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quaranmine · 1 year ago

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The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Eight)

July, fireworks, and some insight into someone we don’t actually know much about.

Chapter Eight: 5,436

<< Chapter Seven | Masterpost | Chapter Nine >>

HEY Y'ALL! Those of you who follow me on tumblr have been kept pretty well apprised of this chapter's progress, but it's good to be back. I've struggled with this chapter a lot, not out of any fault of its own, just because real life decided to beat me over the head in July and August.

Anyway, this chapter has a few content warnings. CW for past injury, car accident, death, and as always…grief. Nothing graphic but it beat me over the head while I was writing it oof.

Finally, as a disclaimer—there is information in this chapter about wildfire survival. I’m not an expert, and some of these topics are quite literally life or death in real life. I’m an entry level environmental scientist whose only professional experience is in topics entirely unrelated to this. While I have done my research on this fic and done my best to always present accurate information, I am not a reliable source. This is a Hermitcraft AU fanfiction. Please do not take or substitute anything I say in place of information from actual professionals, lol.

“I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.”

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

»»———-　　———-««

July 1989

It’s July, and there’s a complete burn ban put in place for Shoshone and the other national parks and national forests that surround it. If you ask Scar, it should have been put into place two weeks ago. The scattered storms and rain in May and early June has done nothing for the landscape now, which is dry and still full of theoretical tinder from years of fire-suppression activities.

It’s July, and it’s sweltering outside. The main radio chatter during the daily weather conditions report says the temperatures have been record-breaking in the region. This is unsurprising to Grian—his cabin feels like less of a lookout and more of a greenhouse these days, with the inescapable sun taking great advantage of all the windows. He’s not really cut out for the heat of the summer. It makes the days feel listless and blend together, but at least it cools off in the evenings.

The fire season starts to ramp up in other ways too. There’s a fire reported in the Bridger-Teton National Forest, located immediately to their southwest, and officials seem concerned it will grow quickly with the hot, dry temperatures and wind. Elsewhere around the country the picture seems just as bleak: fires in the 1989 season have already burned hundreds of thousands more acres than the same time period in 1988.

Apparently, the Two Forks lookout had gone unstaffed for several years prior, before the Yellowstone fires last year caused the agency to consider hiring more staff. The fires last year also, coincidentally, increased the budget for this year’s activities.This seems to have been a prudent decision, because the season is shaping up to have a spark indeed. They’re keen to use Grian as much as possible.

Grian can’t see the smoke column from the Bridger-Teton fire on the horizon; it’s too far away. Instead he starts to notice that his visibility on the horizon is worse now, as the haze in the sky slowly grows. Distant mountains that were once brown and green are now wispy tones of flat yellow and gray. The Trout Fire still burns steadily in the distance. It’s a stubborn nuisance to the Forest personnel, but not a big enough fire yet to garner any worry. There’s more than enough worry to be passed elsewhere.

All of this would be enough on its own, but another contender has just stepped into the ring: Independence Day.

The 4th of July is on a Tuesday this year, which means Grian and Scar get the wonderful privilege of working overtime all weekend watching the mountains, and holiday pay for the day itself. In all likelihood, people will be just as likely to celebrate on Saturday or Sunday or Monday as on Tuesday. Mary, a lookout in a more northern section of the Forest, has already called in to report a few incidents in her sector. The extra pay is welcomed; the responsibility for idiots is not.

Fireworks are strictly banned, of course. The acknowledgement of that, however, requires campers to actually care in the first place. They do not.

And so the month begins.

»»———-　　———-««

Fire is, both philosophically and literally, one of the most important things humanity has ever been able to harness. It can be the difference between life and death, and yet it is both life and death. Fire fosters warmth and light and power and life. Fire caresses life and leaves behind destruction.

Shoshone National Forest exists as part of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, one of the largest mostly-intact temperate-zone ecosystems in the world. It’s part of a great chain of protected lands and wilderness spaces in the northern Rocky mountains. Shoshone is the second piece of that puzzle—just as Yellowstone National Park was the first national park to be established, the neighboring Shoshone National Forest was the first ever national forest to be designated in the United States.

It is also, like the other lands in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, fire-dependent. Plants and animals living in such ecosystems are often adapted to their local fire regime, which is the expected pattern, frequency, and intensity of the fires in their area.

Lodgepole pines dominate the middle elevations of the Shoshone National Forest, and are the poster child of a fire-dependent species. These trees produce cones that are sealed with a tight resin that relies on fire to melt it. Fire is, therefore, essential to the reproduction of the species. But fire is also essential to their life cycle in another way: just as fire is necessary for the baby trees to sprout, lodgepole pines are very easily killed by fire.

And if the fires kill the weaker Engelmann spruce found in Shoshone’s higher elevations, that’s okay too—it just leaves room for the much more tolerant whitebark pine trees to grow without being outcompeted. Fire similarly benefits wildlife in Shoshone by diversifying the forest understory, encouraging growth of new plants, and providing dead tree snags for shelter.

It kills, but it also supports life.

The history of Shoshone National Forest and fire has its bleak moments. In 1937, a lightning strike started the Blackwater Fire in the Absaroka Range, a range of mountains located predominantly in the national forest. Dry weather and high winds turned the fire into one of the deadliest wildland firefighting stories in American history, with 15 firefighters killed and 38 injured.

Labor laws are written in blood. Safety rules and best management practices are, too. Although no fault was assigned for the tragedy—a rigorous investigation deemed the situation was out of anybody’s control—the Blackwater Fire would ultimately change the landscape of wildland firefighting. It is remembered in the Ten Standard Firefighting Orders, a set of systematic guidelines developed by the US Forest Service afterward to reduce danger for firefighters.

These orders are still in use today.

So what is a lookout’s role in a wildfire, other than keeping watch for it? Historically fire lookouts were used as firefighters themselves—expected to hop on a horse and head straight to a fire after seeing it, tools in hard—but in modern times lookouts are primarily used for providing updates. A lookout’s job is not complete once a fire is spotted and reported. They are expected to provide constant updates on its size and location, as well as assist firefighters and smokejumpers from their position. This work is very important—so important that sometimes fire lookouts don’t evacuate the scene until a helicopter is required for their rescue.

And what if you’re a hiker? What if you’re on the ground? The prospects aren't good: hikers should just avoid being caught around a wildfire at all costs. Survival odds are, unfortunately, low.

But what if you can't avoid it?

Try to determine which way the wind is blowing and remain upwind of the fire. Fires also burn fastest uphill, so seek lower ground. Fires will burn cooler and slower downhill. Try to find a safe spot from the fire, something that would burn less easily such as a rock slide, a large meadow, or a lake. Crown fires burn tall and hot in the tops of trees, so even a meadow will be safer than a forest. Cover your nose and mouth with clothing to protect your airways. Huddle close to any large object that can buffer the ambient heat. Lay face down. Don’t attempt to outrun the fire.

Sometimes, setting your own fire is an option. Burning out an area large enough for you to lie in can allow the wildfire to move around the already burned spot—but this attempt is best saved for a grassland. Forests take too long to burn. And if the fire is close, and if you can see a safe, already burned spot through it, and if the flames are less than five feet tall, the best option might be to just run through the fire.

Jumping in water is an option, but that might not save you. Superheated air, smoke inhalation, and lack of oxygen in the area is a primary concern. Fires move faster than most people can imagine. Fires can create their own wind, their own weather.

Fire, above all, should always be respected.

»»———-　　———-««

“Draw something for me,” Scar says suddenly into the still blue air of the dusk. “And, dude, turn your light on already.”

“Huh?” Grian says. He frankly doesn’t mind sitting in the dark while there’s still a little light left in the sky to adjust to, but his hand reaches automatically for the lantern’s switch before he even really processes Scar’s words. With a soft click the cabin is bathed in warm tones. Really, the reflections on the windows only obscure their visibility now that it’s mostly dark, but it’s undeniably more cozy now.

“Ah, it’s good to see your little light in the way over yonder,” Scar says. “You’re like my little firefly in the mountains!”

Grian rolls his eyes at that. “What did you mean by ‘draw for me’?” he asks, blocking any spontaneous attempts at poetry Scar can make.

“I mean, I’m bored. And I know you’re bored. It’s been a long day.” He hums a little to himself. “Figured you might wanna do something to pass the time.”

Scar’s right, it has been a long day. It’s the 4th of July, and they’re in it for the long haul. Grian thinks they should have just been allowed to sleep and clock in later in the day—who sets off fireworks at 8 AM?—but the fire season doesn’t rest and neither do they. Now, it’s evening, and this is where the real monitoring begins: after dark.

Unfortunately, it’s also when the morale to keep sitting at the desk is starting to dip precipitously. Firewatching after dark is difficult and typically something they aren’t required to do. As a lookout, he primarily looks for smoke, not fire. Fires themselves are often too small or too tucked away for their light to be seen, and at night the smoke blends into the dark sky. But fireworks, fortunately, tend to announce themselves gaudily.

Mostly, it’s the sheer personal resolve to pay attention that takes the greatest hit. Scar’s idea isn’t a bad one, there’s just one significant snag:

“I don’t draw,” Grian reminds him gently.

“But you used to,” Scar persists.

“I drew houses,” Grian corrects, even though he knows that his drafting is far from the only thing he’s practiced over the years. “For work. It’s not the same.”

“Well, then draw your lookout,” Scar says and then seems to almost cut off his own thought with a—”Ooh, maybe draw mine instead!”

“I can’t do that.” It’s a black and white statement of fact, but Scar doesn’t agree.

“C’mon,” he says. “You definitely brought your materials with you, I know it.”

“You don’t have any way of knowing that.”

“You have to have a pencil and a notebook, right? How do you take your notes for the morning reports?” Scar says this in the sort of way where he knows he’s right. He says it playfully, like it’s a silly mistake right under Grian’s nose.

“Okay, fine,” Grian says, trying to imbue an eye-roll into his words. “I get it.”

He’s not really sure why he picks up the yellow legal pad from the corner of the table, or the pencil in the cup. He tears the top sheet off where he had, in fact, scribbled some notes earlier about temperature and wind speed.

The thing is, Scar can’t even see him. He could lie to Scar and say sure, of course, I’ll do it, and Scar would be none the wiser, miles away on the horizon.

He picks up the pencil. The notebook stares back, blank except for the faint lines.

He does try to draw his lookout first, from memory. He thinks of it the way he always does in memory—a snapshot, perfectly clear image his mind took one day. In his mind's eye, the lookout starts to rise over the horizon in the late afternoon sun while he hikes up the hill towards it. He doesn’t have a ruler in the tower, so he carefully uses the spine of one of the old paperbacks as a straight edge to run his pencil against.

It just…doesn’t look right. First of all, angles are off. He’s messed up the two point perspective somehow and he doesn’t have his usual drafting materials with him anymore. But it’s more than that. The lookout, despite being bathed in golden light in his visual memory, just doesn’t feel inviting. It’s just intimidating. A place where, despite its natural beauty, Grian just sees his worst days play out over and over again.

He crumbles the paper again and tosses it to the side. He grabs the radio again.

“Scar, you paint don’t you?” Grian says. “You’re an artist.”

“Well, I guess if you say so,” says Scar slyly, “one could refer to me as a bit of an artist.”

“Why?”

The bluntness throws Scar. “Huh?”

“Why do you do it?”

“Why am I an artist?”

“Yeah. What made you start?”

Scar is quiet for a long time. Not too long to be worrying, but enough to seem…contemplative. He finally replies, “You know, I always liked it. In school I’d always get recruited to help with posters and stuff ‘cause I was one of the better ones at art, which maybe said more about them than me because I wasn’t an artist then. I didn’t practice. I didn’t know anything.”

There’s another pause, but not as long. Grian doesn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t really until after my accident that I started pursuing it more. It was somethin’ to do! And one of the nurses told me it might be meditative. Help me out a little.”

“Did it?” Grian asks softly.

“I think so,” Scar says, and then with a little bit of a chuckle he adds: “But I don’t think I have to tell you though that sometimes a drawing frustrates you so much you want to throw it across the room! It isn’t all meditation. But I think that’s the point.”

Grian flushes a little. Scar’s comment is truer than he knows; the crumpled evidence of his most recent drawing attempt still sits on the floor by his chair. He reaches for the pencil again, and looks at the page once more. Maybe he will try to draw Scar’s lookout. He won’t tell that to Scar, of course, because he’ll be insufferable about it, but maybe he’ll try.

Grian doesn’t really know exactly what Scar’s lookout looks like. It’s far away, and he’s looked at it in the binoculars a few times, but the details are always fuzzy and hard to make out; each shake of his hand jolts the image at that level of magnification. And it’s far too dark for him to look again, so—so he improvises. Scar’s cabin is not on a tower like Grian’s is. It's situated on a large piece of rock at the top of a mountain. It doesn’t need to be on a tower, because there’s nothing around it tall enough to block the view, unlike the trees next to his tower. He fills in the details as he remembers, and creates new ones in the place of things he forgot.

The soft scratch-scratch of the pencil is lost to the noise of the radio again. “I broke my arm pretty badly at the time—needed surgery on that—but it wasn’t my dominant hand so I still painted. I like doing landscapes, mostly,” Scar says. “Pretty things. I grew up in nature. My dad and I went camping a lot. I missed it. I…wanted to do that again. Didn’t know if I would do that again.”

“I would love to see one of your paintings,” Grian says.

“I don’t really think they’re worth getting excited for,” Scar says, doing a bit of regrettably predictable artist’s humility. “But I’ll mail you one, if you want. Oh! Maybe you’ll even get a little surprise. Jellie likes to help me sign a few pieces, whether I want her to or not…”

The idea of a painting signed with a paw print is so utterly charming to Grian that he almost suggests that Scar should do it with all his paintings as some sort of signature flair. Then it occurs to him that it might be hard to wash a cat’s paws, and starts to ask Scar about what he does—in his cabin in the middle of nowhere with no running water—when a sparkle catches the corner of his eye.

Grian whips his head around just in time to see the sparks die. “Ugh,” he radios. “I just saw a firework. Super far away though.”

“Well, I was surprised neither of us had seen anything yet. Go ahead and mark the general direction of it even if it’s out of your district. Hopefully if there’s a fire someone else closer will catch it, but you could always check on it in the morning.”

Grian wanders over to the firefinder in the center of the room. Conveniently reminding him of which direction it was, several more fireworks go off in quick succession—golden, blue, red. It’s too dark to take a real reading, so he just points the sight in the general vicinity of the celebrations and takes its azimuth. He’ll spend extra time tomorrow examining this direction.

As he takes the measurements, a thought drifts into his mind. It’s something about the convergence of this specific job, a job nobody’s ever heard about in a Forest overlooked because of its more popular neighbors, and the wistful quality of Scar’s voice when he spoke about the subjects of his paintings. He found this job advertised in a newspaper. How did Scar find it? Who trained him to do this?

He sits back at the desk, and starts to sketch in the mountains around Scar’s lookout. This, he remembers well. He knows the familiar fold of the hills and peaks like the back of his hand, even after a little more than two months on the job.

The question circles his mind.

“Scar,” he says finally. “You know why I came here. To this job. To this National Forest. I’ve…made that really clear, whether I wanted to or not. But I don’t think you’ve ever said why you came.”

“Oh,” Scar says. His voice is quiet. “I guess I haven’t.”

Grian lays the radio down on the table, giving Scar space to speak. There’s something about the way Scar acknowledged him that sounds like he’s been exposed. One thing Grian has come to learn about him is that he’s a smoothtalker, and an excellent actor. Scar has dramatic flair in spades, and if he really wanted to, he’d spin a captivating tale for Grian about the totally-true events leading up to his place in this forest. It’d be as truthful as his name.

He doesn’t, though.

“People come out here for a lot of reasons, but not every person can stick with it. It’s lonely, for sure. And, of course,” he chuckles, “the bugs are pretty bad. I’ll tell you right now, I’ve seen more than a few volunteers and new lookouts suddenly get afraid of the dark when it’s just them and no one else for miles,” Scar says. “But the people who stay tend to fall into two categories.”

“What are they?”

“People who are running from something and people who are looking for something.”

There’s no need to question which category Grian is in. Not when he’s already laid his whole soul open for Scar to pick through and deeply intertwined himself in this mystery.

There’s only this: “Which one are you?”

“It’s hard to say,” Scar replies. “But I think I was running away.”

And Grian wants to say from what? but he doesn’t. And he wants to be sitting in Scar’s lookout right now, or anywhere but here, but he isn’t.

He sets the pencil down, temporarily abandoning the drawing he’s been scratching this whole time. He looks straight ahead through the window, but the glare from the lamp on the glass just reflects his own face right back at him. In the shadow where his head is, he can pick out the faint outlines of the hills beyond.

“You can’t run from yourself though,” Scar says. “‘Cause it just follows you. And being alone with yourself just makes you face it faster. I think my mom was right. She was worried about me. That’s why she made me take Jellie to keep me company.”

“I think I need to meet this Jellie,” Grian says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Scar doesn’t typically sound so serious, and it’s a little jarring. “She sounds pretty fantastic.”

“She is, she’s—hey, what about meeting me?”

“Nah, I think I prefer the cat,” he says. Cheeky.

“Well, I can’t say I don’t agree,” Scar says. He sighs. “I guess I should just talk about it, right? You can ask me whatever you want. ‘Cause the more I ramble, the less I talk about it, and the less I actually answer your question. Which is the fun of rambling! If you say enough words people forget about what you’re distracting them from. Oh, but I don’t know why I’m telling you that. A true salesman never gives up any secrets. I’m only a salesman in the winter, though. What am I selling now? I guess I’m selling myself. Wait—no, not like that, don’t you dare be laughing over there, G-man!”

Grian says nothing, and he isn’t laughing. He just lets Scar’s words fill the space. He doesn’t ask anything else. It feels hypocritical to do so. He’s dying to know everything, of course, but he also knows what it’s like—that looming weight on your neck from the pressure of well-meaning friends who just want to talk when all you want to do is be alone. If Scar has come all the way out here, then he must really have wanted to be alone.

Scar seems to rattle himself out of it on his own. “I’m stalling again,” he says, voice like lead. “I’ll just start. It’s okay. It’s been 10 years. I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Grian says. “I was just curious. You know all this about me but I didn’t know anything about you. But if it’s a…thing then you don’t have to.”

“No, no,” he says. “It’s fine. I already told you a lot of the story. I just left out some pieces.”

“It’s a slow night,” Grian says. “Only a few fireworks. Plenty of time to talk, if you want…or plenty of time to just watch.”

“I appreciate that,” Scar replies. He takes a deep breath. It’s a funny thing, that. Grian can’t see Scar’s face—he has no idea about anything, even what color hair he has—but he knows the sound of Scar’s breathing.

“I told you about my accident,” Scar begins. “I told you about how it nearly killed me, about the hospital, about taking up painting. And I told you about the way I’m still in pain, even years later. I don’t think it’s ever going to fully go away. But that wasn’t really the whole truth, or the worst part. The worst part was that I wasn’t the only one in the accident.

“I should have been, though. I was the one driving. I was just running an errand, but I was living with my parents at the time so I asked my dad to come with me to help me pick something out. I don’t even remember what it was. And I don’t remember the accident, either. I only know what they told me. I read the accident report. But there’s a wall of glass between me and what happened. Apparently, we hit some black ice in the road and it spun the car into the other lane. We got hit by a truck. It happened so fast. He didn’t know what was coming either.”

Scar pauses there. Grian tries to take in the story. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That sounds terrifying.”

Scar’s voice breaks on the next line. “The doctor told me my dad was dead when the paramedics arrived. They think he probably died instantly. I don’t remember that, though. I don’t remember anything. I just—I just woke up a week later in the ICU. That’s what I remember. Everything was just so fuzzy and hurt so bad. I could tell something was up but I was too tired. I slept. They waited three days and made my mom break the news.”

“Oh, Scar,” Grian says. “I’m so sorry.” But everyone is sorry. They’re always sorry. It doesn’t do anything. So instead he adds, “You must have been so scared. It must have been confusing.”

“It was ten years ago. I’m fine,” Scar repeats, and Grian doesn’t comment on the way it sounds like a lie. Maybe it isn’t a lie on most days of the week, but it certainly is tonight. Scar continues to talk. “I don’t know why that’s what messes me up the most. That I caused it and I don’t remember it. That it’s my fault but I didn’t know for so long.”

“It’s not your fault,” Grian says gently. “It was an accident. That’s what accidents are, they’re not on purpose. So it can’t be your fault.”

“And you’re right, G-man,” Scar says. His voice wavers. “I already know that. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I didn’t know about the ice. I know it’s not my fault but…it’s really hard to believe that, isn’t it?”

Grian swallows against a lump in his throat, and flicks his eyes down to the table. It’s the hardest thing in the world, just below staying alive.

“I just think about everything I could have done differently. Why didn’t I just go alone? Why didn’t I wait until the next day? What if I was driving slower? Would the difference of one mile per hour, or five, or ten have been the difference between life and death? What if I had reacted faster, or better? What if I saved the car from spinning? If I had left just one minute earlier, or five seconds earlier, there might not have been traffic in the oncoming lane. If I had left three hours earlier, maybe the temperature would have still been high enough to keep the ice from refreezing.”

He stops to take a breath. “It doesn’t ever stop. And it doesn’t bring anyone back. The worst is thinking about the things you did and the things you didn’t. Like maybe I would have told him I loved him that morning if I’d known that was the last day I’d see him. Or maybe I wouldn’t have stolen $20 from him and then lied about it when I was 8 years old. Or maybe I would have asked him again to tell me about his funniest story from when he was a teenager. But that’s just how it is, I think. It all comes back to you.”

“How do you deal with it?” Grian whispers.

“Badly,” Scar says, and for once he doesn’t sound like he’s on the brink of tears. “You go forward. And then backward. And then forward again. You live through it.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You’re already doing it.”

“I’m not doing it very good.”

“That’s the only way you can do it.”

There hasn’t been any more fireworks since they started talking. The night outside is dark, with only the slightest sliver of a new moon. Millions of tiny stars glitter in the sky in nearly uninterrupted view. It’s a beautiful night out there, hot and still, but Grian stays in the four walls of his cabin. Enclosed.

Scar speaks. “One of my steps was coming back here. I think, in the end, it was a step forward. This place gives me comfort. I always liked this part of the state. My dad used to take me camping out here all the time, like once a summer. Sometimes we went to Yellowstone National Park. Sometimes we went to Grand Teton National Park. Sometimes we went to Bridger-Teton National Forest. And sometimes we went here. It’s the quietest here.”

“It sounds like you were close with your dad,” Grian says. “It sounds like fun.”

“It was,” Scar says. “My dad was cremated. It was a while before I was out of the hospital, and it was a while before traveling somewhere wasn’t an ordeal. We saved some of his ashes for closer to home, but we made a special trip out here and scattered a little in each spot.”

“That sounds nice…” Grian trails off. “Like he’s still here, somewhere. In a place he loved. In a place with you.”

“I think I fell a little in love with this place then, in a way I didn’t when I was just a child. Or maybe I was just antsy. I wasn’t doing very good, I guess I can tell you that. There was too much guilt and familiarity at home. I wanted out. I wanted to be anywhere else but there. It took me two years after the accident to make it but I came here.”

“So,” Grian says. “Running from something. I see it.”

“Yeah,” Scar says with a huff of air. “Not that great at running these days though! I mean, I’m barely a hiker anymore without being wiped out for a few days! My mom thought this job was a terrible idea. She thought the last thing I needed was to be alone. I guess you know what that’s like.”

“I didn’t even tell my friends or my mum I was taking this job,” Grian admits. “They’d freak out. The reaction from people I knew back in Colorado was bad enough. So I just sent ‘em a letter the first week I was here. A ranger told me I had mail at the main office but I don’t want to check it.”

“They’ll give it to you at the end of the season if you don’t come pick it up,” Scar says. “You can read it then, after you’ve already done it.”

“Was it what you needed?” Grian asks abruptly. “Being alone.”

“I needed it. I think—sometimes everything in your head makes you want to avoid people. You feel like you need the silence of an empty room to just let it all fall out and fix itself. It helps. But only for a little while, because it never really fixes itself. After a while it just eats you up.”

And Grian wants to say, I think it’s eating me. And he wants to say, I think I am not alone enough, I still need more space, I still need more time. And he wants to say, Everything will be fine, I just need to find him. And he wants to say, I don’t think I would have lasted this summer without you.

“I didn’t have anyone to talk to my first summer as a lookout,” Scar admits. “But you have me. And I think—Grian, I know you think you’re alone, but you aren’t. And I know you think nobody understands, but I do. I’m trying to.”

“Oh,” he says. Oh.

There’s tears suddenly welling up in his eyes, and Grian rapidly tries to blink them away. He sees it in the incessant chatter that had annoyed him on the first week. He sees it in their radio channel, the one just for them to talk on, the secondary channel that ensures the main frequency is always open for real emergencies. Scar’s been cultivating the perfect landing spot for Grian to fall into, before he even knew Grian needed it.

“It’s not actually two different things, is it?” Grian finally responds. “Running away from something, and looking for something.”

And Scar says, “I don’t think it is, in the end.”

<< Chapter Seven | Masterpost | Chapter Nine >>

#hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fanfiction #hermitcraft au #hc_firewatch_au #quara fanfic

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whatlurksbean · 1 year ago

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Just out of curiosity, when Trout and Tusk bummed into each other (I think it was page 585?) did Tusk try to stop Trout from running or did she not see Trout running at her at such a fast speed?

I don’t think she intentionally tried to stop her from leaving. She probably expected Trout to either stop or run past her, had she known there’d be a crash she might have stepped to the side.

#answers #no one wants to get smacked into full speed #tusk didn’t realize trout was in a panic til after they crashed #no reason for her to try and stop her from zooming

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conarcoin · 2 years ago

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+800 Nicknames for Penis: A Comprehensive List for Different Ways to Call a Penis

GIGGELI

Dicks can be referred to in a variety of ways. A collection of more than 800 additional words for the penis in alphabetical order is provided in this article. This list includes both common slang terminology and more uncommon and obscure words that are all related to the penis.

+800 Different Words for Penis: A Comprehensive List

Anaconda

Antenna

Appendage

Armadillo

Arrow

Baby maker

Baguette

Bald Avenger

Bald-headed giggle stick

Bally Wacker

Banana

Banger

Baseball bat

Baton

Bayonet

Beast

Beef bayonet

Beef whistle

Bellend

Big boy

Big guy

Biscuit

Bishop

Black mamba

Blastocyst

Blood sausage

Blue-veined custard chucker

Blue-veined junket pumper

Boaby

Bobbin

Bollocks

Bologna pony

Bolt

Bone

Boner

Booboo

Boom stick

Boot

Bopper

Botswana beef bayonet

Bouncer

Bouncing Betty

Braciole

Brain

Branch

Bratwurst

Broccoli

Broccoli spear

Brown trout

Brownie

Brutus and the Twins

Bubble

Bubble gum machine

Buckaroo

Buckwheat

Buddah's belly button

Buffalo soldier

Bulge

Bull

Bull's-eye

Bully beef

Bully stick

Bum tickler

Bumper

Burrito

Buster

Butt dart

Butterbean

Button

Caber

Cabeza

Cactus

Cadbury's c

Cajones

Camel toe

Cane

Cannoli

Captain winky

Capuchin

Carrot

Cervix sentinel

Chameleon

Champignon

Cheese log

Cheesestick

Chef's special

Cherub

Chicken

Chico stick

Choad

Chode

Chopper

Chowder

Christmas goose

Chub

Chubby

Chuck Dickens

Cigar

Cinnamon roll

Clam

Classic

Clit stick

Cloak

Clock

Club

Cobra

Cock

Cod

Colossus

Commander

Cone

Conga

Conquistador

Consolation prize

Corkscrew

Corn dog

Cornholio

Cornish game hen

Corporal

Cossack

Cougar bait

Coxcomb

Crank

Crankshaft

Creamer

Crimper

Crimson mushroom

Crinkle-cut

Crown jewels

Crunchwrap

Crème de la crème

Cucumber

Cummerbund

Custard launcher

Cylinder

D's

Dagger

Dallas Dangler

Danger noodle

Darth Vader

Deep sea diver

Dick

Dickas Hilton

Ding dong

Ding-dong

Dingaling

Dipstick

Disco stick

Dismount

Divining rod

Dog

Doggy

Dolly

Dong

Donkey

Doorknob

Dope stick

Dork

Dormouse

Double barrel

Double dragon

Downstairs department

Drainpipe

Driller

Drumstick

Dude piston

Dumb stick

Dutch courage

Dutch rudder

Excalibur

Firehose

Franks and beans

Gerald

Gherkin

Giggeli

Goldfinger

Groin

Hammer

hammer of love

Hammer of Thor

handle

hard drive

Hard-on

hardware

hatchet wound

he-man

heat-seeking missile

heat-seeking moisture missile

helmet

herbie

Hercules

high hard one

hoo-ha

hoo-hoo

hook

horn

Hose

hose

hot dog

hot rod

hot sausage

Humphrey

hymie

iceberg

Indiana Bones

Jack in the box

Jack's magic beanstalk

Jackhammer

jammy

janitor in the hallway

java

javelin

jawbreaker

Jedi

Jefferson

jelly doughnut

Jenny Craig

Jerry

jiffy stick

Jimmy

Jizz Launcher

John Henry

John Johnson

Johnson

Jorma

Joy-stick

Joystick

joystick

Judge

Juicy fruit

jumbo

Jumper

Junior

Junk

junk

justin

Justus

Kaiser

kebab

Keck

Kennedy

kielbasa

King Ding Dong

King Kong

King Richard

King size

King snake

King's scepter

King's sword

Kipper

Kitty

Knob

Knobgoblin

Knobhead

Knobkerrie

Knobstick

Kraken

Krull the Warrior King

Kulli

Kyrpä

L'Engin

L'Outil

L'Unita

Lady-pleaser

Laidy's lollypop

Lance

Lancer

Lava flow

Leader

Leaky faucet

Leatherman

Lechon

Leek

Leg

Leg of lamb

Leg of mutton

Leggy

Lemon

Lemondrop

Length

Lengthy

Leo

Leosaurus

Leper

Leroy

Leviathan

Libido

Lick

Lickety-split

Lighthouse

Lightning rod

Lil' bro

Lil' willy

Lily

Lima

Limber dick

Limber jimmy

Limbo

Limousine

Limp biscuit

Limp noodle

Limp penis

Limp-dick

Limp-jim

Limpkin

Lincoln

Lindy

Lingam

Link

Linty

Lion

Lipstick

Liquidator

Liquor stick

Lissome

Little birdie

Little bro

Little chap

Little guy

Little head

Little john

Little man

Little peter

Little soldier

Little willy

Lizard

Lizard tongue

Locomotive

Log

Lollipop

Long Dong Silver

Long dong silver

Long fellow

Long john

Long johnson

Long one

Long stick

Longfellow

Longfellow diller

Longhorn

Longie

Longjohn

Longshanks

Longstaff

Magic Mike

Magic stick

Magic Wand

Magic wand

Manhood

Meat Scepter

Meat stick

Member

Micropenis

Mini-me

Missile

Moby Dick

Mojo

Monster

Mount Vesuvius

Mr. Happy

Mr. Winky

Mule

Mushroom

Mushroom Head

Mutton

Myrtle

Nard

Nether rod

One-eye Pete

One-Eyed Monster

One-eyed monster

One-Eyed Snake

One-eyed trouser snake

One-eyed wonder weasel

Organ

Package

Packer

Packing heat

Pecker

Pee-Pee

Pee-pee

Peen

Pencil

Pencil dick

Penile appendage

Penile shaft

Penile tissue

Penile unit

Penile weapon

Penis

Pepperoncini

Peter

Phallos

Phallus

Piece

Pink Oboe

Pintle

Pipe

Pistol

Piston

Pleasure Stick

Plonker

Pocket Rocket

Pogo stick

Poker

Pole

Popcorn

Pork Sword

Prick

Private

Private part

Purple-headed yogurt slinger

Purple-helmeted trouser snake

Purple-Helmeted Warrior of Love

Purple-helmeted warrior of love

Purple-helmeted yogurt thrower

Python

Quiver bone

Ramrod

Ranger

Rascal

Red-capped mushroom

Rod

Root of Jesse

Rude boy

Sausage

Scepter

Schlong

Schwanz

Schwanzstucker

Schwetty balls

Scooby Snack

Screwdriver

Scrod

Scrotum

Sea monster

Secret weapon

Shaft

Shillelagh

Shiv

Shlong

Skin Flute

Skin flute

Skinner

Slingblade

Slug

Slugger

Smacker

Snake

Snapper

Soldier

Spam javelin

Spear

Speed Bump

Speedboat

Spigot

Spigot of love

Spitstick

Spitter

Sponge

Spongebob

Sprout

Spunk gun

Spurt gun

Squirt gun

Staff

Stallion

Stand

Stand up

Starfruit

Stick

Stiffie

Stiffy

Stinger

Stock

Stone

Stone of David

Stonehenge

Stonker

Stopper

Striker

Stud

Stump

Submarine

Sugar stick

Super soaker

Supercock

Surfboard

Swamp lizard

Swansong

Sweetmeat

Swiss Army Penis

Swizzle stick

Sword

Tabasco

Tadger

Tail

Tall tommy

tally

Tallywacker

tallywhacker

Tang

Tank

tapa

Tassle

Tasty pastry

tater

Tazmanian devil

Tea and crumpets

Tea stick

Telescoping tower

Tent peg

Testicle

Testicles

testicular tissue

testiculi

testies

testons

testosterbone

The anaconda

The baton

The big guy

the big vein

the bishop

The blue-veined custard chucker

The chopper

The cone

the conga

The cyclops

The ding dong

The Dipstick

The dong

The driver

The dude piston

the eye of the needle

the family jewels

the flagpole

The flesh flute

The flesh rocket

the fleshy tripod

the fuck stick

the fun rod

The grower

the head

The heat-seeking moisture missile

the hose

The joystick

the King

The knob

the little man in the boat

The love muscle

the magic wand

the main vein

The male member

the man in the boat

The meat whistle

the member

The middle leg

The mighty mite

the old boy

The old man

The one-eyed captain

The one-eyed monster

the one-eyed snake

The one-eyed wonder worm

The package

The peen

The peeper

the pendulum

the peter

The pink cigar

the pink oboe

The pipe

the piston

the pleasure pole

The poker

The pole

the pork sword

the prick

The purple-helmeted warrior

the purple-helmeted warrior of love

The python

The rocket

The rod

The salami

The sausage

The schlong

the scoop

The shaft

The shotgun

The skin flute

The snake

the spitter

the staff of life

the stick

The stiff one

The stinger

the stonker

the sword

The third leg

The tool

The trouser snake

The tube steak

the unit

The wang

the weasel

The wedge

the wee-wee

The weenie

The whopper

The wiener

The wiggle stick

the willy

the wingwang

The womb raider

The wonder worm

The woody

the worm

thingy

Third Leg

Third leg

Thorn

Thrill drill

Throb knob

throbber

Throbbing gristle

Thumper

Thunderbird

Thunderbolt

Thunderstick

Tic Tac

Tickle pickle

Tickler

Tiger

Tiki

Timber

Time machine

Tingler

Tinker

Tinkerbell

tip

Tip drill

Tip of the iceberg

Tipper

Tissue

Titan

Toad

toadstool

todger

Toe

Tool

tooly

tooter

Toothpick

Tootsie roll

Top gun

Torch

Tower

Tower of power

tractor beam

Trafalgar

Treasure

Tree trunk

Tri-pod

Trinket

Trombone

Trouser Snake

Trousersnake

Trumpet

Truncheon

Trunk

Tuba

tube

Tummy banana

Tuna Can

Tuna can

Tuna torpedo

Turgid Trouser Snake

Turgid turtle

turkey

Turkey baster

Turkey neck

Turnip

turtle

Turtleneck

Tusk

twanger

Twig

Twig and Berries

Twig and berries

Twinkie

twinky

Twister

Two ball cane

Two veg and meat

Two-legged Boa

Two-legged tripod

twonker

Umbrella handle

Uncircumcised wonder

Uncle

Uncle Dick

Uncle John

Unit

unmentionables

Uzi

Vainilla

Vainilla Stick

Valiant vein

Veggie

vein

Vein train

Vein train.

Vein-cutter

Vein-erect

Veined custard launcher

VeinMaster 3000

Veiny Victor

Veinzilla

Velvet sword

Vessel

Vienna Sausage

Viking horn

Viking Staff

Vindicator

Vinegar

Violin

Virility

Vixen

Vodka

Volcano

Wally

Wand

wand of light

Wang

wang dang doodle

Wanger

wangle

Wangsta

Wanker

wankie

War club

Warrior

Weapon

Weapon of ass destruction

Weapon of mass destruction

Weapon of Mass Seduction

Wedge

Wee-wee

weenie

weewee

Weiner

wenis

wet noodle

Whacker

Whammer

Whang

Whangdoodle

wheenie

Whip

Whistle

White gold

White Mamba

Whoopie Stick

whopper jr.

widget

Wiener

Wiener Schnitzel

Wiggle stick

wiggle worm

Wiggler

Wiggly

William

Willow

Willpower

Willy

Willy the one-eyed wonder worm

willy wonka

Wing wong

wing-wang

Wingman

Winkie

Winky

Winnebago

Winner

Winston

Winston Churchill

Wintermelon

Wisdom Wand

Wise man

Wishbone

wizard sleeve

Wonder Worm

Wood

Woodpecker

Woody

Worm

Wormhole

wormy

Wrecking ball

Wriggler

Wriggly

Wrinkle

wrinklepump

Wrist Rocket

Wyvern

X-factor

Xylophone

Yad

Yak

Yam

yam

Yam bag

Yams

Yang

Yankee doodle

Yard

Yardstick

Yawing Yowie

Yearling

Yellow

Yellow Belly

Yellow Dart

Yellow dragon

Yellow Peril

Yellow Sausage

Yellow submarine

Yen

Yew

Ygdrasil's staff

Yin-yang serpent

yingyang

Yippie

Yipsicle

Yo-yo

Yob

yobbo

Yoda

Yoga stick

Yoghurt Cannon

Yoghurt gun

Yoghurt pistol

Yogurt

Yogurt hose

Yogurt Slinger

Yogurt slinger

Yogurt thrower

Yolk

Yolkstick

Yolky poke

Yoni

yoni stick

Youth

Yoyo

Yuca

Yule log

Yum yum

Yum-yum

Yummy

Zapper

Zealot

Zebedee

Zebracorn horn

zebu

Zen

Zephyr

Zeppelin

Zesty Italian

Zeus

ziggurat

Zigzag

Zilla

Zinger

Zipper

Zipper Ripper

Zipper snake

Zippy

ziz

Zog

zombie

Zombie maker

Zombie stick

Zonker

Zoom Stick

Zoombini

Zoomer

Zoot stick

Zorro

Zucchini

Zygmunt Freud

Zygote poker

Zygotene

dude?

#long post #penis anon

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breezingby · 4 months ago

Video

youtube

Bob Dylan ~ Hurricane (Official Audio)

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall She sees a bartender in a pool of blood Cries out, "my God, they killed them all"

Here comes the story of the Hurricane The man the authorities came to blame For somethin' that he never done Put in a prison cell, but one time he coulda been The champion of the world

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Three bodies lyin' there, does Patty see And another man named Bello, movin' around mysteriously "I didn't do it" he says, and he throws up his hands "I was only robbin' the register, I hope you understand"

"I saw them leavin'" he says, and he stops "One of us had better call up the cops" And so Patty calls the cops And they arrive on the scene With their red lights flashin' in a hot New Jersey night

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Meanwhile, far away in another part of town Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin' around Number one contender for the middleweight crown Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down

When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road Just like the time before and the time before that In Paterson that's just the way things go If you're black you might as well not show up on the street 'Less you want to draw the heat

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin' around He said "I saw two men runnin' out, they looked like middleweights Jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates" And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head Cop said "Wait a minute, boys, this one's not dead" So they took him to the infirmary And though this man could hardly see They told him he could identify the guilty men

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Four in the mornin' and they haul Rubin in They took him to the hospital and they brought him upstairs The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye Say "Why'd you bring him in here for? He ain't the guy"

Here's the story of the Hurricane The man the authorities came to blame For somethin' that he never done Put in a prison cell, but one time he coulda been The champion of the world

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Four months later, the ghettos are in flame Rubin's in South America, fightin' for his name While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game And the cops are puttin' the screws to him, lookin' for somebody to blame

"Remember that murder that happened in a bar?" "Remember you said you saw the getaway car?" "You think you'd like to play ball with the law?" "Think it mighta been that fighter that you saw runnin' that night?" "Don't forget that you are white"

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Arthur Dexter Bradley said "I'm really not sure" The cops said "A poor boy like you, could use this break We got you for the motel job and we're talkin' to your friend Bello You don't want to have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow You'll be doin' society a favor That son of a bitch is brave and gettin' braver We want to put his ass in stir We want to pin this triple murder on him He ain't no Gentleman Jim"

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Rubin could take a man out with just one punch But he never did like to talk about it all that much "It's my work" he'd say, "and I do it for pay And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way"

Up to some paradise Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice And ride a horse along a trail But then they took him to the jailhouse Where they try to turn a man into a mouse

~ ♫♪♫ ~

All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums To the white folks who watched, he was a revolutionary bum

And for the black folks he was just a crazy nigger No one doubted that he pulled the trigger And though they could not produce the gun The D.A. said he was the one who did the deed And the all-white jury agreed

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Rubin Carter was falsely tried The crime was murder one, guess who testified? Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride

How can the life of such a man Be in the palm of some fool's hand? To see him obviously framed Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land Where justice is a game

~ ♫♪♫ ~

Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell An innocent man in a living hell

Yes, that's the story of the Hurricane But it won't be over 'til they clear his name And give him back the time he's done Put in a prison cell, but one time he coulda been The champion of the world

~ ♫♪♫♪♫ ~

#youtube #Folk Rock #Bob Dylan #HURRICANE...#lyrics #1975

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daddysmusicblog · 3 months ago

Text

#fly fishing #daddysmusic #trout bum #fly tying

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lennart11412 · 1 year ago

Text

Camping Out

by Ernest Hemingway

Thousands of people will go into the bush this summer to cut the high cost of living. A man who gets his two weeks’ salary while he is on vacation should be able to put those two weeks in fishing and camping and be able to save one week’s salary clear. He ought to be able to sleep comfortably every night, to eat well every day and to return to the city rested and in good condition.

But if he goes into the woods with a frying pan, an ignorance of black flies and mosquitoes, and a great and abiding lack of knowledge about cookery, the chances are that his return will be very different. He will come back with enough mosquito bites to make the back of his neck look like a relief map of the Caucasus. His digestion will be wrecked after a valiant battle to assimilate half-cooked or charred grub. And he won’t have had a decent night’s sleep while he has been gone.

He will solemnly raise his right hand and inform you that he has joined the grand army of never-agains. The call of the wild may be all right, but it’s a dog’s life. He’s heard the call of the tame with both ears. Waiter, bring him an order of milk toast.

In the first place, he overlooked the insects. Black flies, no-see-ums, deer flies, gnats and mosquitoes were instituted by the devil to force people to live in cities where he could get at them better. If it weren’t for them everybody would live in the bush and he would be out of work. It was a rather successful invention.

But there are lots of dopes that will counteract the pests. The simplest perhaps is oil of citronella. Two bits’ worth of this purchased at any pharmacist’s will be enough to last for two weeks in the worst fly and mosquito-ridden country.

Rub a little on the back of your neck, your forehead, and your wrists before you start fishing, and the blacks and skeeters will shun you. The odor of citronella is not offensive to people. It smells like gun oil. But the bugs do hate it.

Oil of pennyroyal and eucalyptol are also much hated by mosquitoes, and with citronella, they form the basis for many proprietary preparations. But it is cheaper and better to buy the straight citronella. Put a little on the mosquito netting that covers the front of your pup tent or canoe tent at night, and you won’t be bothered.

To be really rested and get any benefit out of a vacation a man must get a good night’s sleep every night. The first requisite for this is to have plenty of cover. It is twice as cold as you expect it will be in the bush four nights out of five, and a good plan is to take just double the bedding that you think you will need. An old quilt that you can wrap up in is as warm as two blankets.

Nearly all outdoor writers rhapsodize over the browse bed. It is all right for the man who knows how to make one and has plenty of time. But in a succession of one-night camps on a canoe trip all you need is level ground for your tent floor and you will sleep all right if you have plenty of covers under you. Take twice as much cover as you think that you will need, and then put two-thirds of it under you. You will sleep warm and get your rest.

When it is clear weather you don’t need to pitch your tent if you are only stopping for the night. Drive four stakes at the head of your made-up bed and drape your mosquito bar over that, then you can sleep like a log and laugh at the mosquitoes.

Outside of insects and bum sleeping the rock that wrecks most camping trips is cooking. The average tyro’s idea of cooking is to fry everything and fry it good and plenty. Now, a frying pan is a most necessary thing to any trip, but you also need the old stew kettle and the folding reflector baker.

A pan of fried trout can’t be bettered and they don’t cost any more than ever. But there is a good and bad way of frying them.

The beginner puts his trout and his bacon in and over a brightly burning fire; the bacon curls up and dries into a dry tasteless cinder and the trout is burned outside while it is still raw inside. He eats them and it is all right if he is only out for the day and going home to a good meal at night. But if he is going to face more trout and bacon the next morning and other equally well-cooked dishes for the remainder of two weeks he is on the pathway to nervous dyspepsia.

The proper way is to cook over coals. Have several cans of Crisco or Cotosuet or one of the vegetable shortenings along that are as good as lard and excellent for all kinds of shortening. Put the bacon in and when it is about half cooked lay the trout in the hot grease, dipping them in cornmeal first. Then put the bacon on top of the trout and it will baste them as it slowly cooks.

The coffee can be boiling at the same time and in a smaller skillet pancakes being made that are satisfying the other campers while they are waiting for the trout.

With the prepared pancake flours you take a cupful of pancake flour and add a cup of water. Mix the water and flour and as soon as the lumps are out it is ready for cooking. Have the skillet hot and keep it well greased. Drop the batter in and as soon as it is done on one side loosen it in the skillet and flip it over. Apple butter, syrup or cinnamon and sugar go well with the cakes.

While the crowd have taken the edge from their appetites with flapjacks the trout have been cooked and they and the bacon are ready to serve. The trout are crisp outside and firm and pink inside and the bacon is well done—but not too done. If there is anything better than that combination the writer has yet to taste it in a lifetime devoted largely and studiously to eating.

The stew kettle will cook your dried apricots when they have resumed their predried plumpness after a night of soaking, it will serve to concoct a mulligan in, and it will cook macaroni. When you are not using it, it should be boiling water for the dishes.

In the baker, mere man comes into his own, for he can make a pie that to his bush appetite will have it all over the product that mother used to make, like a tent. Men have always believed that there was something mysterious and difficult about making a pie. Here is a great secret. There is nothing to it. We’ve been kidded for years. Any man of average office intelligence can make at least as good a pie as his wife.

All there is to a pie is a cup and a half of flour, one-half teaspoonful of salt, one-half cup of lard and cold water. That will make pie crust that will bring tears of joy into your camping partner’s eyes.

Mix the salt with the flour, work the lard into the flour, make it up into a good workmanlike dough with cold water. Spread some flour on the back of a box or something flat, and pat the dough around a while. Then roll it out with whatever kind of round bottle you prefer. Put a little more lard on the surface of the sheet of dough and then slosh a little flour on and roll it up and then roll it out again with the bottle.

Cut out a piece of the rolled out dough big enough to line a pie tin. I like the kind with holes in the bottom. Then put in your dried apples that have soaked all night and been sweetened, or your apricots, or your blueberries, and then take another sheet of the dough and drape it gracefully over the top, soldering it down at the edges with your fingers. Cut a couple of slits in the top dough sheet and prick it a few times with a fork in an artistic manner.

Put it in the baker with a good slow fire for forty-five minutes and then take it out and if your pals are Frenchmen they will kiss you. The penalty for knowing how to cook is that the others will make you do all the cooking.

It is all right to talk about roughing it in the woods. But the real woodsman is the man who can be really comfortable in the bush.

"Camping Out" by Ernest Hemingway was originally published in the Toronto Daily Star on June 26, 1920.

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duhragonball · 2 years ago

Text

Dragon Ball GT 51

✨GT Stands For Gull Tactics✨

✨Positivity Page✨

Normally, I have a hard time coming up with something for GT to stand for with each episode, but this one has an embarrassment of riches. Gyre Turbulence, Girl Tornado, Gross Tentacle, Guzzling Tequila, Grabbing Trout... I can’t lose. So props to Episode 51 for satisfying a dumb bit I came up with 26 years after the show went off the air.

✨"Good" "Ideas", Poorly Executed✨

So it’s finally time for YOUR favorite Shadow Dragon. The people have spoken, and it’s Oceanus Shenron, also known as “Princess” and “the one that looks like a chick.”

In fact, Oceanus looks a lot like a slimmed down version of Haze, but he uses spinning powers to cast an illusion. This leads to the big issue I have with the episode’s plot, and Oceanus’ character. Let me back up and explain the setup to this.

So Giru has tracked the next Dragon Ball to a quaint fishing village, but he runs out of power before he can pinpoint its exact location. Before anyone can act on this, fish start dropping from the sky. Pan flips the fuck out and screams for like... a full minute? It felt like it anyway. Pan, you’ve been to space and you’ve seen your grandfather nude. Your parents got possessed by alien eggs and they tried to murder you. It’s just fish. Calm down.

Everyone in town rushes out to gather up the fish in wheelbarrows so they can make a quick profit selling them in town. But one local kid, Bish, isn’t so happy about the situation. Ever since “The Princess” started dumping free fish onto the village, the fishermen have stopped doing any work, and now they just drink all day and wait for more fish to fall from the sky.

Bish’s dad, however, disagrees with his son’s assessment. His counterargument: “Shaddup, you blasphemous ingrate, or I’ll throw my hip flask at you.” From what we see of Bish’s father, I’m pretty sure he’d be a surly drunk with or without this whole “free fish” deal.

Anyway, he throws the flask at Bish, and Goku catches it in his teeth because he won’t stand for child abuse. You can bring your grandkids along on dangerous martial arts adventures, sure, but don’t throw shit at ‘em. That’s where Goku draws the line.

Bish explains the whole bit to Pan while Goku cooks fish and then gives his frying pan to Giru. Aw, this is kind of nice. Everyone’s just chillin’ out, havin’ a fishfry. I’m not sure why Pan is so bummed out, but Bish is worried because he doesn’t know who Princess is or where she came from, but he doesn’t like what she’s done to his village, and also the seagull population has been terrorized lately. Bish has tended to their injuries, but they all hide inside a drydocked boat, because they’re too frightened to go out to sea.

Bish thinks there’s a connection, and he’s right. As soon as Giru recharges, he locates the Dragon Ball, and it’s on the forehead of the village’s Princess, who flies into dump more fish on them. Goku and Pan recognize her as a Shadow Dragon, and it’s clear that this is just part of their “destroy the world” agenda.

Here’s my question: How long has Oceanus been at this? I say this because the Shadow Dragons only came to be back in Episode 48, and Goku and Pan have been tracking them down ever since. They found Haze very quickly, and it seemed like they immediately went looking for Rage and found him without much delay. So I just assumed that Episodes 48-51 all take place in the same afternoon. Actually, if the entire Shadow Dragons Saga is just a single day, that wouldn’t surprise me at all.

And yet, everything about Oceanus implies a long con. Each Shadow Dragon seems to have picked out a “home base”, where they go to work ruining things. I almost get the sense that they’re competing with each other. Haze threatened to expand his territory until it covered the whole world, which would make it a paradise for himself. Rage claimed to have stolen the whole world’s electricity. Their individual goals don’t seem to mesh well, so I wonder if this is some deal where they’re all out to destroy the Earth, but only one of them gets to do it. And this is all some weird contest to see who gets to pull the trigger. By that logic, Oceanus seems to be doing her own thing her own way, but it feels like she’s been at it for a lot longer than the others.

Like, okay, the disguise is a neat bit. I just like her “Princess” design a lot better than her true form. I wish the other Dragons had similarly diverse looks to them. But why does Oceanus need a disguise at all? Apparently she’s been giving free fish to the villagers for a while now. They’re so used to it at this point that they call her a goddess and have given up working for a living. She warns Goku that no one has ever seen her true form and lived to tell about it, which is a cool line, but not for a villain who’s only a few hours old. Who else has seen her true form?

The premise for this story suggests that she’s been at this thing for weeks, or even longer, but that just doesn’t add up. Maybe Goku and Pan stopped at a Holiday Inn between Episode 50 and 51. So at most, Oceanus has been operating in Bish’s village for a full day. And yet the whole town has already gotten accustomed to her routine. It doesn’t add up.

And what’s the point of this whole charade? This is her only appearance, so she dies before we can find out her plan, but it seems like it would take forever to pull off. I mean, I guess her plan involves corrupting the village’s fishermen and damaging the local ecology, but wouldn’t it make more sense to just... I don’t know... use her wind powers to break stuff? That’s what the other dragons are up to. Haze was making land uninhabitable, Rage was forcing people to abandon cities, and when we get to Naturon we’ll find him digging tunnels and wrecking cities in the process.

Oceanus’ strange tactics might be explained by a quirky personality, which brings me to the Underwear Wish that created her. The Dragon Ball Wiki has a lot of words devoted to trying to connect each Shadow Dragon to the wish that birthed them, and while I respect the effort, it’s a lot of reaching. Someone might suggest that Oceanus uses the Princess disguise because Oolong’s wish was so frivolous and pervy. And maybe her weird plan is supposed to be tied to the nature of the wish. Like Ooong only asked for panties in order to stop Pilaf from wishing for world domination, so maybe that has something to do with it. There are people who spend a lot of time trying to connect these dots, but it just doesn’t make sense.

For example, Haze Shenron originated from the wish to revive Bora. What does any of that have to do with pollution? What does the wish to revive Goku have to do with electric slime? Nothing. These were just trivial matters that Toei slapped together. There is no underlying explanation for Oceanus Shenron. Someone wanted to write a morality tale about a fishing village corrupted by a false goddess, and so one of the Shadow Dragons was tailored to suit the role. It didn’t matter that the Shadow Dragons were only a few hours old, or that this one came from a wish for panties. It all just got slapped together.

✨Is This Episode Worse than "The Roaming Lake"?✨

All right, so how is the fight? Well, it’s a step up from Haze and Rage, but that’s not saying much.

Goku gets his clothes shredded by her initial attack, but Pan has a spare dogi in her backpack, so they’re back in business. Then Goku figures out that Oceanus just spins a lot, so he starts spinning too, and then they slam into each other really hard. It’s very dumb, but at least they’re hitting each other.

Oceanus still gets the upper hand, though, and manages to keep Goku pinned down. He just can’t get past the wind she creates. It blocks all his attacks, even the Kamehameha. You’d think Goku would try transforming to even the playing field, but maybe Rage Shenron spooked him out of that.

Anyway, all hope seems lost until the seagull Bish was carrying suddenly flies out of his hands and divebombs Oceanus from above. It can’t do a whole lot to her, but it does manage to get through her defenses, which gives Pan an idea. She flies directly over Oceanus and fires a Kamehameha straight down on her head. It’s like how there’s no wind in the eye of a hurricane. Oceanus is defenseless from that angle.

They make a lot out of this Kamehameha, like it’s Pan’s first, but I’m pretty sure she’s used it before in GT. This is the first time she’s used it to win a battle..... or it would have been, except Goku fires his own Kamehameha at Oceanus to finish her off. I don’t know if Pan’s was just meant as a diversion, or if the writers decided that Goku had to be involved in the finish because of Kozo Morishita’s rule against Pan actually getting to win fights or do anything cool.

The main point I want to make here is that none of this would be possible without the seagull literally showing our heroes where to shoot. As with the last two Shadow Dragons, Goku and Pan just sort of screw around the whole time, wondering why their attacks aren’t working, and then something else comes along to save them, like the underground spring Giru found, or the raincloud over Rage’s city, or this seagull.

After the fight, the fishermen thank Goku and Pan for showing them the error of their ways, and all the seagulls come out of that one boat. But they don’t have the budget for animating a flock of seagulls, so they use a bunch of still images instead. Hey, maybe don’t write stuff into the episode if you know you’re not going to be able to animate it.

Bish asks Pan to teach him how to fly next time, and Pan responds by inviting him to Mt. Paozu for lessons. Well that’s a brush-off if I’ve ever seen one. Why should he schlep all the way out to Mt. Paozu, Pan? You’re the one who can fly!

Then the episode ends with this shot of the four remaining Shadow Dragons. This is the first time we’ve seen them since the arc started. Episodes 48 and 49 had some shots of Rage and Oceanus, but the rest weren’t shown, which leads me to wonder if they hadn’t finalized their designs until this point. But that’s a problem for later.

Anyway, this episode is a lot better than the two that came before it, but that isn’t saying much. I’m still annoyed with the way they used a seagull to expose Oceanus’ weakness. Also, it’s kind of dumb that Oceanus’ weakness is just “attack from overhead”. Imagine if you could defeat Frieza that easily. But you can’t figure that out on your own, you need a seagull to demonstrate first.

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Can Goku restore

The cracked Dragon Balls? Or will

They Break like the Wind?

#dragon ball #dragon ball gt #really sucks #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #*haiku does not come with crown as illustrated #goku #pan #giru #bish #oceanus shenron

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