#those are their farm clothes they get fancier otherwise

[bobbinalong]

JJs

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Into My Web (Chapter 1)

New story, who dis? :')

Most of you knew this was coming, but I’ll explain anyway for those that don’t. My one-shot Princess has been one of my most popular requests and I really wanted to do more with it. But instead of continuing it, I wanted to use it as inspiration to make a new multichapter fic. Now if you’ve read the one-shot, the flashback of this one might seem familiar to you, but please don't skip it because I’ve changed a lot and it’s the only that part that seems similar.

The one-shot was obviously fast-paced since it had to be done in one chapter, and this one will be slower paced. They won't fuck in the first chapter, it's not very realistic in context with Daryl if you think about it, but when you write one-shots, sometimes you gotta push things along loool.

So I used Princess for inspiration to make a new OC. The way she and Daryl are with each other is heavily influenced by my own one-shot. I hope you enjoy this, if you're like me and you love the whole ‘they hate each other first’ trope, then take a fucking seat and enjoy the ride lolololol.

Won't be canon, just so you guys know.

The name of this fic was inspired by a song (surprise surprise), its; Into my Web by The Used.

Maybe I will be the only one who could leave her.

Should I lie and just pretend that I couldn't kill her?

Maybe I can just pretend,

As she flies into my web.

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

Arabella’s eyes rolled around behind her closed eyelids as she slept. Just as she always did when she was asleep, she dreamt of better times. Moments in her life that were full of laughter and fun. She had wanted for nothing in her younger years, her family well off and spoiling her rotten. She never took for granted the life she had lead and she certainly fucking missed it now. When she slept she could immerse herself back into that world. The one full of people who cared, full of lavish parties and dinners. A time when things were simpler and there most certainly wasn't any dead people roaming the earth.

She groaned to herself when she felt someone shaking her shoulder and her blue eyes fluttered open, landing on Daryl fucking Dixon of all people as he stood over her with his trademark scowl. When he saw her wake, he retracted his hand like she had burnt him with a simple touch and she squinted at him. Rubbing her sleepy eyes as her brain tried to catch back up with her and remember where she was. In a prison.

“The fuck you want Dixon?” she asked harshly, glaring up at his form that she could just make out with the darkness of the cell.

“Ya got five minutes to get yer ass outta bed and downstairs, ‘fore I leave ya behind princess,” he spat before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. She sneered after his retreating form as she sat up with a yawn and stretched her sore limbs out. The 22-year-old felt like she was about 75 with the way her body ached.

She really didn't know why Daryl hated her so much other than the fact she used to have money. Ever since his group, now her group, stumbled onto the farm after Carl had been shot, the gruff redneck just hated her on sight. She had joined the farm just before Rick and his band of misfits. She was in the area for business, tagging along with her dad to keep up his image of a southern family man, despite the fact the two barely ever spoke. The world went to shit and she was the only one to get out of there alive. After walking around, somehow surviving the wilderness for who knows how long, she had found herself at Hershel's farm. Dehydrated, starved, and a gnarly cut on her arm she didn’t even remember doing.

She would always be indebted to the man she considered her adoptive father, the man that took her in and cared for her more than her own real father had ever done. When Rick's group arrived, she had helped tend to Carl, and she had tried to get to know the rest of the group as much as she could since they seemed intent on sticking around. Apart from Shane, she knew right off the bat the man had a few screws loose and she didn't believe his bullshit about Otis either. She couldn't say she was too surprised when Rick had announced he had to kill him because Shane was going to kill him first. She couldn't say she cared much either.

But Daryl fucking Dixon, what a fucking dick. The moment he first laid eyes on her, she had smiled politely, but he scowled at her like he wished she would burst into flames. She paid no mind at first, mainly because he looked at everyone that way, including his own group which was a strange thing indeed. She figured he couldn't be a bad man, not with how he was out looking for Carols daughter and even injured himself in the process. But with each passing day on the farm, she seemed to be the only one he couldn't stand to be around. She tried to change it at first, wondering if he actually took the time to talk to her he would realise she wasn't some asshole. But when she did try talking to him he would promptly tell her to leave him the fuck alone, and in the end, she gave up.

She couldn't remember just when the nickname princess appeared, but it was there just the same. It wasn't said sweetly like he thought she was a beautiful Disney princess. He spat the word like venom, making it clear he thought she was some prissy bitch. Things only got worse after Beth, in all her innocent sweetness, had sat around the campfire and gushed about her to the rest of the group. How they had the heiress to Jack Daniels living at the farm with them. She went on to tell them all the stories she had told her about fancy parties and dinners she had to attend. Sure she had embellished them a little to sound fancier, because she had told them only to Beth, and when she looked at her with her big hopeful eyes, she wanted to tell her whatever she wanted to hear to make her happy. She hoped her innocence would never fade from this world, it was needed in the darkness.

She had no clue Beth had told everyone else until the next day when Andrea said something to her. She had been mortified, she didn't really want anyone else to know. Yes, she was the heiress to the whiskey company, it had been in her family for generations. Yes, she did have a lot of money, money that in her wild teen years was spent on booze and drugs as she tried to cope with her life. From the outside people thought she had the perfect life, and in some respects she did. She wasn't going hungry, she had a huge roof over her head and if she wanted something, all she had to do was buy it. But all she ever wanted was to feel cared about by her parents, not dumped off on nannies every day and to be left to fend for herself. They hadn't even noticed her spiralling as a teenager until she got arrested at 18. And instead of her parents wondering why their seemingly perfect southern baby girl had done this, they had made her feel like a failure for letting the family down and embarrassing them. Her father had even threatened not to give her the company when it was time unless she cleaned up her act, and they shipped her off to a rehab facility.

After Beth's wonderful stories, Daryl seemed to hate her even more. Instead of not talking to her at all, he would give her cheap digs here and there about her being an uppity bitch who would die on her own. She never felt the need to argue with him about the fact she spent a lot of the time after the world fell apart on her own, how she hadn't been with the Greene’s long. Hershel had made out like she had been there from the start and Arabella couldn't find it in her to say otherwise. It wasn't until the prison when she actually started arguing back with the redneck asshole. He had been shocked at first when she told him to go fuck himself with one of his bolts, actually speechless that the girl who always just seemed to lay there and take his bullshit had the cheek to say something like that to him. The look on his face was the best thing she had ever witnessed and ever since that day, she had no issue with arguing with him whenever he opened his stupid fucking mouth. She liked to say shit just to get under his skin, like the day before when Rick had asked the pair to go on a run together. She loathed that stupid redneck and his stupid attitude. He assumed she was a preppy princess who had rich parents and a horse that shit rainbows, but he knew nothing about her at all. He was just a judgemental dickface in her opinion and if he wanted a war, she would damn well give him one.

Mostly the group seemed to try and keep them apart, knowing the animosity was there even if they didn't fully understand it. But when it came to runs, Rick needed them to pair up and do it together because they were two of the strongest they had, they never came back empty-handed. He just hated breaking it to them every time they were supposed to go out there together, knowing what was about to happen when he did.

~~

She glared at Daryl from across the table and he glared right back. If looks could kill they’d both be walkers by now. She wasn’t even paying attention to what Rick was saying as she was too busy trying to send telepathic insults to the asshole sat opposite her, and she was quite certain he was doing the same. They were both staring at each other, too stubborn to look away first, until Rick slammed his hands down onto the table. Arabella and Daryl jumped and snapped their heads towards Rick.

“What the fuck Rick?!” Daryl barked.

“You’re like a pair of school kids. I’ve been talking to you both for about ten minutes and I bet you didn’t hear a damn thing I said!” Rick scolded. She bit her lip and felt a little bad, she knew this between her and Daryl was getting on Ricks last nerve, and he was right, she had no clue what the fuck he was talking about.

“I’m sorry Rick. Whatever you need, we’ll do it,” she smiled at him, always one to help out no matter what it was.

“I want you to both go on a run for some clothes, it's getting warmer now and we need stuff for everyone,” he sighed, he just knew what was coming, it happened every time.

“Hell nah! I ain’t goin’ with this dumb bitch. She’ll just get me killed!” Daryl yelled, earning a dirty look from her.

“Shut your mouth asshole, you can’t even take one for the fucking team? Selfish prick,” she spat, knowing how to push his buttons, she had learnt in her time of standing up for herself just what to say that really got under his skin and would cause a reaction. He stood up that fast that his chair fell over.

“What d’ya just say to me, ya fuckin’ whore?!” he roared. She just sat there smirking smugly at him, knowing she worked him up.

“That’s enough!” Rick bellowed, causing them both to look at him sheepishly.

“You better deal with these issues and put them aside. We’re in the middle of a damn apocalypse for crying out loud, grow up!” with that he stood up and left the room, she and Daryl feeling like naughty children after a telling off. They’d be going, they always did, and around in circles they went.

~

Daryl sat in the driver's seat of the truck near the gates waiting on miss fucking uppity. If he had it his way he would be out there already and would have left her prissy ass in the dust, but he knew Rick would kill him. The only good thing about these runs was the fact Rick would put him in charge every time, it was the only chance he got to order her around and she had no choice but to listen. She could take care of herself, that he could reluctantly admit. Not to her though, just to himself. At first, he had thought she was a spoilt little princess who had never lifted a finger in her fucking life. But after the farm, she quickly proved to be pretty competent in the new world and it had shocked him a little. Beth had told him at one point how she had been out there on her own for a while and he hadn't believed it at first, not until he saw her actually taking out walkers like she’d done it a million times before. Still, she was a stuck up bitch and he fucking hated her.

He watched as she walked casually across the yard to the truck, taking her sweet time like he wasn't waiting on her and he knew she was doing it on purpose. His hands clenched around the steering wheel as he glared at her through the window of the truck, gritting his teeth. She had that look about her, one that screamed stupid dumb blonde, and before the world went to shit he probably would have taken her home and gave her a good fuck until she couldn't walk. Unless Merle got to her first. She was hardly a model, she wasn't stick thin, she had some curves in all the right places. But it was her face that always got to him. With her wide doe-like eyes and her plump lips, it just pissed him off more. The pretty rich girl. She wouldn't have given him the time of day before all of this and he knew that. She would have looked at him the way the rest of the rich folk did, with disgust and judgement in their stupid eyes.

When Arabella hopped into the truck, she shot him a glance, perturbed by the fact he hadn't shouted at her for taking her time. She just settled down in the seat though as he started the truck. He got like this sometimes and it always weirded her out. Most of the time he would spend his time shouting at her, berating her for every little thing she did wrong or just being a prick about her past at every chance he got. But other times he would remain silent, not talking to her or even looking her way at all. And although she should have enjoyed that silence, it bothered her even more than him calling her a stuck up bitch.

She was always quiet though when he was like this, like she somehow understood he needed space and for some reason, she allowed him that. It often confused Daryl why she didn't run her mouth off like usual when he was quiet. Why she would just sit there and leave him to it. He presumed it was because she didn’t want to fucking deal with him unless they were fighting. The ride there was thick with tension as the silence drowned them both but neither made the move to speak, and before long they had arrived. Daryl was agitated as always when he was around her and Arabella was just plain fed up by this point. She hopped out of the truck, knife in hand and a gun strapped to her side. She knew better than to use it unless it was an emergency though, so she hoped it would stay there.

They moved to the shop front by the door and Daryl knocked on the glass, his bow at the ready as they listened. There were the telltale signs of groans and they glanced to each other.

“Sounds like only a few,” she muttered, earning a grunt and nod in response. Despite how much they fought and disliked each other, they worked well as a team on these runs. With only each other to have their backs, for a brief moment they would shove their issues aside to make sure they were both safe. Daryl opened the door and it didn't take long for the pair to dispatch the walkers. Then they made quick work of packing up the empty duffels they had brought with them full of summer clothes for the group.

Arabella picked up a pretty black sundress and looked at it forlornly. When was the last time she had been able to wear something pretty? Instead of mud-stained jeans and an ill-fitting tank that felt like it was 2 sizes too small. She sighed to herself, hoping she would be the one to keep this. Maybe she would just stuff it in her own backpack and no one would be any wiser.

“S’wrong princess? Sad ‘cause it ain’t Gucci?” she heard Daryl sneer from behind her. She should have known his pensive silence wouldn’t last long, it never did.

“Surprised you know what Gucci is Dixon, didn't think they had that where you were from,” she spat back, shooting him a glare. He squinted, his right eye twitching in annoyance as he looked at her, resisting the urge to throttle her tiny little neck. She just stomped past him, giving him a little shove that didn't move him an inch as she made her way back outside.

They got all that they could so they made their way back to the prison, the silence once again uncomfortable. But this time she welcomed it. It was easy to forget how much he irritated her when he opened his stupid fucking mouth and she was growing tired of it. She was sick of the day to day battle of just being around him. She just wanted a day with no fighting. When they got back, Rick was waiting for them as she hopped out of the truck, grabbing the duffels full of women's clothes that she had packed. Ricks face lit up seeing the bags stuffed full as Daryl joined her.

“That's great you guys, I knew you would come through, you always do,” Rick grinned at them.

“No problem boss man, anything to help the fam out,” she snorted, grabbing her bags and tossing them over her shoulders carelessly. She was about to head inside when Rick started talking again.

“Before you go, I wanted to talk to you both about something,” he said, making the pair eye him warily. They didn't know what it would be but they had a feeling they wouldn't like it. He went over to near one of the tables outside and grabbed a bag, tossing it with a thud near Daryl's feet.

Daryl looked at it before looking back to Rick who just gestured to it. Daryl huffed, crouching as he unzipped the bag, getting out a small crossbow. He stood up, inspecting it as Arabella looked at it, unsure why she had to be here for this if Rick was giving Daryl a gift.

“It’s in good condition, damn near new. Too small for me though,” Daryl said gruffly, glancing to Rick.

“I know, that's why I thought that you wouldn't be the one to use it,” he said giving him a pointed look. Arabella blinked as the pieces clicked into place but before she could speak up, Daryl beat her to it.

“Fuck no!! Like hell I’m teachin’ her to use a damn bow!” he yelled, looking thoroughly offended at the mere notion of it. Arabella glared at him and rolled her eyes and Rick heaved a sigh.

“Look Daryl, I know you two have your issues, but we could use another hunter. We need more food. You told me yourself before now how light on her feet she is,” Rick protested, making Arabella’s eyes widen a fraction in shock as she looked to the hunter. She was shocked that something akin to a compliment had ever left his mouth about her.

“I don't give a damn if the bitch can fly, I ain't teachin’ her how to use the damn thing,” Daryl sneered, his anger flaring that Rick had just fucking said that right in front of her. She saw Ricks face fall and she hated it, Rick was a good man and he was trying his best here to keep shit together.

“It’s fine Rick, I’ll teach myself,” she smiled wearily at him. He looked relieved yet somewhat guilty, no doubt over Daryl being such a dick about the whole thing. Daryl stuffed the bow back in the bag and tossed it to her harshly, making her stumble as she caught it with how heavy it was. He didn't look sorry in the least though. She just shot Rick one last look before heading off inside.

“The hell was that about Daryl? She's a nice girl. Don't you think it's about time you got your head outta your ass about her past?” Rick frowned, looking at him like he was scolding a child. The whole thing set a fire inside Daryl as he fought to keep himself in check.

“Ya don't know shit, so how about ya keep ya damn nose out,” he snapped, harsher than he meant to but Rick didn't act surprised.

“This is for the group Daryl, we need this,” Rick sighed, looking at him imploringly.

“Fuck the group, I don't owe ya shit. Ya left Merle on that roof to rot, so I’ll be damned if I start bowin’ down to ya now,” Daryl sneered before storming off. Rick shook his head with a sigh. This Daryl wasn't who he had grown to love like a brother, this was the old Daryl, the one he hadn't seen in a very long time. He hadn't even mentioned the whole Merle incident in so long. He didn't know why he was behaving this way all of a sudden but he didn't like it.

Daryl fumed as he made his way inside. Like fuck he was teaching that uppity bitch to use a bow so she could come with him. Deep down he knew Rick was right, they could use another hunter in the group. But the thought of her in his space like that, out in the woods there with him, it got under his skin way too much. When he was out hunting, that was his time and his alone. A chance to escape from the family he had grown to care about without wanting to. Time to just be himself. He always felt at peace out there and he wasn't about to let that bitch ruin that for him, to take the only fucking thing he had left. Over my cold dead fuckin’ body...

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

This one’s so weird for me now already. I miss Flames. 

:( Anyone else miss Merle? looooool

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend @txladyj-blog @walkingdead-dixon

[thegrazingblacksheep]

Forage - Cowbridge, Wales

As the idea of this little blog came after we visited some places, I cannot provide photos. I will take one for the next post, I promise.

First impressions. Spacious, very natural looking, modern but still cosy building with lots and lots of wood, sustainability and from top-top-bottom windows. Lies outside Cowbridge, on a large field which has plenty of recently planted little treelets - if this word exists at all. The car park is enough, it is easy to find a space among the Teslas and Range Rovers. Visited Forage once or twice with bikes for a coffee, but to be honest that was forgettable. Inside, there are two main parts: the restaurant / bar area and the farm shop area. 

Hygenie. All the interior has a lovely design, the space in general is sparkling clean and the shop is very tidy and appealing. From the cutleries to the wooden fan on the ceiling via the shelves - everything looks and feels new and taken care of. Felt a bit awkward, because after a walk in the rain in a muddy forest we didn't really have much time to go further than the Forage, and we basically sat down for an easy lunch in this sparkling clean place in muddy wellies and waterproof trousers, wearing hiking clothes. No make up, no hair, no pretty. Sorry about that, dear Forage!

Service. Before we asked for a table, because of experience, we asked for the vegan menu to check first, just in case. The waitress was extremely helpful, answered all of our questions and helped us with a vegan selection; which were mostly items from the main menu, veganised. 

We had to wait 20-25 minutes for a table, but we didn't mind, because we wanted to see the farm shop anyway. Just O. M. G. Their selection is what I call Selection with a capital, because they have basically everything a fancy pantry needs. Artisan cheese, craft beers, exciting pickled goodies, handmade soaps and lovely looking desserts and confectionary just to mention some. It is really worth a check, because I have no space to list everything what I have seen; but briefly: if you go there to look for something authentic, or "classy farming" gift, guaranteed you will find one. No problem if you are looking for gluten free, vegan, or ethical either; we really struggled to not to do a big shopping there.

After we got our table, we had to submit our orders at the bar counter. As we didn't have time for a proper lunch, we chose some sandwiches, an oat based flat white and a Diet Coke.

Then we were waiting for 40 minutes to get those sandwiches. I'm not sure if someone had to harvest (?) the beet for other half's sandwich, or had to run and capture a chicken for mine; but we were a bit hangry now. Waiting patiently, finally we got our sandwiches accompanied with a decent amount of rocket salad. The amounts are big, the artisan bread were fresh, tasty and soft. 

Quality. My meal was absolutely good. Maybe the salad could have bore with some sauce, but I was impressed the nicely toasted bread with the melted brie inside. Other half was a bit disappointed, because the beets took over the flavour of everything else in his vegan sandwich. Basically it was a layer of spinach, a cold blob of tasteless butternut squash cream and several slices of pickled beetroot - again - with no sauce. He had the same side salad like me. The beverages were fine, you can always trust a good can of Coke - I know, I am trash, but even the Diet one. And his coffee was made from a fancier coffee than we had at our last visit, he said it is much better. 

Summary. We know that the prices of this area are not the friendliest, but two sandwiches and two basic drinks for ~20 quid was a bit of "come on...". There are some areas to improve, like for example the vegan sandwich recipe, or the waiting time for these sandwiches; but otherwise we liked this above mentioned classy farming look and feel. Maybe we will check back in summertime if they have any good looking desserts or artisan ice creams even.

[cami-chats]

Abject

Continuation of Abeyance 

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Some self-worth issues on Bucky’s part, but it’s nothing terrible

Bucky had seen horses before. To be precise, he’d seen Stevie’s horse, Coop, and Sam’s horse, Maple. Both Coop and Maple were short and thick, hair above their hoofs with manes puffier than Bucky’s hair when he slept on it wet. The horses the Royal Guard-- the Royal fucking Guard-- used, were nothing like that. They didn’t have any dangling hair above their hooves-- Bucky didn’t even know horses could be made that way-- and their manes were sleek and trimmed. They were easily a foot taller than Coop and Maple, and their legs weren’t as stout.

“You never seen a fighting horse?” one of Tony’s guards asked when the group stopped to set up camp for the night. Bucky thought his name was Happy-- or at least that’s what Tony had called him earlier. This was his first good look at the horses surrounding him, and it was unnerving.

Dumbly, Bucky shook his head. Coop carried packages, and Maple helped Sam farm. Sometimes they’d strap them to a cart together and make a long trip, and Bucky only ever saw similar horses on those trips when he went. This… this was something else entirely. He began to feel out of his depth, but he glanced at Tony, conversing with the others in the group, and felt his determination grow. He loved Tony, and Tony loved him, and he’d implicitly offered Bucky everything he’d ever dreamed of. A little bit of cold feet was normal in the face of getting everything. “Didn’t know they made ‘em this slick.”

Happy chuckled, giving his horse a pat on the neck as he finished tying them to the tree. “You’ll get to see more at the stables.”

“There’s more’n just these?”

“Yeah,” Happy said, laughing a little.

Bucky knew he didn’t mean anything cruel by it, but there was definitely the edge of ‘how did you not already know that’ to his tone. He swallowed and looked away. This was going to be a long trip.

~~~

Bucky stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn’t know the places the guards talked about on the trip to the Iron City-- New York Kingdom’s capital-- he didn’t speak like them, he didn’t understand their slang or them his, and anything nearing political talk went over his head. He’d felt out of his depth that first night on the road, but reminding himself that Tony loved him wasn’t helping as much as it used to.

It was getting to the point that Bucky wondered if he’d convinced himself that Tony said that, instead of him actually saying it. He knew, logically, that Tony wasn’t about to have sex with him in the dirt and no privacy, but he didn’t kiss him even once. He touched him, held his hand sometimes, but Bucky noticed that Tony was a tactile person. He touched all his guards in passing, gave them hugs and shoved them when they were playing a fight. Out of everyone here, Tony paid the least attention to Bucky. And again, he knew that logically, this made a sort of sense. Mostly it hurt like hell.

It got worse once they were actually in the city. Bucky could dismount without falling on his face now, but after that, Tony was talking with a light red headed noblewoman that had been waiting for him, the guards were going about grabbing their bags and leaving like they’d done this a hundred times, and then there was Bucky, standing there like a lost jackass.

The noblewoman was poised, her clothes fancier than anything Bucky’d seen, but he got the feeling that this was dressing down for her. She glanced at Bucky, then Tony, then looked at him again, far more pointedly this time.

Tony turned, face alight with a smile that made him feel weak in the knees. “Bucky! Come here,” he yelled above the hubbub, waving him over. He kissed Bucky’s cheek when he made it to his side and slipped an arm around his waist, making him feel silly for doubting how Tony felt-- for all of two seconds.

Two seconds because then the woman sighed and said, “Another one, Tony?”

His heart froze. ‘Another one’? What did that mean? Did Tony make a habit of picking up backwater entertainment for a few months?

Tony rolled his eyes. “No, not another one. The best one! His name’s Bucky. Bucky, this is Pepper, she’s going to help me run the kingdom.”

“Am I?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said to her, then turned to Bucky and whispered loudly. “She totally is.”

“As you say, your highness,” Pepper said drily, making Tony laugh. Bucky tried to smile.

“Come on Bucky, I’ll show you inside,” Tony said, moving to walk past Pepper, but she stopped him with a hand in the center of his chest.

“Not so fast Tony. With Howard and Maria gone, and you missing for six weeks, there’s a lot to go over, and yes it has to be done by you.”

Tony sighed dramatically and leaned into Bucky. “I wanted to show him around, come on Pep.”

“You can show him around tonight.”

“That’s not the same.”

Pepper shrugged, but she didn’t seem too apologetic. “That’s the best I can do.”

“Hmph.” Tony turned and kissed his cheek again. “Loki will take care of you. If he acts a little murderous, just ignore him, he won’t actually hurt you.” At Bucky’s panicked look, he added, “He does it sometimes to see how people will react, he’s never killed someone. That I know of, at least.”

“That’s not helpin’,” Bucky said, more than a little nervous.

“Tony exaggerates,” Pepper said, waving someone to her side. “Jan, this is Bucky, Bucky-- Jan.” Jan smiled brightly to match her yellow dress and waved even though there wasn’t more than two feet between them. “She’ll escort you to Loki.”

~~~

Loki, Bucky found out standing in the man’s room, was a courtesan. An honest to god, bonafide courtesan of the court, catering his services to the noble and otherwise wealthy. And he was the one Tony sent him to. Guess he didn’t have to worry about wondering what Pepper had meant by ‘Another one?’ anymore. Hearing Loki’s story of how he got here just made it worse.

“Anthony was of course the prince at that time, and he took great pleasure in testing his boundaries. Picking up someone with zero training from a disgraced town that once rebelled against the crown, was one of his more scandalous, but ultimately harmless, tricks. It caused a ruckus, but there was nothing anyone could do about it. The worst that could have possibly happened was that I wouldn’t be able to do my job, but I still would have had a place to live and food to eat if no one took interest. Don’t look so scared darling, I was as worried as you when I arrived, and look at me now.”

Bucky looked, and he couldn’t help but think that he’d rather have died on the ship that took his arm than try and be Loki. Loki wore jewels and fabrics richer than the sum of everything Bucky’d seen in his time, and he bore them like they weighed nothing. Just looking at them made Bucky feel bogged down, but Loki stood tall and proud, a person who was a work of art and knew it. Bucky was the broken down, uglier version of him-- that much was clear. Missing an arm didn’t even make that big of a difference when his rough skin was marked and scarred, his hair ragged with just enough of a wave to never be tamed to sleekness, and a body that was too thick for the slenderness he knew popularized tales of beauty. “I don’ think I can do this,” he whispered, overwhelmed.

Loki put a hand on his shoulder, not a trace of the threatening persona Tony had spoken of in sight. “Take a deep breath,” he said gently. Bucky did so, but it didn’t feel like it helped. “The prince-- pardon me, the king-- will give you gold and passage home should you desire to leave. Many have, and it bore them no ill. But this is the opportunity of many lifetimes for people like us, darling. I would be starving on a snow covered hillside right now if I had chosen to leave, and even if I had plenty of food, that life holds no happiness for me. I thought myself unsuited for this life, and I nearly left. You should give it a chance Bucky. Fortune like this does not visit twice.”

Bucky took another shuddering breath. “I’ll think about it.”

Loki squeezed his shoulder once in comfort before dropping his arm back to his side. “I have a few pieces I’d like you to keep, but you don’t have to wear them if you prefer not to.”

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder. “Guess there’s no harm, right?”

Loki smiled encouragingly. “Right. Now let’s see…” He went to the side of his room and opened an out of the way trunk. “Ooo this would look good on you, and this, oh and definitely this.” He glanced at Bucky. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into trying them on for me?” Bucky didn’t know what his face did, but bare seconds later, Loki said, “So that’s a no. Pity. Well, you’ll look fantastic in them whether I get to see it or not, darling. Come here.” He waved Bucky over and started handing him the pieces he’d chosen-- and Bucky felt very confident calling them ‘pieces’ and not outfits because there was no way he’d call these scraps of fabric clothing. Some of them were panties, but there were others that hinted at a modesty that was nowhere to be found.

All that being said, he could see the appeal for how it would look on him if someone had the right body and for it. He accepted them gingerly. No one would know if he tried them on, after all.

“That will have to do for now,” Loki said even though Bucky was holding eight different pieces. Hell, he had three outfits total, and here Loki was half-apologizing for giving him eight new ones-- even if those eight were skimpy and not meant for wear outside a bed. “How do you feel about jewelry?” he asked, giving Bucky’s neck a speculative look.

“I’ve- I mean, I’ve never worn… before,” Bucky managed awkwardly. Jewelry was for the rich, or the married and he was neither. Or, he hadn’t been. Guess being a courtesan was rich adjacent.

“I have a few necklaces you can have, I never use them, they’re just using space I’d rather have cleared. Your ears aren’t pierced-- right?” At Bucky’s nod, he continued, “So we don’t have to find you earrings, and rings don’t look like your style. Besides, I think nothing I have would fit you. Necklaces though… Ah! Here we are.”

Bucky couldn’t see what they looked like because Loki wasn’t making a point of showing him, could only see that they were glinting gold.

Next thing he knew, Loki was closing the ornate box and striding to the door. “I’ll show you your room so we can drop these off, and then we can see the rest of the castle. It’s quite large, but you shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way.”

Bucky doubted that very, very much. His and Stevie’s house hadn’t been part of the village, and the village itself was so small that it was called Brooklyn Stop because it was the last town on the Brooklyn Bridge road before reaching the city and wasn’t big enough to warrant an original name.

“Down the hallway and to the right from my room is your’s,” Loki narrated as they took that path. He pushed the door open and set the pile of necklaces on the table that was just inside the room. “There’s a latch on the door, if you wish to not be disturbed. Short of breaking it down, no one will be able to get in. Now, would you like a tour of the castle and grounds, or would you like to rest?”

“I- uh. It’d be nice to know where everythin’ is,” Bucky hedged.

Loki nodded, like he’d expected that answer. “We’ll go to the kitchens then. After your room, it’s the most important place to know,” he said with a wink. Bucky was pretty sure winks weren’t supposed to look so refined. He followed Loki out the door and down the hall. He was confident he could remember the way two turns in, but then there was a fourth and he started to feel lost. If Loki decided to tease him by vanishing, Bucky wouldn’t be able to find his way back to his room; he’d probably wander around until he found a chair and sit there until someone rescued him-- not that he thought Loki would do that to him.

Everyone that worked in the kitchen was kind and welcoming, but Bucky could only offer awkward smiles in response to their hospitality. They invited him to come by anytime he was hungry day or night, and he thanked them as politely as he knew how and ate the fresh bread they all but shoved at him.

“Do you want to go back to your room?” Loki asked quietly, once the door behind them had closed.

Bucky nodded, taking what was surely an unseemly bite out of the bread. What did he care, only Loki could see him, and he hadn’t had fresh bread since he was a child. He made it back to his room, and Loki reminded him that he was just down the hall if he had any questions or didn’t want to be alone. Bucky nodded even though he had no intention of leaving unless he was starving.

He laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with the hope to let his mind roam, but he immediately noted how soft the mattress was and how ornately the ceiling was decorated. Who needed a painted ceiling? And it wasn’t a single color, or even a pattern, it was like a mural. A mural on his room’s ceiling because why not?

He took off his shoes and stood on the bed to get a better look. His balance wasn’t the best, especially on something as soft as this mattress, but if he fell, he’d land on the bed and there were worse places to fall. There was a dragon terrorizing a village, when someone regal-looking was sent from the palace to save the day. Bucky assumed there would be some dragon slaying, but instead they tamed the dragon and brought them back to the village to help rebuild, and eventually they brought the dragon home with them. That explained why the Stark crest was a dragon, then.

He let himself fall back onto the bed and stared at the mural numbly. What was he doing? He didn’t belong here.

((This is Chapter 1 of 2, and the second chapter will be posted on AO3))

[forevermagik]

Worldbuilding June Day 18

It seems a bit odd to me that Fashion is smack-dab-in-the-middle of Medicine and War, but maybe that’s just because Medicine and War are super-duper linked on Tyrysius.

Anyway, fashion under the cut.

Schmiedland is the leader in fashion. Specifically Himmelmauer. Layers are generally a thing on Tyrysius. However, the current fashion for the women involves many more layers of skirts than usual. Petticoats on petticoats, to get the upside-down-bell look. Corsets with whale bone or crinoline for the boning to help achieve the “elfin” figure in the waist. (Except the catfolk because they’re shaped too differently.) Dresses and shirts have high collars to stave off the cold, but “cleavage windows” add some allure. Filigree and slashed fabric denotes fancier and more expensive items. 

Clothes are colorful, considering artificial dyes have been around for at least a couple of centuries. 

Even though Himmelmauer is a microclimate of warmth, they still stick to warmer fabrics like cashmere, silk, corduroy and velvet.  Of course, these are the people who are driving the fashion are the ones who can afford it. Those who can’t try to emulate it with cottons and wools. The upper crust of society has stiffer collars, since they don’t have to do manual labor. 

On the flip side, pants in the warmer months are becoming fashionable for women. This doesn’t include the women who work and need to wear pants anyway. But now it’s a fashion statement. 

Men in Himmelmauer wear high collars and top hats. Vests and coats. People in the military will frequently wear their uniforms. 

Women keep their hair up. Braids coiled into buns, the “victory roll” look, tight buns on the top of the head, soft curls peaking out of pins. All to accentuate the elongated neck. Men keep their hair neatly cut shot. Facial hair isn’t in fashion due to too many instances of needing gas masks. Dwarves however, are largely more stubborn and will want to keep their facial hair (and longer hair in general.) In the military, they frequently will have to shave though. 

While Killian owns some “civilian dress”, he generally only wears his uniform. (He’s usually always working.) Unless he’s working on his plane, in which case he wears his coveralls. Then he changes into his flight suit to fly. 

Adler has a small wardrobe, though it’s a few years outdated from when he was in college. For the most part, he wears his uniform and since he sleeps in barracks at night, why bother changing? Lubbock is the same way as far as the uniforms go. He has a change or two of the clothes he wore on the farm that he brought along with him upon his first enlistment--those and the nicest pair of clothes he owned. 

Outside of Himmelmauer but elsewhere in Schmiedland, the common fashion is emulated as far as it can be by those who care, but otherwise fashion is about function. 

Even still, Mica is all about the high collars and the corsets, and her pretty, pretty skirts. She likes to accentuate with filigree and will do the cleavage window appear “sexy.” Mica also likes wearing boots with at least a two inch heel on them to appear taller. She’ll wear her hair braided or coiled straight into a bun. She wants it off her face both for the fashionable look and for function. 

Berthingtonn, despite wanting to be fiercely independent, copies Himmelmauer fashion. Notably, however, Berthingtonn uses hoopskirts to get the look without all the layers because Berthingtonn is literally the warmest big city on the planet. Berthingtonn also sees lower collars on the men and much more cleavage on the women. And while Berthingtonn’s inner town will copy the corsets (they might be made out of steel because Berthingtonn has it to spare), Berthingtonn’s North and South towns stick to bodices, partially for function, and partially because they want to. 

Berthingtonn hairstyles involve a lot of curls. Women wear their hair down more, or in ponytails. A braid down the center or braided pigtails are also common--particularly for women with naturally straight hair who don’t have time to curl their hair. Men will either keep their hair short, or braided. 

Riela doesn’t bother with too many skirts and definitely not a hoopskirt. She’s a waitress. She wears skirts that are sturdy and easy to clean, a loose-fitting shirt with a bodice over the top. 

The higher courts in Perinathia copy Himmelmauer’s fashion, too. Everyone else in Perinathia wears their working clothes. 

The Yurels have taken certain aspects of Himmelmauer’s fashion, like the skirts and the high collars. It’s cold there, and these things make sense. The women aren’t so into the corsets, preferring less-restrictive bodices and even bras. Also buttons. The Yurels are into lots of buttons. The Yurels also are big on hats and scarves. Women wear their hair pinned up. Men are big on facial hair because the Yurels use full-body suits in cases of deadly polluted air. 

Timernis doesn’t give a rat’s ass what Schmiedish fashion looks like. They’re in the mountains and it’s cold there. Layers? Good. High collars? Fine. But we wear what we want. (In fact, parts of Himmelmauer want to be emulating Timernis, instead of the other way around.) Timernis wears a lot of leather and heavy fabrics. Furs, too. They favor bodices over corsets for the women.  Braids are popular for men and women.

Eswaisil is big on low cut shirts for the women, tight bodices, bustles, and really anything else to accentuate the female figure. Women wear pants too, but they’re generally tailored to be very tight. Hair is styled off the face in a variety of manners: pinned, buns, curls, etc. Braids aren’t as big of a deal. Fashion for the men is much less confined. Loose shirts to stave off the heat in the north, more layers to keep warm in the south. Comfortable pants and functional shoes. Not as many top hats. 

Edanshe, while still using layers, isn’t going for the bell-shape. Everyone there wears lighter fabrics: cotton, hemp, linen, silk. Sleeker dresses and skirts for the women, sometimes some ruffles. Men wear loose-fitting clothes, (unless it’s their military uniform). Edanshe is the hottest place on the planet and it shows. Also the island culture makes for a “less proper” look almost automatically. People will strip down to their undermost layer or their nothings to go swim at a moment’s notice. Skirts, dresses, and sleeves can also be shorter. Hair is usually worn down and length for men and women tends to be on the longer side. Men will braid their hair back out of their face. 

Rinnie will wear any shirt so long as it either A) shows cleavage or B) shows off her figure. She enjoys the comforts of bras, not needing any sort of shaping corset or bodice. She likes her skirts to be sturdier so she can carry a gun on her belt, though sometimes she’ll sigh and wear the thigh holster instead. She’s also big on her nice comfy leather boots. 

Tattoos are almost ingrained in Edansa culture. People with more professional jobs will keep the tattoos to places easily concealed by clothing. But mostly everyone will have some tattoo visible somewhere. Places along the coast of Schmiedland and Berthingtonn feature a lot of tattoos. The farther inland you get, the less you see of them. In Timernis, everyone will get family tattoos. Catfolk will magically enchant their furs to emulate tattoos both in Schmiedland and in Perinathia. In Eswaisil, there are religion-related tattoos, and all other tattoos are considered sacrilegious and must be removed. 

Those in the Schmiedish military pretty much end up with one tattoo per deployment. The army cares about what tattoos are seen in full uniform. The navy’s not as restrictive. No tattoos on the face though. 

It’s a known thing that astrals have hyperactive healing factors that push the ink out before the tattoo can set. So they literally can’t get tattoos. 

That said, Killian’s tried. Adler and Lubbock have a couple a piece. Rinnie has seven. 

[thatsbaloney]

June 2016

  Now that 2016 is finished, Brodie and I thought it would be a good time to recap the month-long trip we took earlier that year. We bused south through Colombia to Quito, Ecuador, spent a week with my brother-in-law and his family there (we saw our nephew in person for the first time!), then went to the States and spent two weeks there. The trip lasted from June 23rd to July 30th, so a month and a week, actually.

Our first stop traveling south through Colombia was Manizales. After that we went to Pereira (Brodie’s last post). Manizales is a small city in the mountains and a popular stop for visiting Colombia’s coffee region and enjoying the area’s hot springs.

We booked a stay through Airbnb with a lovely empty-nester named Beatriz, headed to the bus terminal in Medellín, wandered around reading signs until we found a bus company that went to Manizales, and embarked on our trip!

We weren’t on a big bus or anything; it was one of those vans that seats 10ish. And since the trip takes 4 hours and 45 minutes, it wasn’t long before we made a pit stop in the middle of nowhere between two villages. There was a typical roadside parrilla (grill) restaurant readying for the lunch rush we had beaten by too long to eat there, and in addition to the sausages on display and the usual meat-and-starch dishes, they had a counter where they sold traditional sweets and snacks, one of which had a not-so-traditional name. Now you all know how Pennsylvania is spelled in Spanish!

It wasn’t long before we hit the road again…

…only to then hit this loveliness. We were stopped dead for like 20 minutes until it was our turn to crawl, so some of us got out of the van to take advantage of the opportunity to stretch our legs. At least the jam was along a pretty country road with trees and farms around to enjoy. I checked out the bugs and plants and cows until I got called back to my motorized bubble.

The reason for the backup was construction. Above is the map of the main route we took. We took our trip over six months ago, and this map is from now. They were working on the road then, and they’re still working on it in at least two places.

We hit traffic on the outskirts of Manizales too. We got there right at dusk, which also happens to be rush hour. Same time as the States, around 5-6:30pm.

Since we arrived at our host’s apartment after dark, all we did that night was go out for a quick dinner in our neighborhood and turn in. It was one of those perfect first nights once you get to where you’re going after a day of traveling, warm and cozy inside with the chilly Manizales mountain air hovering outside. We slept like babes.

The next day we naturally wanted to get acquainted with the city. We figured it wouldn’t take long because it’s pretty small—221 square miles (572 km2) for the whole city with a population of 400,000—but we also only gave ourselves one full day, so we couldn’t dilly dally too long with the breakfast our host was kind enough to provide us, a luxury you rarely get with Airbnb hosts. We ate and chatted and pet the ancient cat. Then we headed into town trying not to forget our host’s instructions for taking the bus.

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We caught the right color, but didn’t know when we should get off, so we asked a random person on the bus about Parque de los Fundadores, which is where our host suggested we get off and start walking around to explore downtown. On the way, I stared out the window and took in the graffiti, restaurants and universities. After living in a city of 3 million, they all seemed smaller and closer together in Manizales. We got off at the right parque, and started looking around.

It was too cloudy to see the mountains, so I snapped a shot of the closest statue (Ernesto Gutiérrez Arango, 1918-1997, mayor, doctor, cattle farmer, bull fighting enthusiast (ew…), and university founder extraordinaire) and we headed towards the pretty white and wood church down the street.

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It’s the Basílica de la Inmaculada Concepción and overlooks Parque Caldas, which is named for Francisco José de Caldas y Tenorio, Colombian scientist and patriot who didn’t just give his name (posthumously or otherwise) to this park, but also to the entire department of which Manizales is the capital. He was born in Popayán, Colombia, a city we also visited on this month-long trip, was a lawyer, naturalist, military engineer, mathematician, geographer and inventor, and was executed by the Spanish crown for his efforts as a forerunner of Colombian independence from Spain. The Count of Cartagena, who gave the order for his execution, responded to appeals for Caldas’s life with, “Spain does not need savants.” And Caldas is said to have drawn the Greek letter theta (θ) on a wall before he was executed. Theta is a symbol for death, and his writing it on the wall has been interpreted as him saying goodbye.

Founders of universities, executed savants, they’re all about revering smart guys in Manizales. Statues of area educators  and writers are even tucked away in clumps of bamboo to be discovered by curious passersby.

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 We headed further into downtown Manizales along one of the main thoroughfares, Carrera 23, or just La 23. It’s always interesting to see what kinds of names the local entrepreneurs choose for their businesses. Plus, their security style with the street lifeguard chairs. Never saw any lifeguards, though. It would have been cool. I like to imagine them blowing whistles at jaywalkers or clumps of friends blocking sidewalk traffic while they chit-chat.

We took a detour to see more of the city.

Cobwebs of wire over valley views

Improvised clothes lines, or an aerial dumping ground for unwanted stuff?

Then we headed back to La 23 and passed by the city’s bigger and fancier historic buildings.

Mil telas means 1,000 fabrics. Sewing and clothing manufacturing are huge in Medellín, so it doesn’t surprise me that it would be popular just a few hours away in Manizales too. The pink building is DIAN, the taxman.

Next stop, Plaza de Bolívar (virtually every town and city has one named after him, and Manizales is no exception), Manizales’s main square.

This is, by far, the coolest, most badass Bolívar statue I’ve ever seen. Part man, part condor, 100% awesomeness. The Andean condor (Vultur gryphus) is a national symbol for Colombia and many other Andean countries.

Photo credit: Emilio del Prado. Originally posted to Flickr as “Con aires de abuelete.” CC BY-SA 2.0. https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10005571

Some may think it’s ugly, and I say that’s just not nice. Some may say it looks like one of these bad boys:

Photo credit: Muppet Wiki. http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Skeksis

and I say that’s just being nostalgic.

I mean, they’re amazing! Just look at that wing span!

Photo credit: Dutchbaby. http://godutchbaby.blogspot.com.co/2009/06/el-condor-pasa.html.

They even hunt wolves!

Photo credit: Eco-nonlogical. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cG8ZB4akl6w

Given how dramatically the statue does break from tradition, however,

it’s not very surprising that it has caused some controversy. I’m glad the city was ultimately bold enough to move past it and embrace the sculptor Rodrigo Arenas Betancourt’s dynamic and powerful vision.

The sculpture represents many things. One is the combination of heroism (the human aspect) and freedom (the condor aspect), and the details tell us much more. In the pictures you can see that the wings have holes in them. The chest is damaged too, and it all represents violence. Down below, carved into the pedestal, you can see a face. There’s one on the front and one on the back. These represent the Bolívar of the shadows, a Bolívar we don’t often get to see in the more traditional, unquestioningly (even superficially) patriotic sculptures of the same old guy on a horse with a sword, one possible exception being the Naked Bolívar in Pereira, which, incidentally, was done by Betancourt too! Ha!

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Another detail you can’t see in these pictures is that the condor has holes where its eyes should be. This signifies, according to Spanish Wikipedia, the blindness of life and existence. And finally, the mask you can see jutting out from the pedestal also represents Bolívar, but this too is having eye issues. One eye is missing and the other is damaged. In this way the mask of Bolívar represents peace and freedom, but in suspense.

So, yes. This sculpture was…amazing! Also, there’s a basilica, which you can see behind the condor-man in the picture to the right. It’s called the Catedral Basílica Nuestra Señora del Rosario de Manizales. It’s in the neo-Gothic style, which part of me thinks should have married it well with the cloudy, gray weather, but that was lost on our camera.

The best we could do with our camera.

One thing we neglected to do was go to the top of the cathedral and see the main square from above. It would have been cool, but we decided to do other things instead. There was a lot of art just around the square, and other parts of the city to see.

To the left is the sculpture Adam and Eve by the artist Guillermo Botero (not to be confused with Fernando, whose art can be found in this post of ours and this one). And to the right are two details from one of two murals by Guillermo. It’s called Vientos de Libertad (Winds of Liberty), and tells about July 20, 1810, the date of Colombia’s declaration of independence from Spain. It was done in glazed ceramic. I love the wide open eyes and crazy angles of the people’s joints.

I love walking past doorways, peeking in and being surprised with a spacious courtyard I wasn’t expecting to see. Sometimes they have fountains and palm trees, sometimes they house cafés or restaurants, sometimes there are families relaxing in them. The one that inevitably caught our eye in Manizales’s main square was the government building, and since this courtyard is open to the public, we thought we’d go in instead of just taking a peek.

It did not disappoint!

Now, off to check out the cable cars of Manizales. Like the Metrocable of Medellín, the Cable Aéreo de Manizales was created more as a means of public transportation than tourism, but it would behoove any tourist to go for a ride because then you get to see more of the city, and from the inhabitants’ point of view to boot. Plus, one of the stops on the cable car is a charming little town called Villamaría. Our morning spent and our stomachs growling, we decided to ride up and have lunch there.

Off we goooooooooooooooooo!

Rising hills with expanding city creeping into their green, the south side of Manizales, waterfront shantytown

We made it! But then it was raining and we were starving, so we set out to find food. We found a little place on a street off of Villamaría’s main square. It was packed, which was good and bad. Good because it probably meant the food was decent, and bad because we had to wait. It wasn’t long, though, before two seats opened up, but the catch was that we’d have to share the table of four with two other people. We didn’t even blink before saying yes. Coming up on two years abroad, we weren’t strangers to sharing tables with strangers. We quickly ordered the lunch special (soup, chicken, rice, beans, salad, juice), and started up a conversation with our tablemates after they gave us a few awkward glances. We talked about horses and I don’t know what else. Perhaps our other chitchatting topics were overshadowed by the discovery that one of the guys was a prestamista, or, cultural and legal differences from one country to another notwithstanding, a loan shark. He kept track of his debtors on a makeshift portable Rolodex: a pile of business card-sized pieces of paper that he could flip around a ring. He kept it in his pocket, and consulted it before leaving the restaurant. Brodie and I waited until the two guys left to let our mild shock hang out. It’s weird when you hear stories of “types” of people, and then you actually meet one of those “types” of people and talk them. They instantly go from being a story to a real person just like you.

We finished our lunch and, the rain thankfully having (mostly) abated, headed back to the square to wander and take pictures. We had our rain jackets, so we didn’t let the shower deter us.

Iglesia Nuestra Señora del Rosario, Villamaría, Caldas, Colombia

The municipal building, which extends out to the left of the church

“Primer Conversatorio: Hablemos de paz en el territorio”

(First Discussion: Let’s talk about peace in the territory)

We were in Manizales around a month and a half before the Colombian government and the FARC drew up their first peace deal of 2016 (they had to do a second one because the first one didn’t pass the plebiscite that was held). We have seen signs and literature in every place we’ve visited about how to bring peace to the country ever since we first came to Colombia. Being able to witness the peace process happening in the country it’s for, and talking to people about it and hearing people say how they feel about it in person is both intense and powerful, even for outsiders like us.

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To end our lunch trip, we took a coffee break in the square before heading back to our apartment.

We people watched while we sipped our brews. I wonder what was in that guy’s sack…

We had time for one last activity before we ended our day, but we don’t have any pictures of it because it was nighttime and we just didn’t feel like worrying about our cameras while we relaxed in some glorious hot springs. There are multiple places to go for hot springs, and we chose one recommended to us by a friend. It was called Tierra Viva, and was smaller and more low key than the most popular place in the area, which definitely appealed to us. I mean, how fancy and extensive do hot springs really need to be if all you want to do is sit in hot, sulfur-y water until your fingers get pruney and then go home warm and happy? We were really pleased with Tierra Viva. The staff were nice, the place was clean, the pools were nicely laid out, you could order food and drinks at any time. You could even drink in the pools, and there were no problems with spills or empty cups strewn everywhere. We got there just before it got dark, and there weren’t many people, but the place had filled up pretty well by the time we left. Hot springs are most popular at night. We chatted with a college professor and his nephew while we floated around in the water, ordered giant, crispy patacones with hogao for dinner by the hot spring pools, and had the staff get us a taxi home.

Our whirlwind tour of Manizales was finished!

The next day, as our bus left the city, I saw this graffitied wall next to the road:

Before the graffiti went up, there had been a mural about slavery on the wall. It just struck me the way the graffiti covered up the recently freed slave in the upper right corner, slapped up over his body with his arms and legs sticking out, as if he had been squished against the wall by it.

  Until next time!

  Shannon

2/18/17

Medellín, Colombia

The Mini-mountains of Manizales June 2016 Now that 2016 is finished, Brodie and I thought it would be a good time to recap the month-long trip we took earlier that year.