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vraisetzen · 30 days ago

Note

V, you’re doing requests? Oh my gosh, I love your writing so much, I feel like I just… have to be cheeky and use this opportunity 🤭💕 my hunch is to say that I’d love for you to write something that inspires you, but I also won’t lie and will admit that I’m really craving some… boyfriend Koku related story? Perhaps in a modern setting too 😀 and because I’m… a bit greedy, I’d like to request semi-longform 🫣❤️🫶

𝑻𝒐 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒕 — 𝑨 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Summary: Business trips are long, tiring affairs, and while absence only makes the heart grow fonder — both you and Kokushibo are adamant to make things work.

Tags: 18+, NSFW, PWP, Smut, Phone Sex, Modern AU, Boyfriend!Kokushibo

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely request! I loved writing every moment of this ficlet — you can certainly read this as a standalone, or within the Kimetsu Gakuen AU, or the modern office AU that I wrote a while back. Enjoy!

"How was the meeting?"

"It went well." Kokushibo's voice was distant, and softer than usual. "We made good progress with the board of directors from the Teikoku Blood Bank, so that man thinks we can move on to the next step of negotiations tomorrow."

"That sounds good," you noted, lying on your side as you gazed out the window.

Through the sheer curtains, you could see the waning crescent looming over the city skyline, its faint glow surrounded by the twinkling of stars. Amongst them, the blinking of a satellite persisted — you cradled the phone between your cheek and shoulder, and wondered if Kokushibo could see the same moon and scatter of constellations that you did right now through his hotel room window.

As Kibutsuji Muzan's trusted second-in-command of the department, business trips were part and parcel of Kokushibo's duties, with him often acting as emissary and secretary for the division chief while the latter wove through networking luncheons and business drinks at cabaret lounges. And though they never lasted more than a week, you always made it a point to call him at the end of a long day if he was not too busy or tired.

It was not because you were afraid of him straying — Kokushibo often kept to his room in the evening whenever possible; and all you simply wanted was to hear his voice. On his part, your boyfriend more than welcomed these casual chats as you idled from one topic to another the way you would if he was right beside you. It was a point of familiarity, a semblance of home away from home.

"So that's two nights down and two more to go," you said absent-mindedly, your words trailing off as you yawned. Kokushibo was a few hours behind you, and you had been chatting longer than usual tonight.

"Are you in bed?" Kokushibo asked.

"Are you not?" you parried, stealing a glance at the digital clock on your nightstand. Quarter past one. Usually, you would be tucked in your sheets at this hour, but your phone felt particularly heavy in your hand tonight, and you were reluctant to hang up.

"I am."

"Then you probably should go to bed early," you suggested, with no intention of ending the call.

"I won't be sleeping any time soon," Kokushibo said. "I have emails to reply."

You hummed in understanding, and said: "Then we can keep going until one of us falls asleep then."

There was something strange in the air after you said those words, one on which you cannot quite place your fingers. It was rich with implication and unspoken intent, that you felt lingered on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill; Kokushibo was not a talker, and he could very well be tired after a long day of work, but you felt that same pressing need from him to stall for however long you both could, and so you waited.

In the static silence, Kokushibo asked: "What are you wearing?"

"Hmm?" you replied, gazing down at your nightclothes despite knowing very well what you picked earlier this evening after coming out of the shower. "Just a shirt and an old pair of shorts."

"Which ones?" he pressed.

"Oh, you know," you began, picking at the frayed ends of the shirt and studying the design. You were happy for him to ask the questions, if you had an inkling of where he was bringing you. "The one with the donuts; nothing fancy."

"Right." The line crackled as you heard him take a deep breath, and you turned to lie flat on your back. "And beneath that?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Humour me."

"Well..." you drifted off, toying with the elastic waistband of your shorts as you drew out your answer.

"You're not wearing anything, aren't you?" Kokushibo interrupted before you could elaborate.

You were suddenly quite glad of the distance between the both of you as your ears took to a furious scarlet, shifting up to prop your back against the pillow.

"And what makes you think that?" you parried, the sensation of worn polyester stark against your bare skin. The slow buzz of Kokushibo's hum across the line drew shivers down your spine.

"It's been two nights," he explained slowly, his timbre a soft growl. You heard the rustling of bed sheets as he shifted on the bed, the sound of old springs creaking beneath his weight.

He leaves the words hanging, transmitting them across oceans and timezones even though you are miles apart. Lightly, you tickled the sensitive skin over your inner thigh, taking a shuddering breath as you recounted his words in your head.

Two nights — it was not a long time by any means, and certainly you have been away from each other for longer. The temperature of your room seemed to have risen by a few degrees, and you kicked off the sheets as well. What was that saying? That absence makes the heart grow–

"How wet are you?" he asked again, without missing a beat.

The assumption in his words were apparent, but you did nothing to quell his accusation; between your legs, the warm wash of arousal clung to the threadbare fabric of your shorts. You pressed an experimental finger against your cunt, and drew a silver thread of wetness.

But you were too embarrassed to answer; too embarrassed to make plain the desperation gnawing away at your bones. You wanted to tear off your sorry excuse of pyjamas — and that you did, discarding the thin clothes across the half-empty mattress. Your skin was fire across the icy-cool sheets; and as you reclined back on the bed, you set your phone beside your head on the pillows, turning the speaker on.

You closed your eyes, and imagined Kokushibo's hands on your sex — the callous on his fingertips that gave just the perfect amount of roughness on your soft skin, the insistent pressure he would apply to your clit as he traced up from your dripping core to your seam.

Your smaller, slight fingers were no substitute for his deft ministrations, nor were they an adequate replacement for how he was attuned to every note of arousal in your body; but the nearness of his voice, the static ricket of his breathing through your phone was a sufficient approximation for his being right next to you.

Through the receiver, you heard a strained groaned, and wondered if Kokushibo thought the same: how his hands would never compare to your tight, throbbing heat; that even if he could spit into his palms to ease the friction, he would much prefer sinking into your sultry wetness — the sound of which filled the room at present as you smeared your essence across your sex before coaxing your middle and ring finger within.

"Tell me how you feel," Kokushibo rasped, as you threw your head back on the pillow and gasped.

Massaging that sensitive bundle of nerves along your walls, you sighed: "It feels– it feels good, but..."

"But?"

"It's not as good as when you do it..."

"I see..." Kokushibo began, and you brought your free hand to your breasts, pinching your nipples. "And what would you want me to do?"

Through the haze of pleasure, your eyes rolled over to the call screen, over the small photo of Kokushibo that you had taken as his caller ID: a Mannerist portrait of long hair and pale skin, his stern brows softened in a rare moment of distraction as the colours of sunset poured over his oblique profile. That cold elegance, so at odds with the wanton conversation you were both sharing.

"I want you inside me," you admitted, biting back a whimper as you nudged against that same spot again. Dropping your other hand between your legs, you brushed your clit in time with your fingers.

Shutting your eyes, you imagined that it was not your hands on your body but rather Kokushibo — his cock, wide and warm as they split you open, stretching you along your clenching walls; the throb of his erection that struck you perfectly each time he pistoned his hips into your writhing form.

Your soft cries joined the ragged growls emitting from the phone as Kokushibo listened to your keels and the wash of your arousal on your fingers; could he hear, from your fervent moans, how much you craved him? Did he feel the same dissatisfaction as he gripped himself by the base of his erection, stroking his length to each of your breathless gasps, so as to join your pleasure in unison?

"Don't hold back," he grunted. "Tell me everything..."

Licking your dry lips, you pushed through the haze of pleasure to admit: "I wish — I wish you were here; I want you to touch me, and fuck me, and come inside me-"

"Shit," Kokushibo seethed, a rare break of composure as you continued to beg for him. He could not see you, but he knew as well how you were likely writhing on your shared bed, back arching as you came undone at the behest of your fingers. "When I come back-"

"-I'll let you do anything you want," you finished his words, tilting your hips to better slip your fingers into your depths. You were close, so close — and you would be closer if Kokushibo was here, tongue and hands and cock and all, pinning you beneath his frame; not even your best fantasies could replicate that torrent of heat that radiated from his body as he bruised into your core, skin smoothing against skin, sweat-soaked and flushed with impending climax.

Already you knew what you wanted to do, and want you wanted him to do when he returned — you could take his length into your mouth, and he could lick every drop of your essence. Savour every missed drop, making up for lost time; you would not even make it as far as the bedroom if you pounced on him in the cramped entryway of your flat, then the sofa, the kitchen counter. He could hold you against the wall, your body folded at the hip as your ankles found leverage on his shoulders, your petals pink and soaked for him to push easily inside your cunt without resistance.

"Come for me," he would command, and you would let go of all inhibitions and frustrations, the surge of your orgasm striking your body as a lightning in a vast ocean of pleasure; stars and sparks clouding your vision as it scorched through your veins, as bright and incandescent as the dawning sun in that fleeting moment. Thrashing beneath his continued thrusts, you would feel the spill of his seed, hot and thick, in your tightening depths, cajoling him for all he was worth, your pleasures coming together one potent potion of lust.

Your fingers drew to a gradual stop inside your sex, the clenching of your walls fading to a faint pulse as you descended from your high. You heard a faint squelch as you withdrew your hand, and studied the rivulets of your arousal trickling down your fingers. Just yours, you could not help but be reminded, as you searched the sheets for your forgotten phone. The call was still on, and you heard a rough panting that made you sizzle with want.

"I miss you." Your voice was small and timid against the enormity of your desire.

The line was silent for a moment before Kokushibo answered: "I won't be long."

You better not, you wanted to say, but decided against it. Studying your mottled reflection in the glass — bed head, bare skin — you chose instead to hit a logo in the bottom of the screen, just beside the speaker. Three dots skittered in an undulating dance as the call reconnected, and then:

Kokushibo raised a brow at you as you gazed at him through the video call, your attention falling first to his chest, and how they shimmered with a faint sheen of perspiration. He, too, swept his eyes over your tousled state; they dropped a fraction of an inch down to your naked body as you raised the front camera. Holding your fingers — still glistening with your juices, you licked them clean for him one by one.

"My phone's dying," he told you when you were finished. You took in his parted lips and how his Adam's apple bobbed up and down along the firm column of his throat, knowing he longed for the taste of your musk on his tongue. Still, Kokushibo sat up straight on his bed, the hotel mattress protesting beneath the sudden movement.

From this angle, you could see the half-mast of his cock, poised and ready for your taking; if only you could...

"So we'll just have to make this a quick one, my dearest..."

Thank you for reading!

For my longer writings, please visit my AO3 here.

#vraisetzen #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x you #kokushibo x reader insert #kokushibo #demon slayer reader insert #kny reader insert

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ghostradiodylan · 9 months ago

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So, it's one year after the night at Hacketts Quarry. And everyone's kind of freaking out because, that's what trauma does to you. So basically what would everyone do that night?

Also, thank you for keeping this fandom alive

Ooh this is a fun ask!

Sorry this took so long! I had to chew on it for a bit and then I forgot it in my drafts!

Okay, so it's August 22nd 2022. The moon is cooperating by not being full (it's a waning crescent, to be precise). It's also a Monday and it could be the first day of college/university for anyone going, but let's imagine they all go back a little later since that seems to be the case in the game itself.

We'll imagine everyone survived because otherwise there are fewer of them to talk about and everyone is way sadder. I think one thing they're definitely not doing is going back to Hackett's Quarry in some kind of misguided Until Dawn style return to the scene of the trauma trip. Even if the werewolves are gone, there's still a ghost out there and that's how horror movie sequels get made!

They might do a quick zoom or hit up the group text just to check in, but I don't think they'd necessarily all get together. It would be a little intense for an anniversary, I think.

Max & Laura are endgame, so obviously they're still together, and I'd like to imagine they'd plan a little getaway for themselves (preferably one where Max doesn't have to drive). They'd want it to be something completely unlike the woodsy setting they spent the night in last year. Maybe they'd book a nice hotel for a long weekend not too far from home, just to have a break. Or maybe they'd do something big like take an Alaskan cruise. (Can they afford that as two grad school aged students whose lives just got turned upside down a year ago? Probably not, but it's a nice idea! Maybe if there was a victim's compensation fund or they sold their story to Netflix...) Water all around means zero werewolves! Max will keep comparing their accommodations with those of the North Kill jail, as he will do on every vacation now. ("Look honey, the toilet's in its own room and not an open concept bathroom like the last place we stayed!")

Emma talks about how she wanted to go to the spa after camp in one variation of her scene in the lodge basement, so maybe she'd have a nice pampering session for herself. Mani/pedi, facial treatment, massage, then chilling at home in a fluffy robe and slippers. Kat @itscomingupaces headcanoned Emma acquiring a tiny dog postcanon, which I love, so she probably has a tiny dog in her lap too. Maybe she'd do a brief vlog to reflect on her progress over the course of the year, assuming her viewers have a general idea that something traumatic happened to her and it wasn't all covered up. She'd throw on a comfort movie like Tangled or Singin' in the Rain and get her beauty sleep.

Nick would probably like to forget this anniversary, but I doubt he'd be so lucky in just a year. He has a lot of guilt about the way he treated Abi, though he wasn't really in control at the time. He'd probably try to do something that made him feel good about himself, like volunteer work. I could see him working on a Habitat for Humanity house or walking dogs at an animal shelter. He's almost certainly apologized profusely already, but if he's living anywhere close to Abi, he might offer to take her to dinner. If not, maybe it would be a good time to send her a card. Or an email.

Abi has definitely channeled some of her trauma into her art, so she might take the day to work on a new piece, maybe something a little less based in realism and a little more based in emotion. Maybe she'd incorporate some mixed media or sculpture into it. I go back and forth about shipping her with Emma or with Nick (or neither, or both) but maybe she'd get a manicure with Emma if she's not getting dinner with Nick (she wouldn't be up for the full spa day, though, that's just too much of strangers touching her and talking to her). Or maybe she'd do both, though that would be a lot of doing for our little introvert!

Jacob & Kaitlyn have hopefully patched up any bad feelings stemming from Jacob sabotaging the van because as childhood friends, I think they'd want to help each other when difficult anniversaries like this one come up. I forget who originally suggested it but I now strongly believe the headcanon that they are longtime karaoke buddies and they probably go get a private karaoke room and scream-sing away their angst while getting really embarrassingly drunk. It's fine, they'll get an Uber back to Kaitlyn's and eat an entire pizza later.

Ryan would want to go pay his respects to Chris, Kaylee, and Caleb Hackett. He has very complicated feelings about the family and their role in everyone's nightmare a year ago, but he still has affection for them and feels a duty to remember them as they were when they weren't transforming into flesh-eating monsters. I think he'd want to go visit their gravesites back in North Kill, take them some flowers, and clean off the headstones if the other Hacketts aren't around to do it. I'd like to imagine that he and Dylan would have figured their shit out by then, but whether they're a couple or not I think they'd definitely be in touch and Dylan would probably offer to drive Ryan out there and keep him company if Ryan would let him (if they still haven't gotten together, they probably have some things to talk about).

Dylan picks up some food on his way home, takes an edible, curls up with his cat, and watches the original 80's version of Cosmos with Carl Sagan. It's got a retro futuristic vibe that's very comforting. Some people get anxiety thinking about the vastness of space, but Dylan finds it oddly soothing to think that his problems are actually very small in the grand scheme of things in an ever-expending universe. Ryan can come too, if he wants (he probably does).

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sister-cna-reader · 10 months ago

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Imagine older Bill has a protocol for the family for when Becky has her period. And has already made plans when their daughters reach woman hood too.

*cough* Anon you don't know the plot bunnies you've caused.

Muscle💪 and Beauty💅 Family my beloved💕

A resident of Berlint had to remember: An Imperial Scholar had to be well rounded, and not just a one trick pony.

At first glance, Imperial Scholar Watkins was merely an athlete, all of his accolades sports based and not a light bulb between those bespectaled eyes.

But the students knew better. Bill Watkins was both brawn and brains. One of the most mathematically inclined of their grade band, his Stellas divided between athletics and his top placements in math.

Becky Blackbell knew Bill even better than that. She knew he was a straightforward type of guy, earnest, honest, respectful (it took a few years to get on a first name basis from him) and above all: A massive nerd.

Everyone had their own niche, special interest, passion -whatever you wanted to call it.

Anya’s was Classical Language and decoding.

Becky’s was television and movie production.

And Bill’s was pattern recognition. His grand project for Eden was disproving the connection between discipline spikes and the Full Moon. He was 3 years deep into it, and still had a year to go, his methodical data collecting now reduced to a mere 20 minutes twice a week.

He was getting bored with it and Bill craved the intellectual stimulation.

Then they had biology class on the reproductive system.

Eden was disciplined and detached the way they presented the lectures, dry as field rations and so detailed that they were more stressed about the tests surrounding it over the impact on their social lives.

It was complicated.

And Bill loved every moment of it. The way hormones peaked and waned, cyclical in nature by design or by fluke. It spoke to his number bent mind. He absorbed the information like a sponge and was more then happy to volunteer his time to tutor on the subject.

The girls in his hall were just grateful this translated into their everyday life by his readiness with discreet period supplies in his sports duffel at their disposal if they were ever in need. Pads, tampons, and even some individual chocolates were in their hands with a mere code phrase.

Becky had mostly forgotten about this, a mere quirk of their school days she had dismissed as a passing fancy. And as they were in two different halls, she never quite understood the impact Bill had on Wald Hall’s female expectations for their future partners.

But then she found the calender in his office when they were dating.

It was a notebook agenda flipped open to the previous month, the moon stages denoted in symbols and a rainbow of other symbols in red, green, blue, and purple scattered throughout the boxes.

She found a Saturday, one they had gone out to a date on. The moon was crescent, accompanying it was a red heart, a smiley face with a dash on either side, and a blue X.

Becky recalled the night, she’d been in a good mood, talking his ear off about the production she was on and they’d had a wildly passionate night in a nearby hotel.

The next Saturday the moon was nearly full, and they had another date, but he’d cut the night short- citing a stomach ache. The Red Heart had an X through it and a blue O.

She looked at the date of their most recent outing, and the Heart was without an X again but the Blue mark was now a question mark.

What in the world was he tracking?

“I’m ready if you are.” Bill’s voice said from the doorway, startling Becky something fierce as once again his silent steps and uncanny stealthiness caught her red handed.

His eyes flickered to the notebook calender and his cheeks turned a bright red.

“What is this?” She asked lightly, a giggle coming from her throat.

“You weren’t supposed to see it.” was his only answer.

“... Were you tracking our dates?” she rallied, keeping her tone gentle- if not humorous.

The broad statured man shuffled on his feet, twisting his fingers together in embarrassment. “Among other things…” he mumbled.

“Like what?”

At that he covered his face with both hands and she knew exactly what he was keeping track of.

“Did you bail on that date because you thought I was on my period?” she stabbed, if only to get him to confirm. “Because I wasn’t you kn-”

He let out a strangled groan and shook his head. “Opposite actually. I think.”

This made Becky’s face flare into a blush. “Bill!”

“I didn’t mean to!” He almost wailed, mortified and rattling his defense, “It was just an idle thing when I was bored but then I got interested in it! I didn’t mean any harm by it! Promise!”

He took a deep breath, and she could only look on in fondness as his words flowed on.

“I just wanted to be sure you were comfortable, and we hadn’t talked about birth control. I didn’t have any protection on me that night and I didn’t want you to be disappointed- so I bailed. Then I thought it’d be a great idea to keep tracking it just in case so I’d be prepared and you must think I’m the worst…”

Oh my giant nerd. She wrapped her arms around his waist and let her head drop against his chest. “You’re not going to sell my health information to creeps are you?”

She could feel the indignation in the way his ribs expanded with a gasp. He clutched her close, his large hands hot against her back. “I’d never do that to you.” he growled.

“Are you tracking anyone else’s?”

“No!”

“How long have you been doing this?” She couldn’t help but ask.

He hugged her tighter, “Only two months.”

Bill kissed the top of her head and softened a little. “You get so tired during your periods, and I just wanted to be helpful and not push you or do something stupid.”

“So you’re tracking my period.”

“Yes”

She couldn’t stay mad at him for very long- at least for something so odd. “I don’t even bother to track my period so closely.”

“It’s not like I have reliable data from two months anyway,” he mumbled, embarrassment still evident in his tone. “I can toss it.”

“Alright Smarty Pants, I’ll let you know when it starts getting creepy.” Becky pulled herself up and gave him a kiss on the lips. “So are we good for this date now?”

The next lady who became a beneficiary from Bill’s ultra prepared personality was not Anya - for she had long been a recipient of supplies and food since childhood, nor was it his daughters- they were still too young.

It was his oldest son’s study partner, Victoria.

No one could blame her for asking which drawer in the spacious bathroom had the feminine supplies. It was bound to happen eventually for a young lady to need the stash. Upholstery could be washed and the uniform was black, so really it was just a mortifying experience- not world ending.

Wanting to be sure he wouldn’t motify her any more, Robert seeked out help while she was in the power room.

But Lily was adamant that her older brother should’ve been more of a gentleman and initiate Protocol Luna.

The Protocol that had been in rotation since before any of them were born.

“Lily, can you help Victoria find something to wear?” Robert wheedled to his baby sister.

Lily, in true little sister fashion crossed her arms and gave her best harumph. “She’s your girlfriend. You ask Mom for clothes she can borrow.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he hissed. “We’re just studying for finals! She won’t look me in the eye ever again if I bring it up!”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll tell Dad it’s a Code Luna.”

“You wouldn’t”

“I would.”

They stared each other- daring, neither wanting to back down. The Boys learned to never pull in their parents to their disagreements, having learned long ago that tattling would earn them burpees and enough laps to make them want to collapse.

The girls had recognized this behavior and turned it into the most nuclear option.

One- two- three heartbeats and Lily was out the door careening down the hall from her brother’s bedroom. Her speed overcame any difference between their heights as the little girl tore down to the study where their Father sat reading the paper.

With a mighty jump, she landed into his strong arms, crumpling the sport’s section in her haste.

“Daddy! Robert’s girlfriend has a Code Luna!” she panted.

Bill blinked and readjusted his glasses. “And why am I being told this?”

“You little gremlin-!” Robert panted, finally arriving- winded from his sprint. “She’s not- my - girlfriend!”

“A very serious accusation.” Bill nodded, eyeing his son with a smile. “Should I go help her myself?”

The thought of his giant, honest to a fault father talking to his tiny, timid classmate about bodily functions was the stuff of social nightmares. Victoria might actually short circuit from embarrassment.

(And never talk to him again)

“DAD!” Robert moaned in frustration. “That’s worse!”

Thunder cracked overhead, rattling the windows. The rain that had been pouring all day intensified.

Wrapping an arm around his daughter, the father of the house stood.

“If she isn’t taken care of by the time I get cookies in the oven, I’ll make you twice as embarassed. And I’ll tell your mother you’ve started dating without telling her.”

Lily smirked, curling up like a cat in her father’s arms. Got you.

“You’re all the worst!” the teen hissed with no real heat behind it.

A scant half hour later, Bill arrived with a plate of cookies. They were still warm from the oven, laden with dark chocolate chips and chewy oatmeal.

Robert could see the light behind Victoria’s eyes brighten as she marveled at the size of the treats. He grabbed one out of courtesy and pushed the plate towards her side of the coffee table.

“Have as many as you want.”

“Of course, she’ll have to stay the night!” Becky said later at the dinner table, feeding her youngest bites. “The rain is just awful, isn’t it dear?”

Bill nodded. “She’ll take the guest room with the adjoining bathroom of course.”

“Oh I’ve already imposed enough,” the meek guest said, looking tiny in both personality and stature amidst the Waktin’s brood. Her borrowed outfit from Becky looked good, but she held herself stiffly, afraid to stain the garments like she had her uniform.

Robert did his very best not to hang his head in mortification. “Don’t worry Vicky, there’s enough space for all of us plus the Desmonds.”

Victoria still sported a faint blush that had been present ever since she had arrived.

“So are you a tea or coffee person? Waffles or Pancakes? Do you have a milk intolerance?” Mrs. Watkins already had a writing pad out, jotting down everything she could think of for an overnight guest. “Of course, I’ll let you have the pick of some pajamas for tonight…”

“I’m so so so sorry for being such a hassle.”

Victoria had found him in the hall, blessedly empty of other family members. Robert hesitantly put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It startled a “meep” out of her and he snatched it back.

He attempted to reassure her in another way. “If you were a hassle, Dad wouldn’t have offered for you to stay over. And, like- he’s such a stupidly prepared person! I don’t think anything you do will shock him.”

She fidgeted with her fingers and her lip quivered ever so slightly. “So they won’t mind if I come back?”

Sometimes he forgot that Victoria was a dorm kid and didn’t have much contact with her guardians. “I promise they won’t mind. They’ll welcome you back any time I’m sure.”

Just down the hall, around the corner, and out of sight of the teens, Becky stifled her squeal behind one hand and slapped Bill’s chest in excitement with the other.

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pyxisastronautica · 7 months ago

Text

Guilt

Life in the Ninth was pretty laidback, all things considered. It lacked the hurriedness present in the bigger cities like the First or the Third, the boiling tension of the more exploited cities like the Eleventh or Twelfth, and had less of a reputation of seedy political intrigue compared to the likes of the Fifth or the Eighth. Orek had proven to be the perfect place to start over for four robots in hiding.

Or at least, to pretend that they had.

Golf, Hotel, Kilo, and November sat around a table where a holographic projection emanated from one of November’s eyes. For the past decade it had been Hotel’s turn, but after settling down in Hades they had decided to start a new campaign and shelf the old one for now, and it was agreed that it was her turn to take the reins.

On the table was a snowy town, and three figures wandering through it- a shaggy minotaur with a battleaxe at their side and a shield on their back, a hooded gnome strapped with daggers, and a wood elf with a wooden staff. The low and eerie sound of wind whipping through was played as November’s voice layered over it.

“It’s much quieter since the last time you’ve passed through here. Ebrathor, Meedelwurtz, you notice that there’s only a few people around, and all of them are behind their doors. The lights aren’t on.”

“Mmmm, that’s a little spooky. What’s the phase of the moon again?” Golf asked, idly rotating around the hologram of a druid with his finger, which November allowed.

“Waning crescent- tomorrow will be a new moon.”

“Tomorrow?” Kilo asked, drumming their fingers, “Are they like? Getting a headstart then? Do we see any smoke around?”

“Looking up at the sky a bit, you do indeed see a column of smoke rising from what looks to be the town square.”

“Aw fuck, we were supposed to meet Hippo Wizard again, weren’t we? We should probably make sure it’s not her over there.”

“Lady Wisteria Bellington,” November corrected, “But yes, she was still, as far as you know, waiting at the Hoary Boar for you to come back with that crystal.”

“Sooo, maybe we check there first then?” Hotel offered, bouncing the minotaur figure in their hand to imply talking, “She doesn’t strike me as the kind of lady who’s easy to catch- wizards are notoriously slippery and hippo wizards have GOT to be even doubly so.”

“Tch, Blondie, we can’t chicken out this time, as much as I wanna,” replied Kilo as “Meedelwurtz”. As they folded their arms, so did their character. “If she IS there we gotta bail her out somehow, or we risked our necks for like. A little bit of cool loot and a lot of no extra party member. Plus we need the gold anyway and a bunch of people gawking at a flame is a great opportunity. Just saying.”

“Uggggggh fiiiiine. But if you get caught, we don’t know you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Shall we away then?” Golf asked, miming tapping a staff on the ground.

“As the Lady would say, ‘Indubitably’,” Kilo replied.

After a moment of further agreement and planning, November readied the next scene, but before it could render a knock on the door cut her short and the projection disappeared altogether.

“Nose goes,” November blurted out.

“But we don’t have-” Kilo started to object before realizing that their compatriots were tapping the nose of their synthetic skins, “Oh, right. Damn.” Letting out a sigh for pure exaggeration, Kilo stood up. “Alright, but the rest of you should check on the food.”

“On it,” Golf said, already on his way into the small kitchen of the two bedroom apartment the four of them shared.

Hotel and November, meanwhile, scrambled to pull out several taped-together sheets of computer paper meticulously illustrated upon with pen, which depicted a copy of the map they had just been using, as well as a handful of painted clay figures.

“Heya Cedes, you’re early! Chicken’s still got thirty minutes to go I hope you don’t-” Kilo shouted as they opened the door to familiar faces, but not the ones they were expecting, “...mind.”

“Sorry Kelv, are we ah…interrupting something?” Asked one of two pretty and only slightly overdressed people standing in front of them- in particular, a svelte dark-haired fellow.

“Does it matter? Get in here, then.”

Romeo strode past Kilo with Tango in tow, the former pulling out a chair for the latter in a gentlemanly fashion before taking a seat himself. Tango, for their part, immediately started to pick up and examine the pieces on the board with fascination, as if recording their analysis of them.

“So. You’re…back a lot sooner than we thought you’d be, Ro-Ro,” November noted.

“Got a job for us I venture to guess?” Hotel added.

Romeo quirked an eyebrow at the two of them, opting to reply in messages instead.

R: You’ve gotten rather comfortable with speaking aloud, darling. Have your worries about surveillance been assuaged finally, or are you just getting a little too cozy here while you’re- how did you put it? “On vacation”?

November put her hands on her hips and pouted.

N: This is way more suspicious in a way, if you think about it! And…a little Column A, a little Column B. Besides, you don’t seem too worried about it, showing your face up right at our doorstep.

T: We’ve been careful about the security cameras, I assure you. As far as anyone who cares is concerned, we were never here. And as for everyone who doesn’t, this is nothing more than a social call from a couple friends. Great work on the minis by the way. Golf’s doing?

N: Kilo’s, actually. Golf did help with the pine trees, though.

T: Really? I took you more for a collector of the arts than an artist yourself, Kilo.

K: What can I say? Sometimes you gotta make the trinkets you wanna see in the world.

Golf walked in and sat down at last, hunched over the table with his head in his hands.

G: They’re Siberian Pines, by the way. It seemed the most fitting for the environs of the setting.

T: Oh? Do you think you’d be able to tell me how they differ from other pines perhaps?

G: I mean, yeah, but…

Golf could have told them in quite a bit of detail, truthfully. They weren’t very good attractive bonsai plants compared to their neighbors, the stone pines, among other differences. But something about dragging out the conversation felt tortuous.

As if sensing their discomfort, Romeo cut the conversation short.

R: …We’ll need about 120 bricks, darling.

K: For what? Another skyscraper?

R: Do you care?

K: …I mean. We care a little.

N: And we’re nosy. You know that. We’d ask anyway.

R: Fair enough. Yes, it’s for another demolition, no, it’s not a skyscraper. She wants them to seal off her current location. She’ll be able to handle it as long as she doesn’t have to deal with reinforcements.

H: Like how she intended to seal off the rest of Hades, I assume?

R: A little less permanent than that, I hope. But yes, for a time they’ll all go dark as far as we’re concerned.

H: How long of a time are we talking here, though? If the collapse she wants destabilizes the entire tunnel it’ll be years before they can dig them out. Two cities- arguably some of the most important cities- just gone like that? It’ll be pandemonium. I know we've been pretty hunky dorey with setting you guys up but I do think that we should maybe have uh. Some. Some standards.

R: The tunnels were built in segments, supposedly, to prevent that kind of failure. Obviously, it’s never been tested though. It’ll probably be a solid month or two, though. Equally obviously, the incentive to dig them out will be very, very high.

Of course, I’m sure that if those efforts go poorly and a mass famine appears to be looming, TCCAI will step in. That is what you expected to begin with, isn’t it?

Anyway, about this Cedes…?

N: Hey. Hey. Fuck you.

I know it’s easy to forget because we just wanted to pretend to have a normal life for a little bit, but we are still robots, same as you. We can’t just fucking give the okay on shit we’re not convinced is a good idea for like, the survival of this civilization. I’d love to be able to blindly trust my captain again but like. People did die in that last blast. It could’ve been city-to-city war right then and there if it weren’t for your lot’s meddling- the only reason we were able to agree to it to begin with.

That doesn’t automatically buy you our trust now.

H: Does Yuma even actually know what she’s doing with those? I mean. She clearly knows how to use them, but. Has she had Delta and Sierra scan the tunnel to give any credence to their hypothesis? The architecture here might be impressive, but that doesn’t make its builders infallible. I mean, not to be that person, but they were human after all.

T: D ‘n S are still tied up in Taros, I’m afraid. I don’t like this much either, but she doesn’t exactly have many strategic options out there, as I understand it.

R: Say we were to supply you with the equipment and an opportunity to conduct your own assessment? Would you all be willing to take a field trip?

The logisticians looked between each other, as they often did, as if embroiled in some unspoken debate.

G: I mean we won’t start racking up time off for another couple of months, so like…

T: Oh come on. Dears, at least make up your mind as to whether or not you prioritize the wellbeing of the humans here or yourselves. Whether Yuma’s revolution works or Echo sweeps in to gather up the wreckage of it, anything will be better for the people here in the long run than what we’re currently seeing. I know being here may have sheltered you a bit from the cruelties that humans inflict upon one another for the sake of upholding their wealth, but

November chucked a fake pine tree at Tango’s head before they could finish the sentence. They caught it before it could hit them, naturally, but the sentiment remained and it had done its job of taking the robot in front of them off guard.

“You don’t know a damn thing about us,” November hissed, her voice turning softly staticky.

There was another knock at the door. November, who was already standing, elected to be the one to get it this time.

“Ceeeeedeeeees! Hiiiii girl!” she said upon opening the door- to a correct guess this time. Mostly correct at least. Her twelve year old son was standing next to her, fidgeting with something in his pocket. “And Xander? What’s up dude! Come on in, food’s done.”

The table cleared quickly and bowls of seasoned rice and vegetables with chicken were set down. Simple, but filling. Romeo tilted his head at it for a split second, before craning his head over towards the kitchen for and noticing the piles of bowls where Golf had filled and emptied bowls of food back and forth to make the dishes look dirty.

“Oh, before we eat- Xan, go ahead and show Kelv.”

“I…can wait till afterwards.”

Kilo tilted their head and grinned. “Awww sorry, man, but your mom ratted you out and now I gotta know. Gonna be SO nosy about it until then, like. What are you holdin’ out on me, you know?”

“But it’s not even that good.”

“So? You still did something and you’re my friend so obviously I’m not gonna harsh on you for it. Now show! C’mon I wanna seeeeee.”

Xander pulled a clay figure out of his pocket. It looked sort of like a purple horse with a yellow belly and red eyes and a long tail that curled on the ground. The artist’s intent was given away, though, by the stiff and uneven attachments on the back of the creature- wings, or something like them.

“I wanted to make one of those creatures you talk about in your games- the dragons. And I really like your figurines so I wanted to try making them too. I can’t…make it look as good as yours do though. It’s really frustrating because like, I know how it’s supposed to look in my head but I just…”

Kilo held out their hand, and received, reluctantly, the figurine. They immediately held it up to the light, inspecting it with wonder as if it were an ancient golden coin.

“Dude, what are you talking about? This is great!”

“...It literally isn’t though. You don’t have to lie about it.”

“I’m not! Like. Okay, it could definitely use a second pass, but this is your first time making one of these right? Most people using modeling clay would start with like. Blocks. Plates. Balls. Stuff like that you know? This was really ambitious.”

“But I had to restart like, three times before I could even get it this good.”

“So??? That just means you’re stubborn enough to get better at something, which is way more important than any mistake you made building this. You might hate me for this but I really wanna keep this, Xan, if you’ll let me. I think you could make some really cool stuff if you keep at it and this’ll let me see how far you came. Also like. You made something for me. I wanna cry, dude, you’re gonna make me look bad.”

“Kelv, c’mon…”

“Alright, alright. But like. For real, can I use this in my games? Do you have a backstory for this guy already or…?”

“Uhhh, yeah, um. You said dragons usually had fancy names so I named him Morachillanir. He’s like. A good dragon, but not like the regular good dragons. He fights evil dragons, has lightning breath, and knows a lot of magic spells.”

“Dope. Actually,” Kilo turned to look over at November, who was trying to suppress the goofy smile on her face over the whole exchange, “Nova, do you think you could work him in as a guest character?”

“Oh. Yeah, just like, give me ten minutes. Do you wanna sit in on us play for a bit? We decided to get a little time in before you showed up, kinda figured your mom would be in and out like usual.”

Xander looked up at his mother, who looked at her phone for a moment before sighing and shrugging.

“Well I mean if you’re offering, it could be fun. I kinda wanna catch up with you in a bit though, Nova, if that’s okay.”

“Oh for sure, for sure.”

The impromptu addition of a dragon was, it was agreed upon, going to create a split timeline in their session. But that was of little import. There could be a blue dragon with a color mutation and a love of hunting white dragons, for the sake of seeing someone smile as their character was acted out with full description.

Afterwards, Golf and Kilo stuck around the table to talk to Xander while the remaining robots gathered in November’s and Golf’s room. November sat down on her bed, patting the space next to her to beckon Cedes, while Hotel, Romeo, and Tango sat down on Golf’s bed.

“I’m…guessing this is about Brune?” November ventured to start.

Cedes nodded. “She got her new legs today. Non-motorized. They were a pretty good price all things considered, low down payment- hazard pay covered it all. The interest is a little steep, but we’ll make it as long as she can keep her job. They’re…determined to try, even though they can’t afford PT. I can tell they’re in pain, but. She’s determined to put on a brave face.”

“I’m…really sorry. If there’s anything we can do to help-”

“You’ve been covering my groceries- and others too, sometimes, don’t think word doesn’t get around- and helping Xan with his homework when I bring him over. That’s way more than enough. Plus, you know,” Cedes fixed an intense, almost pleading look at Hotel, “Even though you couldn’t save her legs, you did save her life, Herak. She’s been wondering why you won't answer her texts.”

Hotel cover their face with their hands. “It should have been all of them. I should have told her to wait in cover.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s fuckin’ Petrin’s. Nobody blames you for that, least of all her.”

Romeo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Dear lady, may I ask what happened to them?”

“Ah, yeah, I. I know we did introductions earlier but, Nova said you just got back in contact after some time, yeah? I’m afraid it’s not a complicated case, Detective: almost two months back now, our boss was negligent in getting a crane fixed and it resulted in it raining a ton of rebar it had been lifting.”

“The guy who was supposed to make sure it was up to code was a full hour and three minutes late,” November added, “and our skinflint, hardass boss who never lets a single soul clock in seconds without giving someone hell didn’t say a damn thing to him about it. I don’t even know what the point of that is, you’d think all that money saved just gets spent on bribing inspectors anyway.”

“You’d think, but as infrequent as inspections are, I guess I can see how it’d save an obol or two in the long run,” Hotel growled, “as long as nothing goes wrong. Which it did.”

“But the blame gets passed onto the crane operator instead,” Cedes elaborated, “I can’t believe Miko’s the one that got fired for that shit. A lot of people are getting fed up. That’s…why I’m here, actually.” Cedes bunched up her hands into a clenched grip on her pants as she willed herself to continue, now staring down Romeo and Tango in particular. “Novvy, Noe, I’m sorry but I know that you’re lying to me about your friends here. You two- I know what you are.”

Tango blinked several times. Romeo looked away, acting like a kicked puppy.

“...Do you now?” Tango asked at last, sounding more flabbergasted than threatening.

“Brune tells me everything. She’s one of the people who helped you move those charges, and you match her description of Nova’s associates. Two weeks later, the big corp in Taros falls, its headquarters collapsed- but the surrounding blocks are fine from how it looks in the papers, as much as they could be in the situation. Not the same kind of blast pattern you’d see from mining explosives. You two are the contacts for the labor movement, I know you are. And I want in.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Hotel interjected before either Romeo or Tango could respond, “Ced-”

“No.”

“Ced-”

“Listen to me. I know what you’re gonna say, but I want you to at least listen to me first. My grandfather’s from Taros, okay? He risked his life trying to escape. I still have extended family there that I’ve never met. My mom worked at this same damn company Brune does and after forty years of giving her life she gets cut off the minute she literally, literally can’t stand anymore because of how hard it was on her body. My son is going to grow up and learn that if the world knocks you down nobody is going to help pick you back up. And it’s my fault she even took this job to begin with. I can’t live with all of this weighing me down, I can’t. And I’m not the only one that feels this way. Other people in the company- other people in Orek- have the same stories. I have to do something about it.”

“Cedes…” Nova put a hand on her shoulder, “I know this has been a shit few months, but. At least you still have a wife and a kid. If you get caught, you are going to lose everything and everyone. And I don’t just mean they’ll be taken from you- you’re going to die, and so will they.”

“We’ll die slow of hunger anyway if something isn’t done to fix this. Brune’s health…it’s fragile right now. And I don’t make enough to help her if something goes wrong because of her injuries and put food on the table.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. We’ve got you, Ced, we’ve always had your back about that,” Hotel told her, standing up only to sit a little awkwardly on the other side of her on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I know, and it means the world to me, but you lot are putting yourselves in danger. What if you get caught because I didn’t do something? What then? I could give up Xander to my in-laws, maybe. I haven’t spoken to them in a while- they…definitely blame me for her taking the job instead of taking that scholarship to get into Manus, but I think they’d understand. But Brune? She’s doomed if nothing changes. We both are.” Cedes took another deep breath and steeled herself.

“So. What do I have to do to get in on this?”

Romeo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. He looked guilty still as he looked at Cedes, but swallowed it as he proceeded. He didn’t have his dear Juliet’s iron will and grace, but he would do what he needed to regardless.

“...I’d like to first ask if you knew we were coming.”

“I didn’t. This is pure luck, actually. I was going to have a talk with Nova and Noel about this anyway, maybe ask to get into contact with you. This definitely saved some time, at least.”

“Okay, followup question: how many of Brune’s coworkers are in your corner about this? As in, how many do you think would be willing to organize?”

“Everyone in her crew, certainly. She got drinks with people in other crews sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll ask her about which ones.”

“That…will be good enough for now. I’m sure you’ll hear more from Nov and Noe first, but we’ll be in touch from here on. I can’t promise you immediate retribution for what’s been done, but I can tell you that your contributions will make a difference, and that if what you say about Orek is true, that difference could be what ensures a better future for this city in the end.”

After a little more casual chatter, Cedes and Xander left, the latter taking with him a few sheets of note paper that Kilo and he had started brainstorming new ideas for models on.

As the door clicked closed, Romeo’s shoulders dropped as he walked over to the blinds covering the view to the patio, peeking out through them for a moment before turning his head to the side.

“Tomatoes and carrots aren’t known to make good bonsais, are they, Golf?”

Golf folded his arms. “Guess not.”

Romeo sighed before turning around. “I…suppose I owe you all an apology. You’re always so flippant and unbothered by everything. You never even mentioned her before now.”

“We never wanted any of them to get swept up in this. Not…not so soon. And not because of us, certainly. But it’s bad for all of us if Yuma gets herself caught or totalled. But it’s not like we don’t care- we can’t avoid caring any better than you can.”

Tango put an arm around Hotel, who seemed to be fairly miserable about the whole exchange still.

“I know we’re not Juliet, but. You can talk to us, even so. If you want, that is. None of us are doing this on our own.”

The four of them looked between each other.

“You know, T, we really were excited to get these stupid jobs,” Hotel started, “Maybe we had some grander purpose out in space, but we knew we were never going to see the fruits of all of that pointless planning. Even less so once we knew TCCAI was taking over in the future. Here, even though we’re not doing much, we can see the direct impact we have on humans’ lives. Call it illogical, but that counts for something to us.”

“And like. What do you all even want from us, anyway?” November asked, “We’re not genius inventors or decisive leaders or even especially useful lunatics. All of our jobs could have been done by models that weren’t even sentient- I’m a clock for stars’ sake- it feels like the only reason we exist is because we’re part of a boxed set.”

Romeo frowned deeply. “You…You know none of us ever thought of you like that, though, right? You doing your jobs made ours easier, gave us the room to focus on our own purpose. If anything, we…sort of took you for being people who were slacking at important work we needed you for. I…suppose I never really stopped to interrogate why you were like that, and just assumed boredom. I’m sorry, darlings.”

“And,” Tango added, “whether you meant to or not, you have been changing things here. The people here must have a deep sense of community with you and each other to be willing to support the requests we’ve made of you, and you of them. That in itself is a valuable thing and more than I honestly expected.”

“Yeah, well,” Kilo shrugged, “We like it here. We like helping people, helping this neighborhood, even if it’s just in mundane, achievable ways. Of course we do. Feels good, you know? Hell, it’s not even like we hated helping you guys, it just felt shitty feeling useless. And being bored- not gonna lie, that was definitely part of it. How the rest of you could keep it together with fuckall else to do I’ll never know.”

“As you’ve learned, the world’s full of little things to do. Like karaoke nights. I miss those, don’t you?”

“Sure do…” November sighed, before walking up next to Romeo and elbowing him in the chassis, “Speaking of old hobbies, do you have any gossip for us?”

Romeo touched the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Oh thank goodness, I was starting to fear your time here was making you all less incorrigible.” But a sly smile appeared on his face as he continued, “I might, though.”

The division’s eyes lit up- November’s especially. “Come on, then,” she egged on, “spill!”

“Well. I might have heard from a Capital B Birdie that our new Captain has a new crush.”

“Whaaat? No way, does that mean the previous one is over already?”

“I doubt it. Someone as historically repressed as our dear Engineer probably has room inside their core for a third one yet, I’d wager.”

“Well who’s the new one, then?”

“Some mercenary in their employ. I haven’t met him yet, but he sounds like the strong, silent type from what I hear.”

“Poor thing must be awfully patient to be bossed around by E all day.”

“Perhaps. But then, who’s to say that’s not a sign of possible reciprocation…?” Tango shrugged, then leaned forward, “How about you four? Surely someone must’ve caught your eye in these parts, no?”

Hotel shook their head and grumbled, “This undercover shit is poison for one’s love life. Also it’s gonna kinda suck if we bring someone home and end up having to go back to space again.”

“On that front I must sadly concur,” Romeo agreed, holding his head in his hands, “It is such a shame, though. Everywhere around us are such lovely, beautiful people. Oh but to take a warm hand in mine, to achieve closeness with our predecessors.”

“Can’t doing anything for you there, I’m afraid,” Golf said, but held up a hand for a high five, “but hey. Next best thing?”

Romeo smirked and returned the high five.

“Indeed it is.”

#G #H #K #N #R #T #story post #((meanwhile in the present.))

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besttimetogo2 · 5 months ago

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The Big Easy Through Time: When to Time Travel to New Orleans

New Orleans, the vibrant "Big Easy," entices travelers with its infectious energy, rich cultural tapestry, and world-famous festivals. But for the savvy time traveler, the question isn't just where to go, it's when to go. Here's a guide to navigating the New Orleans timeline and finding your perfect Crescent City adventure:

Spring Fling (March-May):

Spring paints New Orleans in a delightful palette. Escape the winter chill and enjoy comfortable temperatures ideal for exploring the French Quarter's charming streets or wandering through the historic City Park. This shoulder season offers a happy medium – pleasant weather with fewer crowds compared to peak tourist times. Bonus: Spring coincides with the legendary NewOrleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, a two-weekend extravaganza celebrating the city's musical soul. So it would be best time travel to new Orleans. But you have to be prepared for larger crowds and potentially higher hotel rates during the festival.

Fall Festivals & Football (September-November):

As summer's heat wanes, fall paints New Orleans in a warm glow. Enjoy comfortable temperatures perfect for exploring historic cemeteries, taking a swamp tour, or indulging in the city's renowned beignets. Fall also coincides with Halloween celebrations in the French Quarter, a truly unforgettable experience. Football fans can catch a Saints game at the Mercedes-Benz Superdome and immerse themselves in the city's passionate sports culture.

Summer Sizzle (June-August):

New Orleans summers are a full-sensory experience. To embrace the vibrant street performers, indulge in refreshing frozen cocktails, and soak up the lively atmosphere. June-August would be best time travel to new Orleans. However, be prepared for scorching temperatures and high humidity. This might not be the ideal time for extensive sightseeing, but it's perfect for catching an evening jazz show in a historic French Quarter club or experiencing the unique culture of a second-line parade.

Carnival Capers (January-March):

No time travel to New Orleans is complete without experiencing Mardi Gras, the city's crown jewel. This pre-Lenten celebration explodes with vibrant parades, elaborate costumes, and infectious revelry. However, Mardi Gras coincides with peak tourist season, so expect larger crowds and potentially higher prices for flights and accommodations. Plan well in advance if you want to experience the magic of Mardi Gras.

Ultimately, the best time to travel to New Orleans depends on your priorities. Consider what kind of experience you crave:

Pleasant weather and outdoor adventures? Spring or fall offer the perfect balance.

Embrace the heat and iconic summer experiences? Summer might be your jam.

Witness the legendary Mardi Gras? Plan your trip for the winter months, but be prepared for the crowds.

Bonus Tip: Pack for adaptability! New Orleans weather can vary depending on the season. Comfortable walking shoes are a must, and an umbrella is a good idea year-round, especially during hurricane season.

#best time travel to new Orleans

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welcometothevale · 1 year ago

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Their head swung around to look at him when he spoke over the music. Rowan turned it down some so they could converse comfortably. "Umm, not really. I just assumed some kind of hotel or motel of some kind. Something simple, affordable from how we budgeted." They gave him a suspicious look as the potential meaning of his question finally clicked. Did he do something special?

Their pale green eyes ate up the scenery. This time of the year all of the trees were bare of any leaves, and the ground was blanketed with burnt orange--close to the color of their hair but darker--coffee brown, and a pleasant yellow wonderland. Some of the crunchy leaves were even a warm shade of red. Soon, the sun was being chased from the sky by the waning crescent moon, and Rowan wondered if they were getting any closer to their destination for the day.

Looking for Books (Closed Starter)

Sebastian was sat behind the library counter. He had just finished placing some new arrivals on the shelves and had now taken his spot near the entrance again.

He catalogued some things on his pc for a while before leaning back in his chair and picking up a book. He was so engrossed in his book he nearly didn't hear the doors slide upon but as he heard the footsteps approaching the desk he looked up.

He put the book down and looked at the stranger. "Good afternoon" he said with a smile. "How can I help you today?"

#vincent-wilde

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writer-k-pop · 4 years ago

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The Prince (y.j.h.) - Waning Crescent Hotel

Please read this (W.C.Hotel) if you this is the first post of this series that you see. Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of death, mentions of abuse Genre: Angst, Hotel Del Luna AU, Choose your own adventure, SVT x Fem! Reader Staff: Yong (Spirit General Manager) / Jiwoo (Human General Manager) / Soon Bok (Room Manager) / Mun Hee (Front Desk Receptionist) / Shin (Grim Reaper assigned to Waning Crescent) Word Count: Ending A - 4.6k / Ending B - 4.7k

W.C.Hotel | Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

Running through the halls, my heels click at the pace of a speed typer. My hands grip my bunched up dress tighter and I startle many guests in my hurry to the lobby.

"Woah, slow down there." Jiwoo manages to grab my arm and essentially stop me in my pursuit.

I turn and glare at him while trying to continue on my way. Jiwoo flinches slightly when my eyes land on him but his feet stay rooted to the ground like the tree in my garden.

"Let go of me." I tell him, not having any of his attitude.

"Relax." Jiwoo nearly rolls his eyes at me. "Yong's still showing him around."

I narrow my eyes into daggers at him for telling me to relax. Jeonghan's finally here and Jiwoo has the nerve to tell me to relax.

"Did you just tell me to relax?" I drop my dress skirt and rest my arms at my sides, dumbfounded.

Jiwoo nods, "Yeah, I did. Because you need too." He glances around the hall, "You're making our guests nervous."

I yank my arm from Jiwoo's grasp and roll my eyes. I continue on my way to the lobby, slower this time, and with Jiwoo next to me.

"Why is Yong showing him around? Where's Soon Bok?" I wonder.

"Soon Bok had to settle a dispute with a couple about their rooms." Jiwoo informs me as the hallway opens up to the lobby's second floor balcony overlooking the lobby floor.

"A dispute?" I look over at him as we reach the railing.

Jiwoo looks down at the guests. "Something about how they needed to be in the same room with each other. Something about how they're soul mates or something. I dunno, I left before I could understand it fully."

I shake my head and chuckle, "Ah, did they not hear the part where this is the last stop for their soul and tomorrow they'll have another life crowded their small brains?" I watch as some guests chat together while others hurry to the beach or the swimming pool.

Yong walks out of the outdoor beach entrance with Jeonghan following her. I take in a breath and hold it as he stuns me just like always. He's wearing black slacks and a white button up shirt. His hair looks freshly washed and fluffed down over his forehead. With hands clasped behind his back, he listens intently to everything Yong says and looks at the places she points out.

"He look the same?" Jiwoo asks and I can hear the smile on his lips.

I glance down at my hands gripping the railing tightly, then back at Jeonghan, where Soon Bok is bowing and introducing herself.

"His face does. Though when I knew him, he was a prince." I tell Jiwoo.

"Wow, like an actual prince?" Jiwoo leans his forearms on the rail, looking at Jeonghan, "Like crown and everything."

I give a single nod, "Crown and everything."

"No, honey, that was ridiculous the way she treated us!" A female voice shrieks behind us. "Where did she run away to? HAS ANYONE SEEN THE ROOM MANAGER?" She then full blown yells into the lobby.

I turn to the right and at the top of the stair case stands a very upset female and her very embarrassed husband.

"There! You! Room Manager lady!" The female spots Soon Bok standing with Jeonghan and Yong. The entire lobby goes silent and all eyes are on the female at the top of the stairs. When I look at Soon Bok, I can tell she's extremely annoyed and will probably explode soon. Her face has 'I will kick you' written all over it.

Jiwoo and I silently watch as the female races down the stairs with her husband in tow. In just a few seconds, she is standing in front of Soon Bok who's hands are clasped behind her back in an attempt to keep herself from wringing the female's neck.

"You have to treat us like guests!" The female says loud enough for the entire lobby to hear. All the guests in the lobby just stare at the outburst or nervously glance around.

"Like I mentioned before, we aren't allowed to room people together becaus-"

"Because of policy, blah, blah, blah." The female interrupts Soon Bok. "Screw your policies, we are the guests here and you have to cater to your guests. And we want to room together. Where's your manager?" She suddenly asks and I see Yong smile.

"I'm the general manager here." She says.

"Oh, good, fire this bitch. She's no good here. Doesn't even listen to the guests." The female points an accusing finger at Soon Bok.

"I understand, however, our Room Manager has told you the truth. We are not allowed to put guests together in a room." Yong says calmly, facing the fiery female with her steeled front.

"Now you won't listen to us?" The female shrieks, "What good are you here then?" She asks and my blood boils. It's one thing to treat one of my staff poorly, but it's a whole other thing to treat Yong poorly.

I push back from the railing, "And I'm the one making people nervous." I mutter to Jiwoo as I pass him on the way to the stairs. Jiwoo stifles a small laugh behind me.

Through the silence, my purposefully heavy steps echo off the stairs and catch the attention of everyone in the room.

Soon Bok looks at me and silently asks for help. The same look is in Yong's eyes as well though her's is harder to distinguish through her front. I avoid Jeonghan's face for fear of faltering even the smallest amount.

"And you are?" The female stood her ground as I approach though her husband cowers away from me, as he should.

"The CEO." I say, bored and unamused with her attitude.

"Oh, would I like to have a word with YOU." The female points her finger at me.

I bat away her finger, and hand, and cross my arms.

"I think the word you should be saying is 'sorry.'" I stare at her.

"Excuse me?" The female questions like she's been offended in the worst possible way.

I place my hands behind my back and lean towards her, "I said you need to apologize to my employees."

"Why would I do that?" The female asks.

I smirk, "Because the policy is in place for a reason. And that reason is because tomorrow your past life will also be living inside of your memory. So will his. Your past life may not even like his type of personality. You could end up being arch enemies stuck in the same room."

The female stutters, trying to form a sentence.

"We should have told you about it when you arrived." I continue, "I'm sure our purpose was fully laid out for you, wasn't it?"

The female nods, slowly, "It was."

I lift up the side of my mouth in a side smile, "Then there should be no problem here and you two should be able to carry out your stay in separate rooms." I straighten my back, "Unless you would like to wake up with a man who you have only have memories of but your previous life leads you to accidentally kill him because you simply despise him?"

The female looks down at the floor in shame.

"I thought so." I smirk, knowing I have won. "Now go away. My staff have other guests to attend to." I wave my hand, indicting that she should shoo.

Her husband understands immediately and drags his wife away. When the lobby stays silent, I glance around and the guests immediately pick their conversations back up.

"Mr. Yoon, our CEO." Yong introduces us.

"A pleasure." Jeonghan greets me in a bit of an awe.

"I do apologize for the disruption." I lower my head in apology, slightly upset that his visit had to be interrupted so rudely. "Soon Bok?" I turn to her and motion for her to continue showing Jeonghan to his room.

As Yong and I turn to walk away, Jeonghan blurts out a question.

"Sorry, but do I know you?" Jeonghan asks, searching my face for any signs of familiarity.

I smile softly and shake my head, "Not from this life, no." I tell him and leave him no time to reply back, walking away with Yong by my side.

"Which room?" I ask Yong as the elevator doors open.

"410." She answers as we step inside.

She presses my office floor while I ask, "How many days?"

As the elevator doors close, I catch Jeonghan still staring at me. And for a second, just before the doors fully close, he meets my gaze and an electric shock runs down my spine.

Yong sighs before answering, "Four."

My heart stays on the lobby floor as the elevator carries my body higher. I had expected him to live many many lives but the Gods apparently had other plans for him.

~The Fourth Day~

I sip champagne from my glass in an attempt to prepare myself to meet the Jeonghan I left all those years ago.

My time with Jeonghan wasn't crazy adventurous but it wasn't dead boring either. However, leaving him was the hardest out of all thirteen. It's not that I wanted to stay with him more than the others. It's the fact that he had his entire kingdom's army at his disposal. So when I left, he was constantly sending out patrols in search of me. I had to watch every where I went, and there were times when he got close but I always got away. Those nights, I would hear his cries. I could hear his heart break and it only broke mine further.

Shaking my head to get rid of the sad thoughts, I finish off the glass and set it on the table. Turning the glass between my fingers, I watch as the moonlight refracts through the glass and shines into my eyes.

A knock at my door pulls me out of my spotlighted daze.

"Come in." I call out, looking towards the door.

Yong opens the door and sticks her head in, "Jiwoo is taking him to the garden."

I nod, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

I stare at my empty glass for a few more minutes then rise out of my chair and make my way to my garden. Where Jeonghan waits for me.

Just as I reach the doorway leading to him, Jiwoo stops me.

"(y/n)," He runs over with a box in his hands, "This just came for you."

I scrunch my eyebrows together and open the box. Sitting inside sits a beautiful crown and a crown that I recognize immediately. It's the crown that Jeonghan wore during his first life. The one he loved and cherished because it was his grandfather's.

Along with crown is a note. Picking up the note, I read the simple sentence aloud.

"I believe this belong to one of your guests." It reads, and is signed simply as 'Gods.'

"Is it his?" Jiwoo asks, curious beyond curious.

I pick up the crown and let my muscles adjust to it's familiar weight. "It is." Then I sigh, turning the crown side to side, "The Gods really know how to fuck with me."

"It's beautiful." Jiwoo comments, ignoring my pass at the Gods.

"You should've seen it in the living world." I smile at him, "Thank you, Jiwoo."

He nods and takes his leave obediently while I walk down the passageway, crown in my hand.

When I arrive, the usually hidden bench is placed between the entrance and the center tree. Though instead of sitting with his back to me, Jeonghan stands facing the tree and his hands are tucked into his pockets. He's still in the black slacks and white shirt but they look freshly washed and pressed.

"Do you think it's alive?" He asks somehow sensing my presence but he doesn't turn around to face me.

I walk towards him while answering, hiding his crown behind my back. "It's like me. Somewhere between life and death. Just waiting." I reach his side and copy his body position facing the tree.

"How long have you waited?" Jeonghan questions.

"Long enough." I breathe out. "I hope your stay was comfortable."

Jeonghan nods, "It was, though I wish I could be in my normal clothing in front of you. They tell me those clothes were unobtainable."

"Unfortunately, the world we are in now does not suit the clothing of our world." I explain, then bring the crown out in front of me. "Though I believe I can still give you this back."

I face Jeonghan and I watch as his eyes light up in recognition. He gingerly takes it from my hands and sits down on the bench. I follow suit.

"I thought this was stolen by thieves and sold in parts." Jeonghan says and runs his hands over the jewels secured in the gold frame. "But you had it."

I shake my head, "I wish. I think the Gods were holding on to it. I just received it a few minutes ago."

"Uh huh," Jeonghan smirks at me, "Sure you did."

I shove his shoulder, "I'm serious."

Jeonghan chuckles then lightly places the crown on his head. "How do I look?" He asks, posing slightly.

"Princely, as always." I tell him with a smile.

He laughs, removes the crown, and places it on the bench next to him. Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on his thighs.

"We had fun, didn't we?" He asks, glancing back at me.

I nod, "We did."

"What happened?" Jeonghan asks, opening his body to face me, one elbow on his thigh, holding himself up. "To us."

I rub my hands together nervously, "I just couldn't stay." I say.

"Why not?" He pushes, "What stopped you from staying?"

I point towards the sky, "The Gods. They told me I had to leave and when they tell me something, I have to listen."

"Part of the curse?" Jeonghan ponders.

"Yeah." I say sadly.

"You know that I looked for you?" Jeonghan tells me, leaning back against the bench. "I looked for years and years."

I nod, staying silent.

"Can you tell me if I was ever close?" He asks.

I chew on my bottom lip wondering if I should. On one hand, it could give him a sense of relief. But on the other, it might make him regretful that he didn't try even harder.

"I just want to know if my efforts were done in vain." Jeonghan continues, literally answering my questions.

"You always could do that." I chuckle.

"What? Read your face and know exactly what you're thinking?" He answers with a smile. "Yeah, I used to think that it was my super power."

I laugh, "And yes, you did get close a couple times." I answer his original question then take a breath. "After the first two years though, I was more careful and you never came close again."

Cockily, Jeonghan intertwines his fingers behind his head, "At least I almost got you."

I shake my head at his comment before diving into my own question, "My turn."

He looks at me from the corner of his eyes, "Alright."

"When did you know you loved me?" I ask, studying his face for details that have changed.

Jeonghan sucks in a breath and releases his hands. "The exact moment? Let's see." He puckers his lips and his eyes wander aimlessly as his thinks.

My hand twitches with the desire to push his lips back down like I used to do but I collect myself before I can move.

"I don't think there was an exact moment but more of one particular night." Jeonghan finally answers. "Do you remember the night of my sister's 18th birthday?"

I faintly remember the big party and nod.

"Do you remember what happened?" Jeonghan asks.

I clear my throat, "I remember something happened at the party and then you tried running away but I think I somehow stopped you."

Jeonghan chuckles, "You could say that."

"Why? Did it not happen that way?" I ask, worried that I'm remembering a different love.

He shakes his head, "No, it happened that way. You just remember the general events."

I lean closer to him and smile sweetly, "Then tell me the details."

Jeonghan wags his finger, motioning me to scoot closer. I follow his instructions and when my knees hit his legs, he swings them over his legs and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"We were in the middle of the party." Jeonghan begins and I just watch him retell the tale while securely tucked in his embrace. "And my sister's idiot ex decided to show up uninvited. I was pissed. No, I was beyond pissed. So without thinking, I went up and gave him a good punch to the face."

"In front of everyone." I add, starting to remember the events.

"I didn't care." Jeonghan shrugs, "He had hurt my sister and he was going to pay for it. Of course though, once I hit him, he got cocky and fought back instead of walking away. So we tussled and fought in the middle of the party for a few seconds before the guards pulled us apart."

I still as the memory surfaces and flashes through my mind. The grand ball room. Jeonghan's scowl of disgust right before he briskly walked over and socked his sister's ex in the face. The way my body froze, unable to do anything to stop the fight that then occurred. The yells of the royal guards as they pulled the two apart. Jeonghan's sister yelling at her ex to get out and leave. Their father, the king at the time, barking orders at the guards.

"My dad was so mad." Jeonghan continues, "The guards dragged both of us out of the ballroom. You know, I don't really know where you disappeared after I left."

I smile at his lapse in knowledge, "I think I was still frozen in place."

"Why were you frozen?" Jeonghan asks, a laugh sitting behind his lips.

"I don't really know." I admit, "I just didn't expect you to do that in front of everyone."

Jeonghan barks out laughing, pulling a giggle out of me.

"It's not that funny." I manage to say between laughs.

"It is that funny." Jeonghan replies still chuckling.

I hit his chest with a pout, "So what happened after you were dragged away?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

Clearing his throat, Jeonghan continues the story, "I don't really know what happened to the other guy, I'm guessing he got booted out though. I, on the other hand, got a good scolding from my father." He runs his hand through his hair while blowing out a breath.

"I heard." I tell him, remembering how I hovered outside his father's office behind the closed doors.

"You did?" Jeonghan asks, looking at me.

I nod, "I don't think I heard all of it, but I heard enough."

Jeonghan's eyes fall slightly, "So you heard all the talk about you?"

I silently nod, snuggling closer to him.

"And the things he said about me?" He continues.

I nod again, sadly remembering the terrible things his father threw into his face.

"And you heard what he did?" Jeonghan asks slowly.

I shakily nod my head. I close my eyes as the echo of his father slapping him rings in my ears. It was one of the sounds that haunted me for a long time.

Jeonghan sighs before continuing the story, "Well, after my father stormed out, I didn't really know where else to go cause every room in the palace seemed to anger me. Even my private studio. So I ran. I ran out into the back gardens and just kept running until the land dropped away and I had to stop. And then you found me."

I look up at him and meet his gaze.

"You know I didn't want to be found." Jeonghan continues, "But you walked up to me with a bag and just waited with me. I don't know what you were thinking but you stood there, silently." He readjusts his position and tilts his head, "You know, while we're here, how did you find me?"

I gaze around the garden, thinking back to how exactly I did it. "I just tried to think how you would think. If I were in your shoes and my father had just berated me and my love, where I would go. I knew you weren't staying in the palace. Everywhere you went there were reminders of who's control you were under. So then it just became a game of where did you start running and where did you end up." I explain, "I found you on my first try." I smile up at him, proudly.

"That. That was the tipping point." Jeonghan says. "You found me when I didn't want to be found but needed to be. And you found me almost immediately." He rests his cheek on top of my head and continues, "The fact that you didn't say anything and just stood with me. And just let me feel what I needed to feel. That was the night I knew I loved you."

"That was probably the most adventurous night we had together." I comment on the story.

"You think?" Jeonghan asks, "What about the night you swore you could get a deer to let you pet it? Or the night you challenged your guards to a game of foot volleyball? Or-"

I cover his mouth with my hands, "Stop," I whine, "Why did all our adventures involve me thinking I could do something?"

"Not true." Jeonghan counters, "I did the dumb things on horseback. Or those little games that I always somehow lost to the palace children? Or, or that time I suggested we go cliff jumping?"

I giggle, "That was the most terrifying yet most exciting day."

"Agreed. Though I never did it again." Jeonghan sighs at the memory, "Your turn."

"My turn?" I give him a questioning look.

"When did you know?" He reiterates his statement.

I drop my mouth open in a little 'oh' of realization. "Uh, the same night actually."

I feel Jeonghan hesitate under me and I'm quick to continue, "Not in the way you think. It was after it all happened." I take a breath, "After I found you in the forest. When you let me treat the injuries you had. The way I could tell what I was doing hurt you but you stayed as still as possible. You would constantly watch my expressions and it was almost like if I worried for even a split second, you would adjust so the worry would go away." I tell him, "That's when I knew."

"You noticed all that?" Jeonghan asks.

"I noticed everything." I say and look up at him again, "Everything."

Jeonghan gives me a small smile before leaning down and presses a kiss to my lips. Before pulling away completely, he pecks me on the nose. Something he habitually used to do.

"What kind of king were you?" I wonder, still looking at him.

He raises his eyebrows at me, "You mean to say that you didn't stick around?"

I shook my head, "It was better to move away. It would hurt less."

Jeonghan takes in a breath, "Well, I like to think that I was a good king. Kind, courageous, and righteous. Though I didn't leave much of a legacy."

"I'm sure you did if you were kind, courageous, and righteous." I reassure him.

"I didn't leave any heirs." Jeonghan corrects himself.

Then he launches into his life. What he did. Why he never married. The battles he had to overcome as king. The reforms he created. The lives he changed. Everything I have only read and heard from the wind.

The sun begins to dip in the sky, illuminating his features in a bright orange hue. As I silently wish the hue away, Jeonghan understands what the time means before I can even admit it to myself.

"So is this when I take my leave?" Jeonghan asks the air around us.

I only nod, not trusting my voice.

Jeonghan moves my legs off his and slowly rises up. He takes a breath as if to steady himself before offering his hands to me.

I reluctantly grab his hands and he pulls me up. Once I'm on my feet, he uses one hand to grab his crown while the other stays locked around my hand.

"Where do I go now?" He asks as we walk out of the garden.

"A car will take you to the afterlife where your soul can rest." I explain and every word feels like vomit, "I will stay here and wait for the others to arrive."

"Will you have to wait long?" He asks, worried about my constant waiting.

I shake my head, "Hopefully not."

"That's a relief." He sighs before we fall into a silence for the rest of the way to the backyard forest where Shin waits next the car.

When the dusk air hits my skin, I get immediate goose bumps but not from the chill, from the finality of the area. There never will be a chance when Jeonghan's soul will mistakenly appear at my hotel's front door. There won't be another run in with one of his lives. This is the end.

Shin stands next to the car, waiting with his hands resting at his sides.

"That my ride?" Jeonghan asks, nodding towards the idling car.

I nod.

"Well, they could've at least given me a grand carriage or one of those, oh, what are they called? Oh! Those limo things." He tries to lighten the mood.

"Where did you learn about limos?" I wonder.

"That receptionist you have really likes to talk." Jeonghan simply says as we step up to the car.

I smile at Mun Hee's special talent.

"Your highness." Shin greets us and opens the rear passenger door.

Jeonghan faces me with his crown between his hands.

"Would you keep it? So you remember me?" Jeonghan asks, holding out the crown for me to take.

"I can't take it. It belongs to you." I tell him sadly and his shoulders droop.

Jeonghan sniffles but stands a little taller, "Then will you put it on me one last time?" He asks.

I nod, "I can do that." I take the crown from his hands then he lowers himself slightly so I can actually reach the top of his head. Setting the crown in its place, I rest my hands on his shoulders.

With a small smile and tears in his eyes, he kisses me hard, making sure the last is the most memorable. He pulls away and a few tears have managed to slip out but he chooses to ignore their presence on his cheeks.

Without another word, he dips into the car and Shin closes the door once he's securely inside. As the car drives away, I clasp my hands together and grip them tightly while Shin moves to stand next to me.

"Why didn't you keep the crown?" Shin asks, genuinely curious.

"Because it would've disintegrated soon after he left." I tell him as the car's taillights disappear into the fog. "And I couldn't bring myself to tell him that."

I stare into the fog and silently bid Jeonghan farewell.

As a tear slides down my own cheek, back in my garden, one chrysanthemum withers and dies. Shin leaves me alone. He leaves me so I can collect myself before I head back inside to wait for the others who are on their way.

Return to the Navigation Page (Waning Crescent Hotel) to choose the next guest.

"I was told when the sun sets that you and I have another destination to head towards." Jeonghan says, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Somewhere our souls can rest."

I smile, "Since you arrived, I'm free from my binds. We can go and let our souls rest."

We untangle ourselves and rise to our feet. Jeonghan picks up his crown and places it on my head.

"Just as I suspected," He comments, taking a step back and looking at me fully. "The king's crown looks so much better on a woman."

I laugh, "Maybe cause it was made for me."

"That it was." Jeonghan agrees, takes my hand, and we walk away from my garden.

We walk hand in hand to the lobby where Yong, Mun Hee, Soon Bok, and Jiwoo stand solemnly. I slide the crown off my head and hand it to Jeonghan before walking over to my staff.

"So this is it?" Mun Hee asks with tears in his eyes. "This is the day you leave us?"

I wrap him up in a hug, only a tiny bit annoyed that he's being so sappy. "Maybe I'll get punished again and be back here by the end of the year." I try to joke but Mun Hee abruptly pushes back from me.

"Don't you dare say that. You better not return here." He says angrily through his tears.

I chuckle, "I won't come back. I promise."

Turning to Soon Bok, I thank her for her service and her amazing work. Something I never did and should've done more.

Next onto Jiwoo. I also thank him for his and his entire family's service then I unclip the bracelet that has held him to this place.

"When you leave today, you won't be able to find this place again." I inform him, "I hope that you'll be able to go and live your life happily."

Jiwoo nods, "Thank you for letting me work with you. I won't ever forget you."

I smile sadly, knowing that he will, in time, forget me. "Thank you."

Finally I reach Yong who is sniffling and trying so very hard not cry.

"You'd think after all these years of waiting that I'd be prepared for this day." She says through sniffles.

"Thank you, Yong." I rests my hands on her shoulders, "For everything. Thank you."

With lips pursed together, she leans forward and wraps me in an unexpected hug. But I soon wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tightly.

We pull apart after a couple seconds and I wipe the few tears that have escaped from her eyes.

"Keep this hotel running beautifully." I tell her before Jeonghan grabs my hand again.

With final waves of goodbye, Jeonghan and I walk out to the foggy forest that will take us to our resting place.

At the edge of the forest, Shin stands next to an idling car, a somber look on his face.

"(y/n)." He says when we reach him, "It has been an honor working with you. I wish you both a peaceful rest." Shin bows his head and I pat his arm.

"The honor was mine." I tell him with a smile. Now the tears start to line my eyes as the realization fully sets in.

I'm free. I have served my years of punishment and now I'm free to let my soul rest.

I turn back towards the hotel and look up to the top where the rooftop patio is outlined with bright string lights. Then to the mid floors where random room lights are turned on, some guests staying in while others opting to experience the hotel's many services. Then to grand base where guests would be milling around, waiting their turns to leave this world.

"(y/n)?" Jeonghan softly asks pulling my attention to where he sits just inside the car, "Are you ready?"

I take one last quick look at the hotel before turning away from it. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

I lower myself into the car and Shin securely closes the door after I am completely inside. As the car begins to drive forward, Jeonghan securely grabs my hand and I let his warmth guide me towards our final destination.

In the garden, the final chrysanthemum withers and dies so that no more stand at the base of the bare tree.

#kpop imagine #seventeen imagine #seventeen jeonghan #seventeen jeonghan imagine #jeonghan imagine #yoon jeonghan imagine #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #waning crescent hotel #writer-k-pop

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kilisworld · 6 years ago

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for people who make late night reservations at a hotel. Here’s some info you might need.

Making a reservation for the 27th at 3am doesn’t guarantee a room for you at 3am. People from the 26th are still there, and possibly sleeping, and definitely haven’t checked out.

So when I tell you, “I’m sorry, we are sold out.” and “I can’t check you in right now.” Getting mad at me is still not going to get you that room.

Check in starts at 3pm for a reason.

#Hotel Shenanigans #Night Shift Shenanigans #Hotel Problems #customer service #srsly #people are stupid and i can't believe i had to explain that #what is tonight?#a full moon?#waning crescent?#it feels like a full moon

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un-romancible-npc · 5 years ago

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Chance

Chapter One: Dancing in Silence

3631 words

Original Idea:

::You are here::Part 2::Ao3::

The cacophony of night that most coastal cities had was entirely lost on the quiet, lonely streets of Gotham. It wasn't a silent city by any means, but its citizens had learned a long time ago that nighttime was not their domain, and as fantastic as some of those night-liers were, Gotham knew it was best to leave the night to its own, and let the bats do their hunting.

Most of Gotham knew that, anyway.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, President of the class in the French foreign exchange program, fashion genius, and proud owner of at least 3 brain cells, was lying wide awake at 2:30am in a bed in a luxury hotel room at the heart of Gotham City, desperately trying to figure out if cereal was a soup and feeling remarkably as though she had been lied to her whole life.

The hotel room, which she was finding she disliked more and more the longer her brain went without sleep, was a mess of creams and browns and golds when the lights were on, but in the dark, with only the faint street light filtering through the balcony doors' curtains, everything was the same vague gradient of grey to black. She much preferred it like that.

Marinette lay on her back, sheets tangled at the corners of her bed after hours of tossing and turning, her arms and legs splayed out in a manner not unlike a starfish that had been asked for a high-five, and her black hair flopped out of the two now virtually-useless buns perched atop her head, loose strands sticking uncomfortably to her wide-eyed face.

She had half a mind to wake up her roommate, Chloe Bourgeois, who had been asleep for the last hour and a half, and ask her opinion on the matter. Even considering what 'the wasp', as Alya had taken to calling her, was going through physically at the moment, and that she'd put Sabrina in a choke-hold for almost a full minute last time she was disturbed--with precise details of how she would personally destroy anyone who dared bother her nap again--and only let go after she'd given Sabrina and everyone who saw the incident one (1) more chance to live.

It probably wasn't worth it.

Unfortunately, Marinette was about to die from over-internalization, and she was genuinely considering putting her life on the line for answers.

Mari shifted to her side and stared at the gap in the curtains, one of the narrow slices of light that leaked through them leaving a stripe of color down her face and abdomen, illuminating her plain black sports-bra and green basketball shorts she'd stolen from Adrien after accidentally ruining her own fuzzy Pj bottoms mere hours before. If anyone else had been awake, they would have also seen the light glinting off the peculiar, vein-like markings that spiraled around her torso, their lines intertwining with themselves and leading up to two small marks just above her shoulder blades.

Marinette openly scowled at the double doors to the hotel balcony.

'I'm going to go insane.'

With a sigh as quiet as she could manage, Mari sat up, climbed to the foot of her bed, rifled under her dresser for her suitcase, and fished out her specially altered red-and-black hoodie, the matching pair of black leggings with red spots, and a pair of sneakers. Sliding into them in almost total silence--she doesn't count the muttered French that may or may not have been cursing when she stubbed her pinkie toe on the end table--she opened the glass doors at the end of the room and slid outside for some fresh air.

Stepping out onto the small balcony, Mari inhaled deeply and stared at the city. The lights were loud, even though the noises weren't, but the colors outside felt better, and she found she could think more clearly without the suffocating blackness of the room surrounding her, glaring at her with thinly veiled chartreuse and belly-hair-brown.

Mari looked up, the waning crescent moon sending a crooked smile her way as she did so, and she smiled right back.

The sky looked different in America.

She turned, mouth twisting into a knot, and stared at the 'french' doors that led back to her room, having half a mind to just go back inside… but her designer's heart craved a better view, and the stifling heat of her bed was exactly the kind of thing that would keep her awake longer.

Nodding resolutely, Marinette marched toward the doors, and leapt up precisely as high as she needed, fingers gripping the ledge above it with a strength that belied her small stature. Hooking her foot over the top of the door frame, she hauled herself up and began scaling the building, using every ledge and window she could. Her seemingly delicate hands were covered in calluses after years of sewing accidents and other... extracurricular activities, so the rough concrete and brick was nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

Chloe liked to 'joke' that she probably didn't have fingerprints anymore, and could definitely get away with murder. Marinette snorted, smiling to herself as she pulled herself over another window ledge, her brain temporarily distracted from cereal soup by that particular conversation that had kept the three of them awake far past curfew.

Chloe scoffed from her perch on the largest bed, tossing her head to flip her white-blonde braid over her shoulder as she dipped the little brush back into the fingernail polish container.

"Oh course I'm not talking about actually murdering anyone, Bumble-Bug." She said, delicately coating her pinky fingernail in pearlescent midnight-blue polish. "All I'm saying is that if, hypothetically of course, somebody, nobody in particular, at say… the school, happened to end up dead in a ditch somewhere," she dipped the brush again. "And there happened to not be any fingerprints, the police couldn't pin a thing on you. Ask Sabrina, she's doing an internship at her Daddy's place."

Shaking her head, and biting her lip to keep herself from laughing, Mari turned her attention back to applying her own rose-gold polish.

A few specks of Gotham's finest hotel were unintentionally scraped off the border of a window and tumbled to the pavement below. Mari grunted, adjusting her grip on a gargoyle-like figure near the edge of the roof to better secure herself so she could find another foothold, unintentionally scraping her palms in the process. She grinned.

"Y'know Ladynette," said Adrien, his mop of sunshine-blond hair coming into view as he sat up from where he had been lounging on the floor, still waving his hands in an attempt to dry the sloppy black and green nail polish he had insisted he do himself. 'We just have to take it off before I go home! Father won't know if we don’t tell him!' "Bee's got a point. I'm not saying I would appear as Chat to give you the best alibi in history, but I'm also not saying I wouldn't." He tapped the side of his nose, effectively smearing the nail polish on his index finger all over the inside of his eyelid. "You're the star student, after all."

Marinette couldn't take anymore, and collapsing into a giggle-fit, accidentally spilling the rose-gold nail polish all over her fuzzy pajama pants in the process. It took far too long to calm down, but when she did, Chloe and Adrien had already found replacement pants for her.

Mari returned to the present as she, with a final shove, found herself on the roof of the very prestigious hotel her class was staying at during their 3 month exchange program. Her entire class.

'No one in particular my foot.'

Mari stood near the opposite edge of the roof from where she'd climbed up, letting the cool, damp midnight breeze play with her hair, as she breathed a deep sigh.

Cereal was soup.

…

Kwamiis, she'd been hanging out with Adrien too much.

Her thoughts stilled for a moment, though her mind continued at breakneck speed as memories of her loved ones filled her up to bursting. She closed her eyes and let the images chase themselves in circles for a little, drinking in the feeling of the night and the faint smell of coastal rain that sank into her bones.

Gotham was officially her second favorite city.

The mood was briefly soured as her brain, still dutifully chugging along as the speed of light now that she had nothing else to think about, began turning to darker subjects. Mari sighed, her whole body sagged in exhaustion and her fingers twisting around the ponytail that was wrapped around her wrist as said darker thoughts began playing on repeat in her head, the face of at least two thirds of her misery laughing at her misery, though she wasn't on the roof to laugh at her.

‘Lila.’

Marinette's fiddling with the ponytail ceased as she began bouncing her leg, her hands moving up to readjust her buns in a vague hope of making them slightly less disastrous.

‘Oh boy, Lila…’

Liar and life-ruiner extraordinaire.

The reason her only friends were suddenly transferred to new classes even though she herself had tried a dozen times over to do just the same.

Mari sighed, tugging at a nasty tangle the ponytail-holder had somehow created with her bun.

At least she still had Alix and Kim. As much as she loved Chloe and Adrien, Adrien couldn’t do anything to rock the boat without his father forcing him to quit public school, and since Chloe’s father had finally been replaced as Mayor, she didn’t have nearly as much power as she used to. Besides, the class was against her to begin with, and it had only gotten worse as Lila began to spin her web.

Alix and Kim on the other hand, while they couldn't convince many people of Lila's schemes, they could punch people in the face. Mari actually cried when they told her they both got suspended for a week after doing just that the day they found out Lila was nothing but a liar, (Alix did the punching and Kim cheered her on) and while she insisted they never do that again, she brought them 'thank you' goodies every day for six months after that.

Her thoughts cheered up significantly after a few forceful topic-changes and as they continued to wander, a tune bumbled its way to the surface and, having nothing better to do at the moment, she began humming it. What the song itself was called she didn't remember, maybe it never existed to begin with, but the melody was quiet enough to be soothing, and it was calming, if a little haunting.

A few measures into her strange melody, Mari found herself half dancing-half fidgeting to the beat of her imaginary song, incomprehensible words playing through her mind as the night dragged on and Gotham continued on in semi-silence.

Mari was midway through one of the ballet moves Chloe had dragged her to classes to learn, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Mari cut her movement off mid-flow and stood stock still.

Someone was on the roof with her.

Years of constantly living life on the edge of both a mental breakdown and a life-or-death battle was the only thing keeping her from blindly round-house-kicking whoever it was in the face and running off into the night. Fight and flight instincts could fudge a delicate situation, and whoever was up here could simply be getting some air, like her.

Maybe she should have let her instincts run the show.

She barely had time to register she was still humming--being forced to communicate in the most dire of circumstances had made the moments where she couldn’t shut herself up more often than she’d care to admit--when an arm that felt as though it was made of steel and iron was pinning her left arm to her back as a knee, which she assumed belonged to the owner of the steel and iron arm, slammed into the middle of her back and began forcing her to the ground.

In the split second before her face made contact with the gravel on the rooftop, Mari had one single thought racing through her head.

She knew this hold.

She’d done it a thousand times in the back alleys of Paris on odd nights.

This was the hold that would break your arm if you struggled.

The hold designed to keep the victim still and in pain.

The hold to intimidate and contain.

The hold made for criminals.

Hah.

No.

Faster than even she expected, Mari twisted her body completely around and successfully out of his hold, eyes narrowed in determination.

C R A C K

‘Well.’ Mari rolled away from her attacker, clutching her broken arm to her chest. ‘That’s going to be hard to explain to Mlle. Bustier in the morning.’ Mari recovered quickly--She'd felt more pain than a broken arm and won a fight before: and a non-functioning arm wasn't going to stop her now.--and regained her footing just in time to see a young man, probably about her age, in a truly shocking outfit with the most bizarre color coordination she had ever seen-- Okay not the most bizarre. She'd fought Akuma after all, and some of those deserved to be taken down on their fashion sense alone--pull out a katana from seemingly nowhere.

‘Wait…’ She thought as she dodged the katana swipe and dropped to the ground in attempt to swipe his feet out from underneath him. ‘Him and his traffic-light costume look familia--’

“Robin!”

Marinette froze as none other than Batman--The Actual Honest To Goodness Batman--swung onto the roof just behind her attacker.

Mari would’ve fangirled if she wasn’t so high on caution juice.

“Father,” apparently-Robin said, not breaking eye-contact with her, the blade of his katana less than an inch from her throat now that she wasn’t fighting back.

‘Wait… wait, isn’t that called adrenaline?’

“Robin, why were you attacking a civilian.”

‘Oh glory Batman is speaking to Robin, he’s speaking with Robin and they’re talking right in front of me--’ Mari blinked. ‘Civilian?’

“Tch,” Robin’s lip curled slightly, though otherwise he didn’t move. ‘Oh. Right. I’m not wearing my mask. “Father this isn’t another civilian.”

‘I mean he’s right, but I’m right here--’

“She’s clearly a villain.”

‘Okay WHAT?!’

“And what makes you say that?” Mari’s mouth moved in her own defense before she’d formed a proper argument.

‘FrICK.’

Silence.

Silence punctuated by Batman’s stare.

Which of them he was looking at was a mystery, but he punctuated the lack of noise nevertheless.

‘I’m sorry Batman: One of us is going to die tonight and it’s probably going to be me if your son doesn’t say something soon.’

“Tch.” Robin’s head rolled slightly to the side; an exaggerated eye-roll if she’d ever seen one. “You’re up here, alone, ballet dancing, and humming a stupid creepy tune.” Mari blinked at him incredulously. “It’s highly unusual in Gotham for anyone to preform their own... musical theater routine, at 4 in the morning mind you, unless they’re extremely unbalanced and have a bomb planted sixty feet below the mayor’s office.”

“You…” She took a deep breath in, moving her broken arm as carefully--and casually--as she could. “You tried to knock me unconscious, fight me, and potentially take me to a police station for questioning... because I was awake at 4am.” Well, if Batman’s stare wasn’t burning holes into Robin’s head before, it sure was now. Robin, to his credit, relaxed his defensive stance slightly, even as a scowl darker than any she’d expect on his face dragged whatever hope she had of reasoning down with his mood.

“Robin?”

Batman had said 9 words since his first appearance, and somehow Mari knew he was on her side.

She and her motor-mouth could learn from him.

Robin snorted softly and stuck his nose in the air, though any fool could see it was over a sense of wounded pride rather than genuine haughtiness. Or, anyone who’d been friends with Chloe for more than a week, anyway. He finally relaxed his fighting stance, however, and stood with his back ram-rod straight and his arms crossed over his chest.

“It isn’t my fault she was being stupid.”

“And it isn’t my fault you couldn’t just use basic human communication to inquire as to my true intentions.” Being starstruck is overrated.

“If you were really a villain you’d take advantage of that.” He snapped, glaring at her.

“If I were really a villain,” Mari retorted with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to dance out in the open in celebration of my latest unfinished scheme.” Mari crossed her arms. ‘Owowowowow no that’s bad don’t move broken arm that hurts--’ “Especially not when it’s nighttime and the Batman Squad are out and about. Besides, you can be physically prepared for an attack while still brokering a deal. It’s how being a superhero is supposed to work, isn’t it? Get the villain talking so you can assess the situation and the threat without potentially risking any civilians in the way?” ‘I just back-talked Robin. And by extension, Batman.’

Mari could feel her blush burning her skin to ash.

‘Batman please take your son and leave so I can die in peace I’m--’

“You’re very correct, Miss.”

‘S a y f r e a k i n g w h a t n o w.’

Mari whipped around, her loose hair smacking her in the eyes as she did so, to see The Actual Freaking Nightwing standing on one of the rooftop gargoyles and grinning at her.

Her heart had stopped functioning a long time ago, and it appeared her lungs were now bent on doing the same.

“Being a superhero is about more than just punching crime in the face. Though I gotta admit that’s the fun part.”

“Until crime punches ya’ back,” the ghost of Marinette’s soul replied through her somehow still-living body. “Then you just have a black eye, injustice, and a whole lotta paperwork.” Nightwing burst out laughing, and slid off his gargoyle to walk over and give her a clap on the back.

“It’s official,” he said, his grin wide and friendly. “You’re my second-favorite civilian.” Mari’s soul transcended to the next dimension. “What’s your name, kid?”

“I-I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, monsieur.” ‘I’m Freaking Nightwing’s Second Favorite Civilian. How in the ever-loving hECC, did I end up here? How has my life come to this? Is this where I die?’

“A pleasure to meet you Marinette,” Nightwing said with yet another grin, as he stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m sure you already know who we are, but based off your French accent you probably aren’t from ‘round here: I’m Nightwing.” He gestured to Batman’s looming figure. “The silent Night is Batman, and--”

“I suppose Traffic-Light boy is Robin, then?”

‘MOUTH WHAT THE HECK YOU CAN’T OPERATE WITHOUT EXPLICIT PERMISSION FROM THE BRAIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING GOING ROGUE LIKE THAT YOU’RE OFFICIALLY ON PROBATION--’

“No-- wait I'm sorry I didn’t mean it like that I swear--”

It was too late.

Robin had frozen in place, his face a mixture of shock and an emotion she couldn’t place.

Nightwing was doubled over with laughter.

Batman’s face seemed to always be an emotionless, impenetrable mask in the short time she’d known him, but Mari could’ve sworn she saw the faintest of smiles. It was gone in a moment, but it was there.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had made Batman, actual honest to goodness Batman, smile.

Well, if she wasn’t dead before, she was now.

“We’re sorry for the trouble Miss Dupain-Cheng,” said Batman when it seemed like Nightwing wasn’t going to recover anytime soon. “I hope Robin didn’t hurt you too badly.” Marinette welcomed the distraction, though she was still redder than her hoodie. She waved her non-broken arm dismissively.

“He didn’t, Monsieur Batman. Je--err, I, am perfectly fine. I’m sorry to have disturbed your patrol.” Batman gave her the tiniest of nods. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I'll get back to my room. It’s very late after all.”

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“You too, mon--err, Sir.” Marinette started walking toward the side of the building to climb back down, when a door in the center of the roof caught her attention.

Oh.

She paused halfway to the entrance, gnawing at her lip.

Mari turned around sharply.

“Robin?” The three caped crusaders paused. The boy in question gave her a sidelong glance, shooting her a quizzical look that may or may not have been laced with faint distaste. Not that she blamed him. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused.”

He stared at her for a moment, his face expressionless for a moment.

“I’m sorry too. I hope I didn’t hurt your arm too badly.” he nodded to her curtly. “Have a good night, miss.”

And then they were gone.

A wave of exhaustion hit her like a truck, and she had the sudden realization she was supposed to be asleep at 4:30 in the morning.

She turned and opened the rooftop door, thanking anything and everything that the door was unlocked, and closed it softly behind her, leaning heavily against it and biting back her groan of pain.

Hiding a broken arm was painful.

Mari stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, absorbing everything that had happened.

Her face split into a joyous beam.

Adrien and Chloe were going to go berserk tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS:

Nightwing: “Hey, B-man. Bat-guy. Bro-man. Bat-dad. Can we please keep her? Please?”

Batman: “Not that it’s up to me, but we can’t. At the very least not unless she can fight.”

Robin: “Father, she broke her arm getting out of my hold and didn’t bat an eye at it.”

Nightwing: “The bean did what now.”

(also have a sketch i did. i’m sorry it’s not great but i just... i lov her okay?)

::You are here::Part 2::Ao3::

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zamgoods · 3 years ago

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Sunday 9.5 September 5th Waning Moon Crescent. on 9.7 the moon is completely black.

Just like Billie's concert/movie, the moon is called the moon of Death. It's the end of the month. Seems like the foreshadowing of Death. She even has a song called everybody dies and her virtual self walks though a Grave yard.

Hollywood Bowl in LA,CA. Letter to LA. I wonder if it's a 4 page letter. Like Aaliyah whose video "More than a Woman" riding around LA. Los ANgeles. The ANgels. Many call Aaliyah an Angel. Is she in anyway writing to her. August 31, 3 days before the release of Eilish's movie. Date of Aaliyah's Funeral and Marriage to R. Kelly.

I didn't change my number.-Eilish 2nd song in the movie.

Age Aint nothing but a Number-Aaliyah's 1st album and 2nd single

@7:40 They show a dark sky. no Moon. @11:47 LA night sky, no moon The Song called "MY FUTURE" is telling that. Prediction. Her animation is up high over the city, Beverly hills, Roosevelt Hotel.

She even has a scene walking through the arch in the Red and Black like Romanoff, Britney approaching us in animation. Is She a red sparrow, Black widow?

Her movie follows Aaliyah Animation before she died. For Disney to be the one to draw her traveling in a Scorpion car. Is she a Scorpio Moon? or Rising? Born Dec 18th, 2001 we can see her natal chart for more details. But it's obvious they plan to associate her with death.

Even at a point they show her die and go to the sky with clouds and wings. Like Aaliyah, Angel. She ends up in an empty theater. No Audience.

Different than most others in this ritual, they end up at the ground zero, or zero point fighting goons and confronting an audience.

She talks about giving the Devil an NDA at 17 when she says she got her initiation of sorts in her song NDA.

SHe thinks therefore she IS. She exists. YHWH. A highly academic philosophical maxim. I think therefore I Am.

so long for now. movie is Beyonce ish. And is filled with occult, chanting, and symbolism. Despite its dry and monotone themes. About separation for someone. Estrangement. Social distancing, being alone, solo, at the same time One. It's alchemical stage is in the black, the red, and her hair is white. Negrito, Rubedo, Albedo.

Will speak more about this, because there are many Easter eggs.

so long for now. arivaderchi

#Billy #Billy Eilish #Aaliyah #Billy Eilish Animation #Aaliyah Animation

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cor-are-they-stars · 4 years ago

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A Silver Lining

In nature, there is a constant struggle between those who seek the comfort of shadows and mists, and those who seek the brilliant light of the celestial heavens. It isn’t necessarily a battle of night and day, though often it is phrased as such. It is a great struggle that dapples the sky with lighting and clouds and gives personality to the great blue dome that serves us as a roof in our Earth home.

All this to say, Tsuki found it highly ironic that she, the moon kid, had to go head to head with a cloud boy.

Irony always seemed to find her.

She hadn’t really done any research on him; she hadn’t had the chance. Having had just arrived a few hours before on the train, fresh from Japan and her foster home with the Spellmans, she had been hoping she would be met by her sort of? sister at the station, but apparently this whole student versus student debacle had been happening. Welcome to Taiyuu, now go steal an orb and beat someone up while you’re at it.

Not that she was going to complain. She bounced from foot to foot, flexing her gloved hands and trying to ward off the bone deep tiredness that always found her around this time of the moon cycle, and especially after the long train ride. Her fingers tingled almost imperceptibly from constant erosion of waning crescent as she eyed him from one side of the lobby of the faux hotel that would serve as their arena the boy she would be fighting. All dark blue hair and wisps of fog, his floating on a cloud a few inches above the ground brought to mind images of old gods sitting contentedly upon clouds as they watched the world. She blinked her eyes a few rapid times, trying to flash herself into a higher functioning level. It was only mildly successful. That train had been irritatingly comfy. A sound like the hollow cry of a gong echoed across the fake city and alerted them to the match’s start. Before Tsuki could fully react, the boy scooped air into his hand. Thick grey tendrils of stormcloud gathered around his hand like hens gathering around a farmer sprinkling corn. Crackling and popping with electricity, the clouds turned on Tsuki with alarming speed and ferocity and shot towards her like great billowing bullets of the sky. Ah. So that was what “cloud quirk” had meant. Reacting on the instinct that had kept her alive for years, Tsuki dropped down behind a plush, impeccably white armchair. Lightning flickered briefly and with no break thunder roared in Tsuki’s ears as the clouds electrocuted the white chair. Well. Now she was awake. Head ringing, she made a snap decision and lept to her feet, grabbing a vase of plastic flowers from the small coffee table. The clouds flashed again, lightning spearing through her arm. A brief, awkward silence followed as the lightning passed through her highly see through arm harmlessly, as if it wasn’t even there, and scorching the wall. Kemuri-san looked mildly embarrassed and Tsuki grinned widely. She spread her arms, a few pebbles falling from the mouth of the vase and clinking on the floor. “Sorry, looks like I’m not all there today.” She vaulted over the chair, cackling and throwing a wide arc of pebbles and sad pretend flora as she dashed towards her opponent with her improvised weapon. As she swung at Kemuri-san, another crack sounded and the vase shattered in her translucent hands. The boy darted out of the way on his cloud, and Tsuki hit the ground with a roll, the scattered shattered pottery slicing open her cheek as she went over it. Getting back to her feet, Tsuki quietly marvelled over the boy’s excellent reaction time. If this was the kind of fighter this school boasted, she was proud to have gotten in. It was hard not to envy him. As she reoriented herself and prepared to charge him again, Tsuki noticed the boy’s gaze flicking toward the main feature of the room; a combination koi pond and fountain. And as her own eyes dissected the rippling patterns on the water, she saw what was in that fountain: a little orb, being cautiously nibbled by a large goldfish with an insatiable curiosity.

As if on a cue from an unseen director, the two dashed toward the water feature. Her legs were sure under her, even if her feet did sink nearly to the ankles in the floor. Tsuki had just started to pull ahead of the boy when she heard another crack and felt a searing heat on the small of her back as the lightning struck true. She stumbled and fell into the fountain with the fish. Cloud boy zipped past her and scooped the orb from the pond. Taking no time to gloat, he zipped to the stairwell to the first floor and freedom as if an invisible wind was pushing him. Tsuki’s body was abuzz, feeling like it was moments from vibrating apart. A drop of blood, brilliantly crimson against her fading out skin, billowed outward into the water to explore as she struggled to stand and shake off the paralyzing effect of the electricity. Now on her feet and buzzing more than ever, Tsuki’s focus sharpened. No way in heaven she was going to be beat on her first day by someone whose hero name might end up being Foghorn. Through the window, she could see Kemuri-san’s quick flight towards his goal line and her defeat.

Aw, heck no.

She sprinted toward the window, no plan in her mind but to stop his exodus.

Few things in life are more majestic than flight. A bird, wings outstretched as they glide. A cloud, meandering across the sky with the dignity of a monarch. An airplane, cutting a defiant path through the air as it carries lives to and fro.

A nearly invisible girl, dive bombing through a window yelling a battlecry.

Tsuki’s aim was near perfect. As she lept through the glass, fractures spread across its surface. It didn’t shatter, she wasn’t tangible enough for that. But a beautiful bullseye of cracks spread outward from her exit point. Her intangibility sent her flying right through him, a feeling that he would later compare to a convulsion and searing flash of dizzy confusion. Her gloved hands, unfaded like the rest of her clothing, wrapped around the orb as she hit the ground in a tuck-n-roll and came up on her feet again. With her newfound prize, Tsuki sprinted back down the sidewalk away from Kemuri-san, intent on the other end of the sidewalk where she was supposed to take the orb.

A cloud whooshed past her, dark gray tendrils and crackling lightning imminent as it positioned itself directly in her path, ready to intercept.

Uh, nope.

She took a detour, right into the hotel.

Running through the front door, she hurtled up the stairs to the lobby and up another and another, until she was on the fourth floor. Her footsteps made nary a sound on the knobby carpet as she ran at full speed toward an innocent cart of restocking towels. Tsuki dashed right through it, her slight tangibility managing to knock it over behind her. Not planned, but a pleasant bonus. She looked back to see Kemuri-san flying up the stairs and laughed triumphantly as he reached the impromptu barricade. That ought to slow him down.

He flew right over it.

Her laugh died on her lips and she refocused her energies on what currently mattered: getting away with the orb. Making a split second decision, she took a sharp left into a room and slammed the door behind her. Looking quickly to the side, she saw a small stack of papers.

From the hallway, Kemuri-san could see Tsuki's hand clip through the door holding a small sign that read "Do Not Disturb". She hooked it on the doorknob and retracted it through the wood. That ought to hold him. A small drop of blood from her vase-initiated wound dripped down her cheek, and she wiped it away. The red stain on her otherwise white glove was startling, and she paused a moment to admire it.

As the door flew open, Tsuki grabbed the first weapon she could think of. A pillow held defensively in front of herself, she assumed a stance that left her shielding the orb from Kemuri-san and his clouds. With a dismayed expression, she shook a hard-to-see finger at him.

"Didn't you read the sign?"

Kemuri-san let out a surprised bark of laughter, and Tsuki felt a tickle of satisfaction trace its way up her spine. The boy raised his hand, and a cloud flew towards her. The past few weeks of watching videos of baseball games to help her better understand the very American Spellmans gently took her hand and raised it in a batter's stance. With a solid whmpahf, she whacked Kemuri-san's cloud and also managed to clip the one that was keeping him aloft. The disturbance of the air dispersed the particles and Kemuri-san fell with a thump. In her few seconds of time, Tsuki threw her pillow at Kemuri-san, which he caught in surprise as he got to his feet. Tsuki grabbed the other plush pillow from the comforter-clad bed and brandished it. “Pillow fight. Me, you.”

Kemuri-san, finding absolutely no problem with this, came in swinging. She cackled in surprise and jumped away from the bed, wapping another cloud away. Kemuri-san’s pillow had an icy cloud wrapped around it, and every time their weapons connected Tsuki’s pillow grew colder. The slowly crystallizing and frostbitten pillow nipped at her fingers as she retreated from the onslaught of feather-stuffed cloth. Finding herself backed against the wall, Tsuki was caught off guard as a Kemuri-san got in a solid hit.

Apparently, he had forgotten her intangibility. She had too. The force was just enough to shove her through the wall, dropping the orb to the floor with a humble plasticky tmhp as she disappeared, pushed straight through the wall and into open air, four stories up.

Gravity refused to acknowledge her intangibility, and she dropped like a stone thrown into a lake, though she left far fewer ripples as she plummeted. From afar, she would’ve been hard to see. Merely a fast falling shimmer in the air. Air flew by her too fast to be breathed, and in the seconds of free fall fear became a good friend.

But then, like a quilt made of melancholy and discarded dandelions, a cloud wrapped around her and caught her in the air. Her brown eyes shot upwards and met the panicked blue of Kemuri-san’s. He was leaning precariously out the window, hand thrown towards her as a direction to the clouds. For a few moments she hung there, a dangling toy on a mobile. Her breath had abandoned her during the fall, but it slowly and sheepishly returned as the cloud slowly drifted back up toward the window.

Tsuki tumbled through the window frame, heart beating out a violent tattoo of fear against her head. She lay on the ground for a few minutes, waiting for her pulse to slow a little and thanking any and all gods who happened to be listening for solid ground. Kemuri-san looked breathless and terrified as his clouds slowly dispersed around Tsuki. “Are you okay? When you fell- I almost had a heart attack. I had no idea-”

Tsuki rolled over and got to her feet, pressing her hand against her chest. Her eyes darted to the corner, where the orb sat undisturbed. He hadn’t gone for it when she fell? Tsuki walked over and scooped it up, then turned back and offered it to Kemuri-san.

“Here.”

He had pulled her back in. Sent a cloud after her without a second thought for the orb or the competition they were in. He didn’t have to do that. Kemuri-san looked confused by her gesture, and she proffered it again.

“Take it. I, uh.” She circled a hand in the air, trying to find the words. “You didn’t have to help me. But you did. And, I appreciate that. It was just, well. Incredibly honorable. And sweet. I’m bad with words- just take it?” Kemuri-san’s expression was touched by understanding, but the concern wasn’t fully gone. He got to his feet as his clouds started to reform around him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tsuki waved a hand dismissively. “I will be. I just need a minute. It’ll give you a headstart.”

This was apparently good enough for him, and he took the lightly pulsing orb. Tsuki watched him hurry from the room and listened to his footsteps tthpm tthpm down the carpeted stairs as she caught her breath and berated it for ever leaving. As soon as her lungs were ready and her eyes had stopped spinning from fear, she jumped to her feet. Taking only a moment to pull a new, tangible pair of gloves from her pocket and discard the faded old ones, she ran to the door, then thought for a second before screwing up her face in concentration. Like the floor had fallen out from under her, Tsuki suddenly dropped down and out of sight.

Tsuki could surmise it had been alarming when she suddenly dropped from the ceiling of the kitchen, because Kemuri-san nearly dropped the orb as he tripped backwards in surprise. Huh. Lucky she had ended up here. Grabbing some heating mitts and pulling them onto her feet like crappy last minute shoes, Tsuki roundhoused the orb out of Kemuri-san’s hands and into the empty, bone-dry sink. Ripping off the mitts before they could pick up on her intangibility and fade past usefulness, she grabbed the orb out of the sink with one of her kid-gloved hands. She ran right through the counter, falling to the floor as an electrified frying pan Kemuri-san had thrown through a storm cloud clipped her and knocked her to the ground.

Kemuri-san snatched the orb and booked it out as he had been doing before she got in his way. As the shock was smaller this time, Tsuki was able to stick her leg through the counter and kick the pan into his path in time to trip him and send him to the floor. She phased through the counter the rest of the way and grabbed the prize again, booking it out the door and into the elevator and slamming her fist into the “up” button. The doors opened and she hurried in, frantically mashing at the “Close Doors” and “Floor 20” buttons. Kemuri-san scrambled out of the kitchen and flew at full speed toward the elevator. “Hold the door!”

The sliding doors glided closed peacefully, just before the cloud boy could get in. Tsuki awkwardly enjoyed a few quiet minutes of silence as the box slowly moved upwards, a tinny tune droning mindlessly in the background in a vain attempt at music. It wasn’t Mozart, but it was catchy and Tsuki found herself humming it as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to swallow the acidic fear that was clutching at her heart. You’ll be out soon. You’ll be out soon. Hang in there. By the time the elevator arrived at the roof, her heart was a butterfly-quick mess and her breath was quick and short. She stumbled out of the confinement and into the open air.

Tsuki crouched next to the box that held the elevator and clutched the orb close to her chest with trembling arms as she fought back the rising panic. She had thought she could handle it, but the nagging sense of impending harm and tightness in her throat told her she couldn’t. A minute of slow breathing carefully calmed her heart rate and she got shakily to her feet. She was still competing. She needed to finish this.

Kemuri-san stepped onto the rooftop out of the shack-like stairwell, and everything was eerily quiet for a moment. Then a fist caught him in the jaw, sending him sprawling. Tsuki, standing to the side of the door with her arm still extended from the sucker punch, looked startled. She dropped the orb, and scurried over. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to hit that hard! I am so sorry, is anything broken?”

She set the orb down and took his face firmly in her hands, examining his jaw to make sure it wasn’t dislocated. Her check confirmed, to her relief, that he wouldn’t suffer anything more than some swelling and tenderness. She let the still stunned boy go and helped him to his feet. The boy’s clouds were a shocking sunset pink, wispy from his surprise and crackling slightly at the edges. Tsuki tried to brush one away and was zapped for her troubles. The blue eyed boy touched his jaw gingerly and winced.

“Sorry,” Tsuki repeated, massaging her fist nervously. “I didn’t think that would actually work. Usually, people figure that one out and dodge! What a terrible first impression this has been, huh? Anyway. Uh, sorry about that.” The boy grimaced. “I bit my tongue.” ”Are you good?” Tsuki shifted from foot to foot. “I mean, you want to keep going?” Clouds McGee shrugged, looking a touch embarrassed. “I mean, if you are?” Tsuki shrugged and charged him. One of his clouds shot at her, getting in her face and blinding her. She dropped into a slide, sinking partway into the ground as she did. Hooking her foot around his, she flew between his legs and pulled him down before rushing back toward the orb. She was nearly there when he grabbed her foot and dropped her again, crawling frantically for the orb. Tsuki rolled to her feet and ran past the struggling cloud boy. Scooping up the orb in her arms, she bolted away from her opponent and toward the edge of the roof. His clouds rushed after her, one once again obscuring her face and the other wrapping around her legs. Stumbling slightly, Tsuki waved the cloud away from her face.

And found herself teetering on the edge of the rooftop. Tsuki glanced back at the charging, stony-faced boy, and made a decision. She had already faced fear of spaces- why not falling as well? Shuffling back slightly, she saluted him. “Thanks for the lift earlier. But I’m going down this time.”

And she stepped backward.

Orb cradled close to her chest, this time the falling felt more like flying. Wind rushed past her like a busy pedestrian, and the windows were a spinning film reel as she went down, down, down. She was little more than a shimmering thought with an orb in her arms as she went down… down…

CNRPK She hit the pavement solidly, arm absorbing most of the blow. Her intangibility helped, but not quite as much as she might’ve hoped. Her arm was definitely broken, and her heart was doing its panicked-best to escape her chest. Tsuki struggled to her feet, gingerly cradling the orb in the crook of her elbow and stumbling slightly in the washing wave of fear and exhilaration. She looked up, up towards the top of the building. There was the boy, staring down at her with alarm.

Tsuki smiled shakily. And stepped back over the finish line. @taiyuu-high-oct

#sugiyama tsubame #kemuri moya #round two #lets hope it works this time #also uh #hope y'all have a good day

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thejudgementbegins · 6 years ago

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Judgement Pacific Theater P-day

Part 1

31th of December; 23:57:01 (GMT-8)

Downtown Los Angeles; Hotel Intercontinental Los Angeles

All apparent local power shut off in the Los Angeles Downtown area. No form of energy appears to work including battery powered equipment and devices. People who instinctively reach for their cellphones discover that their phones are off! Moving vehicles shut off, most roll to controlled stops by their drivers, while flying craft steerage lock up, engines power down and then begin to fall uncontrollably.

The hotel guess located in the roof’s Spire Seventy-Three open-air bar, witnesses a couple flying aircraft tumbling to the ground in the night sky. Tracing their travel as they temporarily block out stars with their movements. One, a large commercial jet appears to be heading straight towards the roof of the hotel. The other a helicopter crashes into a high rise building several hundred yards away. At the last minute the commercial liner jet appears to shift its direct trajectory towards the hotel, veers off and its left-wing crashes through a western corner portion of the hotel. The plane crashes off in the distance exploding as it smashes into the Coliseum, catching the stadium on fire. The left-wing causes several windows to shatter as well as send parts of the roof and several lower floors walls tumbling. Some of the people manage to hold on to a ledge of the building still connected to the hotel, but most fall along with debris, traveling at least seventy feet screaming to their deaths. Panic ensues among the survivors. People begin to scream and run, looking for exits. Most people move about nearly blind with only a waning crescent moon and star to light their way. A lucky few had lighters.

Those who run to the elevators discover them not be responding. Two guests begin yelling out to have the guest calm down on the roof, and to head towards the known stairwell exits. The darkness masks everyone, leaving only their silhouettes. People do their best to calm down and follow a more orderly process into the stairwells and down the stairs. It is a long and difficult trek to the bottom of the hotel, with the hotels lobby being on the 70th floor. Some people trip over each other, which causes people to have to wait, as others assist the fallen.

The hotel staff like the guest all head down the stairs. Security and some of the hotel walk in to each floor’s hallway, knocking on doors and asking everyone to head downstairs for safety. On the ground floor is several conference rooms and a guest hall, that is usually rented out by companies for special events. One of the guests who helped calm people down on the roof, named Patrick Barnard, a young professed college student studying medicine and doing an internship at the nearby Good Samaritan Hospital ask the hotel manager, Vanessa Vasquez for a large room that could be used to provide medical aid for those who were wounded. Vanessa opens the large conference room. Dr Tanna Quinne a foreign guest, with several scars on her face and an eye patch covering her right eye, volunteers to assist Patrick with those who were injured. She takes one of the ladies who had become ill right as the power outage with her to the conference room.

Patrick ask for a volunteer to go retrieve his medical supplies from his motorcycle’s cargo cases, that is parked in the hotel’s base parking area. Mack a large, nearly six and a half feet tall husky man volunteers to go down stairs to retrieve Patrick’s medical supplies. He takes off immediately using some candles that has been recently supplied to some of the ground floor guest by Vanessa and her hotel’s housing staff.

Most of the local employees and guest decide to depart the hotel Intercontinental, hoping to reach home, friends, or family that are not too far away from the downtown Los Angeles area. Others try to reach nearby homes of people they know. The hotel’s landline phones being dead leaves everyone with no outside contact. So, these people, decide to try and get home or go to a nearby friend of family members home. Those left number slightly over two hundred individuals, most are anxious and hoping that the power will come on soon.

***

Carnival Cruise Line’s Miracle Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean (same time; which is 21:57:01 local time, approximately 8-10 hours away from Oahu port.)

A horrific storm comes out of nowhere to engulf the ship with heavy winds, rain. The ship rises and falls suddenly do to the large waves that begin to form and disappear near the Miracle. Captain Carl Heaten, warns passengers, via the ship’s intercom system, of the dangers of the storm, sends non-essential crew members to their cabins or to stay in one of the bars or lounges, as the crew on hand, does their best to tighten down equipment, and steer through the raging storm. Communications officer Tabitha notes that the communications systems is unable to get a response to her emergency messages she broadcast.

The Blue Lounge’s current entertainer for the evening Skye an attractive young female adult sees the worries and concerns on the faces of the people in the lounge and does her best to try and calm the patrons. She decides to sing, to help others pass the time hoping to calm them enough as the crew tries their best to get through the storm. Some of those in fear and ready to leave the lounge decide to set back don and stay, allowing the young singers voice to lull them into calmer states.

The ship lurches and sways through the waves as the wind and rain continue to pour. The night sky with its narrow sliver of moon makes it difficult to see. The pilot and navigator concentrate on trying to keep their ship on its course. The lack of the navigation equipment and their disconnection to the satellite global positioning signal concerns the officers, who decide to keep this information between themselves and the captain.

In time the storm only gets worse, lighting begins flashing in multiple areas within sight. The flashes provide brief visual sights for the crew and guest looking out of their cabin windows. Navigational equipment begins sound audible alarms at the computers show error messages of all detection systems. The storm continues for nearly three hours, before the wind and rain stop abruptly without warning. The ocean’s waves calm, and the captain gives the all clear announcement to the passengers and crew. The pilot and navigator tried their best to stay on course, but with their equipment failing, neither is sure of their direction or the actual distance covered during this time.

The mood of the guest attitudes improves with the change in weather. Crew member go out double checking equipment and double checking that the ship is secure. Captain Heaten sends out other crew members to check on the ships guest to be sure that no one was injured, and to send those injured to the ship’s doctor if necessary.

#Judgement_Pacific_Thearter #GURPS #ttrpg #Roll20

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flowercuco · 6 years ago

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Veil Episode 2 Pt 3

After a long break that is surely to inadvertently be followed by another long break, our group reunites to help protect the Virtual Idol A.I. Crescent Moon, only this time! It’s at night!

As the group begins to settle inside of Crescent Moon’s hotelish room, they get a call from Waning Touch, Crescent Moon’s manager, she says that she’s heard some people being rowdy around the room and is scared to go home by herself, so Will offers to go pick her up. Synch has something to do and Fortuna has a wife to go home to, so Senza and Ariel will be more than capable of keeping Crescent safe, right?

Before anyone heads off though, Will wants to talk to Synch after speaking to Crescent Moon. She tells the Virtual Idol, while being flirted at, that she wants Ariel to learn more about humanity and fit in and be more friendly, but its pretty apparent that they don’t like her that much. To that end, Will asks Crescent to speak to her for her, Crescent agrees, greatly implying that she would do much more for Will, who she think is extremely cool.

Meanwhile, Fortuna checks her e-mails in an attempt to figure out what Buster Wolf was talking about before with regards to having to go to work. Ultimately, what Fortuna gets is that just as she has shunted all of the work to her T.A.’s, they have began to shunt onto each other and others, a wild web that is, a mess, but works well enough. Or rather, has worked well enough, as with all of them taking some time off for Crescent Moon’s concert, there is a risk of all of this going to hell and Fortuna’s classes imploding on themselves. Her plan to deal with this, is to convince Crescent Moon to give her Signed Tat, that she can use to bribe her students into doing what she wants instead. The cost is of course, that Crescent Moon is going to want to go see the university. The one full of CM fans.

Senza tries to see if there’s any events at the school, but instead finds some conflicting reports, getting the idea that theres some recruiting event but not if she wanted to go to it or not. Fortuna’s calendar proves unhelpful, only highlighting that the event will have free food.

Will meanwhile, catches Synch before they slip away and asks about Burning, saying that they saw him earlier, and that it would be good to have some help given the seriousness of the events all of the sudden. Synch lies and says they don’t know him which is fair because Will is lying to Synch and just wants to talk to Burning to get him to leave Quid because Will is Kind Of A Cop. (Only Kind Of).

As everyone else departs, Ariel changes into their military depot getup and with paranoia, checks the room Crescent Moon is in. The idol tries to calm them down and asks about the rest of the group, especially Will, friendship, and that kind of thing. Ariel responds with disgust for the organisation that Will is a part of, something that makes Crescent uncomfortable, as she sees Will as more of a Knight than a cop. Crescent just wants everyone to get along, to be able to trust people and have people trust her, and for Ariel to also be able to do the same. Ariel discovers that Crescent has some sort of hidden agenda that requires knowing if the group is trustworthy or not. Crescent asks Ariel if she can trust them, to which they say yes. Ariel follows that up with asking about how she can trust humans when they’ve seen them at their lowest, to which Crescent talks about seeing A.I. at their lowest as well, and also adds that there are A.I. who have not been created by humans. Ariel asks Crescent if she trusts them, she says yes, and the conversation ends with Ariel finally unlocking all of her emotions.

Will finally in RedBlack Duel Park, where Crescent Moon is going to have her concert, a park of Red leaves and Black bark. She quickly finds the fence that is covered by a tarp to better and secretly prepare for the concert, though the fence’s door has been forced open. Will goes in and realises that some people, likely Old Media Hipsters related to the Old Neo Underground, are messing with things, and as it isn’t anything too dangerous or permanent, opts to go retrieve Waning Touch instead. On the way, she runs into an old friend, the Burgundy Themed Cobra Assailant. He makes a show of how sneaky he is and generally says some cryptic shit after reinforcing his desire to kidnap Crescent Moon. He threatens and succeeds in intimidating Will after she fails to probe him, claiming that he will spare her if she promises to bring the idol to him, but she nevertheless overcomes that fear in order to use her Seat of Judge’s mask to instil a peacefulness to the masked man who then jumps away, though not without leaving a USB behind. Will gets Waning Touch without much more incident and makes her promise to hire more security and also to not stay in the park alone.

Synch and Burning meet at some odd and seedy sort of bar that the Eyes have occupied. Melting is grooving out to Crescent Moon music obnoxiously, with a shirt that has the lyrics play as his cat ear headphones play them. Burning also introduces Synch to Asking for the truth, a new member of the eyes, who is just kind of a little shit. Synch says that they need privacy, so Burning makes Melting take Asking to the other room, with difficulty. Synch warns Burning about Will’s investigation although not without naming names, saying that things are also dangerous for other reasons and that they need to leave town. Burning reveals that what actually happened was that the SVS scientist, Professor Vas Nicola-Lelulelo, was actually started the fire and planned to make Burning disappear in it, but he managed to escape and run away. He thought it would have all blown over after seven years, but clearly it hasn’t. Burning tells Synch some interesting information as well, giving them the name of Ariel’s creators, who they thought had something to do with their psychic powers, the Angelic Threads. Floating and Thundering are both investigating a lead with them, and Burning asks if, worse comes to worse, if Synch would help rescue them. Synch responds with his obligation to the team, to which Burning responds that they would like their help as well, especially Ariel. If they need him, Synch promises to be there. After committing to telling Ariel about the Angelic Threads, Synch and Burning go on a nice date.

Fortuna is driving home to dinner with her wife when a person tries to get her attention, Fortuna slows her car and opens her window, which just BLASTS OUT Crescent Moon nightcore, something that Bicker Boulder, interviewer for the Investigative Bureau, a collection of journalists and other similar professions, ignores so that she can try to leverage an interview out of Fortuna. She wrangles out some sort of verbal contract out of Fortuna to be interviewed after calling out her lifestyle of never being accessible to anyone. Bicker writes a note to Fortuna that has normal writing from the interviewer on the front, and a threatening You Should Do Your Job and Stop These Excursions” printed on the back.

Back to the room, Crescent Moon is playing with her veil altering abilities when Senza, egged on by LACUNA, finally starts to approach the Virtual Idol. Ariel is also in the room, just reading about whatever she wants. Senza gets to the point and asks Crescent about the company that made her and if it has any relationship to SVS, something she isn’t aware of. Senza talks about how it isn’t necessarily about something between the two, it could be some secret branch of the company headed by a weird or power hungry CEO. Whatever it is, Crescent doesn’t know it, because she talks about how her company, NMT, didn’t want to spotlight themselves with Crescent Moon too much, as it would bring them attention that they would be too small to deal with properly, something that becomes relevant as Crescent tells Senza, through tears and hesitation, about her mother, Heartful Vale, and how she’s vanished. Crescent asks Senza what her relationship with her mother is like, and Senza replies that she has some disagreements, but they still love and understand each other. When Senza probes Crescent Moon about this whole situation, she seizes up, causing Ariel to misinterpret things and ask Senza what her problem is.

The two argue, with Senza more or less correctly saying that while this is hard, they needed to know about this information from Crescent Moon, as it has clearly led to this danger and her possible kidnapping! Crescent Moon agrees and sobbingly apologies, as it is so hard to talk about these kind of things. Senza opts to de-escalate, giving Ariel space and moving away from Crescent Moon, giving Ariel a blanket to comfort Crescent with so that she can call Will and talk about the whole Missing Mother/Creator thing. Crescent needs some time alone, leading Ariel to talk to the only person they can, 2Beta, who is currently in a cardboard robot model kit play thing. He answers the phone on a cardboard house and asks about Ariel, who asks if he knows anything about Crescent’s mom or if the creators have anything to do with it. 2Beta doesn’t know, but also doesn’t think that this specifically, directly, has to do with their part of whatever plans the creators have. Ariel overreacts a bit to 2Beta’s uncertainty, as Heartful Vale being an A.I. scientist who made a super cool and powerful A.I. must have painted a target on her. They then apologise and ask if 2Beta is ok. He’s lonely, working on trying to become Joyful, and asks Ariel to apologise to Senza for him. Ariel promises to visit soon, and do so.

Senza and Will speak, with Will not wanting to take the USB back to the hotel in case it has a tracker, to which Senza agrees, as it will make speaking about things easier. As she gets ready to leave, Ariel apologises to her for before. Senza explains that it isn’t that she’s being patronising, or at least she’s not trying to, it’s that as an adult who works at a university she feels the need to make sure that the young folk are doing ok and are taken care of. Ariel feels that they can take care of themselves but thats not quite what she means. Ariel also apologises for 2Beta, and asks why Senza got into her field. She goes on for a bit about why it is due to the differences in the same kind of robots, and how she was just kind of a weird kid who got really interested in her maid robot. People wanted personable machines but they didn’t quite realize that they would just make machine people.

Finally, Senza and Will meet up, and after the 2Beta incident, Senza has a sort of sandbox environment for LACUNA, which she tests the USB in. The two most important files are of course, a README that says “if lost return to crescent moon” and a png labeled “To Crescent Moon.” The image shows a middle aged lady, tied up against her will. Senza, recognising what this is says “this is what we need to talk about,” as it is obviously a picture of Heartful Vale, and this is a picture meant to taunt or incite Crescent Moon.

Next time is... some amount of things as I need to try to get things closer to some sort of conclusion!!!

#quidama dre #concert at quid central

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paraparaparadigm · 6 years ago

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It had been like dying, that sliding down the mountain pass. It had been like the death of someone, irrational, that sliding down the mountain pass and into the region of dread. It was like slipping into fever, or falling down that hole in sleep from which you wake yourself whimpering. We had crossed the mountains that day, and now we were in a strange place—a hotel in central Washington, in a town near Yakima. The eclipse we had traveled here to see would occur early in the next morning.

I lay in bed. My husband, Gary, was reading beside me. I lay in bed and looked at the painting on the hotel room wall. It was a print of a detailed and lifelike painting of a smiling clown’s head, made out of vegetables. It was a painting of the sort which you do not intend to look at, and which, alas, you never forget. Some tasteless fate presses it upon you; it becomes part of the complex interior junk you carry with you wherever you go. Two years have passed since the total eclipse of which I write. During those years I have forgotten, I assume, a great many things I wanted to remember—but I have not forgotten that clown painting or its lunatic setting in the old hotel. The clown was bald. Actually, he wore a clown’s tight rubber wig, painted white; this stretched over the top of his skull, which was a cabbage. His hair was bunches of baby carrots. Inset in his white clown makeup, and in his cabbage skull, were his small and laughing human eyes. The clown’s glance was like the glance of Rembrandt in some of the self-portraits: lively, knowing, deep, and loving. The crinkled shadows around his eyes were string beans. His eyebrows were parsley. Each of his ears was a broad bean. His thin, joyful lips were red chili peppers; between his lips were wet rows of human teeth and a suggestion of a real tongue. The clown print was framed in gilt and glassed.

To put ourselves in the path of the total eclipse, that day we had driven five hours inland from the Washington coast, where we lived. When we tried to cross the Cascades range, an avalanche had blocked the pass.

A slope’s worth of snow blocked the road; traffic backed up. Had the avalanche buried any cars that morning? We could not learn. This highway was the only winter road over the mountains. We waited as highway crews bulldozed a passage through the avalanche. With two-by-fours and walls of plywood, they erected a one-way, roofed tunnel through the avalanche. We drove through the avalanche tunnel, crossed the pass, and descended several thousand feet into central Washington and the broad Yakima valley, about which we knew only that it was orchard country. As we lost altitude, the snows disappeared; our ears popped; the trees changed, and in the trees were strange birds. I watched the landscape innocently, like a fool, like a diver in the rapture of the deep who plays on the bottom while his air runs out.

The hotel lobby was a dark, derelict room, narrow as a corridor, and seemingly without air. We waited on a couch while the manager vanished upstairs to do something unknown to our room. Beside us on an overstuffed chair, absolutely motionless, was a platinum-blonde woman in her forties wearing a black silk dress and a strand of pearls. Her long legs were crossed; she supported her head on her fist. At the dim far end of the room, their backs toward us, sat six bald old men in their shirtsleeves, around a loud television. Two of them seemed asleep. They were drunks. “Number six!” cried the man on television, “Number six!”

On the broad lobby desk, lighted and bubbling, was a ten-gallon aquarium containing one large fish; the fish tilted up and down in its water. Against the long opposite wall sang a live canary in its cage. Beneath the cage, among spilled millet seeds on the carpet, were a decorated child’s sand bucket and matching sand shovel.

Now the alarm was set for 6. I lay awake remembering an article I had read downstairs in the lobby, in an engineering magazine. The article was about gold mining.

In South Africa, in India, and in South Dakota, the gold mines extend so deeply into the Earth’s crust that they are hot. The rock walls burn the miners’ hands. The companies have to air-condition the mines; if the air conditioners break, the miners die. The elevators in the mine shafts run very slowly, down, and up, so the miners’ ears will not pop in their skulls. When the miners return to the surface, their faces are deathly pale.

Early the next morning we checked out. It was February 26, 1979, a Monday morning. We would drive out of town, find a hilltop, watch the eclipse, and then drive back over the mountains and home to the coast. How familiar things are here; how adept we are; how smoothly and professionally we check out! I had forgotten the clown’s smiling head and the hotel lobby as if they had never existed. Gary put the car in gear and off we went, as off we have gone to a hundred other adventures.

It was dawn when we found a highway out of town and drove into the unfamiliar countryside. By the growing light we could see a band of cirrostratus clouds in the sky. Later the rising sun would clear these clouds before the eclipse began. We drove at random until we came to a range of unfenced hills. We pulled off the highway, bundled up, and climbed one of these hills.

The hill was 500 feet high. Long winter-killed grass covered it, as high as our knees. We climbed and rested, sweating in the cold; we passed clumps of bundled people on the hillside who were setting up telescopes and fiddling with cameras. The top of the hill stuck up in the middle of the sky. We tightened our scarves and looked around.

East of us rose another hill like ours. Between the hills, far below, 13 was the highway which threaded south into the valley. This was the Yakima valley; I had never seen it before. It is justly famous for its beauty, like every planted valley. It extended south into the horizon, a distant dream of a valley, a Shangri-la. All its hundreds of low, golden slopes bore orchards. Among the orchards were towns, and roads, and plowed and fallow fields. Through the valley wandered a thin, shining river; from the river extended fine, frozen irrigation ditches. Distance blurred and blued the sight, so that the whole valley looked like a thickness or sediment at the bottom of the sky. Directly behind us was more sky, and empty lowlands blued by distance, and Mount Adams. Mount Adams was an enormous, snow-covered volcanic cone rising flat, like so much scenery.

Now the sun was up. We could not see it; but the sky behind the band of clouds was yellow, and, far down the valley, some hillside orchards had lighted up. More people were parking near the highway and climbing the hills. It was the West. All of us rugged individualists were wearing knit caps and blue nylon parkas. People were climbing the nearby hills and setting up shop in clumps among the dead grasses. It looked as though we had all gathered on hilltops to pray for the world on its last day. It looked as though we had all crawled out of spaceships and were preparing to assault the valley below. It looked as though we were scattered on hilltops at dawn to sacrifice virgins, make rain, set stone stelae in a ring. There was no place out of the wind. The straw grasses banged our legs.

Up in the sky where we stood the air was lusterless yellow. To the west the sky was blue. Now the sun cleared the clouds. We cast rough shadows on the blowing grass; freezing, we waved our arms. Near the sun, the sky was bright and colorless. There was nothing to see.

It began with no ado. It was odd that such a well advertised public event should have no starting gun, no overture, no introductory speaker. I should have known right then that I was out of my depth. Without pause or preamble, silent as orbits, a piece of the sun went away. We looked at it through welders’ goggles. A piece of the sun was missing; in its place we saw empty sky.

I had seen a partial eclipse in 1970. A partial eclipse is very interesting. It bears almost no relation to a total eclipse. Seeing a partial eclipse bears the same relation to seeing a total eclipse as kissing a man does to marrying him, or as flying in an airplane does to falling out of an airplane. Although the one experience precedes the other, it in no way prepares you for it. During a partial eclipse the sky does not darken—not even when 94 percent of the sun is hidden. Nor does the sun, seen colorless through protective devices, seem terribly strange. We have all seen a sliver of light in the sky; we have all seen the crescent moon by day. However, during a partial eclipse the air does indeed get cold, precisely as if someone were standing between you and the fire. And blackbirds do fly back to their roosts. I had seen a partial eclipse before, and here was another.

What you see in an eclipse is entirely different from what you know. It is especially different for those of us whose grasp of astronomy is so frail that, given a flashlight, a grapefruit, two oranges, and 15 years, we still could not figure out which way to set the clocks for daylight saving time. Usually it is a bit of a trick to keep your knowledge from blinding you. But during an eclipse it is easy. What you see is much more convincing than any wild-eyed theory you may know.

You may read that the moon has something to do with eclipses. I have never seen the moon yet. You do not see the moon. So near the sun, it is as completely invisible as the stars are by day. What you see before your eyes is the sun going through phases. It gets narrower and narrower, as the waning moon does, and, like the ordinary moon, it travels alone in the simple sky. The sky is of course background. It does not appear to eat the sun; it is far behind the sun. The sun simply shaves away; gradually, you see less sun and more sky.

The sky’s blue was deepening, but there was no darkness. The sun was a wide crescent, like a segment of tangerine. The wind freshened and blew steadily over the hill. The eastern hill across the highway grew dusky and sharp. The towns and orchards in the valley to the south were dissolving into the blue light. Only the thin river held a trickle of sun.

Now the sky to the west deepened to indigo, a color never seen. A dark sky usually loses color. This was a saturated, deep indigo, up in the air. Stuck up into that unworldly sky was the cone of Mount Adams, and the alpenglow was upon it. The alpenglow is that red light of sunset which holds out on snowy mountaintops long after the valleys and tablelands are dimmed. “Look at Mount Adams,” I said, and that was the last sane moment I remember.

I turned back to the sun. It was going. The sun was going, and the world was wrong. The grasses were wrong; they were platinum. Their every detail of stem, head, and blade shone lightless and artificially distinct as an art photographer’s platinum print. This color has never been seen on Earth. The hues were metallic; their finish was matte. The hillside was a 19th-century tinted photograph from which the tints had faded. All the people you see in the photograph, distinct and detailed as their faces look, are now dead. The sky was navy blue. My hands were silver. All the distant hills’ grasses were finespun metal which the wind laid down. I was watching a faded color print of a movie filmed in the Middle Ages; I was standing in it, by some mistake. I was standing in a movie of hillside grasses filmed in the Middle Ages. I missed my own century, the people I knew, and the real light of day.

I looked at Gary. He was in the film. Everything was lost. He was a platinum print, a dead artist’s version of life. I saw on his skull the darkness of night mixed with the colors of day. My mind was going out; my eyes were receding the way galaxies recede to the rim of space. Gary was light-years away, gesturing inside a circle of darkness, down the wrong end of a telescope. He smiled as if he saw me; the stringy crinkles around his eyes moved. The sight of him, familiar and wrong, was something I was remembering from centuries hence, from the other side of death: Yes, that is the way he used to look, when we were living. When it was our generation’s turn to be alive. I could not hear him; the wind was too loud. Behind him the sun was going. We had all started down a chute of time. At first it was pleasant; now there was no stopping it. Gary was chuting away across space, moving and talking and catching my eye, chuting down the long corridor of separation. The skin on his face moved like thin bronze plating that would peel.

The grass at our feet was wild barley. It was the wild einkorn wheat which grew on the hilly flanks of the Zagros Mountains, above the Euphrates valley, above the valley of the river we called River. We harvested the grass with stone sickles, I remember. We found the grasses on the hillsides; we built our shelter beside them and cut them down. That is how he used to look then, that one, moving and living and catching my eye, with the sky so dark behind him, and the wind blowing. God save our life.

From all the hills came screams. A piece of sky beside the crescent sun was detaching. It was a loosened circle of evening sky, suddenly lighted from the back. It was an abrupt black body out of nowhere; it was a flat disk; it was almost over the sun. That is when there were screams. At once this disk of sky slid over the sun like a lid. The sky snapped over the sun like a lens cover. The hatch in the brain slammed. Abruptly it was dark night, on the land and in the sky. In the night sky was a tiny ring of light. The hole where the sun belongs is very small. A thin ring of light marked its place. There was no sound. The eyes dried, the arteries drained, the lungs hushed. There was no world. We were the world’s dead people rotating and orbiting around and around, embedded in the planet’s crust, while the Earth rolled down. Our minds were light-years distant, forgetful of almost everything. Only an extraordinary act of will could recall to us our former, living selves and our contexts in matter and time. We had, it seems, loved the planet and loved our lives, but could no longer remember the way of them. We got the light wrong. In the sky was something that should not be there. In the black sky was a ring of light. It was a thin ring, an old, thin silver wedding band, an old, worn ring. It was an old wedding band in the sky, or a morsel of bone. There were stars. It was all over.

It is now that the temptation is strongest to leave these regions. We have seen enough; let’s go. Why burn our hands any more than we have to? But two years have passed; the price of gold has risen. I return to the same buried alluvial beds and pick through the strata again.

I saw, early in the morning, the sun diminish against a backdrop of sky. I saw a circular piece of that sky appear, suddenly detached, blackened, and backlighted; from nowhere it came and overlapped the sun. It did not look like the moon. It was enormous and black. If I had not read that it was the moon, I could have seen the sight a hundred times and never thought of the moon once. (If, however, I had not read that it was the moon—if, like most of the world’s people throughout time, I had simply glanced up and seen this thing—then I doubtless would not have speculated much, but would have, like Emperor Louis of Bavaria in 840, simply died of fright on the spot.) It did not look like a dragon, although it looked more like a dragon than the moon. It looked like a lens cover, or the lid of a pot. It materialized out of thin air—black, and flat, and sliding, outlined in flame.

Seeing this black body was like seeing a mushroom cloud. The heart screeched. The meaning of the sight overwhelmed its fascination. It obliterated meaning itself. If you were to glance out one day and see a row of mushroom clouds rising on the horizon, you would know at once that what you were seeing, remarkable as it was, was intrinsically not worth remarking. No use running to tell anyone. Significant as it was, it did not matter a whit. For what is significance? It is significance for people. No people, no significance. This is all I have to tell you.

In the deeps are the violence and terror of which psychology has warned us. But if you ride these monsters deeper down, if you drop with them farther over the world’s rim, you find what our sciences cannot locate or name, the substrate, the ocean or matrix or ether which buoys the rest, which gives goodness its power for good, and evil. Its power for evil, the unified field: our complex and inexplicable caring for each other, and for our life together here. This is given. It is not learned.

The world which lay under darkness and stillness following the closing of the lid was not the world we know. The event was over. Its devastation lay around about us. The clamoring mind and heart stilled, almost indifferent, certainly disembodied, frail, and exhausted. The hills were hushed, obliterated. Up in the sky, like a crater from some distant cataclysm, was a hollow ring.

You have seen photographs of the sun taken during a total eclipse. The corona fills the print. All of those photographs were taken through telescopes. The lenses of telescopes and cameras can no more cover the breadth and scale of the visual array than language can cover the breadth and simultaneity of internal experience. Lenses enlarge the sight, omit its context, and make of it a pretty and sensible picture, like something on a Christmas card. I assure you, if you send any shepherds a Christmas card on which is printed a three-by-three photograph of the angel of the Lord, the glory of the Lord, and a multitude of the heavenly host, they will not be sore afraid. More fearsome things can come in envelopes. More moving photographs than those of the sun’s corona can appear in magazines. But I pray you will never see anything more awful in the sky.

You see the wide world swaddled in darkness; you see a vast breadth of hilly land, and an enormous, distant, blackened valley; you see towns’ lights, a river’s path, and blurred portions of your hat and scarf; you see your husband’s face looking like an early black-and-white film; and you see a sprawl of black sky and blue sky together, with unfamiliar stars in it, some barely visible bands of cloud, and over there, a small white ring. The ring is as small as one goose in a flock of migrating geese—if you happen to notice a flock of migrating geese. It is one-360th part of the visible sky. The sun we see is less than half the diameter of a dime held at arm’s length.

The Crab Nebula, in the constellation Taurus, looks, through binoculars, like a smoke ring. It is a star in the process of exploding. Light from its explosion first reached the Earth in 1054; it was a supernova then, and so bright it shone in the daytime. Now it is not so bright, but it is still exploding. It expands at the rate of 70 million miles a day. It is interesting to look through binoculars at something expanding 70 million miles a day. It does not budge. Its apparent size does not increase. Photographs of the Crab Nebula taken 15 years ago seem identical to photographs of it taken yesterday. Some lichens are similar. Botanists have measured some ordinary lichens twice, at 50-year intervals, without detecting any growth at all. And yet their cells divide; they live.

The small ring of light was like these things—like a ridiculous lichen up in the sky, like a perfectly still explosion 4,200 light-years away: It was interesting, and lovely, and in witless motion, and it had nothing to do with anything.

It had nothing to do with anything. The sun was too small, and too cold, and too far away, to keep the world alive. The white ring was not enough. It was feeble and worthless. It was as useless as a memory; it was as off-kilter and hollow and wretched as a memory.

When you try your hardest to recall someone’s face, or the look of a place, you see in your mind’s eye some vague and terrible sight such as this. It is dark; it is insubstantial; it is all wrong.

The white ring and the saturated darkness made the Earth and the sky look as they must look in the memories of the careless dead. What I saw, what I seemed to be standing in, was all the wrecked light that the memories of the dead could shed upon the living world. We had all died in our boots on the hilltops of Yakima, and were alone in eternity. Empty space stoppered our eyes and mouths; we cared for nothing. We remembered our living days wrong. With great effort we had remembered some sort of circular light in the sky—but only the outline. Oh, and then the orchard trees withered, the ground froze, the glaciers slid down the valleys and overlapped the towns. If there had ever been people on Earth, nobody knew it. The dead had forgotten those they had loved. The dead were parted one from the other and could no longer remember the faces and lands they had loved in the light. They seemed to stand on darkened hilltops, looking down.

We teach our children one thing only, as we were taught: to wake up. We teach our children to look alive there, to join by words and activities the life of human culture on the planet’s crust. As adults we are almost all adept at waking up. We have so mastered the transition we have forgotten we ever learned it. Yet it is a transition we make a hundred times a day, as, like so many will-less dolphins, we plunge and surface, lapse and emerge. We live half our waking lives and all of our sleeping lives in some private, useless, and insensible waters we never mention or recall. Useless, I say. Valueless, I might add—until someone hauls their wealth up to the surface and into the wide-awake city, in a form that people can use.

I do not know how we got to the restaurant. Like Roethke, “I take my waking slow.” Gradually I seemed more or less alive, and already forgetful. It was now almost 9 in the morning. It was the day of a solar eclipse in central Washington, and a fine adventure for everyone. The sky was clear; there was a fresh breeze out of the north.

The restaurant was a roadside place with tables and booths. The other eclipse-watchers were there. From our booth we could see their cars’ California license plates, their University of Washington parking stickers. Inside the restaurant we were all eating eggs or waffles; people were fairly shouting and exchanging enthusiasms, like fans after a World Series game. Did you see ... ? Did you see ... ? Then somebody said something which knocked me for a loop.

A college student, a boy in a blue parka who carried a Hasselblad, said to us, “Did you see that little white ring? It looked like a Life Saver. It looked like a Life Saver up in the sky.”

And so it did. The boy spoke well. He was a walking alarm clock. I myself had at that time no access to such a word. He could write a sentence, and I could not. I grabbed that Life Saver and rode it to the surface. And I had to laugh. I had been dumbstruck on the Euphrates River, I had been dead and gone and grieving, all over the sight of something which, if you could claw your way up to that level, you would grant looked very much like a Life Saver. It was good to be back among people so clever; it was good to have all the world’s words at the mind’s disposal, so the mind could begin its task. All those things for which we have no words are lost. The mind—the culture—has two little tools, grammar and lexicon: a decorated sand bucket and a matching shovel. With these we bluster about the continents and do all the world’s work. With these we try to save our very lives.

There are a few more things to tell from this level, the level of the restaurant. One is the old joke about breakfast. “It can never be satisfied, the mind, never.” Wallace Stevens wrote that, and in the long run he was right. The mind wants to live forever, or to learn a very good reason why not. The mind wants the world to return its love, or its awareness; the mind wants to know all the world, and all eternity, and God. The mind’s sidekick, however, will settle for two eggs over easy.

The dear, stupid body is as easily satisfied as a spaniel. And, incredibly, the simple spaniel can lure the brawling mind to its dish. It is everlastingly funny that the proud, metaphysically ambitious, clamoring mind will hush if you give it an egg.

Further: While the mind reels in deep space, while the mind grieves or fears or exults, the workaday senses, in ignorance or idiocy, like so many computer terminals printing out market prices while the world blows up, still transcribe their little data and transmit them to the warehouse in the skull. Later, under the tranquilizing influence of fried eggs, the mind can sort through this data. The restaurant was a halfway house, a decompression chamber. There I remembered a few things more.

The deepest, and most terrifying, was this: I have said that I heard screams. (I have since read that screaming, with hysteria, is a common reaction even to expected total eclipses.) People on all the hillsides, including, I think, myself, screamed when the black body of the moon detached from the sky and rolled over the sun. But something else was happening at that same instant, and it was this, I believe, which made us scream.

The second before the sun went out we saw a wall of dark shadow come speeding at us. We no sooner saw it than it was upon us, like thunder. It roared up the valley. It slammed our hill and knocked us out. It was the monstrous swift shadow cone of the moon. I have since read that this wave of shadow moves 1,800 miles an hour. Language can give no sense of this sort of speed—1,800 miles an hour. It was 195 miles wide. No end was in sight—you saw only the edge. It rolled at you across the land at 1,800 miles an hour, hauling darkness like plague behind it. Seeing it, and knowing it was coming straight for you, was like feeling a slug of anesthetic shoot up your arm. If you think very fast, you may have time to think, “Soon it will hit my brain.” You can feel the deadness race up your arm; you can feel the appalling, inhuman speed of your own blood. We saw the wall of shadow coming, and screamed before it hit.

This was the universe about which we have read so much and never before felt: the universe as a clockwork of loose spheres flung at stupefying, unauthorized speeds. How could anything moving so fast not crash, not veer from its orbit amok like a car out of control on a turn?

Less than two minutes later, when the sun emerged, the trailing edge of the shadow cone sped away. It coursed down our hill and raced eastward over the plain, faster than the eye could believe; it swept over the plain and dropped over the planet’s rim in a twinkling. It had clobbered us, and now it roared away. We blinked in the light. It was as though an enormous, loping god in the sky had reached down and slapped the Earth’s face.

Something else, something more ordinary, came back to me along about the third cup of coffee. During the moments of totality, it was so dark that drivers on the highway below turned on their cars’ headlights. We could see the highway’s route as a strand of lights. It was bumper-to-bumper down there. It was 8:15 in the morning, Monday morning, and people were driving into Yakima to work. That it was as dark as night, and eerie as hell, an hour after dawn, apparently meant that in order to see to drive to work, people had to use their headlights. Four or five cars pulled off the road. The rest, in a line at least five miles long, drove to town. The highway ran between hills; the people could not have seen any of the eclipsed sun at all. Yakima will have another total eclipse in 2086. Perhaps, in 2086, businesses will give their employees an hour off.

From the restaurant we drove back to the coast. The highway crossing the Cascades range was open. We drove over the mountain like old pros. We joined our places on the planet’s thin crust; it held. For the time being, we were home free.

Early that morning at 6, when we had checked out, the six bald men were sitting on folding chairs in the dim hotel lobby. The television was on. Most of them were awake. You might drown in your own spittle, God knows, at any time; you might wake up dead in a small hotel, a cabbage head watching TV while snows pile up in the passes, watching TV while the chili peppers smile and the moon passes over the sun and nothing changes and nothing is learned because you have lost your bucket and shovel and no longer care. What if you regain the surface and open your sack and find, instead of treasure, a beast which jumps at you? Or you may not come back at all. The winches may jam, the scaffolding buckle, the air conditioning collapse. You may glance up one day and see by your headlamp the canary keeled over in its cage. You may reach into a cranny for pearls and touch a moray eel. You yank on your rope; it is too late.

Apparently people share a sense of these hazards, for when the total eclipse ended, an odd thing happened.

When the sun appeared as a blinding bead on the ring’s side, the eclipse was over. The black lens cover appeared again, back-lighted, and slid away. At once the yellow light made the sky blue again; the black lid dissolved and vanished. The real world began there. I remember now: We all hurried away. We were born and bored at a stroke. We rushed down the hill. We found our car; we saw the other people streaming down the hillsides; we joined the highway traffic and drove away.

We never looked back. It was a general vamoose, and an odd one, for when we left the hill, the sun was still partially eclipsed—a sight rare enough, and one which, in itself, we would probably have driven five hours to see. But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

#Total Solar Eclipse #Great American Eclipse #Eclipse

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