with the title, “I'm pissed off - what every agency Account Manager needs but doesn't get.”  Jenny was bordering on apoplectic, and with good reason, about all the mentoring, guidance, and training she did not get while serving as an up-and-coming account person, pointing out, “no one ever sat down with me and explained how things really worked when managing that client relationship.  No one told me what client development was – and that it was essentially my main role!”

Wow; please tell me how you really think, Jenny.

Here’s the post if you want to read it (you should), but Jenny’s piece prompted me to respond, which resulted in an exchange of emails.  At some point, I made sure she had a copy of The Art of Client Service.  More emails ensued, but for some inexplicable reason it never went beyond this, surprising for two client service people who know the virtues of meeting in-person.   Perhaps geography was the impediment:  Jenny lives in London; me, I’m 5,000-plus miles and eight time zones away, a refugee from New York City now calling Napa home.

Earlier this month we finally put faces to emails, with Jenny reaching out with an invitation to do a session on her Creative Agency Account Manager podcast.  I’ve previously had incredibly invigorating exchanges with fellow travelers – Rick English, Ken Ohlemeyer, a few others – but nothing quite matched the substance of my exchange with Jenny, her serving as a friendly but inquisitive interrogator, me serving as a willing subject.  

The time went by so fast, it hardly felt like the “typical” interview; instead, it was more like having a cup of coffee, or if I’m being a bit more proper, a cup of tea, with a friend, talking shop, exchanging views on what’s been lost and what needs to be reclaimed by Account and client service people who find themselves diminished and dismissed to the point of becoming irrelevant, if not extinct.

There is much to recommend about our conversation; if you can find the hour or so to listen, I suspect you will conclude it is time very well spent.  Should you decide to take a pass – I confess to having a voice better suited to email than a podcast -- there is a very helpful transcript accompanying our discussion, highlighting a couple of the more notable points in our exchange.

There is a comment, buried in one of my longwinded ruminations, that struck even me in its re-reading: “Really good Account work is invisible.”

So, is this true?  Are Account people becoming invisible?

To big agency holding company executives more focused on their share price than their people, probably yes.

To agency Creative Directors who think it is all about them, probably yes.

To everyone else who has written off Account management as a last century relic, probably yes.

If you are an Account person inclined to agree, then it is time to act.

If you haven’t done this before, the first thing to do is beg, borrow, or steal 15 dollars, invest in The Art of Client Service, read it, and follow its principles.  The second thing is to lobby the people to whom you report for better mentoring, more thorough and practical training, and more frequent learning opportunities within your organization.  

If these don’t work, no worries; like most forward-thinking Account people, I have a Plan B at the ready:

Reach out to your client service colleagues and crowd-source Jenny’s workshop, or one of mine, or ask both of us to collaborate on doing something together.  Zoom makes it possible for one or both of us to connect with you and others, wherever all of you call home.  If you get enough of your colleagues to participate, the cost for each of you will be nominal, well-worth the money spent.

After Jenny and I said goodbye, I had another realization:  the only people who can save us is us.  

I know you are worth saving.  I suspect Jenny agrees.  

If you concur, your next step is to convert thought into action, pursuing whatever path will help you become more capable in your craft.  

[moddernallanpoe]

CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears

‘Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); ‘now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!’ (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). ‘Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,’ thought Alice, ‘or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.’

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. ‘They must go by the carrier,’ she thought; ‘and how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

     Alice’s Right Foot, Esq.

       Hearthrug,

         near The Fender,

           (with Alice’s love).

Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!’

Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.

‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ said Alice, ‘a great girl like you,’ (she might well say this), ‘to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!’ But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, ‘Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!’ Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, ‘If you please, sir—’ The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: ‘Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!’ And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.

‘I’m sure I’m not Ada,’ she said, ‘for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I’m certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say “How doth the little—“’ and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:—

     ‘How doth the little crocodile

      Improve his shining tail,

     And pour the waters of the Nile

      On every golden scale!

     ‘How cheerfully he seems to grin,

      How neatly spread his claws,

     And welcome little fishes in

      With gently smiling jaws!’

‘I’m sure those are not the right words,’ said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, ‘I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down and saying “Come up again, dear!” I shall only look up and say “Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else”—but, oh dear!’ cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, ‘I do wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of being all alone here!’

As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit’s little white kid gloves while she was talking. ‘How can I have done that?’ she thought. ‘I must be growing small again.’ She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

‘That was a narrow escape!’ said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; ‘and now for the garden!’ and she ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, ‘and things are worse than ever,’ thought the poor child, ‘for I never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!’

As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, ‘and in that case I can go back by railway,’ she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

‘I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. ‘I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’

Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.

‘Would it be of any use, now,’ thought Alice, ‘to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.’ So she began: ‘O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!’ (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother’s Latin Grammar, ‘A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!’) The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

‘Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,’ thought Alice; ‘I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.’ (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: ‘Ou est ma chatte?’ which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. ‘I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.’

‘Not like cats!’ cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. ‘Would you like cats if you were me?’

‘Well, perhaps not,’ said Alice in a soothing tone: ‘don’t be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,’ Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, ‘and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. ‘We won’t talk about her any more if you’d rather not.’

‘We indeed!’ cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. ‘As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the name again!’

‘I won’t indeed!’ said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. ‘Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?’ The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: ‘There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!’ cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, ‘I’m afraid I’ve offended it again!’ For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it, ‘Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don’t like them!’ When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, ‘Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.’

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.

[lifeofaliterarynerd]

YA & NA Contemporary Reads for Valentine’s Day

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before - Jenny Han //  Lara Jean  has never openly admitted her crushes, but instead wrote each boy a letter about how she felt, sealed it, and hid it in a box under her bed. But one day Lara Jean discovers that somehow her secret box of letters has been mailed, causing all her crushes from her past to confront her about the letters.

P.S. I Still Love You - Jenny Han //  Lara Jean didn’t expect to really fall for Peter. She and Peter were just pretending. Except suddenly they weren’t. Now Lara Jean is more confused than ever. When another boy from her past returns to her life, Lara Jean’s feelings for him return too. Can a girl be in love with two boys at once?

Anna and the French Kiss - Stephanie Perkins //  Anna is looking forward to her senior year in Atlanta, where she has a great job, a loyal best friend, and a crush on the verge of becoming more. Which is why she is less than thrilled about being shipped off to boarding school in Paris--until she meets Étienne St. Clair. Smart, charming, beautiful, Étienne has it all...including a serious girlfriend.

Lola and the Boy Next Door - Stephanie Perkins //  Lola Nolan is a budding costume designer, and for her, the more outrageous, sparkly, and fun the outfit, the better. And everything is pretty perfect in her life (right down to her hot rocker boyfriend) until the Bell twins, Calliope and Cricket, return to the neighborhood. When Cricket, a gifted inventor, steps out from his twin sister's shadow and back into Lola's life, she must finally reconcile a lifetime of feelings for the boy next door.

Isla and the Happily Ever After - Stephanie Perkins //  Hopeless romantic Isla has had a crush on introspective cartoonist Josh since their first year at the School of America in Paris. And after a chance encounter in Manhattan over the summer, romance might be closer than Isla imagined. But as they begin their senior year back in France, Isla and Josh are forced to confront the challenges every young couple must face, including family drama, uncertainty about their college futures, and the very real possibility of being apart.

My Life Next Door - Huntley Fitzpatrick //  The Garretts are everything the Reeds are not. Loud, messy, affectionate. And every day from her rooftop perch, Samantha Reed wishes she was one of them . . . until one summer evening, Jase Garrett climbs up next to her and changes everything.

Better Off Friends - Elizabeth Eulberg // For Macallan and Levi, it was friends at first sight. Everyone says guys and girls can’t be just friends, but these two are.  They are platonic and happy that way.They can’t help but wonder . . . are they more than friends or are they better off without making it even more complicated?

Wait For You - Jennifer L. Armentrout //  Traveling thousands of miles from home to enter college is the only way nineteen-year-old Avery Morgansten can escape what happened at the Halloween party five years ago—an event that forever changed her life. All she needs to do is make it to her classes on time, make sure the bracelet on her left wrist stays in place, not draw any attention to herself, and maybe—please God—make a few friends, because surely that would be a nice change of pace. The one thing she didn’t need and never planned on was capturing the attention of the one guy who could shatter the precarious future she’s building for herself.

A Little Something Different - Sandy Hall //  The creative writing teacher, the delivery guy, the local Starbucks baristas, his best friend, her roommate, and the squirrel in the park all have one thing in common—they believe that Gabe and Lea should get together. But somehow even when nothing is going on, something is happening between them, and everyone can see it

Royally Screwed - Emma Chase // Nicholas Arthur Frederick Edward Pembrook, Crowned Prince of Wessco , grew up with the whole world watching, and now Marriage Watch is in full force. Nicholas has to decide who he is and, more importantly, who he wants to be: a King... or the man who gets to love Olivia forever.

Summer Days and Summer Nights - Stephanie Perkins //  Maybe it's the long, lazy days, or maybe it's the heat making everyone a little bit crazy. Whatever the reason, summer is the perfect time for love to bloom. Summer Days & Summer Nights: Twelve Love Stories, written by twelve bestselling young adult writers and edited by the international bestselling author Stephanie Perkins, will have you dreaming of sunset strolls by the lake.

Just One Day - Gayle Forman //  Allyson Healey's life is exactly like her suitcase—packed, planned, ordered. Then on the last day of her three-week post-graduation European tour, she meets Willem. A free-spirited, roving actor, Willem is everything she’s not, and when he invites her to abandon her plans and come to Paris with him, Allyson says yes. This uncharacteristic decision leads to a day of risk and romance, liberation and intimacy: 24 hours that will transform Allyson’s life.

Just One Year - Gayle Forman // When he opens his eyes, Willem doesn’t know where in the world he is—Prague or Dubrovnik or back in Amsterdam. All he knows is that he is once again alone, and that he needs to find a girl named Lulu. They shared one magical day in Paris, and something about that day—that girl—makes Willem wonder if they aren’t fated to be together. He travels all over the world, from Mexico to India, hoping to reconnect with her. But as months go by and Lulu remains elusive, Willem starts to question if the hand of fate is as strong as he’d thought.

The Sun is Also a Star - Nicola Yoon //  Follow Natasha, a girl who believes in science and facts, as she meets Daniel, a dutiful son and dreamer, as they spend a single day together in New York - and try to stop Natasha’s family from being deported to Jamacia.

Everything Everything - Nicola Yoon // My disease is as rare as it is famous. Basically, I’m allergic to the world. I don’t leave my house, have not left my house in seventeen years. The only people I ever see are my mom and my nurse, Carla. But then one day, a moving truck arrives next door. I look out my window, and I see him. His name is Olly. Maybe we can’t predict the future, but we can predict some things. For example, I am certainly going to fall in love with Olly. It’s almost certainly going to be a disaster

Beneath Wandering Stars - Ashlee Cowles //  After her soldier brother is horribly wounded in Afghanistan, Gabriela must honor the vow she made: If anything ever happened to him, she would walk the Camino de Santiago through Spain, making a pilgrimage in his name. The worst part is that the promise stipulates that she must travel with her brother's best friend--a boy she has despised all her life.

Isn’t She Lovely - Lauren Layne //  Stephanie Kendrick gave up her whole summer to ace her NYU film school screenwriting course, so she's pissed to be stuck with a preppy, spoiled frat boy as her writing partner. Then again, with her piercings, black-rimmed eyes, and Goth wardrobe, Stephanie isn't exactly Ethan Price's type, either. He's probably got his eye on some leggy blonde with a trust fund... or does he?

Catch a Falling Star - Kim Culbertson //  Nothing ever happens in Little, CA. Which is just the way Carter Moon likes it. But when Hollywood arrives to film a movie starring former child star turned PR mess Adam Jakes, everything changes. Carter's town becomes a giant glittery set and, much to her annoyance, everyone is starry-eyed for Adam. Carter seems to be the only girl not falling all over herself to get a glimpse of him. Which apparently makes her perfect for the secret offer of a lifetime: playing the role of Adam's girlfriend while he's in town, to improve his public image, in exchange for a hefty paycheck.

The Hating Game - Sally Thorne //  Lucy Hutton and Joshua Templeman hate each other. Not dislike. Not begrudgingly tolerate. Hate. And they have no problem displaying their feelings through a series of ritualistic passive aggressive maneuvers as they sit across from each other, executive assistants to co-CEOs of a publishing company. Now up for the same promotion, their battle of wills has come to a head and Lucy refuses to back down when their latest game could cost her her dream job…But the tension between Lucy and Joshua has also reached its boiling point, and Lucy is discovering that maybe she doesn’t hate Joshua. And maybe, he doesn’t hate her either. Or maybe this is just another game.

Wanderlost - Jen Malone //  Aubree’s ready for a chilled-out summer at home in Ohio, until she finds herself taking over her sister’s job as a tour guide…in Europe. Things fall apart almost immediately, and when the tour company owner’s son comes along for the ride and steals Aubree’s heart, keeping up the ruse of being her own sister becomes the hardest challenge of all.

The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight - Jennifer E. Smith //  Today should be one of the worst days of seventeen-year-old Hadley Sullivan's life. Having missed her flight, she's stuck at JFK airport and late to her father's second wedding, which is taking place in London and involves a soon-to-be stepmother Hadley's never even met. Then she meets the perfect boy in the airport's cramped waiting area. His name is Oliver, he's British, and he's sitting in her row. A long night on the plane passes in the blink of an eye, and Hadley and Oliver lose track of each other in the airport chaos upon arrival. Can fate intervene to bring them together once more?

The Geography of You and Me - Jennifer E. Smith //  Lucy and Owen meet somewhere between the tenth and eleventh floors of a New York City apartment building, on an elevator rendered useless by a citywide blackout. After they’re rescued, they spend a single night together, wandering the darkened streets and marveling at the rare appearance of stars above Manhattan. Lucy and Owen’s relationship plays out across the globe as they stay in touch through postcards, occasional e-mails, and—finally—a reunion in the city where they first met.

P.S. I Like You - Kasie West //  While spacing out in chemistry class, Lily scribbles some of her favorite song lyrics onto her desk. The next day, she finds that someone has continued the lyrics on the desk and added a message to her. Soon, Lily and her anonymous pen pal are exchanging full-on letters—sharing secrets, recommending bands, and opening up to each other. Lily realizes she’s kind of falling for this letter writer. Only, who is he?

On the Fence - Kasie West //  For sixteen-year-old Charlotte Reynolds, aka Charlie, being raised by a single dad and three older brothers has its perks. She can outrun, outscore, and outwit every boy she knows—including her longtime neighbor and honorary fourth brother, Braden. But when it comes to being a girl, Charlie doesn't know the first thing about anything. To cope with the stress of faking her way through this new world of  makeup, lacy skirts, and BeDazzlers , Charlie seeks late-night refuge in her backyard, talking out her problems with Braden by the fence that separates them. But their Fence Chats can't solve Charlie's biggest problem: she's falling for Braden. Hard.

Since You’ve Been Gone - Morgan Matson //  It was Sloane who yanked Emily out of her shell and made life 100% interesting. But right before what should have been the most epic summer, Sloane just…disappears. All she leaves behind is a to-do list.  Emily now has this unexpected summer, and the help of Frank Porter (totally unexpected), to check things off Sloane's list. Who knows what she’ll find?

Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit - Jaye Robin Brown //  Joanna Gordon has been out and proud for years, but when her popular radio evangelist father remarries and decides to move all three of them from Atlanta to the more conservative Rome, Georgia, he asks Jo to do the impossible: to lie low for the rest of her senior year. And Jo reluctantly agrees.  Things get complicated when she meets Mary Carlson, the oh-so-tempting sister of her new friend at school.

Far From You - Tess Sharpe //  After a painful car accident led to a dangerous OxyContin addiction, Sophie’s fought every day to get and remain clean. When someone plants drugs on Sophie after the death of her best friend Mina, everyone assumes that Sophie fell back into her destructive habits and took Mina down with her. Only she knows that Mina’s murder wasn’t a drug deal gone wrong, and only she can stop the killer.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire  Sáenz //  Aristotle is an angry teen with a brother in prison. Dante is a know-it-all who has an unusual way of looking at the world. When the two meet at the swimming pool, they seem to have nothing in common. But as the loners start spending time together, they discover that they share a special friendship—the kind that changes lives and lasts a lifetime. And it is through this friendship that Ari and Dante will learn the most important truths about themselves and the kind of people they want to be.

History is All You Left Me - Adam Silvera //  When Griffin’s first love and ex-boyfriend, Theo, dies in a drowning accident, his universe implodes. Even though Theo had moved to California for college and started seeing Jackson, Griffin never doubted Theo would come back to him when the time was right. But now, the future he’s been imagining for himself has gone far off course. To make things worse, the only person who truly understands his heartache is Jackson. But no matter how much they open up to each other, Griffin’s downward spiral continues. 

I’ll Give You the Sun - Jandy Nelson //  Jude and her twin brother, Noah, are incredibly close. At thirteen, isolated Noah draws constantly and is falling in love with the charismatic boy next door, while daredevil Jude cliff-dives and wears red-red lipstick and does the talking for both of them. But three years later, Jude and Noah are barely speaking. Something has happened to wreck the twins in different and dramatic ways . . until Jude meets a cocky, broken, beautiful boy, as well as someone else—an even more unpredictable new force in her life.

Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour - Morgan Matson //  Amy Curry is not looking forward to her summer. Her mother decided to move across the country and now it's Amy's responsibility to get their car from California to Connecticut. The only problem is, since her father died in a car accident, she isn't ready to get behind the wheel. Enter Roger. An old family friend, he also has to make the cross-country trip - and has plenty of baggage of his own. The road home may be unfamiliar - especially with their friendship venturing into uncharted territory - but together, Amy and Roger will figure out how to map their way.

The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson // Andie’s got a plan for her summer, just as she does for everything in life. But when it falls apart thanks to a political scandal, and she ends up spending the summer living with the last person she ever wanted to—her own father—all her carefully laid plans take turns for the unexpected, including the one she had for her heart.

Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell //  Cath is a Simon Snow fan.  She and her twin sister, Wren, ensconced themselves in the Simon Snow series when they were just kids; it’s what got them through their mother leaving. Cath’s sister has mostly grown away from fandom, but Cath can’t let go. She doesn’t want to. Now that they’re going to college, Wren has told Cath she doesn’t want to be roommates. Cath is on her own, completely outside of her comfort zone. For Cath, the question is: Can she do this?

Eleanor & Park - Rainbow Rowell //  Set over the course of one school year, this is the story of two star-crossed sixteen-year-olds—smart enough to know that first love almost never lasts, but brave and desperate enough to try.

Everything Leads to You - Nina LaCour //  Emi, a girl who knows how to design a film set like no one else, but finds her love life far from cinematic. Stuck in a hot-and-cold pattern with the same girl, she begins to break the cycle when a mysterious letter from an acting legend leads her to the beautiful and unconventional Ava.

Gena/Finn - Kat Helegeson & Hannah Moskowitz //  Gena and Finn, two girls in different life stages, brought together by fandom for a TV show called Up Below. While their shared love is what initially bonds them, it doesn’t take long for them to click in every other way, baring their souls to each other about their lives and loves and worlds beyond the screen.  But the closer they get, the more complicated things become, especially for Finn and the boyfriend she lives with.

South of Sunshine - Dana Elmendorf //  In Sunshine, Tennessee, the main event in town is Friday night football, the biggest party of the year is held in a field filled with pickup trucks, and church attendance is mandatory. For Kaycee Jean McCoy, life in Sunshine means dating guys she has no interest in, saying only “yes, ma’am” when the local bigots gossip at her mom’s cosmetics salon, and avoiding certain girls at all costs. Girls like Bren Dawson.

If I Was Your Girl - Meredith Russo //  For Amanda, moving in with her father is an opportunity to start over where no one but her dad has ever known her as Andrew, and the move most certainly agrees with her: she makes new friends in no time, and it gives her and her father a chance to get to know each other again. But she also falls in love, which is something she never expected to happen, has no idea how to handle, and just may spell her downfall.

Run - Kody Keplinger //  Bo’s a wild girl who does her own thing and whose parents couldn’t care less what she’s up to. Agnes is legally blind, and has parents who practically keep her prisoner in an attempt to keep her “safe” from the outside world. Despite their differences, the two become best friends…which means when Bo comes to Agnes one night on the run from the cops and asks her to leave town at her side, Agnes agrees, and the two head off on a hell of an adventure, complete with a whole lot of law-breaking.

A List of Cages - Robin Roe //  When Adam Blake lands the best elective ever in his senior year, serving as an aide to the school psychologist, he thinks he’s got it made. Sure, it means a lot of sitting around, which isn’t easy for a guy with ADHD, but he can’t complain, since he gets to spend the period texting all his friends. Then the doctor asks him to track down the troubled freshman who keeps dodging her, and Adam discovers that the boy is Julian—the foster brother he hasn’t seen in five years.

You Know Me Well - Nina LaCour & David Levithan //  Mark and Kate have sat next to each other for an entire year, but have never spoken. For whatever reason, their paths outside of class have never crossed.  When Kate and Mark meet up, little do they know how important they will become to each other—and how, in a very short time, they will know each other better than any of the people who are supposed to know them more. When Kate and Mark meet up, little do they know how important they will become to each other—and how, in a very short time, they will know each other better than any of the people who are supposed to know them more.

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli //  Sixteen-year-old and not-so-openly gay Simon Spier prefers to save his drama for the school musical. But when an email falls into the wrong hands, his secret is at risk of being thrust into the spotlight. Now Simon is actually being blackmailed: if he doesn’t play wingman for class clown Martin, his sexual identity will become everyone’s business. Worse, the privacy of Blue, the pen name of the boy he’s been emailing, will be compromised.

Always the Last to Know - Crystal Bowling //  Wearing a Maid of Honor dress that very well may cause the South to want to rise again, Jess Reynolds is prepared to walk down the aisle at her best friend's wedding. It's just that things keep getting in the way, like a sex-crazed coworker, an annoying brother-of-the-bride, and a handsome and horribly charming friend posing as the Best Man. As it turns out, Jess might just be the last one to know everything, including the workings of her own heart.

Can You Keep a Secret - Sophie Kinsella //  Meet Emma Corrigan, a young woman with a huge heart, an irrepressible spirit, and a few little secrets: Secrets from her boyfriend: I've always thought Connor looks a bit like Ken. As in Barbie and Ken. Secrets from her mother: I lost my virginity in the spare bedroom with Danny Nussbaum while Mum and Dad were downstairs watching Ben-Hur. Secrets she wouldn't share with anyone in the world: I have no idea what NATO stands for. Or even what it is. Until she spills them all to a handsome stranger on a plane. At least, she thought he was a stranger.…

Famous in Love - Rebecca Serle //  The romantic story of a girl who gets plucked from obscurity to star in the next major feature film franchise based on a book and the ensuing love triangles she gets entangled in on—-and off screen. 

Love and First Sight - Josh Sundquist //  On his first day at a new school, blind sixteen-year-old Will Porter accidentally groped a girl on the stairs, sat on another student in the cafeteria, and somehow drove a classmate to tears. High school can only go up from here, right? As Will starts to find his footing, he develops a crush on a sweet but shy girl named Cecily. And despite his fear that having a girlfriend will make him inherently dependent on someone sighted, the two of them grow closer and closer.

Fan Art - Sarah Tregay //  With the hurdle of coming out to his family overcome, some might think that the worst of Jamie’s problems are over, but really, they’re just beginning. With prom around the corner and his best friend Mason already lined up to take a girl, Jamie is forced to confront overwhelming jealousy and the knowledge that his growing feelings for Mason aren’t going away anytime soon.

One Man Guy - Michael Barakiva //  Aleksander Khederian doesn’t need (or want) summer school, but his strict Armenian-American parents think it’s the best way for him to stay on the honor track. Just when he thinks his summer couldn’t get any worse, he meets Ethan. Cool, confident, and adventurous, Ethan is everything Alek wishes he could be. As he’s drawn closer to Ethan’s alluring persona, Alek realizes that he might want to be a bit more than “just friends” with the attractive skateboarder.

Look Both Ways - Alison Cherry //  A summer away from the city is the beginning of everything for Brooklyn Shepard. Her theater apprenticeship at Allerdale is a chance to prove that she can carve out a niche all her own, surrounded by people who don’t know anything about her or her family of superstar performers. Brooklyn immediately hits it off with her roommate, Zoe, and soon their friendship turns into something more.

The Art of Being Normal - Lisa Williamson // David Piper has always been an outsider. His parents think he’s gay. The school bully thinks he’s a freak. Only his two best friends know the real truth – David wants to be a girl. On the first day at his new school Leo Denton has one goal – to be invisible. Attracting the attention of the most beautiful girl in year eleven is definitely not part of that plan. When Leo stands up for David in a fight, an unlikely friendship forms.

[davidastbury]

October 2017

St Ann’s Square, Manchester

I am behind a mother and child – she is moving very quickly and the small boy is trotting after her. Easy to see that he is in the dog-house, having been told off for something or other, and now his mother is ignoring him - her head turned away.

He is making gestures with his hands – perhaps explaining something but she, evidently still angry, will not look at him. But something he says causes her to tilt her head – just a quick movement; her head sort of leaning to one side.

The boy immediately spots this and trots in front of her, looking up like a sad dog, making circular gestures with his hands and chattering all the time.

That movement of her head gave everything away – he’s half-way there, she’ll give in very soon now.

The Strand

There was a woman who, at around 5.00pm every afternoon, made her way along The Strand in London. She called in every shop, store, and café, and would clap her hands and call out - ‘We are closing now, please leave the premises, thank you!’

She was a nuisance and sometimes the police were called, but after a week or so, she would be back. I remember her clearly (I used to help in a shop) – she had the neglected appearance of many who are subservient to strong obsessions. She was impressive - like an inspired artist or actress, breathing the pure air of truth – and then ejected onto the pavement – like an unwanted pest - confused and inhaling the petrol fumes of the slow traffic.

Errand

The boy was told by his mother to go to a certain house to collect something. He asked what it was and she replied – ‘Don’t ask what it is, just knock on the door and say who you are - say you are my son and it will be given to you.’

‘Is it valuable?’ – he asked.

His mother replied – ‘It is very valuable and you must be careful with it.’

‘Do I have to go now?’ – he asked.

‘Yes…now’

He set off running through the streets and across the fields. He grew to love the sunsets and the noises of night creatures.

Sometimes, in the dark, he would think of his mother - waiting.

Insecurity on the 09.17 (stopping) Train

The last time I saw this man he was using his phone and telling someone he was about to get married; that was about two months ago. I didn’t get the full story of course, but it was clear what was happening, and he was telling a friend all about it. He looked very happy, but happy in the way that unhappy people often do, something tells you that this is not their normal mood. His face is eloquent in expressing sadness.

Anyway, that was a while back, and now he is presumably a settled, married man, but I am trying to catch his thoughts as he looks, unseeingly, at the passing fields and warehouses.

‘She likes good-looking men with Jags. She likes men who can dominate the table at dinner-parties. She likes men who can read a balance sheet at a glance, understanding financial statements and the stock movements. Men who like to stand with other men, glasses in hand – in fact they look odd without glasses in their hands – men who don’t look quite right in suits - men who have thick wrists and thick legs, like rugby players – men who never read a book from one year to the next and who know nothing about art, and don’t wish to.’

I see these thoughts, or similar thoughts travel across his eyes, and then he fumbles in a side pocket and takes out a purse. He squeezes two fingers inside, presumable looking for a ticket, or money, and even though his face is turned away the final reading comes across loud and clear.

‘And what the hell is she doing with me?'

My Town…(Russell’s sister and the knife-thrower)

Russell’s sister was the first person to inspire me with ambition. She was fourteen, two years older than me, but I dreamed of the two of us going away together and living lives of bliss; this was despite her never having spoken to me, or even looked at me with anything other than indifference – but my success would change all that.

My path to wealth and happiness was perfecting my skill as a knife-thrower. I used to practice in my back garden, setting up an old door as the target and using kitchen knives. Having no one to tutor me in this art, I had to learn from mistakes. When you hold a knife by the tip of the blade and throw it, it rotates as it heads for the target. Only about 10% of the final rotation will achieve a satisfactory hit, in the other 90%, the knife clatters against the target and falls to the ground. The skill is being able to calculate the distance from the target where the 10% is certain – and you do this by working from the shortest, say 3 metres, and then increase the distance by multiples. You quickly become good at assessing distances in multiples of 3 metres.

The other technique is ‘under-arm’ throwing. You cup the handle and launch it with a sharp upward swing, as if you were in a bowling alley. The knife does not rotate, so it is easier to correctly contact the target but it is difficult to develop an effective force – the throws tend to be weak and sloppy.

My plan for wealth and fame consisted of joining a travelling circus. She would be my assistant. The audience would gasp at her beauty as she flounced and posed in her sequined costume, tossing back her long hair and showing off her legs. They would also gasp as my cluster of knives formed her outline – each one nearer to her body – and then a drumroll when the final ones thudded into the board.

There would be deafening applause, flowers were showering down on us – show-biz managers in bow-ties thrust contracts at me to sign – my parents were weepy-eyed on the front row – my pals from school (including the geography teacher) were on their feet cheering – lights were flashing – bottles of champagne popped - the clowns came on throwing buckets of water over each other – the circus manager in scarlet coat and top hat – the band giving it all they had – balloons banging but all I could see was Russell’s sister smiling at me in adoration.

My Town……Russell’s Sister

Russell viewed his elder sister in the same stoical way that twelve-year-old boys face up to the various miseries that buffet their lives. She was in the category of a double geography lesson on a Friday afternoon, or the misfortune of a broken wrist – ruling out swimming for several weeks. She was a trial to be endured – something that the scoutmaster might call ‘character developing’ - rather like a ‘testing from heaven’, as described in the book of saints, presented to him for faultless punctuality at Sunday School.

But I was very alert to the floating charms of his sister – although she never gave me a second glance. She would pass through the living room with speed and style, like a film-star fretting her appearance. She was always cross about something, or it seemed so to me. Her life seemed one long vexation. I remember the odd stillness in the room after she had gone – the room itself seemed to sigh. Russell would be silent as if a migraine had lifted. Somewhere at the back of the house I could hear the chime of her voice and then a door slammed.

Nonchalantly, as if the view of the garden actually interested me, I sauntered across to the window…no-one on the path… no one moving at the sides of the house…there was no other way to leave, not if you wanted to go down to the main road. And then there was a noise of wheels on loose chippings and she came past on her bicycle, frowning and peddling hard…

I watched her all the way down the path and she did a skid-stop at the junction - she swung the bike round sending up a cloud of pebbles. It was the best skid-stop i had ever seen.

Russell and the Trombone

Russell’s parents spent a lot of money on his musical education. By the age of thirteen he played the piano, all the recorders, clarinet, cornet and from what I could see, all the other brass instruments. He won prizes and went through the grades, so presumably, his parents were pleased.

But it didn’t seem to matter to Russell himself. He hardly ever talked about his lessons and found requests to play, mostly from school, a bit of a bore. One day, when I was at his house he showed me a trombone – all highly polished and snug in a velvet lined case.

He blew a few notes and then said - ‘This is PC Dicks-on’. ‘PC Dicks – on’ was our name for a retired pervy policeman who lived nearby. He had tried it on with both of us; and no doubt with every boy in a two-mile radius.

So Russell played an impression of the pervy policeman. A humpty-dumpty walk and a long drawn out ‘hello!’. And then a really creepy sliding note catching the awful pressure of his baleful gaze.

And there I was, in Russell’s front room, falling about with laughter and understanding music for the very first time.

Stella

Our birthdays were in the same week, so there was a little celebration in the classroom for both of us together. We were seven years old.

Stella was different from the other (bossy) girls - she was quiet, withdrawn, shying away from any sort of attention - as if the only thing she hoped from life was to be left alone. If I search through files I’m sure I have a photograph of her – a class photo – and she’s at the front with her waxy hair and ugly National Health glasses – squinting in the sunshine. She lived in a very poor part of town, just a few streets from where I lived, but the houses had no bathrooms, no lavatories (there was a row of sheds in the yard which were emptied by council workers). She seemed to have no friends, and she had no dad.

It was summer and Stella had been away from school for a few days. I found out that she was ill after having dental treatment at the ‘school clinic’. This was a building of great terror to all of us. It was right next to the parish church and sometimes, in summer when the windows were open, you could hear the screams of children inside – all dentistry was carried out without any form of anaesthetic.

And then I saw her in the street. I invited her to come to my house and she nodded. All the way she walked behind me and I had to keep turning to see if she was still there. As we got to the house I went to her and held her hand.

My mother, no doubt surprised, was very gracious to Stella - she made small talk but was okay at not getting any response and she brought some drinks and cakes into the front room for us. We watched TV, not speaking and not needing to.

My Town

Stanley came home from the war with an twisted right foot and a scrambled mind. The local authority gave him a stiff-bristled brush and instructed him to sweep the pavements. His allotted area was a two mile stretch of Ainsworth Road (both sides).

One of the effects of his war experiences was that he would have fits of violent convulsions. His eyes would bulge and he would swing his brush over his head, as if fighting off a swarm of birds. People would cross the road - sometimes he would fall down, and for a few minutes be furiously punching an invisible opponent.

Of course, as children, on our way to and from school, this was very amusing. I must have felt a twinge of conscience when, a few years later, I saw Stanley in the street. He was wearing a suit and no longer carrying his brush. I asked him about his fits and he said that he now ‘took pills’. I also asked him did he know what the convulsions were all about. He replied that when the attacks came he was fighting the Germans - he was defending the town from invasion.

He was defending my town and we had laughed at him and no one had helped him.

Unsolicited advice!

I was quite young and I was staring at a very beautiful woman – I couldn’t stop looking. Occasionally she would move her head sideways and look back at me; she could feel the heat of my eyes – but each time she did so, I quickly looked away. And then, to my shock, she came over and spoke to me.

‘Don’t ever stop staring – you must never stop staring – because if you do you will lose the force of your life.’

On the Train

She has a bad cough. A girl, Asian, Pakistani probably, and she has a loud racking cough. It is a ‘keep-everyone-in-the-house-awake-all-night’ type of cough. She looks very tired and probably spent the night biting onto paper tissues with tears of frustration running across her face. The cough will not be placated.

Worst of all is the lack of sympathy on the faces of the people in the carriage. With each spasm they all look up in disapproving surprise, as if the coughing was unreasonable, an insult, an intrusion into their lives. The girl, who is about seventeen, is upset.

But a young man sitting next to her (the carriage is full) is different. They aren’t together, I can tell that, but he seems to have a concerned interest, like the best kind of doctor. Perhaps he is a doctor and wants to help her, or perhaps he would like to lean slightly to his left and kiss the top of her head.

Applicant

He said: - ‘Please accept me into your community.’

The Voice said: - ‘Why do you wish to be part of our community?’.

He said: - ‘Because I am sick of the world and all its troubles.’

The Voice said: - ‘But we in the community love the world.’

He said: - ‘So there is no escape for me?'

The Voice said: - ‘No, and there never will be.’

The Night Train

The story cries out to be told...how they had met - how he had loved her sad eyes and white skin; every inch of her white skin! Their love was important; it cannot be discarded.

It was a lifetime ago, and the last train has gone. His mood changes, he looks away and decides to keep the past to himself.

Leftovers

We all keep things that once belonged to someone special. Something that they used, perhaps something that they were fond of. It might be our way of holding onto them – after all, a physical object brings the past into the present. It might be something that a child made in class, a simple item of needlework – or a boy’s doorlatch. They give us a feeling of continuity – the link hasn’t been broken – we are still ‘in touch’.

But what about a book – his words – his laughter – his anxiety! Or his paintings? He may have gone, but his way of enquiring, his way of looking – is hanging on the wall, or on the shelf, and it breaks your heart.

[bandanageorgereviews-blog]

Stormzy - Gang Sings And Prayer Album Review

Sitting in an arm chair with my slippers on and a cup of tea keeping me warm at 10pm on a Friday night, I can't help but get the feeling that grime, perhaps, wasn't meant for me. The very nature of the word grime paints a picture of what it has to offer as a genre, and as such it is confrontational, aggressive and unmistakable, which are all things I often enjoy in music. But, rather than confronting things like politics like Rage Against the Machine might do, grime artists often seem to just confront one another, people who've been ''chatting bare shit'', or even random strangers. This is where I begin to lose truck with it, because I'm simply more inclined to listen to something actually interesting than Afghan Dan's three minute romp about a man who's skull resembles confectionery. There's a whole roster of grime artists spinning their own take on the genre, from young blood like Little T and Soph Aspin who are best known for their ''sends'' to each other and other blackpool MCs, to more ''mature'' artists like Bugsy Malone or JME. But then enters Stormzy, arguably the biggest and baddest of the bunch. For those unfamiliar, Stormzy skyrocketed to success after a video of him performing a track in a park poetically named ''Shut Up'' blew up in 2015, and has since earned him (at the time of writing) 47.6 million views on YouTube alone. Figures like that don't come to many unsigned artists, let alone a man barely into his 20s. Now, in 2017, Stormzy has released his debut album, Gang Signs and Prayer through his own independent record label, #Merky Records. The title immediately grabbed me, as it seemed to somehwat deviate from the naming conventions of most grime releases. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting, but it's reminiscent of what I imagine Kanye and Kim's on-the-table names were for their children. (Disclaimer: I love Kanye West.) The album opens with the aptly titled ''First Things First'', a rather unapologetic track where Stormzy addresses many, many, many things. Topics up for discussion range from his dedication to the music, being a bad man, what it was like before he was famous, calling people dick heads, drive by shootings, drugs, Adele, being better than other people, and a bizarre pairing of Jay Z's alias Jigga and the beginning of Puff Daddy's name, perhaps a nod to the Pokemon character Jigglypuff? Odd lyrics aside, this is a standard affair grime tune. For brief moments Stormzy gets introspective and there's a slight promise of some depth to this track, but he's very quick to return to boasting and maintaining his tough man image. So far, nothing ground breaking. Moving on to track 2, titled ''Cold''. The production on this beat is, pardon me for saying so, fucking sick as. The instrumental is varied and changes at regular intervals, serving synthesized melodies, deep bass lines that punch through the albeit repetitive drum beat, moving at a fast tempo, and keeping my head bouncing throughout. However, I find myself thinking about how fucking dope the beat is a lot more when listening to this track than actually paying any mind to what Stormzy is saying. The track is about just how ''Cold'' Stormzy really is, as he proceeds to talk about how doesn't give a fuck about anything or anyone, how he's not afraid of anyone but plenty of people are afraid of him, and how he is, Stormzy, champion of South London. If it wasn't for the instrumental on this one, it would be entirely forgettable, which is a shame, because the beat is really fucking sick. Track 3 is called ''Bad Boys'', which, is to be expected really. The track opens with a skit of sorts as a heavily aggravated gentleman addresses a group of other presumably Adidas clad gentlemen. He raises his voice, beckons for a man named Carlos, and hollers about how much of a ''bad man'' he was in jail. As much as I hate to break it to both you and Carlos, and any impressionable youths reading this, having gone to jail for unprovoked crime makes you an absolute jeb end and you should feel bad about yourself, unless that's what you mean by ''bad man'', and you're actually talking about what a deplorable individual you are. Stormzy kind of goes on to shut down this school of thought, by effectively calling this kind of person a fake, giving many examples of the behaviour a fake bad man might exhibit, such as thinking they're hard for watching Netflix original Narcos, or driving a nice car but not having the money to actually pay bills. On this track Stormzy falls into his own trap of what I call ''Shut Up'' syndrome, which appears to be a trope in grime. ''Shut Up'' Syndrome is a condition in which grime artists rhyme the same word or phrase with itself for a whole verse, or sometimes even a whole song. This time, it's the phrase ''bad boys''. Whether this is done to remind you what song you're actually listening to, or if it's just for lack of a lexicon I don't know, but I think it's shit and lazy and I hate it. Of course, Stormzy goes on to proclaim that he is the real bad boy, he calls himself a gangster, with a hard R, and talks about how he even has a knife, so it's for real. After this average first verse, we're treated to the most redeemable part of this song, a fairly catchy trap-inspired hook, which again mentions the fabled Carlos. There's then a verse delivered by some bloke named Ghetts, who does the exact same thing as Stormzy, calling everyone else a fucking bitch, and sarcastically stating he's afraid of guns, implying that he's not, which is a real big claim for someone I've never fucking heard of. All in all, a relatively weak track, but I've listened to it three times already so at least the chorus is good. Track 4 is called Blinded By Your Grace, pt. 1. This song is a beautiful sucker punch because it takes what you've heard so far and tells it to fuck off, but in a really nice way. This track is a simplistic, gorgeous gospel song on which Stormzy sings about presumably a woman in his life (or it's about God but I'm going to give Stormzy the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe it's both and he's written a song with two meanings), which is a nice change from always hearing about how many women a respective artist is shagging at any given time in a lot of rap and grime. Stormzy is accompanied by a couple of female voices and a synthesized organ in this track, but its not overdone, and that's what makes this track special as such a contrast from what's been presented this far into the album. Whilst he's no Freddie Mercury, Stormzy sounds very genuine on this track and I think the fact he's not a singer adds to that, because you get a sense of emotion and feeling from him which you might not get on something as crass as ''Cold.'' More of this please Stormzy, I'm about it. Track 5 is a big ol' blast back to the first three tracks, and it's called ''Big For Your Boots''. You've probably heard it already. If ''Cold'' and ''Bad Boys'' had a child and it wasn't disciplined properly this would be it. It is pretty much a lyrical hybridization of those two tracks, where Stormzy continues to talk about how he's better than you, how he will resort to violence should you continue to be over confident, mentions Adele for the second time and you better not dare do this that your the other, or you'll get kicked. This track uses something a lot of modern pop beats do, and that is the utilization of annoying, pitch shifted vocal samples that have been remixed so heavily they're not actually words any more, and I can't think of many conventions more fucking detestable than this. This song is, once again, standard grime. Track is 6 is called Velvet/Jenny Francis-Interlude, and I almost didn't fucking bother with it because of it's even worse pitch shifted vocal samples. Seriously, this sample is awful, it's almost unlistenable, and whoever produced it needs a fucking word with themself. However, when you're not being audibly assaulted by Alvin The Chipmunk's estranged brother, this is a pretty good song. The lyrics focus are about a woman who Stormzy is infatuated with, which is a topic Stormzy seems to shine on. The lyrics here are actually rather good, where Stormzy delves into metaphors and similes, albeit rather cliche at times but still, it's a very nice step up to go from ''I got the big sized toes on my feet'' to ''it feels just like velvet, a touch of the wind then it's gone''. Other than the god awful vocal sample on this instrumental, the beat is very smooth and easy going, something complimented by Stormzy's sung vocals and the accompanying female backing vocals. The hook on this track is melodic and contains the strongest of the lyrics to be found in this song, and I like it quite a lot. Good job Stormzy, gold star for you. Track 7, Mr. Skeng. I feel as though Stormzy actually just wrote several drafts of ''First Things First'', decided they were all alright, and put them on the album as their own tracks. This far into the record, there's been two themes for songs, why Stormzy is great and how other individuals are not, or how much he loves this girl. I like a good concept record, but when your concept can be summarized with the phrase ''I'm good, you're not'', you may need to stretch out a bit more. In this track, you can expect more of the same lyrically, except in this one Stormzy talks about God for a line or two, references two bible verses, and then in the next breath commands that he be called ''Gunshot Mike''. Alternatively, he would accept being called Mr. Skeng as well, but I'm not sure why you'd want that, because my vision of Mr. Skeng is an overweight secondary school P.E teacher who also covers Geography when there's no supply teachers available. The instrumental on this track is also forgettable, synthesized strings, generic drum beat. Not a particularly special one. Track 8 goes by Cigarettes and Cush, but I'm spelling it Cigarettes and Kush, because I'm not a fucking caveman. This song is about loving a girl, but really liking her because she's always got fags and a 20 bag on her. Stormzy sings again with a female backing vocal provided by Lily Allen on the hook, and it's fairly enjoyable. Stormzy talks about how he's perhaps made some mistakes in the relationship so far, but he vows to fix it. If I had a gram for every time I'd been told that in previous relationships and it not actually happen I'd always have kush too. The second verse in this song is performed by a lady called Kehlani, and she does a pretty stand up job, making ''passing the bong'' seem like a genuine romantic gesture. On the next Stormzy delivered verse, he talks about how he hopes God saves this girl of his, because she saved him, and its all very sweet, but it's somewhat implied that their relationship only seemed salvageable when they had some weed in, and she might not really care that much any more. I hope it works out mate. Track 9 is another interlude track and this one is called 21 Gun Salute. Another one with an organ instrumental, but this one is actually about something different. On this song Stormzy pens a tribute to his friends, or ''bredren'' as they might be called on the road. Stormzy once again addresses God, in the hopes that divine intervention may bless his friends and he, by helping his friend with a gambling addiction or letting Stormz ''bun his zoot in peace''. There's some really subtle elements to the production on this track that flesh out it's simplistic body and make it a very pretty piece of music, such as the vocal harmonies in the chorus, or gentle bass guitar licks that hang in the background of the track. One of my personal favourites of this record. Track 10 is Blinded By Your Grace, Pt. 2 and it's pulled a proper Spiderman 2 on it by being even better than the first one. This track is actually really, really good. Like, really good. Stormzy declares his love for God on this track in true gospel fashion and he does it very well, backed by a full band and gospel choir, with some excellent instrumentation accompanying what is a very heartfelt set of lyrics. This is the kind of thing I was hoping would be on a record called Gang Signs and Prayer, and Stormzy delivered, albeit 10 tracks into a 16 track album. If there's one thing that gives me hope for Stormzy's future as an artist, it's this song and to a lesser degree the others like it, because it proves that he's more than just a grime artist, but someone with a genuine sense of self, and I hope that he moves into this introspective direction further down the line. Excellent track on every front. Track 11, Return of the Rucksack. This one is grime again. A repeat of some similar lyrical themes in this one, again about being better than the rest, and calling people out. However, Stormzy does acknowledge on this track that he thinks highly of his abilities, in fact, he states that he thinks he's best, and attributes that to bias. At least there's some self awareness on this one. Stormzy's delivery and rhyme scheme on this one is a bit of an upgrade from previous tracks of the same cadence, and out of all the more deeply grime tracks on this record, this one is probably my favourite. That being said, it's nothing I've not heard before, and it's nothing I've not heard before on this album. Track 12 is called 100 Bags, and it's about Stormzy's mum. Please keep making music like this Mike mate, it's really good. Stormzy as an artist undoubtedly does his best on tracks where he's opening up and singing about things of substance. Before this song begins, there's a voice mail recording of Stormzy's mother telling him to put his faith into his Lord, and it makes you feel all good inside because it's apparent that his mother is very proud of what he's accomplished at such a young age. This track brings Stormzy into a more human light almost, and I feel reminded of the fact that he's not much older than myself, and he comes from very humble beginnings. Stormzy expresses that in this song whether he means to or not, showing his gratitude for what his mother did for him raising him as a single parent, not an easy task by any measure. He talks of how he's going to make up any mistakes he's made to her now that he's successful and can give her what she deserves. There's some lovely instrumentation on this one, with a very interesting multiple vocal layer effect in the tail end of the track. Again, it's moments on this album like this that make Stormzy great. Tell your mum you love her. Number 13 is called Don't Cry For Me. On this track Stormzy once again opens up and talks about what it's like to grow up in South London, and decries a lot of the hardships that come with it. In the first verse Stormzy tells of friends he's lost, whether that be through losing touch or people who've sadly passed away, and he talks of the pride him and his friends share together. He also addresses an issue often not touched upon, that issue being the expectation of masculinity from men of all ages. Stormzy states that he cried when his friend passed away, as if it would be unexpected for him to do so. When surrounded by the stigma that men should hold their emotions in and never express themselves through emotional formats, deep seated issues arise, and big ups to Stormz for bringing that up. In the second verse Stormzy talks about how cutthroat the way of life can be in the place he hails from, and talks about how some of his friends are serving life sentences, stating that it's a ''burn or die'' kind of atmosphere. I feel the need to highlight the fantastic work of Rosie Danvers here, who provides the orchestral strings on this track as well as others on this album. Rosie Danvers has worked with the likes of Kanye West and Jay Z in the past, and she always does a fantastic job. The instrumentation here provides a beautifully smooth R&B track, pushing Stormzy's work out into other urban genres. Track 14 isn't really a song. It's a phone conversation between Stormzy and and chap called Crazy Titch. Crazy Titch pretty much monologues throughout the call about Stormzy, and how he's going to take grime to being a ''first rate genre'', comparing him to Neo from The Matrix. He sings Stormzy's praises quite a lot really. To be completely honest, Crazy Titch is probably right. Grime is an interesting beast, it's one of those things that's been on the rise for the last couple of years in a big way, and more and more people from all over the UK are diving into it headfirst. At the end of the day I'm just a bit of an emo really so I'm hardly the authority on whether grime is good or not, but you've made it this far into this review so you must care a bit about what I have to say. Although its not something I'd regularly spin on my turntable, there's no denying that grime is the next big thing, anyone with half a foot of foresight could see that. I think it will really revolutionize rap music in the years to come, and I wouldn't be one bit surprised if Stormzy was at the forefront of that. Track 15 is Shut Up. You've heard Shut Up. I don't need to talk about it whatsoever. The final track on this album is called Lay Me Bare, and it's easily the most honest song on the record. One final message to God, Stormzy puts his blood on the page. This song reads like a man's final words, Stormzy documents his difficulties with depression and for want of a better term, lays himself bare. Stormzy thanks the people in his life who've helped him through hard times by name, and gives another very genuine performance. In the second verse of this song especially Stormzy produces a lot of emotion, and this time, genuine anger at his father who had been vacant from his life for years. Again, you get an insight into the real Stormzy on this one, perhaps more so than any other. The production on this track serves the song very well, and although it uses that vocal sampling technique I addressed earlier, I've definitely heard it put to worse effect. A very real piece of work indeed. So, that was Gang Signs and Prayer. For a debut record from such a young man, I'd say this record is a solid achievement. For me, this record is a bit hit and miss, but when it hits, it knocks it out the fucking park big time. The weaker tracks on this for me are easily the songs where Stormzy sticks to the rules of grime lyric writing, and I don't find that particularly enjoyable, especially when there's quite a few tracks like that on this record. Stormzy's strongest suit is when he opens himself up, and he really does that towards the end of this album, credit where credit is due, he comes out with some absolutely outstanding moments on this. If it wasn't obvious, I think the best track on this album is Blinded By Your Grace pt 2, by a long way. Coming away from this, I enjoyed this a lot more than I disliked it, and for that, this album gets a strong 7/10. Definitely worth a listen, but there's room to grow and I'm sure Stormzy will do just that. If you're into grime any way, this will likely be your Bible. Well done Stormzy.

[readbookywooks]

The Pool of Tears

`Curiouser and curiouser!' cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); `now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!' (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). `Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sure _I_ shan't be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can; --but I must be kind to them,' thought Alice, `or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.'

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. `They must go by the carrier,' she thought; `and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

ALICE'S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.

HEARTHRUG,

NEAR THE FENDER,

(WITH ALICE'S LOVE).

Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!'

Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.

`You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' said Alice, `a great girl like you,' ( she might well say this), `to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!' But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall .

After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning , splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, `Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!' Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, `If you please, sir--' The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: `Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I' ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, THAT'S the great puzzle!' And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.

`I'm sure I'm not Ada,' she said, `for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, SHE'S she, and I'm I, and--oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is--oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn't signify: let's try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome--no, THAT'S all wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I'll try and say "How doth the little--"' and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:--

`How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale!

`How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spread his claws, And welcome little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!'

`I'm sure those are not the right words,' said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, `I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here! It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying "Come up again, dear!" I shall only look up and say "Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else"--but, oh dear!' cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, `I do wish they WOULD put their heads down! I am so VERY tired of being all alone here!'

As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid gloves while she was talking . `How CAN I have done that?' she thought. `I must be growing small again.' She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

`That WAS a narrow escape!' said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; `and now for the garden!' and she ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, `and things are worse than ever,' thought the poor child, `for I never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it's too bad, that it is!'

As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. He first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, `and in that case I can go back by railway,' she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

`I wish I hadn't cried so much!' said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. `I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That WILL be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.'

Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.

`Would it be of any use, now,' thought Alice, `to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there's no harm in trying.' So she began: `O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!' (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother's Latin Grammar, `A mouse--of a mouse--to a mouse--a mouse--O mouse!' The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

`Perhaps it doesn't understand English,' thought Alice; `I daresay it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.' (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: `Ou est ma chatte?' which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. `Oh, I beg your pardon!' cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. `I quite forgot you didn't like cats.'

`Not like cats!' cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. `Would YOU like cats if you were me?'

`Well, perhaps not,' said Alice in a soothing tone: `don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,' Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, `and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face--and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse--and she's such a capital one for catching mice--oh, I beg your pardon!' cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. `We won't talk about her any more if you'd rather not.'

`We indeed!' cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. `As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family always HATED cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't let me hear the name again!'

`I won't indeed!' said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. `Are you--are you fond--of--of dogs?' The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: `There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things--I can't remember half of them-- and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it's so useful, it's worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and--oh dear!' cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, `I'm afraid I've offended it again!' For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it, `Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats or dogs either, if you don't like them!' When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, `Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.'

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.