#she rifles through the closets like a curious cat

[detrimonious]

hand-me-down pipeline

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game  - Chapter 20 - Of Sheep and Wolves

Read all the published chapters here.

-------------------------------------------------- Camp was quiet over the next couple days. With Javier gone there was no more guitar play, only the rare tunes of a banjo played by Uncle. He was an old, fat man, not unkind, but Eliza couldn’t really see why Dutch kept him around, lazing about all day. But then again so did the Reverend, and she had never questioned him either. Rising before everyone else had become somewhat of a habit to her, brewing the first pot of coffee and sitting by the drop, staring over the landscape. She enjoyed the peacefulness and solitude of the early mornings, filled with birdsong and often the bark of coyotes nearby. The canines had scared her at first, but after Arthur had lent her some binoculars to watch a pack at play, she decided they were more like dogs than wolves and grew to like them. He had sometimes sat with her in these early mornings, in quiet companionship, admiring the valley until Dutch or some other person called for him to send him off on some task. His company was much preferred to Dutch’s, Eliza wasn’t much of a talker this early in the day and that man could do her head in with his endless stream of words. This morning was no different, she sat cross legged with the hot brew in her hands taking in the scenery, the sun rising slowly behind her. She wondered how long the boys would be out. Hosea had mentioned it was only supposed to be a short mission, but what did she know about how much time ‘short’ typically meant. She surprised herself by realising she was worried. Not so much about Charles maybe, he was always good to her and of course she would be concerned about his safety, but about Arthur and Javier. Laughing quietly to herself, she supposed their good traits outweighed them kidnapping her. Turning at the sound of footsteps, she saw Tilly heading towards her, her hair dishevelled, rubbing the sleep out of her dark brown eyes.

“Miss Grimshaw is up early today, she says we need some supplies from town. You comin’ with us?” Yawning, she stopped next to Eliza, peering down to the river. “I’ll never understand why you’re about so early, starin’ out there. The view’s really the same every day”, she said, a bored tone in her voice. Eliza chuckled. “Well, there’s different animals about every day, but I see your point.” She got to her feet, finishing the rest of her coffee. A trip to town got her excited, she hadn’t been there yet herself. “Valentine, is it? Let me just change into something fitting to present myself to the outside world.” She was only wearing a light cardigan over her night gown, while that wouldn’t draw any looks here in camp, she highly doubted that would be the same with strangers. “Are we riding there?” “Heavens, no! We’ll take the carriage, much easier to load up on supplies. Sadie’s comin’ too, she said she had some errands to run.” The two girls walked back into camp where they parted. Back at her cot Eliza chose a light blue skirt and a simple white shirt, looking decent but not too flamboyant. She had her fill of fancy clothes in her life and preferred the simple elegance. That was, when she wasn’t wearing trousers. Now that she had her own pair, scavenged out of the delivery Arthur and her had stolen, she had altered them to fit nicely. Growing ever more used to wearing them, she enjoyed the freedom they provided. She met up with the other girls at the wagon, missing Molly and Abigail as it was custom by now. Sadie had already been preparing the horses when Eliza changed into her town getup, and waved at her now as she approached. She had her repeater strapped to her back and a revolver on either side of her hips, carrying them with such casual ease, Eliza couldn’t help but admire it. Mary-Beth was talking to Miss Grimshaw and going through the list of items to get with her whilst Karen and Tilly sat on the back of the wagon, both looking equally tired and disgruntled at this early start of their day. Sadie checked in with the old woman, reassuring her she’d take good care of her girls before hopping onto the driver’s seat, patting the bench next to her and looking at Eliza invitingly. “You gonna join me up here or you wanna ride with the kids in the back?” She joked, ignoring Karen’s grumbled retort, and smiled wide as the younger woman lifted herself up to take the shotgun seat. The horses were trodding on the narrow path through the trees and Mary-Beth was going through the list in her hand again, organising who would get what. She was very practically inclined and Eliza liked the rational approach she had to her chores, always trying to be as efficient as possible. “I’ll head to the doctor’s office to get the medicinal supplies, Karen and Tilly, would you mind getting the general store items? We need a ton of food and one pair of hands ain’t gonna be enough to load it onto the wagon. Eliza, Miss Adler, could you head to the gunsmith to pick up the ammunition on here?” She had carefully torn the list into three pieces, handing them out to the respective groups. Eliza glanced at hers with a light frown. Sadie steered the horse to the left as she drove out of the woods under an arch formed by a collapsed tree. “Don’t you worry Mary-Beth, we’ll get you all of them things. Just make sure ya ain’t gonna get into trouble, I don’t want to cause a ruckus if I ain’t have to!” Sadie’s tone was cheery, but she shot a warning look over her shoulder. Eliza thought it was especially directed at Karen, but wasn’t sure. The blonde girl sneered. “Oh sure, we ain’t gonna cause no trouble. Can’t promise trouble won’t find us though, usually does.” Sadie gave an exasperated sigh. “Better hope it don’t this time”, she murmured, but didn’t press the matter any further. Soon the first buildings came into view and the putrid smell of cattle filled their noses. Sadie noticed Eliza half choking, and grinned. “Yeah, it smells like a field of flowers, don’t it! It’s a livestock town, ain’t gonna get any better as we get close.” She

had slowed the horses down to a trot approaching the railroad by the station, and got them to a walk. Eliza was eyeing up the sheep perched in their pens, there must be at least a few dozen. There were people around, throwing the odd curious glance at their little troop, but apart from a few “Good mornin’”s, there wasn’t much reaction from the locals. It was all so exciting for her, after having spent the better part of the last few weeks amidst the same twenty people, barely leaving the clearing on the cliff. The wagon headed up a gentle slope between some wooden houses and turned left down the main street. It was early and there wasn’t much activity to be seen, but Eliza didn’t mind and stared at the buildings with wide eyes. Sadie halted the horses in front of the general store and dismounted from her seat. Eliza followed her but pulled her mouth into a grimace as her feet sank a good inch into the mud, dirtying her shoes and the hem of her skirt. The three girls in the wagon got up and clambered down, Tilly groaning about the bumpy ride. “Alright then ladies, let’s get this over with. We wanna make this quick so we don’t keep old Grimshaw waitin’”, Sadie announced. Karen and Tilly headed into the store, whilst Mary-Beth, Sadie and herself walked up the street where they came from, parting at the end. The two women entered the gunsmith to their right. The man behind the counter looked up from the rifle he was polishing, his eyebrows raised. “Can I help you ladies?” His eyes trailed down Sadie, lingering on the revolvers at her hip and on her trousers. “We’re here to get some cartridges”, Eliza said quickly, walking up to the counter and placing the list in front of him. Sadie wasn’t looking too impressed with his blatant staring, and she wanted to avoid an argument. “Could you get all of this for us?” His eyes fixated on her now, narrowing slightly. After a pause, he nodded. “Sure, just one moment.” He took the piece of paper and turned, carefully selecting cardboard boxes of bullets in various different sizes and shapes from the drawers in the closets. Eliza’s eyes fell on the big cat at the right end of the room, mounted motionless and looking very real. She shuddered. The man stacked up the boxes on the counter, doublechecking the list and nodding to himself. “Here, that’s all of them. Anything else she I can help you with today?” She began to shake her head, when Sadie spoke up. “Actually, there is somethin’. Have you got a revolver and gunbelt for my friend here? She needs somethin’ to protect herself.” Eliza’s eyes widened, she stared at Sadie in shock. “Sadie, I- I don’t have the money to pay for this!” The blonde met her eyes, and only shook her head, a corner of her lips lifted into a sly smile. “Take it as payback for my... Uuuh... Improved accommodations.” The store owner just looked between them, his eyes narrowing even further as Sadie winked at him. He sighed. “Of course, give me one moment. I might have something in the back.” He headed out of the room and Sadie pulled up a stack of dollar bills, looking over the interior. Eliza’s gaze still rested on her. “What?” She said, her smile widening, but she didn’t take her eyes off the rifles behind the counter. She tried to find the right words, wanting to explain that she never owned a gun and probably couldn’t even shoot it, but decided against it. It would mean she had to show weakness again. “I… Thanks, Sadie.” Eliza sighed, defeated. “My pleasure. Did ya see that big ugly cougar there in the corner?” She pointed at the cat she was looking at a moment ago. “Nasty beasts. Don’t know why anyone would wanna keep one of them lookin’ as if it’s gonna jump at ya.” She shook her head and Eliza giggled in agreement. The man reemerged from the back room, a dark leather belt and holster in one, a small revolver in the other hand. “I got a Smith & Wesson here, they’re small and easy to use. That any good?” He was looking at Eliza, and she looked at Sadie in turn. “As long as it’s shootin’ bullets, I don’t care what you give ‘er. We’ll take

it.” The clerk was adding up the numbers on his abacus and Sadie counted the dollar bills, handing him the right amount. He nodded and packed up the items in newspaper. The two women took their leave, carrying the supplies out of his shop. They arrived at the wagon where Mary-Beth was just carefully stowing away the crate of tonics and tinctures she had gotten from the doctor’s office and smiled at them, as they approached. “I’ll go help Karen and Tilly, they’re almost done in there.” Sadie placed the ammunition on the wagon and stowed the wrapped means of self defence away safely. An idea sprung to Eliza’s mind. “Would it be too much to ask for some change? I’d like to buy a paper, a boy was selling them next to the gunsmith”, she remembered. Sadie turned, confused. “The paper? Hosea run out of books for you to read?” She shook her head in disbelief but handed her some coins anyway. “I’ll come with ya, makin’ sure no one ain’t up to no good ‘round you.” The two headed back up the road, Sadie hung back in front of the gunsmith, while Eliza purchased The New Hanover Gazette, startling the poor boy with her polite conversation. She tucked it into a pocket of her skirt and was on her way back to join up with Sadie as one of the men on the porch next to her stood up and approached, slowly eyeing up the taller woman. “Oy, lady. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Eliza froze in her spot. Sadie turned her head to look at the man that had spoken, and her hand twitched towards her hip. Her voice sounded casual, but it was different than usual, Eliza noted. “Pretty sure we ain’t met before.” Nervously, her eyes darted between Sadie and the dark haired man, he was scanning her face and attire with suspicion. He seemed to be with two friends, who now moved to stand next to him, observing her in their turn and nodding slowly to themselves. “Yeah, I know you. You’re that outlaw woman, from the posters!” Shit. Sadie laughed, seemingly unfazed. “Outlaw? I sure as hell would be stupid to wander ‘round town if I had a price on my head, don’t you think?” She turned sideways, only looking at Eliza for a split second, but the gesture of her hand she made whilst her eyes connected was clear as day. Go. She was unable to move however, as if her feet had grown roots, and watched Sadie with a thunderstruck expression as she started to walk away from the men, taking a first step down the road. “You ain’t foolin’ us woman! Now stay where you are and we ain’t gonna hurt ya!” The men moved quickly, ropes being pulled off their belts and one of them hovered his hand over his gun as they followed. It all seemed to happen so fast, but Eliza just stood and watched as if time was slowed down. The first foot of the bounty hunters dropped to the step below the porch. Sadie spun around, her blonde braid swinging behind her, suddenly wielding both revolvers in her hands, pointing them straight at the men in front of her. The few people on the street stopped what they were doing and looked onto this scene, eyes wide open. “You boys ain’t gonna hurt no one, least of all me. Now get lost ya dirty bastards”, Sadie snarled, her guns aimed without so much as a jitter at the three men. A second foot fell onto the stairs. Sadie pulled both triggers, snapping two of the guys heads backwards, making them collapse on the spot. Screaming ensued, and the people on the street scattered, and Eliza, finally ripped out of her stupor, threw herself beneath the gunsmith’s deck, peering over the wooden stairs at the scene with her heart pounding hard. Sadie and the single man left alive were stood at gunpoint, neither one willing to give in. “Give it up woman, whole town’s gonna be out in a bit, you ain’t getting out of this. Better lower your gun and come with me peacefully.” There were faces peering out of the windows all around them, he was right. How incredibly thoughtless this whole plan was, taking a wanted woman into a bustling town? Reminding herself that Sadie was the one that had come up with this, Eliza tried to make out the wagon with the rest of

the girls. It was still stood at the same spot, but there was no sign of Karen, Tilly and Mary-Beth. They were probably hiding in the store, she prayed to the heavens no one would have noticed Sadie driving in with them, they’d all be in much bigger trouble as they already were. “Peacefully my ass, I ain’t gonna come with ya at all. I disposed of plenty guys just like you, thinkin’ I ain’t much of a threat just ‘cause I’m a woman.” Sadie started to back away, slowly. Her guns were both still pointed at the man’s head. “You think we’re alone? There’s more hunters here in town.” As if to prove his word, the door to the hotel further down the road was thrown open, and a handful of men spilled out onto the street, guns in their hands. Sadie muttered a bitter “Fuck” before she pulled the trigger and twirled around to face the group opposing her, before his body hit the ground. Eliza’s breath faltered when they opened fire, and Sadie dove into cover behind a wagon. The gunfire ceased and the men shouted out to her to come up with her hands raised. “You think you gonna get me this easy, you’re more stupid than you look!” She taunted, laughing. Was she enjoying this? Her eyes flicked to Eliza’s spot and she could almost see the groan escaping Sadie as she saw her. It then occurred to her that this position was less than ideal, and the woman would feel responsible for her safety. Eliza let herself fall to the floor and crawled to the side of the house, out of the line of any stray bullets. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, the familiar sensation of anxiety spread through her limbs. The newspaper boy was cowering a few feet away from her, and she realised she was still clutching the newest issue of the Gazette in her pocket. More doors slammed open and shouting reached her ear. The gunfire opened again, and there were more screams. Within it all, she thought she heard Sadie laughing. Wondering which one of them two had gone insane, she resisted the urge to peer around the corner, afraid of getting hit in the crossfire. The yelling got louder, bullets was hitting the fence at the top end of the street, and yes, that was Sadie’s rough, raspy voice, laughing between it all. She came into view in the corner of her eye, running towards a spooked horse that was tethered beside the sheriff’s office, just when the man himself came running out the door, star on his vest gleaming in the sunlight, with open breeches and wielding a gun. The gunslinger woman didn’t take any notice and jumped onto the back of the horse, momentarily shielded by the building, then her eyes locked onto Eliza. She flicked her head at her, gesturing to get going down the street. She shot up, just as Sadie started the horse into a full gallop, closing the distance between them in a second, her hand outstretched to reach down for her. Eliza took it, and she got swung onto the back of the horse, helped by the momentum. Sadie passed her one of her revolvers. “Cock the hammer and shoot, girl! Keep ‘em off us!” She yelled, and Eliza desperately tried to cling onto her, fumbling her thumb over the little metal piece to ready the revolver to shoot. Her hand shook and she clamped down on it, desperately trying not to let go, while the first gunshots were fired into her direction. Sadie sped past a barn, and she finally managed to click the hammer into place when the men came galloping around the corner towards them. She held out the gun in their direction, giving up trying to aim after a second of being shaken about, and shot. She missed and the bullet buried itself somewhere in the ground behind them. Cursing, Eliza cocked the hammer again, letting off another projectile in their direction. One of the pursuers cried out but she didn’t have the time to look who it was, in that moment Sadie yanked the horse around a tight corner and she had to grip onto her with both hands as the horses hooves risked to slip on the muddy ground. The train station whirled past in a blur and they made their way over a small hill, the ground dropping at the other side. Eliza’s

stomach lurched at the sensation and Sadie crossed a couple paths, then took a left as the men came back into view. She lifted the gun again, firing another shot in their direction, and another. Two bullets left, but there was four of them, more would be very likely coming after them soon. The horse galloped in full speed along a cliff to their right, dangerously close to the drop. “Hold on!” Sadie shouted, not a moment too early. Eliza just about wrapped her arms tightly around her when they leaned into yet another sharp right bend, thundering down a steep slope towards the riverbed. A scream, like nothing she’d ever heard before sounded from behind them, turning her head slightly she saw the massive body of a horse struggling at the bottom of the cliff. That poor thing must have been pushed into the curve too early by its rider, she felt anger flaring up inside. The path was steady enough again to turn around, firing the last two rounds, aiming more carefully now. At least one of them had hit, the rider dropping out of his saddle, before Sadie swung around herself with her repeater propped against her shoulder, and with three quick shots, she took care of the rest of them. They rode in the same hard pace until the river came in sight, crossing right over it and only slowing down when the horse struggled up a small hill covered in pines at the other side, breath going heavily. They crossed another road and the woman halted the stallion next to a wall of heavy boulders. Eliza slid off, almost falling to the ground, her legs shaking. On her hands and knees she wretched and spilled the coffee she had earlier onto the gravel beneath her. Sadie dismounted and crouched down next to the girl, her eyes scanning through the young trees surrounding them. “I don’t think there are more followin’ right now”, she hushed, her voice quiet. “You alright?” Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, Eliza raised her chest until she sat upright, her hind resting on her heels. “B-been better”, she managed, hoarse. Her stomach was still writhing, threatening to force more liquid out of her gut. Shaking all over she stared at the woman next to her who was patting her shoulder with such a sympathetic look, it bordered on pity. “What in the world was that?” “Ya survived your first chase”, the blonde woman laughed, “Congratulations. It get’s easier as you do more of ‘em.” “Don’t think I’m too keen on repeating that experience, thank you”, she mumbled weakly, shaking her head. “We could have been killed! I could have killed someone! That poor horse, it-it…” Her voice broke and faltered. Sadie looked at her, considering for a moment, her eyes stern. “This is the life I chose, and so did you. It ain’t all sugarplum fairies and rainbows ya know. I told you, remember?” She sighed, straightening up to scan the river. “If you’re not up for it, ya better leave ‘fore it’s too late.” Her words stung. Eliza knew she wasn’t as hard as the rest of them, and the feeling of being useless spread itself again inside her. Sadie was right, what was she doing? Playing at being a gunslinger, not even knowing how to shoot a gun proper? The gang was dangerous, living a dangerous life and for the first time she had experienced the harsh reality herself today. “I hope the rest of them girls are alright”, Sadie murmured, “Grimshaw’s gonna bite my head off for this.” She sighed. “Come on, don’t look like there’s more of ‘em that made it this far. Let’s head back to camp.” Offering her a hand she looked at the younger girl, expectantly. Eliza grabbed her forearm and let her help pulling her to her feet. Patting down her skirt, she tried to take a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. Sadie sat up into the saddle again and helped her swing up behind her. The skirt rose up her lower thighs, but she couldn’t care less about being decent right now, she didn’t trust herself sitting sideways being as shaky as she was. “We’re gonna stay on this side of the river for a bit, just in case. Keep your eyes out.” Sadie kicked the horse into a slow walk and followed the

road down river. The trees opened up after a short while, and she pointed up a cliff on the opposite side of the valley. “We ain’t far from Horseshoe, see the smoke up there, above that cliff? That’s where you’re sittin’ every mornin’.” Eliza followed her outstretched arm with her eyes and hummed in recognition. Apart from a thin trail of smoke, nothing would have given away that there was an outlaw group hiding up there. Her insides twisted at the thought of that. Outlaws. “S-Sadie, I… I’m sorry.” The blonde woman turned her head and she could feel her eyes on her, but kept her gaze down, staring at the back of the saddle. “I know I’m not much use, and I can’t even keep my head in a chase like we had. I’m just a… A liability.” “Stop, you ain’t that. You think I didn’t throw up after getting’ shot at the first time? Only difference was I couldn’t shoot back, the fellers did it for me!”, she exhaled in amusement. “You took that gun and emptied six rounds into them sons of bitches, I say ya did well.” Murmuring about not having another choice Eliza lifted her head a bit, the praise didn’t cut through the self-disdain entirely, but it made it sting less. Sadie returned her head to face the road and chuckled. “I know you must be feelin’ mighty shaky right now. Trust me, it gets better.” Eliza gave a huff, half laugh, half sob. “That’s what Arthur told me, when we robbed that wagon. Not so sure about that.” “Well, are you lookin’ at it every day when she go to sleep, thinkin’ how you shouldn’t have done it?” This question startled her. She hadn’t thought twice about that, not after it had been made into her own sleeping space. Did she really have that little of a conscience? Sadie laughed at her silence, guessing what was going on in her mind. “See, it does get better. Gettin’ shot at and shootin’ back will too.”

[wordsysayswords]

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

Or, Tucker gets to see Wash interact with children, including Junior, for the first time ever and, to quote Grif, he's so fucked.

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Merry Christmas @washingtubb!  I hope you enjoyed this fluffy Blue Team bonding with just a pinch of Tuckington thrown in for good measure. Thanks for being so patient with this fic getting posted. @redvsbluesecretsanta

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“Have you guys seen Junior?” Tucker asks, poking his head into the common room.

Carolina, who is sat perfectly still on the couch and in the process of having her long hair braided by three children, glances Tucker’s way without turning her head.

“He was with Caboose’s group earlier,” she says, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “In the mess hall.”

“Yeah, apparently they got told to leave because Grif tried to organize the kids into storming the kitchen. The things that guy will do for chocolate pudding.”

“BLARG!” Cries one of the twin Sangheili infants in Carolina’s lap. She rubs the alien’s back soothingly and raises an eyebrow at Tucker in a silent question.

“She’s ready for a nap,” Tucker translates.

There haven’t been a whole lot of opportunities for Tucker to exercise his Sangheili conversation skills on Chorus. That all changed two days ago when a ship full of Sangheili and human refugees landed, fleeing their own war-ravaged planet halfway across the galaxy. They had received Epsilon’s message and come seeking help because the reported conditions on their planet made Chorus seem like an idyllic paradise. Among the refugees were an almost comical number of children, outnumbering the adults six to one. The situation became a lot less funny when you realized 80 percent of the children were orphans.

“Here,” Tucker says, pulling out his datapad and selecting a playlist of classic Sangheili nursery rhymes. “They’ll recognize these. Puts ‘em right to sleep. You’ll have the songs stuck in your head for days, though.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Carolina gives a crooked smile as she accepts the datapad. “Can’t be worse than the crap Wash listens to.”

“Speaking of Wash, any idea where he’s hiding?”

Carolina cocks her head—as much as she can considering one of the aliens curled up against her shoulder is batting at her braid like a particularly curious cat. The kids finish up on her hair, and a little boy passes Carolina a pink hand mirror. Tucker bites his lip to keep from laughing as the Freelancer turns her head this way and that, inspecting the no less than eight messy braids sticking off her head at ridiculous angles.

“Looks great,” Carolina whispers, causing the kids to giggle and blush.

She turns her attention back to Tucker. “What makes you think Wash is hiding?”

“I don’t know, have you seen what it’s like out there?” Tucker asks, gesturing towards a window overlooking the track where groups of kids are playing frisbee or jumping rope, supervised by the lieutenants. “I’m having trouble keeping up, and I’m a dad!”

“Eh,” Carolina shrugs, “you’d be surprised.” She looks around at the cluster of children, “Do you remember our deal?”

The kids nod excitedly.

“If we take a nap, you’ll show us how to punch good!” A girl with wilting daisies woven into her hair punches the air, beaming.

Carolina raises an eyebrow. “And the rule?”

“Only in s-self, um,” lisps the boy missing his two front teeth, “s-self defenssse!”

“That’s right,” Carolina says, tapping the datapad. Plucky music starts to play as the kids curl up on the couch. She looks over at Tucker.

“Try the barracks,” she tells him. “They might have gone to get Caboose’s crayons and coloring books.”

“Thanks,” Tucker says, tossing a salute her way as he backs out the door. “Let me know if you need another teacher for punching class.”

“Sure thing. Watch out for—”

“HONK BLARG!”

A dark shape shoots out from under the couch and latches on to Tucker’s leg before he has time to blink.

“Holy fu—” Tucker catches himself. “Fudgsicles. Holy fudgsicles. Definitely what I was going to say. Right, little buddy?”

The small Sangheili wrapped around his leg hoots happily and starts gnawing on his boot laces.

“I think she’s teething,” Carolina explains. “Her brother is with Caboose’s group. Mind taking her with you?”

“No problem,” Tucker says, lifting his foot to get a better look at the alien. “And what’s your name, champ?”

“Firo 'Srattin,” yawns the little girl draped over Carolina’s shoulder.

“Strattin,” muses Tucker. “Good, strong clan name. Well, come on, Firo. Let’s go find your brother.”

“Say goodbye to Captain Tucker,” Carolina tells the children. A chorus of honks and goodbyes follows the teal soldier out of the room.

In the hall, Tucker looks down at his passenger. She’s given up on his laces and is now digging through his cargo pants pocket looking for snacks.

“All right,” Tucker says. “Which way should we try first, hm?”

Firo sniffs the air for a moment before pointing down the hall. “BLARG!”

“The barracks? Good choice. Let’s roll out, soldier.”

It ends up being a long walk to the barracks—and not just because Tucker has a honking deadweight wrapped around one leg.

Passing the empty lot behind the mess hall, he and Firo walk past the Reds organizing a game of football for the kids, and the pair promptly get roped into playing referees. They leave at halftime while Donut’s group of kids performs an impromptu cheerleading routine (The man’s created surprisingly passable pompoms out of old caution tape).

Despite the rest of the base swarming with children, the barracks are oddly quiet.

“I could’ve sworn they’d be here,” Tucker tells Firo after checking Caboose’s room and finding it empty.

“BLARG,” she agrees around a mouthful of a granola bar—wrapper included.

“I mean, I guess we could check bomb disposal range. Maybe they’re playing fetch with Freckles?”

“BLARG?”

“No, fetch with Freckles basically involves vaporizing tennis balls straight out of the sky. So, there’s no real ‘fetching’ happening.”

“BLARG CHONK.”

“I know, right? That’s what I said!”

“CHONKA CHONKA.”

“Watch the language!” Tucker chides. “I don’t want the parents thinking I taught you that.”

Just then, Firo perks up, her large grey snout sniffing the air intently.

Tucker stops walking. “What is it? Did you get their scent aga—whoa, hold up!”

In the blink of an eye, Firo lets go of Tucker’s leg and tears off down the hall.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tucker calls, sprinting after her. “Firo 'Srattin, get back here! If you had a middle name, you bet I’d be using it right now!”

Firo only stops long enough to stick her tongue out at the sim trooper before racing away down another corridor.

“Why you little,” Tucker mutters to himself and looks up at the ceiling. “Mom, if this is what I was like as a kid, I am so sorry. Firo!”

Tucker skids around a corner just in time to see Firo squeeze through an ajar door and disappear inside.

“Oh fuck,” Tucker groans, picking up speed. He hisses. “Firo! Get out here! That’s somebody’s room, and they don’t want to wake up to an alien chewing on their socks!”

The maze of two-person bunk rooms all looks the same to Tucker, so he’s halfway up the hall before he realizes the alien just escaped into his room. His and Wash’s room.

“Damn it,” Tucker mumbles, screeching to a halt outside the door, a hesitant hand on the handle.

Okay, okay. No need to panic. Maybe Firo hasn’t turned any of Wash’s meager possessions into chew toys yet. The Freelancer isn’t one for trinkets or homely touches. If it wasn’t for Tucker, the man would still be living out of his footlocker rather than the closet and chest of drawers available to him. But that means any nonessential items Wash does keep around are all the more meaningful. Like Caboose’s messy drawings or the ugly-ass cat figurine that Tucker carved him out of a bar of soap (“No, no, Tucker, I appreciate the gift. It’s a cute giraffe.” “It’s supposed to be a cat!” “Uh, cat. Right. That’s what I said.”)

“Alright, whose turn is it to turn the page?”

Tucker freezes. Fucking of course Wash is hiding out in the desolate barracks while the base is swarming with children. Tucker’s never seen him interact with someone younger than the lieutenants outside of a military setting. You don’t exactly see a whole lot of kindergarteners toddling around an active military base (Caboose doesn’t count). Long story short, Tucker has been putting off even introducing him to Junior because everything about Wash; his anxiety, his control-freak nature, his stickler-for-the-rules attitude; screams that he and children do not mix.

So who the hell is Wash talking to?

“BLARG!” A high-pitched Sangheili voice shouts.

Tucker’s brow furrows. He’s just about to push the door open when someone else speaks up.

“It’s Ure’s turn,” a young voice translates.

“Alright, Ure, you can do the honors,” Wash says. “Careful this time.”

Tucker hears the sound of a page being turned.

“Great, where were we? Right,” Wash clears his throat. “The BR55HB Service Rifle entered service in 2548 and is employed as a medium-to-long-range marksman rifle.”

The fuck?

“Though its barrel is longer than that of the BR55, the weapon performs almost identically to its predecessor,” Wash continues. “The magazine housing is built directly into the underside of the stock of the rifle and is located behind the grip. And look, here’s a picture.”

That’s it; Tucker can’t stop himself from sneaking a peek around the door.

Wash is sat on the floor, leaning back against his cot. And around him are no less than twelve children and young Sangheili, cuddled up against him, hanging off his arms, sprawled across his lap, and peering over his shoulders at the yellowed paper gun manual in his hands. After turning the book for everyone to see the battle rifle diagram, Wash goes back to reading,

“Though the BR55HB SR is a select-fire weapon, it is most often used in its three-round burst mode.”

“This is my favorite part,” whispers Caboose to the three kids comfortably sharing his lap.

“Despite firing a very powerful cartridge, the weapon is subject to little recoil, even when being fired automatically.”

Curled up in the arms of one of the Sangheili is Firo, happily sucking on her brother’s shirt as she listens to Wash read with rapt attention, along with the rest of the children. Huddled up among them sits Junior, head resting in his hands as he drowsily listens with a content smile on his face.

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

“Whose turn is it to turn the page now?” Wash asks, and a tiny boy pulls his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to raise his hand.

Wash smiles, and it’s so warm and natural Tucker momentarily forgets how to breathe. “Want some help?”

Thumb back in his mouth, the boy nods, and the Freelancer helps him turn the page with his free, chubby little hand.

“Great job. Now, it fires M634 X-HP-SAP round from a 36-round magazine, which fits flush in the receiver...”

Suddenly, Grif is there next to Tucker, whispering. “You’re so fucked, dude.”

Tucker startles so hard he stumbles face-first into the door. He turns to glare at Grif who disappears into his own room next door with a little wave. Tucker turns back around to find he’s accidentally pushed the door open and the entire room staring at him.

“I, uh, just...Firo!” Tucker recovers quickly. “There you are! I’ve been, ah, looking everywhere for you. Yeah.” Hell yeah. Fucking smooth. Definitely doesn’t sound like you’ve been creeping outside the door.

Wash has gone bright red. “I, uh. There aren’t any, er, kids books on base,” he stammers and starts to stand up. “They kept asking to read this one cause it has pictures. It’s stupid, I kno—”

“What happens next?”

“I—” Wash stops. His brow furrows. “What happens what?”

“What happens next?” Tucker asks again, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Junior. “Dude, you can’t leave us in suspense. I gotta know who lives happily ever after, right guys?” He winks at the kids who giggle. Junior slings a massive arm around his father’s shoulders and pulls him close.

Wash just sits there, ears and cheeks still tinged with red. “You’re sure?” he asks, narrowing his eyes in the way he does when he’s trying to figure out if Tucker’s fucking with him or not.

Tucker settled in, leaning back against his son. “Just read the story, dude,” he says, grinning.

Wash flips the manual open, laughing under his breath. “Okay then,” he concedes. “Section 1.4 Service History. The introduction of the BR55HB SR led to an immediate increase in the BR55's popularity, prompting all branches of the UNSC Armed Forces, except the Army, to replace the M392 with the newer weapon...”

[i-am-church-the-cat]

In A Few Minutes

Now that Buffy was back and she and TJ were on good terms, the three friends regularly found themselves studying together after school. They normally went to Cyrus’s house and they had been to Buffy’s once or twice, but the trio had never gone over to TJ’s house. Until now. Cyrus was trying not to just, burst into little sparks like a firework, as he and Buffy walked up the basketball captain’s porch. Buffy waited for Cyrus to give her the okay before pressing the doorbell. The pair could hear the ring all through the house and then a “Just a sec!” come from the inside.

A second later, the door was opened to just about the cutest thing had ever seen. TJ was in sweatpants and his Jefferson hoodie, his hair ungelled and glasses perched on the end of his nose. In the boy’s arms sat a light orange cat that gave the two newcomers a bored look. Cyrus' brain shut off, any chance of coherent thought abandoned.

“Hey guys”, TJ said, flashing a dazzling grin. “Come on in.” The boy moved aside to allow his two guests entrance, one pulling the other inside since their motor skills had also been abandoned. The cat wriggled a little and TJ dropped them. They landed with ease and gave a short meow before retreating to the inner depths of the house.

“Macaroni's not very social”, TJ explained before turning back to his two friends and clapping his hands, jarring Cyrus out of his cuteness-induced coma. “Anyway, my parents are gone, but my sister and her friend are in her room, so we have free reign as long as we’re not too loud. You guys want to start or do you want to grab snacks or something?”

“Snacks please”, Buffy replied quickly, partly because she hadn’t had breakfast and partly because she knew that Cyrus wouldn’t be able to produce an answer without coherently. Their host nodded and led the way to the kitchen. It was a normal kitchen, if not a little small, and was relatively clean(relative in this instance meaning cleaner than Buffy’s but nowhere near as polished as either of Cyrus’s). Buffy walked over to what she assumed was the pantry and started rifling around. TJ rolled his eyes at the girl but his attention was soon caught by the boy who was still kind of out of it.

“You okay, Underdog?”, TJ asked. The concerned tone in his voice caused Cyrus’s heart to melt.

“Ye-Yeah”, Cyrus croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, do you have any tea or anything?”

“Yeah”, the older boy said nodding. “There should be some in the corner cabinet, but don’t take any on the second shelf, that’s my mom’s “private” teas.”

“Private teas”, Buffy repeated as Cyrus made his way over to the cabinet. Her eyebrow was raised as she turned to look at the other captain.

“Yeah”, TJ said with a shrug. “It’s the tea that she reserves specifically for herself. Not even any of us are allowed to have those.” Buffy gave him an incredulous look before turning back to the snack cave. Cyrus. Meanwhile, was busy filling a kettle with water and placing it on the stove to heat. He then turned back to the cabinets to get a cup when a notification sounded on TJ’s phone. TJ looked at it and typed something back before shoving his phone back in his pocket. Cyrus was about to ask who the text was from when he heard people tromping down the stairs. Buffy looked up from her scourge as the footsteps rounded the corner.

“Amber?”, she asked in a bewildered tone. “And Iris?”

“Buffy, Cyrus, what are you doing here?”, the blonde girl asked upon seeing the two in her kitchen.

“We were invited, what are you doing here?”, Buffy responded.

“I live here”, she said, sounding slightly offended.

“You’re TJ’s sister?”, Cyrus gasped, his eyes popping out of his head.

“Yeah, how do you know each other?”, TJ asked, his eyes flicking between Buffy, Amber, and Cyrus.

“She’s Jonah’s ex and Cyrus’s enemy-t0-friend project before you”, Buffy supplied.

“How did we not know you guys were siblings?”, Cyrus asked, choosing to ignore Buffy’s comment.

“As if I would ever want people to know I was related to this loser”, the siblings said at the same time before glaring at each other. Buffy turned toward Iris, the only one who didn’t look surprised.

“Wait, you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”, Buffy asked, more curious than accusing. The girl just shrugged.

“I thought you guys knew”, she answered.

“Wait, how do you guys know Iris?”, TJ asked. Cyrus's eyes widened as he realized he would have to explain to his crush, who didn’t know he was gay, that he had dated his sister’s best friend. Before anyone could answer, however, Cyrus was saved by the whistle of the tea kettle. Iris and Cyrus both lit up and went toward it. Iris explained that the two girls had come down for tea and soon the tea was poured, Buffy’s arms were filled with snacks, and each of the friends were settled in their respective friends’ bedrooms.

TJ’s room was different than Cyrus had expected. Yes, he had been prepared for the basketball posters and the shelf of trophies, but wast he hadn’t expected is the bookcase situated up against one wall. The top three rows were double-rowed with books and the lower two held several bins of old records. A record player sat on the other side of the closet door and TJ’s desk and bed were on the other two walls, his desk sitting under an uncovered window.

“Welcome to my third favorite place in the world”, TJ announced before plopping down on the bed. Buffy decided to take the floor, situating her snacks around her, so Cyrus sat in the desk chair, placing his stuff on the desk. The desk held a few books and a cup full of pens and pencils, but otherwise, it was bare.    

“Third favorite?”, Cyrus asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, the basketball courts down the street where I shot my first basket is my second favorite. And my favorite place is the swings, of course”, the older boy answered nonchalantly. Cyrus blushed at the words and Buffy raised an eyebrow but no one commented.

“So”, Cyrus began, breaking the silence that had settled around them. “What subject do you guys want to start on first?”

“Math”, Buffy and TJ said at the same time, already pulling out their notebooks. The trio had a system, Math first so they could help TJ with the hardest parts while they still had patience, and then Science because Buffy wasn’t that good at it and Cyrus thought it was more productive to group all of the technical subjects first. Then a quick break, with either a television episode or a short one-v-one in basketball between Buffy and TJ while Cyrus kept score. Next, English, because Cyrus and TJ rocked in that department, while Buffy was, less than ideal. And finally, History, because it was the thing Cyrus was worst at and he was the easiest to help without feeling like breaking down or punching something(both something TJ and Buffy had done, though they would never admit it). Plus, TJ was a “History god”, as he put it, and Cyrus loved to end a study session with TJ showing off something he was good at.

The group went through their schedule in just under four hours, their break having gone long because Buffy and TJ would not end on a tie. The three threw their stuff down and flopped down when they were finished, TJ and Buffy now both on the floor and Cyrus on the bed. They sat there for a while before Cyrus got up and wandered over to all the records on the bookcase.

TJ watched him look around for a minute before saying, “You can put one on if you want.” Cyrus looked at him and smiled before turning back to the records. The selection was quite varied, everything from musicals to 80’s rock to Ariana Grande. Finally, Cyrus saw a Wicked album and happily bounced over to the record player, careful to avoid his friends on the floor. His grandfather had had a record player, so he knew how to use one. Cyrus placed the album on the track and started it before heading back to the bed and plopping down again.

Buffy gave him a pointed look as the opening song started, but she didn’t say anything, the effort of arguing not worth moving from her position. TJ just smiled and hummed along to the music. As “Popular” started to play, TJ pushed himself off the ground and walked over to the bed. He laid down next to Cyrus on the bed, both of them looking up at the glow-in-the-dark paint flecks splattered across the ceiling. They had gotten there after TJ had decided it was a good idea to break a glow stick and then flick it at the ceiling in place of glow-in-the-dark stars.

“So”, TJ said softly so only Cyrus could hear. “You never told me how you knew Iris.” Cyrus’s heart sped at that. He was tempted to deflect the question, but he knew that wouldn’t work and he could never lie to TJ.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend”, Cyrus answered in the same tone as TJ.

“Oh”, TJ replied. “W-Why did you break up.”

A feeling of courage flooded Cyrus. He didn’t know if it was because of the slight sound of heartbreak in the older boy’s voice or just because it was TJ. It was probably both, Cyrus decided as he said, “Well, it was around the time I realized I was gay and I didn’t want to lead her on.”

The room was silent before TJ sat up, turning to face Cyrus. Cyrus did the same, facing the other boy and trying to read his facial expression.

“You’re gay?”, TJ asked curiously.

“Y-Yeah”, Cyrus said, the feeling of bravery having left as soon as the words had left his mouth. “Are you okay with that?”

TJ gave Cyrus a soft smile before pulling the smaller boy into a hug. Cyrus melted against the blonde boy.

“Of course”, TJ answered into Cyrus’s hair, rubbing circles into Cyrus’s back. “And I’m really proud of you for trusting me enough with this.”

“It’s no problem”, Cyrus mumbled burrowing into the boy’s chest.

“It is, but also”, TJ began, pulling Cyrus away so that he could look into the boy’s eyes. “I’m gay, too.”

“Yeah?”, Cyrus said, smiling brightly.

“Yeah”, TJ repeated, laughing slightly. “And, I really like you. As in, more than a friend way.”

The smile Cyrus gave TJ would’ve blinded him, but thankfully, he only saw it for a second before the boy’s lips were on his.

“I really like you, too, Teej”, Cyrus said pulling away. TJ beamed and pulled Cyrus back to his chest. When they got up a few minutes later, they’ll discover that Buffy had snuck out and that the three girls had been spying on them. In a few minutes, they would open the door to “finally” and “congratulations”. In a few minutes, they’ll remember that they still had to come out to their parents. But right now, they just laid together, two boys in love.  

[fairlyqualityanon]

G/t Prompt 1.05 - RR vore

1.05 - Small falls into big’s bag at beach, gym, etc

Masterlist

1.3k words short soft/safe/clean vore story where the usually-eager prey is not quite as willing today. Barely any mouthplay, not really any foodplay, but it was still fun to write.

Sometimes, curiosity gets the cat nommed.

I know she's not technically falling into his bag while he's at the gym, but it is his 'gym bag' and I say that counts because I Am The Author and thus Word Of God.

A black-haired borrower peeked around the corner, glancing around furtively. Good, he's not around. She knew that the man who lived there had hidden his chocolate from her, and hidden it well, since she'd been unable to find it after what felt like a week of intensive searching. Only his closet was left to search, and he'd never left it open since he almost never used it – the perfect hiding place! Though it was still closed today, a large bag had been left out in front of the door.

Karla decided she might as well see what else he might be keeping hidden from her and dove into his bag through the unzipped hole. Clothes. A whole lot of clothes. She pulled out a small crystal and shook it vigorously in her fist. Normally she would have simply cast the light spell herself, but since she'd skived off classes that day she couldn't chance one of the professors casting a spell to divine any Maven students casting their own spells outside the school walls. And she didn't need much light for this, anyway.

“Oho, what have we here?” Poking out from a pile of protein bars was a shiny bronze sphere of rich toffee. “Don't mind if I do.” Karla stuffed the light crystal into her pocket, grabbed on to the plastic wrapping, and tugged on it, falling over when it was the entire bag around her that shifted instead. She looked up to see the small patch of light coming through the zipper vanish. Damnit. The human was leaving, and with her stuck in the bag, too. Wherever he was unknowingly taking her, it couldn't be too far away, as the bag only rocked side to side in time with his footsteps.

The woman ran her hand over the smooth packaging of the delicious candy, her mouth watering. Well, she'd be caught anyway, so might as well enjoy the time she had left. She tore into it eagerly, carving large pieces out with her pocketknife, chewing on them slowly with eyes closed in delight. So good... He'd be mad when he found out, but too bad! If he didn't want Karla to have such nice things, then he shouldn't hide them away from her.

When she didn't think she could stand another bite, she flopped back against the pile of clean laundry, smiling at the damage done to the candy. The missing chunk wasn't even the size of a single human bite, but it was impressive nonetheless.

The bag stopped moving abruptly, dropped carelessly onto the ground. Here goes... She squinted, holding her hand in front of her face as the zipper slid back to let in harsh artificial light.

“Karla?” his voice said, puzzled, “what are you doing in there?”

“Uh...” She blinked several times as a face swam into view – light brown eyes, brown skin, dark brown hair, nothing in particular that would stand out in a crowd – and pasted a smile on her face as she waved her hand. “I'm not doing anything. Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

“Why were you hiding in my gym bag?” Rikard asked, lifting her up and setting her on a bench next to the bag.

She glanced around, trying to come up with an answer. It looked like they were in a locker room. “I wasn't hiding, I was just curious and you zipped me in there so I couldn't get out!”

Obviously unconvinced, the human rifled through his bag. He pulled out what remained of the toffee and frowned, glancing between her and the treat. “I was saving that for later. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Surprise!” Karla said with a shit-eating grin, showing off tiny bits of toffee still stuck to her teeth. She regretted nothing; it had been delicious.

Rikard sighed in annoyance, “What am I going to do with you. If you're seen here I get fined for not buying a visitor's pass, and you know I don't have any coin to spare.”

“It's fine, I'll just wait in your bag.” She turned, ready to climb up the hanging straps.

“They check those.” He frowned, but then a slow smile crossed his face. “But I know where they won't check...”

“Wait- what- no. No. Don't you do it.” Karla took a step back, pointing a finger at him warningly.

“Aww, what are you going to do, honey? You've never tried to actually escape being eaten, only ever pretended.” He himself pretended to pout. “I'm hurt, Karla – I finally get into the role you've been begging me to play, and you're complaining about it?” Rikard crouched down and licked his lips slowly, eyes narrowed above a pleased smirk. “I heard it's better to exercise on an empty stomach, but then again, you're not technically food, are you?” He scooped her up and licked her once teasingly before popping her into his mouth.

On literally any other day, she would have loved being shoved around in his mouth, tossed and turned, utterly disoriented as she was licked and nibbled and sucked on, hearing his loud purrs echo around her. But dammit! Karla skipped class to spend time with him as a friend today, not as food! She drummed her feet impatiently against his tongue; she was going to take this lying down because she refused to participate in his enjoyment of her punishment.

It wasn't much longer before his tongue crammed her into his gullet, gulping her down noisily. Karla settled for throwing an elbow – as much as she could – against where Rikard's hand pressed against his throat. He swallowed – over and over and over – rushing her into his almost completely empty stomach. She huffed a few choice words, kicking him once sullenly.

Rikard chuckled, amused at her grumbling as he patted his stomach happily. “I changed my mind,” he said cheerily, “I'm not upset that you got into my candy; I could taste it on you. Be a darling and remind me to include toffee next time we have dinner. Ooh, maybe we could make a trifle!” He laughed quietly to himself, and she heard a drawn-out “Mmm,” before a large wad of something landed in his stomach next to her, splashing her with juices.

Karla prodded it with her shoe and frowned; it was the rest of the toffee.

“Stop sulking, kiddo,” she could hear the smile in his voice, “you get to keep me company while I exercise.” The stomach walls moved in on her, rugae squirming across her skin. “Do you want to help me with my resistance training?” He paused, a thought occurring to him. “Actually, you might whether you want to or not; I'm not sure if you're going to be bounced around in there, or how much.”

“You. Are. Suuuch an asshole, you know that, right?”

“Hey, I'm not the one who decided to steal food from someone who could swallow her whole when he was already hungry.” A drawn-out, echoing growl punctuated his words, followed by a hungry gurgle as his stomach announced its intentions to work on digesting her. “So thanks for taking care of that for me.”

She muttered a foul oath, growling at him when he prodded his stomach.

“Watch the language,” he chided. “Dave would wash your mouth out with soap for that.”

“Nah, he'd never, that's more of a Jack thing.”

“Huh. Didn't think he was the type. Don't you worry, I won't tell him.”

Karla rolled her eyes and flopped down in the remaining chyme. “I want out the moment you get back home.”

“I'm fetching us dinner first.”

“Hmm. Apology begrudgingly accepted.” But I'm gonna make your life hell for this later. She folded her arms sulkily, deciding to wait out her stay in silence.

[[If you liked it, please reblog and let me know what you think. :3 I always appreciate feedback whether ask, reblog, comment, or other!]]

“My candy is my candy, and your candy is also my candy.”

[titan-mom]

Secrets

Destiny drabble fic - Read on AO3

Black Armory context

If there is one thing Eyahn knows, it's the secrets within the walls.

Eyahn does not like the Tower at first glance. Does not like that it is smooth and sloped and utterly unfit for climbing. After years alone in the wilds, the City is a shock, and this monolith of symmetry is even worse. Its bright too, lit with bounce light glancing off painted-white walls and ceilings and floors.

Spitefully, she takes to finding every possible way to climb into its shadows.

It’s after the Gap, after Lini and Seph die, that she sets to work on the innards. She finds things in the Tower, in the walls. Liminal spaces between drywall and linoleum and concrete. Places untouched for nearly a millennium.

(Eventually, decades later, this is in part why Andal made her a Shadowsmith. No one was supposed to find the hidden rooms tucked into the vast network of halls and janitorial closets.)

She finds vents, finds ducts. Settles in them for the secrecy, explores them for the curiosity. Eyahn has always been tiny, always able to worm her way around caves and through brush. The cavities of the Tower’s shell are no different. If anything, they’re often larger.

She grows very used to her journeys. In the beginning she gets a little lost, but no one misses one tiny huntress among the rest. Soon she knows the i-beams and rivets like she knows the branches of a familiar forest. She maps these routes, where no one could follow but herself.

To the credit of the armory, it is well hidden.

To the credit of the hunter, she is tenacious.

It appears as an odd light. A particular blend of hue and intensity she has not seen before. She can predict her surroundings by now, the older lights have a specific flicker, maintained ones a more constant gleam. This is neither, nor any of the others she’s passed. There is a low din of hushed voices, and the vent ahead of her is long and unbroken till it’s end. The metal has changed too, thicker, stronger, stranger.

Curious little Eyahn presses forward.

She peers down through the vent, past lazily spinning fan blades, and the mesh below. The room has a purple tint, like seen through dark glass. Everything in sight is polished to pristine perfection. Someone paces on glass floor, boots clacking with a soft rubbery echo. Someone with a smooth porcelain skin. Painted with blue flowers...

Someone else -out of view- reads off reports. Weapon accuracy, durability, makes and models and efficiency of construction.

“Yeah, could kill a Lightbearer. Easy.” They toss out, an offhand comment that catches Eyahn by surprise, spurs a light intake of breath.

The exo looks up, meets glowing eyes with glowing eyes.

“Dead one.” She rasps, an electronic hiss.

Eyahn bolts.

Her curiosity is insatiable, however, and it’s not many months before she returns from a different angle. It’s indirect enough that Star doesn’t realize what she’s up to until she pauses to pull off the grate before her and drop down from the duct.

“Eyahn…” She murmurs, but dematerializes again, to stay safe.

There is a frame guarding the not-door, what looks like a plain brick wall. The frame is is what sets Eyahn off guard. She thinks of Arcite and Delilah and the frame moves faster than she reacts, catches her jaw with the butt of it’s rifle. She rolls with it, then thinks of Arcite and Delilah again and quickly draws her red ribbon wrapped knife, slips behind the frame and cuts connections to it’s left arm. It drops half the weapon, then the rest, as it’s other hand reaches back to grab her. She skirts out of the way, braces her back against the wall-

And it falls away behind her, dissolving like a de-materialzing ether drill. She hits the floor with a hiss and rolls out of the way, anticipating another strike from the frame, but it remains immobile. There is a presence behind her, moving closer, boots on glass.

She tumbles into a hunter’s crouch, staring at the freshly formed doorway, and the sound of approaching footsteps. The frame snaps back into as good of a resting state it can manage with one arm hanging limp.

“You have been here before, dead one.” The porcelain exo from that day marches forward to meet her, cloak sweeping like the tail of a great cat, preparing to pounce.

“I am Ada-1. I guard this place. It is not for you-” She stumbles in her speech a bit, squints optics down at Eyahn.

The hunter narrows eyes back, wipes blue awoken blood from her lip with the back of her hand.

“How… old are you?” She accuses.

Eyahn doesn’t know what’s right to say, to lie here or to be truthful? And to lie in which direction? Older, younger? She looks to her shoulder for help.

Star forms, tines bowed in deference. “You’re alarming her. She is young of mind.”

Ada glares at the Ghost, then takes a long second look at Eyahn’s face, stares into every inch of her.

“A child.” She seethes. “The Risen allow the resurrection of children.”

“In my humble defense-” Star does not sound humble, she sounds even-keeled and calm. “I am not an expert on estimating age from human skeletal remains.”

“You are not an expert on a single matter of this planet. A child. They can’t send her to the battlefield!”

“She is one of the best snipers the Tower has.” Star counters, defensively. “She was instrumental to the end of the Battle of Twilight Gap-”

“The ethics of this are abysmal, and entirely on par with your wretched Traveler.”

“I take offense!”

“I do not care!” Ada snarls, leaning in. Eyahn can't parse conversations much but can sense when something is going poorly.

“I keep secrets.” She speaks up, at last, and it draws Ada’s gaze to her like a lazy predator. “It is what I do.”

“What secrets do you keep?” The exo pries, eyes flickering with intent.

Eyahn shakes her head, purses lips. Ada seems... appeased. She flickers one more angry glare at the Ghost.

“Ours?” She asks.

“Yours.” Eyahn confirms. “Among others.”

The City burns and even down here, Eyahn can hear it, smell it, feel it.

She stands before the false wall, where the faintest hum of the hologram projector can be heard. She stands firm and solid, helmet off and ragged face marked with soot. Her silence is a question.

Ada answers, stepping through the concealed doorway with a sniper rifle in her arms. “Return it when you are done. I expect not a scratch. And tell no one where you got it.”

Eyahn takes it, loads it, and folds it into her grasp, silently turning on her heel and striding off, numb and purposeful. Ada watches from amidst of the vibrating image of brick and pipes, judgemental and secretive.

[nefastustenebris]

there’s nothing scarier than a wealthy man

@malevolentearl

“Did your party invitation  had mandatory attendance written on it?”

Irene Diaz blinked at the question. Aside from the short Chinese woman and herself, this was the other woman invited to the party. Irene Diaz could not place her at all; she had beautiful, ink-coloured hair that draped gracefully on her shoulders and elegantly covered the right side of her face. There was a small wave pattern to her hair, though Irene can see that was artificial. She had large, incredibly un-expressive black eyes and a dusting of freckles on her face.

No, Irene did not know this woman at all. But, she looked to be of high society - with her night-coloured dress and large black trench coat and high heels. She was a bit on the muscular side — definately was an athlete of some sort. Though she could take better care of her hands — she could see bruising and cuts around her knuckles and fingers.  

She gave her a gentle, welcoming smile — one that she dubbed her ‘camera smile’ “I’m afraid I don’t recall attendance being mandatory no, did yours have that written?”

The womans’ visible eye darted quickly to the left, and then back at Irene. “Oh... no, I was .. curious about your invitation. It’s quite strange time to hold a party - beginning of March...” The woman had a smoky voice; definitely tantalizing. Maybe she was an actress as well? 

“Quite right, the weather is awful today..” She saw the elderly butler tend to the other guests, and occasionally his eye would calmly examine the dark-clothed madam. In fact, Irene could notice the household staring at her - as if she was being imprisoned or something. She just assumed that they knew each other previously - perhaps she was a close friend of the Earl, but judging by her body language, she was visibly uncomfortable and didn’t seem... to quite fit in. As if she was a puzzle piece jammed into the incorrect slot.

Her manner of speech held hints of nobility, but they were over-shadowed by her use of colloquialism, not to mention her dress was not very appropriate, she also had.. those muscles. Not quite the slender frame that placated men.

But then again, maybe she was one of those eccentric noblewomen.

“I’m sorry  - who are you again?” Irene coaxed her out of a fantasy it seems, the woman’s’ visible eye blinked once or twice at her before she gave her a grin that was a bit crooked.

“Nobody.” She quickly excused herself away from Irene, that stayed dumbfounded by the buffet table.

The woman found herself a nice seat by the window, she didn’t attempt to eat or drink anything from the party, so she sat empty-handed and considered her options. She did not wake up at home. She woke up here. She remembered stretching her arm to grope her night-stand and only caught darkness and air. That was the first instinct she had that something wasn’t right - her cats could have pushed her night-stand due to their behaviour - but they would not have pushed it so far that she could not reach it. When she woke up, she was in a room and judging by the architecture and size of this establishment, it was likely a guest bedroom. The balcony in the room showed a well-tended courtyard and all she could see in the horizon was a sea of converging trees, thick foliage and a darkness that threatened to come close.  She was likely hours away from London, and due to the rapid storm - phones might not be working properly.

 Then there was the dress. The dress she was wearing was in her closet at her residence; this was not a carbon copy, this was her dress. She began to feel nauseous at the thought of someone rifling through her belongings. She looked across at the elderly butler. He came into the room and explained that her invitation specified that her attendance was mandatory — and he made it very explicit that if she were to attempt leaving or disrupts the party in any way — she would face dire consequences.  “After all, you could catch your death out there — and the last thing my Master wants is someone dying at his party.”  Those were his exact words. She made the effort to leave... “You could leave, or attempt, but  may I interject that there’s no need to leave — the mansion is warm, the party has started, why don’t you just enjoy yourself?” Someone could look for her...

“And when they find you, they will see you are safe and sound and enjoying the Earl Phantomhive’s party which you were invited to and accepted said invite.”

She could cause a scene.

“Then my Master will be quite upset and consequences shall be dealt.”

Consequences.

“Do you want a drink, Lady Mallory?” His sotto voice knocked her out of her headspace. Mallory looked up at him and lifted up her hand, rejecting the drink. “Are you not going to drink or eat anything?”

“All you said was I had to show my attendance, you didn’t say I had to drink, eat, or make small-talk.”

“Yes, but won’t you be uncomfortable? The party is quite long.”

“I like being uncomfortable. Besides, you guys already shown your hand, I suppose I might as well keep vigilant.” “Do you think we’ll poison you with Sherry?” The old man chuckled; he had a smile that could make any well-lit fire irrelevant. He also held some mischief behind those steel-grey eyes.

She gave him a crooked smile, “Would be a perfect crime. Can I ask you something?” The man nodded. “Who the hell are these people?” She whispered. “Look, this house it’s...” she stopped to take an eyeful of the place “amazing, he’s clearly a man of high social standing but... these people,” she cocked her head signifying the guests, “let’s just say that I doubt he would piss on them if they were on fire.” She watched the way the old mans’ face contorted in disgust. “You got Woodley - judging by the rocks on his hand he’s in the diamond industry? He looks like a loud, boisterous man that shows his wealth through his jewellery which is disgusting. Either way, nobles liked to pretend to be humble as if their massive houses are not a dead give-away. Then you have Irene Diaz, opera singer, and her.. weird boyfriend Grimsby, a theatre producer. Both of these people are wealthy, but not that wealthy which is.. quite curious as to why the Earl would invite them unless he was hoping to get a deal on entertainment for the evening. Then there’s Mr. Phelps who is so boring and submissive he might as well be part of the wall.” She sighed. “He’s inconspicuous, forgetful, not someone I would invite to a party, not even if I ran out of guests.” She whispered to Tanaka, but gave Phelps a smile and waved. “Then there’s Siemans, German, bit of a lush - he’s been downing alcohol and his cheeks are getting red which means he’s close to being intoxicated and my money is that he is going grope the timid actress.” She told Tanaka.

 “Miss. Mallory - what is your point?” 

“And then there’s me. Ethelinda Mallory from the Mallory family. I was once nobility, we ran alongside the Phantomhives but ... we lost everything and I stayed out of everyones’ way, made a new name for myself, a new identity, I live in the East End - I am technically trash from London. And yet.. here I am. At this party. The point I’m driving at is - Earl Phantomhive is rich.. almost as rich as God. And yet, he invited a bunch of societal nobodies and one bin bag,” she pointed to herself, “for a party in Early March when the social season is in April-May, and nobody can match his or each others’ wealth.” She nodded to him and cocked an eyebrow at his face, which was threatening to break into laughter. 

“My, my, you’re quite a little detective aren’t you? You’ve only been here for five minutes and you think a mystery is afoot?” “I know I’m right that this event is peculiar. Do you know why he invited me?” Ethel turned to look at Tanaka, and suddenly the drink he was carrying were starting to look appetizing. 

“I cannot even fathom why my master would do anything, and it would be quite rude of me to hazard a guess. I supposed you’ll have to ask him yourself. In fact, it’s about time he joined us. While I understand you’ve confined yourself to this space of chairs, you will show respect to him? After all — you are a guest in his house.” And with that, Tanaka disappeared into the guests and went up the stairs, before setting the dish aside and Ethelinda watched Siemans help himself.

 Ethelinda stayed farther back behind the guests as they all began to converge by the stairs. She looked up at the stairs and watched as the Earl began to make his first appearance of the evening. 

Ethelinda had not been in high society long, and those memories became faded and blurry as they melted in the recesses of her mind, but there was one thing that retained clarity all these years. 

High society did not forgive, and it did not welcome its’ wayward children home.

[cosmosogler]

hi. i got up like 25 minutes late today. just didn’t want to get up. i dreamed about the classical mechanics problem i didn’t finish all night. kept waking up with the feeling i’d figured it out, and then realizing i hadn’t, and then falling back asleep. it was long.

there was also other stuff but it was intercut with asides to this math problem and it was making it really hard to follow the plot. it was on the cruise ship again. oh, and i had a rifle. it had a crystal ball mounted where the crosshairs should have been, which showed me who i was going to have to shoot next. there were magical villains running around and the crystal ball basically gave me the drop on them. it was kind of like being a bouncer, except the club was a dark house that was also a boat and also a weird spaceless pinball closet, and the “people” i was bouncing were instead magic shenanigans.

the first person i shot was not right...? there was a big fuss. for the rest of the dream i clutched the rifle like it was my only friend even though i ended up not using it again. even when i probably could have, or should have. weird stuff happened with the magic guys that wouldn’t have if i’d taken literally any action at all instead of just kind of watching. 

also that first person was curious george but i’m not sure what the significance of shooting a minor childhood character with “curious” in his name is.

anyway i got up around 8:20 or so. snoopy was unhappy that i let my alarm go off so many times but i just didn’t want to move more than a step away from my bed.

i had wanted to get up and go fairly early this morning, but i realized that my classmates were going to brunch together. i wanted to get started earlier than “the afternoon,” so i had breakfast at my apartment. i got pretty sick from it. keegan was also sick. not sure if it was the sketchy forks or not. i only felt sick directly after eating though, even as the day went on. got a little better toward dinner time.

i kept finding things to do. dry some shirts, fold my laundry, put snoopy’s water fountain back together. make some pasta salad for the rest of the week (it’s only going to last until tomorrow, it didn’t make “four” servings like it said it would). screw around with my pokemon game for 20 minutes before getting too tired to keep playing and putting it away.

so i got to campus around 11:45 and got working at noon. i made a grading rubric for my next lab instead of doing any actual grading. at 1 i had lunch, and then suzanne and jennica showed up, and then i had a LOT of trouble getting settled back down enough to work, especially since my stomach hurt so bad.

i did work on classical for a while but i feel like... i don’t know where the time went. i was wasting just a little more time when suzanne started putting up christmas-style lights in the office. i helped her do that for a while and chuck gave us some paper clips to hook them to the ceiling panels. when we were done it looked much more like a place that people live instead of a sterile, blank, very dirty office.

“sterile” as in lacking character i guess. i know sterile usually means germless or something more along those lines.

suzanne wanted to show everyone right away so she took a picture of jennica posing with the lights all around her. i noticed i was standing within the frame so i dabbed just in time.

they got a kick out of that. i saw the picture. one of my arms was crooked. “oh no, it’s awful! it looks like i wasn’t even trying!” i complained.

by the time i got working again after that it was 3:45. i got through some classical problems at a good clip. it’s too bad that each question has 4-6 parts which each take like a page. i was on my sixth page when i got too tired to keep going at around 6:40. i’d been snacking, and taking breaks every hour, but i just... couldn’t keep going any more. i took some grading home with me. even biking was a huge hassle. it felt like i was going at a crawl even on level road.

even though it was still fairly light out i decided not to bike along the path i’d walked down just before the hurricane. i was thinking about checking it out since the bike yesterday had been so relaxing... but i ended up not being up for it today.

i made some spaget for dinner. and a chocolate banana smoothie that absolutely did not fit in my blender. i fortunately had the foresight to put it on top of my stove before trying to get the lid off so wiping everything wasn’t too big a hassle. as opposed to opening it over my drying mat, which i just cleaned literally yesterday.

they were both good. i played some pokemon, but again just... stopped after a little bit. can’t even waste time right.

i also went through my amazon gift cards that i’ve received over the years and never had a reason to use. i got a cat arch brush for snoopy to play with during the day since i noticed she loves to rub her face against the bristles when i brush her. and a desk lamp to go with the new darkened office since the natural light from the window doesn’t quite cut it once the sun moves to the west side of the sky. 

gotta say though that the more natural yellow lights are honestly easier on my eyes over the course of an 11-hour work day every day forever. i realized this morning that i hadn’t had an honest to god day off in like a month. if the hurricane lock in counts as a day off. it certainly wasn’t a mental health day(s)...

i looked at some new shoes to replace my sandals, which fell apart, and i did find a pair i really liked in my size. the price didn’t line up with my gift cards very well at all though, so maybe i will look around at home when i return to phoenix in december. gramma will probably want to buy something for me and some Powerful Sandals would be great.

i’m not talkin flip flops. i’m talkin like the kind of sandals you see desert wanderers wearing in the movies. the kind i wear on family vacations every year for 10 years until the actual strap on the heel is worn all the way through.

eventually i settled down enough to actually start grading some labs for real at 9:20 ish. i did that for 40 minutes straight until my alarm went off at 10. now it’s 10:30.

i composed a long email to my correspondent at the drc about my test performance last week. she didn’t respond to the update i sent her on thursday... maybe she didn’t have any tips there. i know she reads them though because she brought up some learning style test results i’d sent one time and we talked about what i wanted to do about that.

i’m... not really... ready for another week of classes and teaching. especially with the “free speech demonstration” happening on thursday. 

oh, the rubric i made is super helpful at least, i noticed while grading. like it might only take 3-4 hours to grade one section. that’s more than it took last time, but this lab is also twice as long as the last one. 

i think i’m gonna quit here a little early so i can try to finish grading the first page of all the labs. i just realized they’re each 10 pages long... maybe more than 4 hours. i guess. but the rubric will keep me consistent and make sure there’s 20-22 points for each lab at least.

i feel like i’m really struggling with my depression these last few days. but i don’t know if taking a full day off will really help with that at all. if i did that it might be too hard to get started again.

one good thing today is that i didn’t mess with my face at all so far. it looks like it’s healing ok... not turning any weird colors at least.

self care is hard to cram in even at the end of the day when i just can’t work any more and i still need to feel like i did something.

[carp3n0c73m]

Frozen in Memory: People, Activities, Objects - Chapter 5

As I arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, I was rewarded for my tenacity (and climbing skills) with no further hallways, landings, or stairs, but with what I assumed was the under carriage of the theatre, spread out before me.  It was still slightly misty therein, but mostly it was low-hanging vapor and light haze; it would not have surprised me if the haze was coming from the stage, artificial in nature, being pumped from a small electric unit to provide the canvas on which a lighting director paints beams and patterns.  It was also hot and slightly humid, most likely due to the wet weather outside.  Ahead of me was a doorway framed in white-painted brick with an angled mirror at the top right corner and, what drew my eye, a small sign taped below it with a large arrow pointing straight ahead that read “Stage”.  To my left was another doorway, unmarked and without doors, which led to a small hallway that looked like temporary storage.  To my right was an open area that contained a callboard hanging on the wall just to the right of another doorway whose door was ajar.  I could see ironing boards and hanging costumes and waist-high tables overlaid with a thick plastic sheet for cutting patterns; I had found the wardrobe room. Further along the wall with the callboard were what looked like small offices and it looked like the room opened further into a common area and I could faintly detect the warm smell of dry laundry and lint from that direction.

           I took a step forward, getting my bearings and enjoying no longer being cramped by narrow passages and lions literally stacked to the ceiling when I heard the whoosh.  That is best that I can describe it, like when one goes to light a gas BBQ grill and the propane is on, but it is taking a long time for it to catch, accumulating slowly in the tray of the grill and then it goes WHOOSH! catching all at once and igniting the collected gas cloud all together in a loud, hot, eyebrow-scorching ball of burning fuel.  That was the sound that came from just behind my right shoulder.  It was not scary or disconcerting (although there was an accompanying and startling flash of heat), just out of place, but then again that seemed to be the theme of the afternoon.  I turned my head and fight or flight kicked in, hard.

           What I had not seen (I didn’t even glance at the mirror, much to my detriment) was a tiny doorway that contained a bi-level door, one of those barriers that has a horizontal separation in it so that one can open the top portion while leaving the bottom part shut.  The top of the door was open now and what I saw behind the half door spoke to every nightmare from my childhood and chilled me.

           She was midnight black, her rippling muscles flexed lazily beneath her flawless scales, each possessed of a faint inner light giving her an almost imperceptible glow, just enough to make one question whether one was dreaming or awake. Her underside was a deep metallic purple with larger plates of impenetrable chest armor.  Her fearsome wings were leathery and tucked back behind her.  Her black horns adorned her serpentine head in a horrific crown that spoke of agony and death and becoming nothing more than a crunchy bite for her mouth and the daggers within that entrance to burning hell. Her eyes glowed with a shimmering green luminescence and while they were not trained on me at that moment, I hoped against hope that they never would light upon my poor self for they were bewitching eyes, filled with suggestions of suicide and torture.

           Before me, come from the pages of fairy tales by way of evil dreams, was a black dragon.

           I could feel her aura (and I knew it was a her, not a him, though how, I am uncertain), palpable in that closed space, burning off her like a raging fever. I took in the sight of her, like Bilbo looking on the terrible magnificence that was old Smaug, and slowly backed up to give her as wide a berth as I was capable when she shifted her position slightly and I heard a metallic clicking followed by a low muttering.

           So impressed was I at the initial sight of the dragon, it wasn’t until that small detail, the clicking sound, provoked my brain to come back online and logic took over (as much as was possible in that place).  I realized then that the room in which she was reposing was far, far too small to hold her, and yet there she was, not looking diminished or cramped whatsoever.  I paused in my retreat, curiosity getting ready to kill the cat, overtly standing directly across from her doorway and observed her, for she was not paying attention to me in the slightest.

           She was crammed into a tiny alcove of an office, a closet really, meant for someone to receive deliveries and lock and unlock the stage door (I saw a CCTV monitor on a little shelf just inside the doorway and realized that it was this dragon that had been watching as I had burst into laughter at Charles de Gaulle’s antics up top).  She should not have been able to fit.  She was massive; I could feel her size in her presence, and yet there she was in a space that was far, far too small.  I noticed that there was a slight lensing effect if I stepped off of center and viewed her from a slight angle.  It was like looking through imperfect glass and she would warp just slightly and then I would step back to look at her straight on and all would seem, well, normal is not the right word, but all would seem right again with the view.  If I didn’t know better, I would say that she was an optical illusion, but she was much too real and I perceived her with all of my senses (save touch, of course; I had no wish to be devoured, but yes, I could faintly taste the smell of dragon).

           Throughout all my reconnaissance, she paid me absolutely no mind, though twice over the course of four or so minutes that I initially observed her did I witness her WHOOSH again.  And it turned out to be exactly what I thought it was: a ball of fire.   She was muttering under her breath and on occasion she would inhale sharply, but with a vocalization that sounded like a young sheep being turned inside out, a screech, an inward singing pterodactyl scream of a hiccup, hold it for a moment, and with a belch blow out a sizable orb of flame from her mouth and nostrils that quickly dissipated, but was no less impressive.  It was further curious to me that the flame never crossed the plane of the doorway. I could feel the heat and hear the sound, but it was all contained behind that barrier.

           After having observed for a bit, I became unable to further foil my curiosity, even at the gamble of personal risk, but history (all five minutes of it) was telling me that on the list of priorities for dragons and other magical creatures in the immediate vicinity, chomping me to bits was not particularly high. I crept on soft tiptoe (which really was soft heel-to-toe) across the eight-foot void to stand just in front of her door and looked inside.  Though I was expecting anything (I thought), what I saw stopped me for a moment and brought forth from my mouth that age-old ejaculation which up until that point I felt that I was doing well at not evoking: “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?”

The entire was room, I now saw, was filled with guns.  

There were guns of all sorts littering the floor and piled up in heaps in the corners, spreading out further than I was capable of perceiving: handguns and pistols and six shooters and .22s and .38s and shotguns and rifles (elephant and otherwise) and muskets and tiny little Derringers and .45 magnums and Walther PPKs like James Bond uses and cannons and AK47s and Uzis and Gatling guns and tommy guns like the gangsters in Chicago used to use too.  A vast, vast armory stretched out before me as I peeked through the top of the split door and it was all contained, along with a dragon, within a little closet-of-an-alcove that looked as though it could barely hold the 275 pound doorman from Brooklyn who no doubt inhabited it, let alone a she-dragon and her arsenal.  

I found myself close enough to finally make out what the dragon was muttering; it wasn’t until later that I marveled that dragons speak English.

“72,343… 72,344… 72,345…”

She was counting the guns in her lair. Yes…

A BLACK DRAGON was COUNTING GUNS.

And it was indeed a dragon’s lair that I saw through that doorway, the kind described in children’s stories that exuded archetypical architecture and atmosphere.  It was a huge vaulted space with stone arches and flagstone floors (though from my view through the door, it seemed small).  Dim light was filtering from above somewhere, but the majority of the illumination came from numerous torches along the walls in cobwebbed sconces. That being said, it was missing the most characteristic (in my opinion) aspect of a dragon’s lair: gold.  For what is a dragon’s hoard without gold? There were no piles of gold-minted coins with rubies and sapphires and emeralds cascading along the ground, littered with crowns and tiaras and bejeweled rings aplenty.  There weren’t even partially melted suits of armor collapsing and rusting in the corners. However, though not what I was expecting, this cache of weapons was most obviously her hoard and she was overtly relishing the act of cataloguing her dangerous cornucopia.

           “72,346… 72,347…”

           How was it possible that everything that my eyes were witnessing now could fit within that space?  It wasn’t enough for my brain to simply say that I was likely dreaming or at least that in the time/space reality into which I had drifted it was possible; I had never done well with accepting the answer “It’s that way because it is” or “Because I said so”.  There was quite certainly more going on to make this witchery happen.  Then, suddenly, with the thought of that word – witchery – I suddenly lit upon what I was seeing.  

The doorway was acting like a lens (or like a cauldron or crystal ball that a witch might use to scry the future, or in this case, as a window to peer into the goings-on in a different location), a gateway to another place contained within the confines of the little space and the door was the barrier; a portal like Mary Poppins’ bag, bigger on the inside than on the outside.  Like looking through a pair of binoculars from the wrong end, what I was seeing was a tiny, shrunken version of somewhere else with all the proportions intact, but smaller than in real life to fit the screen that was the doorway.  Her lair had to be enormous and in a moment of inspiration/stupidity, I decided to test out a hunch.  I was hoping that she most likely couldn’t see me.  I carefully pushed my hand through the space of the doorway and into the office.  It felt as though it was entering into water, but with no temperature change or wetness, more like the air became heavy and thick.  My hand slowly disappeared, and then my arm up to the elbow, and reappeared far below (I saw by looking down into the office), at the base of my vision coming out of what looked like a tiny archway.  

All of the sudden, I felt something fill my hand, a most worrying feeling when one’s hand is in a magic portal, what amounts to basically a blind hole, a fox den or gopher tunnel that may or may not have some small vermin at the opposite end with a view of feasting on my invading digits.  I immediately withdrew my hand with a jerk, not consciously in control, but rather my reptile underbrain reacted to the stimulus presented and disliking the odds, went to work surviving, but at the same time I kept hold of what had brushed my fingertips.  As I pulled my hand from the gateway, I was relieved to see that there was no damage and thankfully no sensations of pain presented themselves to my nervous system. Having avoided what I was subconsciously anticipating as a snake bit, I looked at my hand closely to see what my prize was.  Three playing cards lay in my hand, their values coming to my mind even before I turned them over to confirm their identities.  I put them in my pocket and looked again at the dragon.

           The dragon continued to count aloud, scooping up a huge claw-full of weapons (thus the clinking sounds) and letting them drop one at a time into the piles surrounding her.

           “72,361… 72,362… 72,363…”

What I couldn’t understand was why the dragon’s preference was for guns as opposed to the more classical (and, it seemed to me, practical) jewels and riches.  I also wondered if she slept on the piles of guns and if so, which style was most comfortable?  Were the guns loaded?  Did she ever accidently shoot one by rolling over?  Was that dangerous for her if the gun had an armor-piercing round in it?  Was she just a modern dragon and knew that guns were valuable?  Did she sell them on eBay?  These and a plethora of other questions ran through my mind, but ultimately I decided that rather than tempt fate and the ire of the dragon, it would be best to move on and explore the theatre.  I considered trying to speak to her, but she seemed very involved in her counting and I don’t know what she would do if I made her forget which number she was on; I’m doubtful that she would have heard me anyway.  So I very quietly (out of habit, I suppose, since nothing I had done had disturbed her) moved along towards the callboard.