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mysticalmusicwhispers · 5 years ago

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APH College AU: China

Oh hey look I’m doing the Asians now? Perhaps! AU intro here, highly suggested you read for context of why China is out of college.

Also, I know chefs aren’t supposed to be a waiter/see customers and cook at the same time, but too bad. He likes interacting with people personally and is good at knowing when to go back into the kitchens to make sure the food doesn’t burn.

- Owner and head chef of a small Chinese restaurant called Upside Down Luck (*any suggestions for other names are cool!*). He’s thinking about expanding pretty soon, since business is good and very consistent and a second restaurant would probably be as successful as the first. - 50% of business is college students, so he knows most of them. Most have come to his place at least once, and some, such as America, are regulars. - He's really good at memorizing faces and names, and can usually recognize people from the college. They get treated with either “Welcome back! How’s school? I heard there was a small fire in the labs!” or “You, again? *sigh* Same as last time?” - Also relating to that, he never lets students get more than two bottles of alcohol, especially late at night, and has never fell for a fake ID (partly thanks to his siblings telling him who’s a sophomore, freshman, etc). A true mom. - Knows all the school gossip also because his siblings, especially Taiwan and Japan, but South Korea also lets things slip because he forgets China doesn’t know; at dinner or something he’ll be like “Remember how ___?” And China whips around, very surprised and says “What??” with a raised eyebrow and a look that says s p i l l t h e t e a s i s - He always complains about making his food too “Americanized” (?) but honestly it’s more Authentic Chinese style than most people - DESPISES Panda Express and their orange chicken. CHN: “Why is this sweet????” HK: “Chill, that’s just American Chinese food. Anyways, it’s okay tasty.” “No.” “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

- A whiz at budgeting and bargaining; always stays on top of his finances and sometimes manages his siblings’ finances as well when he’s really pissed at them for being lazy/not responsible with their money. A lot of the restaurant’s success is due to his cunning and money managing. - When he’s cooking or frustrated or hot, his ponytail goes up into a sort of bun. He’s not too happy with how it looks on him, but it’s just more convenient that way, either because regulations/sanitary purposes or to get his neck cooler. - He gives his siblings 20-30% off on restaurant stuff most of the time, but it varies a little with mood. Most other students have been jealous at some point or another, but the other side of the deal is that they can’t call Yao “mother” or “grandma” or “grandpa” in any form. They still do it though, and then he’s like “No privileges for you!1!2!1!!” - Also, the restaurant layout is super fengshui, because Yao is superstitious as heck, but also because it’s actually useful for interior design. Like it’s all perfectly aligned, windows face north-south (to get fresh air and sunlight), the door doesn’t have clutter around it, etc. It honestly looks a bit minimalist but also traditional at the same time. During the Lunar New Year he puts up menshen (门神) on the door and couplets on the sides of it, and he always has a small Metteyya (弥勒佛) statue/idol/thingy in the back of the restaurant for money and luck. - Laughs internally at people failing at using chopsticks. (He provides knives and forks and spoons of course, but there are always the handful who keep trying chopsticks). I think he’s the type to just... casually watch you struggle in vain and won’t do anything to help. Of course, if you’re a friend, then he’ll definitely try to teach you, but he doesn’t mind having a laugh at most of his customers. I think South Korea, Hong Kong, and perhaps Vietnam (Japan, Taiwan and Macau would be too kind to laugh and chopsticks aren’t widely used in other Asian countries) would stand and watch as well, taking out their phones and recording any particularly hilarious attempts. - He doesn’t live right above the restaurant, but has an apartment 3 blocks over. It’s not small, but not too big either, so when his siblings come over it gets kinda crowded. South Korea and Hong Kong are always telling him to move out and get a larger place, but China just kinda refuses out of sentimentality. “I like this place too much to leave it!” - Wakes up at 7 AM every morning and walks around the neighborhood and sometimes goes to the college to visit India. He likes routine, and considers it a really refreshing part of his morning. - I haven’t decided a lot of the other ancient’s lives yet, but China and the others would definitely get together for chats once in a while. All of them just happened to stick around close by after college and they’d talk about work and college gossip. College gossip is provided by China and India, but they all know a bit since their siblings are still there. - He majored in business and took a whole lot of outside culinary arts classes in college, and also happened to take a bunch of other random classes just for the heck of it. So now he’s educated on things like human behavior and what people would do in a zombie apocalypse + why they react that way, garbage and sustainability, and medieval studies + folklore through Game of Thrones. He considered taking a tree climbing course but didn’t, just because he didn’t want to waste time relearning how to climb trees with ropes. - Corollary to that, he probably has the weirdest fun facts because of all this miscellaneous info he’s collected. “Did you know there’s immortal cancer cells?” “I don’t want to know, Yao.” (Above fact is true but the story of the cells is really sad (and twisted and makes me kinda angry). They’re called HeLa, after Henrietta Lacks.) - His dorm room was probably on the neater side. However, it wasn’t too meticulously organized, and sorta like a thrown together hodgepodge of themes/aesthetics. Not that pretty to look at but it did its job well for him; he never really lost things in his room. - Loved math assignments (even though he grumbled) and bs-ed English, didn’t do too well in it. I think he’d honestly be ok with a B+, and his grades would’ve ranged from 87s to As depending on subject, with possibly one C+ where he just didn’t really apply himself. But he still applies the Asian Parent Standard to his siblings (but isn’t too strict about it most times. Just when he feels they’re really consistently not doing their best when they could be aceing a class). - He loved history though, and took a lot of courses about it that he didn’t need to graduate. This is also how he met India. - I feel like Yao would have a lot of lifehacks, both for managing college work, job lifehacks and things he uses in the restaurant daily, and tricks for outdoor work ex. farm work. Like if you put him outdoors in a rural area and told him to grow crops and raise chickens, he’d totally be okay with it, and would probably be able to do it well. This is in contrast to his siblings, who are more of city (?) kids. - Of course, he’s proficient with tech stuff and office work, but isn’t as good at it as Japan or HK. - Has a 3/4 heat tolerance and a 5/10 cold tolerance. He warms up by cooking (hot stove) or drinking warm water or tea. - Proud, a bit overly critical of people and nagging. He often gets tiny bursts of anger/intense annoyance at small things, and it makes him scary sometimes. (I hc it’s like this; someone does something slightly off/wrong and he kinda has a mini explosion, but it doesn’t affect his overall mood and he’ll still be pretty cheery to you after the incident is corrected.) - Again, his anger isn’t really full blown anger, but more a bunch of small annoyed explosions. It’s rare he gets mad, but if so, it’s usually a long tirade and lecture with lots of hand motions and shouting. It’s sorta scary since he doesn’t often get like that, so it’s serious when he does. - Relationships with some of his siblings are strained a little. They’re like a sorta mismatched family with lots of squabbles and petty disagreements, especially about who can order the others around. - Honestly a people person, he could ramble on and on for days about his life. Some people find him tiring, but he’s a good mixer with strangers. Casual friends with a lot of people, especially those who appreciate sarcasm and can snark right back at him.

Thanks for reading! I didn’t want to include too much about China’s college days but ended up writing more than I intended. Also, the “random college courses” I mentioned are all real classes, obviously not from the same university, but they exist (pretty cool!!) Next up will probably be SK or HK (I have more ideas for them than some of the others). Feedback is welcome and appreciated!

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ckret2 · 5 years ago

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Antarctica

Rodan found out how Ghidorah feels about him; Ghidorah found out how Rodan doesn't feel about them; and now, Ghidorah thinks they'd better leave the planet before they get too attached to let go.

Rodan strenuously disagrees. And he's determined to change Ghidorah's mind—by tooth and nail, if necessary.

This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots. If you don’t wanna read the others, all you need to know is: Ghidorah (mainly Ichi) developed the crush first and Rodan doesn't quite reciprocate yet; Rodan isn't sure what the hell Ghidorah is but certainly doesn't know he's an alien; nobody goes by the names that humans assigned their species but Rodan goes by "Nido"; and Ghidorah is a mild empath (telepathically reads/projects emotions) but needs to make head contact for it to work. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It had already been night when they'd left the red sprite's island; but it felt like the farther south they went, the darker it got. Their storm changed from hot furious rain to frozen icy daggers, stinging their eyes and wings. They were so cold.

What were they doing on this rotten planet, fawning over that stupid little creature? They couldn't even speak to each other. He was afraid of their touch. They didn't even want him to know how they felt about him.

Wasn't that true? They didn't want him to know. He'd found out—and they hated it. They hadn't wanted him to know. That was true. So what was the point of staying around just because they were infatuated with him, if they hadn’t even wanted him to figure it out? What was the point, First? Why were they here?!

It was hard to see through the storm. They couldn't focus. Their vision was distorted, everything repeating, like crossed eyes but not quite. Triple vision. Second's rage and First's shame and Third's rising panic felt like claws digging into the stitched-together flesh between their necks, tearing them apart from each other.

The red sprite didn't love them.

So why were they here?

First didn't know. He was being so stupid. Maybe they should leave.

Third's terror stabbed into their scars. No! They couldn't leave now! Not when they'd finally decided to stay somewhere for the first time in their lives! They'd only been here half a month—a half month break from millennia upon millennia upon millennia of wandering frozen and cold through space—he wasn't ready to give up sunsets and sands and scents yet, he didn't want to go, he didn't want to go.

Rage flowed back and forth between their minds like tides rising and lowering across the world. Second's rage vanished in the face of Third's plea; and First's towered up in its place. That was too bad, wasn't it, that he didn't want to go. First couldn't say he wanted to go either. No, he'd far prefer to stay here and—and have some kind of—romantic, fantastic, fantasy life with the red sprite. But that wasn't happening, was it! The key word here was fantasy! They were lucky enough that he'd let them stay on his island—probably only because they'd beaten him once and then he'd gotten injured—but the delusional dream of making a happy little aerie had been bound to fall apart eventually, and whatever delusion Third was carrying about what their life could be like on this world was going to fall apart too, and he needed to deal with that. They all needed to deal with that.

They all, always, needed to deal with that.

Third lunged for Second's neck; Second lunged for Third's. One of them had meant to go for First, or else one of them was making the attack that First had meant to make. They'd lost track of who was arguing what, they were almost losing track of their own positions. Their scars burned. They were all furious and all afraid.

They plummeted then leveled out.

What would they have if they stayed here? Look at them after only half a month, tearing at their own throats. They were going to kill themselves. This was why they always moved on, this was why they refused to get attached: because this was what they were afraid would happen. And they'd never even imagined it would be this bad. They'd never thought it would happen so fast. They never though the grief could start before they lost whatever they let themselves get attached to. But here it was, anyway.

The red sprite didn't love them.

###

Nido had never been this cold in his life.

He rarely ever flew this close to the hubs of the world—even more rarely to the left hub, where the land petered out much sooner and there were no volcanoes. Just water and ice. Water and ice and darkness.

The golden one's storm tore at Nido's wings like icy daggers. He could feel his armor softening in the rain and crumbling off of him as he flew, and frozen crystals filling the cracks.

Nido cried for the golden one, but he didn't answer. Nido didn't know if the golden one could still hear him; most of the time, Nido couldn't even see him. Occasionally he caught a far-away glimpse of him, illuminated by his lightning; his heads twisted and writhed around each other, seemingly fighting himself still. But the glimpses got smaller each time.

He'd had no idea the golden one could fly so fast. It was hard to tell, with Nido being shoved back and forth by the storm winds while the wind undoubtedly served to push the golden one faster—but he might even be faster than Nido. He was falling far behind.

He kept following anyway. Even if he couldn't see the golden one anymore, by now he was confident of his route: he was flying all the way to the left hub, the axle around which the world turned.

Nido would find him there or freeze to death trying.

###

Their legs gave out under them as they landed, and they dropped to their knees in the snow. Their blizzard whipped through the night, cold and black and white and ashen; and it reminded them too much of the moon where they had been made.

It made them furious.

Here was the hole in the ground where the little king had buried them; here were the ruined buildings and aircraft they'd left scattered behind them as they left. How long had they been buried in this frozen hell, they wondered? It seemed a fitting place to leave this world behind.

Between their recent frantic dance at the edge of the atmosphere, their struggle to disrupt a hurricane, and their hard flight today to the bottom of the world, they were sore and tired. Hardly the condition they were usually in when they left behind a planet behind—usually, the world was flattened and barren, and they had taken time to recover their strength before leaving.

It galled them to leave this world while it was still alive. But the red sprite merited that much of a mercy.

A needle pierced their heart.

No. It had to be now. While they were still resolved to go. Their necks were raw and missing scales; they could taste their own blood. But they'd reached a consensus. This infatuation was stupid—and they were stupid to stay just to pine for him if he didn't want them as much as they wanted him.

And he didn't want them. No. He'd proven that when he'd shoved his mind up against First's, stolen the knowledge of their affection—and they'd had a chance to see what was inside Nido's head. Eager curiosity, fascination, trepidation-quickly-turning-to-relief—something like satisfaction. Something like smugness.

He felt they were threatening, but interesting.

Interesting.

That was all.

They were not going to stay on his island to be a curiosity for him.

They raised their wings, stretched so high that they trembled and shook, both from the strain and the cold—tensing up for a beat of their wings that would carry them halfway out of the atmosphere.

Through the howling wind, they thought they heard something that sounded, faintly, like the cry of the red sprite's name—the way he heralded his approach.

They froze.

No, they had to have imagined the sound. It was wishful thinking. It was just the sound of the knot in First's throat tightening. They took a deep breath in—the last breath they might take for millennia—and shut their eyes.

The red sprite slammed into their side.

They toppled to the ground in a mess of flailing wings and squawks.

###

Nido somehow got his head stuck under the golden one's wing, so he was quite grateful when the golden one managed to get one of his tails curled around to smack Nido free. He tumbled into the snow, almost ended up stuck upside-down on his own shoulders with his horns stuck in the ice, but managed to flail until he'd flopped onto his back and could get back to his feet.

The golden one took longer to get up—but, Nido supposed, he had more parts to coordinate. Twisted half on his side and half on his back, one wing stuck under him and one in the air, feet kicking at nothing and necks akimbo. Nido hadn't quite figured out how to read his expressions from his faces just yet, but he was pretty sure that the thrice-repeated expression they were wearing was shock.

Shock—but then it quickly gave way to some mix of terror, confusion, and outrage, the expressions bouncing between his faces.

Nido shook himself, trying to get off as much snow as he could—futile effort, yeah—and by the time he'd decided he'd done as much with that lost cause as he could, the golden one was on his feet again. Two heads jerked forward with the middle curled back, hunched low on feet and wings, staring at him.

"Hey," Nido said, wings raised, far more cheerily than he felt.

"What." The golden one snapped the word out of one head while another hissed threateningly. He couldn't tell if they were angry or nervous.

"Ah." Yes, right, he should... he should say something. He hadn't actually planned what he would say when he reached this point. He poked his beak through the snow, couldn't find a rock to pick up, so instead just picked up a chunk of snow and flung it vaguely north. "Nest," he said.

The snow immediately blew back into his face. Honestly, it didn't add much to the blizzard.

"Nest," the golden one repeated dubiously.

"Fly nest!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"No." The three heads snarled it together, cacophonously and discordantly, lunging toward Nido as though threatening to strike. He tensed up, but he refused to flinch back or move away.

"Why?" he asked.

"‘Why’," the golden one repeated flatly. Nido hadn't taught him that word yet. How do you explain the definition of "why"?

He didn't know how else to convey what he wanted to ask, though. Why was the golden one leaving? What had Nido done wrong that was so awful that he'd rather be down here than in a nice proper warm volcano? Surely this wasn't where his true nest was! There were no decent volcanos at the hub of the world! He looked around, wings spread demonstratively at this icy hellscape, showing that there was nothing here worth—

Oh. Oh, that was—there was a hole in the ground. It was as miserable and frigid as the rest of the hub, but it was the right shape and size to be a nest. Was this— He'd wondered for some time whether the golden one had been born from a volcano that had gone cold before his egg had finished incubating. But this hole in the ice was so much worse. He hopped closer to the hole, studying it in horror.

Even through the blizzard, he could tell that the hole was just large enough to hold the golden one.

"Nest?" he asked, looking at the hole. "Golden one nest?"

The golden one didn't make a sound.

Nido looked at him—he was seething with rage, teeth bore, shoulders hunched, wings slowly raising in threat. Nido tumbled back just in time to avoid the golden one as he pounced, sliding between Nido and the nest. Had Nido gotten too close to his turf? Was he not welcome there? After how welcome the golden one had made himself at Nido's nest? If the golden one had been one of Nido's kind, Nido would know how to handle this situation, he'd have known not to get this close to the nest of someone he'd lost a fight to without an invitation, but dammit, the golden one sent so many mixed signals—following a loser home to his nest instead of leading him to the winner's nest, touching him like they'd mated a hundred times and like he wanted to eat him at the same time—Nido had no idea how he was supposed to read any signals he gave off anymore—

Nido stared, now even more confused.

The golden one wasn't defending his nest.

He was tearing it apart.

###

Damn the little king, the vile stupid creature who had fought for the machine makers before they'd even made machines, the dumb beast that didn't know they were going to shackle him and make him their war machine if he didn't kill them first, the dumb beast even now already enthralled by the bug.

Damn the bug that pried into their heads with sharp psychic fingers, seeking to needle into their memories and suck out their identities through her proboscis, like their history and pain and all the names they'd left behind were nectar for her to feed on.

Damn the machine makers that had found their prison and turned it into a lab, an art gallery, a tourist attraction, just a display where they could stare at them through the ice like they, living frozen creature, breathing frozen creature, were a mere statue.

Damn this cold black-and-white ashen wasteland with its cold metal and glass buildings that looked like the arid airless moon where three hatchlings had been ripped apart and stitched together into a monster and forced to learn to fly.

Damn the red sprite for following them like he cared, and for seeing so easily that this was the kind of hell they'd come from.

The hole was buried under ice now—along with every evidence of machine maker life he could sweep down into it. They wondered if any had still been living down here. They hoped so. See how the machine makers liked being frozen alive while an alien stood above and did nothing to help them.

Then they rounded furiously on the red sprite.

He looked so pathetic. (Third, numbly resigning himself to the inevitability of numbing space, distant and observationally: he looked so pathetic. Second, sneering and snarling and demeaning and disgusted: he looked so pathetic. First, aching with agony for him, fearing for his health and safety: he looked so pathetic.) Half of his magma armor was cracked and crumbled—he looked like an oversized hatchling going through an ugly molt. Ice lined the cracks. They thought they could see exposed, wrinkled skin beneath the rock. He was shaking from the cold.

This was the creature who just yesterday had gone to sulk in a volcano because it was lightly misting. And look at him now—absurdly, having followed them almost all the way to the south pole, shivering so hard he was shaking off his own armor!

... Followed them into a blizzard of their own making, to ask them to come back home.

Why?

"What?" they snarled again, demanding an explanation, haltingly, in the few words they knew: "What Nido—fly—near? What Nido fly near Gidiwi?" Why? Why?

He stared at them for a moment, and they were afraid he hadn't understood the question—that they'd just spat gibberish at him. But then he said, "Nido, Gidiwi—" and a new word. He hopped on one leg, clawing and biting at the air with his other foot, making a couple of false battle cries—then looked at them hopefully and repeated the word.

The little pantomime was so—so charming—First had to force himself to look away. "Aha," they said softly. "Fight."

"Yes! Nido, Gidiwi fight. Nido—" He spread his wings and flopped backward to the ground, sending massive puffs of snow up around him, simulating his own crash into the ocean, and said another word that they took to mean lose. "Nido lose," he repeated. "Gidiwi fly, Nido fly. Gidiwi nest, Nido nest. Gidiwi fight, Nido fight. Gidiwi east, Nido east. Gidiwi west, Nido west. Yes?"

He was following them.

He was following them because he'd lost to them.

Not because he wanted to. Not even because he found them interesting. But because he'd lost. This ugly little world and all its rituals and rote etiquette, the bowing at the end of battles, bow and scrape and you won't be killed—and follow the winner, too, was that it? He did it because he had to?

No. He hadn't followed them to ask them to come home. He'd followed them because he thought he had to.

That island wasn't their home. That wasn't their nest, this wasn't their mate, and this wasn't love. He didn't love them. He'd do whatever they forced him to, no doubt—but they would know he did it out of fear and duty. He didn't love them.

They had no ties to him.

And they were going to leave.

They had to leave.

###

For a moment, Nido had almost been afraid that the golden one was going to attack him. Not that he wasn't always down for a brawl—but he could feel himself losing his armor; and a hi-how-ya-doing fight was very different from a you'll-never-trespass-in-my-territory-again brawl.

But then the madness in the golden one's eyes abated, and he looked away from Nido.

"Gidiwi fly far," he said. "Nido nest. Gidiwi no nest."

No nest. No Nido's nest or no any nest? "Golden one fly where?"

"Where," the golden one said dully. Another word he hadn't learned.

"Wh—what? Fly what?" Why did they have so few words?!

He turned over the question for a moment—a bit long for Nido's tastes, considering the weather that he'd like an excuse to get out of—then said, "Up."

"Up." Up, what did he mean up. Surely he didn't mean up as in towards the sky—obviously you have to go up when you're flying, but that says nothing about where you're going after that. Did he mean up as in west? There was no west from the hub. Did he mean west from the perspective of Nido's nest? He pointed in a vaguely northwestish direction, and asked, "Up?"

"Up." He pointed his heads straight up toward the sky.

So that was what he'd meant. Somewhat irritated, Nido said, "Yes. Fly up, fly down. Where?"

"Ihi. Where." He got the word now. He lowered his heads slowly, and each one said, with increasing emphasis, "Up—up—up. No down."

What, did he plan on staying in the sky the rest of his life. Nido spread his wings wide. "What."

"Sun, far far far. Yes?" When he said "far" it still sounded more like "fire." "Gidiwi fly far far far, far far far."

Nido felt a chill in his bones that had nothing to do with the blizzard. He understood now. The golden one was leaving the planet completely. The golden one was flying up to outer space.

And certainly, Nido would never see him again if he did.

"No!" he roared. He'd barely started to get to know the golden one—he'd only just gotten used to having him in his home. He wanted to get to know him. He wanted so much to get to know him, this strange three-headed golden warrior, this enigma shaped half like Nido and half like the kind of underwater monster that would eat Nido, this, this—

This alien.

Was that what he was?

"No," Nido said again. "No fly. Here." A word he'd never taught the golden one. "Not far, not near—here." He bent, picked up a clump of snow, and dropped it straight back between his feet. "Here."

"No."

What had Nido done wrong?! All he'd wanted was to figure out how the golden one felt about him—was that an unforgivable insult?! Were aliens not allowed to find out each other's feelings?! Why were they build with feeling-transmitting spots on their foreheads if they weren't allowed to find out each other's feelings! "Please stay," Nido said, "I'm sorry! I don't know why you want to leave, but I'm sorry!"

And of course the golden one didn't understand. He stared at Nido for a long moment—with pity? with sadness? with anger?—then turned away from Nihimdo, one head at a time, and crawled away into the storm.

Nido hopped after him, still pleading uselessly: "We fought. You won. I met your challenge. That means I follow you now and it means you—you—you should want to be followed. That means we're—we're suppose to get to know each other! We're supposed to be—sparring and exploring the world and finding empty nests, and eventually, if we like each other enough, we're supposed to be mates—and you're already way over that threshold for liking me enough, so I don't—I don't know what the problem is! I don't know what I did wrong! I— Are you an alien? What is it an alien wants? What were you expecting? How do I give it to you?"

"Stop." The golden one turned his heads away every time Nido tried to hop into his view.

"No! You stop! Stop trying to leave! I don't even know what I did wrong! If you just show me—"

"Stop." The golden one flung his wings out, startling Nido back. But he wasn't trying to knock him away; he was lifting them high, preparing to do that thing he'd done yesterday when he's shot into the sky with one flap.

He said something Nido couldn't understand. Nido heard the word that the golden one had called him, once, before Nido had told him what his real name was. He was afraid that what he was hearing was a goodbye.

He stood there helplessly as the golden one stretched his thin wings toward the sky and planted his feet wide so that the hurricane didn't blow him over. The words they both knew were useless, the words that might help were ones the golden one didn't know. What else could Nido do?

He stared at the golden one.

And then he tackled him.

###

They were not expecting a frigid pile of volcanic roc to slam its full weight into their side.

They went down hard, First and Second's faces slamming into the ice. Third lifted up first, shook his head to reorient himself, and shrieked furiously at the red sprite. By the time they'd righted themselves, the red sprite was high above, almost vanishing in the blizzard, circling like a bird of prey eyeing its next meal.

What the hell did he want? What difference did it make to him if they left?! Were they going to have to rip him apart to leave?

So be it.

They lifted into the air with a crackle of lightning between their wings. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Where. Was. He.

They didn't need to search long. With a screech, he came for them, talons outstretched. The flames trailing from his wings had long been extinguished, but they still felt his heat long before he touched them. They parried him with one foot, and he wheeled away, disappearing once more into the dark and the storm. Another cry, and he attacked again. They almost got their claws around him this time, but he stabbed at their ankles with his beak, plummeted out of their grip, then twisted around and flew off into the dark again. A third time he cried and attacked, coming at them from the side; but the angle wasn't right for him to get his talons in, and he barely touched their wing before wheeling off to try again.

His attacks were weaker than the first time they'd fought. Did the cold affect him that much? Or was he still feeble from his fight with the bug? Pathetic. They'd thought he'd made a full recovery, but—

Talons pierced their back.

They shrieked, as much in surprise as in pain. He'd dropped on them from above. He hadn't cried out before attacking—they hadn't even realized they'd been listening for that until his silent attack. Clever animal! They writhed beneath him, trying to throw him off and keep flying at the same time.

The red sprite held on ferociously, one set of talons digging into the muscles around Second's spine, the other sunken deep into the meat of their left shoulder. Every flap was agony. They curled their tails backwards, whipping them across his back; but he dropped his head into the sunken groove between Third and Second's spines for protection and took the beatings with muffled caws and flinches. They could feel the thorns of their tails' rattles snapping off against his armor.

The talons around his spine hurt too much for Second to do more than hold his head stiff, squeeze his eyes shut, and hiss; so Third twisted around, lightning dancing around his snarling jaw, trying to aim over their shoulders. The red sprite lunged forward and snapped his beak around Third's neck—hell, was the inside of his mouth barbed?! Third snarled, his lightning dissipating into static, unable to get in a good shot without risking the tip of the red sprite's beak piercing through his throat.

If First hunched his neck back, his face was even with the red sprite's. He could even look him in the eye. The red sprite had to stretch himself out diagonally across their back in order to grip Third's neck without letting go with his talons. His throat was stretched out and exposed. All First had to do was snap his jaw shut around his vulnerable neck and this would be over.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

He looked into the red sprite's eye—into his bizarre alien animal mania—and he couldn't.

Two voices screamed in his head for him to bite, and he couldn't.

Instead, he twisted further and sank his teeth into the red sprite's shoulder. The red sprite shrieked, let go of Third's neck, and bit for First's instead.

And as he did, the side of his head brushed just close enough to the side of First's that First could hear his...

Euphoria.

The surprise of it nearly knocked them out of the air. The red sprite was euphoric. Breathlessly ecstatic. They were trying to kill him and he was having the best time of his life.

Yes, beneath the euphoria, there was fear in him—but it wasn't fear of death. It wasn't fear of losing, and it wasn't fear of them. It was the same fear that was driving them to leave: the fear that he might soon have to grieve for something he had lost. Was it them?

Strange, how strange—they thought the way to avoid grieving for something lost was to have nothing to lose. Instead he was... trying to avoid losing it.

He didn't adore them the way they adored him. But he wanted to fight them as badly as they wanted to hold him; he got the same heady rush they did. His heart pounded the same way. He didn't want them the exact same way that they wanted him, no, but, when they were fighting—he wanted them just as much.

Exactly as much.

They crashed to the ground.

They'd been too stunned to remember to keep flapping for, perhaps, the length of only two flaps; but it was enough to drop them out of the sky. Hah. Stupid. They must have already been dangerously near the ground without noticing.

The landing had dislodged the red sprite's beak. With some difficulty, they managed to roll onto their back, squashing him beneath them. He squawked indignantly, trying to push them off of him with his feet. His talons didn't stab so much as lightly prick.

With even more difficulty, they rolled off of him, getting to their feet and wings. Before he could get off of his back and on his feet, they slammed down over him, wings on either side of his wings, feet on either side of his feet, heads looming over his head. He stared up at them with wide eyes, feet curled up in the narrow gap between his abdomen and theirs. "We're not staying," they hissed, tongues thick and unwieldy in their mouths, not sure which language they were speaking but sure it wasn't his. "Even if you think you have to follow us. Even if you think you like fighting us. We were stupid to ever consider staying on an alien world. We won't kill you—that's our favor to you—so do yourself a favor and stay—"

He rolled on one side, pushed himself off the ground with his wings, and with talons and beak tore through one of their wing membranes.

Searing pain. Their eyes widened. They dropped heavily onto their injured side, their wing collapsing in the snow. The red sprite scooted out from beneath them like he was doing a backstroke through the snow, rolled over, shook himself off, and drew himself upright.

They stared up at him, too shocked to register their pain.

"Gidiwi lose," he said firmly. "Gidiwi stop."

He'd clipped their wing.

###

Nido immediately regretted everything.

He kept himself drawn up tall—he couldn't falter now, he'd just won—but he was fairly certain that he was about to die.

He hadn't meant to shred that wing as thoroughly as he had. He'd meant to leave a light gash—something that would inconvenience the golden one if he tried to fly away, but something that would heal easily and let him depart in a few days if he really, truly, desperately wanted to leave. He'd wanted to show the golden one that he wanted him to stay the same way he'd show any of his own kind.

But the golden one wasn't one of his own kind. The golden one wasn't one of his own planet. And even on this planet those that weren't of his kind didn't treat battle nearly as lightly as Nido did.

Now Nido had given him a much worse tear than he'd meant to, and he didn't know if the golden one could heal from that—what if he couldn't fly anymore?!—and—

And the golden one was definitely going to kill him.

Nido stood there, raised up to his full height like an idiot, staring down at the three faces staring dumbstruck up at him, sure he was going to get electrocuted at any moment, and he'd probably deserve it.

Slowly, the golden one began pushing himself upright. Nido stayed perfectly still, watching as the golden one got back on his feet and uninjured wing—and then, with a lurch, as he raised up onto his feet, lifting both wings high overhead, not like he was preparing to take off but so that they framed his face, all three necks raised high between them, a clear threat display. Dark blood oozed slowly from the shredded segment of his wing, five haphazard gashes that tore straight through the membrane and let the blizzard blow through.

Nido stared up at him in dread.

And then the wings and heads dropped toward him all in a rush, so suddenly that he recoiled. It took him a moment to realize that the golden one wasn't attacking him. His long wings were dropped to the ground; his heads were lowered just below Nido's. He was bowing.

He was yielding.

"Gidiwi lose," he agreed. "Gidiwi stop."

Oh. Oh, Nido hadn't—hadn't honestly thought that that would work.

Did that mean he was the one deciding what they did, now? He supposed so. Hm. Were they... supposed to be able to switch places like this?

Yeah. That sounded right, now that he thought about it. Some instinct said trading places was alright.

Tentatively, he said, "Good."

Then squawked when the golden one swept his uninjured wing around Nido, pulling him in close—for the length of one very fast heartbeat, he was sure that he was going to be crushed and eaten. The golden one was making a rumbling noise low in his chest that Nido didn't like the sound of at all.

But then he pressed two of his heads to Nido's—his middle forehead pressed to Nido's forehead, his left rubbing their cheeks together—and he was filled until he was dizzy with a cacophonous mix of adoration-infatuation-veneration and joy-relief-delight. The golden one’s right head snapped vaguely toward the other two; his left head snapped back before returning to enthusiastically nuzzling Nido's head.

He couldn't quite feel his own relief as separate from the golden one's—he just felt the both together, mingled and magnified.

The golden one had always seemed cold—but he was definitely warmer than the blizzard. And with the euphoric affection pouring into his head, he felt far less like he was being constricted and far more like he was being shielded from the storm.

He let his eyes sink shut, and he sagged against the golden one, relieved.

###

They were wanted.

They were wanted enough that the red sprite was willing to risk his life fighting to keep them. They were wanted enough that the red sprite would—in whatever ritualized regimented manner they had on this planet—fight his way out of being their follower, in order to make them his. They were wanted enough that he'd physically ground them to keep them from leaving.

And they knew very little about how love worked—for them, for him, for anyone anywhere—but if clipping someone's wings so they couldn't fly away wasn't an act of, if not love itself, then at least a form of desire equal to it—then what was an act of love?

Pulling the red sprite in close had startled him again; but his alarm had quickly disappeared when they'd showed him what they were feeling. (And they could show him what they were feeling! There was no longer a secret they had to hide!) Now, he just felt a sort of weary relief—and what they were sure was a glimmer of affection to echo their own.

First and Third wrapped around him, and they curled their wing tighter. They could stay. They would stay.

The last distant rumbles of thunder fell silent. Second looked up and watched as the blizzard began to dissipate.

###

(Replies/reblogs are welcome & encouraged! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of Ghidorah-centric and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

#rodorah #godzilla #kotm #rodan #king ghidorah #ghidorah #my writing #fanfic #(i love yall so much that i posted this as soon as i finished)#(... which means without proofing whoops)#(mild content warning for some 'violence is an expression of love right?' because uhhhh they're assholes)

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txst-psf · 5 years ago

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Druidry and Irish Polytheism 101

Hi all!

I know this time of isolation and global crisis is wildly boring and stressful, so hopefully a few informative posts will help to keep you busy and distracted! Remember to practice tons of self care, and keep a regular cleaning schedule to stay healthy. I love you all!

- Wren

See below the read more break for Druidry 101!

DISCLAIMER: this is my own personal understanding and experience with Druidry (based on research, but still filtered through my perspective), so, like with all research you do, take this with a grain of salt! I consider myself an Irish Polytheist Reconstructionist as well, so this article will be based on Irish Druidry in particular.

First off, let’s explore what “reconstructionism” is. Reconstructionism is looking to history and finding (to the best of our ability) the practices ancient practitioners used and recreating the tradition as if it had evolved naturally with time. Not all Pagans/Druids/witches are reconstructionists, and that’s perfectly valid! If you know me or have heard any of my workshops before, you know how much I love research, and that’s partly because of the reconstructionist approach I take to my practice. I like to know why I do the things I do in the way that I do them, as well as the most “authentic” way to practice and honor my deities (for lack of a better word! Other approaches to Paganism and witchcraft are valid as well, it all depends on the practitioner. No two paths are the same, and that’s part of the beauty of Paganism and magic!).

That being said, the history of Druidry is complicated and muddy, due to the stark lack of primary sources. A lot of the information we have is filtered through a prejudiced Roman or Christian perspective, so we have to sift through the resources we do have very carefully to try to piece together the true history of Druidry and ancient Celtic practices. It’s also enough content to warrant several other posts... So let me know if you’d like to hear more about it and how Druids fit into ancient society (and if you just can’t wait, a good start is researching the four cycles of Irish mythology)!

For now, I’ll focus on what my favorite author (Morgan Daimler) considers to be “commonly held beliefs” in Irish Reconstructionist Polytheism, “...polytheism, animism, belief in honoring spirits and ancestors, immortality of the soul, and shared cosmology.”

Polytheism and Animism

Polytheism is the belief in more than one deity, or a pantheon of deities, and animism is the belief that everything has a soul/spirit. Irish Reconstructionist Pagans believe in and/or worship Irish deities, otherworldly spirits, land spirits, and ancestral spirits, often through offerings, stories, prayers, and song. There are several landmarks in Ireland (wells, rivers, trees, boulders, mounds, etc.) that ancient Irish folks held to be sacred spaces with their own spirit and personalities.

Belief in Honoring Spirits and Ancestors

There’s a loose hierarchy of spirits, depending on who you ask. First, there are land spirits, the physical, topographical features I was describing earlier. They’re thought to be fairly sedentary and tied to their respective feature, rarely traveling far away from it. They have their own personalities, which can be malicious, especially if associated with a place that’s perceived to be dangerous, and usually have myths about their danger.

Next, there are sovereign spirits. These are like land spirits, but with a larger area associated with them, from a field to cities to sometimes entire counties in Ireland. They’re perceived as guardians of the land spirits in their area, and can travel a bit farther from their spot, but rarely do. They’re said to occasionally take the form of a person or animal to communicate with folks that can see them, and can also communicate through visions or dreams.

Higher up the hierarchy are the Fae, or faeries, Good Neighbors, Fair Folk, Other Crowd, daoine sidhe, aos sidhe... etc. According to another of my favorite authors, O hOgain: “In Irish lore the Fair Folk live in the land, on the sea, and in the air, being associated with the mounds, stone circles, watery locations including the sea and bogs, caverns, and strange swirls of wind, as well as specific trees, especially lone hawthorn trees.” Working with the Good Neighbors is generally an important aspect of Druidry. Honoring them can be incredibly rewarding if you can get on their good side and strike up a safe deal with them. They’ll teach you magic and healing, enhance artistic performance, and bring good luck and blessing. It’s important to note that a relationship with the Good Neighbors should be based on respect and friendship, not what you want from them. I could write several posts about the Good Neighbors, but for now, I’ll leave it at this: be very careful, and very respectful when dealing with the Fae. Like with any practice, be sure to do your research before jumping into it.

Fourth, we have ancestors! Since this tradition generally believes in the immortality of the soul, it’s only natural that we’d honor our ancestors. They’re probably one of the easiest spirits to commune with, since they’re closer to us and have an established interest in us and our well-being. A lot of folks have ancestor shrines and celebrate holidays with their ancestors when they come back to visit. It’s also important to note that our ancestors don’t have to be blood relatives! Some folks prefer to count family friends or chosen family members who have passed on as their ancestors, or even mythic heroes.

Immortality of the Soul

Some myths mention reincarnation into animals, like Lebor na hUidre and Tochmarc Etain. This is debated, but some believe that the mortal dead can join the Good Neighbors. Other than that, I truly have no idea where souls go between lives. It’s fairly debated, and from my understanding, not well known. There are several possibilities: Tech Duinn (the house of Donn), Tír Tairngire (Land of Promise), Tír fo Thuinn (Land under the Wave), Mag Mell (Plane of Delight), and Tír na nÓg (Land of Youth), to name a few. Basically, we have no clue where we’re gonna end up, but we do know that we’ll keep on goin’!

Shared Cosmology

First off, what is cosmology? Basically, it’s the understanding of the universe, how and why it works, and how it'll end. We have something close to an end of the world story, which is the Morrigan’s second prophecy in the Cath Maige Tuired, but we don’t have much of a creation story, as far as I know. We do have hints that some folks have tried to fill in the holes for, like Lebor Gabala Erenn, where the world is divided into 5 (five being the number that implied a sacred whole) sections, each representing important qualities to the ancient Celts.

According to druidry.org, North was for battle and conflict, represented by fire, the sword, and the eagle. East was for prosperity, represented by earth, riches and bees, and the salmon. South was for creativity and intuition, represented by water, music and poetry, and the sow. West was for intellect and remembrance, represented by air, learning and teaching, and the stag. The center was thought to complete the ritual space, and was for “mastery and rulership.” It was usually represented by a stone and the Mare of Sovereignty.

The ancient Irish invented the wheel of the year, and believed in two seasons, the light half of the year (Summer) and the dark half of the year (Winter). Summer began with Bealtaine/Beltane (pronounced kind of like bee-YELL-ten-uh in Irish), and Winter began with Samhain (pronounced s-OW-ehn).

They also believed in a threefold world, represented by the triskele/triskelion, three spirals connected at the center. The three spirals represented the three realms (the sea, the land, and the sky), and the middle, where they all meet, represents the center or the sacred fire.

The sea, and some bodies of water, were believed to be connected/portals to the Otherworld, as the various otherworlds were generally thought of as islands across the sea. The land was the physical world, inhabited by our Kindreds - other people. The sky was the realm of the Gods, or Shining Ones, from which they watch over the world. Offerings were often made in sacred fires, as the belief was that the smoke would carry the offering to the Gods.

The three realms are also represented as energy centers in the body. We call them the cauldron of the mind, of the heart, and of the belly. The cauldron of the mind holds our wisdom, and is upside down at birth. It’s turned upwards through learning and spirituality. The cauldron of the heart holds our emotions and artistry, and is sideways at birth. It’s turned upwards through artistic mastery and emotional maturity. The cauldron of the belly holds our health, and is upright in a healthy person, sideways in a sick person, and turned upside down at death.

I’d like to reiterate that this is by no means a complete guide to Druidry! I’m not an authority on the subject either, just a gal who reads a lot. Regardless, I hope this helps someone in their path!

- Wren

Resources:

Irish Paganism: Reconstructing Irish Polytheism by Morgan Daimler

https://druidry.org/druid-way/other-paths/druidry-dharma/two-seasons-three-worlds-four-treasures-five-directions-pillars

https://www.adf.org/articles/cosmology/worlds-kindreds.html

Chris Godwin, Senior Druid for Hearthstone Grove, ADF

#druidry 101 #druid #pagan #paganism #witchcraft #witch #wren #resource

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unrepentantauthor · 5 years ago

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Dispatch Deferred, a PMD Oneshot

Brisa, Luxio

Mud clung to her paws, wet grass dampened her belly, and petrichor assaulted her nose with every breath. Morning patrols were a critically important routine but at times like this, Brisa envied bipeds.

She was scouting out the ravine near her home, checking for changes in the terrain, opportunistic intruders or hapless wanderers, anything at all of note. There was always something to know, even if it was that everything was normal. It paid to be vigilant. The skies were clear now, and the winds had subsided from their recent gale force to their usual boisterousness. The night’s storm had left its mark on Brisa’s territory. Parts of her house needed repair, her scent would need to be marked in almost every place, and the surge of water had broken her water filter.

She also noticed that the peculiar tree on the very edge of the ravine had finally begun tipping over. It was the only tree out here - something about the soil only permitted scrub and grass to grow upon it. Brisa liked to use it for shade when on patrol. This had been coming for a while; each storm washed away just a little bit more of the earth supporting its roots. Now at last, its fate was undeniable. Sooner or later, it would topple down the sheer slope, knock a few sun-burnished red rocks down with it, and coming crashing down in the clear river water at the bottom. As she went to take a closer look, Brisa noticed something glinting between the emerging roots.

She approached the tangle and, yes, there was definitely something stuck inside. It was difficult to make out exactly what, under all the tree roots and damp earth, but the exposed parts were at least slightly reflective of the morning sun. Brisa put her paw to it and pressed firmly; it wouldn’t budge. Most of its mass was presumably still underground. She tapped it experimentally with a claw, and it sounded out a dull clink, much like a ceramic pot. Whatever it was, it was probably artificial. Maybe even a relic.

There was no time like the present, and Brisa had precisely zero interest in letting someone beat her to a valuable dig. She shook off her satchel bag and found her protective gear, rope, and other tools. Trowels. Brushes. Handsaw. She laid everything out and selected fresh cloth wraps to protect her paws with. The townsfolk might make comments about her being “half-feral” when they thought she couldn’t hear, but here was proof she was like them in the ways that counted: tool use. A mind with the right know-how; paws with the necessary dexterity. She was civilised, no matter how she chose to live her solitary life.

She started by clearing away rocks and earth, and soon found an efficient rhythm. It was soggy, dirty work, but nobody died from getting their paws muddy. Ugh, she was starting to sound like her father. Aphorisms aside, she could tolerate the discomfort for the sake of her prize. Her next task was to cut away obtrusive tree roots. Then came lifting up the larger rocks. A few sore muscles and some red cuts to her paws later, and she’d uncovered the upper surface. She wiped off the muck with a small towel to inspect her handiwork.

The early light fell upon a hard plate etched with some kind of symbol — this was what had glinted in the sun. It was fastened with ancient leather or cloth straps to a central bulk of some kind. It was a solid, uneven spheroid, and slate-grey in colour. Careful prodding of the surrounding earth with a spiked metal peg revealed five connected masses, still buried. After clearing the ground a little further, one of those masses turned out to be a stubby arm ending in a clenched fist. Brisa levered it up, a seed of concern growing in her chest. It was fully articulated. Not a statue, then. Not exactly a relic. More likely, a pokémon. Maybe a rock type?

A dead rock type.

She stared, the seed of concern blooming into a forest of dread. Dead bodies were an unusual discovery for Brisa, and her heart reminded her of this by drumming in her skull as she resumed clearing debris from the — crust? shell? — of the... the 'thing.' How long had it been here? Surely this thing she had found had lain buried for at least the age of the tree. Its roots made a kind of cocoon, or cage, for its body. That would have taken years, much longer than any hibernation. If it was a pokémon, it was very likely a corpse, and she was digging up its grave.

The thought made her stomach clench, but what was done was done, and she hadn't realised the possibility until it had already been well-disturbed. Besides, if she didn't retrieve it now, it would very likely tumble into the ravine along with the tree come next storm. She kept working. Another arm emerged, as did a leg. Also short and stubby. Also articulated.

What was that symbol, anyway? That could be a clue. She brushed away fallen leavings from the tree, and scoured the ancient filth that lay beneath. She couldn’t help but to growl softly as she worked on it. Despite the appearance of an archaeological excavation, she was reminded more of preparing a corpse. She tried to flatten her hackles. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t even flesh and bone! Flakes of ancient paint clung to the grooves, barely detectable beneath the grime. The fully uncovered symbol consisted of undulating curves. Nothing like footprint symbols, trail scratch, or even unown glyphs. What was it? Did it represent waves? Wind? A good question for later, she decided.

Eventually, her shoulders aching and her paws cold and bloodied, she unearthed the final limb and the thing’s squat, lumpy, asymmetrical head. Two dull and featureless rectangular eyes, a faceplate with not so much as a mouth, let alone anything else. Its construction looked slap-dash, made either in haste or by an amateur. At least now it could be taken out of its pit. Right. Ropes, spiked pegs, the principles of leverage, and some physical effort: there was little you couldn’t achieve with that. Brisa heaved the lifeless creature up and out of its grave without too much trouble. With the absent ceramic weight no longer keeping it anchored, the tree lost yet more grip and lurched again, dangling into the ravine with only the bravest, deepest roots holding it up. There would be no more shade on hot days for Brisa.

She placed an inquisitive paw on the inert body.

"What kind of being were you?" she asked aloud, half-expecting a reaction.

None came.

She ended up making a trip directly back home to fetch a proper harness and trolley. It didn't take much time for a luxio in excellent health with a loping gait. With some equipment available, she was able to pull her discovery away with relatively little difficulty. Sure, she could have asked a favour from a heftier pokémon in town, and it was unlikely that anyone would steal her ‘treasure’ in the meantime, but she took pride in doing a job wholly by herself. Even if her hunter's limbs weren't made for hauling.

She didn't take the shortest route, because that would risk meeting early risers heading across the outskirts. Instead, she took a circuitous route that would put her in town right near the junkshop. After all, if anyone could tell her what this thing really was, it would be the sketchy old spider who owned it. She passed around the western ridge, eyeing with distaste the rooftops of those absurdly characterful buildings which urban pokémon liked to construct. Such vanity. What sane person built a shop that looked like their own head?

Soon enough, she was at the south side of Frontier Town, where the weirder, more esoteric merchants made their living. The noise of the town centre was an irritation even from here. She turned a corner and found her way to Al's Odds'n'Ends, a certifiable shack with blue awnings over the shopfront threaded to resemble galvantula legs. She could make out the workshop behind the front counter, filled with tools, scrap, gadgets and other nonsense befitting an ‘inventor’.

"Alejandro," she called out, "you in today?"

"What'd'ya need, youngster?" he rasped back, poking his head and forelegs out of the shopfront to greet her. He did so not from ground level, but upside-down from his shop's ceiling, a habit which most pokémon had yet to get used to. Brisa wasn’t bothered. She made sure she didn’t look bothered by licking down her raised hackles.

"I might have something for you," she said, unfastening herself and rolling her discovery over with her muzzle.

Al dropped down and climbed over his counter to examine the thing more directly. He prodded at it carefully with his sensitive pedipalps, and gently brushed dirt and debris from its surface. Brisa watched wordlessly as he worked, trying to glean a hint of recognition in any of the galvantula’s several eyes.

"Looks like a golett t'me," he said at last, in his breathy, ear-scraping spider-voice. "S'a living being like you or me, though this one looks like it passed on a long time ago. Who's t'say? I haven't seen a pokémon like this up close, after all."

Brisa rolled her head to one side and regarded the thing again, this time as an expertly-confirmed corpse. ‘Golett’. Not a word she remembered hearing before. It sounded earthy. Diminutive. Maybe this was a pokémon meant to evolve into something much larger. Maybe it was rare.

"So... do you want it?" she asked.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Alejandro, I'm trying to sell you this thing."

"A trade? Hrrm."

Al always took a great deal more time than strictly necessary to consider a trade. Brisa had always wondered if this was just for show, but interrupting him invariably lead to a refusal to deal, so she waited, shifting her weight impatiently from paw to paw.

"I guess so," he concluded, tapping the golett's body. "I kinda want t'see if I can get the darned thing up'n'at it again. Golett are ghost types, you never know when scoundrels like that are gonna spring to life ‘n’ surprise you. But it's as likely as anything to wander off after'ards, so I can’t be certain it’ll be of any value. Still, it’ll be interestin’. Say, Brisa, I'll give you a doohickey for it."

"I'll take a new water filter. Mine broke in the storm last night."

Al consented to this trade, Brisa left his shop with a new filter part in her satchel. Only once she got home and thumped it into place did she wonder if she'd see the golett again, and what it might think of her for selling it, should it wake up.

Alejandro, Galvantula

Brisa paced off like the town’s air itself was out to get her. She always did.

Al took no offence; anyone who paid him proper for his goods and services was worth forgiving a few quirks. He had plenty of his own, after all. He absentmindedly put a thin roll-up between his palps and lit it with a spark of electricity from his foot-tip fur. Then he put it to his left breathing slit, near the front of his abdomen, and let his lungs go to work. Terrible habit, to be sure, but good for soothing the nerves. Mammals gave him funny looks if he did it in their company, so he was always ready to shove his smokes in his mouth if a customer walked by, even though he couldn’t use his mouth for breathing. Somehow, it just bothered ‘em less. That was mammals for ya.

He looked at the funny little pokémon from every angle. Sure wasn’t showing any signs of life now, but that could change. Certain pokémon could live thousands of years, so who knew? But if a critter wants waking up, a critter needs the right stimulus. What did golett need to come back from a slumber like this, if there was still a spark left in there? Maybe that bookish feller in the Guild would have some old tome with the answers. Or maybe his ol’ reliable was worth a shot. It couldn’t hurt. He rolled the golett into the workshop, wheezing through his abdominal slits. He was getting old. Now to see if a boost would revive the little guy.

Al rubbed his legs together until they sparked.

Well, maybe it could hurt, actually. The golett for one, but also himself if it had some fancy energy redirection ability. Probably not. But maybe. To hell with it, it was worth a shot all the same! Zap!

Gil, Golett

This new environment was unexpected for Gil. They had lost consciousness near the river, far from any settlement, yet this was an indoor location. A pokémon was tending to them, though not a species they recognised. Possibly this one was a medic. Gil peered at their caretaker. Squat body, with bristly fur, but also arthropod limbs and multiple eyes. An arachnid. Its energy signature was type seven - ‘bug’ - which would seem to match up well. There was something else in the signature, too, maybe type-

The bug's ‘fur’ sparked and lit up before jolting Gil with a powerful surge of electrical energy. They sat straight up as their vision span out of focus and their head crackled with it. When the shock ended, they could detect smoke caused by light singing on their straps. Oh dear. An electric type as well, for certain, and apparently defending itself from them.

"Do not be alarmed!" recited Gil. "I am a courier golett and I mean you no harm!" The standard greeting rarely failed.

"Oh, begging your pardon!" replied the spider. It was an odd sound, like a sharp whisper. "I'm Alejandro, but you can call me Al. I was just testin' a theory o’ mine that you'd wake up with the right... stimulus. My apologies if I hurt you at all, feller!"

Al made a gesture with his pedipalps, almost like a shrug. He seemed sincere enough.

“I am Gil! It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Al. Do not worry, I am hurt very little by electric type attacks, especially when inactive. You have done me no harm.”

There was a silence lasting several seconds before Al replied.

“Well, you’re an odd critter, aint’cha?”

“Yes, sir,” said Gil. They patted around for their satchel. Gone. “Excuse me sir, but are you the one who brought me here?”

“Huh, no. That’d be Brisa. She dug you up from a hole in the ground a ways nor’east o’ here. She didn’t find any belongings with you if that’s what yer fussin’ about. ”

“Thank you, sir. Still, I would like to thank Brisa for their role in reviving me.”

“Ah, you can find her west of the town, not far from the ravine. Don’t worry, she’ll find you soon enough if you hang out around there!”

Gil considered this.

“I shall do this once my task is complete, Al. My purpose is to make deliveries, and I wish very much to make no further delay of my priority package. I’m sure I can find my package, but I will need to take it to the residence of someone in a nearby village, Desert Knot. The intended recipient is a turtwig who goes by the name of Esther. Could you give me directions, please?"

Al’s expression was unreadable, and Gil didn’t have any training in reading arachnid faces, but something gave them the impression that they’d said something wrong.

“Turtwig, was it?” Al said, eventually.

Gil nodded effusively. “Yes, sir.”

“Not a torterra?”

Gil shook their head. “No sir.”

“You sure?”

Nod. “Yes, sir.”

Al rubbed his pedipalps over his face. Maybe that was like scratching your head thoughtfully for a spider.

“Say, kid… do you remember how you came to be inactive in the first place?”

Tamuk, Chesnaught

Wind howled over the hills. Thin scrubland stretched around for miles, the little village of Desert Knot barely visible in the distance. If a storm picked up, it would lift enough sand and dirt that a person could get lost. There were no landmarks, not even so much as a tree, save for a ravine ready to swallow any wanderer with weak vision. This was truly a wretched country. Tamuk wanted to be rid of it, and he would be as soon as he’d collected the funds he needed.

Looking up at him was the courier he’d been expecting. It barely reached his knees.

“Don’t run, messenger,” he growled. “I’ll take your money either way.” He drew himself up to his full height, letting the shadow of his armour’s spiked pauldrons fall over his pint-sized target. This would be easy however it shook out. Easier if intimidation saved him the trouble of a fight.

“Sir, I am a sworn courier and can make no surrender of any package entrusted to my care,” said the little golem, looking up at Tamuk without a hint of fear. Clearly a fool, the variety of which mattered not.

“Do not misunderstand. I want your valuables, and if you won’t give them to me, I’ll beat you senseless without hesitation.”

“You are at liberty to do as much,” came the reply.

“I’m a chesnaught,” tried Tamuk. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

“I have a duty.”

Tamuk sighed, raised a gauntlet-clad paw and bludgeoned the golett into the ground with a hammer blow. Grass type energy collided with a ground type body. The crunch was wince-inducing. It crumpled to the ground, and sunk into the earth several inches, a fresh crack visible on its torso like a wound. It was over before Tamuk had taken a breath.

He plucked the golett’s satchel between two massive digits and pulled it away, breaking the straps in the process and ignoring some feeble utterances of protest from the owner. He turned it upside down and shook out the contents. Nothing. Or, nothing valuable, which was just as disappointing. Just some seeds held in a tiny cloth pouch, a one-page newsletter from the only major town for countless miles, and a few envelopes. None of the envelopes had a wax seal marking them as significant. He searched them anyway, and found only idle correspondence between distant friends and family. Worthless. He hawked and spat on the ground.

“You should have saved me the trouble of wasting my energy,” he growled. “If you had just shown me you weren’t carrying anything valuable, I might have let you be.”

“All messages are valuable,” squeaked the golett, who was even now pushing itself to its feet and charging a tiny, pulsing spark of energy in its fist to fight back. How insulting.

“Not to me,” said Tamuk. Then he hit the golett again. Hard, and again for good measure. This time, it didn’t get back up.

Alejandro, Galvantula

��More than a century ago?”

Gil sounded as if they might cry.

“Aye, lad. Tamuk was a notorious bandit ‘round these parts, extractin’ a toll from any and all travellers ‘n’ traders. He’s the only chesnaught in this region I ever heard of, he fits your description, and he’s surely been dead since before my gran’s time. Besides, Desert Knot is what this place was called before the Guild was founded, and tha’ was a long, long time ago now.”

“But how can you be sure? Perhaps there’s been some confusion?” pleaded Gil, their voice breaking on half the words they choked out. Their eyes flashed blue and their little hands clenched and unclenched on loop.

Al sighed, shook his palps, and reached for another smoke. He offered Gil one, but they just gravely shook their head. Of course clay automatons didn’t breathe, you stupid spider. Darn.

“No, lad. You were found buried under a tree next to a ravine like the one you described, widened by a hundred years o’ weatherin’. You’ll find your Esther alright, but she’s a wizened old torterra now. She placed that order for delivery generations ago, and tha’s a fact. It’s too late now. But look, if there’s anythin’ at all I can do fer ya…”

Gil lowered their head and closed their eyes.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mister Al, but I really must be going. I have to make my delivery all the same. I will simply be unforgivably late, and there’s nothing to be done about it. My thanks to you.”

“If that’s the way it is,” said Al, gently. He reached to place a reassuring pat on Gil’s shoulder, but they turned and walked straight out of his shop without a backward glance. What a strange pokémon.

Well, the experience was worth the price of a water purifier, he supposed.

Brisa, Luxio

She felt her hackles raise before she even spotted the golett jogging along the hillside, one clay hand up to shade its eyes from the sun. She didn’t bother flattening them. She had, after all, seen a ghost.

She took her time intercepting it, studying it all the while. It was almost comical the way it looked around, stopping and posing with one hand shading its eyes and the other outstretched behind it, like a child actor in a stage play. How to approach this resurrected being? She drew closer from behind it, and settled on a greeting.

“Good day,” she tried.

“Good day!” The golett’s head spun around to face her, its body following a moment later. Brisa very nearly jumped in fright, but dug her claws into the damp soil instead. Damn the thing.

"Do not be alarmed!" it said. "I am a courier golett and I mean you no harm!"

“I know,” said Brisa, a little more coldly than she’d meant to.

“Ah, you must be Brisa! I am Gil, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

She nodded. Feeling something more was expected of her, she added “Yes. I suppose Alejandro sent you my way?”

“That’s right. I’m here to thank you, and to ask for your help finding my missing package for delivery!”

They couldn’t possibly be serious. Yet, that eager, bright-eyed expression of hope was evident even without a mouth. She tried to tell Gil to get lost, but what came out of her mouth was “Of course, that would be no trouble at all.”

As Gil thanked her effusively, she padded off in the direction of their onetime grave. With any luck, this was the only favour they’d ask of her.

It wasn’t a long journey on her own, but with Gil’s miniature stride to slow down for, it took half a lifetime. All the while, they asked her things, and she did her best to answer in as few words as possible. It wasn’t like Gil knew many people who could answer their questions about the century they’d missed out on, and they clearly didn’t get the hint that she didn’t care for conversation. Besides, she didn’t have the heart to tell them to keep their mouth shut, if they even had one.

Eventually, it clicked for her what was bothering her about Gil’s spirited interrogation.

“Wouldn’t you rather ask a townie about all this?”

“What’s a townie, Miss Brisa?”

“Just Brisa will do. A townie is someone who lives in, you know. The town? Like a civilised pokémon.”

Gil shook their head. “Where I come from, nobody lives packed that closely together. It’s too noisy in Frontier Town for me to think. It’s much better to be around one person at a time, then I don’t have to concentrate so hard.”

Brisa considered this.

“No towns?”

“No, miss. I mean no, sir! I see no reason why civilisation should mean living in a town. Living alone does not make one feral, after all.”

Huh.

They continued. “I myself have a modest home in Little Scriven, many days’ travel from here. It is only small, but it serves my needs well.” Gil put a finger to their faceplate, and narrowed their eyes thoughtfully. “Of course, it might not still be there if I were to return.” Their shoulders sagged as soon as they uttered the words.

Oh. Brisa wasn’t any good at this. Nothing she thought of to comfort them seemed appropriate. Instead, she said “Can you see up on that crest? That’s the spot.”

She described her discovery of their body and the state of the dig site, which seemed to distract Gil from thinking about what their home would look like after a century of abandonment. They were an attentive listener, as it turned out. Brisa couldn’t remember being listened to like this before by another pokémon. It wasn’t unpleasant.

When they got to the dig site, Gil pottered around, examining it from every possible position, even clambering into it and patting around the earth as if they would find something Brisa hadn’t. She waited soundlessly from the rim of the grave. It was disturbing, seeing Gil where they had been a corpse only earlier that day, but as animate and purposeful as she had been in her dig.

“There’s nothing here!” they cried.

“Seems not.”

They climbed out, and gazed around at the landscape. “Brisa, sir, how can I know without a doubt that this is the same spot where Tamuk the chesnaught physically assaulted me?”

“Ravine,” she said, flatly. “Moves west every year. That long ago, it would have been much narrower, and further in that direction.”

She gestured with a paw towards the drop in the earth.

“Oh,” said Gil.

Recognition dawned in their ghostly green eyes.

“Oh, and Desert Knot… was that way. It’s Frontier Town now.”

“Yeah. Didn’t Alejandro tell you?”

“Mister Al told me, I just didn’t understand.”

Gil sat down on the edge of their grave, and looked as if they might fall backwards into it at any moment. Brisa positioned herself to catch them. They tore up a handful of grass and rubbed it between their fingers.

“It was very nearly barren here, when I first arrived,” they said. “Which means it really has been a lifetime. My letters must all have decomposed, of course. I’ll never be able to deliver those. And the seeds…”

They turned and looked at the tree.

“That’s my package,” said Gil, firmly. “Please help me dig it up.”

Gil started before Brisa could reply, trying desperately to haul a tree much larger than themself out of the ground. Brisa hesitated, but joined in anyway when she realised they might succeed only in helping the tree fall into the ravine. Gil grunted and strained, their fists glowing as they summoned elemental energy to lift their ‘package’. The final roots snapped or tore loose, and they hefted the tree overhead. They were triumphant for only a moment. Then they lost their footing, wobbled, and fell heavily onto the far side of the crater. The tree escaped their grasp, and tumbled over the edge.

There were sounds of crashing branches and whooshing leaves from the ravine.

“Good grief, what a blunder,” said Brisa. She instantly regretted it.

“It was an accident,” said Gil, very quietly.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a tree. The person who those seeds were for is either dead or doesn’t expect their package any more, it’s fine.”

Gil shook their head mutely.

“It’s fine,” repeated Brisa. “Don’t get upset about it, none of this is important any more. It all happened a century ago!”

Gil thumped the ground, not getting up from their knees.

“It is important!” they said, barely raising their voice even now. “It’s my life! That was the only thing left from it! My home, my friends, even my colleagues will all be gone now. I don’t know what happened to them, if they looked for me when they realised I was missing… I don’t even know if Little Scriven exists any more, the whole country is different now, from every patch of soil to every person in it. This was…”

They paused to sob into their ceramic hands.

“This was going to be the one delivery I could make. If I could only deliver my priority package, it would have been a little tiny bit worth it. Now I’ve messed it up, and even the tree is gone, I can’t get it back alone, I have nothing left, and I may as well still be buried in the ground!”

Brisa bit her tongue. Why did she always say the wrong thing?

Gil wasn’t moving. Say something, Brisa.

“Uh, you’re sure there’s someone to deliver it to? It might have survived the fall, you know.”

“Yes, Mister Al says Esther still lives here,” said Gil. “It would have gone to next-of-kin if she had passed, or to the local government if there was no will to execute. But I doubt I can recover it, especially if it’s been caught up in the river.”

“Alright, well, it might still be salvageable. I have my own tools. I know a safe way down.”

Gil looked up, hopeful.

Brisa sighed.

“Let’s get that tree.”

Gil’s turquoise eyes widened in surprise and silent gratitude, and Brisa had to look away. She’d accept thanks when the job was done.

Brisa sunk a spiked peg into the ground, secured a rope to it, and tossed the other end over the edge. Gripping the rope hand over hand gave Gil much-needed help balancing as the luxio guided them down the slope of the ravine, avoiding loose scree and pointing out firm footholds. As it turned out, the fall had been merciful to the tree. It had merely rolled for most of the descent before it hit the river, then been carried downstream until it came to rest against a jutting rock. Besides some snapped branches and a coating of silt, it was otherwise intact.

Once they’d located the ‘package’, Brisa directed Gil in assembling a raft from riverside trees and the last of her rope, and they carried out the task with brisk efficiency. The river passed through Frontier Town further downstream, Brisa explained, and after strapping the tree down they could transport it straight into town, with her walking along one riverbank and Gil on the other, each clutching a rope to guide it along. Brisa couldn’t talk with her mouth full of rope, so she listened to Gil’s recollections of a century ago with weary patience. By the time they exited the ravine and were heading along the eastern bends, (from which the view of the area’s rolling fields, great forests, and distant mountains beyond was truly peerless) Gil’s babbling had become rather soothing, and she was almost sorry to hear it stop when they finally reached town.

The kricketune watchman on the riverbank perked up when they came into view, then sat back down in his deckchair. He recognised Brisa despite the distance, and when she was close enough he flicked his antennae at her to signal her to go on by. He continued his keening singing and high stridulations as they passed, and Gil stared with wide-eyed wonder, their pace slowing as they listened. It was a mournful folk song, but not one Brisa knew well.

“What’s so interesting?” she asked.

“It’s sad and beautiful,” said Gil, as if they’d never heard a tragic tune before. “Both at the same time…”

What kind of sheltered life did Gil have before they wound up here? Brisa just kept walking, unsure how she felt.

They found Esther’s house by means of Brisa interrogating passers-by, keen to avoid anyone taking too great an interest in Gil, who would surely be only too happy to tell their story in full to anyone who asked. They learnt that the torterra had saved wisely in her long life, and purchased a riverfront property near the edge of town. It was a single-storey building, with well-kept flower baskets along the walls and a broad garden patio along the riverside. To Brisa’s great relief, they’d be able to get the tree directly from the river onto Esther’s property. Brisa hadn’t come up with a real plan for transporting a fully-grown tree through the main thoroughfare. She might have even had to ask someone for help.

Gil stood at the doorstep, their fist raised to knock on the (frankly enormous) double front door. They were motionless, a miniature figure against the height and breadth of doors meant for a torterra.

“Something wrong?” called Brisa from the riverbank, the raft’s ropes firmly trapped beneath her paws.

“What if she’s mad at me?” replied Gil, turning to look over their shoulder. “What if she doesn’t want the package?”

Brisa closed her eyes to avoid visibly rolling them. “What if she isn’t mad, what if she does want it?”

“But-!”

“Just knock, already!”

“…okay!”

Gil knocked once, very quietly. Then they rapped the door a few times, much harder. They waited.

“Maybe she’s not home?”

Brisa growled under her breath. “She’s older than Frontier Town and the size of a building. Be patient.”

Gil nodded and stood demurely in stoic silence.

At length, the left-hand door creaked open and a craggy, beaked head poked out.

“Who’s there?” asked Esther, in a voice with enough bass that Brisa felt it in her bones.

"Do not be alarmed," said Gil, haltingly. "I am Gil the courier, and I have a package for you!"

“Oh? I’m not expecting any deliveries,” murmured Esther, nudging the other door open with her massive flank. Someone could build a house on that back. Presently, there was only an unassuming rock garden and some small shrubs atop her shell.

“I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” said Gil, their voice starting to quake, “but this package comes… one hundred and seven years late. It used to be a pouch containing several seeds but as you can see…”

They stepped to one side and gestured to Brisa, the raft, and the tree.

“I’m afraid it’s been… damaged in transit. It’s a tree now. That tree. Um.”

They clasped their hands together in a silent plea for forgiveness.

Esther’s brow furrowed for several seconds. Then her beak widened in a grin. Then she laughed.

“Oh my!” she cried. “It’s a perrin berry tree! How marvellous. I sent for a perrin seed delivery when I was just a little one! Oh my.”

She plodded down from her house to the riverbank, still grinning and saying things like “simply marvellous,” and “bless the day.”

Brisa offered Esther the ropes, somewhat awkwardly. After a minute’s subdued inquiry from the torterra, she agreed to cut the tree free from the raft. Esther herself lowered her considerable mass into the river. With a bit of creative shoving, the tree was levered onto Esther’s back, whereupon the tree’s roots and the shell beneath Esther’s mobile shrubbery began first to glow, then fuse together. Soon enough, the tree was securely joined to her body, growing quite happily on one flank of the shell-top garden.

Gil jogged down to join them, hands still clasped together.

“Is everything suitable?” they asked.

Esther turned to smile indulgently at them. “This is ever such a lovely tree,” she said, in a soft rumble. “My great aunt used to grow one when I was just a hatchling. The berries were a real treat. I’ve wanted to cultivate one ever since.”

“You don’t seem disappointed by the wait, Ma’am,” ventured Gil.

“Certainly not!” she boomed, climbing steadily out of the river. “I’m very grateful to you. They take ever such a long time to mature, you know, and they’re dashedly prone to withering when young. It must have found the perfect spot to grow. Remarkable. Thank you so much, young one. I’ll be able to have the grandchildren round and share some with them in the spring…”

As Esther headed back up to her house, water pouring off her shell, Gil slowly sat down on the paved part of riverbank.

“You doing okay there?” asked Brisa.

“Yes, sir. Mostly I’m glad that the delivery turned out alright. I’m not sure what to do next, though.”

Brisa put out a paw and patted their shoulder. Her claws clinked gently on their clay.

“You can do what you like, Gil. But if you don’t care for the noise of the town, and you want to stick around a while…”

“Yes, Brisa?”

“I have a spare room for emergencies. It’s yours for a while, if you need it.”

“Oh! Thank you, many many thanks! I’ll do chores, I’ll take messages, I’ll-!”

“It’s okay. I just reckon you deserve a second chance at… living a life.”

Brisa shook herself dry, spattering the patio with river drops, and loped off towards home. She looked back at Gil, who still had a hand to their faceplate in apparent embarrassment.

“You coming?” she called.

Gil nodded fervently and jogged after her.

“Let’s go home.”

#My writing #pokemon #pmd #fanfiction #golett #luxio #galvantula #chesnaught #torterra

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yeet-or-be-hawed · 5 years ago

Text

Hunters of Flesh and Money Part 2

The chilly wind sent a shiver up your spine as you stepped out of the post office in Strawberry. The wind cut through you like knives as you flipped through your parcels. The envelope second from the bottom of the stack was thick, once you flipped to it, you smiled. In Sadie’s chicken scratch handwriting was your alias. When you opened the envelope, there were two letters inside. You opened the first:

Dearest Fletcher,

I must say I am very excited to be writing this letter. It feels so wonderful to finally have a piece of my old life back. I wonder what Jake would think of me now; on the run with a bunch of outlaws and criminals. I try to tell myself he would be proud of me for reclaiming what little life I had left, but I can’t help but feel he would be disappointed in me. I’ve killed men, I know it ain’t that big a deal to you, but it just feels so...unsettling. But please, do write back with details on yourself and how you’ve held up. What jobs have you been working lately? Have you been getting yourself a proper night’s rest? Don’t ever hesitate to write if you befall hard times. The group I ride with now are kind of rough around the edges but they’re kind people. They remind me a lot of you. I look forward to your next letter, maybe next time you’re in Rhodes we can meet up. Our little group has settled down near a lake just outside of there. I miss you dearly and look forward to seeing you again.

P.S. Mr. Morgan just gave me a letter to send to you with this one. He wouldn’t stop with the questions the whole ride from Rhodes to the camp the day we met you. I promised him I wouldn’t read it, but I didn’t make any promises about asking you what it says.

Yours, Sadie

You could almost hear the sadness behind Sadie’s words and it broke your heart. She was such a lively and happy woman, the loss of Jake had shook her to the core. When you opened the second letter, you didn’t recognize the scrolling handwriting.

Ms. Fletcher,

I would like to thank you for everything you have done for Mrs. Adler. Since the day we saw you in town, she has changed drastically. She has came out of her shell and makes attempts to speak to some of the other members of the gang. It ain’t much, but it’s something. It’s something we wouldn’t have had without you. She was so closed off and aggressive when we found her, almost feral. You made her a little more human again, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Any friend of Sadie Adler is a friend of mine, don’t be afraid to write me if you need anything-work, shelter, food anything- just send a letter our way.

Arthur Morgan

You had to admit, you were quite shocked to see the second letter from Arthur. The hard looking man you met that day didn’t even look literate, but the way his handwriting neatly scrolled across the page gave off the impression he may be smarter than he seemed. You ducked into the saloon and pulled out an old worn notebook. With a nod to the bartender, you pulled out a pen and began:

Sadie,

I am also very happy to have reconnected with you, and I’m glad it has made this dark time in your life a little brighter. I think Jake would rather the life you’re currently leading towards worse alternatives. You could’ve came down that mountain and straight into a brothel like so many other widows do. You could’ve died on that mountain, drowning in your own grief. There’s a lot that could’ve happened, but this is what did. Whether it’s unsettling or not, killing is a part of life and it’s kept you alive this long. I for one, am proud to see you handling yourself and surviving. You know me, ain’t much in my life that changes. Since I found the Adler Ranch I’ve been on the lookout for more jobs. The young fellow outside of Blackwater that talked funny ain’t been in his usual spots the last few times I’ve gone to find him. He mentioned having a group he got separated from, I hope he’s found them instead of dying or getting kidnapped. He was a smart mouth, but he was a good kid. Found a lady down south in the bayou who paid good for killing, but I ain’t been there in awhile. I been getting most my work from a funny fellow down in Rhodes. I been spending the last few weeks on Mount Hagen doing some hunting. I’m currently in Strawberry, selling off my quarries. I reckon the cold weather is moving in so I should head south. I’ll be taking work in Rhodes for awhile, I should be there by the time you receive this. When I’m not working, you can find me at the Rhodes Parlor House. As for Mr. Morgan’s letter, it was nothing more than a thank you. He said you were in brighter spirits since we met. He seemed nice Sadie, but don’t start trying to match make me again.

-F

You rolled your eyes, Sadie was nothing if not stubborn, you were certain this wasn’t the last you would hear on the subject. With a quick fold and a slip inside an envelope, the letter was ready to be sent. You stood to deliver the parcel to the post office, but hesitated, it would be rude to not respond to Mr. Morgan would it not?

You sat back down and pulled out another piece of paper.

Mr. Morgan,

I accept your thanks, though you don’t need to give it. I hadn’t intended to lighten her spirits, or to even see her for that matter but I am thankful I did. Jake and Sadie were the best damned couple I knew, it still breaks my heart to think about poor Jake. Although it saddened me, I wasn’t surprised to hear she had been so unlike herself after his death. She’s the strongest woman I know, but even the strongest of us are prone to breaking. I appreciate the offer, but I ain’t one for handouts. Just keep Sadie safe and we’ll be square.

-F

Sadie approached Arthur excitedly, a big smile on her face. It was a sight he wasn’t used to. “Mornin’ Sadie, what’s got you so happy?”

She held up an envelope, “letters, from Fletcher!”

“Letters?”

“One for me,” she gave him a side eye. “And one for you.”

“Me, huh?” He laughed nervously as he took the letter. Sadie gave him a strange look he didn’t recognize as she wandered away. He read the letter carefully. Your handwriting was...well it wasn’t sloppy but it wasn’t very pretty either. He thought it looked like you wrote in a hurry. You wrote eloquently which surprised him. The line “even the strongest of us are prone to breaking” made his chest feel hollow.

The parlor was nicer than what you were used to, it was modern and bright which you weren’t sure was an improvement or not. It was your third day in Rhodes and you wondered when Sadie would receive your letter. You would’ve never admitted it to her, but you had spent the majority of your time waiting in the Parlor. Trelawny’s jobs tend to sound bigger and grander than they really are, leaving you with more time during the day than you had planned. Most the time you spent your free time like this hunting, but you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you missed Sadie.

Friends weren’t something that came around very often in your line of work and they rarely stayed very long. The news of Sadie’s survival had made it more difficult to be alone. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to join their camp, but that would be selfish. Your bounty was too high, the list of people you had pissed off was too long. It didn’t feel right endangering a whole group of people just for the sake of feeling good. You took a long swig of your beer and grimaced, why did life have to be so goddamn complicated?

You knocked back the last of your drink and headed back to the caravans just outside of Rhodes. Trelawny wasn’t there when you arrived earlier that morning, but it wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise though, was the disheveled state of his caravan when you arrived. As you walked up the steps, the book that he was always reading was flipping upside down, thrown haphazardly to the edge of the small porch. You hadn’t realized when you came through, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. “What happened here?” You whispered to yourself as you crouched down and picked up his book. You slowly moved into the caravan and continued your search. There seemed to be a struggle inside too, and some blood on the floor. A plate of food was left on the dresser, barely touched. As you took a bite of the hard bread that was left on the plate, you heard hooves approaching. You quickly dived under the bed and pulled your Mausers as voices came close enough for your to pick up the conversation.

“...ckon it’s the one with the fire outside.”

“Let’s take a look.”

Two men, easy enough. You slowly cocked the pistols before the men entered, ready to pounce. Adrenaline pumped behind your ears as two sets of boots made their way up the stairs of the porch.

“Someone got here first.”

“So it seems.”

“By the looks of things it wasn’t a social call.”

“Check the house.” One man said in a hushed tone. You tensed, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. If these were lawmen, you were screwed. Not only would they blame you for being at the scene of the crime but it wouldn’t take them long to figure out they’d caught themselves an outlaw with quite the bounty on her head. You held your breath as the men entered the threshold of the small caravan.

Arthur entered the caravan slowly and cautiously, whoever took Trelawny may still be around or stashed away a trap for some unsuspecting looter. Charles was investigating the small kitchen area while Arthur searched around the bed. The mattress was tucked away into a nook, unmade and a disheveled mess. He couldn’t help be recall how Grimshaw would beat him with a shoe if he didn’t make up his bedroll as a kid. Arthur got down on his hands and knees to search for any clues under the bed, the last thing he expected was to be face to face with two golden pistols.

You almost dropped the pistols in surprise. “Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur stared at you in disbelief as you crawled out from under the mattress. “Fletcher? What the hell-”

Your eyes flicked to the giant man just behind Arthur, bow pointed between your eyes, you lifted your guns in response. You didn’t look away from the big man. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Mogan. I hope you aren’t the men I’m looking for.”

“Depends,” the big man said. “Where’s Trelawny?”

“Dunno,” You said as you lowered your guns as a sign of peace. “I came by to see if he had any work. Saw there was a struggle and decided to let myself in then you two showed up.”

The man looked to Arthur who nodded. The man lowered his bow but kept his gaze on you. “Well, I guess the two of you can help me find him.You two keep searching in here, I’m going to check out outside and see if there’s any clues.”

Arthur and Charles just watched as you sauntered outside. Charles turned to Arthur. “You know her?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Long story.”

Charles chuckled. “Bossy, that one is. Can we trust her?”

“I think so. She’s friends with Sadie, apparently she used to be good friends with her and her late husband. Outlaw on the run, just like us.”

Charles turned to say something, but he was cut off. “I got tracks out here!” You yelled from outside the other end of the caravan followed by a sharp whistle. When the two men walked out, you were already mounted on your huge horse. “You boys know how to track?”

“Yes ma’am.” Charles responded.

“Good. Tracks start here and head this way, follow me. Yah!” And with that your horse was barreling down the road, leaving a dust cloud in its wake.

You didn’t have time to wait on the two men to saddle up, you were growing anxious to find Trelawny. You had only known him a couple of months, but the funny man had a charisma that made it hard to dislike him. Truth be told, you had grown to be quite fond of the silly little man. Last time you saw him, you actually promised to let him take out Garbanzo for a ride. You intended to keep that promise, if anything purely for the sight of such a small man on such a large horse. As Rhodes disappeared behind you, Arthur and the other man were riding behind you. Arthur had a beautiful white Arabian and the other had a lovely grey snow capped Appaloosa. You made a mental note to compliment them both of their horses once this was all said and done with. You could pick up bits and pieces of the conversation the men were having as they approached, but you remained focused on the tracks. They led you to a small camp just on the edge of the forest just off the road. You dismounted quickly and approached. Two men sat under the shelter of the tent and a third by the fire. You put on your best smile and approached. “Hello gentlemen, what brings y’all out here this time a night?”

The man by the fire eyes you wearily. “I could ask you the same question, miss.” His eyes darted behind you, you could hear the two horses come to a stop.

“Me and my friends here have lost the fourth member of our party, you haven’t seen any funny men runnin’ around here? Dresses kinda formal?”

The men looked at eachother, to the men behind you, and back to you. “Seen plenty of funny men, sure. Ain’t seen no fancy ones.”

“He uses a cane, just like this one.” The bigger man plucked Trelawny’s cane from the grass. You saw red, and jumped the man in front of the fire. Your fist beat into his face. “Where is he goddamn it? Don’t play stupid with me!”

A brawl abrupted, three on three. Arthur questioned the man he had pinned and the other man beat his opponent silently. Your hands clasped around the man’s neck and you slowly added pressure. “Son, I ain’t got all night. Now either ya tell me where my friend is, or I crush your windpipe and me and my friends kill your buddies.” You heard a gurgling sound to your right and turned to see Mr. Morgan lifting himself off his limp victim. “Looks like one of your buddies is already dead, wanna join him?”

The man cried under you, “Fine fine I know where he is!”

You smiled coldly. “Hear that boys? He knows where our friend is!”

“th-they took him to a cabin, over by the cornfields!”

“Well now,” you cooed. “Was that so hard?” You pulled your pistol and shot the man right between the eyes. “Cornfields. Let’s go.”

As the two men mounted, the third surviving member of their team get up and began to run in the direction of the fields. You shot him in the back and he fell. “What was that for?” The bigger man asked.

You mounted your horse. “He was headin’ in the direction of the corn fields. Probably gonna try and give his friends a heads up.”

Arthur nodded in agreement and the other man shook his head. The three of you took off together. The Braithwaite cornfields weren’t far and to be quite honest, you’d be more than happy to kill a few of those inbreed yocals. As you approached, two men were dragging another out of a cabin. As you approached, you noticed it was indeed Trelawny. Without batting an eye, you placed a bullet between each of their heads and Trelawny fell forward. You jumped off your horse and ran to him. You pulled your arm around him and helped him onto your horse. “You okay, Josiah?”

He half coughed half laughed, “Fletcher is that you?”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah it’s me.”

“So, you’re alive!” Arthur called as his dismounted his horse.

Trelawny looked up and gave as much of a laugh as he could. “Allegedly.”

He was in the worst shape you’d ever seen him. The pomade was worn out from his hair-it was tousled and messy. He had bruises and dried blood on his face.

Arthur cut his binds as you held him upright. “Don’t worry, they won’t be for much longer.” His voice had a cold deadly note in it you had not recognized.

“Go get them Arthur, I can handle this.”

Arthur nodded to Trelawny and headed down towards the cornfields. You reached into your satchel and pulled out some fine brandy to give to Trelawny. He took a deep swig and gave you a swift pat on the back. “Thank you, my friend. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me had you three not came along. Are you riding with the Van Der Lindes now young Fletcher?”

You laughed. “The who? Nah. I stopped by your ol caravan to see if you had any work. Saw a struggle and started investigatin’. Not long after I showed up, these two came along.” You turned to Charles, who was tending to his horse. “I never caught your name, by the way. People call me Fletcher.” You extended a hand to the big man. He took it and gave it a firm shake.

“Charles.”

You nodded and the gunfire in the fields took your attention. Trelawny laughed, “Leave me here with Mr. Smith, I can tell you’re itching to get down there.”

With a smile and a nod, you grabbed the semi-auto shotgun from your horse and your mausers to be safe. You crouched through the cornfields cautiously. Normally you would go in guns blazing, but normally you don’t have a comrade in the fight either, you would need to be careful and not hit Arthur.

The corn was thick and the fields were huge. it was damn near impossible to see anyone. A flock of birds flew up not too far from you and you smirked, mother nature was giving you a hand it seemed. You slowly snuck in the direction and found your target. a single shot to the back of the head and he fell. After taking out three more men, there was commotion over by the barn. You rushed over just in time to see Arthur with a lasso around his neck, struggling for air. “Duck!” you shouted as you placed a bullet right between the eyes of the man holding the rope. As soon as it was released, Arthur choked and gagged for air. “Thank you.” He gasped. You slapped his back hard, “No problem.”

The two of you made your way up the hill back to Trelawny and Charles. Trelawny rode of the back of your horse with you and the four of you silently rode back to the caravans just outside of Rhodes. You dismounted first and helped Trelawny down. He seemed shaken still. “T-thank you for all your help today, all of you.” He chuckled nervously. “I suppose I’ll be lucky if they don’t come back for me in my sleep tonight.” He half joked.

You rolled your eyes and hitched Garbanzo to the hitching post beside the caravan. “You ain’t gotta worry bout that, Josiah. I’ll stay here with ya tonight, if they come they’ll be comin’ to their own funeral.”

Trelawny looked at you and you could see all the gratitude he couldn’t speak in his eyes. “Thank you, madam I feel truly safe knowing you’re watching over my threshold.” He turned to Arthur and Charles. “Thank you gentlemen again for everything. Send ol’ Dutch my regards.”

“Will do.” Charles said.

Arthur nodded and turned his horse the other way. “I’ll come by tomorrow evenin’ and check on ya. Stay safe you two.”

You tipped your hat to the men as they left and Trelawny hesitated at the door. You gave him a reassuring smile. “Go on to bed, you need your rest. I won’t leave ya, I promise.”

He patted your head and even though it made you feel childish, you took comfort in it. “Thank you my dear girl. My life is eternally in your debt.” With that, he turned and entered the house. You looked up at the sky, the moon was bright and the sky was full of stars. What a strange world we all live in.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead online #rdr 2 spoilers #red dead spoilers #josiah trelawny #charles smith #oc character #arthur morgan x oc #red dead online fic #hunters of flesh and money

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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years ago

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Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 08: MARK OF ZEMOUREGAL

QUEST SUMMARY:

Because of Jahaan’s betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

CHAPTER 2: EYE FOR AN EYE

Ahh, Prifddinas. The greatest city of the elves. Nay, the greatest settlement in all of Gielinor! Since hearing the tales of a crystal empire as a child, Jahaan had always wanted to visit. However, they didn’t let just anyone in, and their seclusion was part of why they’d survived since the First Age without external conflict. Throughout the God Wars the elves protected themselves by erecting massive granite walls across their eastern border, refusing to involve themselves in the conflicts of the other gods, as was their goddess’ intention. The aforementioned goddess? Seren, a name spoken in curiosity among the other races of Gielinor. Nobody really knew too much about the origins of the crystalline goddess, only that she brought the elves from their homeworld of Tarddiad. The legend goes that Seren became mesmerised by the elves and their way of living, and upon seeing one of them die of age, was overcome with such great sorrow that she tried to use her godly powers to extend their lifespan. However, in doing so, she accidentally tied them to her, causing them to grow ill and perish when out of her presence for too long. Thus, when Guthix’s Edicts required Seren to depart, she shattered herself into a million crystal fragments so that a part of her would always be with her elves. At some point towards the end of the Fifth Age, Seren had been reformed, and lived among her elves once more. At some point during its history, tales claim that Prifddinas had somehow, miraculously, reverted to the size of a single crystal seed. Yes, the largest settlement in all of Gielinor had shrunk to the size of an acorn, with the residents inside frozen in time. To top it all off, the legend claims that the elders of Prifddinas sung the city back to life.

Whether that was true or not, Jahaan was very skeptical. The saying goes that stranger things have happened, but, really, have they?

But when Jahaan emerged on a tall hilltop, surrounded by luscious forests and looking down over the crystal walls of the city, elven history was the furthest thing from his mind.

He’d never seen such shades of green before. Not murky likes the swamps of Morytania, not artificial like how greenery in Falador felt, not tainted like the plant life in Canifis and Draynor. Even the gnomes couldn’t lay claim to such a brilliant shade of nature’s favourite colour; this was what the elder gods had intended when they wove forests out of the anima. But the only thing more brilliant than the shades of nature were the crystals, shining like diamonds in the glow of the morning sun.

The entire city was constructed from these crystals, a substitute from the bulky wood and crude stone seen across most of Gielinor. The craftsmanship, the way the crystal bends to the will of the architect… Jahaan didn’t know enough about Prifddinas to know how the city was built from these crystals, or where they came from, and one day he hoped to find out, just as he hoped to walk through the city gates and up to the Tower of Voices, rumoured to be one of the tallest structures in all of Gielinor. Considering how it reached up into the heavens even from this distance, Jahaan could clearly see the rumours had some merit.

It was rare to see elves outside of Prifddinas. After all, why would they ever need to leave? Everything one could ever need was inside those crystal walls, from banks to bars, sawmills to staff shops, altars to anvils. It was a compact Gielinor. There were elves roaming the territory just outside of their walls; there had been a civil war among them not too long before Prifddinas’ supposed ‘restoration’ and smaller factions were still camped out south of the border. Alongside this, their were whisperings about elves in West Ardougne, and they were grave tales indeed. Talks of death guards, a fake plague, regicide and the intended mass killing of all of West Ardougne’s residents in order to summon a ‘dark lord’.

The thought of it made Jahaan’s head spin and his stomach churn.

So little is known about the elves, it’s hard to know what to believe. That’s why Jahaan wanted to go to Prifddinas, to search for information that his people in the Khandarin Desert had never concerned themselves with, being at opposite ends of the world and all.

This is the closest he’d ever come to the elven city, and after taking just a brief view from the hilltop, he never wanted to leave.

“Whoa…” was all he said, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Do you like it?” Sliske asked, but he knew it was a rhetorical question. Shifting his robe out of the way, he took a seat on the thick grass below. “This is about as close as, ah, someone like me can get without entering into the Shadow Realm, but it’s still quite a view.”

“Yeah, I do like it,” Jahaan’s eyes were transfixed on the crystal city as he took a seat beside the Mahjarrat. There was a peace inside him he hadn’t felt in hours, a respite from the anguish and worry. “I like it a lot.”

The two stared at the horizon for what felt like an eon, enjoying the serenity of the sunrise as it crept over the crystals in the distance.

Finally, it was Sliske who broke their content silence. Smiling without humour, he quietly whispered, more to himself than to Jahaan, “It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one.”

“Huh?” Jahaan didn’t quite hear that.

“I said, it must be nice, living in a place like that,” he ‘repeated’, nodding his head towards Prifddinas with a wistful expression.

Jahaan didn’t completely believe that’s what he said, but he didn’t press it further. There was a peacefulness between the two of them, and Jahaan didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. Instead, he moved slightly closer to Sliske, and didn’t shy away when the Mahjarrat wrapped a warm, protective arm around him, pulling him softly against his chest.

It was the first time he’d felt at peace for a long while.

The two of them remained in quiet contemplation after that. Jahaan spent too much of it wondering what was going through the Mahjarrat’s mind. Sliske was an enigma, a puzzle to him, the quiet and the storm, but moreover, he was one thing Jahaan was becoming less and less reluctant to admit…

He’s not as bad as he seemed.

Jahaan began to struggle to remember why he hated the Mahjarrat in the first place. He didn’t particularly want to remember. He had enough enemies, enough Mahjarrat enemies at that, to actively want another one.

Suddenly, his throat began to sour and the calmness inside his mind began to cloud.

Zemouregal.

The storm in his head was brewing once more, manifesting as a knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

“I want him dead, Sliske,” Jahaan’s voice was grave; he didn’t need to say who he meant. “I want him dead, and I won't wait five hundred years for it to happen.”

The Mahjarrat kept looking towards Prifddinas as he said, “You're not the only one that wants him gone, you know. I can help you... but at a cost.”

Jahaan didn't blink. “Name your price.”

“I want your soul.”

Now Jahaan blinked. “E-Excuse me?”

“I want your soul,” Sliske repeated, returning his gaze to Jahaan.

“Why? Do you want to… to make me a wight?” Jahaan shook his head in unnerved disbelief.

Quickly, Sliske replied, “Asking questions isn't part of the deal. You accept unconditionally, or you don’t accept my help at all.”

Jahaan thought for a long, hard moment, challenging Sliske’s satisfied expression. Finally, he declared, “If you help me kill him, you can have whatever the hell you want.”

And so it was settled. They were going to kill Zemouregal. Not just the two of them, mind - Sliske stated that it wouldn’t be too hard to persuade Azzanadra and Wahisietel to eliminate the threat he poses once and for all. Just by being a Zamorakian, Azzanadra already had skin in the game. Wahisietel might take a little bit more convincing, and Jahaan offered to talk to him while Sliske went to Azzanadra. Knowing the strained relationship between the two brothers, Jahaan knew he stood a better chance than Sliske did at enlisting Wahisietel to their cause.

Firstly, however, Jahaan had to get Ozan somewhere more permanent to recuperate. The poor man was still sound asleep, comatose, but at least he was alive.

“Do you have anyone you trust he can stay with? Anyone that can protect him?” Sliske inquired.

“You mean, do I know anyone capable of fending of a Mahjarrat?” Jahaan shook his head. “No.”

“They shouldn’t have to fight off Zemmy,” Sliske assured. “He thinks you’re dead, remember? And one of the upsides of being dead is that no-one comes looking for you. So as long as you don’t parade him in Varrock Square, he should be safe.”

Considering this, Jahaan replied, “In that case, I know where he can go.”

Jahaan emerged just in front of the bridge connecting Draynor to the Wizards' Tower, dropping to his knees and sending Ozan tumbling to the ground upon landing. Sliske hadn’t stuck around long enough to ensure a smooth landing, it seemed. Groaning in pain, Jahaan quickly realised that once the adrenaline had worn off, he was in no fit shape. Wincing with a silent apology to Ozan, he tested out his legs again before picking up his friend and carrying him over the bridge.

It didn’t take long for the Wizards' to allow Jahaan inside, seeing the state of the poor man he was holding. The wizards were well acquainted with Ozan by this point, and Jahaan had met a fair few of them on his travels too.

Ushered into the medical bay, Ozan was set down on one of the cots as someone went to find Ariane. It didn’t take long for her to make it down, rushing to Ozan’s side with her heart in her throat. “What happened to him?”

Gulping, Jahaan stammered as he explained, “T-There was a fire… I w-was attacked, and he was d-drugged, and…”

Trailing off, Jahaan’s head was so foggy he honestly had no idea where to begin; he felt like he was trapped inside an awful dream, the edges of the world blurry and faded. Reality was far too much to handle.

“You were attacked? So it was arson...” when Ariane turned to Jahaan, the man noted her eyes were much more accusational than concerned, and he was taken aback, especially as she was quick to demand, “What have you got him mixed up in this time?”

Mouth hung agape, Jahaan took a few paces back, his wide eyes held captive by her glare. “W-What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jahaan,” Ariane snapped, the soothing hand she wrapped inside Ozan’s lifeless ones juxtaposed harshly with her seething tone, though she tried to keep her voice down to a quiet hiss. “You’re a picture of guilt. Let me guess, you ticked off the wrong people and they came back for revenge. Only this time, Ozan was collateral damage. Ozan told me about the company you’ve been keeping; was it the same Mahjarrat who killed Guthix that did this to him?”

“N-No… I mean, yes it was a Mahjarrat, but not the same one,” Jahaan stated, nervously rubbing the back of his head, injured from each of Ariane’s cutting words that felt as if they were closing in around his throat. “Yes, this is all my fault. But I’m going to make it right.”

“Make it right?” Ariane replied with incredulation. “You’re only liable to make things worse! Why Guthix ever chose you as-”

She cut herself off there, taking a long breath to calm herself. Even Ariane looked slightly regretful at where her words were leading her.

The sentiment, however, had already stung, and Jahaan had no words to say.

Despite mutually knowing each other for years through Ozan, Jahaan had always gotten the impression that Ariane had never taken to him. Occasionally he’d ask Ozan if this were the case, and he’d laugh and deny it, saying it was all in Jahaan’s head. But deep down, he always knew, and now he had confirmation.

Sighing heavily, Ariane continued, in a much lower and measured voice this time, “We’ll heal him as much as we can and keep him safe. When he’s awake, you can come and visit him. After that, I don’t want you seeing Ozan ever again.”

Jahaan used the invitation box to make his way back to the Empyrean Citadel. He needed time to deliberate his encounter with Ariane, but now wasn’t the moment. Work had to be done, and the more time he wasted, the more likely Zemouregal would find out he was alive, and thus the element of surprise would be lost.

Sliske had offered to teleport Jahaan to Nardah in order to avoid the magic carpet debacle again, something for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. He didn’t think his head could take another round of motion sickness.

The dust settled, and Jahaan was back in Nardah. Well, about half a mile outside Nardah; Sliske didn’t think a Mahjarrat springing into their town centre would go down well for anyone, except for the pitchfork selling business.

Trudging through the sand, Jahaan was almost thankful his armour had been destroyed, but less thankful that he hadn’t refilled his waterskin, making a mental note to do that when he got to the town’s fountain.

When he reached Ali the Wise’s house, he barely had to knock before the door was thrown open, stern and suspicious eyes darting past Jahaan and into the distance. “Come inside,” he ushered, quickly, taking one last look behind him before he closed the door.

“What’s the matter?” Jahaan inquired, puzzled.

“Sliske was nearby,” Wahisietel stated. “I felt his presence. Thought you might be him at my door.”

“I think he’s got a few inches on me, can’t see how you could mistake us,” Jahaan chuckled.

Wahisietel furrowed his brow as Jahaan’s relaxed demeanour. “Are you not concerned? It was you who came here to escape him not that long ago.”

“Sliske brought me here,” Jahaan explained, smiling at the reaction it brought to the disguised Mahjarrat’s face. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything. You might wanna sit down for this one…”

While Jahaan conversed with Wahisietel, Sliske went to go convince Azzanadra to join their plight. He slipped off his disguise as soon as he entered the Temple at what used to be Senntisten. Azzanadra, having sensed his arrival, was pensively waiting at the other end of the chamber, nearest the altar.

“Sliske,” he gruffly greeted, folding his arms over his chest. “You have got quite the nerve to be showing your face around here after your excommunication.”

“Ah yes, well,” Sliske clapped his hands together. “I was hoping we might be able to sweep that one under the rug, for now at least. I have a proposition for you. One I think you'd rather enjoy...”

Wahisietel nearly spit the tea out from his mouth. “You’re going to kill Zemouregal?!”

Hushing him, Jahaan hissed, “Why don’t you shout a little louder, I don’t think the barber in Falador heard you.”

“My apologies, I just…” shaking his head, Wahisietel composed himself. “This is no small feat. Zemouregal is not to be brushed off lightly, as you know. While I do wish to see his head unattached from his shoulders, I-”

Looking down at Jahaan’s expression, Wahisietel winced. “Apologies for my turn of phrase. Sir Tiffy Cashien was a noble knight, and Thaerisk Cemphier seemed like a good man, in the brief time I spent with them. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“Their loss has to be avenged,” Jahaan resolved, gravely. “I know the risks, but I can’t let them be murdered in vain. What would you do in my shoes?”

From the change of expression on his face, it appeared as if this was a turning point for Wahisietel. “It would be hypocritical of me to say I would act any differently. They may call me ‘Ali the Wise’ in these human lands, but I am still of the Mahjarrat. One thing that still sticks in my craw, though, is Sliske’s involvement in it all. Why is he helping you?”

“He wants my soul,” Jahaan replied as nonchalantly as possible, amused by the look of surprise that elicited from his Mahjarrat companion. “Obviously I’m not going to let that happen. Your brother is-”

“Half-brother.”

“Your half-brother is… he’s not as bad as you say he is, but even I have limits.”

“I must ask, why do you defend him so?” Wahisietel inquired, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He murdered Guthix in front of you, tricked you, betrayed you, lied to you, stalked you, and from what I’ve heard from Azzanadra, he’s attacked you as well. I don’t understand your loyalty. You know, you remind me of Azzanadra, but at least I can understand that one. Well, somewhat.”

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you see - and this stays strictly between us, you hear? - back in the Zarosian Empire, and even on Freneskae, Azzanadra and Sliske went through a period of being… close.”

Jahaan blinked. “Close?”

“Close,” Wahisietel reiterated, his hands conducting an invisible orchestra in front of him as his mind danced for the right words. “You humans might refer to it as a relationship.”

Now it was Jahaan who nearly spit out his tea. “Sliske and Azzanadra were an item?!”

Jahaan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and it seemed Wahisietel was struggling with the same dilemma as he replied, “I know, it’s baffling why they’d waste their time on such things. But Azzanadra was the leader of the church, and Sliske was the leader of the secret police. No-one would dare speak out against them. On Freneskae, few were aware of their dynamic. Those that were kept silent, for they were outpowered. I understand Sliske’s charm and charisma, things he used to his advantage whenever he was bored in Senntisten. Such a trivial past-time. People fell under his spell, and it was always their downfall. Even Zaros’ most beloved pontifex could not escape.”

Wahisietel returned to his tea. “After all these years, it still baffles me why Azzanadra resolves to trust Sliske, and now you’re following his lead. Heh. As long as-”

Wahisietel froze, his cup glued to the tops of his lips, his eyes wide with realisation. Slowly, he raised his head and glared through Jahaan with a strange mix of confusion and abject horror. “Please, for Zaros’ sake, please tell me I’m wrong…”

Jahaan winced, breaking contact with Wahisietel’s eyes. It was all the confirmation he needed, yet the Mahjarrat pressed, “What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Jahaan assured, biting the inside of his lip. “He… he tried, but nothing happened. Believe me.”

Wahisietel’s unwavering glare bore holes through the man. “But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Jahaan’s shameful inability to meet Wahisietel’s gaze said everything that needed to be said.

The Mahjarrat mumbled something in infernal, rising to his feet as he paced the room. “I warned you about him, Jahaan. But I never knew that… never could have DREAMED that… that you would…”

Stopping to face Jahaan, he stated with unwavering assurance, “He does not harbour feelings. He is incapable. He just uses people for his own amusement, then he discards them when they stop being entertaining, or when they are no longer useful. I don’t know what game he’s playing with you, but he’s playing a game, Jahaan!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jahaan shot up, ever so slightly taller than Wahisietel when he was in his Ali form. “I know what he’s like, Wahisietel - I’ve got first-hand fucking experience with that. But damnit, he’s inside my head, always inside my head, and I can’t take it!”

Suddenly, Jahaan whirled on the thing closest to him - a bookshelf - in order to expend the pent-up rage his outburst had summoned. Unfortunately, the books were a little less forgiving than Jahaan would have liked, and the thick novels put up a decent defence; Jahaan clutched his battered hand, the knuckles already forming a purple bruise, his fingers shaking and unable to move. “Gods, FUCK!” Jahaan cursed, turning back to Wahisietel with an indignant expression akin to, ‘do you see what they did to me?!’. Muttering lowly, though with the slightest hint of an amused smile, Wahisietel went to get a medical kit.

A few bandages and another cup of tea later, Jahaan had calmed down, feeling rather embarrassed about his childish flare-up. Miraculously, nothing had fractured; Jahaan deduced he was too exhausted to give the punch all he had. That, or he just had a pathetically weak right hook, which he’d rather not be the case.

The silence that followed was awkward, each man lost in their own contemplation of the preceding events. Eventually, it was Wahisietel who broke the quiet, carefully beginning, “I have said my piece in regards to you and my half-brother. I trust that you know what you are doing.”

“You shouldn’t, because I don’t even know what I’m doing,” Jahaan sniffed a humourless laugh.

“I just wish I knew why he wanted my soul. I thought he wanted to make me a wight, but when I asked him, he deflected. I don’t think that’s the case, but why else would he want my soul?”

Stroking the beard his human form had adopted, Wahisietel replied, “Sliske has always been fascinated in souls. He used to talk to me about a Teragardian magister by the name of ‘Oreb’, who experimented with the power of souls and hypothesised that souls can be transferred from one body to another. This is the same magister who took in Nomad as his pupil, much later in life. Sliske was particularly interested in his theories.”

“Why was that, do you reckon?”

“Well, for one, Mahjarrat don’t have souls. Therefore, we cannot pass onto an afterlife, for a soul is required to do such a thing. For all his blustering, there is one thing Sliske fears: death.”

Suddenly, it clicked into place, the phrase Jahaan thought he didn’t quite hear outside of Prifddinas: ‘It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one’.

“So, he wants my soul so he can go to an afterlife?” Jahaan surmised. “But that would leave me with the inability to go to one myself.”

Frowning, Wahisietel grimly restated, “He uses people. He doesn’t take interest in them unless they have something to offer.”

“But…” Jahaan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But why my soul? Why not just anyone?”

Shrugging, Wahisietel confessed, “That I cannot be sure of, I’m afraid.”

“Is there anything I can do to protect myself, if he tries to take my soul by force?”

His frown deepening, Wahisietel replied, “There is no spell, prayer or curse that I’m aware of that can do such a thing. My advice is to not get into a situation where your soul in vulnerable. Though how you would go about that, I am not sure. I don’t even know how he would go about transferring your soul into himself.”

This uncertainty didn’t exactly fill Jahaan with much comfort. Then again, Sliske was uncertainty incarnate; sipping his tea, Jahaan continued on, “These random, bizarre acts of kindness from Sliske... I don't know what to make of them. I can't ever tell if he's being genuine, or if he's just messing with me. I know, I know, you say he only ever uses people, but… but maybe he can be nice - even a broken clock is right twice a day, right? I mean, he saved my life at the Ritual, he helped keep Ozan safe…”

Jahaan neglected to mention their recent excursion to the outskirts of Prifddinas. He didn't quite know why, but sharing that information so freely just didn't feel right. It was like a secret he promised not to tell, unspoken though it was.

Wahisietel did not look impressed. “You do not know him like I know him, Jahaan, and I hope you never meet the Sliske I once knew.”

A crooked smile broke into Jahaan’s features, one devoid of humour. “I’ve heard stories.”

“Stories do not do his actions justice, but that is a conversation for another time,” setting down his teacup, Wahisietel closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, like he was trying to shift Sliske’s ghost from his thoughts. “Now, about Zemouregal - are you serious about killing him?”

His resolve returned, Jahaan stated, “I am.”

“And you say that Azzanadra is aiding us in this?”

“Sliske’s gone to convince him.”

“Then perhaps it would pay us to join him,” Wahisietel declared, reverting to his Mahjarrat form. “We’re going to need to strategise, after all.”

Meanwhile...

“Hmm… well, we certainly have enough firepower on our side to outmatch him,” Azzanadra was pondering aloud, running through the idea in his head. Sliske wasn’t all that surprised he could talk Azzanadra into killing Zemouregal so easily; there was no love lost between the two, after all. “It would be one less opponent at the next Ritual. Out of all the Zamorakians, he certainly is the most insufferable.”

Turning towards Sliske, he declared, “If the World Guardian manages to get Wahisietel on our side, then you have my support too. Zaros can only be pleased at us for sending that traitor into the void.”

Knowing he’d succeeded, Sliske grinned. “Oh, the Empty Lord will be most pleased. The World Guardian is convincing my brother now. He agreed to meet us here if all was successful.”

Looking around at the renovated chamber, Sliske admired the attention to detail Azzanadra had put into the restoration. Whomever the carpenter was, Sliske made a mental note to ask for their information if he ever decided to renovate the Barrows. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Brings back memories.”

Sighing wistfully, Azzanadra replied, “It feels like home.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske countered, “You don’t feel like Freneskae is your home anymore?”

“I stopped feeling that way as soon as Zaros took us in,” Azzanadra gazed longingly at the symbol on the far wall. “There is no home without him.”

“Right…” Sliske awkwardly rocked on his heels. He’d never felt the devotion his Mahjarrat companion had to the Empty Lord. Oh, he’d been loyal. He’d even been a follower. One might have called him devout, at a pinch. But Azzanadra was on an entirely different level.

Then again, Sliske agreed it did feel nice being back in the temple. It reminded him of a time when he had a role in society, and while that inevitably grew boring, such times had a treasured place in his memories. Those were days that would never be seen again.

It was then he turned to study Azzanadra, who was repositioning the candles on the altar. His robes draped perfectly over him, like a royal coat, and while he did insist on wearing that ridiculous hat, he managed to pull it off with prowess and grace.

So to did Azzanadra bring back some welcomed memories.

Sliske saw an opportunity, and he decided to test the waters.

He slipped closer to Azzanadra, his shadow a sneering presence that towered over them both. With a coy smirk, he smoothly remarked, “You know, it’s been such a long time since you and I have been alone together.”

There was no way Azzanadra didn’t get the insinuation; he met Sliske with stern eyes. “There’s good reason for that.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Sliske gently brushed his hand over Azzanadra’s, who to their mutual surprise did not immediately flinch away.

“Don’t act so innocent,” Azzanadra snapped. “You know damn well what I mean.”

“The excommination?” sniffing a faint laugh, Sliske looked up at the taller Mahjarrat with half-lidded eyes and moved closer to him, so that their chests touched. “Since when has Zaros ever gotten between us before? I seem to remember a certain Pontifex Maximus regularly calling the Praefectus Praetorio into his office for more than just matters of state...”

Sliske let the words linger, hot breath on Azzanadra’s cheek.

At that moment, Wahisietel and Jahaan emerged inside the temple. Catching the scene, Jahaan forced himself to suppress a smirk as he remarked, “Are we interrupting something?”

Wahisietel just shook his head with disappointment.

Sighing with frustration, Sliske whirled around and commented, “Crackerjack timing, and here I thought Wahi would take longer to convince.”

Despite himself, Jahaan felt like giggling, and covered his mouth with his hand until he was certain he’d contained himself. During this, Wahisietel spoke up, “Jahaan has told me of your plan, Sliske. What say you, Azzanadra?”

“I am willing to partake,” Azzanadra declared. “We have three times his power. It is the perfect opportunity. And,” he turned to Jahaan, trying to muster what to a Mahjarrat would pass as ‘sympathy’. “We finally have the incentive to remove that stain from this world. I am sorry at the price you and your comrades had to pay, Jahaan.”

Jahaan nodded solemnly in way of thanks. “So, when do we go? Tonight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sliske was the first one to cut in. “You are running on nothing but fumes. You need to rest if you are to be of any help to us.”

Jahaan opened his mouth to protest, but the action betrayed him, turning into a yawn. Smugly, Sliske grinned.

“Fine,” Jahaan conceded, admitting to himself that he was exhausted. “When then?”

“Five days,” Azzanadra stated. “While I admire your enthusiasm, Sliske’s right - you need to be of use to us, and you can’t do that unless you have armour and a weapon. Your previous set was destroyed in the fire, yes? I will provide you with another set, specially made.”

Gobsmacked, Jahaan had to shake his head to order his thoughts. “That… that is incredibly generous of you, Azzanadra. Thank you, deeply.”

Azzanadra managed the faintest of smiles. “It is the least I could do. After all, it was you who brought my lord back to me.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#sliske #azzanadra #wahisietel

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jules-covey-blog · 6 years ago

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Cold Springs, A History

Juliette Covey practically ran Cold Springs when she was a little girl. Six, to be exact. She knew the entire town, and she loved every single one of them. She’d ride around in her daddy’s cop car with him, and he showed her how the lights and sirens worked. They’d pull the older kids over for a laugh, and it never failed to scare them off running back toward their homes.

Everyone loved Dave Covey just as much as they loved his daughter. They didn’t bother so much with his wife Katherine—who was one of those city girls even after being there for eight years—but the other two were always welcome over any time for pie or play dates with the other children. Jules couldn’t imagine any life but that one, didn’t want any other life but that one, but her mother had other plans.

“I don’t belong here anymore,” Katherine said. “I’m going back to Manhattan, and I’m taking Juliette with me.”

“Now, hang on just a minute,” Dave said. “You don’t get to just decide where our daughter is going to live. She loves it here. This is exactly where she should be. You can’t take her away from me and all these people she loves and who love her back. Namely me.”

“This isn’t something you get to consult the town on and take a vote, Dave.” Katherine sighed. “If she stays here with you, she’ll never see what else is out there. I don’t want that for her. She deserves to know the world, not just this little pocket you created for her.”

“I thought this was a pocket we’d created for her together, Kat,” Dave said, defeat etched into his voice and every surface of his face. “This is what you wanted, our little paradise town.”

“Yes, well, it’s not paradise anymore,” Kat said.

“I need to be able to see my daughter,” Dave said. “You can’t just take her away from me.”

“You can see her as much as you want, but in the city. I’m not sending her down here to run around like an animal every weekend or month or whatever. She’s living with me, and you can see her when you want. If you fight me on this, I’ll fight you on child support, and we both know you can’t afford that.”

Dave knew she was right. Between the money and Kat having some fancy lawyer brother in the city, he didn’t stand a chance. And so he let his girls go, promising to visit Jules as much as possible in the city. And it worked for a while, but soon Kat had every excuse for why it wouldn’t work that time. Before long, Jules was only seeing her daddy once every month. And that one day was both Jules and Dave’s best day.

Jules went to Cold Springs twice after that. The first time she was eleven, and Katherine was going on her second honeymoon for a little over a week. Most of that time was spent wrapping up in blankets in a tent after fishing all day and singing all night around the campfire with her daddy. And she didn’t want to be anywhere but with him. He was the coolest person in her life.

The second time she was seventeen, and Katherine was going on her third honeymoon for two full months. Most of that time was spent wrapping up in blankets in Lincoln Mason’s bed after running around outside and kissing all day in the first month, and hooking up in the second. And she didn’t want to be anywhere near her dad. Parents were simply anything but cool.

Jules didn’t keep in great touch with her dad after that second trip—in part because he’d found out about Lincoln Mason, but also because she seemed to send a clear message that she didn’t need a daddy in her life. She’d had him, then she had a new fake daddy, then another new fake daddy. And her momma didn’t seem to ever think about her, so really she just figured going it alone made the most sense.

Once Jules went off to college she put all thought of having a daddy far behind her. She never found out the truth about why her momma left with her that one day in Cold Springs, and something in her never wanted to know. It was easier to think of him as just another person she’d had in her life—like her second and third fake daddies. Apart from the rare phone call and getting cards from him during her birthday and Christmas, she didn’t talk to her daddy again.

Jules was on her way out the door to go to an event at the New York Public Library when her phone rang. Her Aunt Shelly was calling her through Facebook, which was the only way they ever kept in contact. She assumed it was an accident but picked up anyway. “Hi, Shelly.”

“Hi, baby. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

Why her uncle Scott moved to the South, she’d never know. His wife, that accent, honestly. “It’s alright. I’m on my way out, but I have a minute. What’s up?”

“Now, your uncle Scott said not to call you, but I just couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know.” She let out a deep sigh. “It’s your daddy, Juliette. He’s got something called ALS. It means something like—”

“I know what it is,” Jules said. She set her purse down on the floor as she leaned against the wall. “How long does he have?”

“Oh, lovey, we just aren’t sure. He said it could be a year or two, but that we shouldn’t be bothering you with this. He knows how busy you are.”

Jules sighed, closing her eyes. Suddenly all those years away made her feel like a monster, and the guilt was settling in hard. “I’ll go see him,” she said. “Is Scott going to be there?”

“Oh, no, baby, he can’t make it for that long. We’ll visit, but I guess your daddy has been dealing with this for about a year now. He has a home nurse of some sort who’s there most of the time, but it’s just not enough.”

Jules knew what she was asking, or not asking. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Thanks for calling, Shelly, but I have to go.” She hung up without another word.

And then she started making calls that would turn her entire world upside down.

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years ago

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It’s hard to deal with so many kids ;)

[ff] or [ao3]

41. 6 Weeks

Haymitch kept humming long after April had fallen asleep in the crook of his elbow, distractedly pushing on his legs so the rocking-chair would move slowly.

He loved those quiet moments with his daughter and they had become far too rare in the last two weeks. She was a sweet child, April. She rarely fussed except after they fed her, when her stomach bothered her for a little while, and in the middle of the night when she woke up alone in the nursery and let them know she was displeased by wailing at the top of her lungs.

Taking the decision to move the crib to the nursery had been difficult to begin with. Hearing her cry for them night after night… It made them reconsider. Maybe it had been too soon. Maybe… But Haymitch knew it had been the right move. They were both extremely wary about letting her out of their sight and he was sure that if they didn’t do it now she would still be sleeping in their room years down the line. It was for her own good, really.

It certainly did nothing for them.

They spent half the night tossing and turning, listening to the baby monitor, standing up under the pretence of fetching a glass of water only to check on the sleeping baby…

The only good thing was that they were too exhausted to have nightmares.

Effie was having it worse than he was. She had finally stopped breastfeeding the previous week. It had been painful for a while now but she had soldiered on as long as she had been able. She had finally called it quit and he couldn’t say he was sorry about it. It had been painful for him to watch her struggle for half an hour when April wasn’t getting enough food and would have to be fed a bottle right after anyway. It hadn’t done her separation issues any good though.

So with the children’s business on top of that…

Only thinking about it made him tired and he pressed a soft kiss against his daughter’s forehead, cuddling her close to his chest.

They had made it very clear to everyone they would not take anyone’s side but… Even with that very clear stance… Things were different.

Peeta had moved out and was now living above the bakery in a small utilitarian flat that had made Effie scream in horror. His wife had immediately seen to it that it was properly furnished, dismissing the boy’s protests with such insistance Haymitch had thought more than once Elindra would have been proud. They were hoping it was all temporary but, for now, temporary seemed like it would last a while and the kid couldn’t live on a mattress with pieces of junks the children had moved out of their house when they had found open space to stock them.

So Peeta stayed in town and hardly ever ventured into the Village anymore.

Haymitch made a point of visiting. Either he pushed April’s pram there or he stopped by and offered help with whatever heavy lifting the boy always seemed to need. He had told him he should come around for dinner or lunch or whatever but Peeta always said ‘maybe’ and never showed up.

Haymitch thought he was a little ashamed to have put all of their lives upside down.

It was certainly hard to find a new routine.

Not that he blamed the boy. He knew Peeta had his reasons and that they were valid ones. But…

Peeta’s leaving had hit Katniss pretty hard. She had remained on their couch for two days straight, demanding almost more attention than April. For a while, Haymitch had been scared she would go back to her catatonic state. And then, one morning, she had gotten up, had left through the backdoor without a word and come back at noon with her bag full of game.

She was laconic, always sad, and she seemed to be going through the motions but she was functioning.

He wasn’t sure that was enough but it was as good as it was going to get for now.

On the contrary of Peeta, she spent her time around their house, probably finding her own too big and empty. He could relate. He had felt that way for twenty-five years. She was making an obvious effort to spend more time with April too. She requested to be allowed to feed her, to change her diapers, to hold her… She was awkward all the while, didn’t really enjoy it, and Effie usually stood one step behind her, ready to intervene but unable to deny her anything given her frame of mind.

Neither he nor Effie had worded it but they both acutely remembered that Katniss had been suicidal after Snow’s execution so it had been a relief to see the girl wasn’t that far gone into old habits.

Haymitch wasn’t quite oblivious to what she was doing – and he didn’t think Effie was either – but he was keeping his peace for now. She wouldn’t solve anything by getting used to babies or by giving Peeta a child.

As for Peeta, he wasn’t sure if the kid was figuring anything out on his end. Haymitch had tried to have a talk with him, man to man, but the boy had brushed him off. Peeta needed time, that was what he kept repeating.

Haymitch wasn’t sure how much time Katniss was going to give him, truth be told. He had already been forced to sit through three separate phone calls as it was – one from Jo, one from Plutarch and a very uncomfortable one from Elindra who all demanded to know what was going. The Village was out of bounds for reporters but Peeta was now living in town and that was fair game. The press had been having a field day speculating, trying to get exclusive comments from everyone and anyone… The only good thing to come out of it was that they didn’t care about April anymore.

Haymitch had made it clear to Plutarch he should bury the story but there was only so much Plutarch could do – or would do.

April stirred in her sleep and Haymitch came back to the present moment, realizing he had been drifting off and that he should take advantage of those precious hours of calm to get some rest himself. He carefully stood up and placed his daughter in her crib, making sure she had the cat ragdoll with her.

Snowball was slumbering next to the crib, in his usual spot, and lazily lifted his head when Haymitch double-checked that April would be fine. He patted the dog’s head and left the room, leaving the door ajar just in case.

It was habit to check that every window was closed and that the doors were locked – for the good it did them because Katniss sometimes let herself in in the middle of the night with her spare key and forgot to lock back behind her. When he eventually wandered back to his bedroom, he fully expected to find Effie asleep – or, at least, sleepily sketching some clothes or perusing a magazine.

What he hadn’t expected was to find her lying on her side on top of the covers, clad in a brand new red see-through negligee, propped on her elbow, one leg draped seductively over the other. Her blond curls had been tousled and looked wild enough to make his mouth immediately water. It was the sassy grin on her red painted lips that was his undoing though.

He closed the door without a single thought, all his blood rushing south.

“You took a long time.” she pouted, trailing a lone crimson fingernail along the negligee’s neckline, bringing his attention to her breasts. “I was bored. Another five minutes and I would have started by myself…”

His brain was trying to calculate how long it had been since the last time he had been allowed to touch her – more than two months, maybe closer to three – but there were parts of him, parts that were quickly hardening, that really didn’t care.

“Should have said.” he offered eventually, once he remembered how to talk. “Would have come back quicker.”

“But it would not have been a surprise then, Haymitch.” she purred, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “Do you like your surprise?”

His only answer was to shed his shirt, drop his pants and underwear and he crawled on top of her. She laughed when he covered her body with his and feverishly peppered every available patch of skin with hot kisses.

“You’re sure it’s not too soon?” he asked while he still could.

She shook her head, her smile softening into something less seductive and more… tender. “I am all yours.”

He found her mouth and kissed her deep. It was unhurried but purposeful. He let his hand explore the red lace, enjoying the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric, but eventually took it off her to properly touch her.

Her body was a bit different.

He was getting used to relearning it again and again. First the war and the marks it had left, then the pregnancy and now… a mother’s body. He could tell she was a bit insecure, certain he would want her but not sure she was as appealing to him as she used to be. He wished she wouldn’t doubt him. He loved her. Every part of her.

He took his time, letting his fingers and mouth roam on her, kissing the stretch marks with reverence because they were a reminder of the most precious gift she had ever given him, licking the fading scars as always in apology, making sure to nuzzle every spot that always sent her wriggling, hot and bothered.

Her hands were surer than his were when they traveled on his body and he nuzzled her neck in pleasure when she finally stopped teasing him to wrap her fingers around him. He hissed when she squeezed to tease him, automatically rocking his hips to get more.

He wasn’t certain where she had been keeping the condom she rolled on him or how she even had enough presence of mind to think about that but he didn’t complain.

“Haymitch…” she breathed out, just as far gone as he was, it seemed. “Now, please. Now.”

Sliding into her was pure bliss.

It was like coming home.

They rested with their foreheads pressed against each other for a while, eyes closed, enjoying the simple feeling of… being together once more.

Then he couldn’t bear it anymore and he started moving.

She didn’t last long and neither did he.

They laughed like idiots when they were done and he rolled off her so he could discard the used condom and she could cuddle close to his chest. He pressed a long kiss in her hair. “So much for kids killing our sex drive, sweetheart.”

“Well, we are exceptionally gifted at it.” she hummed. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too.” he mumbled, tightening his embrace, bringing her even closer.

She rubbed her nose against his neck and then nipped at the tender skin in a teasing fashion. “I love you.”

He tensed a little, like always, but took a deep breath and forced the words out, reminding himself there would be no impending disaster just because he said those words. “Love you, Princess.”

She almost purred in contentment and wriggled until she found the perfect position to fall asleep in, half draped over his chest.

He didn’t have any real trouble falling asleep that night, body and mind thoroughly spent.

He didn’t know at once what had woken him up. He thought it was April at first and he listened hard, focused on the potential crying that would come through the monitor, waiting for Effie to mumble that she would go since he had put her to bed, waiting for… something.

There was no sound from the nursery but he heard the distinctive clicking of claws on the stairs as Snowball wandered downstairs.

Downstairs.

That was where the small noises came from.

He waited but Snowball never barked so he figured there was no intruder, just someone with a key.

He sighed and extracted himself from under Effie’s weight, careful not to wake her up. She immediately curled up in the space he had abandoned, grumbling in her sleep about being cold. He tucked the blankets up to her chin, a smirk on his lips.

He didn’t bother getting completely dressed. He decided that his old tattered pair of checked sweatpants would do the trick. He was hoping to be back in bed in a short while. He would just check on Katniss, who had undoubtedly crashed on their couch and was probably back asleep, and he would come back to Effie’s warm embrace.

He peeked in the nursery on his way to the stairs but April seemed alright for now so he simply closed the door a little more so no noise would wake her.

He arrived downstairs just in time to see Snowball trying to convince Katniss to take his purple monkey. That was what the dog always did with upset people, try to comfort them with his favorite toy. The girl eventually took the hint and patted the Samoyed on the head.

“I had a nightmare.” she muttered.

She didn’t look up toward where he was but Haymitch doubted she had missed his approach. Hunter instincts and all that jazz.

“Figured.” he shrugged. He hadn’t expected to find her so awake, though. The last couple of times she had let herself in in the middle of the night, she had always been back asleep by the time he or Effie had made their way downstairs. She needed a safe place, he had surmised, and their living-room was the closest one. “Want some tea?”

She shrugged right back. He took that as an assent and headed to the kitchen, not bothering to hide his yawn. The lights flickered twice before turning on and he wondered how many more days of respite he had before he would need to change the bulb. He put the kettle to boil, listening to the shuffling behind him. The girl was dragging her feet and Snowball still seemed desperate to ease her troubles by bumping her leg with his head.

He only looked at her when she perched herself on the kitchen counter. She was in her pajamas – a loose green tee-shirt that probably belonged to Peeta and blue silky pants that he thought had been Effie’s birthday present the previous year – and she was hugging herself tight.

“You’re cold?” he asked, even if he knew that wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that kind of warmth she was looking for.

Again, she shrugged.

Ten months earlier, he might have offered her a drink. She looked like she needed one.

“I went to the bakery.” she said softly just as he was grabbing mugs from the cupboard. His hand stilled for a second and then he went on with the business of finding the box full of teabags in the mess of bottles and cans of formula. He also glanced at her bare toes and wondered if she had put on shoes for that trip or if she had hurt herself. “I had a nightmare and… I don’t know. I wanted… So I went to the bakery. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just… I only really woke up once I was there, I think.”

He leaned his hip against the counter and watched her. He didn’t say anything though, he just let her say her piece.

“I couldn’t go in.” she continued, staring at the dog who was looking at her with his head tilted. “I thought… I thought… What if Delly’s there? What if…” She shook her head and then gazed up at him, looking lost and hurt. “Do you think he… Do you think he…”

She couldn’t get the words out so he thought it kinder to put her out of her misery.

“He’s not sleeping with her, sweetheart.” he offered. At least, he really didn’t think so. Peeta had made it clear to him and Effie both that he wanted to think things through not just… Get a taste of something else. He hoped he knew the boy well enough to be sure about that.

Katniss’ eyes filled with tears and she looked down at the dog once more. The kettle whistled and he turned the stove off, filling the two mugs with water. He hoped chamomile would calm her down a little.

“I could learn not to mind.” she said in a very small voice once he had thrust the mugs in her hands. Effie’s favorite pink mug looked out of place between her fingers. She was clutching it tight. “If it was just that. Just…”

“Sex.” he finished for her once again when she struggled to utter the word. He wasn’t particularly overjoyed to have that conversation with her but there was nothing shameful to the word. Even if the tips of his ears were burning a little and he felt the need to take a big sip of tea, even if the hot liquid scalded his tongue.

Her eyes darted up to him and back to the mug. “I’m bad at it.”

The confession was rushed in an even smaller voice than before.

He almost choked on the chamomile. “Katniss…”

“He likes it more than I do.” she soldiered on. “He wants to do it all the time and I… I don’t. I like it. But not… Not every day and not… He wants to try new stuff all the time and I don’t see why…”

“Please, can you have that conversation with Effie?” he cut her off, almost begging.

“He’s bored with me. I’m boring.” she mumbled, clutching the mug close to her chest like a shield.

“I’m sure you’re not boring.” he replied, flushing hard. He was trying, really trying not to think about what they were discussing. He was certain if he started picturing it he would be sick. “You’re just very bad at communication.”

“I could learn not to mind.” she repeated, completely ignoring him. “If that’s what he wants from her, you know? I’m bad at it, so…”

“You shouldn’t have to learn not to mind.” he grumbled, staring at his chamomile. “Maybe he’s the one who’s bad at it.”

She shook her head no. “He always makes sure I…”

“I so don’t want to hear that, girl.” he winced.

“Sorry.” she whispered. She was red in the face too but she seemed too hurt to be completely embarrassed. “I like it too. I’m just not… I’m not obsessed with it. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No.” he answered carefully.

“He said it was alright in the beginning.” she sniffed and Snowball let out a soft whine and lifted on his hinder legs to place his head on her knee. “And it was. Everything was fine. Good. I don’t know when it all went to hell, Haymitch. I try to remember and I don’t know. We were good. He asked if I loved him, I said yes and… We were… We were happy. I thought we were happy. I thought…”

She swallowed back the sob but he heard it anyway. The tears rolling on her cheeks were testament enough of her frame of mind anyway.

He sighed and placed his mug on the counter, gently pushed Snowball aside and hugged her. She hugged back in a second, clinging to him like a drowning woman to a lifesaver.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know.” she kept repeating. “I destroyed everything. I always destroy everything. But I don’t know what I did wrong this time. I tried. I tried.”

“Shhh, come on, now, sweetheart…” he whispered. “Wasn’t your fault.”

“It must be. Everyone always leaves.” she countered. “Everyone always…”

“That’s stupid.” he cut her off. “I’m here. Effie’s here. We’re not going anywhere. The boy’s not going anywhere. You’ll patch it up.”

“I love him.” she pleaded against his shoulder, as if he had the power to fix it all.

“I know.” he said, because that was the only thing he could offer.

“I think he loves her.” she admitted and then there was no stopping her sobs. It was almost as bad as the night she had showed up with news that Peeta had declared they needed space. A break, the boy called it. Katniss didn’t seem to believe for one second he would come back.

Haymitch didn’t think Peeta loved that Cartwright girl. Peeta loved Katniss. He was as sure of it as of his own feelings for Effie. It was almost as immutable as the sun rising in the east. But maybe the boy needed to remember that fact. Or maybe the girl needed to go the extra mile and actually tell him how she felt without having to answer a question. Maybe Peeta wanted proof. Maybe not the I-will-go-to-an-arena-and-sacrifice-myself-for-you kind of proof but… something. A compromise.

He didn’t know.

He just knew he hated being forced to comfort Katniss while she sobbed her heart out.

It made him want to punch something.

Or someone.

He wasn’t aware he was humming. It was a reflex probably, born out of weeks of singing April to sleep when she cried, of soothing his daughter’s troubles with that song. He only realized he had been humming that same lullaby as always when Katniss’ weight became heavy against his chest. For the second time in as many week, she had fallen asleep on him.

With a sigh and a muttered comment about how they were both too old for that shit, he carried her to the couch. Her eyelids fluttered open when he set her down but he could tell she wasn’t really awake. He brushed her tangled hair off her face and covered her with the blanket they always left on the couch, making sure she was comfortable.

She muttered some words that were almost too inaudible to be understood.

He still caught Dad.

He stood there for a second, heart squeezing in his chest, wondering if she was dreaming, wondering if it would feel that way when April would say it for the first time, waiting in case she said something else. When it became clear she was in a deep slumber, he went back upstairs, Snowball close on his heels.

“Haymitch.”

At the call of his name, he came back on his steps and into the nursery where Effie was slowly walking around the room, her dressing gown knotted tight around her body, rocking the fussing baby in her arms.

“Sorry. Didn’t hear her.” he apologized automatically in the hushed voice they always used around April.

“I know. I heard you talking downstairs.” she offered on the same tone. “How is she?”

He shook his head. “Not good. Might be a good idea to… Get her away for a while. Give both of them some real space.”

Effie frowned. “April is not two months old and you want to take a trip?”

“Too soon?” he winced. “I don’t know… I just… Katniss isn’t doing well and I don’t think the whole District wondering what’s going on and talking behind her back’s helping, sweetheart. I was thinking… Why not take her to Four? For a week or so. Like… a holiday.”

“We could send her to Jo and Annie.” she suggested.

“No.” he objected at once. “I don’t want her to feel like we’re sending her away. We’re not… We’re not going to abandon her.”

“Of course, we are not.” she sighed. “But I cannot say I am looking forward to a long train ride with such a young baby, Haymitch…”

He studied her, then the baby in her arms. Then he looked at the corridor he came from. Everything in him screamed that he should remain silent and drop it. “I can take her by myself if you can handle April.”

Effie blinked, looked at him and then at their daughter. “No. If you are going, we are too. Perhaps… Perhaps next week? Or maybe in two weeks. We cannot just rush to another District on a whim nowadays, we need to plan.”

“You’re sure?” he insisted, unable to hide his relief. The idea of leaving her and their child wasn’t exactly a thrilling one.

“Yes.” she promised. “Johanna and Annie have yet to meet April anyway. It will be nice.” She frowned. “You should check with Plutarch that Katniss is allowed to leave Twelve though.”

He nodded and crossed the distance that separated them to plant a kiss on her lips, careful not to crush April between them.

“You’re a good mom.” he told her very seriously.

She rolled her eyes. “I am simply trying to keep up with you, darling.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

But it was a compliment he could live with.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #april showers

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tamboradventure · 5 years ago

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How to Visit Egypt on a Budget

Posted: 2/3/2020 | February 3rd, 2020

One of the countries high up on my “must visit” list is Egypt. As a lover of history, I long to release my inner archaeologist and explore the many ruins of the country. While it might be a long time before I get there, my friend Jeremy Scott Foster from TravelFreak has visited a couple of times. In this guest post, he’ll give you his best tips for saving money on your next visit to Egypt!

I’ve been to Egypt twice. On my first trip four years ago, I solo traveled the Sinai Peninsula along the Gulf of Aqaba, stayed in shared hostels for $5 USD per night and took overnight buses that cost just as little. On my most recent trip last year, I traveled from the very north of Egypt in Alexandria south to Cairo, and then further south along the Nile River to the border with Sudan.

And, throughout it all, I fall deeply in love with this country where foreign perception of violence keeps so many at arm’s length.

The tourism industry in Egypt is still feeling pain as a result of the political upheaval, civil unrest, and terrorism-related activities that have marred its recent history. As tourist numbers have dwindled and competition for the tourist dollar has become fiercer, travel deals have proliferated.

But what most visitors miss is what you can gain — free of crowds and for little money too.

From the chaos of Cairo to the more laid-back vibe of Luxor, Egypt is an ideal destination for budget travelers.

1. How to Save Money on Accommodation

Generally speaking, accommodation in Egypt is relatively affordable. However, there are a few helpful tricks that can cut down your expenses.

Stay in hostels instead of hotels – Typically, you can expect to find a bed in a shared dorm room (with 4+ beds) for between $5-8 USD per night, or a comfortable private single room for about $15 USD per night. You will likely have to share a bathroom, but at least you have your privacy.

Use Hostelworld to look for the best prices. I recommend Dahab Hostel in Cairo and Al Salam Camp in Luxor.

Use Booking.com to compare prices for hotels – If you’re looking for cheap hotels or guesthouses in Egypt, I recommend checking Booking.com. A private room in a guesthouse or hotel goes for about $40 USD per night.

Prices are generally listed per room, not per person. So, if you are traveling with a friend, you can save even more money by splitting the cost.

Look for accommodations that add offer a little extra – I also found that, coupled with accommodation, it was pretty common for hosts in guesthouses to offer extras such as breakfast and local tours at very reasonable prices. One of my incredible hosts cooked a traditional hot breakfast with tea and coffee for just $1 USD. Best of all, he was more than happy to recommend some inexpensive local places to eat and buy food.

Look beyond the standard hotel rooms for accommodation options – Vrbo and HomeAway are great Airbnb alternatives, as they’ve been connecting budget travelers and homeowners since the ’90s. HomeAway is geared towards people wanting a proper vacation rental, so you can expect a fully furnished home to live in which is great for longer stays.

Vrbo lets you stay in a local’s house, but at a slightly increased cost. You can usually find some pretty luxurious apartments starting from $50 USD per night.

The upside is that you’ll have full access to your own kitchen, which means you can further cut your costs by cooking at home.

2. How to Save Money on Food

Stick to the local eats and street food – If you want to save money on food while traveling in Egypt, do yourself a favor and steer clear of the Western chain food joints. While a cheeseburger is about half the price of what you pay at home, it’s still more expensive, less tasty, and far less adventurous than experiencing the local cuisine.

Why bother with a burger when you can eat the most delicious falafel in the world for $1 USD?

Navigate the narrow alleyways of any bustling Cairo market (like Khan El Khalili or Mohammed Ali Street) to seek out the best shawarma ($2 USD). Or grab a stuffed falafel sandwich from a street vendor on your way from one ancient relic to another ($2 USD). You can literally find Arabic bread for 5 cents. It’s all cheap and very filling.

And, the hummus. It’s so. Darn. Good.

If you’re staying at a guesthouse, it’s common practice for them to offer full dinners for about $10 USD. The truth is that they’re actually just sourcing the food from restaurants in the neighborhood and taking a cut, so by seeking out your own food options, expect to spend about ¼ of the price.

With that said, don’t be afraid of street food or street vendors, especially if the food is cooked in front of you. And if there is a crowd of locals waiting, then chances are you’re onto a good thing.

Eat at a kosheri – A kosheri is a small, local restaurant that serves up generous portions of pasta, chickpeas, lentils, etc. often for less than $1 USD! There’s no menu, you just select the size of your portion and then you’re served this mishmash of deliciousness.

Cook your own meals – As mentioned, preparing your own meals while traveling is also a great money saver. If you have access to a kitchen, just ask your host to point you in the direction of the nearest market. They also have the lowdown on where to eat for cheap, so take advantage of their local knowledge!

3. How to Save Money on Transportation

Bargain with your taxi driver – In most Egyptian cities, taxis are an inexpensive and convenient way to get around.

Now, when I say convenient, I mean they’ll get you to where you need to go relatively quickly. But I would be remiss if I didn’t add a few disclaimers.

Taxi drivers can be aggressive on the road, leaving you white-knuckled from hanging on for dear life. I’ve never experienced a more heart-stopping journey than a Cairo taxi ride.

Furthermore, while Cairo does have metered taxis, don’t be lulled into a false sense of security. Meters are notoriously unreliable or rigged, and drivers frequently “forget” to turn them on. It’s one of the oldest travel scams in the book.

The best practice is to use an unmetered taxi and agree on a price with the driver before getting in. (Outside Cairo, most taxis are unmetered, so no matter what, always agree on a price upfront.)

If you’re not sure how much is an acceptable price, ask someone at your hostel or guesthouse for a pricing recommendation, and then start your bargaining at about ½ that price. Oftentimes even they will give you a higher estimate than is normal (it’s locals helping locals), but the real price should be about ¾ of what you’ve been recommended.

For longer-distance trips, hiring a car with a driver is the most cost-effective option. The price will be the same whether you’re traveling by yourself or with a group of four, so round up some travel buddies and split the cost.

But of course, be prepared for some aggressive haggling to get the best price. Be clear about where you want to go and for how long you will need the driver. Don’t worry if negotiations break down, though. When it comes to haggling over price, never be afraid to walk away. There are plenty of drivers available, so just move on to the next one.

Take the local train – Taking the train between Alexandria, Cairo, Luxor, and Aswan is the most popular mode of transport for this route.

If time or budget is a concern, you can take an overnight train. By taking the sleeper train from Cairo to Luxor or Aswan, you’ll save a night’s worth of accommodation in a hotel. A deluxe sleeper cabin for one is about $110 USD, while a two-berth cabin is $80 USD per person. Cabins are secure, and fares include an airline-style dinner and breakfast. The food is basic, but it’s edible.

But for a real bargain, you can book the day train between Cairo and Luxor or Aswan for as little as $10 USD. However, there’s one caveat: for safety reasons, the Egyptian government prohibits foreigners from purchasing day train tickets for this route. Officials say this is because only the night trains have armed guards in case of a terrorist attack, but this is an incredibly rare occurrence.

It’s easy to get around this, though. You’ll need to book tickets online at enr.gov.eg (you’ll have to register an account but it’s easy to do) or ask your guide, host, or driver to book the tickets for you. They will likely oblige for a small fee.

There are no reports of ticket attendants kicking any foreigners off the day train, so you’ll be fine. And if not, you��re only out $10 USD.

Get the Flight Pass – The fastest way to travel around Egypt is by plane. Egypt Air is the national carrier and Star Alliance Member serving most major domestic destinations. Its Flight Pass is a cost-effective option that allows you to lock in low fares for domestic flights even if you haven’t determined your travel dates.

All you have to do is purchase a minimum of four flights (or credits) and choose a time when you’d like to travel in the next 12 months. You can then book your flight up to seven days before departure.

On the downside, you’ll have to always fly back to your original departure point. That is, instead of flying from Cairo to Luxor and Alexandria, you’ll need to fly Cairo to Luxor and back to Cairo before going to Alexandria. That said, the Flight Pass is still about 30% cheaper than booking the same multi-destination flights with other airlines.

The Flight Pass is super customizable. You can select the number of flights (e.g. four, which is two round-trip flights) for a period of time (e.g. within one month), and also how early you can book your flights (e.g. one week before travel). This means that if you pick Cairo as your origin, you can select two round-trip flights to Aswan, Luxor, Alexandria, Sharm E Sheikh, or Hurghada. Each flight is $73 USD one-way.

But if I were to book a flight from Cairo to Luxor for one week from now, that same leg would cost at least $142 USD!

You can play around with this pass. For example, if you purchase a similar pass to the one above but select “one month” for how early you can book, the flights become $66 USD each per one-way.

If that’s too much of an inconvenience for you, there are plenty of other airlines offering affordable flights. When it comes to finding cheap flights on other airlines, I use Skyscanner. By being flexible with your dates, you can save up to 50%. Keep in mind, though, that you might be traveling at inconvenient times, like the middle of the night.

In the Skyscanner search bar, instead of entering specific dates, select the “Entire Month” option. This will show you a calendar with fare prices for departing and returning flights for every day of the month. This also works for one-way flights. However, it does not work for multicity flights.

4. How to Save Money on Tours and Guides

The best money-saving tip I can offer here is to avoid booking online before you arrive in Egypt.

If you’re a Type A traveler who needs a plan in hand before you even arrive, you’re not going to like this. But online agencies charge massively inflated prices, and you will end up paying a lot less if you deal directly with the tour company or guide locally on the ground.

Add in the feel-good factor of your money going directly to your guide, their family, and community (and not to some middle person, agency, or large corporation) and you’ve got yourself a win-win situation.

You may need to be a little more flexible with your dates. But you will have the added advantage of being able to negotiate (haggle, in reality), which translates to overall savings.

Tours, private drivers, and the quintessential cruise down the Nile can all be booked locally at significantly lower prices than booking in advance. So, if you can stomach it, wait until you get your boots on the ground before booking your tours.

Guides, in my experience, are an invaluable source of local knowledge and information. They have the inside scoop on the best vantage points for photos at all the epic landmarks. In addition, they’re great at dealing with those persistent and sometimes aggressive street vendors.

The best guides can be found by asking for recommendations from other travelers who have used their services, but I always recommend my Egyptian brother, Rami.

Back in 2015, on my first trip to Egypt, Rami and I connected by way of a mutual friend. We hit it off, and ever since then, I’ve helped him to grow the little tour business he and his family-run. It feels good to be able to help a local family in such a positive way.

He’s honest, affordable, reliable, incredibly communicative, well connected, and did I mention honest? That’s one of the difficult parts about traveling in places like Egypt: when people are selling you things, it’s hard to know who you can trust.

But Rami is my man. Send him an email at [email protected] and let him know Jeremy sent you (there are no commissions here — this is just a helpful referral to a well-deserving friend). He will sort you out or put you in touch with someone else in your preferred destination.

5. How to Save Money on Entrance and Admission Fees

Get the International Student Identity Card – Entrance and admission prices for almost all monuments and attractions in Egypt are set as advertised. However, you can get discounted tickets with an International Student Identity Card, including 50% off some of Egypt’s best museums (including the Luxor).

Get a travel pass – You can get a Cairo Pass or a Luxor Pass (multi-entrance discount passes) from the Ministry of Antiquities, the Egyptian Museum, or the Giza Plateau for about $80 USD. You’ll save about 50% off entries to over 30 attractions in Cairo and Giza. You’ll find very little information about these passes online, however, so your best bet is to just show up at one of those locations and inquire there.

Suggested Budgets for Traveling in Egypt

While you can spend money on luxury resorts or private tours, it’s entirely possible to travel through Egypt on the cheap. In fact, you can easily spend as little as $30-$35 USD a day.

The biggest way to reduce costs is to stay in dorm rooms or hostels. If you opt for a private room or mid-range hotel, you can expect to spend $30-40 USD more per night.

Where and what you eat also adds to your daily budget. For example, street food is an affordable and filling option for dining in Egypt. You can eat everything from falafel and sandwiches to shawarma and koshari noodles for as little as $1 USD.

Eating in a restaurant is more expensive, but still relatively cheap compared to Western countries. Meals in a mid-range restaurant start at $4 USD, while international dishes can be around $10 USD.

Transportation is another added cost. Train travel can be cheap but may not be the most efficient option if your time is limited. So, if you plan to fly between your destinations, expect to add $50-$100 USD to your budget for each flight.

Of course, your daily budget will also increase if you book private guides or splurge on souvenirs and gifts.

And remember, haggling is one of the most important skills if you’re looking to save money in Egypt. Taxis, excursions, and other services can usually be bargained down to a lower rate than what is initially quoted. So, if you have a high tolerance for haggling, your daily budget could easily be less.

Regardless, it’s always better to go slightly over budget, especially somewhere with as many must-see sights and experiences as Egypt!

***

The key to budget travel in Egypt is to be generally well informed and to have a good sense of humor (the latter goes a long way when dealing with vendors). Haggling and scammers are all part of everyday travel life in Egypt. There are very few goods and services that can’t be bargained for.

Most importantly, always, ALWAYS ask for and agree on a price first before accepting any goods or services. Most importantly, don’t be afraid to politely say no and walk away.

Now it’s time to start planning your trip to Egypt for maximum adventures at minimum cost in the land of Pharaohs, pyramids, and wonders of the ancient world. Get to it!

Jeremy is the adventurous traveler behind TravelFreak, a website dedicated to helping people create lives they are passionate about. You can check out his blog to learn more or find him on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the largest inventory. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time. Some suggested hostels to stay at are:

Dahab Hostel (Cairo) – The rooms are basic but the owner is friendly and helfpful and the hostel is in a great location.

Al Salam Camp (Luxor) – Great location and incredible staff. it’s away from the noise of the city and a great place to relax and meet other travelers.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and that will save you time and money too!

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gamerzcourt · 6 years ago

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The Trials And Tribulations Of Being An Overwatch ProThe Trials And Tribulations Of Being An Overwatch Provideo games

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The Trials And Tribulations Of Being An Overwatch ProThe Trials And Tribulations Of Being An Overwatch Provideo games

Unaware that the Overwatch League’s main camera was broadcasting him live to audiences watching around the world, London Spitfire player Joon-yeong “Profit” Park–one of the team’s big stars–looked straight into the camera and threw up the middle finger, with a cheeky smile to boot. He wasn’t flipping off viewers; he flipped the bird to his team watching from Blizzard Arena’s dugout area. Profit later said he made the gesture in response to jokes from players and coaches off-stage. He didn’t expect the gesture to be broadcast to the world, but it was. While many found it funny–even London Spitfire owner Jack Etienne joked about it–Profit was fined $ 1,000 and had to apologize for his actions.

Profit’s on-camera slip-up is a microcosm of the issues esports players face in the spotlight. When Blizzard Entertainment announced the Overwatch League in 2016, it touted the clear-cut “path to pro,” which would allow any player with a high enough rank to get noticed by Overwatch League teams. Overwatch League’s path to pro would turn ladder warriors into global superstars, but the speed at which people were elevated from casual players to public figures created unique challenges. While newfound fame for esports players does have major upsides, some players have struggled with the challenges of being in a global competitive gaming league–namely a lack of anonymity, language barriers, and long training hours, all of which are difficult pressures to prepare for.

Profit’s infraction was on the lower end of the seriousness scale, and yet it was still something that impacted him: “I will take the time to deeply reflect upon what I say and do to make sure that nothing like this takes place again,” he wrote in his apology. “I’m sorry [to] the fans that I have let down through my actions.”

In November, 2018, Daniel “dafran” Francesca retired from the Overwatch League, before the 2019 season even began. That retirement didn’t stick and, days later, dafran tweeted that he would still play with the Atlanta Reign in the upcoming season, and that he wasn’t really going to retire. “I messed up, don’t know what to say except sorry to the community, my fans, and ATL,” he wrote. “It wasn’t [a] jebait, sometimes I have these days and make dumb mistakes.”

Just after the 2019 season’s first stage, dafran retired from the Overwatch League–for real this time. He’s staying with the Atlanta Reign, but as a full-time streamer. For dafran, it wasn’t life in the public eye that was the problem; instead, it was being a public figure specifically in the Overwatch League. And he’s not the only one. Washington Justice general manager Kate Mitchell stepped down from her position in May. Dallas Fuel DPS player Hyeon “Effect” Hwang retired from professional play, but not before the team’s assistant coach, Christian “cocco” Jonsson, left his position. Do-hyung “Stellar” Lee also left Toronto Defiant for “personal reasons.”

“In the end, you see a lot of people in Overwatch that are facing an immense amount of challenge,” Mitchell told GameSpot. “Numerous players have negative public events unfold because they’re not used to the level of attention and pressure.”

Given the Overwatch League’s long season–five four-week stages–players must adapt to the pressures of the space away from already established support systems. “”With the amount of emotional stress and endurance, it’s a marathon,” Los Angeles Gladiators player Aaron “Bischu” Kim explained in an interview conducted for GameSpot’s Building Overwatch League series. “It’s so easy to get burnt out. There’s tons of players that really didn’t know how to balance life.”

While other esports grew organically from grassroots scenes, like League of Legends’ continuous growth since its release in 2009, the Overwatch League popped up fully-formed not too long after the game’s launch. Though many of the players had participated in smaller Overwatch tournaments–namely, OGN’s Overwatch Apex event in South Korea–and sometimes other esports, the jump to the Overwatch League was a major lifestyle change. The Overwatch League’s franchised structure helped the transition from amateur or semi-pro Overwatch player to full-time esports pro, offering players a minimum salary of $ 50,000, benefits, and housing. But even with help from the teams and the league, it’s a major change for the players. Even those who do have experience at tournaments, it’s never been on a stage as big as the Overwatch League’s. The Overwatch League is one of the more involved leagues in esports–a custom-built arena, with the promise of one in each team city, high-profile sponsors like Toyota, and major broadcasting rights deals that bring the competition to the likes of ESPN and ABC. Since the beginning, the Overwatch League has been positioned for the spotlight, and some players weren’t ready.

Since the beginning, the Overwatch League has been positioned for the spotlight, and some players weren’t ready.

It’s a challenge that professional sports leagues have spent decades perfecting–and they’re still working on it. Professional athletes have notoriously tough schedules with lots of travel. Even the NFL, which has been around since the 1920s, still hasn’t gotten it right. An ESPN report from mid-April said that the NFL has even agreed to a three-year research grant to study how to use “a mathematical approach” to make better schedules, for instance. The Overwatch League has no such history behind it; many of the players are new to it all, too. The league’s front office is certainly thinking of these things–and has provided support, like a player summit with media training–but players are still working out life in the public eye, adjusting to both the good and bad of it all.

“If you make Major League Baseball, you’ve already been traveling, living in hotel rooms, and traveling on buses in the crucible of the minor league before,” former Washington Justice general manager Mitchell said. “There’s no massive professional infrastructure [in minor league esports]. There isn’t a ton of institutional memory and knowledge of how to navigate spaces.” Blizzard has positioned Overwatch Contenders as a minor league of sorts, but many players don’t find it an adequate preparation for the Overwatch League; with most events held online. Online tournaments certainly have value, but it doesn’t prepare players for a life in front of a camera broadcasting on a global stage.

“In the Overwatch League and most esports, these are brand new spaces where we don’t really have best practices for how to thrive in these jobs yet,” Mitchell added. “That’s something we’re all figuring out together, and that’s a tremendously exciting thing. Being able to try and set down a culture here at [Washington] Justice that’s inclusive and understanding was my favorite part of this role, and it’s also part of the challenge.”

Understanding life in the public sphere, specific to the Overwatch League and the new kind of celebrity it creates, is one of the biggest hurdles for up-and-comers. The Overwatch League’s players have a situational kind of fame that’s akin to internet celebrity–an umbrella term Dr. Crystal Abidin, digital anthropologist and author of “Internet Celebrity: Understanding Fame Online,” defines as “high visible,” personality-backed media content that’s native to the internet. “High visibility can be attributed to fame or infamy, positive or negative attention, talent or skill, or something else,” Dr. Abidin told GameSpot.

Overwatch League pros’ fame is based on a number of factors, but that celebrity isn’t predicated on a surge of virality that fizzles away; instead, it’s sustained. It’s a level of internet celebrity that’s closer to influencers–“careerist internet celebrities.” But, of course, not all Overwatch League players elevate their celebrity to influencer status. There are some players in the league who aren’t necessarily looking to create a “brand” out of their skill. They just want to play the game. The balance between these players’ desires–to just play–and the expectations of teams and the league–for them to be personalities, too–can cause misalignment that leads to the pressure and burnout that players face.

Players, like many on Seoul Dynasty, Houston Outlaws, Atlanta Reign, or Los Angeles Valiant, have secondary pursuits, like streaming or vlogging, on top of their day jobs of playing video games at a professional level. A lot of these players practice what’s called micro-celebrity. This means micro in their reach, typically to a specific demographic, and in what’s shared, as in a micro-look at the personal details of a person’s life.

We follow Overwatch League players because we like to watch someone playing the game we play at the highest level. We keep following them because we feel connected to them in some way. Maybe they play for our city’s team. Maybe they’re entertaining. Or maybe they play the same hero we do. There’s definitely an aspirational aspect to the celebrity, but it’s the perceived interconnectedness of influencers, Dr. Abidin said, that draws people in.

Esports stars are uniquely positioned in their fame, as opposed to, say, traditional athletes, given the “micro”-ness of their celebrity. Players are accessible. “You can’t get onto the basketball court and LeBron James is playing beside you,” Immortals and Los Angeles Valiant PR manager Jen Neale says. “It’d be very rare that you’re going to play a pick-up game and he would be there. But if you’re high enough [on the ladder] in Overwatch, you can play alongside these players.”

Will Partin, a doctoral candidate researching esports at the University of North Carolina, said that accessibility is partly what makes the esports celebrity so appealing to fans. (This is in comparison to more traditional celebrity, which is predicated on a person’s status and skill, but also in how they’re perceived as untouchable or elusive.)

Image via LA Valiant Twitter

Los Angeles Valiant team manager Mike Schwartz said most players on the team are embracing life in the public eye, with support from the Immortals staff. According to Schwartz, Los Angeles Valiant is “proactive” in preparing its players for both the pressures and benefits of being a public figure, setting up scenarios where players can succeed not only in Overwatch, but in life.

“It’s just about making sure that the players know how to answer questions and be their honest, true selves,” Neale said. “But not to a point where they’re giving away the farm and unveiling their deepest, darkest secrets. It’s a really unique atmosphere to have to manage and it’s constantly evolving.”

Players in the Overwatch League are still learning to live as internet celebrities–and that comes with conflict. A number of players were suspended and fined in the inaugural season because of bad behavior, including boosting, an act where a player helps artificially inflate another’s skill level, and trolling in game. Eight players have been fined so far in the Overwatch League’s 2019 season, preceded by plenty more in the first.

One the more severe infractions was when Los Angeles Gladiators streamer Félix “xQc” Lengyel was dropped from his former team, Dallas Fuel after being suspended and fined multiple times for his actions while streaming–which included using a homophobic remark and “racially disparaging” emotes. These are actions go beyond just a struggle to adjust to public life.

Elsewhere, Overwatch League players have been punished further for infractions well beyond adjustment problems. Former Boston Uprising player Jonathan “DreamKazper” Sanchez was dropped from the team for allegedly abusing his status as a player in the league to take advantage of an underage fan. DreamKazper’s actions can’t be considered a gaffe triggered by life in the spotlight; instead, it’s a player directly using his newfound power and fame in a predatory way to exploit his fans.

For the struggle of life in the spotlight, Atlanta Reign support player Dusttin “Dogman” Bowerman told GameSpot that some of the stress of the Overwatch League is mitigated by just turning off social media. “It’s a lot easier to turn my brain off when it comes to social media and focus more on the game and controllable factors, rather than social media,” Dogman said. “It’s easy to let that impact you.”

Fellow Atlanta Reign support Steven “Kodak” Rosenberger agreed: “I have to take a lot of care about what I do and write on social media,” he explained. “Everybody is looking at Overwatch League players and keep judging them, but I guess that’s normal once you hit the highest stage in a profession.”

Stress has unique ways of being expressed–it’s different for everyone. In the Overwatch League’s inaugural season, we saw players and staff burnout. Multiple players and coaches have spoken out about it. Florida Mayhem coach Vytis “Mineral” Lasaitis took time off during the season to address burnout. New York Excelsior DPS Kim “Pine” Do-hyeon cited an anxiety disorder for his mid-season break.

“The biggest challenge is not letting the stress break you,” Houston Outlaws general manager Matt Rodriguez said. “People talk about ‘gamer moments,’ but they do happen, especially to people under extreme stress [or] not thinking straight. I think when a player snaps or says something they regret, it can haunt them. Trying to keep your cool all the time to avoid any bad press or media is definitely a challenge, and there is a lot of pressure to make the right decisions and represent yourself well in all situations.”

No player is immune to the emotion and stress of competition; even the most composed of players have their moments. Take, for instance, Houston Outlaws’ Jake Lyon, often seen as a face of the league. The Overwatch League’s camera crew cut to Jake after a particularly rough map loss against league titans New York Excelsior. Jake is visibly upset–with a balled up fist and his head in his hand–before he slams the desk. It’s a rare scene of emotion from one of the more stoic players in the league. Fan response was mixed. Some were worried about Jake. Others liked seeing raw, authentic emotion.

“Thanks to everyone who reached out to offer me support,” Jake wrote on Twitter after the match. “I’m doing fine, just had an emotional response to a rough series. Luckily, I have great teammates around to pick me up when I’m down.”

It’s not only what players expect out of themselves that cause these outbursts of emotion. Outside pressure, perceived or real, seeps in. Sometimes it’s an “angry dude out there ready to shit talk you after every loss or to tell you to quit the team because you’re the reason they failed,” according to Rodriguez. Other times, it’s more subtle. It’s internalizing what others are telling you–a lot of unseen emotional labor that’s often ignored when the real work of the job is written off.

Dr. Abidin said viewers or followers don’t always remember about players is that there is real work “beyond the fun and frivolity of their craft,” even beyond the labor of managing emotions. There’s also, then, the push-and-pull of competition vs. corporation. “Teams are interested in cultivating their talent not just as elite players, but, in essence, influencers, whose popularity can ultimately be monetized on behalf of team owners,” Partin added.

Partin said that it’s not necessarily good or bad, but just something that needs to be acknowledged: “Do you invest time and resources into self-branding, or do you just focus on practice? Which one is more valuable? Or what’s the right balance?”

Creating a stable infrastructure for players is essential in adapting to newfound celebrity and stress of the job. Without it, teams will only see more and more players racking up demerits on the Overwatch League’s discipline tracker, which was introduced in December as a way to name-and-shame players that have been punished for bad behavior.

Each organization has a different way of helping their players adjust. Seoul Dynasty operations manager Annie Cho explained that the team provides a safe environment for players to be open about their emotions, approaching each player’s needs individually. Dallas Fuel’s Taylor said a core part of the structure is creating future stability–setting players up for long-term success. Some teams have private chefs, a way to alleviate some of the stress of life outside the game. Teams have psychologists, trainers, and mentors, resources becoming increasingly common in esports organizations involved in other games, too.

“Our coaches are very understanding,” Dogman added. “Generally, we work things out as a team. A lot of it is internal [things] that we really work on together.”

Many players have spoken about how surreal it is to have fans, people who recognize them on the street. People who support them unconditionally. It’s exciting, and many players are thriving in that environment. Los Angeles Valiant, in particular, created a community-like fanbase–it helps that Blizzard Arena is based in the team’s home city–that’s built around the team. The roster has held everything from fan meet-and-greets at the Immortals campus to a Valiant fan-art showcase.

Seoul Dynasty players Jehong “ryujehong” Ryu and Byung-sun “Fleta” Kim’s lives have “drastically” changed since joining the Overwatch League, and not just because they’ve moved to Los Angeles from South Korea. “I really didn’t feel like I was a celebrity in [Overwatch] Apex,” Fleta said. “But once I joined Seoul Dynasty, even before the league started, it felt like people noticed me more. Now that’s been tremendously increased.”

Kodak added: “You can inspire a lot of fans and people who look up to you by being a good person and not doing the wrong thing, [by] showing them that everything is possible if you just try hard.” A few Los Angeles Valiant players are reveling in it, too: “[The players] just really appreciate these people coming up to them and telling them how awesome they are,” Neale said. “Who wouldn’t, really?”

GameSpot – All News

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worldbuildingworkshop · 7 years ago

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Worldbuilding Tutorial #8: Example World A

Intro This will cover designing cultures from at least one group of all three species in this world: fey, humans, and elves. Because we’re starting to go into more detail I’m having to narrow the focus; just like we went from one world to an entire continent, I’m now going from one continent to one region within that continent. It will be the southern third, as seen below.

Due to space I can only go into brief detail with each of these. In further tutorials I will narrows the focus even more to just a couple; but it’s important to flesh all of these out with the basics so that there’s a sense of the context that the detail of individual cultures can exist in.

Region #1: Fey

The northern half of the moors here are home to a type of fey that would be classified as “unseelie” fey. Culturally, fey are very individual; day-to-day life is not governed by laws, but rather the feelings and whims of individual fey. “Unseelie” fey tend to manifest this in a way that emphasizes competition, and competition that tends to turn nasty at that: tricks, pranks, sabotage, and bloodshed, all for the cause of outcompeting your opponents and leaving them scrambling in the dust. For these fey, the wiliest ones live the longest, and thus as a whole being cunning and devious is valued - and coveted - highly. Long-lasting bonds are more often made out of jealousy or mutual hatred than out of friendship, and enemies are generally much easier to come by than friends amongst the unseelie. As a whole they also have a long-standing hatred of the seelie fey to the south, and have been known to temporarily join forces to pull some kind of ill-willed “prank” on their neighbors.

Due to the nature of the moors upon which they live, these fey tend to favor misdirection and hidden things over brute force. The moors are full of plants that cause visions, sleep, and loss of sense of time; gates and thresholds that lead to feyspaces; and a lot of fossils, which among other things are going to give off a lot of memories. It’s a much better use of magic to be clever with these elements and use them to turn your opponents upside-down than to blast them to smithereens - and a use that requires more cunning - so that is what the unseelie here do. They hoard stones from which to “feed” off of the magic they give, and around these hoards craft a safe place they can also use to sleep (often filled with traps for possible invaders); the stones they generally prefer are fossils, because they feed on the memories left there too.

Region #2: Fey

The southern half of the moors are populated with a kind of fey classified as “seelie”. Like the unseelie fey (and indeed all fey), seelie fey are highly individual and don’t live their day-to-day life following particular laws or codes - just whim. Unlike unseelie fey they don’t have a strident sense of competition and indeed much more inclined to benevolence; they see themselves as caretakers of the world and its creatures. This is not to say that they have no conflicts - quite the opposite, as any two entities with good intentions can still get in one anothers’ way. There are an assortment of rivalries that have developed over time, but they tend to be tamer and centered around pranks with little intent of causing actual lasting damage or harm. They certainly do cooperate as well; some have hidey-holes like the unseelie in the northern marsh (but they aren’t as heavily trapped), but others will line communal areas with rocks to serve as a place to rest and rejuvenate for any who pass through. These areas are the inspiration for the stone labyrinths and circles that are built by non-fey (more on that later).

Fey in this region prefer to feed off of more normal gemstones rather than fossils - they find that the memories contained in the fossils tend to impact them in unpleasant ways and come with a lot of “baggage” that other stones don’t have. Their interaction with the landscape is also different, though just like the unseelie they also live on the misty moors; rather than using it primarily as a tool to undermine others, they simply use it as a way to control their own space. If there’s something they don’t want to interact with, they simply slip away. If there’s something they want to watch without being seeing, they use the mists to do so. Sometimes they will harvest some of the herbs there to exchange with humans for unusual gemstones; sometimes they will allow humans to do the harvesting themselves, if they have a particular tolerance or like of a particular person.

Region #3: Humans

The humans who live in this region are generally farmers and herders. They tend towards hardy stock in both cases - goats and sheep for livestock, and hardy root vegetables and grains. Oxen mostly exist as draft animals, and keeping horses or poultry is unheard-of. Most of the rhythms of the year are ones determined by the crops and harvest, as well as the harsh winter storms and long days and nights near the solstices. There is very little time for leisure; what time isn’t spent planting, harvesting, and preserving is spent repairing tools and building houses or sheds or fences (if you are a man), or spinning yarn and making clothing (if you are a woman). Leisure tends to look like evening gatherings in a communal barn with plenty of ale and a big fire.

The community structure generally looks like lots of independent villages. There are no large cities, nor any capitals; individual villages may be friendly with each other, but rarely do they share any kind of official alliance or common governance. Generally there is a particular man with the community’s respect who becomes head of the village; if he is suddenly incapacitated, his wife is allowed to take over for him until a suitable replacement is found. Some villages also deviate from this structure - this is just the most common format.

Region #4: Humans

Crops do not grow particularly well in this region, especially the southern and coastal areas. Instead, this region is much more reliant on fishing and hunting in the ocean for resources. Some livestock - mostly heavier yak-like creatures that can withstand the cold - are kept as well as a supply of hide, milk, and meat. The fluctuation of day and night is even more stark here than in Region 3, and the weather harsher; some times of year are too stormy to be outside, especially in a fishing canoe, and people mostly keep to themselves inside. These elements are somewhat less severe on the eastern side of the region, where there is instead a greater reliance on gathering as well as woodcutting (most of which is used as fuel, for boats, or else traded north in exchange for food).

As with Region 3, the community structure is as a number of small, unaffiliated villages without any kind of overhead government. Individual villages themselves are generally ruled by a small council of the village’s eldest men. Division of labor tends to fall in favor of men doing the fishing-related tasks and women doing the herding-related tasks, with both helping to strip carcasses and preserve the meat and other resources. The elder women are in charge of care taking of children and domestic activities. Leisure is taken during longer periods of heavy storms, mostly in the form of crafting competitions or storytelling.

Region #5: Fey

Even though the Feywood is several distinct pieces environmentally speaking, it’s one single region culturally speaking. Here the fey aren’t divided into seelie/unseelie; they are neither particularly benevolent nor terribly malicious - just prone to mischief, especially on wanderers-in to their woods but on one another. They also take great delight in taking the forms of animals (if they are able to do such things) and confusing the animals as well. The Feywood is also distinct in that space and time do not always work in a linear or steady fashion, and the wood is constantly phasing in or out of the fey realm to some degree. This is no issue for the fey, for whom the woods and the realm are sometimes one and the same, but poses problems for other beings.

These fey are more prone to the antics of classic woods fey - which is to say, lots of parties and lots of indulging in various pleasures. These are the kind of fey who will seduce you one way or another and keep you there for a hundred years while you don’t age a day. They are very individual as with all other fey, and hold no particular cultural roles depending on age and sex and so on - except for the queen and king and their ladies and lords. These are not titles based on sex - you could have a male queen or a third/other gendered king - but more like roles that are filled. They have more to do with dealing with mortals than they have to do with internal fey politicking - sort of more like diplomats. Respected, but not bound to by the other fey of the feywood.

Region #6: Elves

The elves of this region are outcast from all the other regions, and very closed-off in turn. Trespassing humans are often killed; trespassing fey are usually not greeted quite as harshly, but usually there are an assortment of wards erected to keep them out in the first place. The landscape is very cold and very harsh; almost all food comes from hunting, especially larger mammals like walrus and whale, but also caribou and regular fish. Houses are usually half tunneled into the icy ground (using magic), and half built up from found stones or snow and ice. There is very little difference in gender role between men and women; usually it is only relevant in courtship, and even then only in the nuance of give-and-take.

There is a hierarchy amongst the elves that is based primarily on age and secondarily on ability to perform - usually magical feats, but great hunters or fishers can also rise to high social standing. Magic is treated much like any other tool - useful, but potentially deadly when used wrong and to be treated with caution. Magical things and people who use them are often treated with a certain level of suspicion and never fully trusted by the rest of the community.

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Those are the basics for the cultures in this region of the continent. It is unfortunately unlikely that I will flesh out other regions, because I want there to be as much context for explaining and describing as possible, which necessitates working on the same area the whole time.

#worldbuilding #worldbuilding tutorial 8 #worldbuilding example 8 #world a #culture #cultural regions #cultural basics #culture basics

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newsfundastuff · 5 years ago

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If there was ever a Biden-Buttigieg cold war, it just got hot. For months, former Vice President Joe Biden and South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg have avoided any major direct confrontation during the sporadic gloves-off skirmishes of the Democratic primary. Biden, the former chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, and Buttigieg, a veteran of the Afghanistan war, have each sought to make cogent commander-in-chief cases on the campaign trail—hardly ever at each other’s expense. But with just over a month until caucusing commences, the unpredictability of the political cycle has turned the notion of an inevitable winner upside down, with two of the leading contenders—a 77-year-old established politician and a 37-year-old Beltway neophyte—now on a collision course over one of their most powerful shared interests. The two men have markedly different approaches to highlighting contrasts with their rivals. Biden, who has reliably topped national polls since launching his campaign in April, tends to employ a simple approach: Stay (mostly) out of the fray; attack (mostly) only when attacked; and try, with varying degrees of success, to stick to the script.Biden Sneers at Millennials, and Vice VersaButtigieg, whose final term as mayor of South Bend, Indiana, officially ends at noon on Wednesday, prefers the opposite. When Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-MA) hesitated for weeks to release financial details of her health care proposal, for example, the mayor made sure to note that resistance during a televised debate in front of millions of viewers. When Warren hit back in a subsequent event for Buttigieg’s frequent appearance at high-dollar fundraisers, he reminded viewers she’s the “wealthy person”—not him. Now, with the two moderate Democrats just three percentage points away from each other in Iowa and New Hampshire, the first two early voting states that tee off the nominating contest in mere weeks, Buttigieg has gone on a rare offensive against Biden. The mayor has criticized the former senator’s Iraq War vote—a favorite line of attack from Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT), who was opposed to the effort—and changed his tone on Biden’s son Hunter, who has been the subject of a coordinated misinformation campaign from President Donald Trump. “As I’ve said before, I don’t think it’s a smart strategy because those who have gone after the VP on the Democratic side have not lived politically to tell about it,” Antjuan Seawright, a Democratic strategist familiar with Biden’s early state operation in the South, told The Daily Beast. One person directly familiar with Biden’s thinking framed it more broadly. “The closer you get to voting, the more pot shots you take,” the insider said. “He’s seen his numbers go down. We’ve seen this with [Sen. Kamala] Harris up and down, Warren up and down, and Buttigieg. Campaigns and candidates at some point kind of can’t help themselves.”The insider’s comments were made in reference to Buttigieg calling the Iraq War the “worst foreign policy decision made by the United States in my lifetime” in an interview with Iowa Public Television on Sunday. “I certainly respect the vice president, but this is an example of why years in Washington is not always the same thing as judgment,” Buttigieg said. Buttigieg, who unlike Sanders did not say the vote was disqualifying, is unlikely to make Biden’s Iraq War stance a focus of his offensive strategy but rather one data point in a larger thread of contrast among multiple contenders. Indeed, the Buttigieg campaign is more keen to double down on the previous line of contrast that’s he’s been discussing publicly for months: that “Washington experience” isn’t the only type of relevant work history necessary to become president and that judgment is informed by many different personal and professional paths. That theme is so well known that one campaign adviser affiliated with a separate rival candidate acknowledged strategizing around Buttigieg’s potential to bring up his military experience at some point on the debate stage.“He had telegraphed this was going to be his set,” the source said.In an interview on Monday, the mayor also weighed in on an issue that has infuriated Team Biden for months: his son Hunter Biden’s work in Ukraine. When asked by the Associated Press how Buttigieg would have handled a hypothetical politically delicate situation similar to Biden’s, he said he would have taken a different approach.“I would not have wanted to see that happen,” Buttigieg said, in reference to Hunter serving on the board of a Ukrainian natural gas company while his father served as vice president. A moment later, Buttigieg reiterated previous remarks that the line of questioning is nothing more than a distraction. “At the same time, again, I think this is being used to divert attention from what’s really at stake in the impeachment process. There’s been no allegation, let alone finding of any kind of wrongdoing,” he said. Still, Buttigieg’s criticism is a change in posture for the Indiana Democrat, who has defended the former vice president’s son in the face of an onslaught of harassment from Trump.In an October appearance on CNN’s State of the Union, Buttigieg lauded Hunter Biden’s decision to step down from the board of a Chinese private equity company, citing it as an improvement on the Trump administration’s embrace of nepotism.“I think it demonstrates the difference in standards relative to the White House,” Buttigieg said at the time. “I mean, here you have Hunter Biden stepping down from a position in order to make sure, even though there’s been no accusation of wrongdoing, doing something just to make sure there’s not even the appearance of a conflict of interest. While, in the White House, the president of the United States is a walking conflict of interest.”That same month, Buttigieg dodged a question from the Washington Examiner about whether he would allow his own child to serve on the board of a foreign company, calling the issue a “shiny object” intended to divide the Democratic Party and deflect from the president’s own actions.“One thing that is really important right now is to deny this president [the opportunity] to change the subject, and the subject is that the president confessed on national television to an abuse of power,” Buttigieg said at the time. “Let’s deal with that and not get caught in the shiny objects he’s going to throw out.”The change of tone now matches the frenetic nature of the Democratic primary cycle, multiple campaign insiders and outside strategists said, when several candidates all competing for momentum in the first few early voting states throw out new lines of contrast in an effort to maximize attention.This week’s remarks were not the first time Buttigieg signaled differences with Biden over foreign policy. In June, The Daily Beast reported early signs of the mayor quietly moving in on one of Biden’s top issues: America’s standing on the world stage. During competing campaign events on the same day, both Democrats used the word “existential” when discussing matters of national security, both arguing that the fundamental principle of democracy was under attack by Trump and highlighting parts of their own records to put the country back on track. Mayor Pete Buttigieg Quietly Moves in on Joe Biden’s Top IssueSpokespeople from Biden’s and Buttigieg’s campaigns declined to comment on the record for this story. But as the Feb. 3 Iowa caucus approaches, Democratic strategists eagerly gamed out the polling implications of reigniting such contrasts again now. “A well-run campaign, which we have every reason to believe Buttigieg’s is, wouldn’t be attacking Biden unless their internal data showed it was necessary,” one Democratic strategist said. “Likewise, they would only use a message that quantitative or qualitative data showed had a chance at success.”The latest Real Clear Politics polling average reveals a hefty gap between Biden and Buttigieg’s standing nationally. The former vice president has a commanding 20-point lead over Buttigieg, earing 28.4 percent of support to the mayor’s 8.2 percent. In the early states, the space between the two aspirants is much narrower. In Iowa, where Buttigieg has surged in recent months, he tops polling averages at 22 percent. But Biden, who has focused the majority of his campaign strategy on winning more diverse areas, including South Carolina, is just behind Buttigieg at 18.8 percent, following an eight-day, 18-county bus tour there. In New Hampshire, it’s a similar story. Buttigieg is approximately three points ahead of Biden there, earning 17.7 percent of support to the former vice president’s 14.3 percent. Both of them trail Sanders, with 19 percent.“I think Pete is worried he will lose voters to Biden,” Liz Mair, a veteran Republican campaign operative, said simply. Still, other seasoned political hands offered a more optimistic end result for Buttigieg, who one former top campaign aide to Hillary Clinton said “isn’t afraid to go on offense,” suggesting that’s a strategic advantage in a matchup against Trump. “The difference between what we are seeing from him and have seen from others in the past is that if he isn’t the nominee, he will be at the front of the line to unite the party,” the former Clinton aide said.Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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peacefulheartfarm · 6 years ago

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What is A2A2 Milk

You have heard me talk about A2A2 milk. Some of you may not know what that means. You may wonder if it really matters to you and your family. I’m going to fill you in on some of that information today.

First let me say welcome to all the new listeners and welcome back to you veteran homestead loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast every week. I appreciate you all so much. I’m so excited to share with you what’s going on at the farm this week, a little bit about A2A2 milk and a great and tasty recipe. Let’s just jump right in.

Today’s Show

Homestead Life Updates

What is A2A2 Milk?

Ice Cream Base Recipe – with downloadable document with flavoring ideas

Homestead Life Updates

Cows

The cows are doing great. We have a new calf and the last one for a while. There is likely one more, but that cow is way behind the others. In fact, we are getting ready to breed some of them again in a few weeks. Cloud will deliver so late that she likely will not get bred back this year.

We are selling all of our bulls. We have six. Yes six. There is 2-year-old Sam. He is 95% Normande genetics and the sire of this year’s crop of calves. Then we have 1-year-old Ray’s Rocket – mostly we call him Rocket Man. Lastly is the group of newlings born this year. All four are for sale. Some are currently being negotiated for but I’ll put a link in the show notes to the Facebook page where all of their information can be found. If you are looking to improve the genetics of your herd, this is the bull for you.

Sheep/Goats

Lambert is so fat right now. He will be receiving his bottle twice daily until nearly all of the milk replacer is gone. Then I will switch him to once a day for a week or maybe two before weaning him completely off.

If you want to get a whole or half lamb, speak up now. It will be months yet before these are ready for your freezer. We have one lamb and/or 2 half lambs currently available. A whole lamb yields 30 to 35 pounds, sometimes more of meat. Half lambs, half that. You can see the cuts that come on a whole or half lamb on our website. www.peacefulheartfarm.com/shop/lamb-package.

Orchard and Garden

There is always so much going on around here that a lot of stuff gets pushed back. Thinks like birthing, gathering and storing milk, making cheese, taking care of animals all have the highest priority. The garden and the orchard, not so much. My garden is still overrun with weeds, though I was able to dig out my carrots and surprisingly there are lots that beat the grass. Watering the garden does have a priority or it would all simply die. Other stuff slows down or stunts growth. The bottom line is we will still get a crop, but perhaps not as large as if we had gotten the weeds out and fertilized more often.

The peas are just such a crop. They are producing like mad and I will be picking them within the week, I think. Then they will have to be processed in some way. I’m scaring myself with all of that. There are just not enough hours in the week.

I still don’t even have everything planted. The green beans need to be put in the ground. The peanuts need to be replanted; I have no idea why not a single one sprouted. And the eggplant is going to wither away to nothing if I don’t get it out there in the garden.

Everything needs to be weeded. Everything needs to be fertilized.

Scott is diligently digging out the orchard from the waist high grass. It would be great if we could graze some of the animals in there, but they all eat the trees. We are still investigating how to get the sheep in their without having them raise up on their back legs as high as they can and eating all of the leaves off the branches they can reach. The goats are a complete disaster anywhere near the orchard or the berries. They will eat the bark off of the trees, killing them. And because they like to eat woody stemmed plants, they will decimate blackberry vines and blueberry bushes. No, we don’t want them anywhere near the orchard.

On the upside, they did a really great job of clearing out the wild blackberries on the island in the big pond. It is now quite pleasant to sit out there and enjoy being surrounded by water and nature.

Quail

We are newbies with the quail. It is unbelievable how quickly those quail grew. They outgrew their brooder box a good week before we had planned. Outside they went as we were having a warm spell. There were a couple of cool nights but these are wild birds and they faired very well. They are only barely over 2 weeks old and are fully feathered. The tiny birds that were barely the size of a gold ball are now the size of a baseball – perhaps even a softball. It’s amazing. They will begin laying eggs in as little as six weeks from now. Yum, yum, we look forward to it.

Four eggs are required to equal one chicken egg. Our plan is to have about 30 laying hens and 6 roosters for breeding. We will need to continually hatch out new ones as their lives are actually quite short and they only lay for a year or two.

Creamery

The creamery – ah the creamery. So much still to do there and Scott has so little time to do it. We really need that building completed. However, as I mentioned earlier, there are priorities. First the animals, then the perishable milk and cheese, then the garden and orchard. The creamery, as an inanimate object comes in last place. There are even maintenance projects that take precedence. Fences, driveways, pathways, other infrastructure – all has to be kept up to ensure the safety of our animals.

It’s a lot but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. We work long hours every day – very long hours every day. Alarm goes off at 6:00 am and though 10:00 pm is bedtime, more often it is 11 or 11:30 before that happens. And every bit of it is worth it. There is never any lack of meaning in our lives. Boredom is something very distant in the past. The constant attention to the next task makes us know that we are alive in God’s wonderful creation.

One thing that evolved through nature is the composition of milk in cows. Recently, some of the genetic content and protein structure of milk has changed.

What is A2A2 Milk?

There is a great deal of scientific gobbledygook about the proteins and how they are broken down or not. I’ll try to keep this layman friendly and skip most of the mumbo-jumbo lingo. By the way, did you know that gobbledygook is an actual word that my spell-checker knew? Who knew? Well, my spellchecker knew.

A2 milk is cow's milk that mostly lacks a form of beta-casein proteins called A1 and instead has mostly the A2 form.

A1 and A2 beta-casein are genetic variants of the beta-casein milk protein that differ by one amino acid. Casein is a family of related phosphoproteins. These proteins are commonly found in the milk of mammals, comprising about 80% of the proteins in cow’s milk and between 20% and 45% of the proteins in human milk. Sheep and buffalo milk have a higher casein content than other types of milk with human milk having a particularly low casein content. Casein has a wide variety of uses one of which is being a major component of cheese. We respect our casein.

A genetic test, developed by the a2 Milk Company, determines whether a cow produces A2 or A1 type protein in its milk. The test allows the company to certify milk producers as producing milk that does not metabolize to beta-casomorphin which is an opioid peptide or protein fragment derived from the digestion of the milk protein casein.

I know, I’m getting too scientific with the lingo there. All that means is that the chemical composition of A2A2 milk may benefit our health because it is digested without inflammation that might arise from BCM-7 produced by A1 beta-casein. Consequently, A1 proteins may be detrimental to our health. That causes great push back from the gigantic dairy industry as A2A2 genetics is rare in Europe (except France) and the US. That would really disrupt their operation if their milk was found to be harmful – while others had milk that was beneficial.

As with so many health-related topics, the science is divided on whether or not there is reason for concern regarding the A1 protein in milk – whether there are adverse health effects from its consumption. Personally, I’m erring on the side of caution, as I do with so many other foods. I’ll go with tradition as opposed to modern fads in nutrition. We are breeding our cows for the A2A2 genetic conformation.

And when I say modern fads in nutrition, I mean everything that came pouring out of the 20th century and that continues to pour out in the 21st century. I’m talking about three square meals a day, the food pyramid, and the modified food pyramid. I’m talking about low fat diets, vegan and vegetarian diets, the Mediterranean diet, the South Beach diet and so on. All of these so-called nutrition experts are literally experimenting with our health as human beings. We evolved over thousands and thousands and thousands of years eating locally grown food, whatever it was. Historically, in the tropics the diet was heavy in fruits, nuts and greens, in Alaska fat predominated. In other regions protein was the main source of dietary sustenance. You must find what works for you.

Which brings me back to A2A2 milk.

History

In the 1980s, some medical researchers began to explore whether some peptides (including peptides from casein) that are created during digestion might have negative or positive health effects.

Interest in the distinction between A1 and A2 beta-casein proteins in milk began in the early 1990s via epidemiological research and animal studies initially conducted by scientists in New Zealand. The scientists found correlations between the prevalence of milk with A1 beta-casein proteins in some countries and the prevalence of various chronic diseases. The research generated interest in the media, as well as among the scientific community and entrepreneurs. If it were indeed true that BCM-7 created by A1 beta-casein is harming humans, this would be an important public health issue.

Scientists believe the difference in genetics originated as a mutation that occurred between 5000 and 10,000 years ago—as cattle were being taken north into Europe with the mutation subsequently spreading widely throughout herds in the Western world through breeding.

The percentage of the A1 and A2 beta-casein protein varies between herds of cattle, and also between countries and provinces. While African and Asian cattle continue to produce only A2 beta-casein, the A1 version of the protein is common among cattle in the western world. The A1 beta-casein type is the most common type found in cow's milk in Europe (excluding France where our Normandes with predominantly A2A2 genetics originate). It is also the most common type found in cow’s milk in the US, Australia and New Zealand.

Let’s talk about the possible health benefits.

Health Benefits

Symptoms of stomach discomfort, such as gas, bloating, and diarrhea that occur after consuming dairy products, are typically attributed to lactose intolerance. However, some researchers believe that it is BCM-7, not lactose, that affects digestion and produces symptoms similar to lactose intolerance, in some people.

A study on Chinese adults with self-reported milk intolerance compared the effects of drinking regular milk that contained A1 and A2 proteins with A2-only milk on intestinal function, stomach discomfort, and inflammation.

The participants consumed 8 oz of milk twice a day for 2 weeks. They reported worse stomach pain after they consumed the regular milk but no change in symptoms after they drank the A2 milk.

Participants also reported more frequent and looser-consistency stools while they drank the regular milk. These symptoms did not occur after they consumed the A2 milk.

So, what MIGHT be happening on the other side of the coin?

Potentially Harmful Effects of non A2A2 Milk

Notice the words “might and “potentially” there. I’m not making any claims here. Some of the effects can include:

Inflammation

In the same study mentioned above, researchers also looked at markers of inflammation in the blood. They found the participants had higher levels of inflammatory markers after they drank the regular milk.

Brain function

The research showed that milk could impact brain function. Study participants took longer to process information and made more errors on a test after drinking regular milk compared to A2 milk.

Type 1 diabetes

The potential risks associated with milk containing A1 proteins include an increased risk of developing type 1 diabetes.

Some studies have shown that children who drink cow's milk protein at an earlier age than others have a higher risk of developing type 1 diabetes. However, other studies have not shown the same association.

The research also suggests that the amount of milk a child consumes could influence their risk of developing type 1 diabetes, with higher milk consumption observed in children who develop the condition.

At least one study showed a link between the consumption of A1 protein and incidence of type 1 diabetes, although this kind of study fails to prove that it is a direct cause.

Some animal studies have shown associations between cow's milk consumption and a higher incidence of type 1 diabetes. One study in mice found that 47 percent of the mice that had A1 protein added to their diet developed diabetes, while none that had A2 protein added did so.

However, other research does not support the hypothesis that there is any association between milk consumption and a higher incidence of type 1 diabetes. There are links in the show notes for both sides of this discussion. Debate about the potential health effects of A1 and A2 milk is ongoing.

Research suggests that A1 beta-casein causes adverse digestive symptoms in certain individuals. But the evidence is still too weak for any solid conclusions to be made about the supposed links between A1 beta-casein and other conditions, such as type 1 diabetes and autism.

That said, A2 milk could be worth a try if you struggle to digest regular milk.

There you have it. The basics to the why of A2A2 milk. I’ll let you decide. Again, we like to err on the side of caution. We have two A2A2 certified cows and will be testing the rest of the herd as we move forward with our dairy operation. Go to the show notes for the links to the research I referenced.

Speaking of milk, how about an ice cream recipe for your A2A2 milk and cream.

Ice Cream Base Recipe (Download Flavorings)

When it’s warm outside, a cold refreshing dish of ice cream can really hit the spot. This is a basic ice cream recipe that can be used as a base for many different flavors. I’ve included a download link to the flavorings.

This silky, luscious and very classic custard can be used as the base for any ice cream flavor you can dream up. These particular proportions of milk and cream to egg yolk will give you a thick but not sticky ice cream that feels decadent but not heavy. For something a little lighter, use more milk and less cream, as long as the dairy adds up to 3 cups. You can also cut down on egg yolks for a thinner base, but don’t go below three.

Time: 20 minutes plus several hours’ cooling, chilling and freezing

Yield: about 1 ½ pints

What You Need

2cups heavy cream

1cup whole milk

⅔ cup sugar

⅛ teaspoon fine sea salt

6 large egg yolks

Your choice of flavoring (download here)

What To Do

In a small pot, simmer cream, milk, sugar and salt until sugar completely dissolves, about 5 minutes. Remove pot from heat. In a separate bowl, whisk yolks. Whisking constantly, slowly whisk about a third of the hot cream into the yolks, then whisk the yolk mixture back into the pot with the cream. Return pot to medium-low heat and gently cook until mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon (about 170 degrees on an instant-read thermometer).

Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. Cool mixture to room temperature. Cover and chill at least 4 hours or overnight.

Churn in an ice cream machine according to manufacturer’s instructions. Serve directly from the machine for soft serve, or store in freezer until needed.

Final Thoughts

I hope your days are filled with as much love and joy as you can stand. We love our lives here. Yes, we are busy beyond belief. Yes, it’s a little stressful sometimes. I just find it so fulfilling. From the time I was a child I was told to work hard for what I wanted. I was also told that I was too smart to not be college educated and have a career. So, no physical work. That was for those not smart enough to get out of that poor and decrepit existence. Funny isn’t it? In the end, educated to the max, I prefer the hard work. And indeed, some of it is smart brain work. But the best and most enjoyable part involves sweat.

Particularly, I love our cows and our dairy operation. Check out the references I provided for the research around A2 beta-casein. Then sign on to our herd share program with our A2A2 milk and value added products, go to www.peacefulheartfarm.com/virginia-herdshare. Read, ask questions, download the documents. We’d love to do business with you.

And as this Memorial Day weekend stretches into Monday, I hope you’ll try that ice cream recipe. There is nothing more traditional than everyone taking turns operating that crank on the ice cream machine. Well, we use the electric method. Likely you do too, but the principle is still the same. Enjoy your time with your family and friends.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts, Subscribe and give me a 5-star rating and review. Also, please share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content.

As always, I’m here to help you “taste the traditional touch.”

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

References

Peaceful Heart Farm Bulls for Sale

NIH published study

Nutrition & Diabetes Study

The A2 milk case: a critical review

Recipe Link

Ice Cream Base

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