#still ​not entirely sure how to adapt the middle two panels before he holds his gun up in front of him

[redhotarsenic]

Anyway. If I do the handwritten text that means that as a result you will in fact have to endure my handwriting 🙏

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 rewatch thoughts

- mayfeld does hear when the droid talks to him the first time, you can see him pretending not to like he hopes he’ll just go away haha. I also guess he’s had a lot of time to think, picking apart pieces of the large fascist machine he used to be a part of and going over everything he clearly regrets 

- hahaha fennec and boba are in the back intensely keeping watch the entire time they’re on the prison planet. I suppose a good two thirds of this crew is uuuuh extremely wanted by the new republic lol

- the thing din’s voice does at the end when he says “but you still know your imperial clearances and protocols. don’t you.” is beyond fucking words, it sends a chill right through me

- 

1) din fiddling with that panel; I think he’s phenomenally nervous behind the helmet here, that’s the sort of keeping his hands busy he does when he’s anxious and 2) why the hell does boba have this many chairs instead of like space for cargo haha does he throw bounty hunter parties in here or what

- ngl boba correctly guessing at a glance what sort of ore they’re mining and informing everyone in his sardonic deadpan voice is Big Sexy  

I love how he and fennec are standing together when they’re both present in these opening scenes too, first at the very back when they’re keeping a lookout: 

and then in the foreground while they discuss the scan 

it’s a nice subtle way to get across that they already have a dynamic, they’re somewhat used to working together as a unit at this point. (she’s also looking over at him when she asks what they might be mining in there, like she’s mostly asking his opinion instead of opening it to the floor. they’re talking the mission out between them before din enters the conversation)

- the inside of slave 1 when the ship’s moving makes me a little bit motion sick, I really love seeing it but I hope we don’t stay in here too often haha

- aaaw the small weary sigh din gives upon realizing none of his bros can go with mayfeld. I’m sorry about basically your entire life buddy

-

the awkward way din adjusts the helmet like he’s trying to get used to the way it feels ;______;  

- ah the distinct implication that mayfeld is needling din about this because he’s actually feeling super uncomfortable being back in empire gear and he needs to transfer that discomfort over onto someone else so he won’t have to feel through it... very psychologically understandable and such a fucking piece of shit asshole character trait to give in to haha

- din’s level of side eye is so epic you can see it straight through the helmet fhaskjfhd

- neat detail: din’s head turns slightly toward mayfeld when he calls mandalorians a ‘race’. (it’s sort of cool  that we as the audience know why that bothers him, but mayfeld probably didn’t even pick up on it). also shows that mayfeld doesn’t actually quite understand what he’s talking about, even when he makes decent points he’s caught up in his own myopic nihilistic point of view. ‘we’re all the same’ ------> ‘everyone’s secretly as shitty as me deep down’. (which also betrays a lot of self loathing, since we see later he does have the capacity to NOT be that shitty when he chooses to. rick famuyiwa manages to get a LOT of really interesting nuanced stuff into this character in two short episodes, that’s super impressive)   

the bright sunny look on mayfeld’s face when din finally gives in and takes the bait tho fsajdkfhasj he’s awful but that’s very funny

- rip all these excellent dudes who really only wanted to accomplish the noble goal of ruining the empire’s entire day and didn’t know they were also trying to blow up My Dad Who Does Not Deserve Any Of This, it’s honestly just really sad that there’s no moment to talk that out

well at least they blew up the entire refinery on their way out, I’m sure that’s the way they would have wanted their memories honored lol

- the comedy beat of din running out of ammo for the first time ever and the music briefly cutting out for it is so so good for me 

hahahaha din seems to actually take a moment to be a little aghast at that dude who ends up crushed under the treads of the tank thing, he’s just sort of staring for a few seconds too long and that’s how pirate nr 2 takes him by surprise and shatters his shoulder armour 

- I feel a bit bad -- two of the ‘pirates’ try to hold on to each other for balance and then din punches them apart and off the tank :( I mean it’s not like he could just let them murderate him either but like. ouch I’m guessing this one might haunt him for a while for several reasons huh

(the sequence is actually this guy, let’s call him pirate 3, swings the spear at din and misses, instead hitting his buddy who’s trying to get to his feet, then looks horrified and grabs for him to make sure he doesn’t fall off, and then... mando’s forehead happens to them haha)

- poor fennec and cara just running up that hill while everything’s on fire, they must be wondering what the FUCK is going on (at least cara knows that things blowing up is a sure sign din djarin is in the middle there somewhere)

- everything about carano in real life aside for one second -- I do like that we get this contrast in build between our main female characters of the episode and the way their costume designs enhance it

 - awwww the little gesture din does with his hand after he removes it from mayfeld’s chest after stopping him from leaving, it’s just so... sweet. it’s a little bit appeal, a little bit reassurance, it just lightens/softens the tone of what he says a bit (he has quite a lot of like... not conciliatory mannerisms exactly, but small touches here and there that are there to communicate that he’s not angry/aggressive or trying to be a dick about it even when he’s emphatic. I keep wondering how much that is just him being him and how much is him being practiced at settling other people’s hot tempers)  

- this shot is just... genius

it’s din seen entirely from the outside, with nothing of what we’ve learned to recognize as him for almost two seasons now in view -- not even his face, which we have at least a tenuous fledgling attachment to from before. it’s like we get introduced to him almost as if anew again and again in this episode, just like he’s getting introduced to new aspects of himself and what he’s willing to do and having to struggle to find ways to have that fit with who he is. his discomfort and stress is our discomfort and stress. it’s so interesting 

- I can’t stop cackling at this moment even in all the tension -- you only get a sliver of din’s profile but you can feel the sheer MURDER radiating off him sdhfasjk

- aaaaaaaagh the way you get a whole different view of din’s habitual impassiveness when you can actually see his face... the way he keeps appealing to mayfeld ‘just don’t make more trouble, just shut up’, the way he goes completely silent and watchful and frozen..... those are all really obvious trauma responses, and it leads you to wonder how often he touches into that even when he’s in his element, when he’s got the full armour on. hmngh my heart  

- ‘the believer’ is such a galaxy brain title for this episode, because it could be referring to either of the three men around this table or all of them at once. (and crucially the only person whose beliefs aren’t in a living, breathing state of adapting to the world around them is the empire officer, with his horrific inhuman ideology. mayfeld thinks he believes in nothing, and proves himself explosively wrong by the end of the episode, and it’s redeeming for him in some capacity. din is facing a more internal dilemma of different parts of his (and his culture’s) beliefs/values clashing and having to decide which one’s more important, to his identity and to how to exist in the world as a person (and love for the baby wins out supremely in the end. of course it does Y_____Y). the empire dude only sees the same sterile fascist world at the end of his shit rainbow that he’s clearly always done, even when faced with proof that it’s untenable. (I mean he wouldn’t give a fuck that it’s immoral because he’s y’know evil, but he’s not even fazed by the fact that the empire provably FAILED, and failed so quickly) his belief is a dead and deadening thing to contrast the others. man when this show goes off with the themes it goes OFF haha) 

- love the triumphant heroic mando music kicking in as we’re finally getting to pick off imps, love that for us 

- din’s protective instincts at work again, he helps mayfeld to his feet and makes sure he’s safely on board before going further in himself ;_______;

- fennec’s professional approval at mayfeld’s shot hahaha. well I guess he was supposed to be a sharpshooter back in the day huh

I do Not think she likes mayfeld even after all that, though, the withering look she sends him on her way past... should have killed him stone dead on the spot

- seeing din back in the armour is like a physical relief, I can breathe again haha

- tfw you catch yourself thinking ‘at least when all this is over we can go back to the razor crest and everything will be normal again’ and then you rEMEMBER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[autolovecraft]

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live.

He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. An eye for an eye!

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider. He could not walk, it appeared, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily?

He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was.

The skull turned my stomach, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications.

Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible.

Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever.

He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Over the door, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness.

As he planned, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity.

Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. As he planned, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. When Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. Birch was lax, insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the right grave. Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you always did go too damned far! I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. I'd hate to have it aimed at me! Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy.

It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last.

In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit.

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. He could not walk, it appeared, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. Armington helped Birch to the outside of a spare bed and sent his little son Edwin for Dr. Davis. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin! He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer.

I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. Great heavens, Birch, just as I thought! God, what a rage! He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude.

Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #207: Beyond a Shadow...

May, 1981

“After countless centuries HE LIVES AGAIN! THE SHADOW LORD COMETH!”

He cometh riding upon a tornado like its a mighty sand worm. What a guy, this Shadow Lord.

Honestly seeing the Avengers tumbling about in a tornado cracks me up every time. Especially Wonder Man who looks nonchalant about it aside from being ass over head.

So I don’t think we’ve really talked about it but this period of Avengers is kind of between main writers.

Since issue 200 and its four writers, we’ve had David Michelinie and Roger Stern on the two-part adaptation of that Ultron novel, David Michelinie for that weird story with the Crawlers in the sewers; Jim Shooter, David Michelinie, and Bob Budiansky for the Yellow Claw two-parter, Bill Mantlo for the everything is on fire story and now Bob Budiansky and Danny Fingeroth for this issue and the next. We start getting a consistent writer again starting in #211.

I wonder what was going on behind the scenes around this time.

Anyway, onward.

So we start the issue with who I assume is the Shadow Lord. But he’s not riding a tornado, like Pecos Bill. He’s standing on an invisible ocean structure of some kind. Apparently a mysterious invisible ocean structure of some kind that hasn’t been seen for almost two millennia.

And yet, someone has kindly painted the title of the issue in English on the mysterious invisible ocean structure of some kind.

Some guy, maybe the Shadow Lord: “The dreaded time has at last arrived, the moment I prayed would never come... the moment I knew would surely come. He is soon to return, and only the power entrusted to me is capable of stopping him. And even that power may not prove sufficient.”

“With every passing second, my city and myself pass ever more fully into the Earth’s plane of existence. Would that the cause of my return here from the barren vastnesses of the Shadow World was as joyous as the glow of this new day’s sun.”

“But the grim responsibility of an entire race is my unwelcome inheritance. It is a duty I cannot shirk. Alas, I must take what comfort I can in knowing that no matter what the result of the coming debacle, I will at least be free to rejoin Ayshera, she whom my heart holds most dear... though whether our reunion will be in celebration of victory -- or in darkest mourning for the ashes of this planet -- none willy truly know until the final battle.”

Some Guy sure is helpfully monologuing his entire life story here. And even so he manages to be vague, inside his own mind, about the nature of the threat he faces. Way to preserve the mystery, Guy.

Also, he’s from the Shadow World so he may be a Yugioh.

Anyway, as one might expect, a city appearing in the middle of the ocean out of nowhere is of alarm so US aircraft carrier Poseidon shows up and starts yelling at Some Guy.

Some Guy decides that they sound mad but he doesn’t have time for lengthy explanations so instead he gestures and the winds and waves start whipping up.

Welp! Seems like the US Poseidon is going on an Adventure!

Meanwhile, Mt. Vesuvius!

Yup. Its that kind of story, the kind partially set at Vesuvius.

Some archeologists are digging in the foothills of the mountain in what has been a fruitless several weeks of archeology but one of the archeologists finds a hand shaped object which may be a hand.

They mistake it for a statue at first but realize its actually a perfectly preserved lava mummified corpse.

And while they’re busy congratulating each other about how wealthy and famous this discovery will make them, they fail to notice the hand moving its finger shaped fingers.

And elsewhere again, the best damn thing.

A cowboy shouts “SLAP LEATHER, YA GALOOT!” and then gets shot by a cannon.

This isn’t the Wild West of the America, this is a spaghetti western film set and the director is very upset at Black Bart’s shitty death acting. How hard is it to get hit by a cannon and then to fall down and pretend to die like you just got hit by a cannon?

You wouldn’t think there’s a wrong way to get shot by a cannon but you’d be wrong.

Simon Williams, Wonder Man: “I’m sorry, Mr. Bertolini. It’s just that, being Wonder Man, it’s hard for me to pretend those cannonballs are hurting me when I can hardly feel them.”

Mr. Bertolini: “True, signore Wonder Man, but I hired you because I thought you could-a act!”

Oh yeah, Mr. Bertolini talks like Mario. So that’s another tally for Marvel’s respect of other countries and cultures.

Aside from this being the seventh take on a ‘guy gets hit by a cannonball, beefs it’ scene, cannonballs are expensive. The cannonball that bounced off Wonder Man’s midsection looks fine but maybe you can’t just reuse them.

The filming breaks for lunch and Wonder Man wanders over to where his moral support is.

His moral support, of course, being Beast.

And he is moral supporting but he’s also multitasking with some women because even in Italy, women are just fascinated by blue fur. Furries are universal.

Wonder Man doesn’t feel supported though and this lousy spaghetti western film is a good opportunity for him.

If you remember, the last project we saw him get was as a cheetah print leotard wearing muscle man on a kids show and he got fired for making the host Uncle Elmer look ridiculous.

(Revealed to Simon’s chagrin in #194, lost to mishap in #201)

Being in an actual movie, even a spaghetti western, is the boost his career needs.

(I think we need to confront the actual possibility that Wonder Man is not a very good actor. But he might be a good stunt man if he can learn to act like things hurt)

Wonder Man’s publicist Rachel Palmer shows up as well and wow. Rachel has never appeared before and given the fillery nature of these chaotic no consistent writer times may not appear beyond this story. But you instantly get the sense of their working relationship.

And they have good banter too.

Wonder Man: “Wait. There she is -- Rachel Palmer -- the apple of my eye, the light of my life, the bane of my existence!”

Rachel: “If you delivered your lines that well in front of the cameras, Simon, you might actually keep this job -- which’ll make it just a little easier to hype you as a star back in the States.”

Wonder Man: “Your encouraging words are a constant source of inspiration, Rachel. But I’d appreciate it if you’d confine them to your press releases.”

Rachel: “You’ve got me all wrong, Simon. I hope this whole thing turns out well for you. Really.”

Wonder Man: “And for yourself. After all, if you make me a big name, you can ride along on my coat-tails and become a media hotshot -- instead of being stuck as a flak for Grade D Westerns.”

Rachel: “No, Simon. I--”

Wonder Man: “Forget it, lady. I’m a big boy. I know that all’s fair in love -- and show biz.”

And then he walks off towards his trailer, satisfied at getting the last word with someone whose job it is to make him look good. Beast says that he thinks Wonder Man was too hard on her and that Rachel probably digs Wonder Man.

Wonder Man: “Maybe you’re right. But I still can’t get over feeling that Rachel’s motivated by sheer self-interest and everything else places a distant second.”

(I’m pretty sure she does dig Wonder Man because unbeknowst to Wonder Man and Beast, she follows them to the trailer, wanting to convince Wonder Man that she’s not as self-serving as he thinks and also to invite him to a romantic dinner)

Anyway, Wonder Man’s social life isn’t important. At all. And not right now. Because when he and Beast go into Wonder Man’s trailer and discover the Avengers’ emergency signal briefcase is BEEP BEEPing.

It’s Cap and there’s an emergency situation that demands immediate investigation.

A brand new island city has just popped up in the middle of the Mediterranean slash off the coast of Majorca from out of nowhere and the government wants the Avengers to investigate.

Presumably the US government.

Because if I know anything about mysterious island cities appearing from nowhere - and I know exactly one thing - by jingo, they start wars!

Beast is enjoying his vacation so asks why the US Sixth Fleet doesn’t handle it instead. They’re actually paid to do things while on an ocean. But Iron Man just says that the fleet has had problems.

And with a little reading comprehension we can guess what problems. Because we’ve seen it. Its not a mystery.

Iron Man has a Stark plane sent to pick Beast and Wonder Man up and fly them to Majorca. Or somewhere thereabouts. I don’t know if Majorca has or had an airport.

Wonder Man bemoans that he’ll never be a movie star if he keeps leaving the set to go have exciting comic book superhero adventures.

Which is a little like complaining about being too handsome. Ya jerk.

And remember how Rachel Palmer was peeping on them? No? Scroll up a little and look at the above panels again. Back? And remember how Rachel Palmer was peeping on them?

Her media senses are tingling and telling her that she should definitely go check out the city that appeared in the middle of the ocean. She’s much intrepid for not a reporter.

Meanwhile, some slice of life filler fluff that doesn’t matter but that I find delightful.

And if this liveblog isn’t about sharing things that I find delightful then what is it about? Exhaustively recounting plots to comic books from decades ago? That’s just a side benefit!

The call to action back at Avengers Mansion comes right when Wanda is having Vision move a couch.

Vision: “Wanda, while it may be true that I am capable of moving this couch about all day, it seems a gross misuse of my android abilities to do so.”

Wanda: “Maybe if we just move those shelves then you just put it down there. We’re Avengers, not interior decorators.

This is the content I eagerly crave.

So back in not America, Beast and Wonder Man complain about the plane ride but passing over the ocean they see what trouble the Sixth Fleet was having.

Some Guy, Possibly Shadow Lord managed to strand the Poseidon aircraft carrier fully on a deserted island.

And I was wrong about the plane taking them to Majorca. Its apparently taking them to Poseidon because it lands on the ship’s airstrip so the two Avengers can consult the stranded sailors about what the heck is going on.

Captain Paul Garrison tells them that they were investigating the mysterious new island/city (not mentioning that they were also yelling at it) when a tidal wave suddenly swelled up and carried the Poseidon several miles and left it on this island.

And apparently the same thing happened to any other plane and ship that attempted to approach the island. Thwarted by winds and waves.

Damn you, nature!

Anyway, its all rather mysterious but Wonder Man figures

“Well, we were sent here to investigate. So... let’s investigate.”

And Wonder Man rockets off to investigate the city. While giving Beast a piggyback ride.

Which. Amazing image. Bless this issue for its bounty of amazing images.

Bear in mind that the captain said that the aircraft carrier was carried several miles. Wonder Man’s belt rockets have impressive duration considering he can’t be carrying much fuel on his person.

When they reach the city, they find a localized hurricane hovering right above it. But Wonder Man just flies down through the eye of the storm to get to the city.

Some Guy Shadow Lord is surprised because he had been expecting big boats and planes. Not a guy with rocket pants and a blue gorilla riding on his back.

But he’s able to shoo them away just as easily as any big thing, with a wave of his hand summoning a wind that carries Wonder Man and passenger Beast away from the city.

Meanwhile, Rachel Palmer is also here. She spent all her money renting a plane and then a boat but she’s going to get to that mysterious city and get an exclusive inside story!

So is she a journalist? Or what? She’s Lois Laneing but as far as we’ve heard her job is to convince people they want to see Wonder Man do stuff in movies.

Wonder Man spots her and tries to fly to her rescue but two water spouts spurt up to ruin this rescue plan.

The first one launches Rachel’s boat into the air and smashes it to pieces. The second blasts Wonder Man out of the sky preventing him from saving Rachel from falling to her death.

But unseen by either of the Avengers, a strong breeze safely lowers Rachel to the ground of the city.

Because what is an Avengers comic without men developing weird and intense feelings for a nearby woman.

Some Guy: “How beautiful she is, how like my own Ayshera. And, also like Ayshera, she is courageous... and more than a little headstrong.”

Cool. I hope this doesn’t get weird. Or that we’re not asked to sympathize with a guy whose only ‘sympathetic’ trait is a possessive attraction to a woman. Looking at you, Living Laser. And, I guess, Graviton.

Anyway, Wonder Man doesn’t see Rachel getting rescued by an airbender so he works himself into a lather.

Wonder Man: “That sinks it! It’s one thing to attack naval ships and planes... one thing to attack Avengers... But when he kills an innocent woman who could do him no harm -- that guy’s gonna answer to WONDER MAN!”

Honestly, I think you’re selling Rachel short. I’m sure she could do harm if she put her mind to it.  Like, what if she covered him in bees. That would suck.

Anyway, Wonder Man rages through the city’s protective winds and then gets SAFUUSH!’d between two walls of solid water.

He’s left sputtering and disoriented in the ocean. At least until some hooks hook down from the Quinjet, hook Wonder Man, and then hook him up into the ship.

I didn’t know that the Quinjet had hooks for grabbing people out of the ocean but I am thrilled.

Ideally, the Avengers would use their newfound ability to vaudeville hook people into orbit more often. I can think of so many instances where it would be useful, or at least hilarious.

Anyway, Wonder Man apprises the other Avengers into the situation.

Meanwhile, not dead Rachel Palmer wakes up and finds the Shadow Lord brood slouching in a chair and watching her while she was unconscious.

She is alarmed that he’s just sitting there staring but he basically goes ‘DON’T WORRY I READ YOUR MIND TO LEARN YOUR NAME AND LANGUAGE’ and then decides to explain his entire backstory.

Shadow Lord: “The city in which we stand is the Shadow Realm and I... I am called the Shadow Lord!”

DAMMIT I KNEW HE WAS A YUGIOH!

Anyway.

THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO! Give or take! An ancient tribe decided to move to an island to isolate themselves from “primitive, superstitious neighbors who feared [their] more advanced society.”

Off to a good start with this guy.

Free of the mundane concerns of living in a world that hated and feared them, they were able to peacefully ALL BECOME WIZARDS WHO COULD CONTROL THE FORCES OF NATURE.

Maybe the X-Men are onto something.

So the Shadow Lord’s people learned to control, winds, waves, earth, and maybe fire so what I’m saying is that it was an entire island of Avatars.

Boom, sequel idea. Give me millions of dollars, Nickelodeon.

“Though veiled in mystery, rumors of our existence spread throughout the world. We were feared and shunned by the other peoples of the Earth -- which allowed us to continue our studies undisturbed.”

“Those who mistrusted anything they could not comprehend... they called us witches and sorcerers. Those who knew and understood us called us... the Earth Lords!”

“For centuries our sole purposes were to augment our knowledge of the Earth’s forces and to maintain the natural balance between these forces. Otherwise, we had no interest in the day-to-day affairs of the outside world.”

Maybe I was wrong about them being Yugioh. Maybe they’re the Time Lords from the Doctor Who.

Anyway, the Earth Lords were happy sitting on their island being Avatars but over the eons they sensed a disturbance in the Force, for I must reference all the things.

"Over the eons, we became aware of a seemingly immortal, human force of awesome destruction, one who could potentially plunge mankind into an irreversible slide to its doom.”

“Singlehandedly he could destroy towns. With an army beside him -- countries. Time and again, he did. It was when he finally joined the legions of Rome at the peak of the Empire’s power... that we first feared the balance of nature was in danger of being destroyed. Rome could forever take over the world.”

The Earth Lords tried on several occasions to destroy this menace. We don’t get to know what constituted these efforts and that’s disappointing because of what the final successful attempt was.

By 79 AD, they knew he was on the slopes of Mt. Vesuvius so they caused it to erupt, just to bury this one guy under hundreds of tons of rock and ash and lava.

Mission accomplished.

Except for the little thing where the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius also wiped out Pompeii and Herculaneum and other cities people know significantly less about, killing over 20,000 people.

As things go, that’s pretty dire amount of incidental deaths to kill one person. And the Earth Lords realize that this was a pretty major fuck up.

So they decided that they couldn’t be trusted with their powers and that they would disperse into the outside world to live and die as people do and have their powers dissipate over the years.

But before they did that, they discovered that the seemingly immortal guy they hit in the face with a volcano was somehow still alive somehow. Just trapped. Under hundreds of tons of rock and ash and lava that cooled into rock.

They killed thousands and didn’t even permanently kill the dude they were trying to kill? That’s pretty incompetent. They really can’t be trusted with their power.

Since he eventually might get out and resume being a dick, the Earth Lords drew lots and chose one of their number, the Some Guy later known as the Shadow Lord from the Shadow Realm, to forever watch over the city alone and await the day that the immortal guy would again walk the land.

And to help him solo the dude that took an entire city of people and a volcano to deal with, the Earth Lords concentrated all of their powers into this one Shadow Lord guy and taught him how to send himself and the city into a twilight plane of nothingness which is back to being called the Shadow World.

So this might also be Twilight Princess.

For two thousand years the Shadow Lord in the Shadow Realm in the Shadow World observed Earth and waited. And now, it seems that the seemingly immortal dude is back.

Rachel: “But I don’t understand. How can one man threaten a whole world -- and live for thousands of years in solid rock?”

Shadow Lord: “This is no mere man, my dear... this is the Berserker!”

And speak of the devil and we scene transition to him because we scene transition to Pompeii.

The lava mummified human figure that seemed to move before has stopped beating about with finger twitches and has gotten up to rampage around and backhand archeologists.

Don’t feel bad though. They were in it for the money and fame, those fiends.

Back at the city of Shadow Realm, the Avengers suddenly show up as a full team and basically enter swinging. Iron Man even blasts a wall for no reason.

Rachel tries to tell the Avengers that Shadow Lord means no harm but the Avengers can’t hear her over the sounds of Wonder Man loudly reassuring Rachel that they’re here to rescue her.

Iron Man exploding a wall for no reason probably also didn’t help.

So Rachel instead tries to tell Shadow Lord that the Avengers are a force for good. While he can hear her, he chooses to ignore her.

Using his powers of being the Avatar, he tries to pull a rocks fall but nobody dies. Rocks falling is something the Avengers deal with panache and also lasers and punches.

Some panache. Beast’s skycycle gets hit by a rock and he ends up leaping onto one of the spires of the city to avoid crash. And then, like a cat who climbs a tree except its a building in this context, Beast has a hard time figuring out how to get down from there.

While the larger Avengers punch and laser boulders and jump onto spires, Wasp just flies right in and shoots Shadow Lord in the eyebrow.

Amazing. Another good use of Wasp powers, being able to get in close while the opponent thinks the team is distracted at a distance.

Shadow Lord is none too pleased to be shot in the eyebrow by a tiny insect-sized flying woman and decides that a particularly karmic punishment is required.

Shadow Lord: “An insect-sized flyling woman! What sorcery is this? But if an insect you be, then it is only fitting I ensnare you in a cocoon of living wind... a cocoon which will grow and envelop your so-called fellow Avengers!”

And as Rachel still pleads with Shadow Lord to knock it off, he summons a giant tornado that suck in all of the Avengers (save Beast stuck up on his spire).

Shadow Lord even has the tornado carry him along, the better to continue mocking the Avengers as he carries them to their doom.

Shadow Lord: “You hopeless children! Did you actually think to defeat me, to deter me from my purpose? I who who command the earth and wind themselves to do my bidding?”

Yeah, dude. Definitely not sounding like a supervillain now. Cannot fathom why the Avengers are assuming you are one.

Iron Man manages to escape the tornado by firing his boot-jets at maximum, sending him flying free with a SHA-BOOSH! but also carrying him far away because momentum.

Shadow Lord then creates a whirlpool in the ocean and has his tornado carry the Avengers towards it. The whirlpool goes to the bottom of the ocean. Which then cracks open to reveal bubbling magma.

That’s right. The Shadow Lord is going to shoot them out of a tornado, into a whirlpool and into magma beneath the ocean floor.

Its. At least more precise than hitting them with a volcano, I’ll give him that. Definitely feels like overkill to go from rocks to tornado-whirlpool-magma execution but its definitely more precise.

Somewhat more precise.

Because when Iron Man manages to slow himself down to turn back he notices that a yacht is being swamped by the waves Shadow Lord is churning up.

And because of heroism, he takes the time to scoop the yacht out of the ocean and rest it safely on an island.

Geez. There’s a lot of boats being beached in this story.

Shadow Lord actually sees this. And a thought starts penetrating his thick skull that maybe he should have listened to Rachel.

Shadow Lord: “The armored one paused in his attack on me to save those people -- innocent people... which is more than we were able to do 2,000 years ago. Perhaps, as Rachel says, they are not agents of evil...”

He decides that he’ll stop throwing them out of a tornado into a whirlpool into magma but he doesn’t get the chance to put that train of thought on the tracks.

Beast waves Iron Man over. From his perch on the spire he’s noticed that the building he’s on is cracking from the strain of all the power Shadow Lord is throwing around even though he’s not been throwing it at that building.

So Beast deduces that the city is key to Shadow Lord’s power in some way and should have the shit beaten out of it.

And as Iron Man starts punching some wall, Shadow Lord doubles over in pain and the tornado he was about to dissipate dissipates.

The other Avengers get free and decide hey, follow the leader.

Jocasta: “The battle has truly just begun. Malevolent power such as this must not be allowed to exist. We must follow Iron Man’s lead and destroy the city -- totally!”

So unnoticed by the Avengers as they level the city into a pile of rubble, Shadow Lord staggers and swoons at Rachel’s feet.

But even dying, he still has some exposition bottled up.

To be fair, he’s been isolated for 2,000 years with no one to talk to.

He explains that the powers of an entire population of Avatars was way too great to be contained in one squishy mortal body so the powers were instead imbued in the city itself.

And with the city destroyed, it can no longer serve as a source of power and also can’t keep him alive anymore.

He’s honestly not too broken up over it. Since the Avengers are valiant and worthy, they can pick up his unfinished business while he goes and dies and gets to reunite with his girlfriend who died sometime during those 2,000 years.

Shadow Lord: “But please understand... I am as much to blame for today’s events as anyone... I bear you no malice... we misjudged each other. I have done my best... no more can be expected of a man... perhaps you will succeed... where I have failed. So do not mourn my passing... for me, death is but the long-awaited door that opens to my beloved... Ayshera.”

And the Avengers realize belatedly ‘we done goofed.’

“A sad -- and confused -- group of heroes grimly watches the passing of the Shadow Lord... and only then does the cruel truth reveal itself to them: what they had thought to be one of their greatest triumphs is instead... one of their most bitter defeats.”

Oh, and as I expect they’ll soon find out, the Berserker has been kicking the Italian army’s ass near Pompeii so that’s probably escalating into a bit of a situation and they just accidentally killed the guy who could have helped with that. Although in fairness, he deliberately ignored Rachel when she told him that the Avengers were heroes.

Like he said, he fucked up too.

Still, while its a bit of a Marvel tradition to have mighty misunderstanding fights, I don’t think they tend to result in people dying. One for the history books.

Next time: the Berserker.

Follow @essential-avengers​. Also like and reblog. And send me Avengers triumphs that are way more impressive than beating up a city.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 08

Read Along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: A conversation in Sy Bisti. Thrawn gives Ezra good news.

Next Time: Vah’nya pulls Ezra aside. Ivant gives Ezra some tips on fighting the Grysk.

-/

Shock was a common occurrence among soldiers. Thrawn had seen it in many theatres: space battles with pale faced new ensigns, undercover missions seasoned veterans never fully returned from, ground troops executing an enemy for the first time. Soldiers he could relate to, Chiss or otherwise. Was his presence preferable or soothing? Unlikely. But he knew how to intervene.

Ezra Bridger might be a Jedi, but he was a soldier, too. He'd come of age within the Rebellion's militia-like structure. He adapted well, and Thrawn had not forgotten that he'd infiltrated an Imperial Military Academy, either. Thrawn could deal with talking down soldiers far better than he could deal with Navigators. The question was whether or not his subconscious would register Thrawn as an enemy due to their history.

In Basic, which Thrawn had not spoken for weeks in the other man's presence, he asked, "Is Navigator Un'hee's presence helping or hurting?"

Un'hee shot him a dirty look. He ignored it.

Sitting in the middle of the couch, Ezra's dazed expression didn't change. He licked his lips, swallowed, but no words came.

"Navigator," Thrawn intoned, not gently but hardly rude. "I ask that you leave us."

"I don't want to leave him alone like this." She reached for one of Ezra's hands, and the young man twitched, clenched tightly to his knees.

"I will stay with him," Thrawn said. "I fear your Sight is hurting more than helping."

"I'm being careful," Un'hee argued. "I know how he feels and you know it."

"He also knows how you feel, Navigator Un'hee," The glow of Thrawn's eyes were muted, indicative of his attempt to remain calm, and inspire it in her, too.

"Ivant said he was coming to talk to him," She said, pushing herself up from the cushion to Ezra's left. "After he finished with Admiral Ar'alani."

"I will be sure to expect him, then," Thrawn replied, derailing Un'hee's hope that the threat of Eli Vanto in close quarters would allow her to stay. "Please, Navigator."

Thrawn was not naturally impolite, in fact it was the opposite. But he retained a firm grasp of order, and did not often ask. Un'hee sighed. "If I can help…" She trailed off.

"I will send you a message."

The girl doubted she would receive anything, but still obeyed his request. When the door shut behind her, Thrawn rose. Ezra's eyes followed him without seeing. "I suspect you feel cold," He said. "I will return with a blanket."

The aftermath of a battle tended to hit far harder than the battle itself. The subconscious caught up to the conscious mind, the cocktail of chemicals produced by the neural system of the body dissipated. Thrawn procured two blankets instead of one, taking the top layer of bedding from each of their bunks. Ezra was normally cold.

He considered his datapad for a moment. Then, considering for a moment her surprise, Thrawn balanced it on his lap to send a message to Un'hee.

-/

The door to the suite opened slowly, drawing Thrawn's gaze. The brighter light that spilled in from the hallway was eclipsed by a shadow far larger than that of Un'hee, who he’d been expecting. It had only been a few moments since her confirmation message came through that she’d return with something warm for Ezra to drink, likely caf. Thrawn listened to the first, heavier footfall and was on his feet in a second. Ezra turned his head warily, jolted by the quick motion of the man beside them.

"Captain Ivant," Thrawn greeted, voice hollow. Beside him, Ezra blinked, and attempted to rise, swaying in place. The Commander prepared to keep him down with a hand, but the Captain spoke first.

"At ease," Ivant said in Basic. Despite the darkness in the room, he made no effort to turn up the lights via the touch panel. He smiled at Ezra, much like he so frequently smiled at the younger Navigators, and the young man seemed to sink back down into the cushion. Then, the human’s gaze canted up, meeting Thrawn's. The smile wasn't entirely gone. "Please," He said, directing that familiar drawl and those warm brown eyes at the Chiss.

For a moment, Thrawn could almost pretend there was no bad blood, no uncomfortable tension between them. Then he blinked, and logic won out. "As you wish," Thrawn said tightly. Something in him coiled, making him feel uneasy.

There were three mugs between his two gloved hands. He placed the first before Ezra. Caf, Thrawn realized. Ezra looked down at it slowly, then back up. Ivant tilted his head. "It's way too hot to drink now," He said kindly, hardly expecting Ezra to take it. "Let it cool a while."

The young Jedi’s eyes were hazy and dark, unfocused, but he nodded slightly before a tremor ran down his spine. Ivant didn’t press him on it, nor did he comment when Ezra pulled the blankets wrapped around him closer. Thrawn watched his charge with an appraising eye. Bridger was a special case. He had very little parenting or security in his upbringing. It made people protective of him.

Ezra Bridger also had a big heart and a desire to help. Thrawn clearly felt somewhat indebted to him. Ivant separated the remaining mugs, balanced precariously in the crook of an arm pressed against his side and in his non-dominant hand. Eli moved that one to the dominant hand as to prevent spillage of the last one and held it out to Thrawn.

He eyed it warily, lips thinning. “You did not need to-”

“I did,” Vanto interrupted. His eyebrows went up as he silently appraised the Chiss. “You think he’d talk to me like this without you present?”

Something about that made the discomforting sensation in Thrawn’s core burn. Still, he kept his voice without inflection, true neutral. “He would do as ordered, Captain. As would I.”

Thrawn took the mug and sat. Ivant stepped back, leaning casually against the opposite wall.

It was true. Thrawn is on thin ice, as the humans say. It is an appropriate expression, considering his home world. Thrawn has been on thin ice for a long, long time. Ivant studied him with his brown eyes, pupils dilated to allow him to see as much as possible in the dark. He did feel any embarrassment, there was no heat in his neck, or cheeks, or ears. He was dark in the spectrum that Thrawn could see with his superior biology. He felt lightyears away instead of just outside arms’ reach.

“If I make you that uncomfortable,” The human finally said, his voice lilting with the accent, soft and round, but just as firm, “I’ll leave. The kid can message me when he’s up for talking.”

Thrawn rose sharply, eyes flashing in momentary outrage. Ivant did not back down, stepping forward as well. He held his mug of tea between both hands. “I do not understand,” Thrawn said. He spoke again, but this time in Sy Bisti. Tension made itself known in his forehead. “I do not understand where I stand with you.”

Ivant looked into his mug as though it would hold some secret answer. Then, he lifted his head. He answered in the language he’d been spoken to. “I am your Captain.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

The beginnings of a smile passed through his face, smoothed out before it ever became anything more than a quirk of his lips. Mirth. “We are not the same beings we were at the start of all this,” Vanto said. “We have both had to make difficult decisions.”

“I am not proud of what I did, not all of it.”

From where they stood, Vanto looking up at him, Thrawn saw his eyes in totality and unobscured: a deep brown, like Corellian cinnamon and tang bark. He no longer held himself like his lack of height was a disadvantage. His chest was pushed out enough to be open, his stance comfortable but lacking arrogance. He did not yield, his stance did not relent, but something in his eyes eased.

“I know, Thrawn.”

Neither of them looked away. An impossible urge crossed through the Chiss’s logical rationale. A desire to reach for the man in front of him. A desire to make a connection. Thrawn wrapped his unoccupied hand around the warm mug of tea, threading his fingers together lest he be struck by yet another irrational proclivity.

Vanto tilted his head. Thrawn saw the lines beneath his eyes, the way the outer corners of them crinkled when half-smiled, bittersweetly. He wanted to dissect each and every micromovement, each like a brushstroke on an evolving canvas. He wanted to ask questions and analyze Vanto's responses, wanted to sit here and drink tea and pretend this was something it wasn't. That it was fine. That they were something more than allies. That-

The Captain's comm chimed on his belt and the shrill beep in the otherwise silent room made Ezra jerk, the mug of caf sloshing when he kicked the table. It brought the young Jedi back to himself, and with an easy wave of his hand he saved the mug before it went crashing to the floor.

The moment, whatever it had been, whatever it might have been trying to be, was broken.

“Ivant,” Vanto said, pulling the device around him.

“I need you aboard the Strikefast in twenty minutes,” Ar’alani said.

“Make it forty. I’m with the Jedi.”

She tutted, not thrilled about the suggestion. “How does he fare?”

The edge in Vanto’s tone was icy. His Cheunh was flawless, Thrawn realized not for the first time. It sounded like he’d been speaking it for his entire life, not three years, give or take. “Not well. Care to explain to me why I’m debating sending him to medical?”

“Recall your first encounter, Captain,” Ar’alani didn’t sound remotely concerned. “He will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Ivant rolled his eyes, half amused as he recalled wryly, “I remember. I don’t think you let me rinse my mouth out before you debriefed me.”

“I was prepared to do so in that tiny refresher in your quarters,” The Admiral’s voice hid a sardonic sense of humor between her words. “You may have thirty minutes. If you are not in my office within the hour-”

“I’ll be there. Ivant out.” He switched the comm off and turned to the Jedi. He gave a tentative smile, trying to shake off his funk. It would be a few days before he’d be back to normal, but he’d be alright, Ivant knew. Thrawn had dealt with this before. He knew what to do, and he wasn’t Ezra’s only resource aboard the Compass.

Ezra coughed nervously. “Did she really?” He asked slowly, testing each word on his tongue.

“Yes,” Ivant gave him a gentle smirk, a little wry. “I’m better for it. But that’s not what you need. We’re going to talk about it. Your reaction isn’t entirely uncommon.”

“I’ve never,” Ezra looked down at his hands, sucking a drip of caf off his finger. “I think I’d rather face Vader.”

Thrawn’s head swivelled around fast, his response terse. “You jest.”

Ezra did not. “At least I can understand Vader’s motives. They-”

Vanto interrupted their bickering. He had a schedule to keep, “There are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil. A warrior does not seek to understand them, or to compromise with them.” Thrawn exhaled sharply, drawing the Captain’s gaze. “He seeks only to destroy them.”

“Eli-”

Ivant’s eyes narrowed, and the serious dark look was back. He addressed Ezra, “Starting tomorrow, you will meet me in the training facilities on the second level two hours before first shift. I will teach you how to fight a Grysk.” He considered Thrawn. That slightest bit of warmth in his eyes was gone, like their former discussion hadn't happened at all. “You are welcome to join us, if your duties allow.”

Thrawn frowned, eyes curiously blank, even for him. Ezra still hadn’t moved from the huddle of the two blankets wrapped around him. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but he still felt shaky and on-edge as he rose. “Yes, Captain,” Ezra said. His voice wasn’t as wobbly as he’d expected.

The Chiss swallowed, then nodded. He did not speak. It earned him a curious, concerned look from Ezra. But Ivant didn't comment on it, didn't rebuke him or draw attention to it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay and speak with you longer," Ivant said in Ezra's direction, but something about that seemed off to him. His voice didn't have that quality to it - like speaking to a student, that parental, teaching tone he used with Ezra and the Navigators. Ezra suspected he was speaking to Thrawn.

But it didn't matter. Ivant was gone in seconds, twelve steps in a purposeful stride, the door hissing shut behind him.

Thrawn lowered himself back onto the cushion beside Ezra. They sipped at their drinks in silence until there were only dregs left, and they'd long since gone cold.

"While you were gone," The Chiss began, "Vah'nya allowed me to see an old colleague I served with in the Empire." He still cradled the mug between his hands, as if not sure what to do with them otherwise. "She defected," He clarified carefully. "She did not go to the Rebellion, though she brought news of the Emperor's product, Stardust."

Ezra turned to look at him. "Do I want to know?" He asked.

"I wouldn't tell you now if I thought it would make things worse," Thrawn reasoned. "But I would tell you. You deserve to know."

Nodding, Ezra looked down at his hands, tangled together while his forearms rested on his knees. "They won?"

"They did. I inquired about your friends, but there was not much information. They did not play a large role in the battle."

"Thanks for trying," Ezra's words were weighted with gratitude. "Seriously," He said, as though Thrawn might not have noticed the first time around. The Chiss had. He simply hadn't finished speaking.

"I was given the impression that the Captain would give you more details. However, I did learn why General Syndulla was not more involved, if you wish-"

"Of course I do!" Ezra turned on the cushion, facing Thrawn's right side. He no longer trembled from his earlier experience, his body tense with anticipation. "Anything," He said desperately.

"She was with child," Thrawn said. "A son."

Ezra flopped back against the couch, staring up at the unimpressive ceiling, tinged gray in the dark. For a moment, he layed in the strange, awkward position he'd thrown himself back in on the remaining free cushions. His breaths came soft but smooth. Deep, and centering.

Thrawn almost wondered if the Jedi had fallen asleep. He'd certainly come upon the young man sleeping in creative and very uncomfortable situations.

"Thank you," Ezra said. "For telling me. And for asking."

"You are welcome," Thrawn said. Then, "Jarrus was the father?"

Ezra propped himself up in his elbows, looking at the side of Thrawn's face. "They were best friends. Partners, in and out of battle," He said as if trying to craft a relatable expression for the Chiss, then added, "They loved each other."

Thrawn turned to look at Ezra, not entirely sure what to say. He was no stranger to the concept of love. It was not far from certain aspects of loyalty, dedication, or devotion. Though he doubted very much that he'd felt it, even in his youth, something in the Commander's gut burned at the unspoken implication in Ezra's words. He thought of Eli Vanto’s cool-dark gaze looking up at him, of I know, Thrawn, of the way he held himself like a man who finally started to understand what he was worth.

He never did get an answer to his question.

[iamjacsmusings]

MCU Challenge musings

18 weeks. 18 films. The MCU Challenge. In collaboration with Team #Geekstalkers. Collated musings below, all leading to Infinity War.

#1 - Iron Man

Robert Downey Jnr IS Tony Stark, Tony Stark IS Iron Man, Iron Man IS the first MCU Avenger. Without this we wouldn’t have the MCU as we know and love it. Despite that, coming soon after Batman’s triumphant return as it does, I can’t help but feel the identikit Iron Man Begins falls a little flat. The weak MCU villain problem is present and incorrect right from Mk 1 too.

#2 - The Incredible Hulk

Tonally misjudged and (latterly) at odds with the hulk as we know and love him in the shared MCU. Watching now, 15 entries later, it feels non-canon. As a standalone, inspired by the 70s show, it’s fine.

#3 - Iron Man 2

Probably [one of] the weakest #mcuchallenge entries for me as it aims for “cool” moments rather than developing character or overarching story. On the flipside, it introduces us to ScarJo’s Black Widow

#4 - Thor

In no particular order: the direction of Branagh, the realisation of the Rainbow bridge, the triple H acting of Hemsworth, Hiddleston and Hopkins, the hilarious humour, the majesty of Mjolnir, the Shakespearean plot machinations; all are Thor-some!

#5 - Captain America: The First Avenger

I (too) was predisposed to preferring this origin above all Avengers due to my predilection for Captain America as a character, so the bar was set high. Johnson, the perfectly chosen director, exceeded it by making a boys own adventure replete with echoes of his Lucasfilm roots. It’s underrated in my opinion and should be considered as the Raiders of Phase One. Joe Johnson just *got* 1940s Adventure-era Cap. As too does Evans who only continues to get better with each subsequent appearance. I could watch Cap movies all day…

#6 - Avengers Assemble

Still top 5 MCU of all-time. The Avengers characterisations are spot on in this initial assemblage; no mean feat considering the wealth of source material, the origins of Phase One and the balancing act of at least seven key roles. Come the epic Chitauri invasion finale and from the Avengers arc shot onwards there’s too many fist-pumping, geekgasm moments to mention; spine tingling each and every one of them.

#7 - Iron Man 3

As a fanboy of @BonafideBlack’s buddy banter and noir stylings, I’m on board with his Iron Man entry (noir is an anagram of Iron after all) He write characters therefore it came as no surprise that his take delves beneath the suit to the mechanic that wears it. I’m aware I’m in the minority, but the first two don’t do much for me therefore this is like a shot of extremis to Shellhead’s previously floundering solo entries. It still looks to be Stark’s swansong and, if so, it’s a fine way to finish IMO. Kiss Kiss Iron Man, if you will. The “barrel of monkeys” scene is one of the stand out scenes from the entire MCU too.

#8 - Thor: The Dark World

The tone, palette and plot of this inferior sequel is arguably more aligned with the much maligned DC(E)U rather than the rightly-lauded MCU; make of that what you will. I’d gladly watch an anthology prequel about the Lord of the Aether battle glimpsed in the prologue though…

#9 - Captain America: The Winter Soldier

An espionage thriller every bit as good as the best Bourne or Bond has to offer, Captain America: The Winter Soldier just happens to have a few present and future Avengers at its centre. The undisputed leader of the Avengers as the 18-strong MCU currently stands, the more I revisit Captain America Super Soldier, the closer the film creeps towards my current cream of the big screen comic book crop, The Dark Knight.

#10 - Guardians of the Galaxy

Guardians of the Galaxy is better than any film about a half-Terran cross between Han Solo and Indiana Jones, a walking thesaurus, a talking tree, a green-skinned warrior woman and a bad-tempered raccoon has any right to be. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve seen GotG already. There’s so much to admire, so much Galaxy to explore. it bears repeat viewing. Every joke still lands. Every emotional beat pulls a heart string. Every character is worthy of fronting their own galactic adventure. We. Are. Groot.

#11 - Avengers: Age of Ultron

There’s much to admire in this movie as Whedon ably juggles the ever-growing ensemble cast; each one gets their moment so, no matter who your favourite is, you should feel satisfied come the conclusion. The action scenes pay off with key moments that remain in the memory: the team line-up, “Go to sleep, go to sleep”, Black Widow on the bike, Hawkeye motivating Scarlet Witch and the arc shot around the Avengers as they end the threat of too many Ultrons. Quiet moments pay off too: the party is perfect (especially Thor’s face as Cap moves Mjolnir), the interlude at ranch Barton is a top idea and the lull in the final fight manages to move; I even welled up a little as Cap and Widow debate their fate this watch. In short, it’s endlessly rewatchable, as my SuperSon has put to the test.

#12 - Ant-Man

Easily the most underrated entry in the entirety of the MCU to date, Ant-Man is also, upon reflection, my favourite solo character origin story. Giant-sized words, I know!

#13 - Captain America: Civil War

War! What is it good for? Captain America movies!

I love Civil War. It’s edgy. It;s important. It’s epic! It truly feels like a “superhero comic book movie” ripped from the panelled page. And, Thor damn, the Russo’s sure can shoot the shit (Sorry, Cap) out of an action scene. Speaking of scenes, there’s one in Fight Club when the Narrator and Tyler mock a Gucci advertisement, asking if it’s what a real man look like. It’s not, no. What a real man looks like is Captain America holding a helicopter with one arm and a building with the other. Swoon.

I could watch this on repeat all day. 

#14 - Doctor Strange

Let’s face it, Cumberbatch was the only choice for Strange, as suited to the hyper-intelligent, egotistical, socially-awkward auteur as Downey Jr was to Stark’s genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist. By this point in the MCU, Marvel can do origin with ease as this return to formula proves. Whilst Doctor Strange does remind you of movies from before (Iron Man, Batman Begins, Inception, Matrix), it patches them together into a kaleidoscopic Frankenstein of its own making.

Oh, one more thing: it goes without saying how awesome Doctor Strange’s enchanted Cloak of Levitation is – I’d argue it’s the single best cinema companion since Gromit!

#15 - Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol Two

GotG amped up to 11, Vol. 2 is less a case of difficult second volume, more Gunn locked and loaded. GotG2 is deeper, richer and cleverer than it’s predecessor, if not as instantly iconic nor anarchic in its punk rock aesthetics or impact. Ego, we’ve all got to grow up sometime. Following the near perfection of the first Volume was always going to be a tricky proposition, but this sophomore space saga soars true enough and will surely, in time, serve as a solid central entry in a worthy Guardians of the Galaxy stand-alone trilogy.

#16 - Spider-Man: Homecoming

Did I need another resuited Spider-Man movie so soon after the last aborted attempt? I didn’t think so until I saw this coming-of-age comedy that referenced Ferris Bueller, BttF: Part II and The Breakfast Club (among others)

Did I need another iteration of Spider-Man and his teen geek alter-ego Peter Parker? I didn’t think so until I saw Tom Holland’s infectiously enthusiastic and ultimately incomparable portrayal of everyone’s favourite neighbourhood webslinging wannabe Avenger.

Did I need another potentially disappointing take on a classic Spider-Man villain? I didn’t think so until Michael Keaton’s birdman soared above almost any other adapted antagonist from the entirety of comic canon – not since Loki have I feared and cheered in equal measure.

Did I need another big screen Spider-Man blockbuster? I didn’t think so until I understood what this wall-crawlers direction was under the genius creative control of chief Watcher Feige within the winning MCU. Now I need more, for thwips sake…

#17 - Thor Ragnarok

Space fantasy as its Flash(“ahh ah”)iest, Ragnarok is: Thorsome, Hela good, Full of gloriously glib Loki asides, a Hulk load of fun, great Valkyrie for money! Third time’s the charm for the God of Thunder. I can’t TaikaWaititi to see the Revengers return in Infinity War!

#18 - Black Panther

Stunning Wakanda world building. Convincing and charismatic cast performances. Strong character motivations. Serious and meaningful underlying themes. Too much CGI. MCU continuity issues. Nowhere near enough Michael B Jordan. Good not great. Middling MCU Challenge entry for me.

[117--087]

Two Hundred And Four Reasons

Spartan-117 & Spartan-087

[Preface] // [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Part 5] // [Part 6] // [Part 7]

With this past month marking the 4-year anniversary of this blog, I was somewhat at a loss as to what to do to commemorate the occasion...until I remembered there was one more thing I could post as an addendum to my essay series chronicling the development of John-117 and Kelly-087′s relationship throughout Halo canon. There were a few additional pieces of media featuring SPARTAN-II Blue Team that were released in the wake of 2015′s ‘Halo 5: Guardians’ that I think are worth taking a quick look at in regards to how they carry on the tradition of highlighting the bond between a certain Blue-One and Blue-Two.

Through All These Years

The first of the two is an animated miniseries (though more akin to a motion-comic) that loosely adapts the content of both the novel ‘The Fall of Reach’ and its comic book counterpart (which I’ve previously discussed). Like the comic before it though, this miniseries includes a few minor details that differ from the original source text in interesting ways.

The second is a short story from the comic anthology ‘Tales From Slipspace’, called “On The Brink”, and features some panels and dialogue that I feel are very relevant to the content I’ve analyzed so far in regards to Kelly-087′s character and her dynamic with John-117.

We’ll start with the ‘Fall of Reach’ miniseries. Most notably, the animation is bookended by a rather touching scene involving Blue Team returning to the glassed surface of the planet Reach (some time in between late-2557 and mid-2558) in order to hold a private memorial for Samuel-034. But I’ll get back to this after looking at the body of the animation’s content.

To preface: it is worth noting that the animation includes Fred-104 and Linda-058 in events at which they are not canonically present - mainly the “ring the bell” exercise as part of John-117′s team, and as participants in the assault on the Unrelenting in 2525. This was done in order to better familiarize a general audience with them as characters and the roles on Blue Team they would eventually come to fill in the years after the Spartan-IIs’ training in actual Halo canon.

Unlike the comic book version of ‘The Fall of Reach’s events, this miniseries does make sure to include the crucial lesson that John-117 learns from Chief Mendez after putting himself first during the trainees’ initial obstacle course exercise.

“You don’t win unless your team wins.”

Much like in the novelization though, Kelly in particular takes a stand against John’s selfish behavior before he proves he is willing to make amends for his mistake and commit to being a team player.

After the young members of Blue Team reconcile, we are then shown the Spartan-IIs’ wilderness training exercise that takes place two years later. And, in a new addition to this part of the story, we see Sam make a pit-stop to carve the symbol of an eagle and a lightning bolt (which would later become Blue Team’s insignia) into a tree in commemoration of the group’s friendship as John and Kelly look on and consider their next move. As described in ‘The Fall of Reach’, Kelly is noticeably taller than John as a child, which is a small detail I appreciate being included in the animation.

From here things follow the comic adaption pretty closely through the augmentation procedures and the Spartans’ first official mission to Eridanus Secundus to capture insurrectionist Colonel Robert Watts. A few nice asides are made throughout the entire animation where the members of Blue Team casually converse like normal teenagers (making jokes, encouraging one another, offering advice, invitations to do activities, etc.) when not directly engaged in mission-relevant dialogue. So it is good to see this kind of additional humanization of the S-IIs based off of what has long been established about them in Eric Nylund’s books.

Finally the last section of the miniseries is narrated by Kelly-087 herself in flashback (with Michelle Lukes reprising her role from ‘Halo 5: Guardians’), which covers the Spartan-IIs receiving their first sets of MJOLNIR Armor and Sam’s death at the hands of the revealed alien Covenant.

Without quoting every line she says, I will simply say this portion of the animation is well worth watching just for Kelly’s commentary. After Blue Team is outfitted with their suits of Mk. IV armor on Chi Ceti, we come to the Spartans’ infiltration of the Covenant ship Unrelenting. In a small departure from the novel and the comic book, Kelly is actually pulled aboard the vessel by John just as she is about to fly off into space - and though I doubt it was intentional, I find it is an interesting reverse-parallel to what we see in the ‘Halo Legends’ animated short “The Package” all the same.

From here events proceed in general accordance with canon, with Sam’s armor eventually breached by a plasma bolt after being shot while pushing John out of the line of fire. Once Blue Team makes it to the ship’s reactor, they hold off a few waves of Covenant while reading the bomb they brought with them to destroy it. John and Kelly work in tandem as Blue-One and Blue-Two; and in an amusing exchange of roles at one point, we see Kelly take charge of the situation and sprint across the bridge to shut the doors leading to the reactor room while ordering John to complete the work on the nuke.

“I’ll seal the door. John, finish arming that warhead!”

“I remember thinking that no matter how dark the future, we could face it as a team.”

However, as we all know, things reach a breaking point when Sam admits that he has to stay behind on the ship due to the irreparable damage to his armor. This part of Nylund’s book always struck me right in the heart, and the scene here is no exception. This moment is then bolstered by Kelly’s reflection on how this first loss in battle deeply affected not only her and John, but all of Blue Team.

“I know Spartans don't cry...but for once, I was glad for the helmet.”

“We thought training, augmentation, armor made us untouchable, invulnerable, immortal. Blue Team. But we were wrong - we were children. This was the only thing John was ever afraid of: losing one of us. And we knew we weren’t finishing this fight, we were just getting started.”

The animation then ends with the Spartan-IIs visiting the same place Sam originally “carved their mark into the world”. They take a moment to remember their fallen friend and reflect on the meaning of his heroic sacrifice, as the Chief sincerely asks his remaining comrades if they will continue to have faith in him to lead them through whatever lies ahead.

“Last time we were here, I asked Sam to trust me to take us home, to follow me. Will you trust me now? Will you follow me?”

...which plays perfectly into the next section of this write-up.

"On the Brink” is a short comic featuring Blue Team that was relased as part of the ‘Tales From Slipspace’ anthology book in the fall of last year. It takes place in 2558 and is a fairly self-contained story about one of the Spartans’ many exploits after their reunion in 2557. Specifically, they are looking to stop a Mammoth that has been hijacked by some splinter-Covenant from running into a UNSC nuclear reactor. Once again the events are overlayed with a narration by Kelly-087.

The 12-page comic can be viewed in its entirety here. And while it is brief and rather straightforward in terms of the story’s content, there are a few panels that I would like to take a closer look at. Most prominently, this section where Kelly muses on the steadfastness of the Chief’s leadership.

I love How Kelly notes that even though she’s dog-tired and in the middle of a violent firefight, hearing the voice of her best friend is all it takes to renew her focus, confidence, and determination to complete the mission - in a way nothing else can. For his part, John continues to rely Kelly to back him up and talks to her throughout the operation even as her discovery of some civilian scientists aboard the Mammoth forces him to make a risky evasive maneuver in order to save them. And honestly I don’t know what could speak more for the strength of the bond that these two characters have and the kind of trust they have in each other.

After the massive vehicle finally comes to a complete stop, the reactor remains intact and some extensive property damage to the surrounding area is the only fallout of the Covenant attack on the UNSC base. This does not appease the site’s foreman however, and he confronts Blue Team. John keeps his cool while Fred reacts angrily in turn to the man’s disrespect and thankless attitude. Kelly looks on, and can’t help but wonder when John will finally grow weary of the tumultuous and unsure environment the Spartan-IIs have found themselves mired in in the wake of the Human-Covenant War.

The end of this story presents us with quite the conundrum from Kelly’s point of view. Because while she will always support John and believe wholeheartedly in his ability to triumph over adversity, her final thoughts reveal that she does indeed recognize that for all the ways he’s remained stalwart he still has limits too. Just like the rest of them. Which once again works to emphasize how human these characters still are.

These pieces of media continue to paint the same picture of these characters that we have gotten for the last 15+ years: two people who have grown together over a lifetime of experiencing all manner of hardships and yet they maintain a healthy mutual relationship based in respect and honest care. How this may come into play later in the series after the events of ‘Halo 5: Guardians’ remains to be seen, but for now it is good to at least have a few more moments to add to John-117 and Kelly-087′s catalog of positive representation.

[jordan202]

The Journey - Part Six

Thanks @jia911 for the fast proofreading. Previous chapters can be found HERE.

Honorable mention to @hurricane-jenn who was able to spot the reference between part 5 of The Journey and Part 2 of My Boys: Back to the Start. The similarity was Owen waking up with no memory of marrying Amelia and having the same impression he did on TJ: That she was crazy, impulsive and completely unbalanced. 

Anyways, here we go!

Timeline for Part 6:

This one sets around 11x05 and 11x06. Owen and Amelia didn’t really have any relevant developments inside the hospital so I took a lot of liberties with this one. This is what I imagined happened between them offscreen!

The Journey – Part Six

Owen had just finished his morning coffee when he heard loud thuds coming from outside. Sneakily moving inside the small trailer, he bent over and gazed outside the window, looking for the source of all that noise. It shouldn’t have surprised him that the person who was cussing while repeatedly knocking metal against metal was Amelia Shepherd.

“What are you doing?” He frowned heavily at her, wondering why she was being so loud when it wasn’t even seven in the morning on a Monday. “You’re going to break the car.” He added with incredulity.

The neurosurgeon had the hood of a silver car open, while a nearly transparent smoke came from somewhere inside the engine. It was obvious something was wrong. Owen noticed an object in her hand, much similar to a wrench, and he wondered what she’d been trying to do with it.

“Are you beating up the car?” He tried to hide his amusement. “Trying to see if you hurt it bad enough it will decide to work?” Owen added, openly teasing the logic behind the idea.

Amelia seemed to hesitate for a second and he noticed how she slightly blushed. It wasn’t at all common to see her embarrassed so Owen rejoiced in it. It was good to see that sometimes she could get affected by the things he said or did as well.

“Pretty much,” Amelia confessed with an apologetic smile.

Owen went around her and pulled the hood of the car up higher, carefully inspecting it. Amelia noticed the way he easily went through some of the devices. It became obvious Owen Hunt was very familiar with mechanics.

Was there anything the man couldn’t do?

Amelia sighed in frustration. She always felt like she was a mess and that her feelings often got the best of her. It was annoying how sometimes, her mood could change due to any reason, be it a pathetic one or not. And yet, the tall surgeon standing beside her seemed so calm, controlled and unaffected that often she wondered how could someone be so levelheaded. Even when she’d seen him angry, Owen had been in control of himself. At the same time Amelia was attracted by it, she also felt a childish desire to test him just to see how far his self-control would go. The chief of surgery was very intimidating and instead of being scared, Amelia felt strangely drawn. She had no idea why, but her instincts told her that even when pushed to his limit, the enigma that was Owen Hunt would dissolve a little, but he’d probably still be as fascinating.

“When was the last time you checked the radiator coolant?” Owen asked after a few seconds, noticing the levels inside the storage system seemed extremely low.

Amelia looked at him as if the guy was speaking a foreign language.

“What makes you think I even know what that is?”

Owen processed her reaction and chuckled at the same time he nodded his head in disapproval.

“Look, the level of fluid is extremely low,” He carefully opened a round recipient and Amelia saw he now had grease all over his hands. His forearms were amazingly masculine… how come she had never noticed that before? And his hands too… Owen had large, manly hands and Amelia didn’t realize the amount of time she spent with her eyes fixated on them. The way his fingers easily moved in between the car pieces, as roughly and skillfully as if he was performing trauma surgery, made Amelia wonder what else that man was capable of performing with his very talented hands. “Look, go over there to my car and get the bottle with green coolant that’s in the trunk,” He instructed her, pointing towards the blue truck parked a few yards from them.

Amelia quickly did as told, feeling better to have something she could actually do to help instead of distracting herself with amusing ideas. It was very early in the morning and she wanted to be at the hospital in time to do rounds and get plenty of time with two young patients who were scheduled to see her today. The donation money she had received was helping other kids with the same condition as the two year old patient Amelia had performed surgery on, and she was immensely happy to be able to help more children.

The neurosurgeon opened the door to Owen’s truck and couldn’t help taking a moment longer than necessary to observe everything. Unlike her own car, that had coats, an empty water bottle and an overnight bag for shits scattered on the back seat, the inside of the blue truck was perfectly neat and clean. There were no crumbles or forgotten clothes on the inside and Amelia smiled mischievously, thinking that made justice to the image she had of man who owned it.

She followed his instructions and brought back the liquid he’d asked for. Without saying a word, Owen added it to a recipient and closed it. Afterwards, he bent a little further and scraped something inside the panel.

“You also need to replace the engine filter,” Owen informed her.

“Okay, I will,” She replied automatically, grateful for his help, but also feeling a little guilty he had literally gotten his hands dirty just to help her while she was still perfectly clean.

“No, you won’t,” Owen replied matter-of-factly. He didn’t know the woman that well or for that long but somehow he was sure of what he was saying.

“Yeah, I probably won’t,” Amelia confessed with an embarrassed grin. After noticing the way he was judgingly looking at her, obviously condemning her decision, she got defensive. “What? I don’t have the first clue on how to…” She rolled her eyes, impatiently giving in. “Alright, fine. I know I have to, otherwise the car will fry.” The neurosurgeon admitted, against her will. “Should I just walk into a car shop and order an engine filter? Oh, wait, can I buy it online?”

She noticed the silly smile on the corner of his lips, as if in her complete ignorance about mechanics, Amelia had said something so absurd that he was having fun at her expense. She felt like knocking him down for it.

“Just leave the car here over the weekend and I’ll replace it for you.”

With a gentle nod he went inside the cabin, turned the key and like magic, the car worked. Without saying another word, Owen gave Amelia the keys and walked back to his trailer, presumably to wash off all the dirt that had stained his arms and clothes.

Amelia wasn’t surprised by how bossy and economic with words he was. The man was so frustrating, ordering her around. It was her own car, damn it! But at the same time, she couldn’t quite control a warm feeling that slowly started to consume her.

Owen had no obligations with the Shepherds whatsoever but he did things like fix Zola’s bike and now, repair her car. She hadn’t asked for his help, he hadn’t exactly offered it. Instead, he’d simply gone on and fixed what needed to be fixed. His practicality and the way he was always there in a time of need alarmed Amelia at the same time it attracted her. She was afraid it could easily become highly addictive to have him around. Even when Owen was reprimanding her, he was always kind and respectful. Amelia felt strangely looked after. She was used to being on her own and not counting on someone to have her back like that. That made staying mad at him exponentially more difficult.

Trying not to think about those insane notions, she got into the car and drove to work, telling herself it was going to be a great week.

.

At work, Amelia did have one of the finest weeks she ever remembered having. After performing seven surgeries and following up with post ops in the PICU and the ICU, the neurosurgeon took a cab home on Thursday afternoon, after being at the hospital since the previous Tuesday.

All Amelia wanted was to take a hot, relaxing shower and sleep until the following morning. Her brother was responsible for covering the night shift and she was supposed to come home with Meredith, but her sister-in-law had been notified about a donor’s liver for her patient and would spend the entire night performing a transplant. In usual conditions, Amelia would pick up her niece and nephew but she was in no shape to even drive home, let alone look after two kids. Settling for a cab, Amelia took pleasure in the idea of having the house to herself.

As she left the hospital to go home, a thin rain started to fall. The neurosurgeon wasn’t surprised. After years of living in LA, where it was mostly warm all year long, adapting to Seattle wasn’t hard. Amelia had grown up in New York and she actually preferred the colder, rainier days.

Invariably, she had to step on the grass to walk up to the house and much to Amelia’s dismay, her brand new boots got covered in mud. She was still sighing at the realization when she went to pick up the mail.

To her delighted surprised, Amelia found a postcard from Sheldon Wallace. It had been dated two weeks before and she smiled widely while reading about her friend’s adventures in a paradise landscape in the middle of the Caribbean. Amelia was happy for Sheldon that he had quit his job and was now traveling the world.

She was tired and it demanded so much energy to focus on reading a simple card that Amelia completely forgot to clean her boots before entering the house. As result, she stained the floor with several mud steps. Cursing heavens for the sloppiness of her actions, the neurosurgeon went to the back of the house in search of a clean mop when she inadvertently slipped.

Amelia tried to hold her balance on the kitchen isle but all it did was crash two half filled water glasses on floor, adding to the mess before she ended up landing on her bottom. If the situation weren’t so ridiculous, it would be hilarious. Trying her hardest to keep her composure, Amelia promptly cleaned up after her mess, worried about not leaving any tiny glass splinters considering there were two small children living in the house.

One hour later, Amelia had already showered as she looked for something to eat inside the fridge. It was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the sharp pain that was coming from her bottom. Initially, the surgeon had assumed it’d been from her clumsy landing, but as the minutes progressed, she realized there was probably more to it.

Dropping the waffle mix she was about to prepare on the counter, Amelia went to the bathroom and took off her pants. After minutes of careful inspection and thorough search, she realized there was a tiny piece of glass deeply lodged under her skin. She’d had jeans on when her accident happened but somehow the sharp object had made it through. Amelia had no idea how she was unlucky enough that, of all her body parts, she ended up with a splinter stuck in such a horrible place. Not only it was absolutely painful, it was also very hard to reach.

Amelia knew that for any experienced doctor, getting out that tiny glass piece was probably an easy procedure. She was also aware that if she didn’t do anything about it, her body would keep reacting to the foreign object with more inflammation and perhaps even get infected. The skin was already reddish and swollen around the area, probably due to her failed attempts at removing it with a pair of tweezers.

She was still trying to get the glass piece out when the doorbell rang, suddenly startling her. It was a few minutes after 8 and Amelia was alarmed, wondering whom it might be. After pulling her striped pajama pants up, Amelia went to the living room. Feeling stupid for not guessing sooner, she spotted the blonde tall man outside through the peephole and opened the door.

“Hey,” She greeted him, seeing the look of surprise on Owen’s face when he saw who had opened the door.

“Oh, hi,” He replied a bit awkwardly. Owen noticed none of the cars were at home but Derek’s, so he simply assumed his friend was home alone. “Is Derek around?”

“Uh, no, he’s actually on call tonight,” Amelia explained, wondering what Owen could be doing there. He looked very casually dressed with a V-neck green jumper and a pair of dark fleece pants.

“Sorry to bother, I saw his car and thought he was here,” The trauma surgeon explained, ready to turn around and go home.

“No, actually he carpooled with Meredith today because he has the night shift,” Amelia explained. “She is spending the night there too.”

“The liver transplant,” Owen shyly smiled. “Do you have the kids?” He asked, worried. Amelia looked tired and it was obvious both Meredith and Derek wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

“Uh, no, actually they are at the hospital in overnight care because I pulled a double shift so I am in no condition to babysit,” She casually leaned against the door, somehow hoping they could extend that conversation. Just minutes before, she’d been eager to spend some time alone but now that she had company, Amelia really didn’t want him to go.

It was rare seeing Owen outside the hospital in that easy, relaxed manner and she grew curious. Her eyes scanned him quickly and not for the first time, Amelia noticed how broad his shoulders were. He looked so solid that sometimes she felt like touching him just to see if his body was as hard and virile as his personality.

“Well, I’ll leave you to rest, then,” Owen said after a few seconds of silence. He had already broken eye contact with her, ready to turn around and leave when he heard her voice.  

“No, wait,” Amelia called out and unconsciously bit her bottom lip, trying to think of what to say. “I am not Derek, but maybe I can help too?” She suggested with a contagious smile.

Owen couldn’t help loosening up at that very inviting offer and put his hand inside his pockets.

“I was actually going to ask Derek if he’s watching the game tonight,” Owen explained. “Ever since it started to rain my TV signal has been running low and because I know Derek has cable here, I supposed he might be a little luckier than me.”

Amelia had no idea what game it was or even why exactly Owen had been having problems to watch it inside his trailer. But she quickly caught up on the fact that he was obviously spending the night alone, with a TV that didn’t work and craving for some company.

“You can watch it here,” She hurried to say and realized she had been standing at the door like a fool the entire time. “Sorry, come in,” Amelia gracefully invited him, taking a step back so he could enter the house.

Owen hesitated, unsure of what to do next. At the same time he wasn’t sure it was a good idea, something inside him made him desperately want to stay. The idea of going back to his trailer and spending the evening alone didn’t look appealing. Not nearly as much as staying in the company of a woman who could invoke all different types of feelings in him without even trying.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking from her eyes to her figure, figuring by her outfit that she was probably dressed for bed.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Amelia smiled wider. “I was just going to prepare some waffles. I’d be happy to share them with you.”

Owen walked into the house and kept his hands inside his pockets as he slowly followed her to the kitchen.

“How are you not freezing?” Amelia asked, shrugging her shoulders to control a wave of shivering. Just to open the door and stay exposed to the weather outside for a couple of minutes had already taken its toll on her. And yet Owen had walked all the way from his trailer in light clothes, stood outside in the chilly wind for a while and seemed perfectly comfortable.

“It’s not that cold,” He replied with a shy smile.

Amelia made eye contact with him and grinned widely before returning to the waffles she’d been preparing earlier that evening.

“How can you even say that?” She teased, preparing the mix under his attentive eyes. “It’s like, fifty five outside,” Amelia argued.

“Well,” Owen pointed out, “when you spend months in the hot desert in combat clothes you start to really appreciate lower temperatures.”

Amelia stopped what she was doing and processed his words. She’d heard that Owen Hunt had served in the army a couple of times as a surgeon. The military stereotype really did fit him and the thought amused her. With a friendly smile in his direction, she watched as Owen stepped up to help her with the mix.

“So, breakfast food at eight in the evening?” He finally asked, intrigued by it since the moment she’d first mentioned what she was cooking. “Is there a particular reason why you’re making waffles?”

“Do you really need one?” Amelia smiled mischievously, licking the mix that had been left on the spoon after she was done sorting out the waffles. “I mean, who decided that waffles could only be eaten for breakfast?” She questioned, intriguing Owen. He had never really thought about it. “I don’t see why it’s a rule. It’s a very stupid one if you ask me.”

“I can’t say that surprises me,” He added, returning her teasing remarks. “You obviously don’t care much about rules in general.”

The idea that Owen Hunt was actually capable of joking made Amelia laugh. It wasn’t the first time she realized how drawn to him she felt. The neurosurgeon had enjoyed his company from the start but she hadn’t seen him outside of work that much. Since Owen was her boss and Amelia was nearly always unintentionally causing problems, most of their interactions had been about work related issues but she had to admit she actually enjoyed spending time with him and getting to know more about the very reserved trauma surgeon when they were outside the walls of the hospital.

“So,” Amelia tried to engage him in conversation. Even though she wasn’t uncomfortable when they were in silence, she knew he wasn’t very chatty, meaning it would be mostly up to her to keep any kind of talk going. “What’s the game about again?” The neurosurgeon asked while carrying two plates with warm waffles to the living room, closely followed by Owen who brought steamy mugs with hot chocolate.

“Football,” He explained, accepting the remote Amelia was offering and setting the TV to the right channel. “Seattle is playing New York.”

“Oh, awesome,” She got more excited about the prospect of watching a sports game. Amelia had never particularly cared for sports but she had always been highly competitive. “Go, New York!” She cheered, without a clue of whom she was cheering for.

“No, go Seattle,” Owen looked at her with a smile and intensified his gaze, as if silently trying to convince her.

“New York all the way,” Amelia replied, more interested in pestering him than in the actual game.

“One day, after you’ve been in the city long enough to realize this is the best place to live in, you’ll become a Hawks fan and I will live to see it.” Owen predicted.

Amelia laughed in disbelief but little did she know that in a few years, when she and Owen had already started to build their family, she would indeed realize that Seattle was the only place in the world she would ever consider home. And being a Seahawks fan after him would come with the package.

As the game was starting, she took a seat on the couch next to him. Her bottom was still very sore and Amelia was reminded of that in the worst way. As she sat down for the first time, the annoying piece of glass throbbed against her skin, making the neurosurgeon swiftly put one of her legs folded under her body, preventing the sore area from getting any pressure against the couch.

“This tastes really good,” Owen complimented her a few minutes into the game, pointing to the waffles.

“Thanks,” Amelia replied with gratitude. Being complimented on her cooking skills wasn’t something she was used to. The neurosurgeon was well aware that her talents in the kitchen were very limited. “So, I am having a real hard time figuring out what’s happening…” She confessed, frowning at the screen. Owen turned his attention from the TV and gazed at her profile, finding the way she was squinting at the TV trying hard to understand adorable. “Isn’t the whole point of this game to carry the ball to the other side?”

“Pretty much,” Owen replied, curious to see where she was going.

“Well, why doesn’t the guy just run with the ball while his friends knock down the other team?” She asked like it was obvious.

Owen chuckled heartily.

“For starters, the other team has eleven guys the size of tree trunks fully trained to knock down anyone who tries to pass by them,” He explained. “That’s why the team changes players according to ball possession. Some guys specialize in offense while others are the defense line.” Owen added. “And the friends of the guy who has the ball,” he used her own words on purpose, having fun with her adorable thinking, “are offensive players, their main strength isn’t to knock down the other team but rather to try to run through them.”

“That doesn’t sound very smart”, Amelia argued.

“It is actually a very strategic game,” Owen explained.

“Someone is definitely getting hurt.”

“That’s half the fun.”

Amelia’s eyebrows rose at his comment and when she looked sideways to meet his gaze, she realized he was kidding and they both laughed together.

For the next couple of hours, she kept asking questions as Owen patiently answered them, carefully explaining the common rules of football. Amelia didn’t seem that excited about the sport but while it was obvious she didn’t share his passion, at least she was rationally trying to understand it.

During each of the four quarters, Owen had noticed how, despite her charismatic smile and adorable serene façade, Amelia seemed somewhat physically uncomfortable. After paying closer attention, he figured something was bothering her because her body went stiff whenever she moved beside him.

“Are you okay?” Owen asked after a few minutes of silence. The question caught Amelia off guard and she studied his expression, trying to figure out why he was asking it at the same time she made an effort to pretend she was fine. “I’m only asking because you grimace every time you move on the couch.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Amelia replied, but it was obvious she was lying.

Owen wasn’t going to ask any further questions because he didn’t want to sound pushy or make her feel uncomfortable. The trauma surgeon had already diverted his eyes back to the last few minutes of the game when he heard her voice.

“Actually…” She started, feeling embarrassed. “Maybe you could help me out with something.”

Amelia was mortified at the idea of sharing what’d happened but at the same time, the neurosurgeon knew she couldn’t keep that piece of glass inside her skin much longer. It was starting to hurt for real and since she couldn’t get it removed by herself, it was likely she would have to ask for help. Her brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t be back until the following day and the idea of going to the hospital sucked all her energy. Not only was Amelia exhausted from the long hours at work, she also didn’t want to show up in the ER to have an intern or young resident examining her butt. The idea of how quickly the embarrassing news could spread made her completely drop the idea.

Luckily for her, the best emergency surgeon at the hospital was sitting on the couch of her home and there was no one around to witness Amelia’s humiliation. Not to mention she was pretty sure Owen wasn’t the kind of guy who would tell others about the embarrassing situation. Having him remove the piece of glass was the wisest idea she could think of, and the quickest way to solve her problem.

As she mentioned maybe he could be of help, Owen simply sustained her look, kindly inviting her to resume her explanation.

“As I got home earlier today I dropped a glass on the floor,” She explained. “It was messy and there were small pieces all over the place.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asked considerately.

“Not really,” Amelia bit her bottom lip, hesitant about sharing the embarrassing part. “The thing is, some splinters got scattered around and one of them got wedged in my skin. I tried, but couldn’t get it out.”

“Oh,” Owen quickly realized what the problem was. “It’s alright, I can try to get it out for you,” He proposed with his usual practicality. “Do you have a needle we can sterilize?”

“Yeah,” Amelia had fun with the idea of imagining if he’d still be as willing to help as he seemed to be when she shared more details about the incident. “The thing is, the glass is on my butt.”

“What?”

Amelia thought she’d feel embarrassed but after seeing his mortified expression, what she really wanted to do was laugh.

“I forgot to mention that after I broke the glass, I landed on it.”

Even though Owen was perplexed, he couldn’t help laughing.

“Okay, then,” He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering how he’d ended up in that situation in the first place. “Well, let’s try to get it out.”

After a quick trip to her bathroom, Amelia came back with cotton balls, a small bottle of alcohol and a sterilized needle. It was hard to believe the mess she got herself in sometimes. The neurosurgeon didn’t realize she’d taken a deep breath and was holding it until she met Owen’s gaze. He’d clearly been staring at her, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Amelia shook her head trying to focus. “Well, you’ll know where it is when you see it.” She walked over to where he was sitting on the couch and stood in front of him. Her tone of voice changed from playful to threating when she added. “I swear to God if I ever hear a joke about this I am going to spread a rumor about you.”

Owen laughed, amused at her reaction. Amelia was often confident and very sassy. To see her in a situation like that was actually really entertaining.

He was still carefully thinking about that when the neurosurgeon turned around. Owen took a deep breath once he actually realized what was about to unfold and suddenly, the atmosphere around them felt dense.

He couldn’t see the look on her face, but Owen imagined she wasn’t exactly comfortable. Aside from a quick accidental bump as they passed each other occasionally, he had never really touched her, even though he’d had countless thoughts about it.

Thoughts that were so dirty and downright inappropriate that Owen immediately rejected them.

“You have to show me where it hurts,” He broke the silence, noticing Amelia was standing in front of him without doing much.

“Oh, of course,” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, taking her hands to the hem of her pants.

Amelia wasn’t embarrassed of her body, she had always been confident about it. But suddenly, the image of Owen’s masculine hands assaulted her memory and she felt her face blush. It took a lot of effort to slide down pajama pants and expose the upper part of her butt cheek to him, especially when she had no idea what to expect.

But Amelia quickly found out.

As Owen’s hands splayed on the sides of her hips, gently pulling her one step closer to him, she felt an electrical wave assaulting her body with full force. His touch felt warm and powerful as his hands easily grabbed the curves of her body, bringing her to a position where he could actually reach her wound.

“It doesn’t look like it’s in too deep,” Owen swallowed hard. He had imagined many times over what it would be like to touch her, but he hadn’t been prepared for the overwhelming reality. “Alright, I’ll start. Don’t move.”

Amelia closed her eyes and tried to focus on the fact that Owen was a doctor. What he was doing was purely professional. Or at least that’s what it should feel like.

But instead, Amelia was having a hard time getting over the fact that his hand had a firm grab on her body. She couldn’t see him, but it felt like his presence was engulfing her. The neurosurgeon knew she was vulnerable and exposed but instead of feeling uncomfortable, she was completely at ease with being touched by him. In fact, it was nearly impossible to ignore the rush of blood to her lower abdomen that only increased as she became more aware of his presence and his touch.

Owen picked up the cotton ball soaked in alcohol and gently brushed it against her skin a few times. He had done the same with patients many times over in his life but it had never made him as agitated as it did that moment. The trauma surgeon knew his restlessness had nothing to do with the procedure, but rather with the patient. Amelia Shepherd and her delicate, feminine body had a few times before charged him. Until the day Owen had laid eyes on her, he had not been aware of the intense sexual energy that had been hiding somewhere deep inside him. And yet, the sight and touch of her smooth silky skin seemed to bring that to surface with full force.

Very gently, Owen used the needle to get to the splinter of glass. It wasn’t a small fragment but it was wedged deep inside her skin. He knew there was the risk the piece would break, causing more damage. Amelia was silent and Owen could feel her entire body stiff, but he supposed she was nervous about the procedure when in fact, Amelia was trying to control the wave of desire that assaulted her every time she felt Owen’s experienced movements as he brushed and grabbed her butt cheek with his fingertips.

“You’re moving,” Owen tightened the grasp of his free hand on the side of her naked hip, trying not to sound too impatient. He was desperate to get that over with and Amelia’s jerky movements weren’t helping. Truth was, his body wanted to prolong contact for as long as possible but his censoring mind was so alarmed with his own reactions that Owen wanted to be done with the procedure as soon as possible.

“Sorry,” She closed her eyes with more force and looked up, trying to focus. But her brain was invaded with images of Owen wearing the green jumper he had on tonight. Was it her imagination or did the clothing piece outline his manly biceps in a scandalous way? Amelia couldn’t be sure. He was all strength, possession and control and his intoxicating masculinity was stealing her breath in a very escalating manner.

When had it been exactly that Amelia had started looking at him that way? She wasn’t sure. In her mind, Owen had always been an attractive guy but that had never been on focus. He had confused her, irritating the neurosurgeon with his bossy, stubborn manners at the same time he amazed her with his loyalty, impeccable sense of justice and addicting reliability. Up until now, Amelia had been trying to figure out whether she liked him or not and the raw reality alarmed her.

Not only did she figure out that she actually enjoyed his company and admired Owen, apparently her body also liked him very much.

“Jesus, will you just stand still!” Owen grunted, losing his patience. He was not doing very well. At the same time the woman was unknowingly enticing him and seducing him with the amazing smell of her hair and the delicious texture of her skin, she was driving him crazy with her incapability of remaining motionless. Owen really didn’t want to hurt her, but she just wouldn’t stop moving as he was piercing her body with a needle, driving him crazy with anxiety.  But what was really adding to his bad mood was the fact that no matter how much he tried, the trauma surgeon couldn’t deny he was insanely attracted to that stubborn, gorgeous woman.

“Well, you’re taking too long!” Amelia complained, suffering from the same symptoms as she tried to blame the tension on him.

Owen didn’t bother replying. She had the insane ability of making him lose control, in every sense. Without notice, Owen’s hand traveled from her hip to her lower stomach, under her shirt. He pulled her towards him with fierce determination. Amelia felt her body shivering when his palm splayed below her bellybutton, keeping her from moving forward like she’d been doing. That man’s hand was so large that it nearly covered the entire area of her lower belly. She found that thought and the possessive way he had pulled her nearer extremely sexy.

“I am trying not to hurt you, but you’re not making it easy,” Owen said between his teeth. Touching her like that was making his body have responses he hadn’t originally planned or considered, but the worst part was that he didn’t regret it one bit. He’d wanted more than anything to feel her skin under his touch and now that he could attest, it was as deliciously smooth as he’d imagined.

It also didn’t help him at all to unwillingly become aware of her gracious figure. Amelia’s body was very feminine and it was becoming increasingly hard to ignore her curves. She was so small and yet so adorably shaped. Her round bottom was literally under the touch of his hands and even though Owen was performing a medical procedure, his thoughts were far from professional. What he really wanted to do was too scandalous to be described in their surgery textbooks.

Amelia could swear his voice sound contained. She was just wondering if the brush of his thumb on the hem of her panties had been accidental when Owen suddenly pulled apart.

“There,” he said, sounding relieved. “I got it out.”

Amelia anxiously turned her neck around at the same time Owen’s hand grabbed the waistband of her pajama pants and carefully pulled it up.

It was then that Amelia finally realized it: She wasn’t the only one who was painfully aware of the intense sexual tension that had established between them. He felt it too and that made it even very harder to ignore the physical attraction they were sharing.

“Look,” Owen noticed her eyes studying him and tried to distract her, flashing the glass splinter on the palm of his hand.

“Wow, it was bigger than I thought,” Amelia said with genuine surprise.

The moment Owen noticed he had just imagined her saying the same sentence in a total different context, he realized it was time to go. The game on TV wasn’t yet over, but for the first time he didn’t care one bit about football.

“It’s getting pretty late, I should go,” He blurted out, noticing Amelia was standing so close that if he moved two feet forward their bodies would collide.

“Thank you for helping me,” The neurosurgeon instantly replied, looking just as affected.

Owen was so distracted examining her features that he forgot to reply or move to finally go home. Amelia noticed the way his eyes were on her face. He was admiring her, she realized with girly silliness, feeling herself embarrassingly blush.

What was wrong with her?! Amelia had always been confident and extremely good at flirting games. Why couldn’t she help acting so awkwardly around him?

But then Owen’s eyes broke contact with hers and slowly traveled to her lips, making Amelia unconsciously hold her breath. Oh God, was he going to kiss her? Amelia was startled to realize she very much hoped he would. When had that happened? She couldn’t remember looking at Owen that way but suddenly, all she could think about was feeling the solidness of his arms around her and finding out if the stern, controlled chief of surgery was as much affected by the magnetic wave of attraction that seemed to connect their bodies as she seemed to be. When Amelia realized he was slowly moving forward, she closed her eyes, ready to embark on the experience of exploring his lips. But then his words assaulted her, like a shower of cold water breaking the magical moment.

“Good night, Shepherd.”

When Amelia opened her eyes, she had to blink repeatedly to be brought back to reality. Owen was already a few steps away from her, moving towards the door. Oh God, had he realized she’d expected to be kissed? Amelia felt like a fool. Gathering her strength to be back in control again, she smiled when she remembered the unmistakable spark of desire she’d identified in his eyes just moments before. There was no way Owen Hunt wasn’t as affected as she was. And if he had held the urge to kiss her, the least Amelia would do was to torture him in return.

“Amelia,” She caught up with him, standing by the door after he’d already crossed it.

Owen turned around in confusion, exactly like she’d anticipated, and the neurosurgeon explained.

“Well, since you’ve already grabbed my butt and felt me up… You might as well call me by my name.” Amelia wickedly added, controlling her smile of satisfaction. Now, every time Owen Hunt had to speak to her, he would undoubtedly be assaulted by memories of what had happened between them that night.

And what could potentially have happened but never did.

The neurosurgeon realized she had reached her goal when his entire face reddened with embarrassment. Without another word, Owen turned around again and went straight to his trailer. Amelia watched him disappear from a distance and smiled with pride, knowing that at least now she wouldn’t be the only one lying awake in bed, wondering what the other one was thinking while reminiscing every minute of the explosive physical discoveries they had just made that night.

 --

[docsamurai]

Humans are weird: The frozen retreat

*Quick note before I start: This is the 6th installment in a series I’ve called the Lost Colonies which is largely about human society adapting to the strange environments of other worlds. You can read the other installments here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing this series, but with my new work schedule I had to bring it to a close. If you’ve enjoyed this story follow me on here for my other writings. Thanks again to everyone who has reblogged, liked, replied, DMed, or otherwise shown their appreciation for this series. It means a lot to me that people enjoyed it and the love you’ve all shown me has really helped keep me going for these last few months.*

Kiara stood with her arms wide embracing the cold winds that scoured the surface of the planet. It was far colder than the winds that she usually faced in her childhood back on the Thaw and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to withstand these temperatures for long but it felt good. The wind bit right through several thermal layers and chilled her to the bone but the memories that wind brought with it were worth the pain. It had been 20 sols since she had left her homeworld behind and her work had kept her so busy that she had only been back a handful of times to bury her mother and father. 

Turning away from the wind Kiara hurried across the ice to the warmth of the drilling camp as the memories faded to the bitter knowledge that even if she took the time to head back to the Thaw that she had no friends or family left on that planet. Kiara made a note to herself to talk with her station’s councilor when she had the time. The airlock groaned open as she approached and Kiara caught sight of a Turic holding the hatch open for her. The Turic slammed and bolted the hatch shut as soon as she was in the safety of the camp. Bok’han ran his hands through the exposed fur on his head to shake off some ice. “Amazing! I didn’t know a human could survive temperatures that low for that long.”

Kiara smiled through the chattering of her teeth. “I’m surprised your brother didn’t tell you more about me Bok’han. My homeworld was largely frozen too. That was nothing compared to some of the nights I grew up in.” It was a lie, a small one, but she still liked to see the looks on the faces of people who didn’t spend much time around humans when they learned just how adaptable humans can be. “Besides, there’s supposed to be a human colony under the ice here so you’re probably going to see a lot of people used to the cold here.” Bok’han didn’t say anything but scratched behind one of his ears, a gesture Kiara had come to understand meant that he was thinking.

Kiara unsealed the inner hatch and stomped her way inside, shaking the feeling back into her legs. “Is the submersible ready yet?” A tehnician handed her a datapad. “Just finishing final checks now. The ice freezes over too fast for us to keep the hole open for long but we can at least open it up to lower you in and can keep it thin enough that you can radio through when you need to get back out." Kiara nodded running the logistics through her head. “Any contact with the city below?” The technician shook his head. “Ice is too thick for radio contact. We tried at the bottom of the ice shaft but didn’t get a response. Sonar shows the shaft is about 5 kilometers magnetic south of the edge of the city.”

The technician brought up the sonar readouts on a nearby screen. “We’ve seen some activity but nothing that appears threatening. It could just be local fauna.” Kiara arched an eyebrow at the technician. “local fauna” could mean anything from schools of fish to the sorts of things that Old Earth authors would have called Elder Gods. The technician seemed to take her meaning and she laughed “Nothing too ominous, at least, nothing over 3 meters long.” Kiara could think of a lot of dangerous things that were smaller than 3 meters long but she agreed that given the size of the submersible it would most likely be fine. “Alright. Let’s load up and head out.”

Though the submersible was easily over 5 meters long and 3 meters tall, it was still a tight fit for just Kiara and Bok’han due the massive ammounts of reinforcements it needed to be able to survive the pressure of the waters below. The fact that an underwater dome city was apparently built on this world boggled the mind, but if you wanted to hide something the way EarthGov had liked to then this would be the place to do it. Underneath two solid kilometers of ice there was a relatively thin layer of water that was kept from freezing by geothermal vents. 

The submersible reached the bottom of the shaft and the laser drill fired vaporizing the few centimeters of ice that had reformed. Water came rushing up the shaft to cover the submersible and the guide line detached. Sure enough almost as soon as they were underwater Kiara saw the ice already starting to reform above them. Kicking the motor on they emerged from the ice shaft and pointed their way towards the domed city. Kiara started to reach towards the floodlights and decided that she didn’t want to startle any of the “local fauna” and instead turned on the infrared cameras. 

The viewport remained dark but the video screens were a riot of color and life. Some things looked similar to species she had seen on other worlds: crustaceans, fish and clouds of microscopic trilobites. Others were decidedly alien: long snakelike tubes with mouths at either end, massive flat sheets that drifted gracefully by, some flashed on the thermals as they lit up to attract prey and still others she had no words to describe. At this depth and without visible light able to reach this far, she knew that all of these creatures would be eerily translucent to visible light. Kiara used to wonder if the stories of the oceans of old Earth were even half true. Seeing all of this with her own eyes she realized that not only might it all be true, she probably didn’t know even a fraction of it.

Bok’han broke the silence first breathing only the word “Astonishing” which brought Kiara back into her own head. Kiara cleared her throat. “Come on, we’ll take recordings for the biologists to study later. Don’t forget we’re here on a job.” Bok’han straightened up in his seat as best as he could and checked the readings. “Sonar is showing that the city should be approaching visual range now.” Kiara frowned and looked over at his screen. He was accurate of course, but if sonar was picking up the shapes of the dome then why wasn’t she getting anything on thermal? “Oh crap.” she muttered as it dawned on her and she flicked on the floodlights. There was a flurry of activity as fish swam away from the viewport revealing the ruined dome.

Though it was structurally intact the dome was flooded, presumably from damage that Kiara couldn’t see from her vantage point. Coral covered all of the lower parts of the geodesic structure, gradually claiming the supports. In a century it would look like any other part of the sea bed. It was remarkable how intact the dome was though. Sonar was showing the structure as intact and Kiara couldn’t see so much as a single panel out of place. Bok’han made a grunting noise “I am sorry for your loss Kiara. It must be hard to lose a colony this way.” Kiara sighed “It’s fine Bok’han. We knew going in that it was always a possibility. Come on, let’s see if we can find a way in.”

It took hours of scanning before they finally found a panel that had fallen off the structure and though it was wide enough to allow the submersible in the coral had grown in enough to make it a tight fit. Inside the dome though the buildings were practically untouched by the coral and none of the local fauna could be seen anywhere. Kiara had been expecting a city overrun by decades of growth. This looked as though it could have happened yesterday. “Something’s not right here Bok’han. Scan for any power sources or heat signatures, I don’t care how faint.”

Bok’han clicked his tongue as he tapped away at his console running through various instruments before they finally let out a ping. “There! 500 meters ahead 40 degrees west, 20 meters down.” Kiara guided the craft down until she found the source: a faintly beeping distress beacon that was loosely anchored to the ground in the middle of town square. It was surrounded by corpses. Bok’han fell entirely silent and his eyes went wide. “Those bodies are either really well preserved or are very recent. We should go Bok’han.” Bok’han, still silent, simply nodded. Kiara extended the submersible’s claw and carefully yanked the distress beacon free from its anchor then sped towards the way they had come in. 

Back on the surface at the drilling camp Bok’han got shakily off the submersible and went off to his quarters. He had barely talked the entire way back. The technician met Kiara as she stepped out of the submersible. “Is he alright? What happened down there?” Kiara shook her head. “The city was dead. He’s taking it kinda hard. He’ll probably be ok after he’s had a chance to talk with his brother. Could you see what you can get off this beacon?” The technician nodded and happily got to work as Kiara went to her own quarters to get a nap. She felt the need to talk to Kit’cha too, but figured that Bok’han probably needed him more.

Kiara was awoken several hours later by her comms beeping. Angrily she slammed the button and glared at the screen. “What do you need?” The technician, looking visibly shaken was on the other end. “I have that beacon decoded for you maam. There’s a video.” Her tone suggested that whatever was on the beacon was something Kiara should see right away. “Put it through, I’ll watch it in here.” The screen flickered as the video loaded and the screen focused on a young man standing with his back to of a crowd in the town’s square.

“You don’t know who I am, but we sure as hell know who you are. I’m the leader of the deep space retreat and though we evaded your authoritarian rule for a few hundred years, you managed to find us. We stand as one when we say that our ancestors wouldn’t be ruled by EarthGov and we sure as hell won’t be ruled either!” The crowd in the background cheered. “It was a hard decision but we know we can’t fight you. That doesn’t mean we’re going to be your slaves or even give you the satisfaction of killing us yourselves. We’ve already turned off the electric fields keeping the coral from eating this place and soon we’re going to open the floodgates to let the sea wash us away too.” The young man turned to face the crowd. “LET THIS BE THE FINAL ACT OF RESISTANCE!” The man swallowed a pill, again the crowd cheered. Some took drinks or swallowed their own pills. Turning back, the young man looked directly into the camera and grinned. “FUCK YOU FASCISTS!”

The video cut out and Kiara saw her horrified reflection in the darkened screen. Kiara sat heavily back on her bed and wondered, not for the first time, if it was time to retire.

[squirenonny]

Hunk & Keith for the fluff ficlet requests? Or Shiro & Allura?

[I’m writing Dualityverse fluff ficlets! (Because the latest chapters have been pure angst.)] [Find the rest on Tumblr here. Or read them all on AO3 as Finding Family.] 

Or? What is this “or” you speak of? You can’t seriously expect me to choose between those pairs.

Shiro & Allura first - set just after chapter 7 of SLH. Keith & Hunk is after that, starting toward the beginning of SLH but set mostly in or around chapter 15. (They’ll go up on AO3 as separate chapters.)

Shiro & Allura

Shiro was on his way to the training deck for some agility drillswhen a wall panel suddenly vanished and Allura came flying out of thedarkness beyond.

Shiro yelped in surprise, reaching out to catch Allura as her owneyes widened. They collided, hard, heads knocking together as theytumbled to the ground in a heap. Allura landed atop Shiro, but shewas already rolling aside, regaining her feet before Shiro finishedprocessing what had just happened.

“Shiro!” Allura cried, assuming a regal posture that lost someof its poise with her hair falling out of its bun. She wore herpaladin armor, sans helmet, every inch streaked with dust and grime.“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Find him? More like trample him. Groaning, Shiro sat up,rubbing the sore spot on his forehead where it had hit Allura’s. “Iknow I suggested getting in some practice with the mind meld, butthis wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Laughing, Allura pulled Shiro to his feet. “My apologies,” shesaid. “Last time I did that, there was considerably less of me tobludgeon unsuspecting passers by.”

Shiro arched an eyebrow, glancing past Allura to the hole she’dappeared from. The wall panel had slid back into place after ejectingher, leaving no sign of anything at all out of the ordinary. “And…what are you doing?”

She tucked her hands behind her back, rising up on her toes withthe most patently false look of innocence Shiro had ever seen.“Safety sweep,” she said.

Shiro’s eyebrow crept higher. “Safety sweep. Huh.Sounds serious. Maybe I should give you a hand with that.”

To his surprise, Allura broke into a delighted grin. “That’san excellent idea, Shiro! This way.”

[continued below]

After that, what choice did he have? Allura turned and strodeaway, looking every bit a princess and not at all like someone who’djust been launched from nowhere like a living cannon ball. Where hadshe come from? Shiro followed a few steps behind her, trying topuzzle it out, but he turned up a blank.

Eventually, she stopped beside another nondescript section of walland turned toward Shiro.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Shiro crossed his arms. “Of course I can. Assuming it’s notthe sort of thing the rest of the team legitimately needs to knowabout.”

With a nod, Allura glanced both ways down the corridor, then slidher fingers into a seam in the wall. A moment later, the panel hissedand slid aside, revealing a dark hole very much like the one Allurahad emerged from. Shiro could make out the beginning of a chute ofsome kind, but not much else.

He glanced at Allura. “That can’t possibly be safe.”

“Thus the safety sweep,” she said brightly, then grabbed ontothe top of the opening—shoulder height on her—and swung herselfinto the darkness. She vanished in a blink, her shout of laughterechoing back up to Shiro.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering what had come over Allura.Then the pneumatics hissed in preparation to close the secret door,and he threw caution to the wind and leaped in after Allura.

The door sealed behind him, leaving him in almost total darknessas the chute fell away beneath him. He let out an undignified cry ashe picked up speed, spreading his arms and legs instinctively tocontrol his near vertical descent. A few dimly glowingpanels overhead marked his entirely-too-fast progress. Thechute turned sharply to the right, and suddenly Shiro was out in theopen, tumbling to a stop beside a giggling Allura.

“Too much?” she asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

Shiro blinked up at the ceiling, opting to stay flat on his backuntil the world around him stopped spinning. “What,” he asked,“was that?”

“There are all sorts of secret passages in the castle walls,”Allura said with a shrug. “Some are more fun than others.”

“Fun?” Shiro tried to look stern, but his heart was pounding,his limbs felt like jelly, and despite it all he found himselflaughing. “God, it’s like a secret amusement park. Why do youhave things like that?”

Allura put a finger to her chin, frowning. “I think they wereparcel delivery originally,” she said. “Like the trash andlaundry chutes. Someone probably reprogrammed them at some point.”

Shiro sat up, frowning. “Reprogrammed?”

“Certainly. The Castle of Lions was built to adapt to the needsof her crew. Most of the rooms can be altered at the maininfrastructure controls.”

She said it like it should have been obvious. Maybe it wasobvious. Everything else the Alteans had done was adaptable—theirclothes, their armor, the Lions and the bayards. Why not their spaceships?

“And, what?” he asked. “You were allowed to just play aroundin the walls unsupervised? You’re a princess.”

“Meri and I liked to explore when we were younger. I’m stillnot sure Coran actually knew where we always disappeared to, whateverhe says.” She stood, brushing herself off. “In any case, now thatwe have children on the castle again, I thought it best to ensurethey weren’t going to break a limb where no one knew to look forthem.”

“You’re just going to tell them?”

Allura snorted. “Of course not. But if they happen to stumbleupon the passages...”

“Totally by accident, I’m sure,” Shiro put in dryly.

Allura beamed. “I still have a number of passages I need to…inspect. For safety purposes. Would you care to join me?”

Shiro shook his head in disbelief, but found himself smilingagain. “Sure,” he said. “Sounds fun.”

Hunk & Keith

Keith wasn’thonestly sure how he’d ended up at Hunk’s official-unofficialhelper and tool-passer.  Maybe it was that Matt, Pidge, and Coranwere all far too likely to end up starting their own project insteadof sitting quietly by and handing Hunk the tools he asked for.

All he knew was thatone day in the middle of roaming the castle as part of hispost-training cool-down, he’d overheard someone banging on a metalsheet in one of the empty rooms on the eighth floor. The sound was anassault on his senses, and he’d very nearly turned around and left.But then he heard Hunk’s voice, cursing softly.

Hunk wasn’tespecially prone to cursing. Not like Pidge or Matt or Keith himself.Even Lance had his moments, though just as often he tossed out themost nonsensical swears Keith had ever heard (or misused Galran andAltean curses—deliberately, Keith was sure.) But Hunk usually tookcare to keep it clean.

Despite himself,Keith felt a stab of anxiety at the thought of what might have drivenHunk to profanity. Hand on the knife sheathed at his waist, Keithcrept toward the workroom door. He expected to find Hunk fighting anintruder, or maybe a bit of ancient tech gone rogue.

Instead, he foundonly Hunk, hands coated in grease to the elbow, a pair of gogglespushed up on his forehead. He was struggling to hold up a large,awkwardly shaped section of metal casing with one hand while he triedto force a fastener into holes that just didn’t want to line up.

The casing slippedagain and, cursing under his breath, Hunk turned toward the toolsarrayed behind him. He caught sight of Keith in the doorway, jumpedso high he slipped off his stool, and burst out laughing.

“Holy cheeseballs,Keith, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Keith shrugged,wondering if he should leave. He and Hunk were friendly, but theyweren’t quite friends. Not yet.

But Hunk justgrabbed a clamp and waved Keith over. “Mind holding this dang thingsteady for me?”

Amused at the returnof the kid-friendly swears (especially notable after what Keith hadjust heard), Keith obliged, holding the casing where Hunk guided it.It took only a minute to secure the casing, after which Keith figuredhe’d be on his way.

But Hunk was good atsliding backhanded into a friendship, as it turned out. There was noMoment, no big gestures or awkward heart-to-hearts. Just a smile anda casual request for Keith to pass the soldering iron and three morehours of idle conversation before Keith realized he’d neverfinished his cool-down.

Before he knew it,it had become routine. Every morning, Keith got up early, trained foran hour or two, then headed up to breakfast. From there, he and Hunkheaded down to Yellow’s hangar or Hunk’s workroom. Mostly it wasHunk who kept the conversation rolling.

Sometimes he talkedabout his projects, and Keith quickly learned that no question wastoo dumb; Hunk liked talking about his work, and he was good atexplaining things in a way Keith could understand.

Sometimes hecomplained about the lack of a proper kitchen, leaping on Keith’squestions about what a properkitchen was with stories of his mother’s restaurant back on Earth.

Sometimeshe asked Keith about his childhood, or his time in Zarkon’s army.This had unsettled Keith at first, but it soon became clear thatHunk’s questions hid no ulterior motive. He just wanted to knowmore about Keith, and gave him a brilliant smile whenever Keithturned the conversations back toward Hunk’s childhood on Earth.

Sometimes,they didn’t talk at all, whether because Hunk was stillhalf-asleep, or because he was engrossed in his work, or because oneof them had something else on their mind.

Todaywas one of the quiet days, Hunk buried to the hips inside the YellowLion, humming to himself as he worked. Keith lay on his back onYellow’s paw, staring at the distant ceiling. Hunk’s lion had atotally different feel to her than Red. Yellow was quiet, in contrastto Red’s near-constant rumbling inside Keith’s head. Yellowwas placid, unhurried, while Red always gave off the impression thatyou were moving too slow for her. With Red, Keith always wanted tofight, or at least to find a training ground in which to test hisreflexes.

WithYellow, Keith just wanted to sleep.

He’dthought her boring at first (though Hunk had seemed offended whenKeith voiced this opinion.) But over the weeks, Keith slowly revisedhis opinion. Yellow wasn’t boring, just steady. Not complacent, butcontent.

Shewas stability itself—and that was something Keith hadn’t had alot of in his life.

Hunkstuck his hand out of the hatch he was buried in, wiggling hisfingers to catch Keith’s attention. His humming increased involume, and Keith fought down a smile, his ear flicking in amusement.

“Youdo know the castle-ship hasn’t figured out how to translate hummingyet, right?” he asked dryly.

Hunkfell silent, then started laughing. “I was doing it again, wasn’tI?”

“Youwere,” Keith said, rolling over and dropping off the side ofYellow’s paw. He landed near Hunk’s tools and crouched down. “Wasthat Balmera-speak for wrench, or wire cutter?”

“Screwdriver,actually,” Hunk said sheepishly. Keith didn’t quite understandthe way it worked, but he’dgathered that the Yellow Lion communicated the way a Balmera would,through song, or something like it. When Hunk was close to her, hehad a tendency to fall so deep into their connection that he forgotwhat words were.

Thusthe humming.

Keithgrabbed the screwdriver and passed it into Hunk’s hand. “One ofthese days, I’m going to figure out this song language of yours.”

“Idon’t know that I’m actually sayinganything,” Hunk admitted. “Balmera are telepaths. I don’t thinktheir song can be translated into sound. Not directly.” Hunkpaused. “And let’s be honest here. Even if it could, I would havethe worst accent.”

Keithsnorted.

“But—hey!I’ll bet if we bring the mind-meld set down here, you could use mybrain as an interpreter and hear Yellow’s song.”

Keithsat up straight, surprised. “Are you sure your lion would want youto do that?”

Hunkslid out of the maintenance hatch to give Keith a lopsided smile. “Ofcourse. She’s got a soft spot for you.”

“She…does?”

“Sure.”

Keithfrowned. “Why? I’mnot her paladin.”

“Butwe’re friends,” Hunk said. It felt like an incompleteexplanation, but Keith found he couldn’t argue with it. Hunk wenton as if he didn’t notice Keith’s inner conflict. “Yeah, she’sbasically adopted Lance and Matt, and Pidge isn’t far behind, butyou’ve spent more time with her than anyone besides me and Shay. Ifyou mind meld with her, she might just try to make you an honoraryyellow paladin.”

Keithducked his head, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “Red might have aproblem with that,” he grumbled.

Hunklaughed. “Guess we’ll have to do it while Red’s asleep, then.”He pulled Keith into a loose, one-armed hug, then pushed himself backinside Yellow. “I left some spare screws on my workbench,” hesaid, waving toward the wall. “Mind grabbing them for me?”

Keithstood, but he hesitated before walking away. He had been spending alot of time down here lately, and he sometimes felt like he couldalmost hear her voice. He wondered suddenly whether she could hearhim.

Feelingfoolish, he lifted a hand and rested it against Yellow’s side,focusing on that odd calm he always felt when he was near her.Thanks, he thought.For keeping me around. It means a lot.

Itmight have just been his imagination, but Keith swore he heard Hunk’shumming grow warmer in response.

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Bat Paladin Chapter 2

voltron / batfam /dc comics crossover. 

Chapter 1 link  chapter 3 link   Shiro is Bruce Wayne’s adopted son and part of the batfam AU  created by me (I was the anon) and @newtsckamander    

word count : 3.6k   

Chapter 2/ 10? 

When the Galra ship had first tractor-beamed him and the Holts up from the surface of Kerberos, he had hoped that they were just aliens who were overly enthusiastic and lacking in external communication methods.

And then when he was forced to his knees before what he assumed was their leader, a part of him still optimistically insisted that this was just some overly formal and rigid greeting custom.  

From his experience aliens were just people -from other planets - but still people.  He’d been enthusiastically prying stories about the cultures of Mars, and Tamaran, and Krypton and other planets from heroes for years.  So he'd go along with the situation and their customs until he had a chance to explain his crew’s mission and hopeful rectify the whole deal.

After all, this was why he wanted to be an astronaut, - why he had joined the Garrison.  Yes, a few humans had been to places throughout the universe.  The Green Lanterns were like intergalactic police, the Justice League had some crafts that were many times faster than the ship that Shiro had flown to Kerberos, but they all were used for missions - for tasks that required speed and had a goal of justice or desperate diplomacy.  

Shiro was in this to explore.  He wanted to not just fly by moons and planets, but to set foot on them, to admire the view while he orbited, and maybe to interact with new cultures in a more immersive way than a week-long crisis allowed.  

However, now he was beginning to realize that he seemed to have drawn the short-straw on alien encounters in his family.  

Bruce was best friends with a Kryptonian, Dick had helped introduce both Starfire and Miss Martian to the planet, and Tim and Kon were close.  Although from looking at the canines on them, he was rather glad their translation program didn't involve kissing.  

The ship’s Commander? Captain? had called up someone who apparently outranked him and started speaking what Shiro heard as English, and he decided it was time to act.  The Holts were both slumped with their helmets on and didn't seem inclined to take the initiative, but that was fine.

Shiro had been preparing a first contact spiel for nearly as long as he'd wanted to be an astronaut.  It had worked on Superman. He hoped it would work now.

The Galra interrupted his “we come in peace” speech with a savage blow that knocked him unconscious.

******

The next species he saw went little better.

The three of them had been dragged and marched to a large room filled with other shackled beings for an ominous “processing”.

They were made to strip, scanned, sprayed with some vaguely ammonia-scented mist, scanned again and dressed in purple body suits and crop tops.  

Matt started making a joke about the purple aesthetic that fell heavy when robot arms seized Sam Holt.  

Callous limbs restrained Shiro and Matt and they hung shouting from their hold as Sam and a number of other aliens were pulled from the room; the tiny wasp like being with segmented legs that kept coughing, the thin wispy bamboo like pair, a hunched over green hominid, an old being wrapped in a shawl over the crop top with horns that curled three times before their point.  The guards wouldn't say what was to come of those selected or of those left.  

Shiro and Matt were shoved together into a dimly lit cell.  There were already occupants, Shiro's eyes were still adjusting from the bright corridors, but he could hear and see bodies shifting along the walls.  Shiro and Matt stayed still in the position they had been in when shoved in, half hunched and partly clinging to each other.  

At last a deep voice came from the middle of the back wall.

“Can you speak?”

The question didn't sound hostile, more concerned.

“Yes.”  Shiro answered.  

“Where do they take the old ones, where did they take the others-?” Matt cut in.  Shiro nudged him sharply. “- I want to know where they took my father.”

“Patience child, I can tell you.”  Came the voice again.  The speaker shifted forward into the swath of light from the door, they were a hulking alien with brownish magenta fur covering them except for a circle of shiny glands in the middle of their chest.  They had four arms, the lower two of which planted on curled knuckles like an ape to hold them up so they could lean forward and gesture them closer with their upper arms.  Their face was foreign but kind, eyes full black and a muted glossy and mouth wide.   Shiro was in awe.

“The Galra take the weaker prisoners to work in their labor camps.”

“So they don't kill them.”  Matt said almost desperately.

“No, though many die working, they are not slaughtered outright.”  It was a paltry reassurance, but it answered Matt’s questions.  Shiro, however still had many inquiries into the whole situation, however he did not want to pester the first friendly alien they’d met in this hellish place.

***

Matt seemed uninterested in their surroundings, after he had found out where his father was sent, he had shut down.  He was sitting next to Shiro, pressed against his side, but staring at the floor with a furrowed brow.  

When rations were given through a replicator-like inset rectangle that opened in the wall, the alien directed the distribution among the eight beings in the cell sternly from their place seated against the wall.  After passing a water receptacle and servings of protein pellets that reminded Shiro of dog kibble and carbohydrate paste to Shiro and Matt, they regarded the pair with a thoughtful expression.

“You mentioned a parent and your eyes are fresh.  Are you grown for your species?”  Their low voice was again soft.

“Yes.  I’m twenty-four and Matt is twenty-two years old.”  Shiro felt suddenly aware of his youth. “We are barely adults, but yes, we are grown.”

“How long does your species live?”

“Eighty years, some longer, sometimes over one hundred.” Shiro was warming up to conversation, he was always interested in the differences between aliens and humans, and Matt seemed to have perked up marginally to listen in.  

“So you are adults for your kind.  My youngest child, they are thirty and in secondary school.  I am one hundred and thirty-seven.  My mates will likely outlive me by another hundred.” Their expression turned somber.  

Shiro burned with a spark of righteous rage for this noble being.  To have a lifespan like that, but seemingly no hope to see it, Shiro was disgusted with the universe, and now even more concerned for Matt and himself.

***

“How do we understand what’s being said?”  Matt asked after they had overheard the guards yelling at the inhabitants of a nearby cell.  

“The Galra took to using ancient Altean translation programs that are built into the computer mainframe of the ship.  No one but the Alteans, or now, I suppose, some Galra, knows exactly how they work.  Some form of adaptive brainwave system that interacts with the mind of the listener. It doesn’t work on texts.”

“So they can order their prisoners around, but we can’t make use of any signs or control panels.” Matt reasoned.

“Yes.”

***

That night they eventually slept against the wall near the alien and woke up to another meal of bland sustenance.

After the meal the alien warned them about the gladiator arena and what was to come.  How they would be lined up in order, and the weapons allowed, and the sandy environment of the arena.

“Are the fights to the death?” Shiro asked.  The alien looked sad.

“For newcomers like you, they often end up being so.  After you survive that, not always - as long as you give a worthy show.”

Matt paled.  He had engaged more in the morning but still seemed dazed in a way that Shiro could not fault him for.

“What do you mean by a good show?  Long or talented or-” Shiro began to ask, his mind going back to movie nights with his siblings and then dramatic calls of ‘are you not entertained’ that earned an amused glare from the cowl on missions.

“Bloody.” The alien interrupted with a disapproving shudder. “The crowd is bloodthirsty, they want to see suffering and savagery.”

Shiro found himself frowning, he did not like the ideas that were beginning to spin into plans in his head.  

****

After hearing the undefeated reputation of the gladiator, Myzax, who was to start the day’s fight, Shiro knew he had to do something.  He just didn’t know when or what.  It didn’t seem possible to simply make a break for it while they were being escorted to the arena from their cell.  

It was Matt’s outburst of doubt, the first extended speech he’d done since the day before, that spurred Shiro into action.

Someone had to fight in this arena and Shiro wasn’t going to let it be Matt.  It had to be Shiro for so many reasons.  Matt hadn’t spent years watching expert martial artists train.  Matt didn’t have a comprehensive grasp of self-defense or any form of fighting.  Matt hadn’t sparred with dozens of people of different sizes and ability levels.  Matt didn’t know anatomy well enough to know where to inflict injuries, where to take a hit, or how much a human could survive.  Matt hadn’t had strategy drilled into his skull by listening to Bruce give the same lessons to child after child.  Matt had no chance in this arena, Shiro had a small one.  

So Shiro channeled the abilities of his father, and acted.  

Shiro cut Matt’s leg as neatly as he could.  It would be a damaging, hindering wound, but not entirely incapacitating or crippling.  Matt wouldn’t be put to death for inefficiency but he would not be made to fight.  

Shiro told Matt to take care of his father.  He wished he could have had time to make sure Matt knew to take any chance he had of escape, and to not try to come back for Shiro.  He wished he had time to tell Matt to find a Green Lantern.  He wished he had time to tell Matt many things.

But strong hands were already on him pulling him towards his fate and away from Matt. Matt’s scared eyes that had dawning comprehension drowning in fear were burning into him and he knew they would stay with him in his dreams for the rest of his life.  However short that may be.

Shiro had been raised by heroes but never became one himself.  Maybe he couldn’t live his life as a bona fide superhero, but he could die by the principles of one.

***

Shiro hadn’t died.  

The mantras and skills he had absorbed in Gotham City had kept him alive and without major injuries.  He was scraped and sore and had a badly bruised rib, but nothing was broken when he was taken back to his cell.  

The large alien in the back made a pained sound of inquiry when he was shoved into the room alone.  

“He’s alive. He got sent to the labor camp instead.” Shiro didn’t want to tell this kind being how he had felt the vibration up the sword into his wrist when it cut through Matt’s flesh.  Or how much harder he had to swing to cut through the thick skin of Myzax.  

He did anyway that night, pulled flush to their side with a heavy arm resting on him.  

Before he fell asleep he had wept.  For Matt, for Sam, for himself.  Then for Keith, and for his brothers and sisters, and Bruce and Alfred and the league and everyone he felt like he was disappointing by winning.

***

After his first fight to the death, Shiro made it back to their cell before he threw up.  He retched and retched and all he could see in the bile was the splatters of blood spilling onto the sand.  Each spasm aggravated the bite on his shoulder that the now dead opponent had given him.  It had been half healed by a cursory use of a light-based device and then covered by a skin-conforming synthetic bandage.  It ached in time with his pulse.

Shiro retched on nothing, gagging and choking with tears in his eyes.

There was a heavy hand on his back, not rubbing in circles as his father or Alfred would have done, but resting as a still weight.  For once, Shiro appreciated the difference.

“Have you killed before here?”  They ask, unprompted.  

“No.”  Shiro tries not to hear the echoes in his mind of Bruce’s no killing mantra, and shouted arguments between everyone and Jason.  

Shiro throbbed with self-loathing.  He had had no choice but to strike down his opponent, who had been trying even harder to kill him.  But he still felt like he had failed.  Bruce would have found a way to incapacitate his opponent.  So would Dick.  Tim could have wielded the thin broken pipe he had stolen from the swivel-jointed appendage of his opponent nearly as well as his staff.  Cass wouldn’t have needed to make a choice.  Jason wouldn’t have cared.

Shiro didn’t have the strength of personality to justify his actions despite the circumstances.  All he had were convictions beyond his ability level.  He felt less like a hero and more like the creatures of the shadows they fought.

“If you want it to get easier each time, it does.” They paused and sighed.  “I find it does not.”

Shiro considered this.  He could dehumanize the aliens.  It would be so easy, just to see them as monsters, boogeymen from nightmares and mediocre movies.  But that would be hypocritical to everything he had stood for before this.  And it would dehumanize him even more.

“I don’t want it to.”  

The alien nodded.

“You already seem to understand the benefits of ending a fight with injury, many of us at the level you are now employ this tactic against new prisoners and weak ones.  At least we aren’t killing them directly.”  Shiro felt his spirit warmed an increment by the praise.  “But as you rise in the levels of the arena, you will face more and more gladiators who revel only in slaughter.  Some are those who choose to fight for the opportunity for violence.  Some have enough favor with sponsors that any injury will be healed.  If you do not kill those, they will only kill the weaker opponents they face after you.”

Shiro wondered if this was how Jason rationalized his decisions.  That if he didn’t kill a criminal, their next victim would die instead.  Shiro had always somewhat understood his reasoning, even if he hadn’t agreed at the time, but now, faced with the decision himself, he felt a pang for his brother.

***

After his second kill, their cell has more space now.  Their numbers have dropped to five and new prisoners haven’t been shoved in to replace those lost yet.

Shiro had been in the first fights of the day, and now was back before the other gladiators.  The cell wasn’t empty, but the two aliens still in there stayed in the corners next to the door and spared him little more than a glance.  

This fight had been physically exhausting, and the alien had latched onto his arm and dragged him close with xir dying strength to stare into his eyes with an unrepentant stare that slowly faded.

Xir bodily fluid had been cleansed from him before he was thrown back into the cell, but in the dim light he could almost see the stains on his hands and feel them spreading up his arms.  

He lay on his side, half curled, staring at his shaking palms, facing the back wall.  

He didn’t know how much time passed, but then the door was opening again, and the size and shape of the shadow that flashed on the wall before the metal sealed off the brightness of the hallway told him it was the large alien.  The sound of the door and the quiet after made Shiro realize detachedly that he was hyperventilating, and filling the room with rushed breaths.

He didn’t turn around but he felt the alien cross the room in a few strides and crouch beside him.

“My name is Solaan.  I’m a Valdoran from the Lanx Moon Colony.  And you?”  

Shiro’s wet gasps slowed.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane, a Human of Earth.” Shiro hadn’t taken Bruce’s name when he was adopted.  That would have made what happened too real, and neither Dick nor Jason had added the “-Wayne”.  It had been made clear that a name wasn’t what made them family. Solaan made an approving noise.

“My kind mates in threes to reproduce.  We all have a third of the genetic material and take turns nourishing the developing infant.  So I have two mates.  We met in art school.  I am an architect, if you’d believe that.  I favor sweeping arched ceilings and light glass structures.  Lyrus is a weaver, they minored in history, and use that as a subject in their work.  Some of their tapestries are in our planet’s museums.  Frund is a sculptor. They started using clay and stone, but in recent years began experimenting with wood and natural materials.”

By the end of the speech Shiro had rolled onto his back and was looking at them.  

“Did any of your buildings get made?”

“Not any of my grandiose plans,” They let out a short laugh. “But I did see a few law offices made.”

Shiro smiled wanly.

“What is your job?” Solaan asked at length.

“I’m an astronaut.  I signed up for this.” Shiro didn’t have the fortitude to sound bitter.

“Oh.  My kind haven’t had astronauts in centuries.”  A hand brushed over his hair.

“We’re pretty new to the space thing.  I doubted I’d meet any aliens beyond microbes on this trip.”

The hands pressed more firmly against Shiro and he tried to only focus on those points of pressure.

****

Solaan made sure he survived when his face was cut.  

The injury had been healed enough that he would not bleed out - as was the way for gladiators’ injuries - but he was still left in agony.

His whole head throbbed from the swelling, and his world swum on the edge of unconsciousness every time he choked around a loosened blood-clot.  He’d thrown up twice, a painful experience that left him incoherent and shaking.  

It would have been unbearable alone.  But Solaan had been there as soon as they had been released from their own fight.  

Solaan stabilized him with their arms while another set used ripped his crop-top into rags to wipe his mouth and another to cool his brow.  

Solaan crooned nonsense at him while he rested against their side.  Even when regained his composure he could not bring himself to pull away.

When he realized that the crunch of the kibble-like protein food sent spikes of agony through his head, the serving was exchanged for their carbohydrate paste without prompting.  

Three days later, in the medical facility after his first fight since the injury, the alien getting treated across the room from him informed him that in one of the matches Solaan had been in while he recovered, they had killed the being that had cut him.

****

He killed three more notorious gladiators, one with sharpened teeth that left deep cuts that only just missed the tendons in his calf by a centimeter, one with metal barbs on their tail that raked a set of scars across his back, and one that sprayed acid that burned through his crop top and bodysuit and into his skin.  He told himself it was a hero’s job to protect the weak.  That killing monsters did not a monster make.  He told himself not to be a hypocrite to Jason.

After the third fight, instead of taking him back to the cell with the kind Solaan who told him stories that made him feel like himself again he was taken to a small lilac-lit cell that was a third of the size of the shared one.  He was in a form of solitary, it seemed isolation was to be his latest torture.   

In the hallways he now overheard the words of the Galra guards and the other prisoners.  “Bloodthirsty” and “Killer” and over and over again “Champion”.

Apparently the persona he was cultivating with blood was now too dangerous to live with others.  Like the beings he killed, he was now separated from the prisoners.  

His life was becoming the four walls of his cell, the unending and undimmed lilac lights, the roar of the crowd rushing in his ears, and the feeling of self-betrayal burning his soul each time he fought.  

He would come back to his cell and weep and then make himself rise and exercise, choking down increased portions of protein kibble and doing push-ups and wall-sits and crunches until his mind blanked.  He wanted to survive, he told himself he needed to for the Holts and to warn earth, but really it was because he was too much of a coward to die.  He cursed his convictions again.

They never took him out of his cell except to go to the arena every few days for another fight.  

Meals were brought in what he assumed was morning and at night, or before and after a match.  His only hygiene was the freshening of his appearance before he was sent out onto the sand, and the clean-up in the callous medical facility afterwards.  It was a routine.

Until it wasn’t.  

The guards - two more than usual, surrounding instead of flanking him -  roused him from his sleep and hauled him from his cell and turned corners he hadn’t expected and took him to a chamber with a table in the middle and the sound of crackling lightning in the corners.  

Then, they took his arm.

chapter 3 link

[autolovecraft]

Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. I knew his teeth, with the front ones missing on the upper jaw—never, for God's sake, show those wounds! Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the right grave. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. Birch still toiling. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. Why did you do it, Birch? He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last.

Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Three coffin-heights, he reckoned, would permit him to reach the transom; but he could do better with four. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked.

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago.

Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; so that he was wise in so doing. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. God, what a rage! His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Perhaps he screamed. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch.

[theadasave]

kavi’s house

Lunch - 10/01/2017

Kavi straight up fell over backwards in surprise, right into another pile of trash.  They blink up at Bill, an empty soda can balancing on their head for a few moments before rolling off.  Clink clonk! "Geeze, warn a poor soul before you do that!"  They stand up, dusting off bits of confetti and empty candy wrappers. "I'm pretty sure I'm the only person out here, so I dunno if that's something normal folks are entirely able to do? Maybe." They shrug.  "Doubt anyone actually wants to live out here."(edited)

NULL - 10/01/2017

"Sorry, Prisoner! Making morals pee their pants in fear just comes naturally to me. Consider it a friendly jumpscare." He puts his little hands on his hips and zips from one corner of the room to another, taking in the finer details then doing the same with all other rooms in the house. And pop! He's back, moving so quickly that his outlines are a blur until he's still again. "Oh people can survive out here, although, as far as I know, Sixer and this one are the only humans to stick around for long. Most of them get eaten not long after stepping in."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

[  It's a fairly ordinary house, about middling size.  Two stories, four bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms.    The largest rooms are the combo kitchen/living room space they're in now and the finished basement underneath it.

One bedroom is on the main floor, and judging from the horribly messy state, that's probably the one Kavi uses.  A large master bath is en suite.  A half bathroom is also on this floor, out near the kitchen. Upstairs are three smaller bedrooms and a bathroom.  There's also a ladder at the end of the hallway that goes up to a rooftop deck.  It seems very dusty, probably hasn't been used recently, if at all.  One of the rooms up here has been turned into a small library. The other two lie empty. As with the main living area, all the furniture in the rest of the house is a hodgepodge as far as style goes.  Most pieces are aimed for ease of use or comfort.  There are various oddities along the walls, probably things that caught Kavi's eye. The basement is kitted out as a game room.  Pool table, pinball, even a skee-ball machine.  The skee-ball machine has a cracked screen in multiple places, thanks to SOMEONE being over-enthusiastic with their throws.  There's also a wet bar, popcorn machine, slush machine, and another large sofa/tv combo. ](edited)[ The house is contained inside a large geodesic dome, made with hefty metal struts and thick glass panels.  There's lighting coming from somewhere near the very top of the curve, but there's no visible source to be seen.  The lighting appears to be on a 24-hour cycle. The dome contains about 3 acres of land.  The rim is dotted with pine trees and scrub, with the middle cleared out for Kavi's house and for the enormous concrete bunker that holds their lab.  There's a 'garden' around the house; it really just looks like a bunch of plants decided to riot around in a semi-controlled manner. The concrete bunker remains closed and locked.  There are no windows. ](edited)

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10/01/2017

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10/01/2017

Barbor - 10/01/2017

Bor clenched their mandibles together with a small flutter of their wings, they're trying to wonder why humans can't be here for so long. But hey, it might not be best to think about it too hard, the void is weird and they've only been here for a short time. "I think that's good! It might show who and who isn't adaptable enough to live here," Bor jumped on the Twinky and started to do a little dance "and this guy is doing super well from what it looks like~"

NULL - 10/01/2017

"It does make me wonder how this place ended up right on the border of the Nightmare Realm and this mostly empty, less horrifically moldable portion people keep calling the void." Bill rubs under his projected eye thoughtfully. "I'd describe this as a biome. Hey Kavi, how much of this are you responsible for?"

Lunch - 10/01/2017

Kavi sticks their tongue out at Bill.  "Friendly jumpscares are a lie, all jumpscares are evil.  Pure evil.  STAY OUTTA MY BATHROOM!" The last part is called after him as he zips away, the human grumbling and flopping back onto the couch. "Oh, right.  Ford was gonna get me universal cable or something? So, roachbuddy, we could get even more channels."  Another high-one is offered, though they divert their attention back up to Bill after a moment. "Eh? Oh!  Initial construction was done by someone else.  I snuck in during the building process to replace all the materials they were using with exact replicas made with even stronger stuff.  Is it really on the border of the Nightmare Realm?" They scratch at their head a moment, then shrug.  "Didn't know.  I just picked whichever point I was floating through most recently. Anyways, they built it, then I stole it.  Really really large runic transportation circle.  Like I told that guy--," gestures towards Barbor, "-- drained me out for three months.  Couldn't even move."

NULL - 10/01/2017

"That's impressive! It reminds me a little bit of something... oh right, Dalaran!" He claps his hands together and nods by wiggling the top portion of his triangular form. "Anyway, if this location was random, you're really lucky it wasn't a smidge that way." A jerk of his thumb. "Otherwise you'd be completely in my jurisdiction."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"And what would that do?" Squints.

Barbor - 10/01/2017

"I think that means he's the mayor of you." tilts their head "I think??"(edited)

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"...Fuck that, I ain't paying any taxes." Squints even harder.

NULL - 10/01/2017

"It would mean you'd have to pay me taxes, but since you're just a little bit out of bounds, you don't. Lucky you." And who knows what taxes would mean to Bill Cipher. Close call.

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Thank whatever gods still exist.  This place is way too big, I don't have nearly that kind of money.   Or, really, I don't think I have any, if I had to pay in Nightmare money."

Barbor - 10/01/2017

"...Nightmare money sounds like sanity..."  They looked down on their twinky and didn't really feel hungry for that now "Dude, he's right, you're extremely lucky to just be a inch away from his place."

NULL - 10/01/2017

"Yeah, Bor's probably got the right idea. It's still neat to have neighbors though! I'm not sure how I missed you out here. The bubble is visible from the edge of my realm. Oh well! How do you feel about house parties?" He mimes leaning against a wall even though his projection can't really lean on anything without phasing through it.

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Dude, I told you, you can come over whenever."  Kavi shrugs, glancing around the big, empty home.  "I don't...really need all this space.  It's nice to have people over for once.  Usually I have to try and port somewhere just to get some kind of interaction.  Also I uh-- may have put a bit of a cloaking device on this.  I'd rather it not get swallowed whole by a void whale." Are there actually void whales? Who knows.  They're making that up but maybe they exist.

"Does it count as a party if we've only got like, three people? Or are you up to something?"

NULL - 10/01/2017

"Oh I was just asking if we could use your place for occasional parties when I'm not sure if I can trust all of the attendees to hang out in the Fearamid without causing trouble." He hovers near Kavi's head. "Not that I have a lot of friends right now! I'm working on that. At least I have you two, Dove and Ribbons, huh? Although, I think Dove's still a tiny bit upset with me."

Barbor - 10/01/2017

"Aw, then he has too clean up all this cool junk..." the roach let out a trill of chirps to sound like a raspberry, but they didn't mind though it wasn't their place to clean up anyway. "Why would your friend be mad at you? Did you try to steal someone's soul or somethin?" They chuckled in a half-kidding type of way.

NULL - 10/01/2017

Bill does a so-so gesture with his hand and lets out one of those mischevious laughs of his own. "Sort of! She's the kid I kidnapped. I can see why she might be a little worked up over the fact that I originally intended to kill her friends, even though she eventually talked me out of it."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Ugh, I haven't cleaned this place in like....years." Kavi wrinkles their nose, giving a glance around and looking a bit despairing.   "...I'm so glad there's no mold or anything out here." "Oh! She was the one we were there to save or somethin', right?"  Kavi doesn't actually know.

NULL - 10/01/2017

"Yeah! "Save". Sure." He shrugs. Sounds like he's pretty sure she was better off where he had her. "Cleaning huh? Well, I might be able to help with that if it's something you're into, but frankly, I don't really mind the mess."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Sweet! No cleaning it is!" They're way too pleased at that.  Kavi, please clean your rooms.  Please.

Barbor - 10/01/2017

Bor screes in delightfully, everybody likes the mess! "Yes!~ Cleaning is for squares!!~" the bug kicked some crumbs off the twinky to contribute with the mess here.

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"FUCK YEAH!" CHEERS. "But yeah. Feel free to have a party here whenever, my dude.  Just, y'know.  If you break it, you translocate a new one in.  The usual.  It's a real pain in the ass for big things like the skee ball machine."

NULL - 10/01/2017

For some reason, Bill feels the need to press himself up against Kavi. His projection gives off static and warmth, but is decidedly intangable. "Oh I can do that for sure! This place is close enough to my realm that I can make whatever I want over there and have it transported easily."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

Kavi immediately tries hold him in a similar fashion to how they had during movie night, but quickly realizes he's intangible.  Gentle paps at the air around him will have to do instead. "Sweet.  Go nuts, dude.  Oh, uh-- house is free reign.  Lab is off limits.  Creepy forest surrounding my house is free for all."

NULL - 10/01/2017

"Creepy forest, wooo!" He "taps" a warm, buzzing but not-at-all-solid finger to their forehead. "Hey, have you ever been possessed?"(edited)

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Nope! That's what I've got these for."  Kavi lifts up their shirt immediately.  Thankfully there's a tight wrap beneath it, over their chest.  Still, it reveals many of the tattoos she's carrying. "All of these are protection wards.  Whatever I could find.  I still have space, in case I need any others.  Most of it's to ward off evil spirits, the evil eye, demons, whatever.  It's kinda necessary in my line of work."

NULL - 10/01/2017

"You have a good point. Yeah, these would definitely keep me out if you hadn't shaken my hand. Good for you." He's still not trying to invade without permission, though. There wouldn't be much to gain from it right now, and Red had... maybe a small point with going for the throat of Bill's lonliness.

Lunch - 10/01/2017

Kavi flashes a double thumbs up and a grin.  "Sure would be a new experience.  If you do, just be careful not to die.  I don't even wanna know how that would affect all the fuckery that is death."

Barbor - 10/01/2017

"It's actually pretty fun!~ It's how I'm controlling this bug," They did a little wing shimmy, "*I did it once to a human, too! But they wanted me to erase her memories though."

NULL - 10/01/2017

"Well you are my FAVORITE prisoner. I'd like to avoid getting you killed, so don't worry about it! I'll even opt out of slamming my hand in kitchen drawers and throwing myself down stairs, as hard as those things are to resist." He looks like he thinks he's doing someone a great favor.

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Pfft, you're such a dear." Kavi snorts in amusement, giving Bill an extra good pat on the topmost angle.  "Thanks for that, I don't really have any super healing powers unless I'm dead." "Huh.  Whadda you look like out of bug form, Bor?  Can you show us or is it not possible?" They watch the little roach with genuine curiousity, head canting to the side.

NULL - 10/01/2017

"I do! I can regenerate just about anything. The only thing I have any trouble fixing is my eye, and even that's not impossible. It just takes a long time." He turns himself upside-down with another of those breakneck-quick movements. "I was wondering about that myself. Cockroaches are adorable, but I would like to see what our friend here looks like on their own."

Barbor - 10/01/2017

"oh! eh hahah... I-I guess it's not too bad get out of this bug for a bit," Bor bug body went limp and in a blink of an eye was a tall lanky looking baphomet, they had permanent smile plastered on it's face too. "Ta-dah~ I usually stay in the bug body since all the humans tend spook easily..." they mutter begrudgingly while taking their vessel off the twinky and eating in one bite.

NULL - 10/01/2017

Bill eye-smiles. "Humans are ridiculous! You're gorgeous. I get it though. I don't really look the way I usually manifest either. It's hard to talk to people when they're screaming."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"HOT BOI!"  Thanks, Kavi.

NULL - 10/01/2017

"HOTBOI!"

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"You look fine to me, Bor.  But I deal with possession and rogue demon incidents for a living, so." They shrug.  "I'm probably uh.  A little biased."

Barbor - 10/01/2017

Bor looked sorta... surprised to get this type of reaction though they can't say they don't like it though, their ears perk up slightly while doing those happy squints cats do when their content... Wait... Were they purring too? "Aw shucks guys, thanks!~" they're super glad that they're around beings they don't mind their appearance and understood them. "Some humans are kinda ridiculous aren't they, hehe~"

Lunch - 10/01/2017

"Dude, are you purring?" Kavi perks up.  "That's awesome! I don't think I've ever heard a demon purr.  And yeah, most humans are pretty ridonkulous.  And bland? I dunno.  They all look the same.  At least monsters look interesting." Shruggio.  "Again, though.  Biased."

Barbor - 10/01/2017

"I-I s-shit you heard that?" they covered their mouth, Bor looked sorta embarrassed that Kevi heard that but at least they're not teasing them about it. "Y-Yeah I do, but I don't see any other demons purr but the feline aligned entities I've seen."

Lunch - 10/01/2017

Kavi grins over at him and taptaps her ear.  "Got an aural enhancemet device tucked in here, picked that up loud and clear.  Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Barbor - 10/02/2017

Bor thought on it with another bag of doritos in their claws, "N-No it's fine, I just didn't expect anyone to hear it to be honest." they opened it and tossed some of it in their mouth. "Plus I don't think goat demons are even supposed to purr, but hey there's a chance for everything, right?"

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"Maybe it's a really quiet 'baaa' deep in your chest? Or a purr! Maybe you have some feline demon in you?" Kavi shifts around Bill, moving over to Barbor and stealing a Dorito. "Or maybe it's a special talent of yours!"

Barbor - 10/02/2017

They tiled the bag towards them, though the baph's eyes were empty they still looked almost puzzled some how. "It doesn't feel like a 'baaa', It's kinda constant depending how I'm feeling and how long." "It could be though, my creator didn't really told me the specifics about how she made me. I try not to pry into it too much either." they said with a slight shrug.

Lunch - 10/02/2017

Kavi absent-mindedly grabs another chip.  Cronch monch. "Sounds like a purr to me!  Must be something they put together, then. You were created?"

Barbor - 10/02/2017

"Yeah, believe it or not, I used to be... a human?? I made a super stupid deal to get out a really... Really crummy situation..." They slightly growled a tiny bit while munching on some chips of their own, "But that's in the past now, being a demon is a lot more fun."

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"I bet! Plus, folks make deals all the time to get out of crappy situations." Sloooowly turns to stare at Bill.  The mechanical eye rotates lethargically outwards until they're going wall-eyed.(edited)

Barbor - 10/02/2017

Bor took a glance at Kavi and back at Bill,  but seeing their eye doing it's own thing made the baph chuckle and it ultimately led into a full blown giggle fit. "Kavi, what the heck~"

Lunch - 10/02/2017

Kavi snickers, the mechanical eye quickly rolling back into place and the shutter-lens flicking about as it re-aligned itself.  "Fuck that's always really disorienting.  Humans are not built for chameleon eyes.  Worth it for the laugh, though."

NULL - 10/02/2017

"I remember somebody else who makes that face! Speaking of, I'm predicting a high chance of him showing up here, so I'm going to skedaddle before things get messy!" Bill tips his hat. "I'll see you two around soon. Reaaal soon." He is gone.

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"Well, that was ominous.  But hey, cable guy is coming soon!" CHEERING.

Barbor - 10/02/2017

"Cable guy? You mean the sixer guy you and bill talked about?" they were confused but they were still generally happy that they get to have multi-universal tv

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"Uhhhh.  Maybe? Or-- Hm.  I dunno.  I think his name's Rick?  I don't think Rick is Sixer.  I think Sixer is Ford.  Or maybe Bill calls a bunch of people Sixer?" Scritchety scratches their head."Okay, yeah.  Ford is Sixer, not cable guy." Kavi glances up from their phone and gives Bor a thumbs up.

NULL - 10/02/2017

Aaand... Rick! The portal opens, he steps through, then it closes. He's got some kind of fancy cable box and a belt full of tools. He smells strongly of vodka now. Thanks Red. "Hhhey wh-what's up? I'm Cable Guy Rick!"

Barbor - 10/02/2017

The demon finished the chips and looked in the bag to see if there's any more, but there wasn't so they ate the bag itself. The smell of vodka made the demon reared their head back slightly "J-Just chillin, you smell like you had a good time"

Lunch - 10/02/2017

Kavi whirls around, beaming happily at Rick and offering a half-assed salute. "Yo, dude! Nice t'see you! Glad you could find the place okay.  And not get swallowed by void whales."  Kavi glances over their shoulder towards Barbor. "From what I saw yesterday, the booze smell may or may not just be his everyday norm."

NULL - 10/02/2017

"Y-yeah, the last guy I installed for t-took me to a bar and I couldn't resist. O-only four shots though, I-I can still work on four shots." Rick laughs. "D-don't rub it in, wh-where's the TV? U-unless you wanted me to install this UP YOUR BUTT. Haha! Owned."(edited)

Lunch - 10/02/2017

Kavi snorts, making a spinning motion with their finger.  "Owned but at least I'm not blind. Bam.Turn around dude, right behind you.  There's a second one downstairs, but I can easily figure somethin' out t'connect the two once y'get that set up. Actually..." Kavi scratches their chin, blinking.  "...I should take the satellite dish off the roof, huh?"

NULL - 10/02/2017

"I-I wouldn't worry about it. Y-you won't need the dish anymore but it's not hurting anything by being-by being up there." He belches, turns around and sets to work with the installation. "S-so how do you know Stanford and why are you living on the edge of the Nightmare Realm? A-are those two answers connected? Lay it on me."

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"Nope! Not connected at all."  Kavi pauses a moment, offering Barbor the bag of Doritos they'd brought over for themself.  There's still half a bag left, if he wants them! "I moved here a whiiiiile ago.  Only just recently met Ford when I tried to find a bathroom and accidentally popped in on movie night instead.  Cool shit to watch, though!  The location of the house is basically 'cause this is where I was at when I ported everything in." Shrugs.

NULL - 10/02/2017

"W-weird coincidence. Do yourse-" Burp. "Do yourself a big favor and don't let this place drift sixteen feet to our left." This guys carrying and making use of some seriously high tech looking tools. A few sparks fly from the TV and he utters a flat "Oh shit." before taking yet another device to it that undoes any damage to it in a matter of seconds. "Haha, fleeb." Rick shakes his head and pats the side of the TV before testing it. On it goes, and there it is, multiversal cable.

Barbor - 10/02/2017

The Baphamet happily took the bag and stuff their muzzle into it and munched the contents, hearing the sparks fly around bor scooted away from TV and sat behind the coffee table.  "Does he have to anchor this place down to prevent that from happening?" Once the multiuniversal TV comes on they tilted their head from side to side "W-what the fuck is a fleeb?"

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"No worries.  It's locked in position already, otherwise I'd get lost trying to get back to it.  Nice dude, thanks for the hook up!  Here, lemme--"  They disappear a moment into the kitchen, returning with a dusty bottle and offering it out to Rick. "Payment.  Hope it's okay if the booze is haunted.  Ghost shouldn't bother you too much, though, I made sure it wasn't malignant.  I just really hate the taste of tequila."

NULL - 10/02/2017

"I-it's a creature that excreets Fleeb Juice which is necessary tool for-for the creation of Plumbuses among other things. I-it's also good for rigging old television sets to support new tech." He stands up, gathers his things and draws in a deep breath. "All done here! Good luck, here's my number if you need any fuckin' uhhhhh..." He goes wall-eyed for a moment. "R-right, payment. Gh-ghost booze, huh? P-perfect for sexy butts. I'll see yooou later." He fingerguns backwards through a new portal after leaving a scrap of paper with his cell number atop the TV set.

Barbor - 10/02/2017

Bor lets out a small, "Thanks!" and "bye!" when he finger guns his way out of here.

"* He's... Cool?"  the baph loafs on the floor and rests their chin on the table while "watching" TV. "I can't believe he did it so quickly though, he just came in not a second ago.*"(edited)

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"See you dude!" Another half-assed salute, and then he's gone. "Dude's really smart or something, apparently? I wish I had an intellect for more than just, like...one thing.  But hey, free cable! Fuck yeah!  Lemme see if I can find..." Kavi grabs a nearby remote and flips through the channels at top speed, squinting as the listings race by.  "No....No....Wai-- Nope, nope-- AHA!"  The Gravity Falls channels! "TIGER FIST!"((

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFY6-qD7igA

))

YouTube

CartoonMoments

Gravity Falls - Tiger Fist

Barbor - 10/02/2017

[[ XDDDD gosh! ]] "FREE CABLE!~" Bor wooped gleefully, they perked up their ears to listen to the channels changing. Some of those listings that went by sounded interesting but they didn't want to object. "Tiger fist?.... TIGER FIIIIST!  What a strong tiger~"

Lunch - 10/02/2017

"TIGER FISSSSST!" "I saw it when we were watching that stuff about the Pines twins and Gravity Falls and thought it looked cool. I mean, c'mon.  A tiger with a fist? Obviously awesome."  They wiggle with excitement as the show starts to play.(edited)

NULL - 10/02/2017

https://youtu.be/fxyua6G_s9c

YouTube

Tumee

Rick and morty - Best moments - Inter dimensional cable - Part 1

Barbor - 10/02/2017

The eye brow wiggling got a chortle out of bor "It is pretty awesome, I gotta admit, but why just stop with a normal human fist? Why didn't they put some bear arms on the tiger?~"

Those strawberry sniggles looked pretty yummy to have right about now~

Barbor - 10/03/2017

A degraded looking  letter fluttered onto coffee table.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi is shoving Twinkies into their face and scowling as they watch the show by themself. The tiny note makes them smile a little.  Okay, maybe only one more Twinkie after this one.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi stomps outside of their house and out into the pine forest.  They climb one of the trees and plop onto one of the branches. And promptly....scream at the top of their lungs.  LET IT ALL OUT.

Barbor - 10/03/2017

Poofs near were Kavi is and gives a light poke... And then head-butts softly in a greeting manner.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi sighs, gently patting Bor's head.  They're about fifty feet up off the ground and not entirely sure about returning the headbutting movement. "Hey bud.  Feel free to crash on the couch or in one of the rooms, yeah?  I just need a bit of quiet time."

Barbor - 10/03/2017

Their ears lower and let out a sigh that almost sounded like a "oh",  the head pats were greatly welcomed but still... their curiosity is bugging  them to ask this human about what happened at movie night. "Thanks, I will, but I gotta ask..." they tapped their claws together before continuing "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"...Maybe.  Just-- not at the moment.  I probably should, I guess? I dunno. I'll come back down in a bit for a chat." They hug their arms to themself, sighing.

Barbor - 10/03/2017

"Alright, I'll be all ears," their ears wiggled slightly when they made that pun "if you decided to come back inside.~  Till then I'm gonna find a room to make my own,*"  They said before waving them off and heading inside, they're totes gonna take one of the rooms in the top floor.

NULL - 10/03/2017

Bill projects his wire-frame hologram form out of the artistic Dorito once again. "Hey guys! I just thought of something! Something either of you could do for me since I helped you out of Dove's bubble in the Nightmare Realm! What do you say, are either of you up to a task?"(edited)

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"Heh.  Pick any of them that you want, though the library might be a bit awkward to sleep in."  They sat there a few hours, just watching everything around them.

Kavi finally clambered back down from the pine tree once the lighting had shifted and started up the day cycle, getting back home just in time to see Bill pop on in.  They gave a tired wave with a hand covered in sap and bark bits. "Hey Bill. Sec."  Kavi heads for the staircase, pausing at the bottom and trying to fiddle a twig out of their hair as they call up to the second story.  "BOR! BILL'S HERE! GOT SOMETHIN' FOR ONE OF US TO DO!"

Barbor - 10/03/2017

The baphomet came trotting down the stairs on all fours, it was much better traverse instead of ducking all the time.  Bor plopped themselves on the couch while chewing on dismembered arm as they listened intently what Bill got in store for them.

NULL - 10/03/2017

"Oh hey what's up Bor? Sleep well? You're still looking great. So anyway! This is really only a one-person task so it'll only count for one of you, but if the other wants to tag along for shits, who am I to complain?" He's very animated right now, occasionally spinning an equally holographic cane, zipping from one spot to another, or turning himself upside-down just because he can. "There's something that belongs to me in Gravity Falls, something I was forced to leave behind when I made my involuntary exit that you no doubt know about by now. I'm not going to ask you to get it back for me because that's a task way more complicated than what I did for you. What I will ask you to do is gather up some pretty rocks and leave a trail of them from one location to the location where my physical form is hidden."(edited)

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"Pretty...rocks?"  Kavi gives a confused squint.

Barbor - 10/03/2017

"That sounds kinda easy? But who's this trail for?"They spoke clearly regardless if their mouth is stuffed with food.

NULL - 10/03/2017

"I've got a dragon sending a gift my way and I want to make sure that gift finds her way to me naturally. When I say pretty rocks that's not a metaphore. I mean it literally. Just collect some nice looking stones and other shiny things and leave a trail of them from where she is to where I am. That's all I want you to do." He adjusts his tie. "Easy enough if you're not concerned with the consequences, and neither of you seem particularly attached to that little hick town or anyone in it, right? So, what do you say? Can I count on my friends?"

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi stops by the sink, trying to wash as much sap off their hands as possible.  And bark.  And pine needles.  And dirt.  And literally everything because holy shit pine sap is the worst. "I could not care less, yeah.  Unless Bor's attached to anyone there, we could go together 'n then stop by a dimension with a food store on the way home.  What do you think, roachdude?"

Barbor - 10/03/2017

"I'm not attached to anyone in that town so I'm all for it!~"  The baphomet disappeared and the dead bug on the table reanimates again, chirping and screeching like the day before.

"So we just gotta find some cool pretty stones? Would gemstones work too?"  the roach asked while it starts to stretch out it's legs and wings.

NULL - 10/03/2017

"Gemstones would be perfect if you can find any, just try to keep them somewhat natural looking. I don't want some irrelevant nobody picking up the trail before she does. Try to stay out of sight. If anybody asks questions, play dumb. Oh, and you might want to wear your roach suit, Bor. The locals are jumpy." Bill vibrates just slightly. "I don't have it all down on paper just yet, but I do have some vague ideas on how I might piece myself back together without the help of uncooperative pieces of my consciousness that've changed too much on their own to serve me well anyway."

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"Sweet!  Wait, Bor, do you just have gemstones laying around?  I was gonna just go smash a bottle and use glass bits.  Those are pretty shiny.  Gemstones might be a better option, though." Shrugs. "Anyone in particular we should be avoiding on sight?"

Barbor - 10/03/2017

"I don't! But illusions is something I'm good at," They clicked happily while doing a few body bobs, "You can break those glass bits anyway, I'll just put a sigil on it to make it look like a nice gemstone~" "And yeah, should we be on a look out for any humans there, Bill?"(edited)

NULL - 10/03/2017

"Glass isn't good enough. They have to be natural stones. We're not necessarily talking precious ones, just pretty ones off the ground. No fooling her and ripping her off, even if it's easy. I want her to get real, non-illusionary rocks. I have standards, you know!" Bill folds his arms. "I wouldn't worry about anybody in particular. They don't have a way of knowing what you're up to as long as you're not obvious about it. I trust you two to use your brains." Which might be a mistake, since they already thought of using broken glass instead of the stones he specifically requested.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"Ugh.  Guess we'll have to make a stop at a mountain or something before we go near the forest.  Doubt we'll be able to find many underneath all the leaf litter.  Not easily, at least.  Should be a few nearby rock formations, at least." Pauses to think.  "...Mountain lake, maybe?  Lakeshores are usually great for finding pretty stones.  Or streams."  They're basically mumbling to themselves at this point.

NULL - 10/03/2017

"There's a lake, there are mountains. For fucks sake, guys, have fun with it. I'm not asking you to move entire mountains here, I'm asking you to go on a little vacation to a nice place and drop some rocks. You could probably fish them out of the gravel in somebody's driveway." Bill sighs. Why are minions so difficult?

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"Oh hush, not like we're wasting time, dude.  If you didn't notice, it doesn't really pass around here the same as it does elsewhere.  No need to get your panties twisted."  Flashes of their earlier foul mood pop up, though they quickly turn and head for the door to their room. "Lemme go grab my shit, then we'll go."

[autolovecraft]

You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor.

He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul.

It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, but you always did go too damned far! His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. Great heavens, Birch, just as I thought!

After a full two hours Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. The skull turned my stomach, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. I knew his teeth, with the front ones missing on the upper jaw—never, for God's sake, show those wounds! In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. Why did you do it, Birch? He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it.

He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Birch?

His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Great heavens, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles!

He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. Sawyer was not a lovable man, and many stories were told of his almost inhuman vindictiveness and tenacious memory for wrongs real or fancied. The tower at length finished, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible.

The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon.

He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry.

Birch, just as I thought! He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy.

Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door.

He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness.

[autolovecraft]

I thought!

He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about.

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? The hungry horse was neighing repeatedly and almost uncannily, and he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he vaguely wished it would stop. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age.

It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. Why did you do it, Birch? At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol.

Davis, an old-time village practitioner, had of course seen both at the respective funerals, as indeed he had attended both Fenner and Sawyer in their last illnesses.

Birch still toiling.

The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. God, what a rage! The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! Perhaps he screamed. He was a scoundrel, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin!

He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. As he planned, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. An eye for an eye! Why did you do it, Birch? He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. He could not walk, it appeared, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. As he planned, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles.

Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. The tower at length finished, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer.

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door.

[autolovecraft]

Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom.

He was a scoundrel, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved.

In this twilight too, he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep.

Davis, an old-time village practitioner, had of course seen both at the respective funerals, as indeed he had attended both Fenner and Sawyer in their last illnesses. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude.

It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb. Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. Birch heeded this advice all the rest of his life till he told me his story; and when I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Great heavens, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket.

He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he did not care to imagine. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy.

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them.

The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight.

And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago.

Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the right grave. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside.

It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was not far from the tomb. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. He could not walk, it appeared, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. When Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. An eye for an eye! Birch still toiling. When Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood.

Perhaps he screamed. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness.

In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant.